#every time i take pictures i realize how messy my room is and then i have to clean up 😂

[outfoxt]

I found my pants

[ds-angel1]

Bunny - brotherly love

cw: SMUT(18+), incest, piv sex, dubcon, hand job, finger sucking, nipple/titties play, reader being pervy and sneaking into Rafe´s room while he´s sleeping, age gap(18 and 25), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT!!

wc: ~ 1,6k

a/n: first post and first fic, pls dont cancel me... yay

You knew it was vile, you knew it was dark and twisted.

You tried to stop—oh, how you tried--wrestling with shadows in your mind, drowning your thoughts in the shallow pools of distraction.

But they rose like whispers through the flood, unyielding, unrelenting. No, it didn’t work. It never did.

You still bit your lip every time he was shirtless. Your chest still flushed every time he was in your near vicinity. You still imagined him every time you reached your nimble fingers into your cotton panties.

Rafe.

Your brother.

It all started because of a simple joke. One that your friends made.

“Stop, oh my god, your brother is so hot, I’d let him hit so hard,” your best friend giggled as she munched on the popcorn you had cooked up for all 4 of you for movie night.

“Oh, hell yes!” Interjected another of your friends, her voice enthusiastic, “I would let him hit even if I was his sister!”

The living room erupted in giggles before they disappeared and the girls surrounding you focused their attention on the movie again.

Your attention stayed on the topic prior though. On him. Like any human mind would, your thoughts conjured up a realistic third-person image of your big brother fucking you. But what your mind did that not any human mind would do, was like the idea. Your eyes stared at the floor as you pictured the feeling, the view, the sounds. You clenched your thighs and bit your bottom lip—

“Hey, watcha nerds doin’?” He asked with a smirk as he appeared from behind, clad in only sweatpants.

You felt your cheeks flush at the realization of what you had been fantasizing about.

“Nothing, just watching a movie,” you muttered.

“Gee, no need to be so cold, bunny,” he laughed as he ruffled your hair. Bunny was a nickname he came up with for you. When you were 3 years old you just loved hopping around so 10-year-old Rafe decided to call you Bunny. It stuck. He perpetually calls you Bunny even now, 15 years later when you wouldn’t call yourself much of a hopper.

You had always been close. He was a great big brother, protective, and kind, always played with you when your parents were too busy. When you had a nightmare as a kid, you wouldn’t come rushing to your parent’s room, no, you´d sprinted to Rafe’s.

Innocent nights where he comforted you to sleep in his bed. But now you were imagining being in his bed again, but not him comforting you; him fucking you relentlessly. Nothing innocent about that.

Right now you were tossing and turning in your pink, fluffy sheets. You had rutted against a pillow for almost an hour, trying to block out his face but it just kept coming, then you rubbed your aching clothed core for what seemed like an eternity but the need and desperation never subsided.

The need and desperation for your brother.

When you threw your head to the side and saw that the purple, flower-decorated clock on your wall read 2 A.M., you just couldn’t take it anymore. You threw your blanket off of your body, yanking your legs to the side of your bed and then your body to stand.

With as much sneakiness and smoothness as you could conjure up, you slipped out of your bedroom, the patter of your feet fon the firm grey carpet in the hall sounding like church bells in your ears.

Right before the end of the hall, you turned your body left, finding yourself face to face with Rafe’s room. “KEEP OUT” stood in bold messy letters on a burgundy sign hung on the door.

Your parents never really paid much attention to it and just stormed in whenever they wanted. He was a 25-year-old still living with his parents, who could blame them for ignoring his rules?

Your fingers played with the hem of your nightgown nervously before you lifted one of your hands to slowly push down the door handle and crack the door open.

The small creak that came from the wood moving made you cringe in fear. Once the space was wide enough for you to fit, you entered his room.

There he was, lying sprawled out on his black satin bed cover, hair unruly and spiked. His body lay wide and stretched out on the mattress, his boxers the only thing covering him. His blanket lay on the ground as it seemed to always after he slept, even as a kid he did backflips and dances in his slumber.

The thoughts in your mind that screamed that this was wrong were drowned out by the sight of the slight bulge in his boxers.

You knew it was wrong. So so wrong. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You climbed onto the bed, crawling towards where he lay. He looked cute like this, snoring ever so slightly and a tiny bit of drool accumulating in the corner of his mouth.

Anxiously you moved on top of him, making sure to not let a single fiber of your legs or arms touch him.

After you had hyped yourself up enough to do it, you leaned back, letting your ass hit his thighs in a gentle fluid motion and your hands find his chest.

A moment of silence overtook the room and once you were sure he was still asleep you started moving again. Your hands found their way to his boxers, gripping the elastic band at the top and then without a single bit of haste pulling it down. Your hips lifted off of him and you dragged the plaid material all the way down to his shins and calves.

He stirred a bit, the cold air hitting his now bare crotch waking him a bit but he quickly settled into sleep again.

When you were extremely sure he was out cold again you finally let your eyes travel down. His half-hard cock, pretty and pink, barely at its full length and potential, and yet still managed to make you softly whimper out loud.

With a shaky hand, you reached forward, wrapping your small fingers around his thick base and pumping a few times. You weren’t a stranger to this, but this felt different. And no, not because he was your brother and it felt wrong. No, it felt right. Perfect.

A groan fell from his lips and he twisted his upper body, eyes squeezing shut even more tightly. At the sudden noise and movement, you immediately pulled your hand back, eyes widening in fear and worry.

In a desperate attempt to flee the scene, you kneeled up fully, accidentally brushing one of your plush tights against his tip.

It seemed that that was the only sensation left to wake him as a moment later you found yourself staring straight into your brother’s icy blue eyes.

His gaze left yours as he gained consciousness, pupils flicking around and taking in everything.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He whisper-shouted, confusion, anger and something else you hoped was desire present on his features.

“Um…” Your brain was frozen, all you could do was stare at him in horror as you knelt over him.

“You’re my fucking sister! And you’re 18! We could get fucking arrested! Me especially, you—“ he cut off before he could finish that thought as he saw your eyes watering.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he half ordered, half reassured, “Bunny, it’s gonna be okay. This never happened, okay? Go back to your room and—“ yet again he didn’t finish his sentence. This time it was because he had gripped your hips, hoping to lift you off of him, but instead, he accidentally brushed your nightdress up a bit and revealed your naked sex to him.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, “God, Bunny…”

Nothing happened for a few seconds, silence and stillness taking over the bedroom. Then without warning he grasped your hips even tighter and sank you onto his thick, throbbing cock, causing you to moan and whimper out loudly.

Quickly, Rafe’s hand shot up, stuffing three fingers into your mouth to shut you up.

“Shh, Bunny, don’t want mommy and daddy hearing you now, do we?” His voice whispered sharply between heavy panted breaths.

You rolled your hips, gagging on his fingers as they roughly probed down your throat.

“Fuck, such a little slut for your big brother, huh Bunny?” He tantalized, hissing as you started bouncing up and down on his cock.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, his blunt tip hitting that perfect spot on your cervix every damn time. When he forced your dress down your shoulders and took one of your rosy pink buds into his mouth you felt as if your eyes could do a whole 360-degree spin.

You were sure the scene looked vulgar, a big brother letting his barely legal sister ride him, his mouth vigorously sucking, nipping, and lavishing her nipples, his fingers in her mouth to shut her up, drool running down the corners of her mouth and right into his own at your breasts. It was disgusting. Perfect.

It wasn’t long before you were choking and sputtering around his fingers that you were going to come, snapping your hips up and down faster and faster.

“Come for me, Bunny, be a good little sister, and come for your big brother.”

His words pushed you to your limit, clenching around his pipe unbelievably tight and coming. The feeling of your wet warmth snug around him made him quickly follow, shooting his load into you.

After a few more rolls of your hips, you had both come down from your highs and Rafe had removed his digits from your mouth. The room was filled with breathless pants and quiet shuffling now and then.

Finally, Rafe spoke up, his voice silent yet it spoke volumes of what he was feeling.

“Fuck.”

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), protected sex, lots of crying, mentions of cheating (not reader or seokmin), theater nerd Seokmin

Length: ~16k

Note: I was hoping to post this way earlier but alas. I got sick back to back over the holidays. ANYWAYS thank u my sweet @gyuswhore for beta reading and talking me down from the edge and @miniseokminnies for all the theater knowledge. And @ugh-yoongi bc words are hard. CHECK OUT the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios and keep an eye for our next project

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends text you how much of a jerk he is, a few call but you ignore them. All you want is to wallow in self pity.

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze make deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit,” he says. “Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. While most people preferred not to be humiliated via social media, it showed his true colors and firmly shut the door. But sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people who deserved it. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of losing even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flights are delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

But you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving were ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes, following him inside.

Mr. Neighbor’s apartment is similar to yours; mirrors the layout of your cramped one bedroom except with neutral colors and a lot more decor. The couch divides the living area from the kitchen. Comfy blankets and pillows littered around. Someone actually lives here, unlike your place where the most personalized thing is fridge magnets. You didn’t feel the need to decorate an apartment you didn’t see yourself staying in very long. Even if it’d been almost a year and the lease renewal sat on your countertop, signed and ready to drop off at the leasing office.

He walks into the kitchen, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while he fishes in the cabinet for something. You sink into one of the leather barstools and watch as he pours water from a pitcher in the sink and slides it across the counter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You drink it all in one go while he waits, sobering up enough to realize how embarrassing this all is. You’re drunk, in your mysterious neighbor's kitchen, crying about your ex-boyfriend. But he was drunk, listening to one of the most depressing songs in history, crying about “stupid shit.” Mutually assured destruction. 

“We only broke up at Christmas last year.”

“And he’s already engaged?”

“To his best friend.”

At that, Mr. Neighbor procures another glass and pours a little bit of whiskey before presenting it to you. “That’s rough.”

This time, you don’t even wince when you swallow.

He stares, waiting for some sort of reply, tipping the bottle into his own cup but not drinking it just yet. Now that he only has one face instead of four, your face heats. Drunk, sad and a little horny because he has really nice hands, and an even better face.

You tug your phone out and push it across the counter as a distraction for you both. Not that he probably needs it, you’re a wreck. “Here look at this picture.”

Mr. Neighbor scrolls through each picture methodically. Zooming in on strangers he doesn’t even know. Mouthing the caption in silent horror. In effort not to stare at his fingers, you focus on everything else in his apartment. 

His fridge is covered in magnets and take out menus, but mixed into the collage are pictures. Photobooth strips in black and white, some large normal photos better suited for a frame. You’re too far away to decipher any of it but curiosity itches you to get a closer look. Postcards from different places, sport theme magnets. Baseball seems to be his favorite.

“He proposed to her at a Turkey Trot?” he says, like the idea is incredibly alien.

“Their families have done it since they were born. Like their moms ran it pregnant and pushed them in strollers until they could keep up.”

“That is….”

You laugh. “Insane.”

“I’m glad you said it,” he chuckles. “Who proposes after running a marathon?”

“I know!” you cry.

You tip the bottle of whiskey into your once again empty mug. There will be hell to pay in the morning but you need something to do to distract from the way your heart pinches at the sound of his laugh. The sad drunk stage is tapering into the horny drunk stage and you really don’t need to ask your nameless neighbor if he wants to make out on his couch. Although, it looks leagues comfier than the second hand lump sitting a wall over. Drinking any more will only make it worse but you need something to do with your hands that doesn’t involve touching him, or thinking about touching him.

He circles the counter and takes the barstool next to yours. Close enough you can feel the heat from his body, the smell of soap and citrus faintly tickling your nose. You want to dive into his shirt and breathe it in until you fall asleep. 

Mr. Neighbor is just a decently attractive man that has been overly generous with his time and not been a creep. That is the only reason why your brain is latching onto him right now; you know it. In a few hours, when your head hangs limp over the toilet bowl, you’ll regret this entire interaction and even more if you make it weird.

You balk, rushing away from the thought and looking for a distraction. “I’m not like…pining over him, if that's what you’re wondering. It just sucks seeing your ex who was staunchly against any long term commitment make it clear he was only against long term commitment with you.”

Mr. Neighbor seems to believe you. So many of your friends thought you harbored feelings for Sam this long after the break up but the truth is, you almost expected things to end. Not on Christmas with nothing but a text message, but it always felt like you and Sam had one foot out of the relationship. The end brought certainty and for that you almost felt relieved.

“If it’s any help, I don’t think it was a ‘you’ problem.”

For a second, you want to believe he actually believes that. He’s not just saying it because he’s being nice and letting you cry in his kitchen and drink his booze. Everything about Mr. Neighbor screams PERPETUALLY NICE. Like he saves kittens from trees and walks old ladies across the street in his spare time.

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, but he’s the one that kept you around while waiting for someone else. Sounds like an asshole to me,” he says.

“He is an asshole,” you whisper like a secret. Mr. Neighbor smiles back and you remember you don’t know his name.

He tells you without a shred of judgment.

“Seokmin.”

“I’m YN.”

“I know,” he blurts. His ears tinge pink just before his cheeks. “You had a friend come over one time, she yelled it pretty loud.”

Lydia only had two settings when talking: loud, and louder. Seokmin probably knew a lot more than just your name but was too polite to mention those sordid details.

“So, Seokmin. My drama aside, why were you crying? Or do you listen to depressing music to pregame a wild night out?”

Seokmin nods at your offer to top off his cup and chugs half of it with a wince.

“It feels kinda dumb now but I volunteer at the city theater downtown.”

That explains the framed playbills and theater tickets splashed across the living room walls. A story of all the productions he probably attended or participated in. You only recognized a few of the names. Perpetually Nice, indeed.

“Did one of them dump pig's blood on you while on stage?”

“No, nothing like that.” His mouth unzips into an amused grin. It looks much more fitting than the tears from earlier. “The director won a month-long European cruise and now I’m in charge of the winter production.”

What do people even do on a boat for that long?

“And I’m assuming you don’t want to be the director.”

“I did!” he groans. “But everyone is already emailing me and calling me, trying to bribe me into giving them bigger parts. Have you ever dealt with theater parents?”

Shaking your head, Seokmin grabs your hand with wide, terrified eyes. “They’re like dance moms on crack. I can’t handle it. Not to mention - surprise! - there’s no money for it and I have to do all the fundraising myself.”

Instead of responding, you fill each cup with another generous shot, clink glasses, and swallow them in tandem. The burn is long gone. Now, you feel like you're standing in the ocean, bobbing at the mercy of the waves as he keeps talking about the theater. How someone held him hostage after a meeting for an extra thirty minutes trying to convince him they didn’t need to audition. Someone else proposed an original production of Dracula as a break from the holiday slush every other theater planned. It glides right over your head, until he forces a glass of water into your grip.

“Sorry about my music,” he says.

“Sorry for being a bitch.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Your ex also broke up with you for their childhood best friend?”

“No. The last one broke up with me for her dog walker.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well he’s bald now.” He shrugs and takes another swig. Water not whiskey by the lack of grimace. “She’s also trying to audition.”

At least you have the privilege of watching your ex’s new courtship through the filter of social media. Seokmin is watching it play out a few feet away from him with a constant reminder that his ex-girlfriend was onto seemingly better things with a man who picked up dog shit for a living. Small mercies.

“How long have you two…” you trail off.

“Three months.”

His tone makes it clear there is nothing else he wishes to share on the matter. You get it. Three months after Sam you weren’t ready to talk about it, still kept all the shared memories you two had together in one of the boxes shoved deep in the hall closet. It wasn’t until nearly eight months passed that you finally donated what you could of the gifts he bought you and threw the other half away. Now, you can laugh at the way you sobbed over the ugly monogrammed dish towels from your shared apartment. When his mom gifted them for your birthday, the first thought you had was to burn them. 

“So what’s your play?”

Seokmin looks grateful for the swift change in topic. “A Christmas Carol.”

“Never seen it.”

“What?” he gasps. “It’s a classic!”

Below the counter, his knee presses firmly against your thigh. Seokmin doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because it stays there. Warm and grounded and all too tempting but you don’t move away either. A trickle of embarrassment heats your body when you realize you’re wearing the pajama pants Lydia got you for Secret Santa last year. The ones with cartoon gingerbread people fucking in small print all over them. If Seokmin looked down he’d see them in flagrante.

It didn’t mean anything but it felt nice. No way he saw your frumpy clothes and puffy face, crying over your ex and thought I want a piece of that. Typically, drinking only had two paths. On a normal night, you’d go from pleasantly buzzed to “wooo girl drunk,” as Lydia put it, then horny drunk shortly before falling asleep. Tonight, crying drunk meant no woo-ing and definitely no inappropriate thoughts. But Seokmin is the first real man to stoke a tiny ember of interest in months. 

It’d be messy. Not the act itself. Maybe. You’re tipsy and he doesn’t look any better but a sloppy makeout wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. However, making out with your neighbor and then dealing with the fall out of such a clumsy entanglement probably wasn’t worth whatever his hands were capable of.

So you snuff it out.

You shrug. “Not really a big Christmas person.”

“I would invite you to come see it but at this rate I doubt we’ll even have a show to begin with.”

You discover that given the chance, Seokmin talks a lot. Shares his entire life story about moving to the city with a group of friends from college, most of them living with their partners. How he found the theater while on lunch break from his job that he didn’t hate but didn’t like. Started volunteering. Met Martha, now ex-girlfriend, there. 

He also asks question after question about you, and somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s prying even though he hardly shares about himself. Probably because you’ve reached sleepy drunk and your eyes drop shut, responding while half asleep. You tell him everything. It’s not like you can embarrass yourself any further. But Seokmin doesn't make you feel the slightest bit of shame.

How you met Sam at a friend’s wedding and Carson was his plus one. How Carson’s boyfriends never seemed to meet Sam’s standards. How she was a little too friendly towards you but Sam swore Carson liked everyone. And from your experience, everyone liked her. Then, last Christmas, you stayed at home with the flu while the annual Phan/Spencer celebration took place and woke up to a nice heartfelt text message.

“That’s so fucked up.”

“Yeah, well what’s even more fucked up is his mom posting a picture of her with Carson captioned ‘the daughter I always wanted.’” you huff. “That really sucked.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything. Not that he can. How do you comfort a stranger about a shitty relationship with even more beneath the surface? 

Instead, you both sit in comfortable silence, locked in separate trains of thought. It isn’t until he messes with his phone and Celine Dion materializes into the room once again that you realize how weird it is to be sitting there, sharing woes with a complete stranger.

“Well, I’m just gonna…” you start, sliding off the bar stool.

“Yeah…”

You don’t look back, making a beeline for the door. “Have a goodnight! I hope you aren’t eaten by steroid fueled theater nerds.”

You’re in the hallway, lock latched firmly behind, before he can respond.

You don’t see Seokmin for another week. Not like you saw him much before but now you have a name to the face, along with hobbies and a personality. And his hands. Which don’t seem to leave your memory despite the desperate effort you put into doing so.

Even if you don’t see him though, you hear him on the other side of your living room wall shuffling around when you get home from work. 

He keeps his sad playlist to a minimum, and his singing about the same, flat rumbles through the shared wall you can easily ignore. Sometimes you don’t. Occasionally, you’ll pause whatever Netflix dating show poisoning your brain and listen, eyes closed as your mind wanders.

You hear him humming as he passes your door on the way out to work in the morning while you sip coffee and answer emails from your kitchen counter. Sometimes it's showtunes you don’t recognize, others it's Christmas carols. Seokmin has a lovely voice you realize, now free from irritation. It’s weird you never noticed before.

Apparently, Lydia noticed him long before you did.

You finish telling her about the entire debacle with Sam and Carson. Lydia doesn’t believe in social media of any kind so all of her life updates come over Bananagrams and face masks during your semi-weekly Thursday girl’s night at her apartment.

“You just hang out with your hot neighbor drunk and don’t make a move?” she tsks.

“How do you know my neighbor is hot?”

“Unlike you, I pay attention to my surroundings.” 

Part of the reason she deleted all her social media was because she wanted to be more ‘in the moment.’ This proves that maybe it actually worked. 

Grabbing more letter tiles, you brush off the taunt. “Well, unlike you, I can keep it in my pants.”

“How long has it been since you let someone under the hood?”

“Not that long,” you grumble.

“Really?” Lydia rolls her eyes at the next word you spell, S-A-D. 

“Shut up. It was the only one I could find.” You take another sip of hot cider. The hangover from last week's bender still haunts you. “Horny isn’t spelled with an ‘I’ or an ‘E’.”

“It’s been so long I thought you’d forget how it's spelled.”

A few hours and a couple of episodes of Temptation Island later, you're back home. The chilly air creeps into the mailroom, numb fingers struggling to unlock your mailbox. Bill. bill, catalogue, not yours, bill…

As the elevator carries you up to your floor, you find the last letter. A gold wax seal, velvety envelope. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But it is real and it’s exactly what you’re afraid for it to be when you rip it open right there in the hallway. The picture of Carson and Sam staring deep into each other’s eyes, love-soaked down to the finest details. His hand on her knee, both oblivious to the camera and not in the faux staged way of so many wedding announcements. 

Michael and Dena Spencer along with 

Jason and Zoya Phan 

Invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children,

Samuel Spencer and Carson Phan

You fling the card away like a venomous snake. 

What the hell is wrong with them? Is it not enough you were the collateral damage in their whirlwind romance? Now they go and rub it in your face how happy they are together. You were the last obstacle to make them realize they couldn’t live without each other, the catalyst for their happiness. And now you have a tangible reminder of the fact.

Thankfully, the hallway is empty so no one witnesses your mental breakdown. A silent stand off with a glossy wedding announcement. You’re tempted to leave it there, let Sam and Carson get trodded on until they’re nothing but limp confetti. 

But you can’t. You snatch the announcement from the floor and bolt to your door, key scraping the lock again and again. You just need to get inside. Get inside and then you can go DEFCON 1, shred the entire letter and do something else rash like give yourself bangs you’ll regret in the morning.

The key still won’t find home in the lock and you’re on the verge of giving up when you realize Seokmin is singing along to some record just a few feet away.

You don’t know him well enough to go banging on his door. One drunken bitch session did not a friend make. Even if the drunk bitch session involved recounting life stories and embarrassing childhood moments. Or pajamas with gingerbread people fucking which he definitely noticed.

But you can’t be left alone with this bomb.

Seokmin is standing before you barely a second after knocking, eyebrows scrunched together. You shove the invite into his chest and wait.

“How does he have your address?” he asks.

You shrug. “I made him mail most of my stuff.”

“Why?” Seokmin turns back into his apartment, the door open in invitation as he falls onto the couch.

“Because he cheated on me. The least I could get was him paying three hundred bucks in shipping.”

“You are a very scary woman.”

You follow. This time, you notice more details. His record player is tucked in the corner, crates of vinyl stacked next to it. The candle burning on the coffee table fills the room with the scent of teak and orange. You recognize it as the same one Lydia got you for your birthday; ‘the boyfriend scent’ as she called it. Of course, he’d have it.

“Thank you.”

Now that you’re here, you’re not sure what to do. Seokmin keeps looking at the invite like some puzzle. Like some underlying explanation is written in invisible ink. There isn’t one. The reason for the invite is clear: your feelings don’t matter and they never did. 

“I can’t believe they sent you a wedding invite. That’s so fucked up.”

“I’m probably gonna see all the pictures on Instagram soon anyway. At least, this ripped the band aid off. It just sucks they get to rub it in my face.”

“You still follow them, do they follow you?”

They do. Carson and Sam both follow you but you haven’t posted a single picture since the break up so it’s not like they’re reminded of your presence. Not the same way they remind you. There hasn’t been much worth posting either. You go to work, come home, shower, sleep, repeat. The occasional weekend at the farmers market or trip to the bookstore breaks up the monotony don’t inspire you to post. 

“Why?” you ask.

“You want something to rub in their faces.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Is there anything he hated doing while you guys dated?”

You laugh at the irony of the one thing Sam hated more than anything else. “He hated being posted on social media.”

“I have an idea.”

“Does it involve more Celine Dion and whiskey?”

“No,” he smiles. “It’s called a ‘soft launch'. One of the high schoolers explained it to me today.”

“Why are you talking to highschoolers about relationships? Actually, nevermind.” You snatch the invite away from his hands and flip it face down onto the couch. “And what is the point of me soft launching a nonexistent relationship?”

“He sent you a wedding invitation.”

“Okay?”

“So he’s either insane or isn’t completely over you. This is a way to show him you don’t care.”

“He broke up with me on Christmas while I was dying of the stomach flu. I don’t think he cares.”

Seokmin rises from the couch and heads towards the kitchen. “Do you want some wine?”

“Just water.”

He’s wearing the same costume as last week, sweatpants and a sweater. But his hair is a little wet and falls over his glasses. The look, the boyfriend candle, everything Lydia suggested… You should go home before making an idiot of yourself.

Seokmin returns with two glasses, places them both on the coffee table before tossing you a blanket. How can you leave now? It’d be rude. Besides, you want to find out where his offer is going.

“As I was saying: soft launch.”

“I still don’t understand where this is going.”

“You post it on your story, he sees, feels like a huge idiot, and then—”

“And then what? I don’t want him back.” But the thought of making Sam squirm is a validating one. Let him see you the way he’s forced you to see him. Happily moved on with someone else. Even if it isn’t real. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

It’s an easy photo. In theory. Nothing too suggestive, nothing that shows his face. But should you be touching? How much touching is appropriate for a man you’ve talked to twice? Seokmin doesn’t seem to know either. He searches the internet for inspo, some far too intimate for you to dream of. Sitting on his lap? Absolutely not. Having him hold you around the waist? No way. None of it would be believable.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asks after twenty minutes of scrolling.

On the surface, it’s nothing bad. The picture is relatively innocent with Person A’s legs draped over Person B’s lap, hand placed on Person A’s shin. Nothing crazy. At this point, you just want it over with.

“Fine.”

You wore semi-decent sweatpants this time so you don’t worry about that. It’s the entire premise of touching Seokmin so casually and having him touch you in return. But you take it in stride as you both maneuver and twist until you're a perfect copy of the already existing image.

Opening the camera on your phone, you snap a pic and hand it to Seokmin for approval.

“Eh…”

“‘Eh’? What does ‘eh’ mean?”

Apparently, ‘eh’ means Seokmin is wrapping his entire hand around your knee, the other hand on your ankle, and pulling you closer until your butt rests flush against the outside of his thigh. And then he doesn’t move either hand while waiting for you to snap a new picture. It feels like a thousand  pounds.

When you’re done, he leans over to assess the photo and you’re stuck with the image of him hovering over you. The picture goes up on your story, embellished with a heart emoji and Seokmin leaves your space but only barely.

“Should I RSVP too?” you joke. It’s weak, your voice thin because you don’t know if he can tell your sweating. 

He leaves even more space between you at that, scratching the back of his neck. “Ugh—”

“I wouldn’t actually go but I like the idea of them wasting money.”

“You know what? Do it. Did they give you a plus one?”

You jolt at the idea of Seokmin filling in the role. Focus. 

Their wedding site is filled with Pinterest inspiration level engagement photos. You ignore the fact it’s at the park Sam took you to for your first date. You don’t own Emerald Park, or the fountain in the background of their pictures where you and Sam first kissed, and you certainly didn’t own the botanical gardens frozen around them as they walked hand in hand. Hundreds of other couples, you and Sam included, visited Emerald Park all the time. It just feels tacky they would do a full photoshoot where half a dozen of your relationship landmarks lay. But Carson probably owned those spots well before you came into the picture.

Once you hit ‘Yes’ on the RVSP, including your fake plus one, things peter out into awkward silence. You’re still draped over Seokmin’s lap, his hands absentmindedly running up your shin, smoothing the wrinkles in your pants.

Who gets turned on from having their shin fondled?

“How is your play going?” you ask.

“Not horrible.”

“But?”

“Our sets are old, we don’t have costumes and we open in three weeks.” 

Seokmin seems to be in the acceptance stage of his grief. At least he isn’t wailing any more Now That’s What I Call Depressing music.

“So it’s not too late for that space idea then?”

He cracks up at that and you feel glowy from the sound of his laugh, the way his chest shakes. He squeezes your ankle. You preen. He still has his hand on your knee, thumb burning uneven circles through the thick fabric.

“I don’t know if anyone wants to see Scrooge in a space suit.”

“Who?”

Seokmin takes the question as a personal affront and decides you can’t leave his apartment without watching at least one version of A Christmas Carol. 

You try not to read into things but there aren’t many explanations available. The TV plays the animated version with Jim Carry starring in almost every role which is apparently second only to the muppets version.. Seokmin popped popcorn. And when he came back to the couch, he pulled your legs back over his lap like it was normal. You’re rusty on dating but the amount of times your hand brushes his in the popcorn bowl is starting to border on ridiculous.

Instead of focusing on how this feels a lot like a date, you focus on the movie. Or try to. It helps that Seokmin remains unaware of your inner turmoil, he’s too busy gauging whether you hate or love the movie and looking for your reaction every time one of the ghosts appears. 

The angle isn’t conducive to watching the movie either. You can’t turn without straining your neck, unless you pull away from his hold which you don’t want to do at all. And Seokmin is so focused on your reactions that he isn’t catching much of the film either.

He clearly loves it, and wants you to love it too. So you act extra interested but it’s not difficult because clearly he sees something spectacular happening on screen and it makes you eager to see it too. Even if only to distract from his thumb slipping beneath your sock and circling the knob of your ankle.

The movie fades to black, Scrooge is redeemed and your neighbor is watching you with bated breath.

“So…”

You smile at his eagerness. “It was good.”

“Isn’t it? It’s a classic.”

Something about his sheer enthusiasm tugs at your heart strings. 

“I’ll help you.”

Everything in your body screeches WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Seokmin must think the same thing, face slack in disbelief. Too late, you’ve already committed. 

“My company is always throwing money at stuff during the holidays,” you rush, face heating. “Maybe they could sponsor you guys to help with the sets or something.”

He keeps staring and you keep talking because you’re not sure if this crosses some invisible line. Unlike the touching, or the picture, or the ugly crying last week. Slowly, amazement rooted on his face.  Even in your rumpled clothes, he looks at you like you’ve dropped nothing short of a miracle in his lap.

In a flurry of motion, Seokmin drags you into a hug, arms tight around your back, crushing you into his chest. The baggy sweaters you’d seen him in all of once hid firm ridges of muscle. You try not to indulge but your hands are wedged tightly between your bodies, and you’re practically sitting in his lap at this point. 

And as fast as it happened, he lets you go and nearly flings himself off the opposite end of the couch. 

“Sorry! I just—” His head cocked to the side. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

“I love taking money from people who don’t need it. It’s one of the few joys in my life actually,” you say. “And if they don’t sign a check, we can always try armed robbery. Do you own a ski mask?”

He pretends to think before smiling. “Funnily enough, I don’t. But something tells me you do.”

“A woman never reveals her secrets.”

The next few days pass uneventfully. You hear Seokmin come home later and later, pointedly aware that you’re aware of his coming and going. Occasionally, when it’s still early, he knocks an odd rhythm on the wall separating your living rooms and you learn it's a summons. He wants to watch a movie, or share dinner because he made too much, or hear something about your day that didn’t involve a six year old attempting an accent for their character and sounding like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. 

Even when you give him your number, he still knocks. Everytime you fight the urge to squeal like you’re back in high school.

The show is going as well as it can. People have their parts (with minimal complaining). Most of the costumes are free of mold (he sent you pictures wearing half the wardrobe). And Seokmin is maintaining his sanity. Barely.

In the rush of it all, you made a promise not to fuck where you eat. One messy break up requiring a move was enough for a lifetime. While Lydia took every update as another sign he was into you, the risk was too much. What if you misread everything? What if Seokmin wasn’t completely over his ex-girlfriend? She hadn’t come up again since that first night but that didn’t mean anything. At that stage of your break-up you hardly talked about Sam. Maybe Seokmin was still pining for her and you were just there. Or vice versa. He could see you were having a difficult time with the engagement and offered a shoulder to cry on.

Even worse, what if you did sleep with him and it was bad. So bad you could never look him in the eye again. Or he could have a weird dick. Or cry after sex. What if he secretly had a piss kink and that was the real reason Marta broke up with him? The lack of red flags only point to some flaw below the surface you hadn’t learned about yet.

Lydia thought it was ridiculous.

“I will bet my first edition Hobbit that his dick is completely normal,” she huffs through the speaker, the sound of her stationary bike echoing in the background.

Your Friday nights are usually spent curled up on the couch with wine and a movie but you couldn’t wait to give Seokmin the envelope containing a metaphorical golden ticket. The downtown streets are crowded near the theater where the entire cast and crew are spending the evening polishing up the existing set pieces but you brave it, if only to see the look on his face at the number of zeroes on the check.

“You just want me to sleep with him.”

“Is it so wrong I want my best friend to sleep with a nice, attractive man? Do you know how rare those are in this city?”

Your eyes roll. “He is my neighbor.”

“Your hot neighbor. Who has a normal dick and listens to Celine Dion when he’s sad.”

Something stopped you from telling her about the picture, and how Seokmin stayed cuddled up to you the rest of the night. Probably because you know she’d add it to the mounting pile of reasons to ruin whatever tentative friendship built between you. 

You find a parking spot and bid Lydia goodbye.

The building lobby, with sleek marble archways and a dusty chandelier the size of your living room, is empty sans a lone security guard scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t try to stop you as you stroll right past and into the auditorium. You don’t want to be a creep that watches from the dark but the sight of your neighbor stops you in your tracks. To hear about his work was one thing, however, seeing him in his element is another. 

He’s got paint all over his shirt and jeans and his hair is a mess from running his hands through it but he addresses the entire cast with confidence. Answers their questions, points the crew in the right direction, scans his binder next to someone with a headset who must be important. 

Everyone is caught up in their work so they don’t notice as you approach from the aisles, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. You’ve never been here before but the history of the building isn’t lost on you. The walls and ceiling stretch high above, intricate moldings weaving up to frame large murals of greek-style motifs. The cushioned seats had seen better days. Red velvet crushed flat, ripped seams and stained with time. But it has a charm to it.

It was easy to imagine Seokmin finding home in this place. Losing himself on stage, spending hours and hours hidden away with a script.

He finally notices your presence when you approach one of the side stage staircases.

“And what do I owe the honor?” he asks, lips unzipping into a grin you can’t help but return.

You wave the white envelope in response, bowing comically low. “I come bearing a gift.”

“Is that—“

You nod solemnly, forcing it into his hands. “Open it!”

Seokmin stares at the envelope the same way he stared at you the night you offered to help him out. A small miracle in the palm of his hand. Your boss signed the check without question. It was a good look to sponsor local events, great publicity and a tax write off. The second you mentioned there were children in the cast and it was volunteer only he doubled the donation.

Seokmin opens the envelope, pausing to read. His eyes bulge. “Two grand? Are you serious?”

“Yep. All it took was the promise of two pages in the back of the program. So if you could get that message passed along.”

He hasn’t looked away from the check as a flush rises up his neck. “I’ll get their logo tattooed on my forehead if they want.”

“Tried that…” you joke. “They went up to two thousand with the promise you wouldn’t..”

“This is…” 

You’re swept into a hug tight enough to pop something in your back. Too tight, with your arms wedged between your chests like the first time but you don’t mind. Seokmin is warm

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants, spinning you around.

You soak in the contact for as long as you can. Seokmin gives great hugs, better than great. You didn’t realize you craved the firm comfort of his arms until you had it once again and now that you do, you don’t want him to stop.

You notice someone watching over Seokmin’s shoulder. She’s pretty. Dark curly hair, button nose, big doll eyes boiling with indignation. 

“Is that her?” you whisper into his neck.

“Her who?”

“Mrs. Bald dog walker.”

Seokmin loosens his grip just enough to look.  “Yeah. Why?”

You bury your face back into the crook of his and give him a squeeze. Seokmin returns it instinctively, arms slug across the small of your waist like a puzzle piece. 

“Marta isn’t the jealous type,” he whispers.

“Huh, that’s weird.” Your lips purse. “Because she just stormed off.”

Seokmin whips around to look at the now vacant spot where his ex-girlfriend once stood.

“Consider it as my thank you for the soft launch.”

“Did that actually work?” he asks.

You can’t admit you forgot to check if either Carson or Sam looked at your post. Coincidentally enough, you were too wrapped up in thoughts of the man before you to remember the entire reason he touched you so casually that night was for petty revenge and not because he actually wanted to.

“Who cares?” you bluff. “Anyway, I was thinking of another fundraiser. Maybe it can give you guys some money for some updated set pieces.”

They could definitely use it. One of the stagehands staples fabric across a hole in the couch so wide you’d bet money the next person who sits on it would sink straight through to the ground, another slathers a thick layer of white paint on a dry rotted board. What good are new costumes without good props?

“If you keep helping us out, they’re gonna have to change the name of the building.” Seokmin smiles down at you. His hand is still at the small of your back but even through the many layers protecting you from the chill you can feel the heat of his touch.

“I’ve always wanted a theater named after me. Like a Rockefeller or something.”

“So what is this idea?”

You gaze at him expectantly. “How many of your friends are single?”

It took little convincing for your plan. Seokmin turns out to be a bartender and his boss agrees to host it (pending a small cut of the proceeds), and several of his friends volunteer to help a good cause.

You’ve never been to this bar either but it somehow fits him too. Not a complete dive but cozy and well weathered. Multicolored string lights hang from the rafters so thick you can’t even see the ceiling, and posters, neon signs, and other decor obscure the walls. A low platform in one corner clearly meant for live entertainment becomes the auctioneer block with a banner strewn above reading THEATER FUNDRAISER in painted bubble letters.

Most of the people in the crowd are involved in the theater one way or another. Volunteers, cast and crew, a few parents coming for the drink specials and a show. A few outsiders mix in with the batch; regulars, people who saw the chalkboard sign on the street and got curious. Seokmin’s friends linger around the pool table in the corner, nervously shuffling around.

You’re on your way over to finalize the order when Seokmin and Lydia intercept you. 

“Small problem,” he says.

“What?” 

Lydia sighs. “Mingyu has a girlfriend.”

“Since when?” you ask.

“Apparently fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh,” you say. “Good for him.”

“Except we’re a man down.”

“I’ll do it,” Seokmin interjects.

Your gut curls. The idea of someone, not you, going on a date with him leaves a sour note in your mouth. But you’re not in a position to say anything. 

But it doesn’t stop you.

“You can’t!” you blurt.

“Why not?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Lydia looks down right maniacal at your outburst. No way are you going to admit whatever feelings you have for Seokmin right now. 

“Who is gonna be the host if you’re busy?”

“I’ll do it,” Lydia says. There’s a dare in her gaze. She can smell bullshit a mile away. “Unless there’s some other reason Seokmin needs to host.”

She bats her eyelashes with all the innocence of the devil.

“Fine,” you nod.

Lydia snags the mic from Seokmin and bolts for the stage. “Alright, settle in! Tonight we’re raising money for a good cause. So let’s get this show on the road, and remember—no refunds, no takesies backsies, and no funny business! We take Venmo or cash. No checks! Now, first up, we have Seungcheol!”

Seungcheol steps up to the stage, body lax as the crowd eyes him up and down. He was the first person to volunteer when you explained your idea – spawned from many sorority fundraisers in college – to Seokmin. The others followed suit shortly after, giving you six men in total willing to go on a date (no funny business) in the name of supporting the arts.

“Twenty dollars!” a woman in a dark jacket calls.

“At least let me tell you about him before going at him like a piece of meat!” Lydia jokes.

Someone else interjects. “Forty dollars!”

Lydia ignores her. “He enjoys camping, sports, and long walks on the beach,” she reads off the notecard. “And he can fix your car courtesy of Choi Mechanics.”

“Seventy five.”

People keep increasing their bids, Seungcheol clearly enjoying the attention as he jokes and winks towards the more eager ones. He’s preening while you and Seokmin watch in giddy amusement by the pool table, faces hidden in your drinks.

“Two hundred dollars!” someone near the back calls.

“Two fifty!”

“That’s Seungcheol’s girlfriend,” Seokmin whispers from your side.

You try to get a better look but Seungcheol’s girlfriend remains hidden at a table behind several others. 

“Then why is he doing this?”

Seungkwan comes up beside you. “Because they’re exhibitionists.”

“Sold!” Seungcheol yells.

“I’m the one with the gavel,” Lydia objects. She pounds the gavel to emphasize her power. “Sold for two hundred and fifty dollars!”

Seungcheol drops a wad of cash from his own wallet into the bucket at the front of the stage and disappears into the corner of the room where his girlfriend waits. You make a mental note to avoid that side of the bar for the rest of the night, just in case.

The other guys go easy, thriving on the momentum of Seungcheol. Soonyoung gets a date with a woman old enough to be your mother but he looks positively thrilled. Even Mingyu stops by to drop a couple bucks into your hand as an apology. Then it’s Seokmin’s turn.

“He can cook, he’s good with kids, and he makes a mean mojito,” Lydia announces. “Give it up for our favorite bartender, Seokmin!”

The crowd has mellowed out but remains enthusiastic, regulars and theater people alike clapping as he comes forward. Even his boss behind the bar rings a large bell mounted on the wall reserved for good tippers. Someone wolf whistles and Seokmin goes red.

“Let’s start the bidding at thirty bucks,” Lydia says.

“Fifty!” someone calls.

By some feat of the universe, Seokmin transforms into a maroon faced mess.

You look around the bar and spot her at a table close to the edge of the stage. That ugly gut punch from earlier rears its head again at the gleam in her eyes, like she can’t wait to sink her teeth into Seokmin the first chance she gets. You don’t want Seokmin going on a date with her. You don’t want him going on a date with anyone.

Your mouth is open before you realize. “A hundred.”

Seokmin, Lydia, and just about everyone else in the bar whip their head in your direction. You refuse to look at any of them, staring down your competition as she raises her hand to counter.

“One fifty.”

“Two hundred.”

“Three fifty,” she says, smirking at you.

Lydia levels you with expectant looks. Seokmin watches you like you’re a wild animal, unsure of your next move. You’re in too deep now. 

“Four hundred dollars.”

Your competition opens her mouth to rebut; however, Lydia is already swinging the gavel, “Sold! To the beautiful woman in the ugly sweater. Come get your man!”

Seokmin catches your arm before you can open your purse. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you for saving me from spending all my money on take out.”

He stares at you for a second too long, frozen in his own disbelief. You’re lying and you both know it but to admit that him going on a date with someone else, even for a good cause, made you jealous ventures over a line you’re not ready to cross just yet.

“Alright, that was our last man of the night,” Lydia announces into the mic. “Which means we’ve raised a whopping two thousand six hundred dollars for our local theater.”

Everyone cheers once again. The atmosphere is light but the bubble surrounding you and Seokmin is anything but. 

He raises an eyebrow skeptically as you shove bills into the collection bucket, pointedly looking anywhere but him lest your face match the red of his own. It doesn’t matter though. You can feel the heat on your cheeks, the sweat at your hairline. Four hundred dollars to go out with a guy. 

At least it’s for a good cause.

Seungkwan saves you from whatever questions Seokmin has, pushing his friend back to work behind the bar before cornering you into conversation.

“You,” Seungkwan says.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m having a pre-game at my house tomorrow night. You’re invited.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I’m not really a partier.”

“It’ll be a small thing. Most of the guys here and my roommate. We’re going to Jane’s after.”

“I’ve never been there before.”

Seungkwan stomps indignantly. “You’ve never been to Jane’s? Jane’s is a neighborhood institution.”

“I guess I never got around to exploring much,” you shrug.

“Why not?”

A creature of habit such as yourself, you rarely went to new places. You liked the places you already knew, the ones you didn’t have to guess if you liked. Besides, you hadn’t felt like going out much in the past few months, something always coming up including reasons, such as: you liked your apartment with cheaper drinks, less cigarette smoke, and no strange men trying to mansplain American Psycho.

Lydia appears at your side, new drink in hand. “Did someone say party?”

“It starts at eight thirty, but don’t come until nine. Seok will give you the address.”

Seungkwan disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Lydia hovering at the edge of the stage all alone. If there was one person besides Seokmin you didn’t want to be left alone with, it was her. But it’s too late to escape.

In the face of total mortification, you try to put on a brave face.

“Four hundred? Really?” Lydia asks.

“Shut up,” you mumble into the cup of melted ice.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’ve met your friends before,” you snort.

Seokmin rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but they can be a lot and that’s coming from me.”

You refused to let the car ride on the way over be awkward, plowing through whatever cobwebs lingered between you two. Luckily, Seokmin went along, recalling horror stories from Seungkwan’s yearly holiday pre-game. There was the year Soonyoung attempted making hot cider and gave everyone food poisoning. The year after where Mingyu ended up breaking the bathroom doorknob resulting in the fire department coming out to free him because he got stuck trying to crawl out the window above the shower. And most recently, Jeonghan – who you haven’t met yet – hid under the couch for the sole purpose of grabbing people’s ankles as they walked by; except he fell asleep and Seungkwan found him the next morning while cleaning.

Nothing you couldn’t handle.

“Well, if it's too much I’ll send you some code to leave.”

“What should I be looking for exactly?” he asks, lips quirked.

“I’ll start making ghost noises.”

Seokmin snorts when you start demonstrating. “But that happens so frequently. How about morse code?”

“How about I scream at the top of my lungs?” you grin.

“Works for me.”

Seokmin knocks against the dark wood door leading to Seungkwan’s apartment.

“COME IN!” Seungkwan belts, flinging the door open wide. “For me?”

You hand over the bottle of wine with flourish. Heaven forbid you show up anywhere empty handed, a habit hammered in by your mother. “For you.”

Seungkwan pulls you inside. “I like you more and more. Come on, everyone else is already here.”

The doorway leads straight into the crowded living room. You recognize Seungcheol, a woman his same height tucked into his side as they chat with Lydia on the couch. Coincidentally, she lives two floors above Seungkwan and Vernon and was thrilled to discover mailroom guy had a name and good taste in music.

You quickly scan beneath the couch for any full grown men and are mildly disappointed to find none.

Seokmin gets caught up in ‘hellos’ while you pad down the hallway after Seungkwan; into the kitchen where Mingyu stirs something on the stove.  Cocoa and vanilla flood your nose, the warmth of the kitchen driving away the lingering chill from outside. Seungkwan puts the wine on the counter before pulling mugs out of the cabinets. 

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Spiked hot chocolate,” Mingyu says. He adds a splash of peppermint schnapps to the pot and starts stirring again before pouring two mugs: one for you and one for Seokmin. “There’s whipped cream over there.”

You’re shaking the can of whipped cream when an arm reaches over your shoulder and pulls it out of your grip.

“Just say when,” Seokmin says.

He piles a comical mountain of whipped cream into your mug, and then a matching one on his own. There are sprinkles as well as chocolate shavings and you both artfully decorate your drinks with handfuls of each.

“I think we have more whipped cream than hot chocolate,” you say.

“There’s no such thing as too much whipped cream.” 

You both take a long sip and when he’s done you choke. He’s got whipped cream on his nose, his lips, and his cheeks. 

“What?” Seokmin asks.

“You’ve got,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

He stands perfectly still as you wipe his face with a paper towel. You’ve been this close to Seokmin before but with amusement instead of nerves clouding your system, you notice details you hadn’t before. The mole of his cheek. Two. One a little more pronounced than the other. Cute.

“Alright, all done,” you announce, finally noticing the way he stares down at you softly. So much for not having any nerves. “C��mon, I wanna see if Jeonghan is hiding under the couch before we leave.”

You lead him out of the kitchen, looking for anyway to cut the tension—

“KISS!” Lydia demands. 

You scan the room for who she’s screaming at in an apartment full of strangers only to find her finger pointed straight above your head.

Mistletoe.

Mingyu barrels out of the kitchen to join in on the chaos.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they all chant. Soonyoung cups his hands around his mouth and belts it loud enough your heart lurches. 

“We don’t have to,” Seokmin whispers, cheeks and ears bright red.

“It’s fine.”

You plan for a quick peck on the cheek but Seokmin goes for his left while you go for your left and you’re not kissing but something dangerously close to it. The sticky residue of sugar and chocolate registers against your lips, a little bit of stubble missed when he shaved this morning. Barely a second of contact, just the edge of his mouth against yours but the world spins backwards and you nearly fall over. 

As fast as it happens, you both draw back, staunchly avoiding eye contact but staying pressed close.

Seokmin wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against his check. “You okay?”

His breath skims over your lips. The temptation to roll on to your toes and kiss him for real sends your heart racing. Your chin lifts. Seokmin looks at your mouth. And…

“Who's ready to party?” Chan calls, breaking the atmosphere. 

The walk to Jane’s is nothing short of hell. Snow falls in thin sheets, frigid air sneaking past the lining of your coat and straight into your bones. In the middle of the pack you aren’t as exposed thanks to Seokmin to your right, Lydia on the other side, and a gaggle of the others walking in front. 

Your hand keeps accidentally brushing Seokmin’s, sending a rush of pins and needles up your arm each time. You both pretend to ignore it.

The barren street outside the bar doesn’t hint at what waits within except for the dull hum of life sneaking past the door. It feels like half the city is packed inside, forcing everyone to slither past each other because there is simply no room. 

Seungkwan wasn’t lying when he said it was a neighborhood institution. A stage is set up at the far wall, drunks belting their hearts out. Your group fans out to the bar, snagging drinks before taking the pilgrimage to a small table near the stage. Seokmin keeps you close the entire time. Guiding you to a seat, insisting on standing right behind the chair and talking to his friends over your shoulder.

You sag in your seat, content to soak in everyone else's conversations. The edge of your mouth still burns from the contact of the kiss, the same sensation everywhere Seokmin touches. You crave more. Like a sunflower searching for the sun. You lean against the back of the chair for a chance to feel his chest against your back. He doesn’t shy away when you do either. You can’t see his face but Lydia sits across the table watching with a pleased smirk. 

“A toast,” Seokmin starts as the song fades and the next group to the stage. Someone wrangled a tray of red and green shots to the table and Seungkwan passes them around. “To Y/N. We wouldn’t have a show without her.”

“Yes, you would,” you correct.

“But we wouldn’t have new costumes,” says Seungkwan. “Do you know how old the costumes we were gonna wear are?”

“And we have new sets. We haven’t bought a new set piece in like fifty years,” Chan interjects. 

Soonyoung speaks up next. “And I got a date!”

Seokmin slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Cheeks hot, you hide your smile at the bottom of the shot glass.

Focus shifts as Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan take the stage for “No Scrubs” the entire bar signs along to. They’re born performers. Soaking in every minute of attention, riling the crowd up until your ears go numb.

You try not to think of the almost kiss but it’s hopeless. Two drinks down and the only thing on your mind is the eclectic feeling on his mouth on your skin. 

You’re so deep in your thoughts, you don’t notice Seokmin has come back to the table with a new drink for you until he’s nudging your shoulder with his.

“How do you like it?”

“Way better than the depression playlist,” you joke.

“Celine Dion is a classic.”

“Yeah, but after the first five times she loses her edge.”

Seokmin shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Blasphemy.”

Vernon and Seungkwan are singing Crazy in Love. Or, Seungkwan is singing and Vernon is head banging to the beat. Just watching makes your neck hurt.

Someone bumps into you from behind, sending you reeling straight into Seokmin’s chest.

“Woah, you okay?”

You nod into his chest but don’t let go. 

The shots earlier were a mistake. Seokmin looks good under the neon lights of the bar, better with the swirly haze of alcohol. You want to kiss him so bad it’s embarrassing.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice husky.

When you look up at him, something dances across his face. There and gone before you can figure out what it is. Home sounds like a great idea. Better to lock yourself in your apartment where your mind can run wild before you do something stupid – like drag Seokmin into a corner to make out – in front of all your new friends.

You step out of his grip. “I can get home on my own. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m good to go. Promise.”

Not willing to brave a thirty minute walk home in the snow, Seokmin orders an Uber while you say goodbye.

Once outside, Seokmin wraps his arm back around you. Away from prying eyes, you let yourself indulge with the excuse of sharing body heat. Friends share body heat all the time. There is nothing wrong with a platonic penguin huddle.

Too soon, he pulls away as a car pulls up to the curb. “This is us.”

Seokmin makes conversation with the driver while you stare out the window as the city whips by. He’s just being nice, treating you the same way he would all his friends. Touching and almost kissing aside, Seokmin is your friend and you don’t want to jeopardize it with complications.

“YN?”

“Huh?’

“We’re home.”

You stumble through the cold, Seokmin hot on your heels through the lobby and into the elevator. It’s a fragile type of silence between you. 

“I’ll see you later?”

“Night,” Seokmin says.

“Goodnight, Seok,” you murmur back, pushing open your door.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I left my keys at Kwan’s.”

“Should we call them?”

You invite Seokmin into your apartment while he tries to get ahold of his friends. Shinx offers timid emotional support by curling up in his lap, purring loudly as scratches under her chin. Now you’re jealous of a cat. 

How dmbarrassing.

Calling proves futile. Seungkwan’s phone goes straight to voicemail and Vernon doesn’t answer either. He tries texting them with the same results.

“You can sleep on the couch,” you offer.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re sitting in the hall all night,” you say. “Let me get you a blanket.”

In your room, you quickly change out of your bar clothes and into pajamas. It takes some time to dig out a pair of sweats and a tshirt that’ll fit Seokmin but you eventually find something for him. Snagging a pillow from your bed and an extra blanket from the linen closet. you head into the living room.

You force the clothes into his chest. “Here. Get changed and I’ll make your bed.”

A dark look glazes his face and for a second you think he might kiss you. Or you hope he’s thinking about it half as much as you are. But the moment passes. He locks himself in your room while you busy making the lumpy, itchy couch somewhat comfortable for him. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You settle on Krampus. Neither of you have seen it but even after tonight you doubt you’d be able to recall a single detail. Seokmin pulls your legs over his lap like second nature, covering you both in the blanket, his hands resting on your shin. Choosing shorts over pants was a mistake. The heat of his thigh against the back of yours makes you squirm. The calluses on his palms scratch an itch leading straight between your legs as he rubs up and down absentmindedly, never trailing higher than your knee.

You’re shaking. His hand squeezes and you nearly heave.

“Cold?” 

No.

But you nod anyway. 

Seokmin pulls another blanket off the back of the couch, carefully layering it over the first, tucking you in tight before putting his arms back over your legs.

“You know, you’re a really good guy, Seok.”

“Thanks.”

It’s shameful. How bad you want to kiss him, for him to kiss you. 

“I mean it.”

“I don’t know if it's true though.”

Instead of asking what he means, you lean closer. Then Seokmin does too. You’re too busy staring at his mouth to notice him doing the same. All your thoughts hone in on if he was as good a kisser as you imagined. And if you kissed him right now, would he kiss you back? If you touched him, would he touch you too?

Someone moves first. It doesn’t matter who because his nose nudges against yours, then you're swallowing his sigh, and you both practically melt at the relief. 

It’s better than anything you could have cooked up in your head. His lips are soft, the rough pads of his fingers gentle as he tips your chin. You like it. You like him. 

Your lips catch on his bottom lip by accident but it's the first domino to topple into a chain reaction. Seokmin’s lips part, your hands bury in his hair. His thumb hones in on the strip of skin between your top and your shorts. You maneuver into his lap, fingers cataloguing the expanse of his shoulders, his neck. Back into his hair. Close as you are, it isn’t close enough. You arch into him, dragging your lips across the line of his throat when his head falls back.

His hands are everywhere. The small of your waist, the base of your spine, lifting your shirt until it’s tossed to the floor and your topless in his lap, shaking with anticipation.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. His eyes lock on your nipples, tight from just a few light touches.

Seokmin pulls you back down, kissing you slow and heavy while his hands touch you with gentle reverence. 

Clothes come off. The borrowed sweater he’s wearing reveals so much skin you don’t know where to start. But Seokmin doesn’t let you linger too long because he’s taking off your bottoms until you’re completely naked. Seokmin eases his body over yours, heavy between your thighs. 

A particularly harsh pass of his hips pulls a wire down your spine, back arching painfully, moaning at the ceiling. 

“Ha,” you waver under his teeth, his tongue worshiping your chest, leaving broad strokes you imagine will feel amazing on other parts of your body. Head tipped back, you display yourself openly for him to touch and tease.

“Take your pants off,” you beg.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay,” he says, mouthing against the sensitive spot below your jaw. His smile is clear. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You make a sound between a whine and a grunt. You want to have sex with him. Right here, on your shitty couch. But you aren’t willing to take the risk, no matter how badly you want it. Even if he does have a weird dick which you doubt based on the feeling of it against your naked cunt.

“You think my dick is weird?” he asks, half shocked and half amused.

“No! I—” you scramble. “I don’t think your dick is weird.”

“But you’ve thought about my dick?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

Seokmin grins, clearly amused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my neighbor.”

“Oh.” He rushes to rise off you, kneeling between your spread legs. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“I do want to. That's the problem,” you whine.

He hums in acknowledgment, body shaking with barely suppressed giggles. 

You thrash. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not, I've just…never had someone be so eager.”

He kisses you like he’s the eager one, tongue tracing your bottom lip until you welcome him in with a lewd suck. It only lasts for a second before he’s back down your chest and then kneeling in front of the couch, nuzzling the meat of your thigh while his fingers stroke against your wetness timidly.

“Is this okay?”

“Yep!” you choke. “Great.”

Your legs verge on numbness from being bent in half for so long but Seokmin keeps finding those spots that make it worth it. You need something to hold onto; his hair, the cushions, your own breasts. Seokmin seems to love that the most. Grunting into your pussy as he watches with reverence as you play with yourself.

“Taste so good,” he rasps. “You’re so hot.”

Fingers thrusting, Seokmin strings you out. When he crooks the digits buried deep inside you, your back breaks in half. The hand pinning your waist down holds tights, the lean muscles flexing in your view. 

“J-just like that,” you hiccup. 

He never falters. Seokmin does exactly as you ask until you curl and come wet and hot on his face with a cry. It’s not until you push him off that he stops completely, rubbing the mess of his fingers on his pants and crowding you back into the couch cushion to taste yourself off his tongue. 

You moan against his mouth. “Wanna taste you.”

“I’m good.”

“I want to,” you beg.

“No like—”

You paw at his crotch only for the enticing hardness to be absent. He’s soft. Confusion furrows your brows for a brief second until the rosy tint to his cheeks registers. 

Seokmin hides in the crook of your neck, sigh ruffling your hair as he gets cozy in the warm space and allows his nose to trace the curve of your shoulder. “It usually doesn’t happen like that. I don’t—”

“That's so hot,” you mumble. The heat of his body combined with an orgasm and the last bit of your blood lulls you closer to sleep with every second.  

Seokmin tugs your shirt back over your head before pulling you close, his bare chest against your back, legs tangled beneath a quilt. Pure content tickles across your senses, followed by the warm drag of sleep.

Seokmin is gone by the time you wake up.

Shuffling from the couch into the bedroom, you accept he probably left early to get his keys from Seungkwan and didn’t want to wake you. Your head pounds in time with your pulse, stomach turning at the thought of getting off the couch. Thank God he didn’t try to wake you. There’s nothing less attractive than wanting to lay on the floor and wait for the sweet release of death.

The second time you wake up is to the sound of Shinx shredding a scrap of paper at the foot of your bed.

“You bastard,” you groan.

A set of large eyes stares back at you for a moment, before she meows and gets back to work on her kill. You nudge her off the edge of the bed with your foot. She bolts for the living room while you hide back into the pillows until it’s dark outside once again.

When you start feeling human enough to shower and eat, you check your phone. A text from Lydia and a few other notifications greet you but none from Seokmin. Not a call, or a text, or anything. Complete radio silence.

You hear him come home, the shuffle of his feet down the hallway and the slam of his front door. But there's no singing; not even so much as a hum. No knocking on the shared wall. You can’t hear a single thing from his side even when – embarrassingly – you press your ear against the wall like an eavesdropper. 

It’s like that for days.

Seokmin leaves his apartment after you get home. Or when you come back from work you hear him rush to turn down his music like he wants you to believe he’s out. He’s avoiding you. And you don’t know why.

You’ve thought about trying to catch him in the act; waiting by the door and popping out to ask him what his problem is. But you’re not sure if you want the answer to that question. He probably regrets kissing you. He definitely regrets kissing you if he's acting like this. But you don’t want to rush to conclusions either. The show opens Friday night and being director requires all hands on deck. Seokmin probably doesn’t even have time to brush his teeth let alone think about whatever it is between you too. Add the fact the actor for Scrooge broke his leg just before the auction and the only person comfortable enough with the role is also directing, he’s under a lot of pressure.

But none of the reassuring thoughts get you to leave the house the night of the show.

It wasn’t as if you had to be there. You helped fundraise but you weren’t cast or crew so your attendance was optional, even if there were two tickets waiting for you at willcall. Missed calls and texts rack up on your phone screen. Lydia, Seungkwan, Chan… But none from Seokmin. You should have turned your phone off to avoid the fall out from ditching. 

Instead, you accidentally pick up Lydia’s call. 

“Where are you?” Lydia screeches through the speaker. “The show's about to start.”

“I’m…I’m sick.”

You even fake cough but Lydia doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Get your ass down here or I swear to god I’ll drag you by your hair.”

“Why would I go? He hasn’t talked to me all week?”

“So? Who cares!” she huffs, “You worked really hard to make sure this all got done. They wouldn’t have costumes or a set without everything you did. Forget Seokmin, come see it for yourself.”

“I—”

“Listen. Whatever happened between you two happened. But don’t let that chase you away from this. We can plot revenge tomorrow but tonight you should celebrate how hard you worked to make this happen.”

“Alright.”

You race to dress somewhat appropriately. Sweater, leggings, and a nice coat are all you can manage if you want to make it before intermission ends. It’s a miracle you’re not pulled over for speeding or running through yellow lights at the last minute but you get downtown in record time.

The street outside the theater is quiet, fog rising from the damp pavement. Through the glass doors into the theater, people mill about. You missed the first half of the show but there’s still time.

Lydia waits on the steps, exhaling a foggy breath when she finds you.  “Thank god.”

“How's it so far?”

“Good. I can’t believe I’ve never come to one of these before.” She types furiously on her phone before locking it and tossing it back into her purse. “The costumes look so good.”

The theater is packed to the brim, the lobby practically bursting at the seams as people chat through intermission. The costumes look better than good and so do the sets. Seokmin plays a more than convincing Scrooge, even better than the ones you’ve seen in the million movie versions of the play you’ve watched together. There’s no way he can see you with the bright stage lights but more than once it feels like he’s staring right where you sit, looking for someone. Looking for you.

Your eyes remain glued to the stage, unable to blink just in case you miss a second. It's dizzying watching him perform, as if you're staring up at the sky for too long and starting to feel unmoored; like you can't look away, can't accept that something so captivating exists.

After another hour, the lights go up, the cast take their bows. Without warning, you’re blinking into a harsh spotlight.

“Stand up,” Lydia whispers, prodding your side.

“What the hell is going on?”

“This production wouldn’t have been possible without Y/N. We’re so thankful for someone like her.”

You smile awkwardly and wait for the clapping to die down as the spotlight moves back to the stage. The second it's over, you’re up the aisle and into the lobby.

Straight into Seungkwan, who is subtly guarding the door like he knew you’d run at the first chance.

“You’re coming to the after party, right?” he asks.

Other people start filtering in from the auditorium. Maybe, you can lose him in the chaos and go home. 

“Of course she is,” Lydia interjects. Her arm weaves through yours, a firm threat that she’ll drag you if she has to.

The after party is for cast and crew of legal drinking age at Jane’s. Lydia and Seungkwan ride with you, another silent threat looming in the air.  They chat the entire way, undeterred by your silence. It's nice having friends that care but all you want is to hide under a blanket on your couch and spend the rest of the night crying while Shinx watches you with unveiled disgust.

Outside the bar, you promise one drink, claiming that you really are sick and want to go home. Which might be true. You’re off kilter, head spinning, stomach twisted into untangleable knots. But that might be because you can hear Seokmin’s laugh as you enter and your muscles twitch to dive beneath a table until he leaves.

You manage to find a stool in the corner. Even in an attempt to remain unseen more than half the bar stops by to thank you; crew members you haven’t met or cast you’ve seen in passing. Lydia stays by your side throughout, a steady presence as you lose yourself in the party. You can almost forget who is floating around the outskirts of the bar like a ghost. 

“Vernon sent me to ask if you want to play pool,” Seungkwan says to Lydia.

She sends you a sideways glance. Not asking for permission but like you’re a kid she can’t leave alone.

“Go,” you say, brushing her away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t leave without telling me.”

“I’m leaving right now,” you tell her.

“Fine,” she sighs. Then she pulls you into a hug. Lydia isn’t a hugger, in the years you’ve known her you can count on your fingers the number of times it’s happened. “But you should clear the air before you go.”

“I live next to him. There are plenty of opportunities.”

She gives you an extra squeeze, fully aware you’ll continue pretending he doesn’t exist until everything smooths over and you and Seokmin are back to neighbors who tolerate each other's existence in fragile silence.

Which would work if the second you turn around to leave you don’t run straight into him.

He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say. “Can we talk?”

He nods before turning to leave the bar, not waiting to see if you follow but you do. 

The party inside the bar echoes out onto the snowy street. It seems no one else is crazy enough to have an overdue conversation in a snowstorm, but better here than anywhere else. At least after Seokmin lets you down, you can run back to your apartment and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.

Seokmin stands a few paces away, barely illuminated in neon signs and string lights strewn across the street. You aren’t drunk, not even tipsy. Alcohol would make this conversation worse but it’d take the edge off your nerves and dull a little bit of the cold.

You shove both hands in your pockets, unsure what to say now that you have him all alone.

“The play was good.”

“Thanks. Next time you’ll have to see the first act.”

It comes out like a joke but you can feel the vitriol like a bucket of ice water. Ouch.

“I—”

“If you’re not over your ex it’s okay,” he winces. “We can stay friends.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Sam. You still have feelings for him. It’s fine if you do, I get it. I’m not mad or anything I just thought…”

“I am over Sam.”

“Well, congrats on getting over him I guess,” Seokmin shrugs but his grin is forced. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Are you serious?” you scoff, venom stinging the tip of your tongue. 

His face glazes with annoyance. “What else is there?”

“Why did you leave?”

“I had work.”

You want to smack to frown off his face. 

“But you didn’t text me or leave a note. I woke up and you were gone and then didn’t hear anything from you.”

“I did leave a note. You iced me out,” he argues.

“Where? Because from where I’m standing you left as soon as you could and then ignored me like it never happened.”

“My phone died so I left a note on the counter. And you never texted me or anything so I thought you were trying to let me down easy.”

He left you a note. The shredded paper on your bed…

“Oh my god,” you gasp, ire evaporating. “Shinx.”

“Your cat?”

Laughter bubbles out of your throat, so thick you choke on your next words. “I think she ate your note.”

The realization hangs in the air, Seokmin froze as your words sink in. He stares at you for a moment, still recovering from the absurdity of it all, before he finally exhales a long breath.

“I thought she liked me,” he whines, face lit up with the beginning of a smile. 

“Shinx is loyal to no one.”

His body meets yours, like cards precariously leaned against one another to prevent a topple as you both shake with laughter. The cold of the street disappears in the warmth of his touch. 

“You’re not that kind of guy. I know that. I shouldn’t have—”

“I could’ve texted you after I went to Kwan’s,” he interjects. 

“I could’ve called you.”

Seokmin’s gaze roams across your face. “How about we start over?”

“I’d like that,” you smile, closing the scant amount of space left between your bodies. 

“Me too.”

Your lips brush against his, the faintest contact sending a storm of butterflies through your stomach. You’re both smiling too much for it to count as a real kiss but neither of you seem to care. His hand slips around the back of your neck, holding you closer just for a moment longer.

Seokmin convinces you to stay at the bar for a few more hours. He holds your hand, keeps you under his arm, looks at you after each joke to make sure you’re laughing too. Seokmin is nothing like Sam. You’ve known that all along but the fear lingered and you refused to acknowledge it. He’s someone you actually could fall for if you let yourself. 

He might hurt you but the potential for something great outweighs the bad in spades.

As the night drags on, you end up closer; sitting on his laps, his hands protectively wrapped around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder and you lean back against him. The slow burn between you roars to a boil when you trace mindless shapes against his palm, Seokmin’s breath shaky in his chest.

“Ready to go home?” he whispers huskily. His breath rushes down your neck, goosebumps bloom in its wake. 

You shift closer – the seam of your jeans only further worsening your arousal – and nod.

Once outside, you’re tangled in each other once again, limbs indecipherable. The sudden chill of midnight air has you turning back into his chest, the arm previously on your back curling low on your waist. Seokmin orders an Uber and immediately focuses back on you the second he can. You catch a text on his screen before he can lock his phone. Seokmin holds you the same as before but it’s different this time. You’re both waiting for the damn to break and the flood to wash away whatever tension lingers between you. 

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: do not fuck this up

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: lydia said she would kill you and i think she’s serious

The cab ride home is a blur. You’re focused on not scandalizing the drive while Seokmin keeps a hand firmly on your knee, perfectly proper if it wasn’t for the grit in his jaw when you return the touch just high enough for your pinky to graze his zipper. 

The second the car stops, you throw the door open and pull Seokmin out and inside the lobby, straight to the elevator where he grabs your waist and uses the leverage to kiss you with so much heat you sweat.

He tries pressing you into the wall but you beat him to the punch, crowding him into the corner, front flush with him from head to toe. Seokmin groans, pushing back as you grind over his thigh. One of you pushes the button to your floor.

When the doors open, he gains the upper hand. Tugging you down the hall, he bypasses your door and goes straight for his own. He fumbles with the keys from the way you suck at his pulse but after a few tries he succeeds, pulling you inside and pressing you into the wall of the hallway.

“I like you,” he admits, rushing to unzip your coat and stuff his freezing hands inside, curling them against your waist. “This isn’t just sex.”

You nod dumbly. “I know. I like you, too.”

“And we should – hmmm – go on a date sometime.”

“Okay,” you rasp. 

His thigh slots back between yours. All those memories of his mouth and fingers rush to the forefront, teasing you with the fantasy of Seokmin on his knees right here, eating you out next to his front door. 

He presses hard against your core, fingers tracing the seam of your pants. Your hands reach beneath his shirt; pulling, squeezing. Nails digging into his tense stomach with each bump against your covered clit.

“Seokmin,” you whimper.

You're pulled off the wall. A trail of clothing is left in your wake to his room. Hats, coats, sweaters, undershirts. Seokmin manages to keep his pants on but allows you to unbutton them for a weak handjob over his briefs.

“God,” he exhales close to your ear.

In all the nights you two have hung out you’ve never been in his room. You try to take in as many details as possible but Seokmin dedicates himself to driving you insane with his lips on your neck, gently nipping and sucking until you shiver.

If you had any foresight this was going to happen then you would have at least picked matching underwear. But he seems thrilled as he crowds you into the bed. 

His mouth replaces his hand, lapping at your nipple, completely disregarding the fabric of your bra, before sucking it into his mouth. The hand that was on your chest dips beneath your panties. Fingertips circle your clit, gliding through the wet mess, dipping shallowly inside you.

Your hips rut into the touch. You want more. Need more. And you know Seokmin can give you what you need.

You guide his mouth to your neglected nipple, pushing the cup out of the way and arching as he gives it the same attention. “Please.”

“I got you,” he promises.

Seokmin melts down between your legs, kneeling at the side of the bed; one on his shoulder, the other pressed up your chest. Your hands bury in his hair as he licks a long strip up your core. Each pathetic sound fleeing your lips is rewarded with a deeper curl of his fingers, a harsher lap of his tongue. He leaves wet kisses on your thighs, spreading the mess of arousal and spit before diving back.

You squeeze tight on his fingers. “O-oh, oh fuck.”

Your hips stutter into his mouth. It washes over you, muscles clenched so hard it hurts. The way your heels dig into his back must hurt too but you don’t care. Neither does Seokmin. He doesn’t stop as you claw at him, following that inferno scorching through every tissue, begging him to keep going until you wilt into the sheets.

The ceiling comes slowly into focus, dots floating across your vision. You’re sweating despite the chill hanging in the air. Thankfully, Seokmin blankets you in his heat as he kisses across your hips, then your sternum, then buries his face into your neck. Your shivers have nothing to do with the cold.

“Wow,” you pant. 

Seokmin’s face cracks into a tired grin. Fatigue ghosts over the room but you're not done yet. The weight of his cock between your legs demands attention, and you’re all too eager to touch him.

He doesn’t object when you push him onto his back, or to the trail of soft kisses down his front, allowing you to mark up the smooth expanse of his chest and belly how you see fit. You savor the warmth of his body with each touch. Allow your fingers to gently wash away each press of your lips and warm him up for what's to come.

You suck the head of his cock through the fabric, teasing him with your tongue until the taste of pre-cum floods your mouth. 

He sinks into the bed. A hand finds its way into your hair, unsure if he wants to pull you off or sink deeper into the heat of your mouth, even if it is just a tease. You tug his underwear out of the way and continue torturing him. Thrilled by the way his stomach tense with each desperate whine from the way your tongue traces every ridge.

He gently guides you back and forth, taking the strain off your neck as you take more and more before he pulls you off. “Wait, shit.”

“What–”

“I was gonna come,” Seokmin explains, pulling you up his chest to drop placating kisses against your chin.

“That’s okay,” you smile. “I want you to.”

“But I want to fuck you.”

“Next time?”

“Fuck yes, next time,” he pants as he rolls you on to your back.

He keeps his mouth on yours, tongue sliding hotly against your own while blindly searching for a condom in the bedside table. 

Your hips angle and so do his, a little wiggle and then he’s inside you and it ruins your life. Just the first inch seals your eyes shut, vision filled with stars. You can feel everything; full in a way you’ve never felt before.

Seokmin draws back timidly, allowing you both to watch the way your body takes him so easily.

Somehow he manages to rock deeper, stretch you at just the right angle. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. The muscles in your thighs are at war with whether to spread wider or squeeze around his waist.

“I wanna ride you.”

There are so many things you want to do with him. To him. But you start with this, taking command of his lap, sinking back on his dick with another tight stretch; glowing as Seokmin watches slack-jawed.

“God, you’re perfect,” he praises.

You fuck yourself on him, knees digging into the mattress as you grind back and forth and all Seokmin can do is watch. A loose grip on your hips as his face glazes over. Your thighs cramp but the way he looks against the pillows, hazy around the edges, hair flat at one side and wild on the other, encourages you to finish what you started.

“Touch me,” you beg.

His neck goes red, ears too, when his hand wedges back between your thighs. “Wanna see you come again. Fuck, you’re so pretty when you come for me.”

Your hips cant wildly, stuttering under his free flowing praise. Too full, too much. You nearly scramble off his lap to snatch at your sanity drifting away.

He kisses you gently, sweet praise ghosting over your lips. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re not even moving. Seokmin works your clit raw, fucks up into you with limited motion as you choke on another orgasm that leaves you wet at the eyes and the room spinning. 

“U-ugh. Fuck,” you shiver, collapsing into his chest.

“Can,” he chokes. “Can I—”

An imperceivable dip of your chin and Seokmin rolls you back over and flattens your thighs open; hard rushes of his hips, stomach taunt.

“Come for me. Want you to come inside me,” you sigh. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants as he shakes beneath your hands before slumping over.

You rebound faster than Seokmin; he’s almost snoring against your chest as you rake a hand through the tangled mess of his hair, melting under the weight on your lips against his hairline.

“You’re pretty when you come, too,” you tease. 

He swats your hand away, rising off you to dispose of the condom in the bathroom before rushing back into bed to clean you with a washcloth. When he’s done, he throws it into some forgotten corner of the room where the rest of your clothes hide and dives under the covers with you in tow. 

Your limbs lace with his, all nude skin on skin. 

“I would like to take you out for real sometime,” Seokmin whispers.

“Good thing I have a four hundred dollar date to cash in on.”

“You know,” he smiles into your cheek. “You could have asked me for free.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @/miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @wobblewobble822

@futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin

@isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy @lukeys-giggle

@aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee  @bokk-minnie

@cookiearmy  @moonlightwonu @kyeomofhearts

@melonacco @lllucere @wwjagabeee @syluslittlecrows @yourbimbohope

@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

[ashfae]

Edit on 5/2/2025: I have mixed feelings about aspects of this essay these days but have chosen to keep it up and pinned as I'm still happy with my analysis even if I'm furious at NG, who is mentioned several times. TW for that. Argh.

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

The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as NG described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

[rinniessance]

DADDY'S FAVORITE GIRL ༊*·˚ - step dad!gojo x fem!reader

going away for college, the last thing you expected to come back to in the summer is a new step-dad. and you do not like the dangerous glint in his eyes every time he looks at you.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - dark content - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ non-curse au. step dad!gojo, stepcest, age difference (reader is implied to be 21, gojo is in his late 30s), dubcon, gaslighting, manipulation, cheating, heavy daddy kink, so many pet names (babygirl, pretty, doll, princess etc.), slight dacraphyllia, slight overstimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex, virginity loss, corruption kink. plot is kinda messy 'cause i was rushing to get to the smut, sowwy ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 5.1k ꒱ ꒰ notes: i am freely being my most disgusting self, thank you for supporting my little insane brain .ᐟ.ᐟ꒱

going away for college, the last thing you expected to come back to during summer break is a new step-dad. ever since your parents divorced when you were 14, your mom has been single – your teenage years, she dedicated herself to you, protecting you from your scumbag father, focusing on your future. you even agreed to delay your college admittance until you were 20, taking two gap years after your high school to stay at your hometown with her. your mom has the worst case of separation anxiety – which is why maybe you should’ve been more concerned when she gradually stopped texting you as the days went on. you assumed the best – maybe she found a hobby, maybe she reconnected with old friends, maybe she finally realized you are an adult and stopped babying you every waking moment. what you did not expect is for her to get married.

these are the thoughts running through you head as you stand in the middle of your living room, fresh out the airport, gawking at the man sleeping on the couch, and wonder how the fuck that happened. you would’ve honestly screamed and thought this was a squatter, or a robber, if not for all the wedding pictures obnoxiously decorating almost every available surface (god, how many photos do you need?). you try not to think too much about it – the flight was 6 hours, you barely got any sleep sitting to the smelliest man on the planet, and you just want to take a shower and go to bed. just as you start walking off, the front door swings open.

“oh my god, sweetheart, you’re home!” your mom’s voice booms through the quiet room resonating like a thunderclap in the middle of a still field. she runs to you, immediately pulling you into a hug which you happily return. you’re genuinely delighted to see her, albeit feeling a little weirded out by a man she decided to bring home. your mother looks over to the couch, man’s sleeping figure not moving once, and sighs with exasperation. “i assume he didn’t pick you up?”

“no but it’s okay…” you whisper quietly and gesture towards the figure on the couch with your head, “about that, though…”

“yeah, honey, i know, i am sorry i didn’t tell you. everything has been happening so quickly, i haven’t even had time to process it myself!” she squealed like a school girl. “his name is satoru gojo and we met at the charity event i went to six months ago.”

“since when do you attend charity events?” you ask, quirking the brow upwards.

“oh, i didn’t know what to do with myself ever since you moved out so i’ve been trying anything and everything. and look, the results have been phenomenal!” she giggled, frustration she had towards her husband about not picking you up melting away in front of your eyes. god, he really had her wrapped around his finger.

“okay, well, i am kind of tired so i wanted to go to bed. is it okay if we talk about this tomorrow?”

your mom suddenly looks down at her feet, a little embarrassed. what did she do.

“yes, about that… that room was sitting unutilized the whole time you were away so satoru and i thought it would be a good idea to remake it into a home office, kind of. your bed is still in there though! so you can sleep in the room no problem.”

“mom, what the fuck…” you whine. not only your room with all your memories and all your personality was gone and demolished, you now have to sleep in the room that was most likely used by him. “home office” my ass, you thought – your mom would not need it in a million years, and by the way she’s avoiding your gaze in shame, it was definitely not her idea.

“i’m sorry baby, but you’ve been away and…”

you interrupt her with a wave of your hand.

“whatever, i’m too tired to think about it. i’ll take a shower and go to bed, i don’t wanna deal with him until tomorrow,” you sigh with frustration and walk off into your home office, dropping your things on the floor.

what you don’t see as you walk off is the dangerous glint in satoru’s eyes as he listens to every bits of your conversation. you said the last sentence with so much poison, he thinks it might’ve struck him dead. gojo knows it will be difficult to get on your good side now but he likes to play these games on hard mode.

oh, you will be so much fun to break.

gojo satoru is a patient man – when he really wants something, he is content to wait until he gets it. that being the main reason why he approaches you slowly. it’s the next day after you arrive that he has a chance to introduce himself properly.

you leave the room after having the best night’s sleep – you really didn’t mind waking up in the office today, you must’ve been too tired to think straight and threw a fit yesterday. you make a mental note to apologize to your mom later. as you turn into the kitchen, you’re met with the view you wish did not have such a strong effect on you – your step-dad, freshly out of the shower, grey sweatpants low riding on his hips, is preparing what seems to be breakfast.

you’re so fucked.

you try to shake off the feeling of arousal washing over you. you may not have had a chance to have any sexual experiences yet, but you’re not that much of a virgin not to know when you’re feeling horny. you just wish it wasn’t due to the incredibly hot step-dad. the left-over frustration from previous night bubbles up like over spilled champagne and you decide to keep your distance. anger helps you keep yourself grounded, and you maneuver around the man to make breakfast, but you see that he prepared it for you already.

“oh, thank you,” you say quietly as he extends the plate to you.

“you’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

the nickname sends a shiver down your spine.

gojo turns to face you and gives you his breathtaking smile. you want to choke on your toast.

“i wanted to apologize for not picking you up yesterday. your mom told me so much about you, and i was excited to meet her ‘favorite girl’,” his eyes spark with a dangerous glint at the nickname, making you shrink into yourself, “but my work held me up, and then i think i went for a quick nap and… uh… ended up falling asleep,” he says with a light chuckle.

“that’s okay, i didn’t really mind the train ride,” you respond with visible discomfort,

he now stands next to you by the counter, his body heat palpable, melting over you like a scorching son. gojo’s all-teeth smile is gorgeous, frustratingly enough, but it makes your skin crawl: like a prey walking into the carefully designed trap, you can feel your gut asking you to run. it makes sense your mom fell for him so easily.

“will you let me make up for it? let’s go our for a dinner, i’m sure your mom would be delighted to hear we’re trying to get along.”

“i don’t know, i haven’t seen my friends in some time, i think i’ll be hanging out with them for a while,” you shuffle from leg to leg, trying to move away

“that’s okay, we have a whole summer ahead.”

for some reason it felt more like a threat than a promise.

you smile politely back, not knowing what to say, rushing to finish your breakfast. the image of your step-dad, half-naked in your family kitchen talking to you about his plans with you for the whole summer should be weird – it’s difficult to find it weird when the said step-dad is criminally hot, unfortunately.

“i think i’ll go now, thanks for the breakfast,” gojo’s gives you a smile so sweet, it somehow triggers a toothache, and waves you off. since yesterday, he’s been making you feel extremely on edge for no apparent reason, it’s driving you a little insane.

when you come back home that evening, you are greeted by both your mom and satoru with the dinner ready. she babbles about how great of a cook he is, and that she can’t wait until you try it. you politely decline citing that you’re full and quickly leave for your room – satoru’s blue eyes were looking at you with almost an animalistic stare, and you hated that you liked it.

gojo thought things were going well with you – he’s given you the space you need in the first two weeks after you arrived. your mom was overjoyed seeing how deeply satoru already cared about you – making sure you eat in the morning, not letting you go to bed without a meal, always checking on you throughout the day, keeping you safe. you, however, thought it was… weird, if anything, that he was all around you this intensely.

“oh, honey, that’s just how he shows that he cares. he was like that with me as well,” your mom tells you one of the nights when you bring it up. it worries you how easily she takes his side now and wonder if something else is going on.

satoru picks you up when you stay out too late, to the wee hour of the night when the subways stop running; he makes sure you have your nights with your mom, when he doesn’t intrude on your backyard conversations and only adores you pretty features from his second-floor window; he learns what movies and music and tv you like, trying to decipher the person that is you.

he’s been putting all this effort to get to know your every step – then why the fuck does he find you one night you kissing some random boy on your driveway?

you said you were going out today and no pickup was needed – now it makes sense why.

gojo satoru is a patient man. but even his patience can start running thin, trickling like water through cracks in the fingers. hourglass of his kindness has been half full for a while now – it’s about time the sand runs out.

you think a boy like him can give you what satoru can? just you wait and see.

kitchen is uncharacteristically quiet when you walk in. it’s the next morning, and usually by now, satoru would be making breakfast for you. his job is still unknown – you are not sure if he was suddenly called in but the feeling of happy solitude falls over you, even if for a moment.

your mom is gone at least for two weeks for work, you’re dreading the moment you have to be left alone with your step-dad. the look in his eyes yesterday was dangerous, a predator appraising its victim before sinking its teeth in, and you’re happy megumi was able to leave quickly after walking you home. surprisingly, gojo didn’t say you a word when you walked into the house, silently sitting in front of the tv like he didn’t just spy through the window on your kiss with the boy.

air in the room was heavy with tension – you knew satoru was avoiding looking your way, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. instinctively, you wanted to break the silence, say something to discharge the electricity jumping through the atoms of your stuffy living room air, but ultimately decided against it. you have nothing to say to a man, and it’s not like you needed to justify your actions in front of him anyways. you quickly retreated into the office and avoided him until you fell asleep.

when you woke up to an empty apartment not even fifteen minutes ago, you felt relief. walking into the kitchen and confirming your presence alone, you even felt happy. then what is this weird feeling, almost as if you are missing something, nagging at you? you thought of going out today but now a strange desire to stay at home washes over.

you make breakfast for the first time since you came home (gojo didn’t skip a single day, you have no idea how he kept up with that), and you chastise yourself for feeling weird about cooking for yourself; and you chastise yourself again when your mind lingers on the thoughts of a certain white-haired man; and again when you look at your phone, convincing yourself it’s a bad idea to text him. god, you feel so stupid. didn’t you want him to stop being so unsettlingly sweet and dotting around you all the time?

conflicted by your irrationality once again, you frustratingly take your plate and sit down on the couch. flipping through the netlifx previews, you land on something to distract your mind by. you settle on some true crime documentary and let the horrors on the screen consume you, abandoning for a moment the thoughts plaguing your head.

you’ve been glued to the screen for at least two hours before you heard the jiggle of the keys. like an eager puppy, you waited for gojo to come inside and greet you like he would every day – only for him to completely ignore your presence, beelining straight for the kitchen. turning your head back to the tv, you try your best not to pay any attention to the uncharacteristic behavior from satoru’s end.

“i will be in the home office the whole day, don’t enter.”

before you can respond anything back, your step-dad is already walking off without sparing you a second glance. is he still upset from yesterday? you didn’t think kissing megumi would be that much of a deal. your nervously play with the hem of the blanket, show playing on tv long forgotten, contemplating what you should do next. why are you bothered by his silence this much anyways?

rethinking your earlier choice, you send a quick text to your friend asking to meet you for drinks. maybe right now gojo needs space, or whatever, and leaving him alone is the best next thing right now. you knock at the door of the home office.

“sorry, i am going out now and need to quickly change.”

not even 5 seconds pass before the door is swung open by a man that’s been occupying too much of your mental space today.

“be quick,” is the only response you get before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. you’re perplexed by this sudden change in behavior yet again. throwing on the first decent outfit you can find, you let gojo know that you’re done and will be home later; hum is the only acknowledgment you get before he disappears in the office.

exiling all the thoughts of satoru gojo from your head, you leave your house, hoping tomorrow will put all the pieces of the puzzle back together.

yet the next day comes, and you still wake up to no warmth from satoru – it felt as if he built a wall between the two of you in one night’s span, impossible to be breached. should you talk to him? should you apologize? and apologize for what? you didn’t do anything wrong, did you? ignoring the gnawing feeling inside once more, you retreat to the living room, sulking on the couch until the end of the day, clawing onto the hope gojo of tomorrow will acknowledge your existence.

“did i do something wrong?”

you stand in the doorway to gojo’s office, arms crossed over your chest. he lazily turns his head your way as if giving you even a second of his time is too much of a bother – the look he sends you is burning through your core, making you pathetically weak and wet.

“no,” he starts slowly, “do you think you did something wrong?”

“i don’t know! that’s why i’m asking. you’ve been ignoring me for the past week, and it’s getting weird.”

“i thought i’d leave you alone, it seems you’re capable of having fun on your own.”

satoru is looking back to his screen now, and you scrunch your eyebrows, frustrated by the riddles he’s throwing your way. walking inside the room, your close the door on instinct and take wide steps to stand in front of him.

“stop answering me like this, we’re not playing a charade. what do you mean?” the demand in your voice is clear, and it twists something inside satoru – his gaze falls on you again yet this time it’s dark, taunting, dangerous, with a hint of chaos. it scares and excites you.

gojo suddenly stands up, and pushes you into his desk until you’re sitting on it. he is tall – your mom basically married a giant – and you try to curl into yourself to escape his malicious eyes.

“what, i thought you wanted me to leave your alone? you want my attention now all of a sudden?” he respond with the question of his own in a mocking tone.

“i never said i wanted you to ignore me…” you answer meekly, yelping slightly as your back hits his desk – you suddenly realize there is nowhere to run now.

“really? we’ve been together in a house for almost a month now, and yet you showed no interest in getting to know me.”

“’m sorry…” you cannot think of anything else to say. gojo moves even closer, and is now towering over you – it makes you embarrassingly horny.

“show me how sorry you are.”

before you can respond, he is caging your body with his and capturing your lips in a kiss, and you freeze – all of this is so wrong, you cannot bring yourself to start moving your mouth against his. gojo’s tongue coerces its way inside, exploring the undiscovered paths, his teeth biting your still lips. closing your eyes, you whimper and try to push him away but he only catches your wrists with his one hand, while the other plays with the hem of your shorts. a gasp escapes your lips, and you push yourself further into the desk, squirming under gojo’s body.

“what, you don’t like it? i thought my little girl wanted daddy’s attention?” he torments you, voice condescending and thick with mockery. all you can muster is a pathetic mewl, words lost somewhere inside your throat, and dig your fingers into the edge of your desk as your step-dad forces his digits inside your panties, lightly brushing against your clit.

“god, you’re already so wet, so filthy,” he whispers between the heated kisses as the pads of his fingers keep teasing your pussy. “tell me, babygirl, are you still a virgin? gotta know how to treat you.”

“y-yes…”

“well, am i just not the luckiest?” gojo chuckles darkly, spreading your legs with his thigh. unoccupied hand goes to grip your hip while the fingers on the other are still working your clit, sliding the digits between your puffy lips, teasing your hole. every time he circles around the entrance and mocks by pushing his finger just slightly inside, the moan builds up in your throat, and you’re too embarrassed to let it out.

“common, baby, your daddy wants to hear you, don’t hide your pretty voice from me.”

gojo is infuriatingly good with his fingers – you could never bring yourself this much pleasure from playing with your clit, and your defiance starts melting away as you find yourself bucking your hips into his hand, whining pitifully. the man completely removes your shorts and underwear, shoving the latter into his pocket – something to remember this moment by.

“god, such a pretty pussy, i can’t believe you’ve been hiding it from me. take off your shirt so i can see all of you, princess.”

immense desire pools between your legs, hunger and lust evident in satoru’s cerulean eyes, now hidden by dilated pupils, and you’re surrendering yourself to him – want makes you delirious, completely erasing your sense of right and wrong. you remove the top, nipples perked and waiting. gojo looks at you in wonder and disbelief – all of that for him? his hand went to squeeze your boob almost on an instinct, rolling the nipple between the pads of his fingers, while sucking on another with his mouth. you drop your head back, losing yourself to the intense pleasure your step-dad’s giving you. seeing as you’re distracted by him playing with your tits, he takes this as his chance to shove two of his fingers inside.

a strangled moan leaves your lips, your hands gripping man’s shoulders.

“ahhh, that hurts, satoru.”

“nah-uh, that’s not what i want to hear you calling me,” he straightens himself and starts scissoring you with his digits. the initial intrusion is painful, you can feel your virgin walls stretching to accommodate for how he’s dragging the fingers in and out, yet the burn is woefully delightful, and you’re getting lost again.

“’m sorry daddy.”

gojo only chuckles – god, you were easier than he expected, so well-behaved and pliable under him.

“that’s right, let daddy take good care of you.”

he speeds up the pace, curling his slender, pretty fingers, brushing the spots you were never able to reach with your own. wet, soggy sounds fill the entirety of the room, air already stuffy with smell of sex as he continues to finger-fuck your pussy. gojo could feel his cock twitching in his pants, he wanted to take you right there and then, but he was determined to make you cum on his digits first – it prompts him to attach his lips to your neck, sucking on the sensitive spot below your jawline, marking you as his.

your mewling turns louder, breathing is getting labored, and it seems your hips have a mind of their own now as they are bucking into satoru’s movements, fucking yourself how you need it. something akin to orgasm starts building up in your tummy – it has never felt this all-consuming, you wonder if you’ve been touching yourself wrong all this time.

“daddy, please don’t – ah! – stop,” is everything you can say in a measly attempt to ask him to speed up. his thumb finds your neglected clit, rubbing tight circles around your bundle of nerves, and picks up the pace, cunt now clenching even tighter around his two fingers, and gojo groans thinking how you’d feel around his aching dick. he adds a third finger – it’s angled so perfectly assault your special spongy spot, it turns your brain into a mush.

gojo pinches your nipple, kissing you to swallow all the lewd moans to himself.

“is my princess close?”

“yes daddy, ‘m so close.”

“common, cum all over my fingers, baby.”

these words finally push you over the edge – your climax washes over you like a cold morning shower, leaving you trembling in gojo’s hold. your legs are trying to close to stop the man from continuing his abuse on your twitching pussy but he is too lost in the feeling of your walls constricting around his fingers to allow you to do that. he fucks you through your orgasm, bringing you to the realm of overstimulation.

“ahh, daddy, please, it hurts now,” you whine with teary voice, beads of salty water gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“shhhh, daddy knows best, yeah? let me feel you a little longer.”

gojo keeps his pace until you’re clawing at his arm, trying to pull away your pussy from his fingers. he grabs you by the back of your head, bruising your lips with the intensity of his kiss – you’re sure he draws blood by how he bites your lower lip, licking the messy aftermath. you’re still whining and mewling, trails of tears finally flowing down your face, and he’s sure he’s never seen anything hotter as he licks the salty tracks.

“you’ve done so good, babygirl, i think you’re ready for the main gift,” satoru says and finally withdraws his fingers. the emptiness is welcoming yet disappointing, and you groan. gojo quickly unbuckles his pants and shoves them down, alongside his boxer briefs, and you almost choke on your spit when you see how well-endowed he is. you don’t have a lot to compare it to but you think his cock is beautiful – it's long and slender, and uncut, prominent vein running all the way from the base to just underside of his head, and you get an immeasurable desire to run your tongue along it.

“is my pretty doll drooling jus’ at the sight of my dick?” he mockingly asks you, making you turn your gaze away. gojo chuckles again, and grabs you by your chin, pulling your head down.

“no looking away, darling, i want you to see how i take your virginity.”

with no other option, you keep your gaze peeled downwards, to where gojo strokes himself couple of times before lining himself up with your leaking hole. despite all the preparation and your previous orgasm, you’re still incredibly tight and satoru groans as he starts pushing himself inside. you can see his smooth cockhead bullying his way into you, stretching your greedy walls – man feels you pulsating around him, and that makes him twitch.

“fuck, princess, you’re so tight, feels so good.”

gojo finally sinks all the way in, your cervix being met in a kiss by a swollen tip, and you moan, sound almost pornographic. your step-dad doesn’t let you adjust before he pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in – he doesn’t go easy on you for your first time, setting up a brutal pace, not caring if you’re ready to take him fully yet. it stings, and you have to hold yourself on gojo’s shoulder’s as he starts fucking into you. his hands are on your hips, guiding them to meet his thrusts.

“daddy please, ‘ts too much,” you cry out but satoru is all too lost in how your gummy walls perfectly hug his swollen cock. he doesn’t respond, shutting you up by forcing his tongue into his mouth yet again, sucking on every piece of available flesh. slowly, the tension in your body melts away and gives way to a new kind of pressure – the one building up in your tummy. you’re shocked at how fast your body is able to start getting on the road to blissful ecstasy again but you’re not complaining.

“shit, are you getting close already, babygirl? i can feel your pretty pussy squeezing me again.”

“yes, sorry daddy.”

“there is nothing to be sorry about, just means your daddy’s doing a good job,” he says with a grin, keeping up the pace, rutting into your sloppy cunt. queefing sounds and slapping of skin on skin make you blush furiously yet you can’t take away your gaze from where satoru keeps burying himself inside you.

the girth of gojo’s cock is deadly – not only he’s able to reach the spongy spot almost immediately, making white spots dancing across your vision, kaleidoscope of pleasure lighting up your every nerve ending, he is also bruising your cervix just with enough pressure to make you twitch in delight. his pubic bone grinds against your puffy clit and it’s setting up fireworks against your skin, hot molten lava igniting your whole being.

your moaning becomes uncontrollable as satoru’s fucking you in an animalistic pace – he keeps splitting you open, the spread of legs is slowly growing uncomfortable.

“look how good you’re taking me, being such a good girl for me,” he’s babbling, edging himself too – he wants to feel you spasming around his cock, he cannot let himself cum before that. “gonna feel so good cumming inside, pretty. give you a cute little brother or sister, huh? what do you think? i bet you’ll look so gorgeous being pregnant with my baby.”

“no, daddy, you can’t do that…”

“hm, why? just imagine, you walking around, with my child inside your belly, all cute and swollen for me, tits full of milk. wouldn’t you want that?”

you hiccup a sob as gojo keeps dragging his heavy cock in and out of you, the vein you saw before pressing against your walls deliciously, and you feel your toes start to curl as your body chases after the second orgasm. you dig your nails into his biceps, certain to leave half moon marks on his porcelain skin, and bite your lip. in turn, he is pressing his fingers against the plum skin of your hips, marking you with bruises to remind you of this tomorrow.

“shit, i haven’t fucked your cunny for that long yet it’s already perfectly snuggled around me. i’m training it fast, huh? i’m gonna teach it to fit only me,” you can hear the grin in his voice as he says that.

gojo feels your walls tighten around him – he can see you’re teetering on the edge of climax, whining and moaning under the man, letting him completely use you – so he picks up the speed, assaulting your abused pussy. it doesn’t take longer than that for the tension in your tummy to snap, and you’re wantonly crying out satoru’s name.

“fuck, dollface, you’re squeezing me so perfectly right now. want to milk me for all i’ve got?”

you’re cock drunk, unable to respond to him, hoping your mewling will be enough for the man to see he fucked you stupid. he is not showing signs of slowing down – you can only continue whining as satoru chases after his own pleasure. he pistons his hips couple of times more, and you can feel him throbbing inside as he shoots creamy ropes of cum inside you, painting your womb white. the ring of mixed fluids at the bottom of his cock drives him insane, and he continues fucking his cum into you.

“shit baby, can’t waste a single drop now, can we.”

you’re letting out a quiet sob, pleasure too overwhelming and almost feverish, still unable to find your voice. when he deems it satisfactory that his seed is all warm inside you, gojo finally pulls out and kisses the top of your head.

“i’d say this was a good practice run, what do you say? your mom only comes back in a week, i’ll make you my personal cumdump until then.”

you snap your head up at his words, the smile playing on your step-dad’s face borderline sinister. you think it’s supposed to make you scared, then why is your pussy already twitching around nothing?

“yes daddy, anything for you.”

[dc418writes]

Fuck it, I’m Jealous

✨Pairing✨: TE!Terry Richmondxblack!reader

Summary🪄: Your (secret) feelings for your best friend reach a new height

🚨: teensy bit of angst, brief mention of children, language, allusion to abusive relationship, fluff mixed throughout

Fic inspo:

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

I ain't never been good at sharing

But with you, I practice patience

And I let you do your thing 'cause I'm doin' mine

I was actin' like I'm good when I know I'm lyin'

The rhythmic thud and vibrations from the speakers run through your whole body as you sit at the mini bar watching other guests dancing and laughing. Usually you’d be among the bodies swaying on the dance floor at least once or mingling with whomever was open enough to talk, but tonight you can’t seem to switch your focus from the couple near the tall floor to ceiling windows.

Specifically, your best friend, Terry, and the woman giggling and smiling as she hangs on to his every word.

They’ve nearly been attached at the hip all night - moving from the dance floor to a more private section of the bustling mansion’s living room - and you had to admit, she was gorgeous. Silky, black hair flowing to the middle of her back and face flawlessly clear of blemishes, she was definitely his type with her Hollywood dazzling smile and matching perfect curves. Yet with every flirty glance, you could feel a sickening twinge in your gut.

So much in your head, you fail to realize your other best friend, Ondrea, had joined you after ordering another fruity cocktail. “Her beauty does not take away from yours.”

“I know,” you softly smile attempting to hide your hurt.

“And you, my love, have a line of suitors both in here and outside who’d be blessed with just a minute of your attention.”

You didn’t want them though. Every single one you tried just couldn’t compete - let alone be in the same room - as Terry Richmond. Charming, big eared, jerk.

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, she leans her head on yours with a soft sigh, “Want me to break them up? Accidentally on purpose spill a drink on her?”

“No,” you chuckle, “and I think you’ve reached your limit on the drinks.” She did tend to be a little more…aggressively protective around her fourth. “Where’s Ali?”

Sipping from the little glass in her hand, her other waves as if she couldn’t care less where her defensive lineman husband was. “I’m grown, okay? I don’t need a babysitter and don’t think I don’t realize you trying to divert! Have you talked to him?”

“Drea we both know I can’t do that.”

“You need to though! If I see you sad about alien eyes one more time imma fight him myself.”

“Aye you supposed to be cut off.” You’ve never been happier to see Ali. You came to this party in hopes to forget your messy feelings. To get a long deserved break from the heaviness - and occasional tears - they caused. “Gimme the glass now Ondrea Marie.”

Rolling her eyes, she’s quick to drain the remainder of the candy green liquid - much to her husband’s dismay - before placing the glass in his large paw of a hand. “Happy?,” she hiccups with a giggle lightly bumping you.

“This woman,” he mumbles in exasperation leaving the empty glass on the shiny bar. “Hey bitty, surprised to see you and Terry separated.”

You’d practically been each other’s shadows since college. Each somehow drifting back after working the room if you didn’t stick together the entire time. It’s why most of those interested became slightly disappointed thinking you were more than friends, which you’d both immediately deny.

“By all means, shoot ya shot. Want me to introduce you?”

“Well, I uh thought it’d be best to give him some privacy since he’s pretty occupied.” Turning to find his teammate among the moving attendees, he smirks watching the mystery, model-esque woman lean in to whisper in the Tight End’s ear. Clearly something salacious from how Terry licked his full lips before handing her his phone. His mouth smoothly whispering something back then moving to her neck as she giggled and playfully smacked his chest.

“Well he’s definitely gonna have a fun night.”

That made one of you. “Yep, and I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Already?”

“Yea it’s been a long day, plus I got more to do tomorrow.” Like sulk in the privacy of your own home. Maybe catch an episode or two of Law and Order.

“Oh okay. You need a ride? Or want me to get T-?”

“Nope I’m alright. I’ll just Uber again,” you quickly answer. From his slightly raised brow, you know Ali can probably sense there’s an issue but he doesn’t press on and you’re grateful he seems to catch the hint.

“Uh uh we can drive you home,” Ondrea speaks up trying to stand on slightly unsteady legs. Luckily Ali’s there to keep her from falling to which she insists she’s got it and he rolls his chocolate eyes.

“No yall stay, I’ll be fine.” Not giving them a chance to utter another word, you slip from your barstool with a quick wave and clutch in your hand as your heels hastily clack along the tiled floor towards the entrance. “I’ll call when I get home!”

-

“We should have another one,” Terry states staring with proud eyes at the quiet bundle in their white crib. His elbows bent over the railing as he adorably coos while fixing the small blanket that looked like the one from your childhood.

“We just had this one,” you giggle jokingly poking the back of his thigh with your toe. Peering over his shoulder, there’s no hiding that boyish grin you fell in love with.

“She need a friend though, she told me.”

“Mhm..she told you that?” He nods moving to get on his knees and crawl until his head is in your lap. His soft hands bringing yours to his lips to peck as he begins to beg.

“Pleasepleaseplease!”

The melodic chime from your doorbell startles you awake with a racing heart and dull ache in your temple from sitting up too fast. It’s soon followed by a couple thunderous knocks that don’t help your already panicked state.

‘Gimme a break,’ you think shuffling to your door. In retrospect, you should’ve looked on your app before opening the door. Or maybe even pretended you weren’t home.

Black Nike sweats covering his legs and matching sweatshirt over his upper half, Terry wasn’t annoyed but you could tell he was in a mood.

“H-Hey,” you greet with a nervous smile. “Everything okay?”

His brief, low chuckle is far from humorous as he crosses his thick arms across his chest. “I could ask you the same. Haven’t talked to you in almost a month.”

‘And? Haven’t you been busy with what’s her name?’ You want to say, but instead you simply shrug. “I’ve been busy.”

“So busy you can’t text or call me back? Come to my games?”

“Wow, one less fan to watch you out of what..hundreds of thousands?,” you sarcastically retort with an attitude Terry had never been on the receiving end of. “I don’t have to always-,”

“You back with him?”

Him in question being your ex, Chris. From their first meeting, Terry couldn’t stand him and definitely wasn’t shy about telling you.

“You need to let him go.”

“I’m tellin you, he’s no good twin.”

The feeling was mutual with Chris. At the mention of Terry he’d roll his eyes and mood would visibly change. And when your then boyfriend expressed how he didn’t want you around Terry, you reluctantly respected that boundary. Until it seemed he didn’t want you with Ondrea either.

It unfortunately took some time to see that so called boundary was nothing more than control. Although slightly hurt, neither of your friends blamed you when you came back with tearful apologies. They took turns being your shoulder to cry on, but Terry tended to check in and visit more. There were many days he’d be waiting in your apartment’s parking lot - specifically in the spot next to your usual - sat in his black on black Ford truck with bags of food in the passenger seat.

“Don’t you have practice in the morning?,” you asked that first night he appeared.

“Yes, and I’ll be there don’t worry twin,” he winked gathering both takeout bags in his hand before following you to your door.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then what?,” Terry asks. “I do something to you?”

Yes, you made me fall in love with you and complicate my love life dookiehead. “No,” you sigh.

Kissing his teeth, his frustration only builds the more you lie. “Look, I’m not stupid clearly it’s something! You ain’t even invite me in and I’m just supposed to-,”

“I just need space Terry!”

“From me?”

“Yes! And…”

Those words are right there on the tip of your tongue practically tickling your lips ready for their escape. Your fears clutch them at the last moment though, refusing to let them go and potentially ruin the best relationship of your life thus far. Your second home you could always depend on.

“And what?”

Your fingers massage you temple feeling that headache become sharper and more painful. “Can we just…not..tonight?” You were nowhere near ready - mentally or emotionally - for this conversation. However like the stubborn, determined man he is Terry can’t easily let things go. Whenever there’s a problem, he finds a solution then and there.

In double time if it concerns his family or friends.

His long legs swiftly bring him over your threshold before closing the door behind him. His hypnotic green eyes intense and never leaving yours leaning back against the wooden entrance.

“I’m not leaving until you get whatever it is you need to say out! I know something’s wrong and wish you’d-,”

“Fine! You wanna know? It is you T,” you finally reveal with tears beginning to flow down your heated cheeks. He wanted to know? Well he just opened Pandora’s box. “I’m..I’m tired of pretending I’m fine seeing you with other girls and hearing about this one in Vegas and-and that one from the club!”

You don’t know if his silence is him taking in your words or from shock. Maybe even unease. For the first time you can’t read him at all.

You can feel the knot form in your throat as your fear tries once more to stop your vulnerability. As usual, he can tell you’re ready to shut down again prompting him to step closer carefully reaching out to brush your freshest tear away from your face. “What else? Keep goin.”

“I shouldn’t have ignored you, but I knew if I said something then I’d ruin what we already have,” you softly explain trying to steady your heaving chest and hiccups. “I mean there’s a reason we’ve never crossed that line right?”

“And why is that?,” he asks stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Was..was he serious? “B-Because you’re not attracted to me like that. Which is fine-,”

“I never said that.” Now was his turn to struggle finding his next words as he took a break from your angelic features to peer down at the tiled floor. Meanwhile you patiently stood there rubbing your ear in your attempt to self soothe - a habit you had as a kid that surprisingly followed you all these years.

“From that first day we met in the dorms, I could tell you were different-,”

“I was one of the crew,” you interrupt.

“No, I mean…you weren’t one to play around. You were intentional with everything you did, had your shit together, and if it ain’t make sense to you, you didn’t want no parts.

You couldn’t help it, it’s how you were raised. Not to say you didn’t have fun and make time for the things you liked, but at the end of the day you knew the important stuff needed to get done.

“I knew I wasn’t there, so I didn’t bother you. You kept it friendly, so I did too. Doesn’t mean I was never attracted.”

You can feel your heart begin its rapid patters again, but now for a completely different reason. “So…so what?,” you ask still unsure. “You’re saying you’ve liked me this entire time?”

His Jordans lightly squeak as he steps closer once more. The amber from his Tom Ford cologne and body heat radiating from his chest makes you dizzy feeling your knee wobble as your back meets your kitchen island. His grayish-green eyes attached to yours once more after a quick glance at your pouty lips. “I’m saying I’ve been attracted to you since I first saw you, and every day after we got closer I knew you complimented me in the best ways…the yin to my yang, my twin. I didn’t wanna be that guy you thought only was friends with you to get with you.

“And when Lizard-,”

“His name is Chris,” you corrected, rolling your eyes with a sniffled giggle.

“I know what I said.” So petty. “When he did that, I wanted to protect you from anyone else who tried to hurt you,” he bashfully shrugs and you mentally aw at how adorable he could be. “Wanted to be the only one to protect you.”

It’s as if your body’s in control rather than your brain how you eliminate the remaining space, reaching up to press your lips against his. Admittedly, it’s…different at first - reminiscent of your first kiss in middle school - but when his warm hand caresses your cheek and the other slides to your lower back, sparks tingle and ignite from your head to your toes. Your lips moving at their own rhythm as both your tongues soon follow pulling moans from your chest.

Begrudgingly, Terry breaks first needing air - and a moment to collect himself. His low chuckle brushes against your cheek hearing your little whimper from wanting more. “Gimme a minute twin,” he smiles pressing his forehead against yours.

“So…what now?,” you whisper nearly getting lost in the way his fingertips feel grazing along your spine.

“You tell me. What do you want?” The deep baritone of his whisper sends addicting shivers throughout your body.

“You,” you answer gently gripping his sweatshirt not wanting to let go - just in case this was some wild fever dream. “All to myself.”

He can’t help but smile at the way your onyx eyes, mixed with swirls of ebony, innocently peer up at him through your wispy lashes. “You got me,” he replies leaning down to meet your waiting lips once more.

I ain't gon' tell you to drop them other bitches

But drop them other bitches

I never been jealous

But fuck it, I'm jealous

So goddamn invested

A/N🎤: HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE✨💕!! I hope everyone is having a great time and able to rest. Or if you’re going through it this season, I wish healing for you and to remember you are so loved and deserving of love☺️.

This idea has been on my mind for a while and uh…I honestly don’t know how to feel about it lol it took on so many changes and I feel like it might be boring, but then again I’m my own worst critic so hopefully yall enjoy!

I wanted to have a holiday themed story or two out by now but as usual I am late lol, but I’m still trying to have something out before new years (however we’ll see👀 lol)

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

grapefruit and tacos | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“oh look my grapefruit, daddies home! and very early i might add.” waddling as you rubbed soothing circles over your growing belly. spencer met you halfway in the living room, not even bothering to straighten out his shoes and hang his satchel.

“how are my favorite people?” spencer’s big palms cupped around your chubby cheeks. pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose then up to your forehead and finally down to your awaiting lips. you sighed from ease, not realizing how much you were missing him today.

spencer pulled away first before giving one more brief peck. “missing you,” answering his earlier question. his hands traveled down to your stomach which has grown in the past two months. “hi bub, are you treating mommy nice?” his warm thumbs rubbed at the skin beside your bellybutton, your baby will kick sporadically, a lot of times when spencer’s voice is within distance.

“they’ve been good. been craving a lot of strawberries lately, but i’m not complaining.” lifting your left hand to drag on the side of his head, tucking his growing hair behind his ear. “why home earlier? not complaining, but i haven’t done much housekeeping. mostly sleeping.”

spencer turned to kiss your wrist, “finished my paperwork and hotch said i could leave earlier. he understands the struggles of a new pregnancy.” he kneeled to the grow and pressed three kisses onto you stretched skin, three i love yous.

“now why don’t you sit down and i’ll order us takeout. what are you in the mood for?” spencer’s hands holding your shoulders and steering you in the direction of the suede brown couch. you were waddling like a penguin, “uh maybe some tacos. what do you say my grapefruit? tacos?” trying to see if they kick for an answer. you felt a same thump at the tip of your thumb, you looked over your shoulder at spencer while smiling, “tacos please.”

“tacos for my loves. i’ll get some chips and guacamole as well.” making sure you were comfortable before looking for his stack of takeout menus hidden in a kitchen drawer. your eyes just watched his every move, how his lips moved as he recalled the last time he used them. he used the landline, yes spencer still had a landline in his home, and called your usual taco spot just a block away.

within thirty minutes the two of were side by side on the couch with reruns of old doctor who, the wibbly wobbly sound affects a comforting white noise. you closed your eyes and hummed while chewing your food, even swaying your body and head. opening your eyes as you took a drink, you looked to your left to see spencer smiling at you, his food barely touched.

“what?” taking another bite as you waited for spencer to say something. you bet you were the picture of a squirrel or chipmunk, cheeks puffed and mouth pouted.

“i love you and i like seeing you this happy.” sweet and syrupy. you felt your eyes start to water as you took a swallow and set your food down. “oh don’t say that,” you whined, “you know my hormones are at eleven.” wiping away a few stragglers from your warm face.

spencer couldn’t help but to chuckle as he took over the job of tear wiper. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. just- just can’t believe this is my life.” voice getting a bit distant, “i have an amazing girlfriend and a baby on the way… still can’t believe you choose me over millions of other guys.”

the waterworks started again, “i’d choose you time and time again. there’s no one in the world like you and i’m glad i snatched the rare gem.” taking spencer’s sculpted face into your hands and starting an assault of messy kisses causing him to squirm and laugh.

“our baby is gonna be so loved.”

[ghoulphile]

Coop would draw out that feeling of shame for being attracted to him so hard too, making you hold eye contact when he was on top of you OR BETTER YET; you not realizing the room you're in has a broken mirror until his tilts your head up to lock eyes with your own. "You just keep lookin there, darling. And I'll do the rest." Him stopping his hips if your eyes close for even second. "I believe we had a deal. Now you watch yourself get fucked, I want you to know who's making you sing like that."

Him pulling out and finishing on your thighs and not letting you cum bc you couldn't help but close your eyes and hes gotta punish you somehow 👀👀👀

okayyyy but jfc that's 🥵 you are SO right & you should say it

Like, him purposefully thrusting in hard and fast to make your lashes flutter, grinding close and hitting all those tender sweet spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head because he wants you to fail.

wants to see how far he can push you and how long you can hold out while also knowing its impossible when he rocks juuuust right, drags the fat head of his cock along your g-spot until your hips buck and your thighs tremble.

holds you down and makes you take it while mocking you, gripping your jaw to keep your attention focused on the mirror above you, maybe shoves his fingers inside your mouth just to see you gag and drool.

"so fuckin' messy," he'd grunt. "see, now don' you look prettier than a picture? hanging off my cock, dumb 'n droolin'."

you'd beg and plead for him to stop, to slow down, to stop doing that because he knows you can't take it - it's too much! you can't be good and do what he says when he's fucking you like this; stuffing your mouth full while his cock thrusts so deep you feel him in your stomach, mean fingers pinching at your clit until you whine, pawing at his shoulders.

and every time you look away he does more than pause, he pulls out - slaps the heavy weight of his erection against your abused pussy until you throb, all swollen and needy. drags the head up and down your slit until you're crying, blurry eyes struggling to stay open and on your mirrored image.

when he fucks back in after teasing, it's nice and slow, making sure you feel every inch he feeds you until he's sheathed to the hilt, your walls rippling around his shaft, clamping down so hard he swears.

then the hard, fast pace starts again, your body jerking with every harsh thrust. over and over again (man has stamina) until you're cock drunk, mouth slack and mind hazy after hours of edging. and when you finally cum with a wet gush and shaking hands, he tsks and ruins your orgasm by pulling out before you're finished.

you'll whine, struggling to get your limbs to cooperate as you try to cling to him. he'll bat you away and wait til you refocus on him - the hard glint of his eyes and the cruel smirk tugging at his mouth. swallowing hard when he takes his cock in hand, glistening with your slick.

he'd jerk himself off while you watch before cumming with a grunt, shooting his spend all over your skin. then the real punishment begins... one ruined orgasm for every time you looked away, every time you shut your eyes. by the end of it you'd be a soaked, overstimulated mess - body wrung to its limits and nerves shot, knees weak and head full of cotton.

just.... i have a lot of thots 😭

[cheynovak]

Passed the test of time

Summary:  Y/N sees Jensen sitting in their living room. Staring at the man she loves so much, glad he is home for a few day. Deciding she wants a little cuddle.

Warnings: None, all fluff

English isn't my first language

A little ons shot

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

I leaned against the living room doorframe, my eyes tracing the lines of his familiar form as he sat on the couch, absorbed in whatever was playing on the TV. Jensen had only just gotten home yesterday, and though his schedule had been packed with long days on set and fan conventions, he'd barely had time to catch his breath. Yet, here he was, a picture of quiet contentment, immersed in the show that flickered on the screen.

The soft light from the TV cast a gentle glow across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the rugged stubble that had grown during his busy days. His brows were slightly furrowed, a sign of his focus, but the corners of his mouth hinted at a smile, a sign that despite his weariness, he was happy. His green eyes, usually so lively and bright, were now softened with a tiredness he couldn't quite hide, but they still held that unmistakable spark of passion for what he did.

Jensen's broad shoulders, slightly slouched, told of the exhaustion that weighed on him, but even in his tired state, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. His hair, a tousled mix of chestnut and gold, was still perfectly messy, as if it had been styled by some secret breeze only meant for him. The way his t-shirt clung to his chest, just snug enough to hint at the muscles beneath, made my heart flutter. He was effortlessly captivating, even in this simple, quiet moment.

I could have stood there forever, just watching him, my heart swelling with love and admiration for the man who had captured it so completely. Jensen, my Jensen, was home, and there was nothing more perfect than this moment, just being here with him, taking in every detail of the man I loved.

I walked over to him, noticing how his hands rested in his lap, almost as if they were waiting for something. As I crawled onto the couch, laying my head gently on his thigh, he didn't hesitate to move his hand, his fingers immediately finding their way through my hair. We settled into the moment, both of us watching the show in comfortable silence. But my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t focus on the screen, not with him so close, the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

I turned my gaze up to him, studying the man who had somehow become my world. My heart fluttered with disbelief, as it always did when I thought about how lucky I was that he had chosen me. How had I ended up with someone as extraordinary as Jensen? The thought was as overwhelming now as it had been the first time I realized I loved him.

Without thinking, my hand reached up to touch his beard, feeling the texture of it beneath my fingers. There it was, the first signs of grey peeking through the brown. He didn't look at me, but his words came softly, as if testing the waters. "My makeup artist said she could color it," he murmured, and I could hear the unspoken question in his voice: *Do you think I need to color it?*

I shook my head slightly, my voice gentle but firm. "No, don’t. I like it."

That made him look down at me, his eyes meeting mine with a soft smile that melted my heart. "Even when you're completely grey," I whispered, "you’ll still be the most handsome man I know."

His smile widened just a fraction before he took my hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a tender kiss into my palm. The warmth of that simple gesture sent a shiver through me, filling me with a quiet joy that I could never quite put into words.

Jensen looked back at the TV, his attention returning to the show, but his hand never left my hair, his fingers playing with the strands absentmindedly. And as we sat there together, in the comfort of our home, I realized that no matter what, this was where I belonged—by his side, loving him exactly as he was, now and always.

--

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[mellifiedprincess]

When you started dating Matt, he realized very quickly how deeply you felt things. And what he meant by that is, you sometimes had feelings so strong about something you would end up an emotional mess.

For most people something like that would be quite overwhelming, but not for you. You embraced it.

You found the way you cared so much or thought so much about something to be one of many charming characteristics about yourself.

And sometimes even funny.

Matt couldn’t count how many times he has walked in on you with tears streaming down your cute little face for such bizarre reasons. One time it was because you couldn’t find your favorite nail polish.

Another time it was because you saw an old picture of your mom’s favorite pet growing up. You had never even met the cat and you were crying over it.

“But I just know we would have been best friends!” Was your argument of why you were so emotional over the animal. Matt could only roll his eyes affectionately and cradle your head against his chest.

Yes, he thought it was one of the most ridiculous things to cry about, but he loved you and thought it was endearing only because it was you.

He knew during your “episodes” there wasn’t much he could offer besides the comfort of his presence.

Fast forward to today.

You were minding your business, scrolling through tiktok while the boys were doing who knows what, when a sweet edit of Matt pops up on your fyp.

Of course you watched it. As soon as you saw Matt’s cute little grin, you were sucked in. The transition from him laughing, to him dancing, makes the smile on your face grow even more. He was so cute, it actually hurt your heart and you needed to see his face right then and there.

Tears started running down your face as you walk from the room you share with Matt, to the kitchen, eyes immediately landing on just the person you were looking for.

He was standing in the middle of the room, reading something on his phone not noticing the frazzled state you were in. He didn’t even notice you were there until he felt your arms wrap around his waist and face press into his back.

“Hi baby.” He quietly greets as one of his hands instinctively drop down to grab one of yours, his thumb rubbing softly against the back of your hand. And just the gentleness of his actions is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to run out. “You’re so cute Matty!”

At the sound of your watery voice he’s concerned, but then he registers what you said and knows this is one of your episodes. Though still concerned, because he hates when you cry, he is relieved it’s not something too serious.

He moves to pull you in front of him before taking your arms to wrap themselves back around his waist. Matt then quickly wipes at your waterline, trying to stop your tears.

“Why are you crying sweetheart?”

“Because!” You pause and bury your face in his chest and you feel his hand begin to run through your messy hair.

“I just- I love you so much! I feel like my heart melts every time I look at your cute little face.” You cry out, words muffled by his shirt. And if you were to look up right now, you would see a very amused grin on your boyfriend’s face.

“Is that right? The same thing happens to me when I look at you, so glad we’re on the same page.” There’s a lightness to his words, but genuinely meaning them.

You both are silent for a few moments. Matt just holding you tightly against his body, making sure you knew he was there. “I saw this really cute edit of you on tiktok and it just made me really happy. I needed to see your face immediately.”

“You wanna show me the edit?” You perk up instantly at his question, a giddy feeling flooding through your body. “In a minute, Matty. I just need you to keep holding me like this.”

“Okay angel. I got you.” Matt rests his cheek on top of your head and starts to slowly sway you both back and forth. His words settle into the silence surrounding you two and you get another rush of emotions spread throughout your chest.

And unbeknownst to you, Matt had the same rush of emotions spread throughout his chest. He felt so fucking lucky to have someone who loved him as much as you did.

The moment between you two was short lived when you hear another set of footsteps walking downstairs, and then the silence is once again broken by Nicks voice.

“Ugh, serious situation or one of her episodes?” Matt cuts his eyes over to Nick, making the older sibling throw his hands up in a defensive manner. “What? I love my bestie, but she could give Mantis (guardians of the galaxy) a run for her money.”

“Shut the fuck up. We were having a moment here.” Matt states and you pull away from his body, looking at Nick with a soft smile. “Stop yelling at him. It’s okay Nick, it’s just another one of my silly little moments.” You laugh and start pulling Matt’s sleeve, walking towards your bedroom.

Matt sits on the edge of the bed, not wasting anytime in pulling you down into his lap and wrapping his arms back around you.

“Do I really seem more emotional than Mantis?” Your question only makes your boyfriend laugh, answering your question without saying anything.

“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Everyone loves your little episodes. It’s almost refreshing in a sense because of how innocent it makes you seem. You just have such a big heart things make you so happy sometimes, you can’t help but cry.”

His small rant makes you squeeze your eyes shut from more tears and you place kisses all over his face, before landing one on his lips.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do! And I mean it when I say I wouldn’t change anything about you for the world.”

A thought passes through your mind and a small laugh escapes your mouth. “I wouldn’t change anything about you either, not even the weird thing your pinky does when you drink something.”

“Oh great, now I’m getting bullied by the internet and my girlfriend.”

the edit that inspired this:

FULL CREDIT TO @nllzharry on tiktok!

[januaryrabbit]

how seventeen would act around their s/o while drunk heheee

pairing: seventeen x gn reader, established relationship, fluff

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, cursing, mentions of sleeping over and physical affection w/ the boys but it’s meant in a fluffy context, not a suggestive/mature one!

other disclaimers: lowercase intended, probably typos, setting is hanging out with all the boys and with you!!!!!

a/n: i just realized in my wip post i said "crush" instead of "s/o"........WOOPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT ANYWAY hello everyone, i’m finally back with another post! i;m sorry for the very long hiatus, i p much always have something going on in my life lol @-@ but i have time now to actually write!!! i hope you enjoy this one hehe -mina

✩‧₊˚clingy drunks:

mingyu: this man will not leave you alone. he is in love with you. and he’s cheesy! in a sweet way :) will kiss your hand every few mins, lean on you, or put his arm around you so you lean on him hehe. i think he would also want you to reciprocate the clinginess too hehe,,,it makes him feel loved :3 i can see him moving your hand to his hair to ask you to play with it, and if you stopped, he would just take your hand and put it back in his hair LOl. he strikes me as someone who would take care of you (kinda like how he takes care of drunk hoshi hehe) and makes sure you're ok, even if he's drunk himself :]

seungcheol: omg omg HES GOING TO DOTE ON YOU SO MUCH!!! “jagi are you ok” “jagi do you need water” “jagi i’ll walk you to the bathroom, be careful”...he doesn’t realize that he himself is wobbling around and spilling water, LMAO. he just wants to help his baby!!! would def ask where you’re going if you get up, ask you to stay over with him, etcetc. would always have an arm around you and constantly LOL. would also go on a random rant about how protective he is of you HAHAHA!! like “Y/N . IF ANYONE MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. TELL ME RIGHT AWAY . I WILL DEFEND YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH  EVEN IF IT’S MY OWN FRIENDS I DONT CARE WHO I HAVE TO BEAT UP (svt: BRO WTF?????) . GOD I LOVE U SOMUCH .” pls give him some water and a kiss!!!

junhui: i don’t think he’d necessarily be like talkative or doting, but i think he’s the type to just want to be around you and would sit really close to you :3 he almost gives me like Protective Bf vibes in the way that he’d just wanna be by your side to make sure you’re feeling ok too. plus, junnie just likes your company! i can picture him sending a lot of smiles toward you every few minutes because he’s so happy you;re his partner and he feels so comfy with you next to him :) also he likes leaning his head on your shoulder and he WILL show you cat pics the entire night…..pls comment on all of them or he’ll get sad. he also gives me the vibes of someone who has lazy days with his s/o after a night of drinking hehe…napping, hotpot and movies :)))

✩‧₊˚loud/emotional/(verbally) affectionate drunks:

soonyoung: MESSY U WILL HAVE TO CARE HIM !!!! did you see him on lee youngji’s show?? so cuteeee :( he would just shower you w/ affection heheh. im picturing him hugging you from behind like how he hugged the ice in the youngji ep and he would nestle his head into the crook of your neck and reach over to kiss your cheek :3c he would announce like every 20min how much he loves you to the whole room like "THIS IS MY PARTNER I LOVE THEM VERY MUCH THANKS!!!" and would post blurry pics of the two of you on his story with typos "i lvoe tehfm sonmchch" HAHA!! youll definitely have to sober up to take care of him hehe. would definitely start crying bc he loves you so much and YOU have to comfort him……you and mingyu get him to the car that night because he can’t walk by himself. the next morning hes like babe that was so fun round 2 of drinking tonight???????????? (horanghae pose)

seungkwan: BRUH KWAN GETS INTO (JOKE) ARGUMENTS WHILE HE’S DRUNK I HAVE NO DOUBTS!!! 90% of the time he’s trying to pick a fight with mingyu or chan i just know it I KNOW IT TO BE TRUE!! but with his s/o, i think he’s the type to be like HONEY THIS ONE IS FOR YOU and he starts belting a love ballad and singing directly to you HAHA!!! (vernon: why are u always trying to outsing everyone. no one else is singing.) seungkwan ignores vern’s comment and keeps going tho. he almost moves himself to tears by how much he loves you and how much love he’s pouring into his performance LOL. you tell him you love him too and that he doesnt have to sing VERY LOUDLY IN PUBLIC to profess his love !!! its not that serious pls sit down!!! and hes like MY LOVE FOR YOU IS SERIOUS . and that’s how you end up with a pouty and drunk kwan!!!!!!!!!

chan: oh my sweet chan,,he would just shower you with affection LMAO like “i love you. you’re amazing. you look so beautiful right now, you know that?” type of thing. he’s just the biggest simp hehe. i think hes also the type to just wanna have fun, he'd prob cheer you on if you took a shot like FUCK YEAH BABE GO OFF!!!! but i also think that he would be doing EVERYTHING for you. "i'll pour your shot!!!!! don't lift a finger SERIOUSLY!!!!!" asks you every 30min if youve had water. (you: yes. i had some 30min ago. when you GAVE ME SOME.) gets you snacks. if you needed to throw up he WILL hold your hair with a drink in the other hand (for him)!!!! he also helps you put your jacket on at the end of the night. it doesn't matter how drunk he is, he's firm on taking care of YOU!!! <3

✩‧₊˚(physically) affectionate drunks:

wonwoo: he’s all smiles for you hehe. clings onto your arm whenever you’re near him. he wouldn't be too loud or anything, but i think he'd shyly whisper compliments to you now and then about how you look nice or how much he loves you. i think he’d be one of the more chill people, he just feels happier than usual bc of the alcohol hehehhe. usually, wonu is pretty good at keeping himself composed when you show him affection. but when he’s drunk, i think he’d react a little more…he strikes me as someone who’s more verbally/physically affectionate when it’s just you two, but around friends/family he tones it down. but when he’s drunk i think he would be comfortable having you sit on his lap or having an arm around you <3

jihoon: i am convinced lee jihoon is a different man when he’s drunk!!!!!!!!!  i have a hot-ish take when it comes to drunk uji…omg woozi would SOOOO open up physically and emotionally to you..and he’d be the type to always, Always have an arm around your waist and constantly hold your hand, looking at you with a smile that leads all the way up to his eyes. he’s someone who has dealt with a lot in his life, but in this moment, he’s so grateful to be here with his friends, and someone he loves that also loves him for who he is. the reason i think he’d be like this is juts because like. he doesn’t drink much, but when he does, feelings he’s been keeping to himself finally come up to the surface. also his face, neck and ears are constantly bright red because of the alcohol LOL. but ALSO they'd be red the next day when he realizes how he behaved in front of you hehe…. don't tease him too much about it or he'll die of embarrassment!

seokmin: dont ask me why bc idk but i think he would ruffle your hair constantly because youre so cute. then he would get distracted and talk to the bros for a bit, look at you again and remember how cute you are and ruffle it again sorry i dont make the rules!!!!!!! dk is definitely the loud/funny drunk hehe…hes the type to be giggly/try to make everyone laugh :) but i think he’d definitely try to make you laugh the most !! mostly in terms of physical affection though, i think he’d just dote on you a lot…like you know in the dingo video how he kept kissing woozi??? yeah he does that to you. along with the hair ruffles. and the attempts to get you to laugh. good luck. you’re going to drown in affection from this man LOL. 

✩‧₊˚happy/chill drunks:

vernon: HE WILL CARE YOU this man is all vibes. he’s just here to have a good time lol. you’ll probably be the drunk one who needs to be taken care of :3 but if he was somehow convinced to get really drunk, i think he would still just be vibes. but happier vibes. i think he would just laugh at everything and keep a hand constantly on your knee heheh. also i think he would encourage seungkwan’s antics more when he’s drunk i’m just saying .

minghao: minghao is just relishing in the moment of enjoying his time with his friends and partner~ he doesn't strike me as someone who drinks much, kinda like vernon. he'd be more focused on having a good time with everyone! i think he's the type to have hangover remedies ready for you at home for the next day. i think he would also be the type of bf to know when to cut you off LMAO like “y/n’s had 4 shots….hyung STOP pouring them another one!!!!!!!!” he just seems like he'd be prepared to take care of his partner :) you're so lucky!! he’s also the type to observe you and take pictures/videos if you’re doing something funny while you’re drunk LMAO!!!!

joshua: josh is a giggly drunk i have no doubts. also in the dingo video that man was RED af!!! would probably be like “im fine im SO SOBER RIGHT NOW…BABE TELL THEM HOW SOBER I AM!!!” he is not sober. i also think he would be the type to compare hands with you LMAO. you’re just like ???? you know how big both our hands are???? you’re literally my bf???? and hes like I JUST WANTED TO CHECK OK!!! tbh he seems so fun to be around LMAO like he on the way to the hangout hes like “babe lets match each other if u drink i drink” and ur like HELLO SIR???????? WHO IS DRIVING US HOME?????? (jeonghan does and he sleeps over.)  he just wants to have FUN and let loose with the homies and his partner!!!! consequences are for TOMORROW, y/n!!!!!! (he might start sulking if you don’t agree to match him but it’s fine you both know your limits hehe)

jeonghan: i see him as someone who doesn’t go too wild when drinking. kinda like vernon and minghao, i think he’s more there for vibes than getting fucked up lol. if anything, he’s doting on you because he finds you so cute, especially when you’re drunk hehehe. HE would be the one to ask you to do aegyo or something and when you do he just dies of cuteness lmao. i think he would also tease you in silly ways, like convincing you that he and s.coups are actually long lost brothers who found each other in college, or that seungkwan is a natural blonde. and of course you believe him which is the funniest shit ever to him!!!! LMAO!!!!! your shock and wonder at his blatant lies is the cutest thing to him. don’t worry tho he’ll tell you the next day nothing he said was true, except for when he said he loves you :)

[cheatsykoopa98]

1 AM ramble but someone just pointed out to me you can see zooble's room in their pin wrapping background

not only do we get to see what their room looks like, we also get an official look of the zooble box, and a mirror for them to look at themself. now I think this might be important. pomni had a scene in ep 1 where she looks at the mirror in disbelief that she looks like that now, and we know zooble changes their parts every day. I think caine did that to "help" zooble with figuring out their gender identity, which maybe or not be helping, considering what I hear of people experiencing gender dysphoria not liking to see themselves in the mirror.

and I do think the mirror is important, we get to see a little bit of the others' bedrooms as well, kaufmo, ragatha and gangle's, and none of them have mirrors from what I can see. maybe caine noticed pomni looking in the mirror and thought pomni might want one in her room just like zooble, not realizing pomni probably hates to look in the mirror and not see herself

also lets look at the other characters bedrooms

ragatha seems to be very tidy (assuming everyone has to clean up their rooms and considering how messy pomni's room is) and not have that much stuff. a box of toys that she might or not play with considering its positioned as a seat for the piano. we dont know if she knows how to play (according to goose she knows the cello, so she could know the piano as well) and having so little fingers in her hand might actually not let her play the piano properly. caine could have just heard she likes music and put a piano in her room. also notice the piano is in the middle of the room taking center stage and we cant see a bed (yet). ragatha has mentioned nobody needs to sleep even though they can. do you think she (tries to) play the piano at night while everyone else assumedly sleeps? there is a song sheet at the piano but I cant read if it has an actual song name written on it.

also she has a shelf full of things that might be of her interest or template things caine put there. like balls of yarn, books, a gloink (how did she have a gloink before ep 1?) and a framed picture, which if it has an actual photo of someone there could open up a lot of theories to who is there. also the gloink being there points to either ragatha having already lived through a gloink adventure and keeping one in her room or keeping one after an adventure where she was hurt by kaufmo and abandoned by pomni. why would she want to keep it if thats the case?

gangle's room is very dark with black walls. we cant see much but I believe she is in a really deeper depression than pomni. I believe to the point where she doesnt have the energy to try to escape, just mask as much as she can before her happy mask is broken again, poor gangle :/

we dont get to see kinger or jax's room, even though I think there is a kinger door in the corridor. maybe kinger is too paranoid to sleep in his room. jax's only shows his door with the void breaking into view. maybe we wont get to see his room until the very end. also I remember there was a theory jax knows where the exit is, but doesnt leave. I dont think its true considering goose said jax deserves to be stuck in the circus, implying he cant leave just like everyone, but since he "has keys to everywhere", what if he has been to the void without caine knowing? pomni never made it through the end but if jax did, maybe what he saw there pushed him to be how he is now. maybe he doesnt see hope in escaping and thats why he turns into such a bad person, he could be a nihilist in that way

anyway sorry for the long post, I just had a bunch of ideas popping up in my head from this little detail I should have noticed when pomni's pin was released

not only do we get to see her room but we also see the blocks spelling CBA, not sure if the B is supposed to count or not but its the second time pomni is associated with C&A, I do believe she was an employee there

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged TEASER

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, others tbd

Teaser Length: ~1.5k | Full Fic Length: ~20k

Note: it's christmas timeeeee!!!!!! i missed DK so dearly since Teach Me so I had to bring him back for the holidays. everyone, check out the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios everyone worked so hard and im so excited to read them. thank u @gyuswhore and @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-ing this teaser

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

Comment to be tagged when the fic is posted later this month!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you, and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends texted you how big of a jerk he was, a few calls but you ignored them. All you want is to wallow in self pity. 

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze makes deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit. Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked, and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. Sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of loosening even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flight’s delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

However, you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving are ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes.

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[mmgceramics]

I’m not going to do a real art summary thing this year, mostly because I don’t know how to use photoshop to make it look decent. Instead, I’m just gonna dump some musings on y’all. It got longer than I expected, though, so it’s beneath the cut so I don’t take up too much of your dash space :)

When folks talk about my work, a word I often hear is “deliberate”. I live in central North Carolina, and everyone here is familiar with ceramic folk art, so it certainly makes sense in that regard, but it taps into something else for me.

I have dyspraxia; I was diagnosed as an infant, but it’s still something I struggle with a lot. I, physically, learn slowly. My mind understands the process, but the realization of that process is another thing altogether, and that gap can be vast.

I had a therapist when I was younger who phrased it as “missing the trees for the forest” when I tried to explain how everything was so overwhelming. The idea of taking on a project, in my mind, was (and continues to be, often) to take on the entirety of that project. I don’t know if that’s related to the dyspraxia or some other thing I’ve got floating around up there, but it’s something I wrestle with every time I start something new or just try to get myself out of bed to do so.

My work is very deliberate. I move slowly, carefully, and I overthink everything. My work is deliberate, but there are unstraight lines and sloppy brushstrokes and messy glaze. I like sharpness and contrast, aesthetically and narratively, but I can be clumsy.

Anyways, dyspraxia has been a big part of my year: learning how to accommodate myself and give myself room and time. I’m still working on the whole nonjudgmental stance thing, but I’m proud of a lot of the work I’ve done this year, and I’m looking forward to continuing to improve in the next.

And I promise this was a one off 😁 I typically try to keep my thinking on the inside, so we’ll get back to pictures soon. Happy New Year!

[mywritingonlyfans]

Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud! Reader (Smut) Part 2 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9K.

a/n: I'll need to add one more part, I hope you still feel like reading them! Thank you for waiting all this time! (I'll try my best to finish the last part soon)

HERE'S PART1

Alex promptly notified campus authorities about the boys. Although he didn't know their names, his detailed description enabled other professors to identify them. He ultimately concluded that they weren't a real threat, just a bunch of troublemakers. Nevertheless, he did his part, unwilling to let the situation slide and subject himself to any torment for having overlooked their inappropriate behavior. In the same way, he'd be watching you just as closely, not only because he wanted you to be okay but also because of the intensity that had built up inside him (thoughts and a tiny bit of obsession) after the last time he saw you.

…

His messy and crooked handwriting on the napkin somehow lingered in your mind. Not as much as the possibility of him being someone other than yours, but it persistently surrounded your aura. Your idealization of Professor Turner did not fit with him being a traitor, so yes, the way you portrayed him in your mind did not allow for such a possibility unless he proved otherwise. And that hurts, from deep within your core to the bitterness in your mouth and the burning in your throat. It was frustrating, yet you still wanted him around. What continued to motivate you to read the book he had given you and delve into his notes was the feeling of having him by your side, reading every word with you. Sometimes you were certain that if you closed your eyes, you could hear his rough, accentuated voice blending with the characters.

Perhaps, if you were his age and already held a degree, maybe even a professor specializing in romantic literature, there might have been something between you two. Picture it: a rainy afternoon, your head resting on his chest, his warm lips near your ear as he read to you. You hadn't openly acknowledged it yet, but you felt a certain compatibility despite the numbers of years difference. It took you a while to realize, but his demeanor softened whenever he saw you, his gaze growing more serene, and even the beloved wrinkle between his eyebrows had time to relax. His voice became gentler. You weren't completely oblivious to these cues, though you did have your doubts.

It all traced back to that one night when he had come to your aid, opening your eyes to the possibility that he could belong to someone. The faint, woody scent of his blazer had found its way to your home. He had even apologized for pulling back from a kiss, not wanting to be rude, and left his phone number in your belongings with a simple message: "Call me if you need me, lil’ one." He left no room for doubt; your mind still spun, and you felt helpless, uncertain about what steps to take. But your desire to do something about it burned brightly.

"I can hear your breathing," his tone was relaxed. Just as you hoped it would be with you, and then you wondered if he could recognize you by your breathing alone.

You remained silent, there was no plausible reason or emergency that had made you call. It wasn't strange, just unusual. He laughed, which made you imagine him with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a breath on the balcony with his mouth slightly open to blow out the smoke. Maybe he just smoked too much, and you weren't obsessed.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence." He laughed, in a way that filled your lungs, and the little wrinkles around his eyes appeared for contemplation. At least in your mind, just for you.

You exhaled, your eyes filling with tears. It wasn't exactly a desire to cry, but you felt genuinely sad knowing that you weren't and wouldn't be his.

"How do you know it's me, Mr. Turner?" You wanted to sound playful, but your voice came out so shaky that it made calling him that seem inappropriate.

"It was a guess. Besides, I can't think of anyone who would call me at this hour and stay in deep silence. And, well," there was a pause, his guttural and muffled breathing making you take a deep breath. Enough time for a drag, you thought. "You know, I was ‘oping you’d call." He was sincere, typical of him. He always seemed too clear when he wanted to be. Everyone said he was strict, but you couldn't think of a time when he had made his students confused or uncertain about something he demanded. Demanded, that was a word that suited him in the classroom.

"Waited?" And you saw him nod with a sweet look for you, as if he were by your side. In fact, he just mumbled. "Expected me to be in trouble?" You tried to sound more cheerful.

There was a pause; you lay down, staring at the walls until you buried your nose in the pillow in a hug. He was close to his phone; you could hear him wet his lips and breathe lightly. You wanted to run your fingers over his face and hair again, but you couldn't deny that this was as magnificent as it got.

"Not at all, but I wouldn't hesitate to save you." His eyes closed tightly. The silence grew deeper, still comfortable, it was cute. If you had the chance, you would kiss him before that, before it got too cute. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding regretful, just reluctant due to your brief absence.

You laughed, not saying anything, but it was enough for him to understand that everything was okay.

"Are you sad?"

Then you felt the pillow get a little damp.

"Am I really that transparent?"

He let out a breath through his nose, his lips curving. If he closed his eyes just right, just like you did, he would also be able to feel your fingers dancing around him.

"Only when you write, but I blame myself for watchin’ you too much during this time." You sounded the same way as when he pushed you a little too hard with his pragmatic comments, and although he found it adorable, over the phone, without being able to do anything about it, it made him a little uncomfortable. His words took brief seconds to be spoken; he wondered if you noticed how nervous he was that he needed to formulate sentences before speaking. And even then, he regretted some of them, not that they were bad, but he didn't want to hurt you.

"I guess I am,"

"Guess?" The air caught in your throat, the back of your nose starting to burn, and you feared it would be difficult to keep tears from flowing.

You didn't want to comment on the woman in the photo, at least not at that moment; you wanted to enjoy being with him as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, you decided to omit the reason but still let him know that you were genuinely upset. Maybe it was because he had helped you; you didn't know why, but you trusted him to a moderate extent that included your feelings. You believed and knew that talking to him would make you feel better.

"I think I'm just stressed," it wasn't a lie. His body shivered, unable to hold you close to comfort you. You felt a little pathetic making such a confession to a 37-year-old man who didn't have the same problems as you.

"I feel like I'm trying so hard for nothing, the days of writing have been a burden, and everything I write is so thought out and time-consuming that I feel like no one would want to read it, I'm almost certain I'm a fraud. I'm just waiting for the day they'll realize." Your throat was already scratchy enough to be closed from the middle to the end; your face was wet, and your head pounded in pulses. This was a recurring thought of yours; you had never verbalized it to anyone.

He listened, his steady breathing becoming slightly faster, and in a way, it calmed you over the phone. The whimsical feeling that he was there for you, even if it was a situation made up in your head, put you at ease.

Alex had noticed that you were insecure about your writing; it was clear how you reacted to his notes and negative feedback. But that was one of the things that made you good, the persistence in wanting to recognize your mistakes, listen, and do things differently. He wished all his students were like that. Although you had a special place in his mind and heart. Alex found you talented and determined; weakness didn't align with your gentle and loving personality. He wanted to make you see yourself through his eyes and free you from that feeling.

"I don't think you are, lil’ one; I know you're not," the pet name brought a smile to your face, and Alex noticed, his chest warming with the satisfaction of successfully soothing your worries. "You'll reach your goals. You write well, pay great attention to detail, and I love every touch of romance in your writing. I mean it now, and I'll mean it even more in the near future. You’re quite meant for this." He settled into his bed, clearing his mind as he imagined you lying beside him. Alex could almost see your gaze darting away from his, just as you often did during his lectures, as if you hoped he wouldn't notice.

You wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't discover it, but you felt more confident and better in this emotional aspect after his classes. You recognized that you felt even worse about this in the months before you even knew Alex. Now it was different, and you liked that.

"Do you really think so?" It didn't sound like you wanted to hear him repeat the same words. It was more like you still had traces of doubt. He could even see your nose wrinkling, a habit of yours when you were uncertain, which he found endearing. Just like hearing your weak voice like that, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Sometimes I'm certain that I'm not worth the opportunity that someone needs to give me so I can succeed in something, something that hasn't even happened yet and might never," Alex didn't let you linger on that and hushed you until your voice diminished. If he found it painful to hear you talk about yourself this way, he couldn't imagine how you were dealing with it inside your head. "I don't want you to talk ‘bout yourself like that." His voice was firmer, and you shrunk back; it was good to hear above all. "You'll make it. You're worried ‘bout a future you can't control. You're still young, and you haven't even finished your degree. Give things time. Like I said, you're talented, and you'll have good opportunities. And I'd help you in any way possible." Inside his head, he concluded, and in the impossible too. He wished he could hug you, have your body close, and be sure that you were comforted and that your voice was no longer filled with tears, but all he had were words.

Even without a turn of phrase, he noticed you calming down, and he could feel your exaggerated heartbeat through the call. Or maybe that was just his worries. You were a mess. And even though you were frustrated, he didn't want to be anywhere else that night but on the phone with you (even though he preferred you in person next to him).

"Do you think it gets better with time, Mr. Turner?" You smiled; it was forced, he knew that, but he was relieved that you were trying. Then he scratched his nose with a funny look, the way you called him still sending shivers through his body, but he also found it cute how the sound came from your lips.

"The insecurity you're feeling?" You nodded in a mumble. "It doesn't get better, but we learn to deal with it better, I think." You laughed again, with more enthusiasm, and Alex felt accomplished, feeling his own cheeks blush.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." You said softly, closing your eyes, the phone pressed against your cheek, still hugging your pillow even tighter. His breath truly acted as a calming agent on you.

"Little one?" He noticed you were tired. "You can call me Alex if you want; there's no reason to be so formal." He felt awkward asking for that, even though the whole situation was awkward.

"Okay," you said softly, not quite able to bring yourself to say his name. The way you sounded thoughtful even with such a small word made Alex chuckle quietly in a discreet way. You were so adorable in his eyes.

Silence took over, in the same warm and familiar tone as throughout the call. You began to smell his scent on your sheets and remembered lying there with his blazer before, although for now, it was likely just a figment of your imagination. But it felt so real; you were really drowsy from sleep.

"Turner?" He murmured to let you know he was still there, finding the evolution of you avoiding "mister" quite sweet, as it made him feel less old compared to you than he actually was.

"I've been writing different works; I'd like you to take a look. I like it when you assist me without taking away my freedom." He ran his hand over his abdomen, his body warm, and he felt guilty once again for pulling you into this with him, even if that was your will too.

"I'd love to. I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over." It sounded subtle and right. Neither of you could tell if it was the effect of sleep, but he liked the idea of having you at his house again and being able to talk to you outside the academic environment. You took a while to respond, and he almost took back his earlier words.

"Is it not a problem?" Your mind went back to how he could have someone who was his person.

"No," he said, not sounding pensive, but he was wondering if someone important at the university found out it could give you problems. He knew it wasn't right for him, but he didn't care as much about what could happen to him; you had more to lose than he did, you were at the beginning of your academic career, and he wouldn't do that to you. "Do you think it could be a problem for you?"

You denied it, realizing you needed to speak for him to know the answer. "No, I think it's a good idea," you concluded, deciding that you would make the most of it, whatever it was. It was the first time you felt attracted - you liked him, you were a bit obsessed, you were afraid - and you were almost certain he felt the same way, and you didn't want to waste it.

After a few short minutes, you continued, "I love the way you write about being in love, as if there's only room for that one person in your head, and nothing else matters. I hope that if someone ever falls in love with me, it's at least 10% of how you describe that feeling." He knew you read his publications, yet he felt a delightful warmth, like receiving a handwritten note from your middle school crush confessing the same feelings. He appreciated your work, and your appreciation of his made him feel great. "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I won't settle for anything less." Although Alex had written this a while ago, he found himself contemplating how well it matched what he felt for you.

You couldn't find more words, but both of you could sense each other's presence, the subtle laughter, and the soft breaths. Words weren't the sole means of communication; you both comprehended the situation and willingly let things progress at their own tempo. With this feeling of ease, you slipped into a peaceful and rejuvenating slumber, so unaware of it.

A few before this, he commented about needing to dispose of the ashes and the ashtray, and your face brightened in the darkness upon realizing you were right. He was smoking this whole time. Once you drifted off to sleep, Alex allowed himself to do the same, filled with the assurance that you were safe.

…

Your gaze appeared distant, and your fingers, on the verge of digging into your arm's skin due to impatience, twitched nervously. You leaned against the wall, seeking to evade the curious glances of passersby, well aware that your tension was conspicuously written across your features.

"Hey, what happened?" His voice carried deep concern, and as his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but fear that someone had issued a threat you were blissfully unaware of. He didn't hesitate, closing the gap between you, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. He was clearly worried.

It took a moment for you to find yourself as you briskly navigated the corridor leading to the reception desk, anxiety clutching at your chest.

"They're having issues with my documents, for dear God. I need them to apply to some campus. I did everything correctly, notified them of my need for these documents, and I'm still well within the deadline…" Your voice trailed off, caught in the charged atmosphere, your mind aflame.

His gaze remained steady upon you, his countenance markedly soothed now that your anxiety had heightened the stakes of the situation. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and extended a reassuring touch, his fingertips coming to rest gently upon your hand.

Moistening his lips and making that soft, almost playful sound one uses to capture a cat's attention, you couldn't help but release a small, albeit apprehensive chuckle, providing relief to both you and Mr Turner; he was doing well.

His presence, grounding and reassuring, helped to temper your nerves. He remained with you until your breathing found its way back to the present.

Glancing around, his eyes found no one in close proximity. He dipped his head slightly to align himself with your level, a tremor of emotion causing your cheeks to twitch. His face and the tip of his nose were red.

Running his fingers softly across your cheek, he offered you a warm smile despite your obvious reluctance stemming from the absence of his hand in yours.

"It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine, little one." His voice gradually dissolved your anxiety and the gripping sensation in your chest. He brought his fingers to his lips, tenderly kissing them before tracing their path back to your face.

First, he lightly pressed against your forehead, then your nose, and finally your cheek before his hands slid back into his pockets.

Unbidden, the thought crossed your mind that he would've kissed your tears away, a gesture of comfort he was undoubtedly willing to extend, if only the circumstances allowed. And then your mind ached at the brief reminder that you had woken up in the double bed in his room that night.

His laughter filled the space, eyes glistening with warmth, and the wrinkles around them adding to his features. In that moment, you fervently wished he could be yours, even as your self-awareness acknowledged the depth of your feelings.

"Where do you intend to apply?" Your gaze descended to his chest, buttons undone, and a gleaming chain vying for your touch.

"Huh, I... I plan to apply to a university in California. That's the crucial one, although I'll be submitting applications to others as well. Missing this deadline is simply not an option."

He nodded in understanding, skillfully alleviating the awkwardness you felt over your hesitant words. You remained unaccustomed to the unwavering attention he directed your way, where your words and actions seemed to bear a significant weight. He made you feel noticed and appreciated, you liked that.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back."

That said, he didn't take long to re-enter the room you had left about 40 minutes earlier and resolve your issue. He emerged with a furrowed brow, the self-assured smile gradually returning to his lips as he made his way back to you. It almost felt unfair how swiftly he had solved the problem, but then you remembered that he wasn't known for his friendliness to everyone. You imagined the firmness in his voice and expression as he demanded to know the whereabouts of your documents from whomever happened to be present. A sense of relief washed over you as he asked if this was what you needed and handed you the envelope. With a quick glance inside, you confirmed that your documents were indeed there.

He seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help, but you didn't quite notice. Your reaction was instinctual as you rose on your tiptoes and let your body collapse onto his, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. He took a deep breath, unprepared for this, but he managed to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder and circled his arm securely around you. His nose brushed against your hair, and he hoped your scent would linger on his clothes for at least a few more minutes.

It was brief, both aware of the potential consequences of this closeness. You apologized, although a smile remained on your face. He could have frozen that moment in reality, gazing at you for hours, your short shirt rumpled from your previous touch, knee socks slightly disheveled inside your tall boots, while you clung to the documents he had just retrieved. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was evident how you found comfort in each other's presence. And he easily concluded that you suited California.

"I need to go," he said, his thoughts consumed with the image of you sitting in his classroom in a few hours and potentially at his home later if you hadn't changed your mind. He didn't want to bring it up, wanting the decision to be entirely yours. If you decided not to show up, he'd understand, and you knew that. You appreciated the pressure he removed from you. His desires were quite evident, and even though you still needed to address the matter of the photo in his room, his intentions were anything but unclear.

…

On that day, you sat a few desks behind due to the front-row seat's creaking issue. Every time he entered the room, your attention soared. You enjoyed admiring how he placed his brown bag on the desk, neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted his blazer before starting the class. However, you noticed how his eyes searched for you before initiating this ritual, his face stern and composed, his hand tracing his jaw until he reached the spot where he found you, a few desks back. Your radiant smile met his timid one, and your hands fidgeted with your skirt. At that moment, you both knew that neither of you concealed your feelings well. It was evident in the softening of his expression upon finding you and the shy smile that curved his lips; with crooked lower teeth and cute prominent lines. It warmed your heart.

The following minutes went as expected, with your heart racing when he addressed you, and he posed questions that he was confident you could answer or raise thought-provoking ones. You remained addicted to gaining his favor, even though you no longer needed it. There was no doubt you were his favorite one.

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, dismissing the others, which included you. Yet, you hesitated to pack your things and leave. You wanted to show him that you still intended to meet him later, fearful that he might think otherwise.

Initiating the conversation didn't come naturally. You leaned against the closed door, observing him tidy up the last of his belongings. You felt uneasy, and he sported a self-assured smile. He was yours, soon you'd gradually become aware of it.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence," he offered, approaching you. Your nervousness was palpable, and you couldn't even contemplate forming words. "There's no one on the other side of the door," he reassured, peering through the small glass window. "I wouldn't force or manipulate you into anything you don't want to do." He was cautious, but the idea that he thought you might think of him like that made you shake your head vigorously.

"I know you wouldn't, Professor Turner." His nose wrinkled slightly as you insisted on calling him that. His cheeks gained color, and you loved that.

You pushed your hair back, trying to clear your head. "I just wanted to confirm that you still want to see me tonight, and also to say thank you for helping me after the bar incident. I don't want you to think badly of me. I—" You paused, swallowing hard. Dry throat, just like your eyes, which couldn't stop blinking. His attention was fully on you, and it didn't help. Seeing your struggle, he moved closer, gently removing your hand from your hair. He whispered while still close, "I don't think anything bad 'bout you, and I'll still be waiting for you if you want to be there."

You nodded, your eyes lost in his, feeling as if you could almost touch his skin without making physical contact. Your hand involuntarily touched the collar of his shirt, your palm pressing awkwardly against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the coolness of his necklace. His fingers followed yours, resting on top of your hand with a pleasant size contrast. Your touch affected his body in ways you couldn't fully fathom, but he was better at concealing it. Your mind briefly entertained the idea of his lips brushing against yours, but this thought was soon supplanted by a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your chest met his as in an embrace, and it lasted long enough for you to feel his fingers below your knee, lifting your high socks until they were even with the other. It sent a great burn through your thigh and made you want to keep him close, but then he was stepping away. "I just want you to feel comfortable with me, pet." Your words once again choked in your throat. You wanted to hear him say he wanted you, but you refrained from vocalizing it, and you understood, but you still longed to hear it from him. Just as you wanted to shout that you felt good with him, despite being a novice in matters of the heart.

…

In your imagination, Professor Turner was someone who didn't shy away from the daylight, and you believed he was just that, even though it was amusing to picture a darker side to him that other students described. When you told your roommate that you wouldn't be back that day, and she suspected it might be related to him, you received a playful, "Take care, don't let him pull you to the dark side." It made you laugh and think about how some of your classmates had asked you to talk to Alex about his grading approach because they had noticed his fondness for you and were in desperate need of a miracle. You didn't think your intervention would change anything, but your curiosity would lead you to take the risk.

The air felt trapped in your lungs, and there was still an alert in your mind that being there was wrong. Students were gossips (your friend even more so), if he had someone, you would know, right?

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestured for you to enter. The same calm and gentleness that always characterized his demeanor toward you, as your roommate had reminded you over the phone just minutes ago. Your mouth quivered, and your hands turned cold as he looked at you. His expression was meticulous, as if trying to read every one of your signals. The sensation within you intensified as you adjusted your knee socks, and his attention followed you until he realized how his hands clenched around nothing. This time, it was you who laughed.

"I wish I could say you don't have to pay for things for me, but honestly, I wouldn't have had the money to come here," you explained, with more than a hint that you might be less financially stable than him. The age difference still nagged at your mind, but you had promised yourself to make the most of this situation. He had covered the Uber ride, just like last time, and now you felt guilty about him spending money on your meal, even though you found it adorable.

He was flushed, certainly not from embarrassment. "It's okay, I don't mind. I want you 'ere." It sounded so formal and yet so natural of him, it made you wonder if he did this often; seduce their own students. It was quite a torment for you to add to your worries, had he ever done that before? And why were you bothered by that? Why did you want to be the only one who had ever gone through this with him?

You only realized that you were standing there staring at him when you felt his hand lightly press your back and guide you to the living room. There were sheets and pillows on the wooden floor rug and the light was dim. He had thought about that and it made your cheeks hot, you were unable to contain a smile. Before sitting down, he took your bag off your shoulders and murmured, "Your thoughts are quite noisy, little one."

He sat next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. Your legs stretched out and your uncontrollable fingers played with the hem of your socks. You kept your eyes on the orange colored juice and some bread, your belly emptying and your head becoming fuller. “I just,” you looked at him, his messy hair and tired look but still giving you all the appreciation. "I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I'm not sure if it helps you either, but, I'm not, I'm not in the habit of bringing students to my house. You're the first one." You smiled, the weight of your body joining him. Alex noticed you becoming more comfortable and brought his hand closer to yours, then you rested your palm in his; bringing your fingers over the veins and calluses on his fingertips. You bit your lip at the thought of him actually playing the guitars in his room. And then you felt heavy once again at the thought that you wouldn't be able to be present in the moment with him if you didn't know if he had someone else.

You were careful to pull your hands away from his, stealing a piece of bread and pouring yourself some juice. His gaze on you was unmistakable, hard to ignore. Even though you enjoyed it, you felt like you were caught doing something bad.

"You can talk to me," he said, nothing but reassuring. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." And he didn't, it was in your head, and deep down you knew it.

As the orange, viscous liquid touched your lips, you noticed his flushed cheeks going harder, even though he remained confident. It was the same Mango and Passion Fruit blend you had at the campus bar. Your face lit up with a smile, and he wished it could always be like this. "This is almost an obsession." He laughed too, relieved that you didn't think he was crazy for it.

He had indeed asked in the following days what that drink was, and he had learned that you always ordered that, he was just trying to make you comfortable around him. Little did he know that it didn't take much. "I swear my intentions were for the best," he concluded to have succeeded as he held your gaze for a little longer, and then your head rested on his shoulder. Your arm was lazy at first but within minutes, it was around his waist, brushing the top of his pants and then pulling your body closer. You felt the scents mingling, and your head grew lighter. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. Silence was indeed a great friend of yours, something you both cherished.

"Do you have someone?" You weren't as confident as you'd like to be, though you thought the answer was no, you still feared the response. He held your chin close to his, so near that you could see the scar near his eye and the more expressive fine lines. A tear threatened to escape as he appeared puzzled. You didn't like letting him think that you thought ill of him, but you couldn't move forward without answers. "Please, say you don't." Your voice faltered.

He ran his fingers over your face, letting his forehead rest against yours. He definitely didn't like seeing you upset. "I don't have anyone romantically," he chuckled softly, finding it attractive how you nestled into his touch. Even though you were uncertain, you wanted to hear it from him first, and he found that so mature of you. He felt guilty for thinking of it that way, as a warning that this wasn't entirely right.

You nodded, your heavy gaze fixed on him, and yet he stayed with you. "But what 'bout the girl in the photo in your room and the double bed..." Your body tensed, your face pliable in his hands.

Alex felt the weight of it and wanted the words to sound painless for you. It wasn't your fault, and there was an easy explanation; it was a concrete and unchangeable situation, only painful. He held you close when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, with just the right amount of strength, and his chest ached as his own vision welled up. "I don't have her anymore, not anymore," and with that, you understood. His gaze and his voice, the tone of affection, you didn't feel jealous, and in a way, you understood.

Your response was to cradle his cheeks and kiss his face, not liking to see him sad gave you the courage you'd been seeking all along. His arms enveloped you, a subtle embrace, his nose brushing against your thin top, your bodies aligning inch by inch. It felt right, and it didn't seem so wrong anymore.

He chuckled against your neck, lacking much humor. "It's been a while, I'm not trying to replace her or anything." His hand traced his eyes, and you nodded in understanding. You didn't sense that from him. "It's okay, I just didn't expect that and got scared." You whispered, letting your nose touch his while his forehead sweet bangs tickled you. Soon, your fingers were lightly tugging at the nape of his neck, and he didn't avoid your gaze; he only seemed upset about worrying you. Your lips brushed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, making you feel compassionate.

Nevertheless, you let your lips touch his, soft and warm, drawing out a lingering sigh. His grip tightened around you, and with that, your hands went from entwining his collar to pulling him closer, as if you could make it better; you wanted to make him feel great.

He solemnly withdrew from you, keeping you close while planting kisses on your face as he did so. As he pulled back, you realized that your senses were more attuned to him than to yourself. You couldn't pinpoint at what moment during all this you ended up in his lap. You didn't feel bad about it, but you still felt like you should.

"I'm sorry," you began, but he didn't let you pull away from him. He didn't need to explain, but he did it anyway. "I stay 'ere to teach, not because of her. I loved her, and I probably still would, but I'm not bound to her in any way, or sustained by being in love with someone I won't see anymore. I just don't see myself forgetting her entirely after years as if nothing had happened, just as I don't want to make you think this distances me from you or makes you believe I'm trying to replace her with someone else." He was precise, his voice trembling like never before. The coherence as something he had planned to say before hurt you; he wanted to say it but avoided it, and you didn't blame him. "I just want you to know these things." Your response was to hug him, craving the ability to merge with his body. It was dramatic, but you wanted to take some of that weight off him. His broader back, along with the embrace, covered you entirely, and you could feel his breathing calming as your thighs and arms clung to him.

With your head feeling lighter, your face nestled deeper into his chest. Your nose brushed against his neck, his warmth matching yours. The roughness of his baby beard made you smile into nothing. You could swear you felt him shiver. He kissed your face, his lips finding every space from your mouth to your neck, and your jolly reaction was to pull him closer by his t-shirt's collar. Your body burned, in a comforting way, and before falling asleep with him enveloped in you, you thought about how you should have done more or even asked for more. You no longer felt hesitant towards him.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the lighting still cozy, just like the feeling of his chest. He held you tightly, his chin nestled on the top of your head, making you feel whole as one. As you shifted in his lap, you wanted to squeeze him, feel the flesh of his waist, and unbutton more of his shirt to accommodate your hand. You needed to take a deep breath, unable to avoid the initial sweat on your forehead. He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing your back and holding you as you bit your lip to hide a smile. His dark circles were more pronounced, his skin softer, although his eyes slightly puffy. You snuggled back into him, and he accommodated you, sealing the moment with more kisses.

"I'm sorry, Turner," the muffled laughter left you happy too, not that you weren't already. You ran your wrist over his mouth, he was still fixated on every part of you. In truth, you might not have known what you were doing, or you were just nervous. You didn't want to disappoint him.

"It's okay," he ran his fingers in circles on your waist. Your skirt crept up, and the position improved as he leaned against the wall. You could feel him better, every inch of him, and the thought that you were arousing him made you tense up a bit, even though it was good. He noticed and held your face, his lips touching where you had just tried to dry because you forgot you needed to breathe through your nose when kissing someone, "Hey, it's okay, lil' one. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I like you being with you."

You took his neck, your lips soft and moist, albeit timid against his skin, making him release adorable sounds that made you want more. This caused you to grip onto him, your hips moving closer to his, and you wished he would touch you, even if just for the mere thrill of feeling him.

"Please," you sighed, his face pressed against yours. Your fingers toyed with the closed buttons of his t-shirt as you shifted your gaze to your hands. Alex understood that you weren't entirely sure about what you were asking for, and this sweetly confirmed how much he considered you nothing but a good girl. It was evident that you wanted to be wonderful for him, and it was adorable to see in your eyes how you were eagerly waiting for him to lead the way in this dance of desire.

"I'm all yours, princess." He concluded with a mixture of pet names that both disconcerted and melted you into him. You took a deep breath as the pressure of his large hands adjusted your hips, your knees slightly burning, but you couldn't help but create the necessary friction to feel him better. You could indeed feel all of him, from the light fabric of his dress pants to the zipper, hitting you perfectly. "I know, little one, you're doing so great," he praised, mesmerized by how you lightly closed your eyes and then opened them to him, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging your success. It was attractive to see you feeling secure and knowing how to make yourself feel good. With your hands still held against him, he intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the remaining buttons to be undone, and then your palm found its place into his flesh.

He held you tighter, your body against his. "Don't move both together, use your legs or just grind against me, or you'll get tired quickly," he sounded precise, his deep and raspy voice filling you up. You obeyed. "That's my good girl," he said in a husky growl. This effectively worked to keep you going with him. His fingers gripped your nape, pulling your head to look at him, gazing down at your sleepy and pleading look. He clenched his jaw, sure that he could surrender for so little. His lips landed on your neck, his nose burying into your skin, so soon his teeth were pulling you into a light and pleasurable bite.

And then you were his, his hands working on you better than your legs were trying but failing to reach that level. Soon, he removed your top with the same gentleness and urgency with which he pulled you to him just to devour your breasts. His grip traveled to your waist, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, encircling how hard they were and sucking them into his mouth as if it was genuinely pleasurable for him. The tip of his nose brushed against your skin, and he caused pain by nibbling on the flesh ready for him to take. You found yourself liking how every sound you made was heard by him, and he understood every nuance to repeat or intensify whatever he was doing to you.

You fit him well; being with him and having him wrapped around you made you feel confident. You had been embarrassed to be so spontaneous with someone before, but with him, it was different. His calm presence over you, the tranquility and affection, as well as the satisfaction in his eyes and touch when he saw you well, made you want more and more of him and to surrender yourself to him even more.

"You're so delicious," and he meant it. He squeezed you tightly, and you were worried you might have marks afterward. In a way, you liked it; you wanted to see him sprawled over you when it was all over.

And at all times he paid attention to your high socks, fixing them in the right place and smoothing them so they wouldn't move from where they were; keeping them pretty on yourself.

To soothe your whimper, he nestled his thumb against your clit, adjusting his movements until it felt like it was working for you. Alex was flushed, and you wanted to capture the look he was giving you. He didn't feel entirely guilty, but something weighed on him, as if he were corrupting you; the sensation wasn't bad at all. He pulled the flimsy fabric upwards, giving you more traction, lightly laughing at the pastel color and the central bow, knowing that it would haunt his mind for many days to come when he was feeling drowsy. It was magnificent, every detail of you, and he marveled at having your tired and prolonged sighs and teary eyes, just as he always thought they would be when your weak body collapsed onto his in such adorable spasms.

…

Your body ached, but the electricity in you felt good. Your hands ran clumsily through the pleasurable haze. He placed his lips on your forehead, lingering there until your body melded to his like a magnet. "I need to go, but I don't mind if you stay 'ere, lil' one," he sounded even better after waking up, husky and lazy, yet strong. Gradually, you became aware of the fact that you were in his bed, wearing the button-up shirt that you admired on his body. You smelled like him. You remembered him covering you with it, draping your figure while he kissed your collarbone gently. You were so drowsy that you were so certain it had been a dream.

"Go where?" You asked absently, looking around. He pulled up your socks, your legs entwining with his beneath the sheets. He loved this, wanted to have you there forever. You slept so serenely, comforted by his touch, and he thought about leaving you there. But he remembered how scared you had been at the idea of him leaving without notice the night he took you from the bar. He didn't want to cause that in you again, especially knowing he wouldn't be there when you woke up. "I have to teach in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't mind if you stay 'ere if you want."

"And do you want me to stay?" Your lips quivered; you understood his careful approach to your desires, but you wanted to hear it from him without reservations.

"I want you to stay, very much. I still need to read your new work, and I want to hear more from you." Your smile widened, and your face met his neck. He stroked your hair, keeping you close. You had almost forgotten that you had tucked prints of your writings into your bag to leave with him, or to have him read while you waited for his shrewd criticisms. You didn't care as much anymore; you wanted to hear him. You wanted to hear everything he had to say about you, whatever it may be. This thought, combined with the reminder that he preferred printed works over email submissions, made you beam more against him. He pulled you close, looking at you curiously.

"Okay, I can stay here, old man. It's good that I can finish reading the book you gave me." His cheeks flushed, and he got up, making you laugh more and grumble in disapproval. Alex didn't make a fuss and went to the wardrobe, putting on a clean t-shirt and taking off the pants he had worn earlier. He was serene, and he didn't mind you watching, your calm eyes on him, unraveling with each visible patch of skin. You wanted to scream about how everything in you wished this could be your routine. When you looked around, the photo was no longer there, and it didn't seem strange. In fact, you didn't feel jealous of it. However, knowing that he had put it away in another place made you feel good. You thought you might ask him more about it soon; she was important to Alex, and you understood and respected that. You thought it was only fair for him to know you didn't think badly of it.

"Promise you won't be too harsh when reading my stuff?" The buttons were still opened when he turned to you, his eyebrow arched, and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkling.

"I'm not cruel," you huffed, making him suppress a sly smile. "At least not with you." Your cheeks burned. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he grabbed his toothbrush. You followed, sitting beside him on the large sink, attentive to him.

"You know, they told me to ask you to go easier on the students, at least in my class. They all seem to think you're pretty tough," you mentioned.

He chuckled. You liked this, it was intimate and comfortable. His hair was messy, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled; he was perfect. He wiped his mouth and kept his brows tense, "I'm not; the world is just not as perfect as most of you believe, and not everyone is as good as you." He was such a cute old bastard. You arched your brows, mimicking the expression he often made, and he laughed, softening for you. "I won't harm anyone; I just think lower grades make you all work harder." He clarified, placing himself between your legs, and you soon enclosed him in your embrace.

"That's cruel and unfair, Professor Turner." He kissed your face, seeing that it bothered you more than you pretended it did. "You don't have to agree with me, pet."

"And I don't." You sounded more irritated, and he liked that. "It's not very fair."

He laughed, nodding. "Well, know that I'm not going to change." You shook your head but stayed there. You pulled him closer, buttoning up the shirt just as he did, and then folding the cuffs as you had noticed he liked to leave them. He enjoyed that with a great goofy smile.

Briefly, his mind wandered to how he didn't have another place besides there. He might have already renewed the campus contract and then planned for another season in Europe. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself questioning that decision. He could go to other places if he wanted; his qualifications allowed him to move beyond where he was. Basically, all it took was his own mind. So he thought about postponing the decision of whether to renew or not. Things might change.

"Turner, aren't you going to be late?" He snapped back to reality, kissing your lips before he actually heard everything you said. His fingers played with the elastic of your knee socks, tugging gently and then letting go, causing you to gasp in pain against his mouth. "It's funny how you want to punish your students but don't even care about arriving on time." You narrowed your eyes, trying to sound intimidating, but your breath gave you away quite well. "You look beautiful like this." He ignored the irony and felt your legs tighten around him. "In my shirt, princess," he whispered between lip nibbles, amused at how easy it was to leave you speechless. He lifted your hips from the sink, aligning your body better with his.

"I want to feel you, taste you on tongue, princess, is that okay?" His nose brushed your face, trying to soothe you as his hands roamed around you, feeling you tense with nervousness. He loved that. Your lips touched his, with wetter and more intense kisses, and you felt silly when you realized from the way he was smiling that he wasn't talking about that. You swallowed hard and nodded. "I just won't know what to do," you said, feeling dizzy as you held your breath. "Don't do anything," his hands comforted your body, and you leaned in so that he could remove the damp fabric from under his (yours) shirt. "Just relax, don't think 'bout it for now." You agreed, eagerly watching him kneel in front of you.

You did as he said, settling in more comfortably and following his eyes as he spread your legs, playing slowly with your socks before slipping your legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his nose diving into the area, and then his teeth nibbled the skin as you gasped. He chuckled with delight. "Are you going to teach me how to make you feel good too, Mr. Turner?" He couldn't resist your sweet voice. He nodded, giving a kiss to your center, your flesh glistening in anticipation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, princess." And then that new, wet, and firm sensation invaded you, your eyes closed, your lips parted in a brief, silent sigh. Your breasts were highlighted in the white t-shirt, so hard that they were attractive to Alex's gaze from time to time.

Your fingers clutched his dark hair, while his eyes remained closed right after taking a great look at you, and he released such a beautiful prolonged, satisfied groan. The taste made him a little dizzy, but he loved every second of it. "You're divine, did you know that?" You couldn't respond anymore; his nose caressed you, and his fingertips marked your delicate skin. He liked the time he was taking; it was nothing more than his tongue, and he relished the sensation of exploring you slowly. You also liked it, and that was enough for him. He could feel his chin wet and his breath falter, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Don't stop, please." And all you heard was the hum of his confident laughter against you, along with the recent texture of the beard growing, while you only thought about making it easier for him as you spread yourself further and fully surrendered to him. You just knew you would feel the same way tasting him on your lips and tongue.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods

tagged only for teacher's pet (the one who asked for and people who asked for the part2) : @thenightslikeawhiirlwind @missbabyjay @kayla1717 @ladydraculasthings @tyatthiapoewy @depthhell @hvncae @raven-ql @kittyrob0t @jakethsims @mayaawesome10 @michelleisheres-blog @love-me-until-ilove-myself @est3va @viviannagiorgini

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Also, I'm taking thoughts/ideas for part3 (it'll be the last one, I promise!)

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Polyamorous: Baby Tax

Steve rogers x female! reader x Bucky Barnes/ Stucky x female!Reader

Warning: fluff, baby talk

Ian West Rogers- Barnes, formally known as Ian West, was 15 months old and had been in the Roger-Barnes home for seven months since being released from the hospital. After being told his younger mother's story, they also received her ashes as well. They now sat in the living room along with a picture of her. She would not be forgotten or replaced. 

The Rogers-Barnes family had come together to welcome Ian into the home. Ash took three months off of work to get to know her new little brother and take care of her parents, yes, parents. As she had read somewhere that new parents often struggled the first few months and didn't take care of themselves. And they weren't letting a lot of people around or help due to Ian's health issues. So she stuck around to make sure they had help, took care of themselves, and that they adjusted well to the new arrangement. Going for that Daughter of the Year award.

Steve and Rogers also took three whole months off and then returned to part-time routines. Part-time routines, as in they returned to work as part-timers, but they route which of them would go to work and who would stay home and work and switch every two weeks. Unless something important or urgent happened, one of them would always be home. And this arrangement would last for the next six months. 

(Y/n) however, was and would always be home as she was a licensed and veteran nurse, and Ian had health issues. She took the first four months off completely to focus on baby Ian and only returned to work from home. She also allows herself to be put on call, but only for emergencies. She would not return to the compound until Ian's health issues were resolved or were no longer a serious threat. Everyone understood and did their best to never need her. 

Seven months into this arrangement, everyone they should be was back to work, to some extent. And the parents had rightfully given up.

NOT give up on Baby Ian but given up on all the parenting books and mommy and daddy blogs, realizing that they weren't helping any and, if anything, were causing more frustration and creating unattainable standards. They simply did the best they could and as they pleased as long as baby came out healthy and happy. 

This is probably why Pepper was looking at (Y/n) so bewildered. 

Pepper was seven months pregnant and came over to ask for some parenting advice to help prepare. Now she was currently sitting at the kitchen counter and watching (Y/n) with Ian on her hip make a drink and watching Ian stick his little fingers in every ingredient she pulled out. 

"Um... is that sanitary?"Pepper asked as she held her glass of water closer. 

" His hands are clean, and it's only a little milk and whipped cream. The consequences will be in his diaper, and I'll pass that on to Steve." (Y/n) joked. 

"Does he always do this?" 

"If I'm holding him and making something, yes. He likes to taste mommy's food. I don't hold him while I use the stove and such."  (Y/n) gave him a pacifier so she could have her frappuccino in peace. 

"You said you wanted advice? Don't be afraid of germs or messes. This baby is very messy and touchy. I can assure you your baby's fingers will be in everything. Their mouth, your mouth, your hair, your food, everything." 

(Y/n) moved to the living room, and Pepper followed. She put Ian on the floor mat with some toys before joining her on the couch.

" I don't think I have a lot of advice, and the advice I do have, I don't want to"

Pepper looked at her, confused. 

"My baby has sleep apnea and underdeveloped lungs. I'm not going to give you advice on that, Pepper, because I pray your baby won't end up like that." It was then Pepper truly looked at her and realized how exhausted (Y/n) looked, not in the way of not sleeping but in the way of someone who worried and pulled out their hair. Someone who had experienced and felt so much that they just couldn't anymore. She could still feel, but she could no longer find it in herself to react to her feelings. 

" If you ever want-"

"Absolutely not."

"I didn't -"

"You were going to say, 'If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here'. No, Pepper, you worry about your own baby, but I'm not going to dump any of mine on you. I won't do that. Not right now, at least. Maybe once he's healthier and started biting my ankles. But not when he is like this... I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?"

"You came for advice. I don't have much to give." 

 " But you have." Pepper pat her on the back " You have shown me little of what I am to prepare for. Tiredness, fingers in all my food."

"Bucky calls it the Baby Tax—payment for always having baby close. Don't be discouraged by the sanitary implication or the mess, Pepper. It's a very good price." 

"She's right," Steve said as he came around the corner. It was his time to be home. He kissed (Y/n) forehead and squeezed Pepper's shoulder before joining Ian on the floor. "I, too, thought it disgusting and unhealthy at first, but over time...it's just adorable now. In the realm of Baby taxing, keep your baby clean and watch what you eat or make. Everything should be fine."

"The way you talk, you'd think this was your 3rd baby," Pepper chuckled. 

"I think we just got into too many parent blogs and books. Dove head first into those too many expectations and high standards. I think those Blogs forget each situation, and each baby is different." Steve said as he pulled Ian onto his chest. " Hey, that's some good advice. Your baby is different from all the other babies in the world. Remember that, and You'll figure out the rest on your own."  

"While we can't give you advice on birthing or raising your pretty baby, I can advise you on cleaning messes and where to buy certain products such as toys, clothes, and food."

-

"How is prep going?" Bucky asked Tony. 

Tony was aware Pepper was at his house and caught a ride with him after work so he could bring his wife back without taking another car. 

"Prep?"

"Prep for the baby. You got less than 10 weeks left."

"Yeah, the nursery is done. Diapers, wipes, and toys—we got all the goods." Despite talking it out over the years and getting past the obvious, Tony found it awkward having this conversation with Bucky. The two weren't friends, more like a friend of my friend type of situation. Besides the initial short talk about his parents, the two had never had a conversation with just each other, nor were they ever left alone ( unless for work/a mission).

"That's good. If you need anything, Steve and I are here for dad stuff." That was definitely not what he was expecting. He didn't really know how to react to that.  They sat in silence for a few minutes with just that. 

"How is the dad stuff?"

"It's ah going pretty good. A few hick-ups, but that's to be expected.....It's actually ... I'm not having the problems I thought I would."

"Like what?" Tony asked cautiously.

"My arm," Bucky whispered, looking down at the medal appendage. Bucky had two different prosthetics. One for work - heavy vibranium metal, bulletproof, explosive proof, with super strength ( a quarter stronger than his actual strength), with a heating and cooling system. And one for home- lightweight, light Vibranium metal, bulletproof, with an attached nerve system, so he could feel everything like a normal hand. "Thank you, by the way."

"She knew you'd worry about it," Tony said. (Y/n) had approached him about Bucky's arm before they adopted the boy. She knew his fear and asked Tony to make something infant-friendly. Truly, all he did was make it more lightweight, take away the strength, and make sure he could feel his child with both hands. " I was happy to help."

"My dreams,"  while his trip to Wakanda cleared his mind, he still had nightmares from time to time and woke up violently. Fortunately, Steve and (Y/n) were always there to bring him back. "Work, enemies. We've got a lot."

"yeah, we do," Tony said. " Good thing we got Stark and super soldier security. No one is getting through our front door unless we want them to." 

"And if they do, we'll kill them."

"So violent." Tony walked back to his workbench.

" Don't dive into parenting books and blogs. That is my dadvice to you."

"Dadvice"

"Oh, diaper duty is your duty, at least for the first month." Tony made a stink face and shivered. Bucky Chuckled " Should have worn a condom then."

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