#winter fluff

[jupiterpilgrim]

Swallow the Pill

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x Male Reader

word count: 17K

The duffle bag is halfway zipped when your phone buzzes on the dresser. You glance over, one hand on a folded towel, already thinking it’s the group chat. Maybe they’re early, maybe someone forgot sunscreen—typical. Instead, the name “Winter” flashes on the screen. The towel drops from your hand as you frown at it.

Winter...

You haven’t heard from her in a few days, not since that weirdly intimate coffee date where she’d kept looking at you like you hung the moon. Cute, sure, but intense. A little too much. You two weren’t even a thing. A couple of drunken makeouts at parties, a handful of late-night texts, and maybe one date that leaned dangerously into feelings territory. That’s it.

Her message is short and loaded:

"Hey, are you busy?"

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a second. You start typing.

"Kinda. Packing for the beach. What's up?"

The reply comes back fast, like she was waiting for you to answer.

"I’m sick. Really sick. Can you come over?"

You squint at the screen, reading the message twice. Sick? What the hell? You fire back.

"What do you mean sick? Like hospital sick? Are you okay?"

She sends an emoji—one of those pitiful, droopy ones—then another message:

"No hospital. Just the flu or something. I feel awful. Need help."

It takes a second for it to sink in. She must be joking. You stare at the phone, genuinely confused. She has friends, right? Family? Someone closer to her than the guy she’s hooked up with two or three times?

You type:

"Why me? Don’t you have someone else? Friends? Relatives? A neighbor?"

The response is instant:

"Everyone’s busy. And you’re close.

Please, daddy."

Your stomach lurches at the word. She called you that last time you were together too, whispered it in your ear with a grin, like she knew exactly how to get under your skin. You run a hand down your face and reply:

"Don’t call me that."

"Sorry. Please, though. I’m really sick. Can’t even get out of bed. Just need a little favor."

She adds a sad face this time, really driving it home. You stare at your duffle bag, then back at the phone, then back at the duffle.

You’re not her boyfriend. You’re not even really sure what you are. A fling? A pastime? The guy who texts back at 2 a.m.? And yet, there’s this strange pull. The idea of her alone in her apartment, small and helpless, buried under blankets, sniffling. It needles at you.

You type one last message:

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

Her reply is shameless.

"Take care of me. Bring some meds or soup or something. I’ll owe you big."

You know you should say no. You know you should zip the bag, throw it over your shoulder, and walk out the door to meet your friends. But something makes you hesitate.

Is it guilt? Curiosity? Some twisted sense of responsibility for this girl you don’t even know that well? You sigh, tapping out your final surrender.

"Fine. Be there soon."

You throw the duffle bag in the closet. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, carefree weekend of sun and booze and forgetting your responsibilities.

Winter, you think, had better be worth it.

—

The plastic bags rustle against your leg as you climb the stairs to Winter’s apartment, the fucking elevator is being fixed, and it gives you more time to think about what exactly you're doing. You should have just told her to order delivery. Or called one of her real friends. Or just—anything but this. But here you are, with cold medicine, snacks, and a pint of strawberry ice cream you’re pretty sure she likes because she mentioned it that one time when you were half-listening.

Her messages played through your head the whole drive over. Fever. Headache. Sneezing. She hadn’t sounded dramatic—just miserable enough to guilt you into dropping your plans.

Her door is slightly ajar, probably because she didn’t want to get up to let you in. You knock anyway, a couple of quick raps, and her voice floats out, soft and faint.

“Come in!”

You push the door open and step inside. The place is small, tidy, and unmistakably her. Neutral tones with little bursts of pastel here and there. A fluffy pink throw draped over a beige couch. A single framed photo of a seaside sunset on the wall. It smells faintly of lavender, like one of those candles she’s probably obsessed with.

And there she is, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in the thinnest blanket imaginable. She’s wearing this oversized long-sleeve shirt that probably hits mid-thigh. Her dyed-blonde hair’s a bit of a mess, and her cheeks are faintly flushed. She looks like some kind of sickly cherub, both pitiful and oddly… attractive in her vulnerability.

“Hey,” you say, unsure where to stand, so you hover awkwardly by the door. “How’re you feeling?”

She shifts, sitting up just a little, her voice soft and nasal. “So-so. Better now that you’re here, though.”

You ignore the flutter of something in your chest and hold up the bag. “I got some stuff. Medicine. Snacks. Ice cream, too.”

That perks her up. Her eyes brighten a little. “Ice cream?”

You mumble something barely audible, already heading to her tiny kitchenette. “Yeah. Strawberry. Figured it’d help with the sore throat or whatever.”

She murmurs a soft “thank you” as you stash the pint in her freezer, then return to the living room. You glance around for a place to put the rest of the stuff and end up dumping it on her coffee table. She looks at you with those big, tired eyes, and you feel like you’ve just handed over some priceless treasure instead of a few basics.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says quietly, though there’s a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I’m here now,” you reply, shrugging. Then, unable to help yourself, you add, “Though it’s a shame it’s under these circumstances.”

Her lips quirk. “Yeah. I was the one missing you, and this is what I get. Karma’s cruel, huh?”

You kneel beside the couch, reaching out almost automatically to check her temperature the old-fashioned way. The back of your hand brushes her forehead, warm but not alarming. Her skin is smooth, softer than you’d expected.

“Doesn’t feel like much of a fever,” you say, trying to sound neutral.

“It’s mild,” she admits, leaning into your hand slightly like it’s instinct. “But I still feel awful. Weak. Kinda lightheaded.”

“Mm.” You pull your hand back, studying her for a moment. “Have you eaten anything today?”

She hesitates, her gaze sliding to the side. That’s answer enough.

“Of course not,” you mutter, exasperated but not surprised. “All right. Medicine first, then you’re eating something. I didn’t give up my beach weekend to watch you wither away on this couch.”

Her laugh is soft and a little hoarse, but it’s there. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

You don’t bother replying, already rummaging through the bag for the cold meds. She watches you the whole time, a small, lazy smile on her lips. It’s like she knows something you don’t, and for some reason, that makes you a little nervous.

You pull a pill packet out of the bag and pop one free, holding it out for her like you’re a nurse on shift. She looks up at you, her nose scrunched. “What is it?”

“Magic,” you deadpan, before grabbing the nearest glass off her coffee table, rinsing it in the sink, and filling it with water. You return and plunk it in her hand. “Just take it. It’s for the headache and fever.”

Winter pouts but obediently swallows the pill, washing it down with the water. Her throat bobs as she drinks, and for some reason, you notice her lips lingering on the rim of the glass. You shake it off and clear your throat. “You got anything in the kitchen? Like, soup stuff?”

She blinks, like she has no idea what you’re talking about. “Maybe? I think there’s... carrots? And, um, potatoes?”

“Perfect,” you say dryly, already heading to the fridge. “Soup à la ‘whatever I can find.’”

She props herself up on her elbow, watching you rummage through her cabinets. “Do you even know how to make soup?”

“Nope,” you reply without missing a beat. “But YouTube does.”

Her laugh is soft and raspy. “Good luck, Gordon Ramsay.”

You glance back at her, smirking. “Keep that energy, sick girl.”

—

It takes longer than you’d like—turns out soup’s a bit more complicated than just dumping water in a pot and crossing your fingers—but eventually, you’ve got something that vaguely smells edible. It’s hot, steaming in a bowl, and you’re honestly a little proud of yourself.

You bring it over and hand it to her. She takes it with both hands, peering into the bowl like it’s a work of art.

“Wow,” she murmurs, a small grin tugging at her lips. “It looks legit.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you mutter, sinking into the armchair across from her.

She spoons some up, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. Her eyes widen just slightly. “Hey, this is actually good.”

“You sound shocked,” you say, leaning back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She grins, small and sheepish. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to... you know... be so domestic.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This was a one-time deal.”

She finishes the soup slowly, savoring each bite like it’s some kind of rare delicacy. When she’s done, she sets the bowl aside and looks at you. “Thanks. Really. I feel better already.”

You wave her off, standing up and brushing your hands on your jeans. “No big deal. If anything happens, just shoot me a message.”

Her head tilts. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you say plainly. “There’s still soup in the kitchen. You can heat it up later if you’re hungry. And like I said, message me if you need anything else.”

Her hand shoots out, grabbing yours. Her grip is soft but firm, and it stops you in your tracks. “Don’t go.”

You hesitate, looking down at her. “Winter...”

“Part of the treatment depends on you staying with me,” she says, her voice light but pleading. Her eyes—big, dark, and slightly glassy—fix on yours. It’s unfair. A total cheat code.

“Come on,” you sigh, trying to pull back. “I’ve already—”

“Please,” she interrupts, tugging you closer. “I get clingy when I’m sick. I need you here.”

You groan, exasperated but helpless. Her face is too damn convincing, her voice too soft. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto the couch next to her, and she’s leaning into you, her arms sliding around your waist in a loose, warm hug.

“You're too dramatic,” you mutter, but your arms move on their own, wrapping around her small frame.

She lets out a quiet sound—half sigh, half happy grunt—and burrows into your chest like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Thank you,” she whispers.

You sigh again, defeated. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t milk it.”

She just smiles against you, holding on tighter. And somehow, you don’t mind.

—

It’s one of those nights where nothing feels rushed, where time slips by in lazy waves. You’re at one of your friends' house, slouched on his shitty couch that’s seen too many parties and not enough Febreze. A game’s on in the background, the volume turned low enough that no one’s paying attention, and the room smells like pizza grease and beer. Everyone’s in that late-night haze where conversation loops into nonsense—who’d win in a fight between Superman and a shark, or the ethics of hot dog toppings.

You’ve got a cold beer in your hand, halfway through your third or fourth, when your phone buzzes on the armrest.

It’s Winter. She had sent you other messages earlier, But you didn't see them. Or you chose not to.

For a second, you just stare at her name on the screen. It’s been a week since you hooked up at that party, and yeah, you’ve texted a bit. Casual stuff. Songs, memes, “what’s your favorite color” bullshit. You’ve been trying to keep it light. She’s cool, and that’s the problem. Cool girls are trouble. They make you think too much, want too much, and you’ve got enough on your plate without adding emotions to the mix.

Still, curiosity wins. You pick up the phone and open the message.

"What r u doing?"

Simple. Innocent. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. You could lie. Say you’re busy. But why bother?

"Chillin at a friend’s. What about you?"

Her reply comes quick.

"Thinking about you."

You blink at the screen, your brain short-circuiting for a second. The bottle in your hand feels heavier.

"Oh yeah?"

She doesn’t reply right away this time. It’s maybe two minutes of nothing, enough time for one of your friends to ask you a question about the game, for someone else to start laughing about God-knows-what. You nod along, distracted, and then your phone vibrates again.

"Yeah... You were really fun at the party. ;) I kinda wanna see you again."

Your heart does this stupid skip thing, and you tell yourself it’s just the beer. She’s probably just bored. Horny. You tell yourself to play it cool.

"Is that so?"

The next message hits different.

"Come over."

Two words. That’s it. And then, right after, the low blow: a picture.

It’s not outright explicit, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s in these tiny-ass pajamas—shorts so loose you can see the curve of her thigh, a top hanging off one shoulder like it’s about to slide off completely. Her blonde hair’s a little messy, like she’s been rolling around on her bed, and her lips are pouty, her eyes big and innocent, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

She knows. She fucking knows.

Your friends are still talking, still laughing, oblivious to the war happening inside your head. You take another sip of your beer and stare at the photo.

"What’s the catch?"

She replies with another picture. This one’s worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. The shorts have ridden up higher, and her hand’s resting on her bare thigh, just teasing enough to make you swallow hard.

The caption?

"No catch. Just... us."

You’re toast. Game over. Whatever thin line of resistance you had is gone. You drain the rest of your beer in one long gulp and stand up, grabbing your jacket.

“Where you going?” one of your friends asks, looking up from his half-dead vape pen.

“New plans,” you say, keeping it vague, keeping it casual. No one needs to know.

You text Winter on your way out the door:

"On my way."

Her reply comes immediately, a simple:

"Good. Door’s unlocked. You already know the address."

And just like that, you’re heading into the night, her photos burned into your brain and your chest pounding like you’ve already lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

—

The elevator hums faintly, a low mechanical noise that fills the silence as you lean against the wall, hands shoved in your jacket pockets. The building smells faintly of floor cleaner and old carpet, and the dim light overhead flickers every few seconds. You glance at the number ticking upward, trying to focus on anything but the flood of memories crowding your head.

The party. You hadn’t planned on much. Show up, grab a drink, maybe stick around long enough to prove you weren’t a total recluse. You weren’t exactly in a social mood, but your friends had dragged you along anyway, saying something about getting you out of your funk. You weren’t even there ten minutes before you saw her. Kim Minjeong.

Winter, as she likes to be called.

She’d practically lit up the room. Blonde hair catching the crappy strobe lights, this magnetic energy that somehow felt both chaotic and easygoing at the same time. You’d been nursing your beer, trying to stay inconspicuous, when she caught your eye and grinned like she already knew all your secrets. It wasn’t long before she was laughing at some half-assed joke you made, her laugh contagious, her hand brushing your arm. Flirting came naturally, her words laced with playful teasing.

And then—your place. Her legs wrapped around you, her breathy moans filling the room as your name spilled from her lips. The way she pulled you closer like she couldn’t get enough, the way her nails dug into your back when you made her come. This story was repeated at another party, then another. And now...

The elevator dings, snapping you back to reality.

You step out into the hallway, the carpet muffling your steps as you make your way to her door. Your stomach twists—anticipation, nerves, maybe a bit of both. The memory of her last message sits heavy in your chest. "Door’s unlocked."

You knock lightly anyway, out of habit, before pushing the door open.

And then she’s there.

Winter launches herself at you like a bullet, arms flinging around your neck, her body colliding with yours so fast you almost stumble back. Your hands fly to her waist instinctively, steadying her, and she clings to you like you’ve been gone for months.

“You came,” she breathes. Her face is so close to yours, her warm breath brushing your cheek, her big eyes looking up at you like you’re the answer to every unspoken question.

“Yeah, I—”

Before you can finish, she presses her lips to yours.

Her kiss is needy, urgent, like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. Her hands move to your hair, fingers tangling in it as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. You tighten your grip on her waist, her small frame fitting against you perfectly. Her lips are soft and slightly sweet, probably from whatever she’d been drinking before you got here.

You walk her backward, barely breaking the kiss long enough to navigate, until you feel the edge of the couch hit your legs. You sit down, pulling her with you so she lands on your lap, her thighs straddling yours.

“Miss me?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

“Not sure,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though your hands are already sliding down her sides. “Depends on how much trouble you’re planning to cause tonight.”

Her grin is wicked, her eyes sparkling as she cups your jaw. “A lot. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Probably,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss her again.

She hums against your mouth, her fingers tracing along your jawline. “Good,” she whispers. “I like being your problem.”

You laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm, you love it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hands grip her hips says enough.

Her lips barely leave yours as she speaks, her words soft and breathy between kisses. “Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?”

The question lands like a curveball, and for a second, you freeze. Her hands are still in your hair, her hips firmly planted on your lap, but she’s pulled back just enough to study your face. Her eyes are sharp, curious, and maybe a little accusing.

“I was busy,” you reply, trying to sound casual as your hands settle on her waist.

Winter narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly like she’s not buying it. “Too busy to pick up the phone? Really?”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, though your hands don’t leave her hips. “I answered your texts, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after I sent about ten,” she counters, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “More importantly, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She seems to consider that for a moment, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Okay, fine. You get a pass... this time.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Highness,” you tease, earning a playful swat on your shoulder.

Her grin softens, and then she tilts her head, giving you a look that’s somehow both sweet and devious. “So... you don’t secretly have a girlfriend or anything, right?”

The laugh escapes you before you can stop it, loud and genuine. “What? No. Where’d that even come from?”

Winter shrugs, but there’s a sly glint in her eye. “I don’t know... You’re kinda hot. Feels like you’d be someone’s boyfriend already.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’m not. You’re not sharing me with anyone.”

“Good,” she says, her tone a little too triumphant. She leans down again, her lips brushing yours. “Because I don’t like sharing.”

You chuckle against her mouth, your fingers giving her hips a light squeeze. “Noted.”

There’s a brief lull, the kind where the weight of the moment lingers, and then she pulls back slightly, her eyes locking on yours. “Hey,” she starts, her tone shifting to something softer. “Wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden suggestion. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up a little straighter on your lap. “Like, a casual thing. No big deal.”

You hesitate, your mind running in circles. Coffee. That’s... date territory, isn’t it? Things between you two already feel fast, tangled, intense. The memory of her in your bed is still fresh, and now she’s talking about coffee like it’s nothing.

“Don’t you think we’re moving kinda fast?” you ask, your voice careful.

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she smirks, her tone light and teasing. “It’s coffee, not a wedding. What’s the big deal?”

You exhale, shaking your head with a small laugh. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much,” she replies, her grin widening. “So, is that a yes?”

You stare at her for a moment, her face close to yours, her weight warm and solid on your lap. Something about her makes it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you mutter, smirking. “But you’re buying.”

She laughs, leaning in to kiss you again. “Deal.”

Winter shifts on your lap, her legs straddling you more comfortably as she leans in close, her arms loosely draped around your shoulders. Her expression is playful, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.

“So,” she starts, her voice soft and sweet, “tell me something about you. Something real. Like... what do you do for work?”

You smirk, leaning back into the couch. “What, now you’re interviewing me?”

“Yep,” she says with a grin. “Can’t just make out with a stranger all the time. Gotta know who I’m dealing with.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Well, I just left college not too long ago. Now I’m working this boring office job—data entry and spreadsheets. Real thrilling stuff.”

Winter tilts her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “Office job, huh? So you’re, like, a suit-and-tie kind of guy now?”

“More like khakis and button-downs. Nothing fancy.”

“Hmm,” she muses. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well, it pays the bills. What about you? What do you do?”

Winter’s smile widens, and she shrugs a little too casually. “I’m a stylist. Hair, makeup, fashion—the whole package.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up.

“Why’s that so surprising?” she teases, leaning in closer, her face inches from yours.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you for that. But I guess it makes sense. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Thanks,” she says, clearly pleased with the compliment. Then, out of nowhere, she drops the bombshell: “Oh, and I already knew you before that party.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We went to the same college.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up straighter, your hands tightening slightly on her hips.

Winter nods, biting her lip like she’s trying not to laugh at your shock. “Yep. Saw you around campus all the time.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Her cheeks flush slightly, her confidence faltering just a bit. “I was shy back then. Plus, you were always surrounded by other girls.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I wasn’t surrounded by girls.”

“You were,” she insists, grinning. “And I thought you were cute, so I didn’t want to deal with the competition.”

You lean in slightly, your voice dropping. “Well, I thought you were beautiful at the party, you know. Everything about you—your clothes, your hair, your smile. You kind of lit up the whole place.”

Winter’s smile softens, and she looks at you like you just handed her the world. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you reply firmly. “It’s the truth.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling.

“Do you think about me after we had sex? I mean, whe I leave?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

You pause, the question hanging heavily between you. Instead of answering, you turn it back on her. “Do you think about me?”

Her response is immediate. “Of course I do.”

You blink, a little taken aback by her honesty.

“I kept thinking about our kiss,” she continues, her hands sliding down to rest on your chest. “About your hands on me. The way you were so... affectionate and strong at the same time. And how mysterious you are. Like, you give just enough to make me want more.”

Her words wash over you, leaving you almost speechless. You swallow hard, her gaze locking onto yours, and before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.

“I thought about you too,” you admit. “Just a little. The way you moaned in my ear, soft and slow. The way you pulled me closer, like you couldn’t get enough. And...” You trail off, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this tight little ass of yours.”

Winter lets out a small gasp, her cheeks flushing red, but the sly grin creeping across her face tells you she likes it.

“Is that so?” she teases, her voice trembling slightly as she rocks her hips against your hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss her again. “It’s burned into my brain.”

Her laugh is breathy and soft against your lips as she kisses you back, her arms wrapping tighter around your neck. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Winter’s hips shift subtly in your lap, her thighs squeezing against yours like she’s testing how far she can push you. Her breath is warm against your neck, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispers, “Show me how much Daddy missed me.”

Your grip on her tightens instinctively, your hands digging into the curve of her ass. Something about the way she says it, soft but deliberate, ignites a spark in your chest and sends it straight to your groin.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond with words, just tilts her head, offering her neck like a challenge. You lean in, your teeth grazing her skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp, her fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer.

Your touch grows firmer, your hands roaming her body like you’re staking a claim. Winter notices—of course, she does—and the sly smile spreading across her lips only feeds the fire.

“Take this off,” you mutter, your fingers toying with the hem of her top.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, raising her arms obediently, her gaze fixed on yours. The top slides up and over her head, revealing her bare chest underneath. No bra, just smooth, pale skin and her small, almost flat breasts. Her nipples are soft, pink against the lighter tone of her skin, and for a moment, all you can do is take her in.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice thick with something between awe and desire.

Winter blushes slightly but doesn’t look away, her confidence unwavering as she leans closer, her hands resting on your shoulders. “Well?” she teases, her voice softer now. “Aren’t you gonna touch me?”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your lips find her chest, warm and delicate against your mouth. You kiss along the curve of her small breasts, your hands sliding up her sides until your thumbs brush against the soft skin beneath her nipples. Winter sighs, her head tilting back slightly, her fingers tightening on your shoulders.

You take your time, your lips closing around one nipple, kissing it before flicking your tongue over the sensitive peak. Her skin tastes clean, warm, slightly sweet, and you can feel her chest rise and fall against your mouth as her breathing quickens.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her voice soft but needy. “That feels so good.”

Your hand moves to her other breast, your fingers gently teasing the nipple as you kiss and suck on the first. Winter shifts in your lap, her thighs pressing tighter against yours as she arches into your touch.

“God, I missed this,” you mutter against her skin, your lips dragging across her chest to give her other nipple the same attention.

Winter lets out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into your hair. “You're making it hard to believe that you were thinking about me just a little bit.”

You look up at her, your lips brushing her skin as you smirk. “Maybe I've been thinking about you too much.”

Your mouth trails upward, leaving her chest for her soft, exposed neck. Winter tilts her head to the side, offering it to you like it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. You kiss along her skin, slow at first, testing, and then your lips part, and you suck gently.

Her breath catches. “Oh, fuck,” she whispers.

You grin against her neck, dragging your tongue along the spot where you know her pulse is fluttering wildly. “I’m gonna leave marks,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So you don’t forget me.”

Winter’s fingers slip from your hair to your shoulders, her nails digging into your shirt-covered skin. “Do it,” she pleads, her voice breathy and desperate. “Please, daddy, mark me.”

Something about the way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. You latch onto her neck, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. She writhes in your lap, her hips shifting against yours as soft moans spill from her lips.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You move to a new spot, just below her jawline, and suck again, harder this time. Winter whimpers, her hands slipping under your shirt. Her touch is cool and electric against your bare skin, her little nails dragging lightly at first and then scratching down your back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the sting from her nails mixing with the heat of her body against yours.

She smirks, her confidence peeking through as she lifts your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin. “If you’re gonna mark me,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “I’m marking you too.”

Her nails dig in harder this time, her hands roaming your back and sides with purpose. You feel the faint burn of each scratch, and it only makes you want her more.

You pull back just enough to look at her, her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her neck now adorned with faint red marks from your mouth. “You’re trouble,” you mutter, your hands sliding back to her hips, pulling her tighter against you.

Winter grins, biting her lip as she looks down at you. “Your trouble,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in to suck on another spot just below her ear. Her moan this time is louder, her nails dragging down your chest in response.

Your hand slides down Winter’s side, sneaking under the hem of her loose shorts. The moment your fingers brush against her panties, you freeze.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling back slightly to look at her. “You’re soaking wet already?”

Winter’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look embarrassed—if anything, she looks proud, biting her lip as she gazes down at you. “Just from your kisses,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers dipping further, sliding over the slick heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re telling me this is all because of me?”

She lets out a soft gasp, her hips shifting against your hand. “It’s because I’ve been thinking about you. All night. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, your thumb brushing against her clit through the damp fabric. Her reaction is instant—a sharp intake of breath, her nails digging into your shoulders as she presses closer.

You lean in, biting her lower lip just enough to make her whimper. The faint taste of her cherry lip gloss lingers on your tongue, sweet and sticky, and you pull back with a smirk. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh? Let’s see just how much.”

Grabbing her waist, you lift her slightly, laying her back on the couch. Winter looks up at you with wide, eager eyes, her breathing quick as your hands slide to her shorts.

“Let’s get these off,” you say, your voice rough.

She lifts her hips obediently, letting you pull the shorts down her legs. The thin fabric catches for a moment on her thighs before slipping away completely, leaving her in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, already darkened with wetness.

“Goddamn,” you murmur, tossing the shorts aside. “I missed this. Missed the way you taste.”

Winter squirms under your gaze, her lips parting as she whispers, “Then come and get me.”

You take off your jacket and throw it on the floor before you push her legs apart, pale and soft under your hands, guiding her closer to the edge of the couch. You remove her panties in one smooth motion. The sight of her drives you insane—her pink folds glistening, practically begging for your tongue. You kneel between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, your thumbs brushing just close enough to tease.

“Patience,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm under your lips, the faint scent of her arousal filling your senses as you trail kisses along her thigh, inching closer to where she needs you most.

Winter moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. “Don’t tease me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

You smirk, your lips brushing against her skin. “But you like it, don’t you? Makes it even better when I finally give you what you want.”

She whimpers, her hips shifting toward your mouth. “Please, daddy,” she breathes. “I need you.”

You grin against her skin, dragging your tongue up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, savoring every shiver and gasp. “You’ll get me,” you murmur, your voice low. “But I’m gonna take my time first.”

Your fingers glide lower, grazing her entrance, and the slick heat against your skin makes your cock throb. “You’re dripping, Winter,” you murmur, teasing her as your fingers just barely slip inside before pulling back.

She arches her back slightly, her hips chasing your hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she whispers, her voice soft and breathy.

“Please what?” you ask, your tone laced with mock innocence. You drag your fingers through her wetness, just enough to make her gasp, but you don’t give her what she wants.

Winter whines, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs twitch against your shoulders. “Please... suck me. I need it,” she begs, her voice trembling.

“Need it?” You smirk, your fingers circling her clit lightly, watching the way her body reacts to every touch. “I don’t think you’ve begged enough.”

Her head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a frustrated moan. “Daddy, please,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I’ll be good. Just—please. I need your mouth on me.”

“Better,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from her. You can feel the heat radiating off her pussy, the scent of her arousal making your head spin. “But I want to hear you beg like you really mean it.”

Her hips buck again, and she whimpers, her voice desperate now. “Please, daddy, please suck me. I need your tongue. I need to feel you. I’ll do anything, just—fuck, please!”

That’s all it takes to break you.

“Good girl,” you mutter before diving in.

Your tongue runs flat against her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she shudders under you. The taste of her—sweet, salty, perfect—hits your tongue, and it’s almost overwhelming. You groan against her, your hands gripping her thighs to keep her open as you suck gently on her swollen clit.

“Oh my God,” Winter gasps, her back arching off the couch. “Fuck, yes—just like that.”

You don’t stop, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping lower to tease her entrance. She’s so wet, the slickness coating your lips and chin as you lap at her like you can’t get enough. Her moans grow louder, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer.

“Fuck, daddy,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth. “You’re so good at this—oh, fuck—don’t stop.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her cry out. Your tongue plunges into her, tasting her from the inside, while your thumb comes up to rub slow circles on her clit.

“Shit, you taste so good,” you mutter, your voice muffled against her. “I could do this all fucking night.”

Her breath catches, and her moans turn into desperate little whimpers. “Oh, fuck—I’m so close, please, don’t stop, please—”

Her begging drives you wild, your tongue glides along Winter’s folds, teasing her clit as you feel her squirm beneath your touch. But as much as her gasps and whimpers fuel your hunger, you decide to take it further. Your fingers slip down between her legs, sliding easily over her soaked pussy.

“Fuck,” you murmur, glancing up at her flushed face. “You’re so wet, Winter. You always get this messy just thinking about me?”

She nods weakly, her lips parting to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky moan as you press one finger inside her. The heat and tightness make your cock ache, and when you add a second finger, you’re rewarded with a sharp cry that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You remember last time?” you ask, curling your fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her melt before. “That sweet cream you gave me? I want it again.”

Winter’s head falls back against the couch, her hips bucking into your hand as your fingers pump into her. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice high and needy. “Daddy, I—fuck—I’ll give it to you, just don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” you growl, your pace quickening. Your fingers thrust into her slick pussy, the sound obscene, wet, and fucking addictive. You can feel her walls tightening around you, and as you pull your fingers out slightly, you watch as a thin, creamy slickness clings to them.

“There it is,” you say, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

Winter’s face is a mess of pleasure, her moans coming louder and more desperate as you keep going. “Oh, fuck, daddy, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you cut her off, leaning in to suck on her clit while your fingers keep working her. “You’re gonna cum for me, Winter. I want all of it.”

She cries out, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs tremble around your head. “I’m close—fuck, I’m so close!”

You redouble your efforts, your tongue swirling over her swollen clit while your fingers curl and thrust, hitting that spot inside her with relentless precision. Her moans turn into frantic gasps, her body tensing as the pressure builds.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur against her, your breath hot on her sensitive skin. “Give it to me. I want to taste all of you.”

Her body arches off the couch as she lets out a broken scream, her pussy clenching hard around your fingers as she cums. You keep going, licking and sucking at her clit, swallowing every drop of her as her juices coat your tongue. Your fingers slow but don’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she’s shaking and gasping for breath.

Finally, you pull back, your lips and chin glistening with her arousal. Winter looks at you through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and trembling. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you meet her gaze. “Told you I missed your taste.”

Her laugh is soft and breathy, and she reaches out to pull you closer.

“And I missed you,” she murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”

You lean up, your lips crashing against Winter’s in a desperate, heated kiss. She doesn’t hesitate, kissing you back with just as much intensity, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. Her taste lingers on your tongue, sweet and salty, and when her lips part to deepen the kiss, you can feel her shiver against you.

Between kisses, her breathless voice cuts through. “I need you,” she whispers, her tone thick with want. “I need your cock, daddy.”

Her words are gasoline on the fire already burning in you. You tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it aside. Your hands drop to your belt, unbuckling it with quick, impatient movements. Winter watches you, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the bulge straining against your underwear. The sound of your zipper fills the room as you shove your pants down, kicking off your shoes and stepping out of everything, leaving only your boxers.

Your cock is rock-hard, the fabric damp where precum has seeped through. Winter’s hand reaches out, slender fingers grazing the outline of you through the thin material.

“Fuck,” Winter whispers. She slides her hand inside your waistband, freeing you in one swift motion.

The moment your cock is out, her small hand wraps around it, stroking you slowly at first, her touch firm but teasing. Her thumb glides over the head, spreading the wetness there as her lips crash against yours again.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she murmurs against your mouth, her strokes growing bolder.

“For you,” you growl, biting at her lower lip as your hips thrust lightly into her hand.

Her grip tightens just enough to make you groan, but you pull back, grabbing her wrists to stop her before this ends too soon.

“Turn around,” you command.

Winter obeys instantly, her movements eager as she twists to lie on her belly on the couch. You guide her legs up, positioning her so her knees rest on the arm of the couch, her ass raised in the air and her thighs trembling.

The sight of her like this—completely vulnerable, her pale skin flushed, her pussy glistening and ready—makes your breath hitch. You step behind her, standing on the floor, your cock twitching as you grip her hips, lining yourself up.

“Beg for it,” you demand.

Winter lets out a soft whine, her head turning to glance back at you. “Please, daddy,” she starts, her voice shaking. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad. I need your cock inside me.”

“That’s not good enough,” you growl, gripping her ass and squeezing hard.

Her voice grows louder, more desperate. “Please, daddy, I’ll be so good for you. I’ll take all of you. Just—fuck, please! I need you to fill me up. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

You smirk, the raw need in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s better,” you mutter, your hands sliding up her thighs as you position yourself.

“You’re gonna feel every inch of me, baby,” you promise, your voice dark and full of intent. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You don’t bother teasing. Gripping Winter’s soft hips firmly, you position yourself at her entrance, the slick heat of her pussy already pulling you in. And then you push forward, slamming into her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Her gasp is sharp, a mix of surprise and raw pleasure. “Oh, fuck!” she cries, her body jerking forward on the couch.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, pausing just for a second as her pussy clenches tight around you. “You’re fucking tight, Winter. So goddamn tight.”

She moans in response, her head turning slightly to glance back at you. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are already hazy with need. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice breathy. “Fuck me harder. I need it.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you growl, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her cry of pleasure spurs you on, and soon you’re setting a brutal pace, your hips slamming against her ass with every thrust.

Her pussy grips you like a vice, impossibly tight and hot, and each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You grab a handful of her ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as you drive into her over and over.

“Shit,” you groan, your voice rough as your hips snap forward. “You take it so fucking good. This tight little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice high and needy. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her hands claw at the cushions, her body rocking with every thrust. You lean over her slightly, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up her back, pressing her down into the couch. The new angle has her crying out, her pussy clenching even tighter around you.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your breath ragged. “You’re so goddamn wet. So tight. Feels like you’re trying to milk my cock.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, each one making your cock throb inside her. “More,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I need more. Please, fuck me harder. Use me.”

You oblige without hesitation, your grip on her hips tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. The sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her desperate moans and your own rough grunts.

“You love this, don’t you?” you growl. “Getting fucked like this, bent over and taking it. You’re such a good little slut for me.”

Her response is immediate, a loud, breathless moan as her back arches. “Yes! I love it—I fucking love it!”

Your thrusts don’t falter, hips slamming into Winter’s ass with relentless force, the wet, filthy sounds of her tight pussy taking you driving you insane. Her body shakes with every thrust, her moans coming louder and louder, each one dripping with desperate need.

And then you glance down at her ass—small, pale, and bouncing every time you slam into her. The sight sends a wicked idea flashing through your mind, and without thinking twice, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek.

The smack echoes in the room, and Winter cries out, the sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp of shock. “Fuck!” she whimpers, her head snapping up as her back arches.

You grin, your hand tingling from the impact. “You like that?” you growl, squeezing the soft, warm flesh you just marked.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice high and breathless. “Do it again.”

Your hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound sharper, and Winter’s reaction is immediate. She moans loudly, pushing her ass back toward you like the filthy little slut she is. “More,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Please, spank your good girl’s ass. I need it.”

“Yeah?” you say, your tone low and mocking as your hand rubs over the red print blooming on her cheek. “You need me to mark this pretty little ass of yours?”

“Yes,” she gasps, writhing beneath you. “Mark me. Use me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

The words flip a switch in you, and your hand comes down again, and again, each slap leaving a red handprint against her pale skin. Winter cries out every time, her moans turning to shameless, wanton whimpers as she pushes back into your hand, her pussy clenching tighter around your cock.

“Look at you,” you taunt, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Bent over and begging to get your ass spanked like a little whore.”

“Because I am,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I’m your little whore. Please, don’t stop. Spank me. Fuck me.”

Your hand comes down one more time, the slap ringing out, and Winter practically screams, her hips jerking forward before slamming back against you. Her ass is warm under your palm, the flesh reddened and glowing, and you can’t help but grab it, squeezing hard as you bury yourself inside her again.

“God, you’re such a slut,” you growl, your grip on her hips almost bruising. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You love being dominated, don’t you? Being used?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as she gasps for air. “I fucking love it. I love the way you use me.”

Her pussy grips you like a vice, her walls fluttering around you as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. But neither of you is there yet—this is just the beginning, and you’re nowhere near done with her.

Your thrusts are relentless, Winter’s high-pitched screams filling the room, each one tearing through you like fuel on a fire. Her once-pale ass is now completely red, the heat radiating from her skin as you give her one last hard slap. The sound echoes, and she cries out, her body trembling beneath you.

“Get up,” you order.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even question you. She pushes herself up from the couch, her legs shaky as she stands, looking over her shoulder at you with wide, obedient eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her flushed body trembling slightly as she waits for your next move.

You don’t give her time to think. Grabbing her by the waist, you lift her with ease, her small frame light in your hands. Her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, and her legs lock around your waist, pulling herself closer to you.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your cock brushing against her slick entrance as you position her. “So fucking obedient. You make me so goddamn hard.”

Her breath hitches, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “Anything for you, daddy. Use me however you want.”

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, the words making your cock twitch.

You push into her slowly, her wetness making it easy, but her tightness still squeezes you. Both of you moan at the same time, the sound mingling in the air as you bury yourself inside her.

Her voice is soft, trembling. “Oh my God... you’re so deep, daddy.”

“That’s because you’re made for me,” you reply, your voice low and rough as your hands grip her thighs. “Every inch of this tight little pussy is mine.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her nails digging into your shoulders as you start to move. You lift her up, her body sliding along your cock, slow at first, letting her feel every inch as you fill her completely.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your neck as she moans softly in your ear. “I love being your fucktoy.”

You groan, your grip on her tightening as you pick up the pace, moving her up and down on your cock like she’s nothing more than a doll in your hands. Her moans grow louder, each one hitting your ear and making your cock throb inside her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, your voice thick with lust. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

“I love it,” she whimpers, her hips moving in time with yours, her voice high and needy. “I love the way you use me. You make me feel so good—so full.”

“You’re my good girl,” you growl, biting at her neck as you fuck her harder. “And it’s my fucking job to ruin you.”

Her cry is almost a scream, her nails dragging down your back as she clings to you. “Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Ruin me, daddy. Fuck me however you want. I’m yours.”

Your grip tightens on Winter’s thighs as you start pounding into her harder, your movements raw and unforgiving. Her gasps turn into high-pitched moans, her breath hitching with every thrust as her body clings to yours.

“This what you wanted so bad?” you growl, your voice rough against her ear. “You called me over just to get fucked like this?”

“Yes,” she cries out. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I needed your cock—I needed you to fuck me. Make me cum, please!”

“Fuck, you’re so naughty,” you growl, biting her neck lightly as your hips snap forward, driving her down onto your cock with brutal force. “A little slut, calling me in the middle of the night just to get used like this.”

“Yes!” she moans, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against you. “I’m your little slut—I love it! I love being your whore!”

Her words fuel something dark and primal in you, and you slam her down harder, her body bouncing against yours like a rag doll. “Yeah?” you snarl, your tone dripping with dominance. “Then be a good slut and cum on my cock. Right fucking now.”

Winter’s cries rise into screams as you adopt a brutal rhythm, your hands gripping her ass and thighs tightly, throwing her body onto your cock like she’s nothing more than your personal toy. Her moans are loud, desperate, raw, and you can feel her body trembling, teetering on the edge.

“Cum,” you command, your voice firm and unrelenting. “Cum for me, Winter. Now.”

Her body stiffens, her head snapping back as she lets out a long, broken scream. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, her thighs quaking as waves of pleasure crash through her.

“Fuck!” she cries, her hands gripping you tighter, her nails digging into your back. Her entire body convulses, her moans turning into incoherent whimpers as her orgasm consumes her.

You lean in, attacking her neck with kisses and light bites, your breath hot against her skin. Her eyes roll back, her lips parted in silent screams, and you hold her tightly, keeping her steady as her body jerks uncontrollably in your arms.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, your tone softer now. “My good girl. You did so good for me.”

Winter’s breathing is ragged, her body limp in your arms as she comes down from the high. You shift your grip, holding her gently, your lips brushing along her jawline and cheeks, peppering her with soft kisses.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your hands smoothing over her back. “You deserved every second of that.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her face burying in your neck as she clings to you. “You’re gonna kill me,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but full of satisfaction.

“Not yet,” you reply with a smirk, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not done with you.”

Slowly, you lower her to the ground, setting her on her knees in front of you. She goes willingly, her legs trembling but obedient, her wide eyes looking up at you as she licks her lips.

Winter smiles, her voice soft and teasing. “Ready for more, sir?”

You look down at Winter, kneeling in front of you like the perfect little slut she loves to be. Her blonde hair is messy, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slightly parted, still red from all the biting and kissing. She looks wrecked, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“Yes,” you say, your voice low and full of hunger. “I’m ready for more. But the question is—are you?”

She nods eagerly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as her eyes flicker down to your cock. It’s still rock hard, slick with her arousal, twitching slightly as you step closer.

You grab the base, stroking it slowly as you guide it to her face. The swollen tip brushes against her soft cheek, and her breath hitches, her hands coming up to rest on your thighs for balance. You drag your cock across her flushed skin, over her delicate jawline, and finally against her lips.

“You see this?” you murmur, smirking as you tap the head of your cock against her mouth. “This is what you do to me, Winter. You’ve got me so fucking hard, and now I’m thinking about marking this pretty little face of yours.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as she presses a soft kiss to the head of your cock. “Do it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please, cum on my face. I want it. I want you to mark me.”

Her words send a jolt straight to your core, but you’re not letting her off that easy. You grip her chin gently, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. “If you want it so bad,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her lower lip, “you’re gonna have to earn it. Make me cum, Winter. Show me how much you want it.”

She doesn’t waste a second. Her hands wrap around your shaft, small and delicate against your thick cock, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the head. You let out a low groan, watching as she works, her eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your hand resting on the back of her head. “Show me what that pretty little mouth can do.”

Winter’s lips part, and she takes you in, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down your length. Her mouth is warm and wet, and the suction she creates has your knees threatening to buckle. She starts slow, her movements deliberate as she takes more of you, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair. “You look so fucking good like this, Winter. Taking me so well.”

She moans around you, the vibration making you curse under your breath. Her head bobs, her pace quickening as she gets more confident, more eager. Spit drips down her chin, her hands twisting at the base of your cock, and her soft little whimpers drive you closer to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” you mutter, your voice rough. “You’re so fucking good at this. Keep going—just like that.”

Her response is to take you even deeper, her throat constricting around you as she gags slightly, but she doesn’t stop. Her nails dig into your thighs, her moans growing louder, and you can feel yourself getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your grip on her hair tightening. “You’re gonna make me cum all over that pretty face of yours. Is that what you want? To be covered in me?”

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips slick and swollen. “Yes,” she gasps, stroking you with both hands. “I want it so bad. Please, cum for me, daddy. Mark me. I’ll take all of it.”

Her words are your undoing, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your core as she wraps her lips around you again, sucking you with even more determination.

Winter’s lips work over your cock like she was born to do it, her soft, pink mouth gliding along your length while her tongue swirls and flicks against the sensitive underside. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to keep your composure.

Her eyes glance up, locking onto yours, and fuck—it’s like she knows exactly what that look does to you. Wide, innocent, framed by her messy blonde hair, and full of something sinful. The combination of her gaze and the wet, obscene sound of her sucking you is almost too much.

“Goddamn, Winter,” you groan, your head falling back for a moment as you let yourself get lost in it. “You’re so fucking good at this. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She doubles down, taking you deeper, her lips stretching around your cock as her tongue continues to tease. You can feel her saliva dripping down, making a slick mess of her chin, but she doesn’t seem to care. If anything, she moans softly, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your fingers tightening in her hair. You glance down, and the sight of her small hands now cupping and massaging your balls makes your knees nearly give out. “Shit, baby, that’s... that’s so fucking good.”

Winter’s only response is another moan, muffled around your cock. She speeds up, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach, her tongue flicking over your tip with each pass. You can feel the pressure building in your gut, that telltale tightness letting you know you’re close.

“Fuck, Winter, stop,” you growl, pulling her off your cock with a wet pop. You’re panting, your cock twitching in your hand as you take a step back.

She looks up at you, her lips swollen and slick with spit, her chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?” she asks, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Because,” you say, gripping your cock and stroking it slowly, trying to hold back. “I’m gonna make a fucking mess of your face, and I need you to beg for it.”

Her eyes light up, and she leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her thighs. “Please,” she says, her voice soft and needy. “I want it. I want you to cum on me, daddy. I need it. Please, baby, please.”

“Shit,” you groan, the sound of her sweet little pleas making it impossible to hold back.

You stroke yourself faster, the slickness of her spit making it easy as you aim at her gorgeous face. Winter watches you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her expression full of anticipation.

“Fuck,” you growl, the tension snapping as you feel yourself tip over the edge. “Here it comes, baby. Take it all.”

The first hot spurt of cum hits her cheek, followed by another and another, painting her face in thick, messy streaks. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move—she just sits there, taking every drop like the good little slut she loves to be.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your strokes slowing as the last few ropes of cum land on her lips and chin.

Her lips curl into this filthy little smile, and she doesn’t waste a second. Her fingers are already working, sliding through the mess, gathering your cum like it’s something precious, smearing it across her cheeks, her forehead, even brushing it down to her neck. She spreads it out deliberately, almost artfully, until her face glistens with it, sticky and marked like she wants everyone to know exactly what she’s done. Exactly who she belongs to.

Her tongue flicks out, tasting the corner of her lips, humming softly as if savoring the flavor. She's in no rush to get clean, it's like Winter feels like she doesn't need to—she just leans into the mess, into the filth, wearing it like a badge of honor.

"You taste so fucking good, daddy,” she murmurs, her voice low and thick with satisfaction. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she drags her fingers to her lips, sucking one clean with a soft, wet pop. She grins wider, teeth flashing. "I could eat this off me all night.”

You smirk, brushing a thumb across her cheek to gather some of the cum she missed. “Clean me up,” you say, stepping closer and holding your cock in front of her mouth.

Winter leans in without hesitation, her tongue flicking out to lick along your length, cleaning every inch of you with slow, deliberate strokes. She takes you into her mouth one last time, sucking gently, her eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the moment.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her hair as she finishes. “You’re fucking perfect.”

—

The TV hums softly in the background, some late-night infomercial filling the quiet, but you’re not watching it. Your eyes are on Winter, her head resting on your lap as she sleeps. Her soft blonde hair falls over her face, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady. She looks so peaceful like this, curled up on the couch under your hand.

You stroke her hair absentmindedly, your mind drifting. It’s not the first time you’ve been like this with her, and that’s what’s messing you up. You think back to that night at her apartment—the way she kissed you like she’d been waiting her whole life for it, the way she moaned your name, the way she asked you to mark her, the way she fell asleep in your arms afterward.

And then, the morning after. That was unusual for you. Normally, you’d wake up, maybe share some awkward small talk, and then you’d be gone. No texts, no calls, just a memory and a closed chapter. But with Winter...

You remember how she clung to you that morning, burying her face in your chest, refusing to let you go. How you didn’t mind staying in bed with her, your arms wrapped around her, her warmth sinking into you. It was so... different.

Now here you are again. Winter on your lap, completely comfortable with you being here. And you, sitting here like an idiot, unable to tear yourself away. If only she wasn’t so cute, so sweet, so... fucking irresistible.

You sigh quietly and glance at the clock. It’s late, and you know you shouldn’t stay. Carefully, you slide your hand out from under her head and shift her onto the couch, laying her down gently. She murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. You grab a blanket from the armrest and drape it over her, tucking it around her small frame.

You pause for a moment, just looking at her. God, she’s beautiful. Too beautiful.

Shaking your head, you grab your jacket and head for the door. You’ve got your hand on the doorknob when you hear a soft, groggy voice behind you.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze, turning to see Winter sitting up on the couch, her eyes heavy with sleep but full of confusion. She looks at you like a child caught waking up to an empty room, her expression tugging at something deep inside you.

“I was just leaving,” you say quietly. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She gets up slowly, the blanket falling off her shoulders as she shuffles over to you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her cheek pressing against your chest. “Stay,” she murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

You hesitate, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides. “Winter...”

“Why do you always run away?” she asks, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“I’m not running away,” you say, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those big, questioning eyes. “Yes, you are. You did it the first time, and the second, and—God, you always do this. Why?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t... I don’t do relationships, Winter. That’s not my thing. I’m not trying to hurt you—I just...”

“Just what?” she presses. “What are you so afraid of?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you take a deep breath and say, “Maybe I like you more than I should. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and you feel her grip on your shirt tighten.

“Relationships are messy,” you continue, your voice low. “They’re complicated. And I’m not good at that shit. I don’t want to fuck this up, Winter. I don’t want to fuck you up.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening. “You’re not fucking me up,” she says quietly. “You’re... you’re making me happy. And I think I make you happy too. Or am I wrong?”

You look at her, the vulnerability in her eyes. “You do,” you admit. “You make me feel things I don't want to feel, Winter.”

“Then stay,” she whispers. “Just for tonight. Stop running, just... stay with me.”

Her words hang in the air, and for once, you don’t have a reason to say no. Letting out a heavy sigh, you throw your jacket back on the couch and wrap your arms around her and pulling her close, resting your chin on top of her head.

“Alright,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Winter hugs you tighter, her body relaxing against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of relief.

Winter tugs you back to the couch, her small hands wrapped around your wrist as she pulls you down beside her. The blanket slips off the couch as she curls up next to you, her head resting against your shoulder.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask, glancing down at her.

“Better,” she murmurs, her voice soft and still a little groggy. “Just a little cold.”

You tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “Want me to grab you something from your closet? A hoodie or something?”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks up at you. “No. You’re already enough to warm me up.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “You’re so clingy.”

“And that's why you like me,” she shoots back, leaning into you a little more.

You sigh, letting the moment settle for a bit, but then Winter shifts, sitting up slightly to face you. There’s something in her eyes now—a mix of curiosity and determination that instantly puts you on edge.

“So,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “Why are you so anti-relationship?”

“Winter…” you warn, already feeling the weight of the conversation she’s trying to start.

“Nope,” she says, cutting you off with a shake of her head. “Don’t brush me off. You just admitted you like me, so now I get to ask questions.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the couch. “This is why I don’t talk about shit like this.”

“Too bad,” she says firmly, poking your chest with her finger. “Spill.”

You let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine. You want the story? Here it is.”

Winter doesn’t say anything, just waits, her eyes locked on you, her expression soft but focused.

“It was high school,” you start, your voice quieter now. “I was seventeen. She was… everything. Or at least, I thought she was. We were together for two years—serious, like, talking-about-the-future serious. Then, out of nowhere, she dumped me. Said she was bored. Two years, and she just… walked away like it was nothing.”

Winter’s face twists in disbelief. “Are you serious? She said that? That she was bored?”

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Yeah. And she was already hooking up with some guy from her physics class a week later. Guess I wasn’t exciting enough.”

“That’s fucking awful,” Winter says, her voice soft but filled with anger on your behalf.

“Yeah, well, it kind of destroyed me,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was stupid enough to think it was love, you know? Thought she was the one or whatever. But after that, I decided I wasn’t gonna deal with that shit anymore. Relationships are messy, and people suck.”

Winter doesn’t say anything right away, just stares at you like she’s trying to piece you together. Finally, she asks, “So, what? You’re just gonna live the rest of your life alone?”

“Pretty much,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not living in the 50s, Winter. I don’t need to get married or settle down to be happy.”

Her brow furrows, and she shifts closer, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “I’m sorry you went through that. I really am. But…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” she continues, her voice firm, “not everyone’s like her. Not everyone’s gonna break your heart.”

You scoff lightly. “Right. Until they do.”

Winter shakes her head, her hand squeezing your knee. “I’m not saying you have to trust everyone. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t shut the door completely. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

You glance at her, her face so earnest it almost hurts to look at her. “What are you getting at?”

She takes a deep breath, her hand moving to cover yours. “I’m saying… give me a chance. Let me show you that relationships don’t have to be messy and painful. That they can be good, too.”

“Winter…”

“Just think about it,” she says softly. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for a chance. For us.”

Her eyes search yours, and for the first time in years, you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crack, just a little.

“Why me, anyway?” you finally ask. “There are so many guys out there—guys who actually want to date, who don’t have all this baggage.”

Winter sits back a little, still close but giving you enough space to think. Her eyes stay locked on yours, though, unwavering. “Because none of them are you,” she says softly, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of her answer. “What does that even mean?”

She smiles, a small, almost shy curve of her lips. “It means I don’t want someone else. I want you. You’re funny, and you’re smart, and you’re—” She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re different. In the best way.”

You snort lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Different how?”

“You just are,” she says, leaning forward. “Remember that night I couldn’t sleep, and you were up playing video games? We messaged for hours, just talking about the dumbest shit.”

You do remember. She’d been wide awake at 2 a.m., texting you about how she hated the sound of the neighbor’s wind chimes. You’d been mid-match, only half-paying attention at first, but then she’d started making jokes, and somehow you’d ended up talking until the sun came up.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “That was... pretty cool.”

“Exactly,” she says, her smile growing. “You made me feel better that night without even trying. And it wasn’t just that. It’s everything. The way you talk, the way you think. You don’t even realize how... captivating you are.”

You glance away, the intensity of her gaze making your stomach twist. “You’re overselling me, Winter.”

“I’m not,” she says, and before you can argue, she climbs into your lap. Her movements are smooth and confident, and suddenly, she’s straddling you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re scared,” she says softly, her face inches from yours. “And I get it. But if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t get tired of me.”

You look at her, her wide, earnest eyes, her lips slightly parted, and you know she’s being honest. You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. “I already know I wouldn’t get tired of you,” you admit, your voice low. “That’s the problem.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” You pause, your hands instinctively settling on her waist. “What if it’s the other way around? What if you get tired of me?”

She stares at you for a moment, and then, without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you. It’s soft at first, her lips brushing against yours gently, but then she deepens it, her hands sliding up to cup your face. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an answer.

When she finally pulls back, her voice is firm. “I’m not going to get tired of you.”

You stare at her, her words settling somewhere deep inside you, and you can’t find it in yourself to argue.

She smiles again, softer this time, her fingers tracing along your jaw. “So... is tomorrow’s coffee still on?”

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “As long as you’re feeling better.”

She grins, her eyes lighting up. “Deal.”

Winter’s hand moves slowly over your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your shirt. Her gaze softens, though there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “So,” she starts, her tone low and inviting, “what do you think about celebrating this new phase of ours… in bed?”

“You’re sick, Winter.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I feel cured already.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Do you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, leaning in closer, her fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against your bare skin. “And if I’m not, maybe you could… help with that?”

Your laugh is soft, though your body betrays you, your hands already resting on her hips. “You really think I’m gonna fuck you when you’re sick?”

“Why not?” she counters, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Are you saying you’d stop just because of that?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though your grip on her hips tightens slightly. “Because I actually care about your well-being, even if you don’t.”

Her smile widens, and she leans closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “For the sake of my well-being, I need to be fucked really hard. By you.”

You pull back slightly, giving her an incredulous look. “And how exactly is that supposed to help?”

She shrugs, her fingers sliding further up your chest. “It’s alternative treatment,” she says, her tone teasing. “I’m pretty sure it’s good for circulation or something.”

You shake your head, fighting a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re already hard,” she points out, shifting her weight slightly to grind her hips against your lap. The motion is subtle, but it’s enough to make your cock twitch, the heat of her body pressing against you.

“Winter—” you start, but she cuts you off, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re hard from the thought of fucking a sick, vulnerable girl,” she says, her voice dropping to a provocative whisper.

You smirk, your hands sliding down to squeeze her little ass. “You don’t look very vulnerable right now.”

She laughs softly, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re right. I’m not. In fact, I’m fucking horny.”

Her words send a jolt straight through you, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re standing, lifting her effortlessly into your arms. Winter squeals softly, her legs wrapping around your waist, her hands locking behind your neck.

“You’re so fucking naughty,” you mutter, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“And you’re irresistible,” she counters, grinning.

You glance down at her, her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, her lips slightly parted. “You are too,” you admit, your voice quieter. “Too fucking irresistible for your own good.”

She leans in, brushing her lips against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “Then don’t resist.”

You step into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you before lowering her onto the bed. She looks up at you, her messy blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her lips curling into a pout. “Promise you’ll be affectionate with me after?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with mischief. “I'm so sensitive.”

You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sensitive? You? That’s the last thing you are.”

Her pout deepens, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “I can be sensitive!”

“Sure you can,” you tease, your hands already sliding under her shirt. “But I think we both know you’re a lot more dangerous than that.”

She grins, her hands tugging you closer. “Dangerous or not, I’m all yours.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmur, lowering yourself over her as your lips capture hers in a kiss that promises everything she asked for—and more.

As you pull back from the kiss, standing over Winter while starting to unbutton your shirt, she suddenly shifts, adopting this dramatic, old-Hollywood expression. Her eyes widen with mock innocence, her hand fluttering delicately to her chest.

“Oh, Doctor,” she says in an exaggerated, breathy voice, like a starlet from a black-and-white film. “Are you sure this… treatment is absolutely necessary?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“This treatment,” she repeats, pointing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels so… unconventional. I’m not sure I should be here.”

The way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to win an Oscar, makes you snort. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gasps, putting a hand to her cheek like you’ve just scandalized her. “I’m your patient, Doctor! You mustn’t mock me in my time of need!”

It finally clicks, and you shake your head, chuckling as you play along. “Oh, I see how it is,” you say, pulling your shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, already working on your pants. “Well, don’t worry, Miss Winter. You’re my favorite patient. The most beautiful, the most well-behaved. You deserve the best care.”

She covers her mouth like she’s shocked, then peeks through her fingers with a mischievous grin. “Oh, Doctor, you must say that to all your patients.”

“I don’t,” you say firmly, now standing in just your underwear. You slide your hands slowly down her thighs, her skin soft and warm beneath your palms. “You’re the only one I touch like this. The only one I care for in such a… special way.”

Winter bites her lip, pretending to be shy as she squirms under your touch. “Doctor,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “Promise you’ll take good care of me?”

You smirk, leaning down so your face is close to hers. “I promise. That’s my job, after all.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through her lashes. “You make me feel… strange things, Doctor.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Strange things? What kind of things, Miss Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip like she’s embarrassed. “Well… down there,” she says softly, gesturing vaguely toward her hips. “You make me all… wet.”

You fight back a grin, your hands tightening slightly on her thighs. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she continues, her voice growing more dramatic. “And I’ve been having such impure thoughts about you, Doctor. Thoughts about your… hands. And your lips. And other things.”

You let out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss her, slow and teasing. “That does sound serious,” you murmur against her lips. “But don’t worry, Miss Winter. I know exactly how to solve this.”

She gasps softly, her hands tangling in your hair as she kisses you back, her voice a little less dramatic now and a lot more needy. “Oh, Doctor,” she murmurs, her tone shifting into something real, full of anticipation.

You grab the hem of Winter’s oversized shirt, lifting it slowly, and the sight of her bare thighs makes your breath hitch. But when you lift it higher and realize she’s not wearing panties, her pussy already glistening, you pause.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’ve been walking around like this the whole time?”

She grins, her cheeks flushed but full of mischief. “Maybe. It's more practical to simply not wear panties around you.”

You slide a hand between her legs, your fingers brushing against her wetness, and she gasps, her hips jerking slightly. “Soaked,” you murmur, rubbing her gently. “You’re soaked already. You’ve been like this the whole time, haven’t you?”

“Since you walked in,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I’ve been dreaming about this cock since you got here.”

You lean in, kissing her hard while your fingers work her pussy, sliding along her slick folds. She moans into your mouth, her hands reaching down to grip your cock through your underwear. The pressure is just enough to make you groan, and she strokes you, slow and deliberate, her fingers wrapping around your length.

“Dreaming about me, huh?” you say, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. “Were you even sick, Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip before confessing, “Maybe… I'm not that sick.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m noticing that.”

Your fingers slide inside her, and she lets out a sharp gasp, her nails digging into your shoulders. She’s tight, hot, and so wet it’s almost obscene. You move slowly at first, curling your fingers just right, and her moans grow louder, her body arching into your touch.

But then you pull your fingers out, watching as they glisten with her slickness. Without a word, you bring them to her lips. “Suck,” you command softly.

Winter’s eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, parting her lips and taking your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around them, slow and sensual, and the sight of her makes your cock throb painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you mutter, watching the way her lips move, how she looks up at you like she’s daring you to lose control.

You pull your fingers from her mouth with a soft pop, her lips shiny with saliva, and you smirk. “Open your mouth,” you say, your voice rough.

She does as you ask, her lips parting slightly, and you spit, the act filthy and intimate. She takes it without hesitation, her tongue darting out to taste it before you lean in and kiss her hard, your hand gripping the back of her neck.

Your other hand comes up to her cheeks, holding her face as you pull back slightly. “Tell me,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

“That’s not polite,” you say, smirking. “Ask nicely.”

Her eyes darken, and she bites her lip before speaking again. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me. I need you so bad. Please.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her again before pulling back. “Lie down,” you command.

Winter obeys, sliding back on the bed until she’s lying flat, her legs spreading instinctively. You strip off your underwear, your cock springing free, hard and already leaking.

“Condom?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She shakes her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know we don’t need it.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I like to be polite.”

She giggles, her laughter soft and breathy. “You don’t look so polite when you’re fucking me like an animal.”

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her legs, your cock brushing against her entrance. “And you love it,” you say, rubbing the head of your cock along her slick folds, teasing her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hips shifting as she tries to take you in. “Yes, I love it. Please, don’t tease me.”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. “Then beg louder,” you murmur.

Winter’s whines turn into outright begging, her voice trembling as her hips tilt up, desperate to pull you in.

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands gripping the sheets. “Please, I need it so bad. I’ll be your little whore, I promise. I’ll be good, daddy. I’ll do whatever you say—just fuck me already.”

Her words make you grin, the filthy desperation in her voice hitting you in all the right places. You look down at her, her angelic face flushed with need, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on you, and you can’t help but marvel.

“How can you look so sweet,” you murmur, your voice low, “and be such a little slut at the same time?”

Winter moans at the words, her thighs trembling as she spreads her legs even wider. “I’m your slut,” she whispers. “Only yours. Please, please, don’t tease me anymore. I need you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, gripping her hips tightly. “You’re mine, huh? My needy little slut?”

“Yes, daddy,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets as her head tilts back. “All yours. Please, just fuck me!”

You don’t make her wait another second. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, all at once, hard and fast. The sheer heat and tightness of her pussy make you groan, your fingers digging into her hips as her scream of pleasure fills the room.

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, barely able to hold yourself back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She’s writhing beneath you, her back arching as her hands grab at your arms, her moans coming high-pitched and desperate. “Yes, yes, fuck—just like that!”

You don’t waste time easing into it. You pull back and slam into her again, setting a violent, unrelenting pace that has the bed creaking and her cries growing louder with every thrust. Her pussy clenches around you, slick and hot and perfect, pulling you deeper every time.

“Goddamn, you take it so good,” you growl, leaning over her as your hips snap against hers. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get fucked like this?”

“Yes!” she screams, her nails raking down your back. “Yes, yes—fuck me harder! Use me, please!”

“You love being my slut, don’t you?”

“I love it,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I fucking love it. I’ll do anything—just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her legs wrap around your waist, locking you in place as her body trembles beneath you. Her moans are constant, her cries mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sight of her like this—messy, desperate, completely lost in you—only makes you go harder, driving into her like you’re trying to ruin her.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, your grip on her tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. “This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Made to be fucked like this?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Winter cries, her voice shaking as she clings to you. “It’s yours—only yours. Please, I can’t take it—please don’t stop!”

Your cock drives into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, more unrelenting than the last. Winter’s high-pitched moans fill the room, her thighs trembling as her hips push up to meet yours, desperate for every inch you’re giving her.

You bring your hand up to her throat, wrapping your fingers around it, just enough for her to feel it. Winter gasps at the touch, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and her lips part in a soft, breathy moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I love it. I love how you make me feel.”

You smirk, leaning down slightly, your hand tightening just enough to make her breathing shallow. “You love being submissive, huh? Love being at my mercy?”

Her head tilts back, her eyes rolling slightly as she moans louder, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Yes,” she whimpers. “I love it. I love being yours.”

The sight of her—so completely lost in the pleasure, so willing to let you take control—sends a jolt of heat through you. You squeeze her throat a little harder, watching the way her body reacts instantly, her back arching as her pussy clenches around your cock.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your hips snapping against hers. “You’re so fucking perfect like this. You’re made to be my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice strained but dripping with need. “I’m your slut—your good little slut. Please, don’t stop, daddy.”

You lean down further, your lips brushing against her ear as your hand stays firmly on her throat. “You like being choked, don’t you? Like how it feels when I take control?”

Her eyes roll back again, her body shuddering beneath you. “Yes, yes—I love it,” she gasps, her voice barely audible now. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, your other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks as you thrust into her relentlessly. “You’d do anything for me?”

“Yes,” she moans, her nails digging into your arms. “Anything. I just want to please you.”

You tighten your grip on her throat slightly, watching as her lips part in a silent cry, her body arching off the bed. The way she looks right now—eyes hazy, mouth open, completely at your mercy—drives you insane.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your pace never faltering. “You’re such a good little slut for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Her moans grow louder again, her body writhing beneath you as you push her closer and closer to that edge. But you’re not done yet—you want her completely undone, begging for more, completely yours.

Your cock slams into Winter’s soaking wet pussy with relentless force, the violent pace making her body bounce with each thrust. Her moans are high-pitched, desperate, and completely filthy, and you can feel the way she’s tightening around you, her body trembling as she gets closer and closer.

“I’m close,” she cries, her voice breaking, her nails clawing at the sheets. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

The moment the words leave her mouth, you slow down drastically, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in painfully slow. Winter whines loudly, her hips trying to chase yours for more friction, but you grab her waist, holding her still.

“What did you just say?” you growl, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t cum unless I say so.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands grip the sheets tightly.

“Do you?” you challenge, raising your hand and slapping her cheek firmly, just the way you know drives her wild. Her head turns with the impact, her lips parting in a sharp gasp, and her eyes flutter open, looking at you with a mix of surprise and arousal.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Louder,” you demand, your hand gripping her chin to make her face you. “Speak clearly when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes!” she cries, her voice louder now, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over. “I understand. I’ll be good, I swear!”

“That’s better,” you mutter, giving her one more light slap for good measure.

Without another word, you lift her off the bed with ease, her small frame fitting perfectly in your hands. You reposition her so she’s sitting in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. The intimacy of the position contrasts sharply with the dominance in your touch as you slide back into her, burying yourself deep.

Winter lets out a choked cry, her hands grabbing at your thighs as you hold her firmly against you. Your chest presses against her back, your arms wrapping around her waist as you start to move again, slow and possessive this time.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You feel so fucking good like this. You’re mine, Winter. My good girl.”

“Yes,” she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder. “I’m yours. I’ll be good, daddy—I promise, I’ll be good for you.”

“You better,” you growl, your teeth grazing her neck as your hands roam over her body, gripping her hips and pulling her down onto your cock with each thrust. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to earn it. Be the perfect little slut for me.”

“I will,” she gasps, her body trembling against yours. “I’ll do anything for you. Just don’t stop.”

You hold her tighter, your thrusts growing faster, deeper, the angle making her whimper and cry out with every movement. Her head rolls against your shoulder, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands grip your thighs desperately.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your voice rough with lust. “You take me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “Made for you. Only for you.”

Your cock drives into Winter slowly, each deliberate thrust making her squirm in your lap. Her back is pressed tightly against your chest, her flushed skin damp with sweat, and her whines are soft and desperate, filling the room like music. You can feel how badly she wants it—the way her pussy clenches around you, her hips trying to push down to take you deeper. But you don’t let her.

Instead, your hand slides up to her throat, fingers wrapping around her delicate neck, and you give her a firm squeeze. She gasps at the contact, her head tilting back against your shoulder, exposing her throat to you.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “The way I fuck you. The way I tease you.”

“Yes, daddy,” she whimpers, her hands gripping your arms for support. “I love it. I love everything about it.”

You squeeze her throat a little tighter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You sure about that?” you ask, your thrusts slowing even more, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in agonizingly slow. “Because if you’re not, I can stop. I won’t let you cum.”

“No!” Winter cries, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

You chuckle darkly, your free hand sliding down to grip her hip, keeping her firmly in place as you continue your slow, deliberate pace. “Then tell me,” you growl. “Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it,” she whines, her voice trembling with need. “I love your big, thick cock. I love the way it fills me up, the way it drives me crazy.”

Your cock twitches at her words, and you tighten your grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. “Yeah?” you murmur, your tone still teasing. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t you? The way I make you beg like this?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans, her head rolling back against your shoulder. “I love it so much. You make me feel so good—so fucking good.”

You smirk, your lips grazing her jawline. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, your hand flexing around her throat. “Because if you’re lying, Winter, I swear I’ll stop right now.”

Her body shudders, and she turns her head slightly to look at you, her eyes glassy with desire. “I swear,” she says, her voice breaking. “It’s true. I love it. I love the way you fuck me. Please don’t stop, daddy. Please, let me cum.”

You study her for a moment, her trembling body, her wide, pleading eyes, the way her voice shakes with desperation. There’s no denying how much she means it, how much she needs this.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your grip on her throat easing slightly as you press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Winter moans softly, her hands tightening on your arms. “Does that mean I can cum?” she asks, her voice hopeful and needy.

“Not yet,” you reply, your smirk growing. “But soon. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Your hands move up from Winter’s waist to her chest, cupping her small breasts as you start to squeeze and knead them. Her soft moans grow louder, her nipples hardening against your palms as you gradually pick up the pace, your cock sliding deeper and harder into her with every thrust.

“You like this?” you growl, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper. “You like how I fill you up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I love it. I love how deep you are. Please, don’t stop.”

Your fingers pinch her nipples, twisting just enough to make her gasp, and you lean in closer, your breath hot against her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you every day,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Every chance I get. I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors’ll know exactly how good I fuck you.”

Winter shudders in your arms, her head tilting back against your shoulder as a moan tears from her lips. “Fuck,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets. “I’d let you. I’d let you ruin me every fucking day.”

The way she says it, so shameless and raw, makes your cock twitch inside her. You smirk, gripping her hips tightly as you pull out slowly, savoring the way her pussy clings to you. Then you shove her forward, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.

“Get on all fours,” you command, your voice rough with need.

Winter scrambles into position, her pale little ass sticking up, her glistening pink pussy on full display for you. She looks back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she waits.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her ass lightly before positioning yourself behind her.

Her pussy is already full of creamy slickness, and when you slide back into her, the wet, obscene sound it makes drives you wild. “Shit,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you start to fuck her hard, the bed creaking beneath you.

Winter’s moans grow louder, turning into screams as you pound into her, your cock hitting her deep and fast. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you growl, your hips slamming against her ass. “So wet and messy for me.”

Her cries are almost incoherent, her body jerking forward with each thrust. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!” she begs, her voice breaking.

Your gaze drops to her ass, watching the way it bounces with every thrust. Her tight little hole quite inviting as you fuck her, so pink and tempting. You reach out, rubbing your thumb against it in slow, deliberate circles.

Winter gasps, her head snapping up as her back arches. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Yes, touch me there—please, more!”

You keep rubbing, teasing her hole with your thumb as your cock slams into her harder, deeper. “You like that?” you growl, watching the way her body responds to every touch.

“Yes,” she cries, her hips pushing back against you. “I love it—don’t stop, please!”

Your grip on Winter’s hips tightens as you pick up the pace, your cock slamming into her soaking pussy harder and faster. Her screams are music to your ears, high-pitched and raw, echoing off the walls. Her ass bounces against you with every thrust, the creamy slickness of her pussy making every movement wet and obscene.

At the same time, your thumb continues massaging her tight, virgin asshole, slow, deliberate circles that make her body shudder beneath you. Her moans turn breathless, desperate, her hips twitching as she pushes back against your hand.

“You like it when I play with your ass, don’t you?” you growl, leaning forward slightly, your breath hot against the back of her neck.

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice trembling with need. “Fuck, yes—I love it!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you snarl, your thumb pressing more firmly against her entrance. “Getting off on me fucking your pussy and playing with your ass at the same time. That’s what you are—a needy little slut.”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “I’m your slut—only yours. Please, don’t stop!”

You grin, knowing how much she loves hearing you call her that, and you feel her pussy clench tighter around you, her body trembling as she edges closer to the brink.

“I’m close,” she warns, her voice shaky and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

Your pace becomes brutal, your hips slamming against her ass as you drive into her harder, deeper, faster. At the same time, you press harder on her asshole, teasing her entrance with your thumb.

“You’re gonna cum with my finger in your ass, aren’t you?” you growl.

“Yes!” she screams, her voice raw. “Yes, yes—please, make me cum! I need it!”

You smirk, pushing your thumb in slowly, just enough to stretch her a little, and her reaction is instant. Her back arches sharply, and she lets out a guttural moan, her nails clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your cock driving into her harder as your thumb moves slightly inside her. “You’re so fucking tight everywhere. Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Her cries grow louder, her body shaking violently as she teeters on the edge. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice echoing through the room.

“Do it,” you growl, your grip on her tightening as you fuck her relentlessly, your thumb pressing deeper. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

Winter’s entire body tenses, her head snapping back as a scream tears from her throat, so loud it’s a miracle the neighbors don’t start banging on the walls. Her pussy clamps down on your cock, her hips jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm crashes over her, wave after wave of pleasure leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling the way her body spasms around you, completely undone.

Her cries eventually fade into soft whimpers, her body going limp beneath you as she collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving. You pull out slowly, your thumb sliding from her ass, and you smirk as you watch her shiver from the aftershocks.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to her back.

You hold Winter close against your chest, showering her neck and shoulders with tender kisses as she catches her breath. Her body is still trembling from the intense orgasm you just gave her, her pussy dripping wet and sensitive. You stroke her hair gently while whispering in her ear.

"Such a good girl for daddy, cumming so hard on my cock like that. You're perfect, baby."

Winter preens under the praise, a proud smile spreading across her flushed face. She's never experienced pleasure this intense before - her whole body is still tingling from the force of her climax. Your words make her feel cherished and special.

"The neighbors definitely heard what a naughty girl you are," you tease, making her bury her face in the mattress with an embarrassed whimper. Her ass wiggles enticingly as she squirms.

"I bet they heard every single moan and scream while I was pounding your tight little pussy. Now everyone knows what a dirty girl you are for daddy.”

Winter's embarrassment only makes her more aroused. She can feel your hard cock still buried deep inside her, and she desperately wants to make you feel as good as you made her feel.

"Please daddy," she whimpers needily, turning her head to look at you with big innocent eyes. "I want to make you cum now. Will you...will you cum in my ass?"

Your cock twitches inside her at those filthy words coming from such a sweet mouth. Hearing your innocent submissive good girl beg for anal makes your head spin with lust.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy to fill up your tight little asshole with cum?" You give her ass a firm squeeze.

"Yes daddy, please," she moans. "After you played with my ass, I can't stop thinking about having you inside me there. I want to feel your hot cum filling me up."

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," you growl, your cock hardening even more. "Begging daddy to cum in your virgin ass like a little anal slut."

Winter whimpers and pushes her ass back against you needily. "Please daddy, keep fucking my pussy and when you're about to cum, just put the tip in my ass and fill me up. I want to feel it so bad."

"Stay right there on your stomach like a good girl," you command, repositioning yourself between her spread legs. Your cock is still buried in her dripping pussy, and you start thrusting again at a steady pace.

Winter moans and arches her back, presenting her ass to you perfectly. "Does daddy like my tight little holes? They're all yours to fill up however you want."

Her dirty talk drives you wild and you pick up the pace, fucking her pussy harder. "Keep talking like that baby, tell daddy what a naughty anal slut you are.”

"I'm your anal slut daddy," she pants between moans. "I want you to stretch my virgin asshole and fill it with your hot cum. I've been such a good girl, please give me my reward."

You spread her plump ass cheeks apart with both hands, exposing her tiny pink asshole. The sight of that tight virgin hole makes your cock throb with need. You start fucking her pussy even faster, your heavy balls slapping against her clit.

"Look at this perfect little asshole," you growl. "So tight and pretty, just begging to be filled with daddy's cum. You want it bad don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy, please! I need it so bad," Winter begs shamelessly. "Cum deep in my ass, mark me as yours. I want to feel your hot cum dripping out of me."

Her filthy words push you closer to the edge. You spread her ass wider, watching your cock slide in and out of her soaked pussy while her tight asshole clenches and relaxes invitingly.

"Such a dirty little anal virgin," you pant. "Begging daddy to take your ass and fill you up. I'm going to cum so deep inside that tight hole."

Winter's moans get louder and more desperate. "Please daddy, I'm ready for you. Put it in my ass and fill me up with your cum. I want to be your anal slut."

You can feel your orgasm building as you pound her pussy relentlessly. Her tight walls squeeze your cock perfectly while she continues begging for anal.

"Daddy please, I need your cum in my ass so bad. Make me your anal princess. Fill up my virgin hole."

When you're right on the edge, you pull out of her dripping pussy. With one hand you spread her ass cheek wide, exposing her tiny pink hole. With the other, you guide the head of your cock to press against her virgin entrance.

The tight ring of muscle resists at first, but then the head of your cock pops inside her ass. The incredible tightness sends you over the edge instantly. Winter cries out as she feels your hot cum start flooding her virgin asshole.

"Fuck baby, taking daddy's cum so deep in your ass," you groan as you empty your balls inside her. "Such a good anal slut for me."

Winter moans and shivers as she feels each hot spurt of cum filling her ass. The head of your cock stays snugly buried in her incredibly tight hole as you finish cumming.

When you finally pull out, your cum immediately starts leaking from her stretched asshole. You spread both of her cheeks wide apart to watch the erotic sight of your white cum dripping down toward her pussy.

"Look how pretty your ass looks leaking daddy's cum," you praise her. "Such a perfect little anal princess."

Winter whimpers and wiggles her ass. "Thank you daddy. I loved feeling you cum in my ass."

You continue admiring the view of your cum trickling from her freshly-fucked hole. Her virgin ass took you so well, stretching perfectly around the head of your cock.

"We're definitely doing that again baby," you tell her, giving her ass a playful smack. "Now daddy knows what a naughty anal slut you can be."

Winter blushes but smiles proudly, happy to have pleased you. She can still feel your hot cum inside her ass, marking her as yours.

You lay down beside her and pull her into your arms, peppering her face with soft kisses. She snuggles against your chest contentedly while your cum continues slowly leaking from her ass.

"Such a good girl for daddy," you murmur. "Taking my cock in your virgin ass like that. Did you like having daddy's cum filling you up?"

"Yes daddy," she says shyly. "It felt so naughty but so good. I loved feeling you cum inside me."

You stroke her hair and hold her close, letting her bask in the afterglow of her first anal experience. Her body is completely relaxed against yours, thoroughly satisfied.

"Next time I'll fuck that tight ass properly," you promise. "Really stretch you open and fill you with cum over and over."

Winter shivers with arousal at your words. "Yes please daddy. I want to be your anal slut whenever you want."

You spend the next little while cuddling and exchanging soft kisses, your hands roaming over her curves possessively. Winter occasionally squirms as she feels more of your cum trickling from her ass.

"Should we get cleaned up baby?" you ask after a while, noticing the mess of cum between her legs.

"Not yet," she says, clinging to you. "I like feeling your cum inside me. Makes me feel like I'm yours."

You smile and kiss her forehead. "You are mine baby. My perfect little anal princess."

—

You sit across from Winter at a small café table, the sunlight spilling through the large windows and catching the golden streaks in her blonde hair. She’s wearing a light yellow sundress that flares out just above her knees, a little bow tied at the waist. The dress shows just enough skin to drive you crazy while still looking effortlessly cute. Her white sneakers complete the look, giving her an innocent, casual charm that feels so uniquely hers.

Winter’s playful smile is fixed on you, her chin propped on her hand as she stirs her iced coffee lazily with a straw. She’s got that look, the one that says she knows something you don’t. Probably feeling like she’s already won whatever unspoken game you’re playing.

“You’re really feeling better?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a sip of your drink.

She nods, her grin widening. “Completely cured.”

“You sure? Because you got better awfully fast. Makes me wonder if you were even sick in the first place.”

Winter lets out a soft laugh, twirling the straw between her fingers. “That’s because of you,” she says, batting her lashes mockingly. “You were such good… medicine.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Medicine, huh? Pretty sure I broke a few ethical guidelines as your doctor.”

“Yeah, well,” she teases, leaning forward slightly, “I’m not complaining.”

She looks too damn proud of herself, and you can’t resist poking at her.

“Hey, you spilled some coffee on the table,” you say, pointing to where she spilled it.

“Oh, you're right! Hand me a napkin.”

You pick up a napkin and slide it toward her. “Here. Do you clean by yourself or do you want daddy to help you?” you ask, purposely raising your voice a little.

The shift is instant. Winter’s playful confidence crumbles as her cheeks turn bright red, her eyes darting around the café to make sure no one heard.

“Are you insane?” she hisses, grabbing the napkin and glaring at you. “Don’t say things like that in public!”

You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the table. “Why not? You seemed to love it in bed yesterday. Hell, you couldn’t stop saying it.”

Her face gets even redder, and she throws the napkin back at you, hitting you square in the chest. “I was dying of embarrassment even leaving the house today!” she exclaims. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors really heard everything.”

Your laughter only makes her more flustered, and you lean back, grinning. “Hey, you asked for it. Literally.”

Winter groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out at you. “You’re insufferable.”

“You chose the insufferable,” you say smoothly.

She tries to hold her annoyed expression, but a small smile slips through. “Whatever,” she mutters, picking up her coffee again.

“So,” you say after a moment, tilting your head. “You gonna call me daddy again later?”

Winter glances up at you, her lips twitching as she tries not to smile too much. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I love calling you that.”

There’s a moment of silence, charged but comfortable, before you clear your throat. “Anyway, why’d you pick this café again? There are like, fifty others places we could’ve gone to.”

Winter shrugs, stirring her drink again. “Last time didn’t count.”

“Didn’t count?”

She looks up at you, her expression soft but serious. “You dodged all my questions last time. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to be there.”

The guilt hits you instantly, and you exhale, leaning forward. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t you, though. It’s just…” You pause, lowering your head. “You already know the reason.”

Winter nods. “I know. But it still kind of sucked.”

You nod, meeting her gaze. “You’re right. It did. I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And this time, I won’t run.”

Her smile grows, slow and genuine, lighting up her entire face. “You promise?”

“Promise,” you say softly.

Winter leans forward, resting her chin in her hand again, her grin turning playful once more. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna let you run anyway.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”

For the first time in a long time, you feel it—something steady, something warm. Maybe this time it’s worth the risk. Especially with her.

[paddock-princess-writes]

Day 7: Ugly Sweaters | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Winter Fluff, Matchmaker Lando Norris, Secret Pining, He fell first but has social anxiety, Grumpy x Sunshine (Perceived), The "I thought you hated me" confession.

WARNING: Swearing, Angst, Slight Makeout session.

Summary: Mandatory Decompression." That’s what Zak Brown called the forced team-building trip to the Austrian Alps. You just called it a nightmare. You’ve spent two years convinced that Oscar Piastri hates your guts. You were prepared to ignore him for the whole trip. But then Lando Norris discovers a "local legend" about soulmates matching clothes, and you make the fatal mistake of wearing your limited edition, 1-of-50 ugly Christmas sweater to the village festival. The problem? Oscar is wearing the exact same one. Between three-legged races, aggressive mistletoe, and a very specific gingerbread cookie, you’re forced to realize that maybe Oscar’s silence wasn’t hatred after all.

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: 5.6K WORDS IS CRAZY WORK. What was I on please. Never mind, this is my fave fic of all time. Lando Noriss and Oscar Piastri bromance, please. I totally do not know if the angst is good enough, but what I DO KNOW IS THAT I enjoyed making Lando "Hypeman/Matchmaker" Norris so much. MORE PAPAYA BOYS PLEASE <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 📼 masterlist. 🏎️ inbox. 🏁 taglist

"Mandatory Decompression." That was what the email from Zak Brown had called it.

In reality, it was a forced team-building retreat in the middle of a snow-buried village in the Austrian Alps. The F1 season was over, the post-season testing was done, and instead of being on a beach in Dubai, the entire McLaren lineup, including the F1 Academy team, had been shoved onto a bus and driven up a mountain.

"It’ll be good for morale!" Zak had insisted as we boarded. "Fresh air will be a nice change of pace!"

The bus ride had been three hours of Lando Norris trying to hijack the aux cord to play Christmas techno, and Oscar Piastri sitting across the aisle from you, noise-canceling headphones on, staring out the window with the enthusiasm of a statue.

You’d spent the ride glaring at the back of his head. Technically, you were part of the same "Papaya Family," but the dynamic was complicated. You were McLaren’s chosen driver for the F1 Academy series. Oscar and Lando were part of the main F1 team. You shared the same simulator days at the MTC, and the media managers loved the narrative of the “McLaren trio," but the reality was a lot colder, well, between you and Oscar, anyways.

You never got along with him. It stemmed from your very first week at McLaren. Fresh out of the contract signing, buzzing with adrenaline, and desperate to prove you deserved the seat, you’d just finished a grueling simulator session.

"Track limits are just a suggestion, right?" you’d joked, wiping your forehead as you almost bumped into him in the doorway. It was a nervous attempt at charm, a way to break the ice with the guy you’d been secretly admiring since his junior days and someone you desperately wanted to get to know beyond the "Future World Champion" label.

Oscar hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t even looked at you; he was looking past your shoulder at the telemetry screens on the wall. "You lost three tenths in Turn 4," he’d said, his voice completely flat. "You’re overdriving the entry… It’s…definitely a choice…”

Then he walked past you and stepped into the rig you’d just vacated, leaving you standing there feeling like a scolded schoolchild. You’d decided right then and there: You will never let Oscar Piastri walk all over you ever again. 

By the time the bus hissed to a halt in the village square, you were stiff, freezing, and ready to fight someone for a hot drink.

"Right, everyone dumps their bags at the hotel," Zak shouted over the wind. "Meet at The Rusty Antler in twenty minutes. Don’t you dare try to sneak off; this is still a workday.”

—————————————————

Twenty minutes later, you were trudging through shin-deep snow toward the local pub. Oscar was walking a few paces ahead of you. He didn't even shiver. He just walked with those infuriatingly gigantic strides, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

"You know," you called out, stepping over a slush puddle, "some people help their teammates so they don't die of hypothermia."

Oscar stopped and turned. The snow was catching in his eyelashes. He looked at your shivering form, then at the pub entrance five meters away.

"We are ten seconds from the door," he said, his voice calm and reasonable. "The probability of you freezing to death in that timeframe is statistically impossible."

"You're the worst," you muttered, brushing past him and shoving the heavy wooden door open.

Oscar followed you in, the bell above the door jingling.

The change in atmosphere was instant. The pub was suffocatingly warm, smelling of stale ale and burning timber. Outside, the Austrian winter was doing its best to bury the village in white, but inside, the McLaren team was doing its best to be the loudest group in the establishment.

You shed your heavy coat and grabbed a drink, sliding into a booth. Oscar sat in the corner, as far away from the center of attention as possible.

But peace was never an option with this team.

Suddenly, Lando Norris stood on a chair, a crumpled pamphlet in his hand, looking like a town crier who’d had three too many pints.

"Oi! Guys! Listen to this!" Lando shouted, kicking the table leg to get attention. He waved a crumpled pamphlet in the air enthusiastically. "According to this legend—I'm not making this up—there's a saying..."

"That is definitely not a real thing," you muttered into your drink.

“'That those who match the wool, match the soul!'" Lando continued, ignoring you completely. "'If two strangers wear the same threads on the Night of the Frost, which is coincidentally tomorrow, their fates are woven together forever. It’s destiny, mate!"

You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. "Please, Lando. If destiny relied on mass-produced knitwear, half this pub would be accidentally married to each other by midnight."

"You're just cynical because you didn't pack anything festive," Lando teased.

You glanced across the table. Oscar was nursing a glass of water, looking bored, scrolling through his phone with that detached, calm expression that always drove you crazy. Oscar looked up, felt your eyes on him, and offered a tiny, almost imperceptible nod before going back to his screen.

Arrogant fucking asshole, you thought.

"Right, I’m heading back to the hotel," you announced, standing up and grabbing your coat. "But for the record, Lando, I did pack something festive for tomorrow. It is absolutely hideous. So if your stupid legend is real, I might actually find my soulmate. God help the poor guy."

—————————————————

You stood in front of the mirror in your hotel room, tugging at the hem of your sweater. It was a masterpiece of bad taste—a thick, scratchy knit featuring a pixelated F1 car crashing violently into a snowman. The snowman’s head was flying off in a spray of red yarn. It was a limited release, 1-of-50. You bought it purely because it made you laugh.

"Showtime," you whispered.

You walked back toward the town square, where the team had gathered for the festival opening. The cold air hit your face, but the sweater was surprisingly insulated. You rounded the corner to the designated meeting spot by the massive outdoor fireplace and saw Lando first, grinning like a maniac. Then, you saw the figure standing next to him.

Standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too unbothered, was Oscar. He was wearing the exact same sweater. The pixelated crash. The decapitated snowman. The garish orange trim. 

Just like that, your mood immediately turned sour. Oh, hell no. You blinked, hoping it was a hallucination. It wasn’t.

Lando’s stupid pamphlet echoed in your head like a curse. Those who match the wool, match the soul.

It felt like a cosmic punch to the gut. Of all the people in the world, the universe just had to pair you with him. And the worst part was that deep down, in the pathetic, secret corner of your heart you refused to acknowledge, you wanted it to be true.

You had spent two years burying that initial spark of admiration, shoveling dirt over the crush you’d developed watching him dominate F2, all because he had made it crystal clear on day one that he found your existence barely tolerable. You had forced yourself to accept that he hated you. You had learned to wear a mask of indifference to protect your pride.

What were the actual odds? Fifty of these sweaters are in existence, and somehow, one was on you, and the other was currently worn over the frustratingly broad shoulders of your arch-nemesis. 

Lando took one look at you, then at Oscar, and practically fell off the bench he was leaning on. "NO FUCKING WAY! The Legend! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Oh my God, should I prepare my best man speech for the wedding?”

Oscar looked down at his own chest, then slowly lifted his gaze to yours. He didn’t even react. He just raised a single eyebrow.

"Well," Oscar said, his voice flat. “This is going to be awkward.”

"Take it off, Piastri.” You warned him.

"No," he said simply. "It’s warm."

“We are going to be the topic of conversation among the locals," You glared at him, panic rising in your chest. "And I seriously do not want to be the subject of some weird romantic misunderstanding. Especially not with you. So go change."

Oscar went still. For the briefest microsecond, his eyes flickered. The calm, bored expression cracked, revealing a flash of genuine hurt before he blinked it away.

"I packed light," Oscar lied. You knew he lied because he traveled with three suitcases. “Besides, I have no time to look for something else right now.”

The damage was instantaneous. The local villagers, primed by Lando’s earlier shouting, immediately clocked the matching outfits. Old ladies were pointing and cooing, while Lando whispered loudly to everyone near him that both of you were "shy lovers" who needed a good nudge.

"I am going to push you into the fire," you threatened Lando.

"Save that aggression for the games!" Lando chirped, grabbing your shoulders.

"Games?" You frowned, looking between him and the crowd gathering in the square. "What games are you talking about?"

"The Night of the Frost Trials, obviously," Lando said, waving a hand at the obstacle course being set up in the snow. "The locals hold it every year. And Zak, being Zak, has decided that Team McLaren must participate in pairs to…increase team morale.”

You scoffed. "Fine. I'll pair up with you, then. Let's go."

"Ah, see, I would love that," Lando said, backing away with a mischievous grin. "But unfortunately, the locals are very specific about the rules."

He pointed to a group of elderly village women who were nodding enthusiastically at you and Oscar, pointing at your matching chests.

"According to the fine print," Lando explained, tapping the paper with mock solemnity, "' To separate a Woven Pair is to invite great misfortunes among them.' Now, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that translates to McLaren having the worst possible year in F1 History.”

He leaned in, raising his eyebrows. "You wouldn't want to be personally responsible for that, would you? Imagine explaining that to Zak."

"That is ridiculous," you argued, turning to the nearest villager. "Tell him that's ridiculous."

The old woman just clapped her hands. "Das Schicksal! The soulmates must be pairs!"

Lando shrugged, looking delighted. "See? Can't argue with tradition, mate. Go on, off you pop."

He shoved you right into Oscar. He caught you instantly, his hands shooting out to grip your waist and steady you against his chest.

For a heartbeat, the chaos of the festival faded. You were pressed right up against him, your hands instinctively clutching his forearms for balance. He felt surprisingly solid, warm, and sturdy against the biting cold.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice rumbling against your ear. His hands lingered on your waist, thumbs brushing against the scratchy fabric of your sweater.

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye. “Gotta admit, Lando can be pretty annoying sometimes."

Before you could process why your heart had suddenly decided to race faster than an F1 engine, a local villager dropped to her knees at your feet.

"Das Band!" she cheered.

The moment was shattered as she began aggressively tying your ankles together with a thick red ribbon

—————————————————

The first trial was the three-legged race, and it was an immediate disaster. You were trying to be fast because Lando was beating both of you, while Oscar was trying to establish a walking rhythm.

"Go, go, go!" you yelled, practically jumping forward.

Oscar dug his heel into the snow, bringing you to an abrupt halt. "Stop hopping. You're going to face-plant."

"We're in last place, Oscar! Move your legs!" you shouted, pointing at the two grandmothers currently speeding past you.

"We're in last place because you're flailing like a caffeinated child," Oscar countered, looking down at your tied ankles. “For God's sake, can you please just match my stride. Inside leg on my count."

"I hate you," you panted, but you stopped hopping.

"Sentiment noted. Now focus," he said calmly.

It was annoying, but he was right. Once you stopped fighting him and matched his pace, you started gliding past people. You didn't win, but you finished second. And more importantly, you didn't eat snow.

The adrenaline faded as the group moved to the gingerbread station. You were currently drowning a gingerbread man in green icing, creating something that looked more like a biological hazard.

"Is that supposed to be a tree, or did the gingerbread man get radiation poisoning?" Oscar asked, leaning over your shoulder.

“Art is subjective, Piastri." You scoffed, glancing at his workspace. “Like yours is any bet—“

You stopped. Looking down at the tray, you realized he hadn't made a snowman or a reindeer.

He’d made a tiny, edible version of you.

Specifically, he’d recreated your helmet design on the cookie’s head. The detail was absurd; he’d even nailed the specific jagged lines of your visor strip.

"Is that... my helmet?" you asked, pointing with a sticky finger.

Oscar froze, his hand hovering over the tray. He blinked, looking at the cookie like he’d just realized what he was doing.

“Uhm, no, it’s not," he said, his voice casual but slightly higher than usual. 

Snap.

In one swift motion, Oscar picked up the cookie, bit the head off, and chewed decisively.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Let's go. We were never gonna win against the grandmas in a cookie decorating game anyway," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs, grabbing his mug of hot chocolate.

He nudged you away from the table, guiding you toward a patio heater near the edge of the square. The snow was falling heavily now, creating a quiet curtain around you. You leaned against the warmth, watching the steam rise from your breath, while Oscar finished destroying the evidence of his gingerbread affection.

"You know," you said, "You could have swapped sweaters with Lando or something. Saved yourself the embarrassment of matching with a radioactive gingerbread-making aficionado.”

Oscar swallowed the last of the cookie, wiping a crumb from his lip. He looked at you intently,

"I don't mind the embarrassment," he said quietly. Then, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Besides... have you seen Lando's complexion? This shade of orange would wash him out completely. He’d look terrible."

You laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise you both. "He really would."

—————————————————

After the gingerbread fiasco, both you and Oscar tried your best to win the other games, but because Lando Norris was an absolute shit head who bribed the local grannies to help him, it was not shocking to see him win. 

“I AM THE CHAMPION!" Lando screamed, sliding across the finish line with his partner, "Team LN04 takes the gold! Suck it!"

You stood shivering near the sidelines. You and Oscar had come in a respectable second, but the emotional toll of being physically tethered to the man you’d been trying to ignore for years was starting to weigh heavily.

"Group photo!" Lando yelled, scrambling up and waving frantically. "Everyone under the arch! We need a new photo for the office.”

You sighed, trudging toward the massive pine archway decorated with holly. You tried to stand at the edge, aiming to disappear into the foliage, but Lando, high on victory and sugar, grabbed your shoulders and shoved you right into the center, directly next to Oscar.

"Smile!" Zak Brown called out, holding up a professional-grade camera. "Closer! Squeeze in, not everyone can be seen!"

You stiffened, forced to step sideways until your arm was pressed firmly against Oscar’s. You could feel the heat radiating off him through the sweater. He stood rigid, his hands buried deep in his pockets, staring straight ahead like a man awaiting a firing squad.

The flash went off, blinding you for a second. You let out a breath, ready to step away and escape the awkward proximity.

But nobody moved.

Instead, a hush fell over the front row of the crowd. A few local teenagers started giggling and pointing upward. Lando followed their gaze, his eyes widening with delight.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," you whispered.

Hanging directly above your heads, tied with a velvet red bow, was a sprig of mistletoe the size of a cabbage.

One of the village elders shouted, pointing a gloved finger at the two of you. "Das Paare! The two must kiss!"

You tried to laugh it off, taking a step back. "Ha, yeah, very funny. Good game, everyone."

"No, no!" Another voice joined in. "Bad luck if you don’t!"

"Bad luck for the Constructors' Championship!" Lando shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

The crowd laughed, and suddenly, the atmosphere shifted from a casual photo op to a public spectacle. The chant started low, a rumble from the back of the square, but it spread like wildfire.

“Kiss her!!”

You looked around, searching for an exit, but the crowd had formed a semi-circle, effectively boxing you in against the archway. Phone cameras were rising like a sea of digital eyes, all recording and waiting.

"Come on, guys!" Lando cheered, not helping at all as he lowered his camera to watch. “Just a bit of Christmas fun!”

The pressure felt physical, pressing against your chest. It wasn't just a joke anymore.

You glanced up at Oscar. He hadn't moved an inch. His jaw was clenched so tight, his gaze fixed resolutely on a point in the snowy distance. He looked like the idea of kissing you was so repulsive that he had to physically dissociate to get through the moment.

It was a fucking punch to the gut.

If he had laughed it off, you could have handled it. If he had rolled his eyes and given you a quick, platonic peck on the cheek just to shut everyone up, you could have survived. But this? Paralysis? It was so much worse.

He would rather stand here in agonizing silence than touch you.

He was literally holding his breath, as if sharing the air between you was so agonizing. It was the final nail in the coffin of every stupid daydream you’d ever entertained. You realized, with a sickening drop in your stomach, that Oscar Piastri couldn't think of a worse fate than being woven into yours.

"KISS! KISS! KISS!"

The chanting was rhythmic now, accompanied by clapping. Lando was jumping up and down, and the grandmas were cheering.

You felt your face heat up from the sharp, stinging humiliation. It hit you all at once. Not just the tiredness of the day, but the exhaustion of years.

You had spent them pretending that Oscar’s coldness didn’t sting, pretending that him hating you was a fact of life you can’t erase. This entire "soulmate" charade? It was a cruel, flashing neon sign mocking you with the one thing you desperately wanted but knew you’d never have. It wasn’t a fun joke to you anymore. 

It was torture.

Something inside you snapped. Everything was too much now—the cold, the exhaustion, the stupid sweater, and the overwhelming proximity to a guy who clearly couldn't wait to get away from you.

You felt the hot prick of tears behind your eyes. 

Don't cry, you commanded yourself. Do not cry in front of the grid.

"I... I need a second," you mumbled, ducking your head.

You didn't wait for a response. You pushed through the crowd, ignoring Lando’s confused "Oi, where are you going?" and bolted toward the edge of the village square.

You found a quiet spot behind the old church, where the fairy lights didn't reach, and the snow was untouched. You leaned against the rough stone wall, taking jagged breaths, trying to force the tears back down.

Stupid, you thought. Stupid myth. Stupid feelings. Stupid Oscar. 

Then, the fast crunch of footsteps accompanied your thoughts.

"Go away, Lando," you choked out, wiping your eyes furiously with your sleeve. "I'm not in the mood."

"It's not Lando."

You froze. You knew that voice. It was flat, calm, and infuriatingly nice to hear from the person you did not want to see right now. 

Panic clawed at your throat. Why was he here? Was the public humiliation not enough? Did he feel the need to come out here and clarify the rejection verbally? Did he want to list the statistical probabilities of why you and he were incompatible? Or worse— he was here to scold you and to tell you that running away was unprofessional, that you were making the team look bad?

You couldn't handle his calm, detached rationality right now, while you were currently held together by spite and heartache. You stiffened, forcing your spine straight against the cold stone wall, and wiped your face aggressively, desperate to erase any evidence of the tears. 

You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

You wouldn't let him see that his silence had broken you.

Oscar was standing there, slightly out of breath as he had jogged after you.

"What do you want, Oscar?" you snapped, your voice shaking violently and sounding broken. "Did you come to finish the job? Do you want to list all the reasons why the idea of kissing me was so repulsive that you literally froze in front of the entire grid?"

Oscar stopped a few feet away. He looked winded, his cheeks flushed from the cold, but his brow was furrowed in deep, genuine confusion.

"I didn't—I came to see if you were okay," he said, breathless. "You left in a hurry."

"I'm fine," you lied, crossing your arms tightly over the sweater, trying to hold yourself together physically. "I just got tired of the joke. I know you hate it. I know you hate me."

Oscar blinked, taking a step back as if you’d physically shoved him. "What?"

"Stop it. Just stop," you choked out, the anger finally boiling over. "Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I’ve known since day one. 'Track limits are a suggestion.' Remember? You looked at me like I was a child. Like, I was a waste of a simulator seat."

You stepped forward, poking a finger hard into the pixelated snowman on his chest.

"I know I'm loud. I know I drive like physics is just a polite suggestion. I know I’m messy and emotional and everything a 'proper' McLaren driver isn't. But I admired you, Oscar. I watched your races since your karting days, and I was so pathetic that I was actually excited to be your teammate."

Your voice cracked, betraying the sob rising in your throat.

"But you’ve looked down on me since the moment we met. You made me feel small. And tonight? Standing under that archway? You looked like you wanted to vomit at the thought of being inches beside me. So just... go back. Go celebrate with Lando. You don't have to pretend to care about the 'diversity hire' just because we're wearing matching jumpers."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, and deafening. The only sound was the wind howling through the trees and your own ragged breathing.

Oscar stood there, his mouth slightly open. The color had drained from his face. He looked struck.

"Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "That I look down on you?"

"Yes! Your silence made that pretty loud and clear!"

"You have it completely wrong," he said, his voice rising for the first time, cracking with a sudden, desperate intensity. He took a sharp step closer, invading your space. "I don't look down on you. I'm... I'm terrified of you."

You stared at him, the wind knocked out of you. "Bullshit."

"It's not," he insisted, running a hand through his hair, destroying his perfect style. He looked frantic. "Do you have any idea what it’s like? You walked into the MTC that first day, and you were... You were magnetic. You were joking with the engineers, you were laughing, you were so effortless. You have this energy that just pulls everyone into orbit around you. And I… I don’t know how to do that.”

He looked down at his boots, shaking his head, before forcing his gaze back to yours. His eyes were dark, intense, and filled with a raw honesty that terrified you.

"I didn't ignore you because I thought you were a joke. I stared at the data screens because I couldn't look you in the eye without forgetting how to speak. You don't make sense to me. You make me nervous. I didn't know how to talk to you without sounding like a socially inept idiot, so I just... didn't. And then I panicked and criticized your turn entry because racing is the only language I’m fluent in.”

You stood there, stunned, the snow melting on your burning cheeks. He wasn't looking at you with judgment. He was looking at you with a terrified, exposed vulnerability that you had never seen on his face

"You... you’re actually scared to talk to me?" you whispered, the realization hitting you like a physical weight.

He let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. "Especially tonight."

He took a deep breath, stepping fully into your personal space. You could feel the heat radiating from him.

"You think I don't notice you?" His voice dropped, thick with frustration. "I notice everything. I know you drink your coffee black to try and impress people, but when there’s no one watching, you add three sugars. I know you hum to yourself when you’re calibrating the rig. I know you tap your left foot when you're impatient."

He looked back at you, his eyes dark and searching.

"I have spent two years memorizing you from the corner of the room, terrified to say a word because every time I open my mouth, I freeze up.”

Your breath hitched.

“The sweater.." He gestured vaguely to his chest, his gaze dropping to his boots. You watched a rare, dark flush creep up his neck, staining his ears pink. "It wasn’t accidental. I saw you looking at it on your laptop weeks ago. I tracked down the release date. I set an alarm."

Your jaw dropped. "You... what?"

"I thought..." He swallowed hard, struggling to meet your eyes. "I thought if I had the same one, maybe it would serve as an icebreaker. Maybe it would make you laugh. Maybe we’d have something to talk about."

He paused, his voice dropping to a murmur.

"I didn’t know about the 'soulmate' legend when I bought it," he admitted softly. "But to be honest? I'm glad I did. Because if I hadn't, I never would have had the excuse to be this close to you without you running away from me."

Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard it hurt. "You bought a limited edition ugly sweater just to talk to me?"

"I told you," Oscar said, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand. "I was trying to find a way to bridge the gap I idiotically created between us."

"Oh," you breathed. The anger drained out of you, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming realization of two years of wasted time. "We're both idiots."

Oscar’s lips quirked in a faint, nervous smile, though his eyes remained intense. “Yes. But me, mostly.”

He reached out, his hand hesitating for a second before he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were warm against your cold cheek, and the touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to your spine.

"I don't hate you, Y/N,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips and staying there. "I never have. I think I’ve been halfway in love with you since you told me track limits were a suggestion."

You didn't wait this time. The dam broke.

You surged forward, grabbing the lapels of his hideous sweater, and yanked him down.

Oscar didn't freeze. He didn't hesitate. He crashed into you.

He kissed you with two years' worth of suppressed frustration and longing. It wasn't gentle; it was desperate. One of his hands tangled into your hair, tilting your head back, while the other arm wrapped around your waist like a vice, crushing you against him, lifting you slightly off the snowy ground.

It was cold air and warm skin, the scratch of wool and the softness of his lips. It was messy and unpolished and perfect. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed to memorize the taste of you to make up for every missed opportunity.

You broke apart, breathless, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other. Steam rose from the space between you. Oscar looked dazed, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and red, his composure completely shattered.

"So," you whispered, your voice trembling, your hands still clutching his sweater. "Still think I overdrive the entry?"

Oscar let out a breathy, wrecked laugh, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, his eyes looking at you.

"I think," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours again, "that your entry was absolutely perfect."

He didn't give you time to respond before he captured your mouth again, slower this time, deeper, sealing the deal.

“Y/N! Oscar! Wait! Seriously, stop, I didn’t mean to—“ Lando Norris came skidding around the corner of the church, his chest heaving, his face twisted in genuine panic. 

But the moment his eyes landed on the two of you—Oscar’s arm clamped firmly around your waist, the steam rising between you, and the very obvious fact that you had just been making out—Lando’s expression transformed instantly. The guilt evaporated, replaced by chaotic triumph.

"OH MY GOD. I KNEW IT!"

The screech pierced the silence like a shriek from a banshee.

You and Oscar sprang apart…or tried to.

"FUCKING FINALLY!" Lando screamed, lowering his phone but looking like he was about to combust with relief. "Jesus Christ. You have no idea how scared I was! I thought I actually broke you! I was coming here to apologize and beg you not to report me to HR!"

"Lando—" you started, face burning.

"No! Don't you 'Lando' me!" He pointed an accusing finger at both of you. "Do you have any idea how painful it has been watching you two since the beginning? The pining? The staring? The tension in the MTC was so thick I literally couldn't breathe! It was suffocating!"

He threw his hands up in the air, pacing back and forth in the snow.

"I thought I took it too far when you ran off," he admitted, his voice dropping for a split second to something resembling sincerity. "I actually felt bad. I thought, 'Great job, Norris, you've bullied your teammate into a breakdown.' But..." He gestured wildly to the two of you, a grin splitting his face. "Clearly, it was a necessary evil! It was all for the best!"

Oscar blinked, looking mildly impressed by the outburst. "So... you planned all of this?"

“Planned? I fucking orchestrated it like a master matchmaker, mate!” Lando corrected, grinning like a total idiot.  “I fabricated the entire legend! I wrote that pamphlet on the bus! The locals? Paid actors. Mrs. Huber, who tied your legs together? She runs the bakery; I promised her a signed hat!”

He shook his head, looking traumatized but victorious.

“And by the way, you are so welcome for the sweaters. That was my masterpiece. Do you know how hard it is to 'Inception' two stubborn drivers into buying the same hideous jumper? I had to leave tabs open on your laptops for weeks!”

He let out a long exhale, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. "Thank God it worked. Because if I had to watch one more season of the 'Sexual Tension Stare-Down' while you pretended to hate each other, I was going to crash my car on purpose.”

He held up his phone again. “Now, a lot of people owe me fifty quid. I told them it would happen before New Year’s. Those nonbelievers.”

Oscar didn't look embarrassed. He just looked at Lando, then back at you with a small, resigned smile, and tightened his grip on your waist.

“Hey, Lando," Oscar said calmly. "Run."

"Running!" Lando chirped, snapping one last blurry photo before sprinting back toward the pub, cackling into the night.

————————————

The night wound down, and the team began the trudge back to the hotel through the fresh snow. You realized you’d left your gloves by the heater, but before you could complain about the cold, Oscar took your hand and tucked it inside his jumper, keeping his own hand wrapped around yours inside the warm wool.

Your phone buzzed in your other pocket.

Instagram Notification: @landonorris tagged you in a post.

You opened it. It was the photo from behind the church—you and Oscar, foreheads touching, looking at each other like you were the only two people on the planet.

Caption: My work here is done. You’re welcome, children. 🧶🧡 #Soulmates #TheSweaterWorked #RetiringToBecomeAProfessionalMatchmaker #CalledIt

You showed the screen to Oscar. He didn't let go of your hand; he just pulled out his own phone and typed a comment.

@oscarpiastri: Delete this, Lando. (But send me the pic).

You leaned your head against his shoulder, matching his stride easily now. As you passed a darkened shop window, you caught your reflection in the glass: two figures huddled together against the Austrian cold, wearing the world's most hideous matching sweaters.

Yesterday, that sight would have made you cringe. Today, looking at the pixelated crash on his chest right next to the one on yours, you decided Lando might have been right about one thing.

Maybe you were really soulmates.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Taglist : @sassypostpatrol, @whos-mem, @lydia-demarek, @frantic-babbling, @thetorturedblogger, @mytearsricochvtt, @anamiad00msday , @dessashippr @gizzes77 @wertyuizxcvbnm @ninareads25 @edgyficuselastica @gso35 @lyricsandvenom @gabby-marrie15 @hyunette @sunshinevansh @marywantsttobattle @ruelle04

[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE — kim minjeong.

synopsis. winter supposedly hates when you tease her—but she hates it even more when your attention is on someone else.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is a big tease tease, slightly possessive winter, and let me know if there's more!

words. 850 💔

authors note. had to get a req out. im not ignoring them i swear im just lazy & kinda busy. also not a lot of drama im sorry anon :( it was just too cute

navigation. main masterlist. request.

winter was in the middle of a solo live broadcast when you decided to join in through the comments.

at first, you kept it subtle, just sending random emojis and vague messages. but then you saw her sipping on her drink, and you had to say something.

y/n: why do u hold ur cup like that lmao

y/n: so small… like ur hands

winter paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing. “yah,” she muttered, scanning the comments until she found yours. “why are you even here?”

she tried to act unfazed, but the way she adjusted her grip on the cup said otherwise.

y/n: just admiring how cute u look struggling w that big cup

winter choked on her drink. “i am not struggling!” she insisted, wiping her mouth. “this is normal!”

the fans, of course, began eating up the drama. you and winter exchanged quips for a bit, with winter growing more and more flustered each time, much to your entertainment.

y/n: show them ur hands compared to the cup

winter hesitated. “no.”

y/n: pls

she sighed before finally holding up the cup next to her hand.

it was, in fact, way too big for her.

you nearly cackled.

y/n: ohmygod

winter immediately ended the live.

then there was the time during rehearsal when she was trying to focus on a dance move, and you just had to mess with her.

winter is practicing a turn, her expression serious as she concentrates. but the moment she lands and meets your gaze, you give her a slow, exaggerated wink.

she stumbles.

“y/n!” she whines, immediately turning back around to avoid your smug face.

“what?” you ask innocently. “did i distract you?”

“obviously!”

you chuckle, walking up to her. “my bad, my bad. here, try again.”

she eyes you suspiciously but sighs before resetting her stance. you nod encouragingly as she prepares to turn again.

just as she moves—

you poke her side.

she yelps, spinning a little too fast and losing her footing. she goes down in an ungraceful tangle of limbs, glaring up at you from the floor.

you grin sheepishly.

winter is furious.

she’s so easy to mess with—it’s practically a sport at this point.

winter sits cross-legged on the couch in the practice room, scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of your approach. you sneak up behind her and suddenly wrap your arms around her shoulders.

she flinches, almost dropping her phone. “yah!”

“just checking if you’re still ticklish,” you tease, resting your chin on her shoulder.

she wriggles in your hold, huffing. “i’m not—”

you squeeze her sides lightly.

she yelps.

the entire room erupts into laughter. giselle and ningning are practically on the floor.

winter twists around to glare at you, cheeks burning. “i hate you.”

“you love me,” you correct, grinning.

she groans, smacking your arm. “go away!”

it’s supposed to be a casual group live—just you, winter, karina, giselle, and ningning, sitting together promoting the new single and chatting with fans.

and for the past few minutes, you’ve been directing all your teasing at giselle.

“eh, why do you always sit like that?” you laugh, nudging giselle’s shoulder.

she raises an eyebrow. “like what?”

“like you own the place,” you joke. “you sit like a ceo in every live.”

the fans flood the chat with laughing emojis, some agreeing, others spamming “giselle ceo era.”

giselle plays along, smirking. “maybe i do own the place.”

“oh?” you lean in, grinning. “should we start calling you boss?”

winter, sitting beside you, shifts slightly. you don’t notice at first—too focused on the banter with giselle. but the chat certainly does.

winter looks mad lol

minjeong is pouting.

she’s jealous.

meanwhile, you continue teasing. “giselle, say something ceo-like.”

giselle dramatically clears her throat. “you’re all fired.”

the group bursts into laughter, but before you can say anything else, you feel a hand tug at your hoodie.

you barely have time to react before you’re pulled back—right into winter’s side.

you blink, glancing at her. she isn’t looking at you, instead focusing on the screen with a suspiciously neutral expression.

but her grip on your hoodie tightens.

winter pulling y/n helppp.

possessive winter omg.

did she just…

you glance at giselle, who is trying not to smile. ningning and karina look equally amused.

you smile.

“stop teasing giselle,” winter muttered under her breath, and though she tried to sound casual, the possessiveness in her tone wasn’t lost on you.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yeah, okay, fine.”

winter lets go of your hoodie and tries to play it off as nothing, but you know she can still feel the weight of your eyes on her.

you tried your best to stifle your smile, but it was hard not to enjoy the way winter was reacting. she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, but as soon as she saw you looking back, she quickly turned her head away.

she was so cute.

you reach over and take her hand.

she tenses, glancing at you again.

you smile warmly.

the fans in the chat go crazy.

again.

[xndrpndr]

Secret In a Winter Wonderland - Part Two

Part One | Read it on fanprose

Winter x Male Reader Fluff

7.4k words

So this is something. 

Never in your infinite cynicism and introversion did you think you’d end up at a party of all places. 

Well, you’re not actually at the party yet—you’re hesitating at the front door. Listening to the muffled thump of pop music you’ve never heard, the screaming of way to many fucking people in a single enclosed space—the not-so-subtle way your heartbeat is drowning all of it out.

Normally, you’d just leave. Turn heel, grab takeout, and spend the night exactly as God intended: sprawled out on your couch with Youtube or a movie and minimal human interaction.

But this isn’t “normally.” This is Minjeong’s party, or rather, her friends’ party, (she didn’t seem all that keen on hosting when you were cuddling in the snow.) Alas, she asked you to go, and bailing is effectively equivalent to committing a war crime on your developing relationship.

So yeah, no choice but to walk straight into hell.

Your hand finds the doorknob. 

Come the fuck on, you tell yourself. It’s just a party: Just a few hours of pretending to be a functioning social creature before you can slip out and—

The door swings open.

Ningning’s standing there. A half-empty glass of red wine sloshes in her hand, eyes and smile housing something deeply, profoundly dangerous. She doesn’t say “hi” or “welcome” like a good host would—doesn't even gesture for you to enter. Instead, with a perfectly executed smirk, she turns her head slightly and, without breaking eye contact, announces to the entire party:

“MINJEONG, YOUR BOYFRIEND IS HERE!”

You black out for a second.

Not literally, but rather in the sense that your mind completely dissociates from the material world. Your physical body must still be standing there, existing on tangible matter, because you hear the way the entire party stops. Music is still playing, but conversations stutter, drinks pause halfway to lips, heads turn, one by one, like a scene out of a horror movie, except you’re the unfortunate soul standing in the doorway—the monster everyone is staring at.

You look behind you when you finally regain autonomy. No windows to jump out of.

Fantastic.

You’re left with no choice but to step inside, (running for the elevator would be infinitely more embarrassing), hesitantly, like you’re navigating a minefield, but step in nonetheless. 

Dozens of eyes follow your every move, silently assessing, silently judging. Your mind is working overtime, trying to figure out how to recover from this, but the only thing it manages to come up with is: Welp. Time to fake my own death and move two continents away.

But then you see her.

And all concerns blissfully fade away.

Minjeong is standing in the kitchen, her hand frozen mid-sip for a drink. Her expression is, to say the least, shocked, but quickly shifts to signal what you can only assume is an impending murder attempt on Ning Ning.

 But that’s not what stops you in your tracks.

It’s her dress.

The dress is azure blue, made from this gorgeous flowing fabric with the texture of a plush blanket. It’s nice, sure, but something about how she looks in it could make you go rabid. The way it makes her adorable blonde bob cut stand out, the way she looks so blissfully innocent, the way it leaves her shoulders and collarbone exposed. 

You've seen Minjeong in so many different ways: messy-haired and comfortable over video, adorably bundled in coats and scarves. Lying beside you, radiant in the moonlight—but this? It's a word you’d never thought of to describe her.

Kim Minjeong is hot.

And paradoxically adorable too…?

Your brain, unable to compute her beauty, promptly shuts-down.

Minjeong recovers from the initial shock, snapping her head toward Ningning with a glare so sharp it could shatter her glass. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she hisses, almost shattering her own drink as she sets it down.

Ningning, who just lives for chaos apparently, simply grins. “What? I’m greeting your—”

“Finish that sentence and die.”

You would laugh if you were capable of basic motor functions right now. Unfortunately, you are not, because Minjeong is walking towards you, and you’re barely a quarter into your system reboot.

You expect a casual greeting—one that directly contradicts Ningning’s prior announcement. But instead, she hugs you—in front of everyone. It’s not some casual, one-armed, friendly pat-on-the-back kind of hug either. No, this is one of those hugs. Arms wrapped around your middle, her cheek pressing against your chest, the warmth of her entire body invading yours.

Your brain, already critically damaged from The Dress, promptly BSODs.

And somewhere in the distance, you hear the collective oohs and aahs of an audience who does not need to be here for this. Minjeong, however, is completely unfazed. She pulls back just enough to look up at you, gaze tender, voice mild.

“You made it,” she says simply.  

Before you can even think of a response (you’re not even capable of speaking, anyway), Karina’s voice interrupts. “Okay, but if you’re gonna greet him like that, Ningning wasn’t technically wrong.”

A ripple of laughter spreads through the room.

You snap out of your daze just in time to see Minjeong shoot Karina a deadly glare. “You guys are the worst,” she scowls, taking a step back from you, arms falling to her sides—but not before her fingers briefly graze your wrist. “Come with me,” she murmurs to you, tilting her head toward the hallway. 

You hesitate, glancing around the party which is thankfully beginning to restart. Karina is busy playing host, Giselle is mid-conversation watching with a knowing smirk, and Ningning—wherever she is—is undoubtedly basking in the chaos she created.

As good a time as any to get the fuck out.

Minjeong doesn’t say anything else—just takes your hand  and pulls you through the crowd. A few people glance your way, but no one stops you, and soon, you’re slipping past the kitchen, down a dimly lit hallway, until finally you’re able to take refuge in a room.

You don’t realize where she’s led you until the door clicks shut behind you—and then it’s just the two of you, standing in the soft glow of a warm lamp, surrounded by pastel colours, books stacked sideways, and an egregiously large family of stuffed animals on the bed.

Holy fuck.

Minjeong’s room.

“Sorry about that,” she says with a sigh, leaning her forehead against the door. “Ningning is Ningning, but when she gets alcohol into her?” Minejong turns towards you. “ She’s like… Ningningning.”

“Holy shit,” you laugh. “That was awful.”

Minjeong laughs back. “I’ll be here all night,” she says, finger guns being shot your way.

…And immediately regrets said finger guns.

“Oh my god,” she groans, slapping both hands over her face. “What am I doingggggg.”

“Don’t worry,” you grin. “I only judged you a little.”

She peeks at you through her fingers, face bright red. “At least it wasn’t as embarrassing as whatever that was.”

“As embarrassing as what, exactly?” you prod with faux innocence.

Her hands drop. Her eyes narrow. “Ooh, you are playing a dangerous game, mister.”

“Am I now? I survived Ningning, I’m pretty sure I can take you too.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so. And besides… I didn’t mind it.”

Oh God, what are you saying?

“Didn’t mind what, exactly?” Minjeong asks with complete sincerity.

“The whole um… The part where… Y’know, Ningning called me your boyfriend.”

You don’t dare watch her reaction.

Decades tick by, maybe centuries, before Minjeong finally responds.

“…You didn’t mind?” she asks simply.

You tug at your sleeve, staring way too hard at her bookshelf—at the crooked stack of paperbacks threatening to collapse like your current mental state. “No. I mean I—Uh—”

Oh, great. Perfect. Stammering. Really selling yourself here.

 “I kinda…liked it, actually.”

Instantly, she panics about it, and you're terrified you've scared her. She ducks her head, hides half her face behind her sleeve hoping to hide her excessive blush.

“Oh.”

That’s it. One syllable, one vowel, and suddenly you’re the idiot scrambling to fill the silence.

“I mean—not like, you know, I’ve been thinking about this or anything, or sitting around hoping someone would just blurt it out—like, obviously not. That’d be insane. I just—like—it wasn’t bad. At all. It was… kind of nice, actually. Like, if people think that, then… it’s not the worst thing in the world. Kind of… the opposite, really.”

“Hey,” she cuts in with a laugh. 

You glance up. Minjeong’s looking at you now, really looking.

“Relax,” she says, a small smile forming on her lips. “I… liked it too.”

For once, you don’t have a quip ready. No joke, no sarcastic shield, nothing. Just static buzzing behind your eyes because Kim Minjeong just said she liked you being called her boyfriend.

“…Oh,” Is all you’ve got to say too. Fantastic work. Nobel prize for eloquence coming both of your ways.

“So…” She begins, gaze now locked somewhere between the wall and floor, “ if Ning Ning calls you my boyfriend again…”

“And she definitely will,” you say automatically.

“Then… she wouldn’t technically be wrong this time…?”

Minjeong looks up at you again, searching your eyes for affirmation.

“No,” you laugh looking back. “I guess she wouldn’t be.”

And neither of you think you’ll smile quite so hard at each other again.

*

You’re both hesitant to step back out to the party, but Minjeong, after all, is still technically a host. 

She offered you refuge in her room—which you reluctantly declined. You've come all this way, why not try and party, even just a little?

You exit the room hand-in-hand, arriving in the open living area of the (rather large) apartment. Minjeong doesn’t let go of your hand right away, lingering beside you and tightening her grip on your fingers.

You glance down at her. “You okay?”

She huffs dramatically. “No. Because the second we step out there, I suddenly have responsibilities again.”

You chuckle. “Ah, yes. The burden of being beloved.”

She tilts her head up at you with a pout. “It’s exhausting and…” she trails off, looking you up and down, “I’d rather stay with you.”

God is she adorable.

Before you can manage a reply, a voice calls from across the room. “Minjeong! Come say hi!”

Karina, ever the perfect host, waves Minjeong over toward a group of newcomers. You barely register who they are before Minjeong sighs, her hand slipping from yours.

“See?” she mutters. “Responsibilities.”

You smirk. “I’ll be waiting.”

She looks like she’s about to say something else, but then her gaze flickers past you, toward the other side of the room. Her expression goes sly, and when you follow her eyes, you spot your friends (your roommates) gesturing for you.

Fuck.

They aren’t exactly subtle about it. One of them waggles his eyebrows. The other makes an exaggerated heart shape with his hands. The last one just pats the empty spot on the couch beside him.

Minjeong covers her mouth to suppress a laugh. “Oh, they’re gonna eat you alive.”

You sigh, already preparing for the interrogation ahead. “Yeah, thanks for your concern.”

She grins, stepping back toward Karina’s group. “Good luck,” she sing-songs with a smile before twirling away, leaving you to your fate.

You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and trudge over to the couch, where your friends are waiting like vultures.

You sit down.

They don’t say anything at first.

They just stare.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto you, faces practically vibrating with barely contained glee.

You sigh. “Just get it over with.”

One of them leans forward, elbows on his knees, like he’s conducting an interview. “So.” A beat. “How’s your night going?”

You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

The other one nods, pretending to be deep in thought. “Mm. And Winter?”

You exhale sharply. “Also fine.”

“Interesting, interesting,” the first one murmurs.

The third one grins. “Because from where we’re sitting, it looks a lot more than ‘fine’.”

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch. “You guys suck.”

“And yet,” the first one says, crossing his arms, “you love us. Enough to live with us. Enough to tell us—” he leans in slightly, “—what. Happened.”

You glance at them, weighing your options. On one hand, you could attempt to deflect, dodge, maybe even pretend you didn’t hear them over the music. On the other hand… you’re outnumbered. You don’t stand a chance.

After a long pause, you exhale. “We, uh…” You rub the back of your neck. “We talked.”

“Talked,” one of them repeats, nodding sagely.

“Talked,” another echoes. “That’s good. Communication is key.”

“Yes. Talking,” the last one agrees. “Truly, a beautiful thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

They cackle.

Then one of them leans in. “But seriously. Are you guys… a thing now?” He gestures towards the hallway you disappeared to.

You hesitate for a second, then nod.

Chaos erupts.

One of them shoves your shoulder, the other whoops so loudly that people glance over, and the last one just starts shaking you by the arm like he’s practicing one of those "enhanced interrogation techniques.”

“Oh my God.”

“It finally happened.”

“I feel like a proud dad.”

“Dude, we were rooting for you. We were all rooting for you.”

You groan. “I hate you all.”

One of them, still shaking your arm like a madman, suddenly stops and squints at you. “Okay, but real talk—when are you losing your virginity to her?”

If you had a drink this would have been a spit take. “The fuck—?!”

The others burst into laughter, clapping each other on the back like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever witnessed.

“I mean, come on,” the first one continues, undeterred by your horror. “You two were in that room for a while. We were starting to think you—”

“Jesus Christ,” you interrupt. “We talked—not that it’s any of your business.”

“Sure,” one of them says, winking. “Talked.”

You’re halfway to throwing hands when, mercifully, you spot Minjeong across the room. She’s standing near the door now, hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat, rocking back on her heels as she lifts a hand and gestures toward the exit.

You don’t need to be asked twice.

“Later, assholes,” you announce, standing up.

“Going somewhere?”

“Tell Winter we said hi!”

“Make sure to use protection!”

You flip them off over your shoulder as you walk away, and they howl with laughter behind you. 

Oh, you’re totally moving out once the party’s over.

*

Minjeong is already waiting for you just outside, exhaling onto her hands for warmth as she watches cars barrel down the city street. “Finally,” she remarks, like the weight of the world has been lifted from her shoulders.

“That bad, huh?”

She sighs, throwing her head back dramatically. “I’m happy so many people showed up for m—us. Truly, I am. But if I have to greet one more person, I'm going to lose my mind.” She’s rubbing her temples now, making eerie whines that you thought only anime characters and animals make.

Cute, is all that comes to mind.

“How did your conversation go, then?” she asks, like a win for you is a win for her.

“Interrogation more like.”

“That bad, huh?” she repeats, earning a little giggle from the both of you.

“Mhm. At first, it was all vague, ominous questions, and then—boom. Out of nowhere, it got weird."

"Weird how?"

You hesitate. You two are close and technically a thing now, but not let’s talk about fucking each other close.

"Just…weird,” is what you land on.

Her eyes narrow (adorably, of course). 

"Weird as in, they want to know a little too much, weird? Or weird as in, you've never talked to them about such a charming, beautiful and talented woman such as myself, weird?"

“Definitely that first one,” you laugh. “No, but seriously, they were way too happy. Like, gleeful. And invasive. Felt like I was about to be tortured.”

Minjeong snorts. "That’s your fault for being so fun to tease," she sings, practically skipping along beside you.

“Same could be said for you, Miss elusive eyebrows.”

You barely register her pout before her fist collides with your shoulder, you’re both smiling, and she’s wrapping herself around your arm once more.

It’s crazy to think how far you two have come. From being barely able to speak to each other in that restaurant, to “good morning” texts, to full-blown dates, to sneaking away from a party she’s hosting just to spend a little more time with each other. It’s an idea that ran across your mind when you parted ways that Christmas, but you’ve never really gotten the chance to entertain it.

You think that you’re in lov—

“Wait, where the fuck are we?”

Minjeong snaps you out of your daze with language you rarely hear her use.

You look around you. 

Yeah… Where the fuck are you?

The scenery isn’t much different—you’re in the city, after all—but as for exactly where you are?

Good question.

“I have no clue,” is all you manage as you look up and down the road you’re on. “How long have we been walking?

“Uh… At least fifteen minutes,” Minjeong says as she looks up from her phone.

“Damn,” you laugh. “You weren’t paying attention either?”

“I was… enjoying the moment,” Minjeong says sheepishly.

Your face flushes. Minjeong’s does the same.

“A-and I was thinking!” She stammers.

 “Thinking?” You ask with theatrical surprise.

She glares. “Yes, thinking. I do that sometimes.”

“Didn’t think you were capable.”

“Wow,” she snorts. “And to think I was gonna let you pick where we go from here.”

“Well then, Little Miss Thinker, if not me, then you. What grand activity have you thought up for us tonight?”

 Little Miss Thinker’s gnawing on her bottom lip. “I… uh—You pick!” she says in a panic.

"I don't mind,” you shrug. “I’m fine with anything. You pick."

Her nose wrinkles. "Well, I don’t mind either."

"You brought me out here," you point out, nudging her shoulder with yours. "That means you get the privilege of picking. Congrats,” you smile.

She glares at you, but there’s no heat behind it—just the usual flustered pout. "I don’t know this area!"

“And neither do I.”

Minjeong breaks off from you to fold her arms together. “It seems we’re at an impasse, then.”

You mirror her stance. “So it would seem.”

“Do you think this counts as our first real fight as a couple?”

You smirk. “I wouldn’t be that dramatic.”

Minjeong gasps. “Are you calling me dramatic?”

“With that attitude, maybe a little,” you laugh.

Minjeong’s eyes narrow, her cheeks puff out, and her lips purse as she does that “thinking” thing she claims she can do. You see the exact moment the lightbulb goes off in her head as she announces to you: "Okay then. New plan.”

“I’m listening.”

 “On the count of three, we both say something to do. If it’s the same, we do that. If it’s different…well, then we keep arguing till we’re ninety. Got it?"

“Got it.”

Minjeong takes a deep breath, holds up three fingers, and—

"3…"

—immediately cheats by starting before you’re ready.

"2…

Her eyes dart to yours, wide and imploring, like she’s willing you to read her mind.  

It also makes her look clinically insane.

"1…"

"Karaoke!" you blurt in unison. 

Minjeong’s entire face lights up. She claps her mittened hands together, bouncing like a kid on Christmas. "FATE," she declares, as if the universe itself has spoken.

"Fate wants us to traumatize a soundproof room?"

"Fate wants me to kick your ass at karaoke," she corrects, already dragging you down the sidewalk by your scarf . "And don’t pretend you’re not excited. I’ve seen your playlists. It’s embarrassing."

"Wait, what did you see?” You ask Minjeong.

She does not turn back.

“WHAT DID YOU SEE, MINJEONG!?”

*

The Karaoke room is a neon-lit den of questionable stains and even more questionable interior design choices—the consequence of going to a place fifteen minutes out of the city centre. But you tolerate it, because Minjeong might just be the happiest you’ve ever seen her, still glued around your arm as you both shed your coats and take a seat, (she jumps), on the pleather couch.

“Okay,” she begins, kicking her feet as she snatches up the songbook. “Prepare yourself, you’re about to witness vocal perfection.” 

"So we're leaving?” You take a look over your shoulder. “Because I don't see any professionals here."

Minjeong doesn't look up from the songbook, but you can sure as shit feel it when she gives a light kick on the shin. You stifle a grin, leaning back against the couch, pleased with yourself and the way she always rises to your bait.

Without thinking, she leans back, pressing into your side, her head coming to rest under your chin as your arm naturally comes around her shoulders. 

You freeze for half a second—not because it’s unfamiliar, but because it’s really… not anymore. It’s like second nature. Like your body just expects her to be curled up next to you.

Minjeong tilts the songbook up towards you, puffing out her cheeks as she scans each page. 

“Okay,” she begins. “ Should I go with the safe bet—a Taeyeon ballad to destroy your soul—orrrrr, something fun? Maybe Red Velvet? Ooh, maybe I go full femme fatale and pull out Sunmi. Thoughts?”

You don’t answer.

Because, much like your time basking in the snow, you’re looking at her.

You’re looking at the way her nose scrunches when she reads, the way her lips shuffle round her face in thought, the way her hair brushes against your jaw whenever she leans a little too far into your side. 

She nudges your knee with hers. “Helloooo? Earth to you. Which song makes you cry more? I’m trying to be considerate.”

“Sorry,” you defend quickly. “Thought I heard trumpets playing.”

She narrows her eyes at your sarcasm.“I mean, you’re technically right,” She says as she leans forward to queue up a song. “My performance is going to be biblical. Just divine instead of apocalyptic.” 

Minjeong sends a you a smug smile, and you finish your eye roll in time to see the title flash up on the grubby TV:

IU - Through the Night.

A ballad.

 She’s not looking at you as she walks to the front of the room, only tucking her hair behind her ear with a smile.

“Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type,” you say from the couch.

She shoots you a look over her shoulder, but she’s biting back her smile. “Don’t blink. You’ll miss me being iconic.”

Minjeong’s eyes shut as she takes a deep breath. And when she opens them again—well, you may as well be hearing an angel sing.

“Tonight, I’ll send you the firefly from that day

To your window…”

Where the hell did this Minjeong come from?

“That means that I love you…”

You feel that line in your spine.

And yet, you don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just watch. Enraptured by the way her blue dress flows around her knees, by the way the neon lights catch in her eyes, by how natural she looks with a mic in her hand, pouring herself into each lyric like this song was written for her to sing and for you to hear.

“I remember our first kiss

Every time I close my eyes

And it takes me away to the farthest place…”

Gone is the snarky, animated, occasionally grumpy girl who hits your arm when you tease her and makes up for it by clinging to you like you might float away. Standing in her place is someone ethereal, confident and utterly captivating.

Painfully so.

Your chest feels tight now, and you know exactly what it is you’re feeling. God, you know.

This is it.

“Like the words written in the sand

Where the waves are I’m afraid you’ll disappear

So I always miss you…”

She opens her eyes. Looks right at you.

And it’s instinct—A moment of vulnerability passed through music and unprocessed feelings.

So you speak it aloud.

“I can’t take out

All these words in my heart

But this means that—.”

“I love you.”

She doesn’t hear you.

Her voice and the song carry her words over yours, her gaze breaking away as she sings the final line with a gentle smile and her whole soul behind it. She’s too caught up in the song—in the moment.

And still, you smile.

Because even if she didn’t hear it, even if the words dissolve into the melody like fog into air, you said it—felt it.

She finishes with a small breath, the song fading out as she lowers the mic. 

Before she can say anything, you’re on your feet, meeting her halfway with a tight, warm hug. She lets out a surprised little gasp, her arms wrapping around you in return.

“Whoa,” she laughs against your chest. “Didn’t know I was that good.”

You pull back just enough to look at her, and she’s flushed from head to toe.

She’s radiant.

“Told you I was iconic,” she says with a smug grin, nuzzling into your chest.

“Yeah,” you say simply, holding her tighter. “Yeah, you were.”

*

Before you know it, your hour is up and you’re both out walking on the snow covered city streets once more.

And of course, what’s a night out with Minjeong without a little banter along the way.

“You were so off-key, by the way,” an annoyingly smug voice says to you.

“M-me?” you stammer, whipping your head over to the gremlin glued to your arm. “What about you?  You were… You were…”

“Perfect?” She finishes, like she already knows the answer.

You try to fight back. “No, you were… You were… Yeah.”

Minjeong beams. “Thought so.”

“Where the hell did you learn to sing like that?”

“Oh, y’know,” she says with an airy shrug. “Just something I’ve picked up.”

You scoff. “Surprisingly modest coming from you.”

Her grin turns sly. “You flatter me.”

“Kinda my job as your boyfriend, no?” You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder. “ No, but seriously, that was genuinely some of the best singing I've ever heard.”

“Some of the best, or just the best?”

“The best,” you say with the utmost sincerity.

That stops her for just a beat—her steps falter, face warming despite the winter air. “Thanks,” she mumbles, flustered. Although she recovers in no time. “You were alright,” she teases.

You stop walking and spin to face her, gasping. “Hey! I’m trying to compliment you here!”

Minjeong just grins. “So was I! Trying really hard.”

You shoot her a look. “I was good enough to get us to 95 for our duet.”

“And my back hurts from carrying us through it,” she groans, rubbing one shoulder in exaggerated pain.

“Aww, you poor thing,” you mock. “Need me to give you a piggy-back?”

Minjeong freezes once more,  eyes going wide.

“...Can you really?” she asks sheepishly.

You crouch down without missing a beat, patting your back with a grin. “It would be my pleasure.”

Minjeong hesitates for just a moment, biting back a smile so big it almost hurts her cheeks. Then, without warning—

“YIPEE!” she shouts, throwing herself onto your back with reckless abandon.

You stagger for a second, then steady, her laughter ringing in your ear.

“Now don’t you dare drop me.”

“Now that’s a thought,” you tease, adjusting her legs around your waist.

“Promise me!” she demands, tightening her hold.

“I promise, Milady.”

“That’s not enough. Pinky promise.”

You roll your eyes but stick out your pinky over your shoulder. “Pinky promise.”

She links it, satisfied. “Then, away, my noble steed!”

And the two of you charge off into the winter night.

*

The rest of the walk back to the apartment is a silent one for the most part. Not because the two of you are mad, or bored, or anything of the sort. 

You simply enjoy each other's silence.

Oh, and because Minjeong’s asleep. 

Her core is pressed into your back, arms locked loosely around your shoulders with her chin resting lightly atop them as you walk. Well, as you walk. She’s currently occupying your back like a sleepy, smug little sleepy furnace. 

She must think the same of you, because you could hear when her breath evened out, her teasing ceased, and her head came to rest on your shoulder. So, in actuality it’s not really a walk, more a meander—a slow-motion sidetrack through frozen streets, a brisk breeze, and the company of the one who means most to you.

There is, however, the matter of the party. You’d love nothing more than to stroll right on home, bury yourself in your blankets, (perhaps curled up next to Minjeong), and call it a night. 

Alas, you’ll have no such luck:

“MINJEONG-AH! WHERE ON EARTH ARE YOU?”

“Jeez, unnie, you’re so loud,” Minjeong drowsily winces, putting an arms-length between her and Karina obliterating her phone speakers. “We’re entering the lobby now.”

“Don’t dilly-dally. You’re supposed to be hosting.”

You look back at her as she narrows her eyes. “See the shit I have to deal with,” is written all across her face as she sarcastically replies: “Yes, mother,” and hangs up.

You both share a laugh as you make your way into the elevator.

*

You steal a glance at Minjeong in the elevator mirror—what little of her you can see, anyway, given that she ‘s still clinging to your back like a smug, oversized, stupidly-good-at-karaoke scarf.

She’s quiet still, but not in a sleepy way.

No—she’s doing her little thinking thing again.

You can tell by the way her brows (you can only see a brow) are furrowed, and her lips are pursed. Not in pout, not in irritation, something you can’t tell.

Whatever it is, she’s sure thinking hard.

Time to play the guessing game.

You lay out the facts:

She just spent the evening with an amazing, handsome, and objectively irresistible man—your words, not hers (yet). So that’s Fact #1.

Fact #2: Karina has just screeched at her about resuming her co-hosting duties, which—knowing Minjeong and her frankly crippling social anxiety—is an absolute fucking nightmare.

And Fact #3—

Ding.

The elevator chimes as its doors slide open.

You adjust your grip automatically, hands settling under her thighs to make sure she doesn't slide. Minjeong doesn't say anything, just tightens her hold slightly, almost like she’s bracing for something. 

As you step out into the hallway, you feel her breath against your neck. 

Heightened.

Then, without a word, she leans in—

—and presses her lips to your cheek.

You completely freeze.

And without missing a beat, she responds to your prior declaration with the softest, sweetest little lilt to ever grace your ears:

“I love you too.”

And you’re stunned stupid in the best way possible.

In an instant she wriggles free, face almost turning blood red as she bolts off down the hallway, giggling at supersonic speed like the world’s most innocent ballistic missile.

She fumbles with the doorknob to her apartment, all while you stand dumbstruck in the elevator. You shake your head, trying not to grin too hard as you follow after her.

She heard you.

Unbelievable, this girl.

Absolutely unbelievable.

*

Your return to the party is about as embarrassing as your entry. 

They must have seen Minjeong skip in, happy as can be, and realised something out there must have made her so gleeful.

Because like before, all eyes are on you.

You barely step through the door before someone—not even one of your friends, just some guy—lets out a drunken cheer:

 “Holy SHIT. THEY TOTALLY FUCKED.”

And all hell breaks loose.

Enough cheering to warrant seven dozen noise complaints erupts as what feels like the whole party charges towards you. Your trio of friends lead the pack, arms smothering you as  you’re enveloped in the chaos.

You don’t even get a chance to deny anything.

“MY MAN!” one of them yells, slapping your back with so much force you almost fall forward.

“I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU,” the second howls, gripping your shoulders like a proud older brother.

The third just clasps both your cheeks in his freezing hands and stares into your soul. “Be honest,” he says. “How long did you last?”

“Jesus Christ—” you sputter, trying to pry him off.

But it’s too late. The party has decided. You are the Chosen One. The Man Who Conquered Winter.

You raise your hands in surrender, voice drowned out by the roar of chaos. “We did not—!”

“CONGRATULATIONS ON THE SEX!” someone shouts again, cutting you off, and everyone somehow claps and cheers even louder.

Oh my fucking God.

Your face is on fire. Every synapse in your brain is about to spontaneously combust.

You use what little function you have left in your body to search for Minjeong.

 She’s barely visible through the crowd, but even through her wide eyes and hand-clamped mouth, her hair and dress are unmistakable.

Oh, and she is absolutely fucking losing it.

You lock eyes.

She does not stop.

Instead, she doubles over, the shade of her face mirroring yours. Except instead of embarrassment, she’s wheezing into her sleeve like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

You’re fortunate that people are too caught up in the thrill of it all to notice when you escape from the crowd—but not before dodging a few unsolicited high-fives and residual laughs—and you can confront Minjeong who’s completely collapsed on the tiled floor.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Immensely,” she gasps, fanning herself. “They were cheering.”

“They think we—”

“I KNOW.”

“You could’ve said something!”

She shrugs, barely containing her grin. “And ruin the best part of my night?”

“Fuck you,” you glare.

Minjeong giggles. “Apparently you already have.”

You scoff. “Please smother me with a couch cushion.”

“Tempting.”

You groan and offer her your hand. “Come on, you absolute menace.”

Minjeong takes it, still giggling as you haul her upright. She’s barely steady before she immediately wraps her arms around you again—slow, sensual, borderline sexual.

And from behind you, you feel the eyes make their way back to you.

“They’re staring at us again, aren’t they.”

“Mhm,” Minjeong nuzzles into your chest.

“Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Yup,” she smiles, pulling back.

Minjeong looks up to you—a Ning Ning level of mischievous gleaming in her eyes—and gives you another peck on the cheek.

“THEY’RE GOING FOR ROUND TWO!” You hear from behind.

You can’t help but laugh.

Well played, Kim Minjeong.

*

Despite the chaos, the relentless teasing, the introverted alarm going off in your head screaming too many people, WAY too many people—you stay.

Because Minjeong makes it worth it.

Her head on your shoulder as you share an armrest. The both of you watching the party like anthropologists observing the bizarre but fascinating species they call extroverts.

Laughing at your shared plate of snacks, which you both keep restocking with the excuse that “quality control is an important part of catering.”

Playing Jenga with a group of strangers and watching Minjeong turn into a terrifyingly competitive gremlin, whispering psychological warfare tactics to you in the hope you might approve her wrath.

The two of you holed up in her bedroom for exactly seven and a half minutes, pretending to “grab something,” but mostly laying in her bed cuddling, letting the muffled bass of the party fade behind the closed door as you both take a moment to relax and recharge.

At one point, she’s dancing.

Not wildly in the center of the room—but with her friends, swaying with a drink in one hand, mouthing lyrics and throwing you glances across the room.

You don’t dance. But you watch. And she smiles every time she catches you doing it.

Later, when the energy’s died down a bit and dessert is all but ready, Minjeong returns to your side with a gentle nudge.

“Still alive?” she teases.

You scoff. “Barely.”

“Even with our little outing?”

“Gonna need a dozen more of those,” you chuckle.

Minjeong hums, pretending to consider it. “I could pencil you in three weeks from now,” she muses as she brings the calendar app up. “Got a full schedule till then.”

“Right,” you smile. “Because we all know how much you like to go out.”

“You’re just mad I beat you in Jenga,” she shoots back.

And right as you chamber your come back, the party is halted by the screeching of a spoon on glass.  

“SHHH! Shut up! SHUT UP. This is important.”

It’s a voice all too familiar—inebriated—but familiar.

Ningning takes centre stage. She’s standing on a stool, spinning in slow, unsteady circles like the party is her royal court and she’s decidedly the queen of it.

“I just wanna say,” she slurs, pointing her wine glass dramatically into the crowd. “You guys are great. Seriously. Like, a-huh-mazing. Thank you so much for coming out!”

“Speech, huh?” You laugh, and Minjeong can’t even muster up a response. Just a nervous laugh as Ning Ning continues.

“This party… this night… is for someone very special. And—can I just say—You guys don’t even KNOW how long this took to plan. Like—Jesus. We almost blew the whole thing, like, five times. But we didn’t! Somehow. We made it!”

More cheers.

And for the first time in a long time tonight, Minjeong isn’t smiling. 

You’re about to ask what’s wrong when you catch movement in the corner of your eye. 

Karina’s stood at the base of the stool now, one hand on Ningning’s dress, the other trying to gently lower her drink. Her smile is all teeth, and you swear you see her make nervous eye contact with Minjeong from across the room.

Giselle too appears from the crowd, successfully stealing Ningning’s drink from her hand. 

“Ning,” you see Giselle mouth, “we talked about this.”

“I know,” Ningning sing-songs, volume making it incredibly unclear who her speech is directed at. “But it’s fiiiiiine. She’ll forgive me when she sees how much everyone loves her.”

Karina shoots her a look of overwhelming disapproval, and Giselle looks like she’s ready to yank her off the chair completely.

“I mean, come on,” Ningning cries. “Look at her! She’s adorable, she’s smart, she’s the reason we’re all here…

.

.

.

Happy Birthday Minjeong!”

Applause.

It rushes through the onlooking crowd: cheers are screamed, glasses are raised, a small cake appears from the fucking ether.

But you’re not part of the wave. You’re watching from the shore.

And you're hit by a tsunami.

It’s Minjeong’s birthday. 

And you, her newly-wedded boyfriend, had absolutely no clue.

Karina and Giselle are exchanging glances now, Ningning is halfway to crowd surfing, and slowly Minjeong turns to you with a timid smile.

“...Surprise?”

*

Minjeong finds you outside.

You barely notice though. Or rather, you choose not to pay her any mind.

Instead, you fixate on the countless slip-ups from her and her friends. Every corrected “us” instead of “me”, every half-choked “bir—” swapped out for something else. How, every time the day came up, she’d go defensive or disappear into silence like the topic was sensitive.

How you’d been so damn blind. 

And for what, you ask yourself. Why hide it from you? Why make it a secret worth protecting?

You don’t get to think up an answer.

A warm presence invades your back, and a pair of arms wrap around your core. You feel Minjeong’s cheek come to rest on your shoulder blade, the steady rhythm of her breathing syncing with yours.  

It’s neither an apology nor an explanation. 

And yet it puts you at ease.

“I’m sorry.” she says at last. “I should have told you.”

You’re barely able to muster up your response.

“Then why didn’t you?”

Minjeong’s hold tightens. “Because today was our first real date. It should be about us—not me.”

But that’s not what you’re really upset about.

“I didn’t even get you a gift,” you tell her, almost embarrassing in its simplicity.

Her hands unravel from your stomach, gliding to your waist instead. She gives the just gentlest nudge, coaxing you to turn and face her.

And for a split second it’s like déjà vu.

Her expression holds the same gravity as that fateful night you met. The same certainty in her gaze, back when she’d made sure you’d call her. Back when she’d decided—somehow—that you were worth going against everything she thought she knew about people.

“Look at me,” she says softly, gently holding your face in her hand.

You do.

“Today was the most precious thing you could have given me,” she says. “You. Here. With me.”

You part your lips to argue—to point out how pitiful that sounds. How you could’ve shown up with flowers, or a card, or just something nice wrapped in a ribbon. How she deserves more than your awkward presence and empty hands. 

But something interrupts.

A gentle pressure against your mouth. Warm. Soft. Immaculately indescribable.

Your first kiss.

It’s clumsy, on both of your ends. Neither of you really know what you’re doing. Your chest is tight, your hands twitch like they should be moving and every coherent thought has been reduced to white noise.

And yet, it feels perfect.

Perfect in how you feel your heart might burst. Perfect in how her lips fit onto yours. Perfect in how your noses clumsily clash and your smiles mirror.

For a moment you wonder if you should do more, if you should hold her, pull her closer, say something. But the thought dissolves the instant her fingers curl lightly into the fabric of your coat, grounding you. It tells you everything: you don’t have to do anything else. Just be here. Just be with her.

And you’re more than content with that.

But Minjeong seemingly isn’t, she pulls away—only slightly—leaving you slightly shocked as you meet her eyes from mere millimetres away. 

But she makes up for it:

“Don’t ever doubt how much you mean to me again,” she whispers.

Right before leaning in to kiss you all over again.

*

So this is something.

Never in your infinite cynicism and introversion did you think you’d end up at a party of all places. 

Well, you’re not actually at the party—you’re laying on the balcony. Snuggled up next to Minjeong like puzzle pieces on some tanning chair. Her head rests against your chest, your arm drapes around her shoulders, and she traces small little shapes against the back of your hand as the city sprawls endlessly below you.

Minutes—or hours, maybe—have slipped away without you noticing. The noise of the party behind the glass door might as well be a different universe. Out here, it’s just the two of you.

Your confusion—your dejection—from earlier all feel so small now compared to the love that sits in your heart.

You tilt your head, watching her. She looks almost unreal in the quiet—calm, serene, her expression softened by sleepiness and intimacy. She shifts slightly under your gaze, eyes half-lidded as she looks towards the horizon.

“…The sun’s rising,” she murmurs.

And sure enough, the night has already begun to give way. The skyline blushes pink and gold, each streak of light cutting deeper into the dark until the world feels reborn.

“Guess we’ve been out here a while.”

Her lips curve in a drowsy smile, almost laughing from pure joy as she nestles closer. “Worth it.”

And hey, you can’t argue with that. Not one bit. Lying here with her, watching the sky transform, huddled together like it was just meant to be, it feels like more than just another morning.

 It feels like the beginning of something really special.

You kiss the crown of her head.  “We really should get back soon, though.”

“Mm.” Her eyes slip shut again, her body relaxing fully into yours. “In a minute.”

You chuckle softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as the first full rays crest the horizon.

“Yeah,” you smile, keeping your eyes fixed on the light spilling into the sky.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

[jeylalol]

REQUEST!

aespa Ot4 reaction to fem!reader telling them they found their fellow aespa member on tinder???

aespa OT4 x fem!reader

warnings/tags: fluff, crack

the five of you were hanging out in the house after rehersals.

ningning was scrolling through tiktok, giselle was sitting on the floor, winter was stealing snacks from everybody, and karina was trying to watch a drama but nobody would shut up long enough for her to hear it.

you were sitting on the couch looking at your phone with a smile that immediately made giselle suspicious.

"why do you look like that?"

you looked up. "like what?"

"like you're about to start something."

"i'm not."

"yes you are."

everyone looked over.

you sat up a little. "okay, but don't freak out."

"that sentence never ends well," karina said.

you ignored her.

"i found one of you on tinder."

the room went completely silent.

winter looked up from her chips. "what?"

"i found one of you on tinder."

"who?" ningning asked immediately.

"i'm not saying."

"show us."

"no."

giselle pointed at winter. "it's her."

winter looked offended. "why me?"

"i don't know. it feels right."

"what does that even mean?"

"it just does."

"it's not me."

"that's exactly what someone with tinder would say."

"i don't even have tinder!"

you were trying so hard not to laugh.

karina narrowed her eyes. "wait, is it actually one of us?"

"maybe."

"that's not an answer."

"exactly."

now everyone was trying to look at your phone.

you pulled it away.

"no cheating."

"just show us," winter complained.

"guess."

ningning immediately pointed at giselle.

"it's definitely giselle."

"why am i always the first suspect?"

"because i said so."

"that's not a reason."

"it's enough of a reason."

giselle rolled her eyes.

while they argued, winter suddenly lunged for your phone.

"hey!"

she grabbed it before you could move away.

"got it."

"winter!"

everyone crowded around her.

winter looked at the screen.

then she blinked.

then she looked at you.

"...seriously?"

ningning was already laughing.

"what is it?"

winter turned the phone around.

on the screen was a tinder profile named winter.

except it wasn't winter.

it was literally a golden retriever.

a golden retriever wearing sunglasses.

giselle lost it immediately.

karina nearly dropped her phone laughing.

ningning fell backwards onto the floor.

winter stared at all of you.

"that's not funny."

"that's literally you," ningning said.

"how?"

"look at the picture."

"it's a dog."

"exactly."

winter threw a chip at her.

ningning laughed even harder.

you were crying from laughing at this point.

"read the bio."

karina cleared her throat dramatically.

"'likes food, attention, and bothering people for no reason.'"

the room exploded again.

winter covered her face.

"you all suck."

"look me in the eye and tell me that isn't accurate," giselle said.

winter opened her mouth.

then closed it.

"okay, maybe a little."

"a little?" karina repeated.

"a lot," ningning corrected.

winter grabbed a pillow and threw it at all of you.

it missed completely.

which somehow made everyone laugh even harder.

[bkstargazer]

not-so-meet-cute with katsuki bakugo..

────────────────

the weather is getting cold by early november, enough to break out the classic grey scarf you’ve been wearing as a staple for the past two years now, burying your chin in the soft fabric as a shield against the brisk morning air as you make your daily commute through the city.

normally, you have a coffee at home before work (as god knows you can’t afford to sustain a caffeine dependancy otherwise) but today you’d slept through your first alarm, derailing your routine. the cafe down the street is your substitute, where you always go when you have to leave in a rush to ensure your son gets to school in time. he’s only six, but you like to be punctual and dread giving his schools infamous ‘mom group’ anymore ammo against you.

the bell chimes gently as you push open the door, shuffling inside and joining the back of the short queue. it’s never too busy here, but there’s enough people in front of you to give you long enough to scroll through your emails, stepping forward automatically with the crowd.

finally, when the counter meets the floor in your peripheral, you tuck your phone away, sliding it in your back pocket just as the person taps in front of you taps their card and steps aside.

the young cashier gives you a smile, a familiarity behind her greeting. as well as the occasional morning pick-me up spot, you like to treat your son with hot chocolates semi-frequently here and he adores it because they always supply a mountain of whip cream on top.

ordering your regular and moving out of the way, you join the small entourage at the other end of the counter waiting patiently for their orders, tucking in-between a young girl wearing chunky pink headphones and an older man with glasses fitting small on his face.

while you wait, although it never takes too long, you finish checking your work emails, mentally crafting todays to-do list for yourself.

you can’t help smile when your orders called, a knot relieving itself from your shoulders, ready, finally, to embrace todays caffeine hit only for someone to almost instantly shoulder into you. hard.

heat cascades over your hands and you watch in horror as your freshly prepared drink cascades to the floor almost in slow motion, brown splattering over your black heels and a pair of pristine white sneakers.

you look from the shoes to your heels to your blouse (now also coated in brown splodges) up to the face of the offender.

the man’s at least a head taller than you, blonde hair sticking out at jagged angles and face carved in sharp lines that would be handsome if they weren’t twisted in merciless disgust.

an apology (despite it being not even the slightest your fault) forms on the tip of your tongue only to fall short when he speaks first.

“tch. watch where you’re fucking going.”

you blink, taken aback.

“excuse me?”

“you deaf as well as dumb?” he scoffs, snatching half the stack of napkin off the counter and sending you another sharp glare, before stalking away with his to-go mug like he hadn’t just ruined your outfit and wasted your coffee. “..pain in the ass extras.”

in dumbfounded shock, you follow the tense lines of his back as he storms out of the cafe.

“fuck you too asshole,” you retort once you finally manage to gather yourself our of your stupor enough to be outraged, scoffing sharply, half-to-yourself and half with full intention of the prick over hearing as he leaves you soaked without an ounce of decency.

“i’ll make you a new one,” the barista extends quickly, finally gathering herself too and offering you a sympathetic look. “while you clean up.”

you sigh, giving up on trying to summon him back so you can properly chew him out and tearing your eyes away from the door, glancing down at your ruined shirt. you only took it out of the wash last night.

“.. thanks.”

picking the empty to-go cup off the floor, you dump it into the bin, making the walk of shame past the other customers towards the bathroom.

scornfully, stood in the locked bathroom stall in your bra and socks as you dry your blouse under the hand dryer, you mentally curse the man with everything filthy and hateful you can think of.

you hope that bastard eats shit.

meanwhile, katsuki bakugo marches into training, expression even more pissed than normal and coffee spilt over his shoes.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

this can be read as a standalone fic or as part of the hockey au series i’m currently working on!

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Affection(?)

Nightwing x Shy!Reader

summary: You stubborness fails on a cold snowstorm. wc: 1.0 K warnings: fluff, no y/n used, mostly platonic feelings here, dickie is a softie, one-bed-trope a/n: long time no see... i was so busy with completely different stuff, but now i am here and trying to bring something decent out!! have fun!!!

You were never open about physical affection, or let alone physical touch. It was pretty obvious to everyone on the team, actually. The way you‘d recoil from a hug or wipe your hand off your pants after a handshake, how you‘d never get too close to anyone.

But Dick noticed it the most from everyone else, being an openly affectionate person himself. It frustrated him at times, wanting to give everyone a high-five after a succesful mission, but then having to leave you out of it… boundaries, and stuff, whatever, he respects it.

However, what he didn‘t know — what no one knew — was how you yearned for the attention and touch secretly. Some part of you, deeply hidden in the back of your mind, is tempted to just give into the urges and get the attention you want. But the other, bigger part doesn‘t want to admit the need for comfort, doesn‘t want to be seen as vulnerable in front of the whole team.

But if you would initiate some kind of physical contact with someone, no one would believe them. Which is why your plan is unfolding perfectly right now.

You got caught up in a heavy snowstorm, in the middle of nowhere, with none other than Nightwing, former boy-wonder, trying to clear out a base of smugglers. But the plan didn‘t go well, you got spotted, an explosion erupted shortly after, but at least the hostages got rescued on time.

Now it is time to return back, if your stupid helicopter didn‘t get stolen in the middle of all of this. But, luckily, somehow Batman got a safe house not too far away from your location.

You have stopped questioning everything a long time ago.

»So, we‘ve got four thick blankets, probably about a whole stash of pillows, and the fridge is full of cans of food. There‘s also a water boiler somewhere, I think we‘re good.«

Dick lists off before glancing back up at you, holding one of the blankets in his hands.

You got in a few moments earlier, still cold and shivering from the harsh snowstorm, but whole. Hair is still messy, cheeks and nose rosy, fingers feeling numb. Richard notices all those little signs but chooses to ignore it, knowing you are more than capable to look after yourself.

After settling some stuff down, he finally makes his way to one of the other rooms, seemingly the bedroom. In the meantime, you use the chance to explore what kind of canned food is in the fridge.

After studying the labels and ensuring nothing is expired, you make your way around the smaller safehouse as well, peeking into the bedroom Dick just went into— only to pause in light surprise.

There‘s only one bed. A classic situation.

Dick grins up at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

»Uh… seems like Batman really does only work alone. It‘s all laid out for one person in here.«

He tries to keep it light and tension free, while also trying to gauge your reaction. Will you bolt? Scream? Slap him, or try to sleep on the floor? Not on his watch.

»That‘s… alright. I guess.« You simply give him a shrug, not screaming, not throwing a tantrum… just accepting it. It almost surprises him, but he plays it off smoothly.

You watch as he nods and stands off the bed, getting his domino mask off with a hint of exhaustion.

»Great. Just don‘t hog the blankets.«

That comment makes you huff quietly, not too amused at his attempt at keeping it light-hearted.

Moments later, you are both in the spare clothes he could find in the closet of the safe house, handing them over to you even when they are clearly bigger on you. After securing the cabin and getting as comfortable as possible, you lie beside Richard, tensed up on your back.

On the other hand, he seems to be perfectly relaxed, laying on his back as well, one hand resting under his head in relaxed demeanor, his eyes closed and resting.

Unlike you, he potrays a perfect example of a resting person. Not like he is fooling anyone, you know he isn‘t sleeping yet due to his breathing. He must still be awake right now.

You are both awake, with the difference that Dick is actually relaxed and unphased by the situation, unlike you.

However, it is mostly due to the chilly temperature in the safe house, and the constant wild wind outside. Even the two blankets, you have thrown over yourself, don‘t do much against your trembling figure. So, your brain comes up with a better solution than clutching onto the blankets.

Finally, you close your eyes too and slow your breath, letting it grow slow and even. Your body still trembles ever so lightly, however not as much as in the beginning. You wait for a little longer until the silence settles over you two even further, only hearing the storm happening outside.

After a few longer silent moments, you shift slightly onto your side, the movement almost unnoticeable. But before Dick could register anything else, your hand curls around his wrist, holding him ever so lightly.

He visibly pauses for a few seconds before he glances down at you, studying your supposedly sleeping state. Of course he doesn‘t think too much of it and shrugs it off, closing his eyes again while he stays laid on his back beside your form.

Only to feel how your other hand circles lightly around his arm too, holding it close to yourself.

Sneaky.

Dick smirky quietly to himself, relaxing his arm further for you to hold onto him better. It is rather cute in his eyes, feeling your slightly colder hands wrap around his much warmer arm for some comfort of warmth— he isn‘t sure yet. But his chest tightens impossibly tight at the thought of you trusting him enough to let your walls down. Even if it is only slightly.

He keeps quiet and eventually lets himself drift off after a while too, once he is sure you are comfortable enough.

You both drift off peacefully, united by warmth and three blankets in total, your hands curled around his arm. The night goes by peacefully, the storm settling slowly outside, neither of you stirring too much.

BONUS:

»You want your emotional support arm for that?«

»Shut up, Dick.«

←MASTERLIST

taglist₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆

@143637-hrrm @dollyure @ibreathesmut @dreamzaremyrealityy @deadbeatphobos @lettucel0ver @salvatt1

[starburstbarnes]

white winter hymnal

Bob Reynolds x New Avenger!gn!reader

⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Summary: Your secret nighttime walk with Bob is about to come to the perfect end. The ice outside the Watchtower might put that at risk, but maybe slipping around has results that aren’t as bad as you think.

⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Content: mega fluff. established relationship but first I love yous🥺 no use of y/n. inspired by while you were sleeping bc bill pullman is gorgeous. remake with me and lewis when?

⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Word Count: 1.3k

⭐︎⋆˚࿔ A/N: as a proud former a cappella girly I couldn’t do a winter/holiday special without this masterpiece! hope you guys enjoyed the series, and happy new year’s eve!!

⋆｡°✩ Day Five of the holiday series ☃️

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆

Even though it’s freezing outside, the new scarf around your neck keeps you warm. 

Bob noticed you had started shivering about halfway through this nighttime walk. When he spotted a street vendor selling winter accessories, he jumped at the chance to rummage through his coat pockets for his wallet. You needed something cozy. 

That scarf, as red as strawberries in the summertime, was the perfect purchase.

You adored how Bob was always doing things like that for you. His attention to detail never failed to make you feel seen – like choosing an accessory in your favorite color, in this case. 

Staring at his side profile that’s alight with wonder for the falling snow, a smile blossoms across your lips. He’d follow you to the ends of the Earth, and you would do the same for him. 

This evening has been the break from the Watchtower that you both needed. Despite it being smack in the middle of the festive season, Valentina has been harder on everybody recently – going so far have you under a nighttime lockdown. To keep you from “tainting a good public image for the holidays,” she says. 

All it took was a late night knock on your bedroom door and the sight of Bob standing there – already swallowed in a forest green coat and a beanie – to completely ignore that instruction. 

After strolling around the gently bustling city, gloved hand in gloved hand, you figure with disappointment that it’s finally time to head back. When the two of you reach the front of the Watchtower, you stare up at its almost looming presence, snowflakes kissing the exposed features of your face. 

Bob sighs. “Is it cliché for me to say I don’t want this to end?”

You squeeze his hand, which radiates a comforting heat as usual. It fills you with a peace so serene that your heart rate slows. 

“Not at all,” you whisper, barely audible over the sounds of the city behind you. 

A three word phrase wants to escape your mouth. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind all evening – and the last few weeks, for that matter – but you’re not sure if it’s the right time. 

You’re going to push it down again and go inside. If there’s even a remote chance that this night could end on an awkward note, you want to avoid it. 

Yet your subsequent walk across the sidewalk towards the entrance is interrupted by a slip on ice. You come too close to losing your balance. An embarrassing fall definitely might put a dent in things. 

Thankfully, you’re not the only one struggling to stand upright. 

“Woah, I–” Bob’s knees wobble clumsily. “Baby, was this ice here when we–”

Right as he takes another step, his heel slips. Bob comes tumbling into you. Now you’re supporting both your weight and his. 

His eyes, sparkling under the city lights, widen. “Oops. Sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” You try to tuck a strand of hair that’s falling out of his beanie. “To answer your question, this ice was not here when we left.” 

“That’s what I thought!” 

Laughing softly, you both stand there uselessly noodling around for several moments. Each time you try to separate or move, you only slide around more. You’re a giggling, tangled mess of limbs. 

“Okay, how about we try this?” You shift slightly, but your foot threatens to go into a misstep. “Nope. Just kidding.” 

“Would it help if I–” Bob tries to back himself up slowly. 

It’s no use – he slides right back into you, nearly crashing into your shoulder. He’s able to stop himself, but, closer than ever, you’re really relying on each other not to fall now. 

Also, you’re just within reach for a kiss. 

He grins dreamily. “Never mind.” 

You stay right where you are, chest heaving from the laughter and energy exertion. You’re definitely both using the excuse of keeping your balance to clutch each other like you never want to let go. You wouldn’t mind here staying here forever if it meant – 

“I love you,” Bob blurts softly.

Your heart stops. 

The confession suspends itself in the air, as if it were your frosty breath curling upwards into the atmosphere. 

Based on his singular nervous swallow, you don’t think he was expecting that to come out, either. 

“Woah! I, uh–” He grips you tighter out of shock. “I’m – I’m so sorry? I don’t know where that came from.” Bob freezes. “I mean, I do.”

He’s directly staring at you, cheeks dusted pink from the weather and a shy blush. Voice coming out quieter, he stammers, “You don’t – you don’t have to say it back! Yet. Or if you don’t feel it all, I just – I’ve been thinking about it, and I – gosh, I guess I couldn’t–”

“Bob! It’s okay, it’s okay! I’ve been waiting. Um…” Face and fear immediately melting into a completely dazed smile, you lean even closer. “I love you t–” 

Of course the ice decides that your time is up right at that second. 

Even the briefest movement was enough. And there you go, falling straight to the ground with a cry, scarf splayed out across the snow in a splash of red. 

The pain settles in the aftershock. Bob groans, clutching his lower back. You suck in a sharp, labored breath through your teeth before checking to make sure your scarf isn’t torn. 

But once you realize you’re okay, you look at each other at the same time. Bob’s cheeks puff up with a withheld laugh. Your lips quiver with a smile. 

Then you start cracking up louder than you have all night. 

“So that was – a – bust,” you force out in between cackles. “We lasted a – a long time, though!” 

“Yep,” Bob declares with a nod, looking over at his lanky body sprawled across the sidewalk. “Boy, I should’ve w-worn shoes with a better grip!” 

It takes you a little bit, but soon you’re finally up off the ground and past the patch of ice with absolutely impeccable timing. Bob readjusts your scarf, and you fix his beanie, the latter of which has slightly fallen over his eyes. 

When you’re all fixed up and brushing any remaining snow off your clothes, you exhale forcefully. “Wow. I’m so glad neither of us broke anything.”

“Me too. Crazy fall,” he murmurs in amusement. “But, um, you know what wasn’t crazy? What you said.” He nods vigorously, possibly to himself for reinforcement. “Before we fell. Like – the phrase.” 

Bob looks off to the side, eyebrows furrowing. “Okay. I could’ve transitioned into that better.”

He is so cute. 

“What? No, that was perfect,” you giggle. “I was going to bring it up, anyway. Because I really do mean it. I love you, Bobby.” 

It’s said matter-of-factly, like a complete no-brainer statement. Because it is.

You shrug playfully. “See? Now we’ve both said it. Free of slipping.” 

Bob presses a quick, innocent to your lips. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“No, really, what I do to–” He pauses. “Actually, I’ll stop us here. Or else we’ll be stuck here for hours.” 

You go completely fuzzy inside at the realization that you’ll probably exchange the L word like this, too. The thought makes you feel so warm that it overpowers the freezing draft whipping against your wet clothes. 

“Oh, I know we could.” With an unapologetically goofy smile, you ask, “How about we call it a tie and make some hot chocolate inside instead?” 

Bob beams. “Deal.”

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