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highvern · 7 hours ago

Text

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?”

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cocostyles · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii! This was me! Can i request Sasuke x fem Uchiha s/o arranged marriage pls? Also can you make it non massacred au! Thank you!

Blood Chains — Sasuke Uchiha

pairing: Sasuke Uchiha x fem uchiha reader!

word count: 4595 k ( I might have gone a bit overboard i really need to get a life)

summary: You are forced to marry in order to continue the pure bloodline.

warnings; none, arranged married (?

hope you like it!

The Uchiha Clan had always been one of the cornerstones of Konoha. With their strength, their honorable history, and, above all, the cherished power running through their veins, they had left an indelible mark on the village. However, not everything within the clan had always been harmonious. After years of internal and political strife, the Uchiha decided that the best way to maintain the lineage and the purity of the Sharingan was through an arranged marriage between two strong members of the same bloodline.

Y/n Uchiha, a beautiful young woman with a strong spirit and an indomitable character, had never imagined being part of a political marriage. She was born to be a warrior, to preserve the honor and memory of her clan. She had always believed that her life would not depend on a man. Yet, when the clan council announced her arranged marriage to Sasuke Uchiha, she couldn’t help but feel trapped. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she couldn’t deny her father’s wishes.

Sasuke, on the other hand, had long distanced himself from everything the clan represented. He loved his family but had witnessed too many horrors in his life—too many betrayals, too many broken promises. His brother’s death had scarred him deeply, and walking a solitary path, regardless of the cost, was his way of surviving. He didn’t care about the clan, arranged marriages, or bloodline purity. But destiny—or rather, duty—had caught up with him, and even though he resisted, he couldn’t refuse.

When you were informed that you would marry Sasuke, you weren’t surprised. But that didn’t mean you were happy about it. Y/n understood her duty and was willing to fulfill it, yet she didn’t expect Sasuke to be so… irritating.

The wedding day arrived. The air was heavy with unspoken expectations placed upon the shoulders of the two young ninjas. They exchanged glances at the altar—not the look of lovers, but of two individuals simply accepting what had been imposed on them. It was only a brief moment, and Sasuke, in his habitual silence, showed no emotion. Y/n, on the other hand, stood firm, her eyes reflecting a determination that Sasuke had known since they were children, but there was also a shadow of doubt. What kind of future awaited them together?

The atmosphere during the ceremony was filled with curious glances and expectations from all members of the clan, especially their parents, who viewed the marriage as a necessary step for the survival of the lineage. “The clan needs this union,” was all you repeated to yourself as you listened to the priest’s words. There was no turning back now. You were trapped with him for the rest of your life, fulfilling your duty.

The first few days after the wedding were a silent torment for both. Sasuke spent most of his time away on missions for the village, escaping from his new reality. You, on your part, tried to fulfill your role as a wife, but the household duties and the clan’s administrative responsibilities left you with no peace. The bond between the two was so distant it could be cut with a feather.

One evening, after a long day of training, Sasuke returned home, tired but unwilling to yield. You were preparing dinner—a small welcoming gesture you hoped he’d appreciate, though Sasuke didn’t even notice it. His indifference immediately annoyed you. You were trying, and he didn’t care. Why was he such an idiot?

“Do you have something to say?” your sharp voice broke the silence, almost challenging.

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately. He was too exhausted to argue, but at the same time, something inside him couldn’t ignore the spark of irritation that had been growing toward you during his days at home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied indifferently, dropping his bag on the floor. He chose not to fight.

You didn’t look at him, but anger began bubbling inside you. How dare he be so distant? you thought. “Then… why don’t you speak, Sasuke? Why do you ignore everything here?”

“I already told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, now with a hint of irritation. There was something about his attitude that drove you mad. Crossing your arms, you stared at him with determination. This was the first conversation you’d had in days, and you weren’t going to back down so easily.

“I’m not here to play your games, Sasuke. This marriage—whether it’s just for the clan or not—forces us to live together. I’m not some decorative figure in this house you can simply ignore,” you said, unable to keep the anger from filling your voice. Sasuke observed you for a long moment, surprised by the strength of your words.

“And what do you expect from me? To call you ‘dear’ and live a happy life? This isn’t a fairy tale,” Sasuke said, his voice cold and distant as always.

And there it was again—that discomfort in the air, that insurmountable barrier between the two of you. You sighed, feeling your nerves start to snap. You couldn’t continue living like this, in constant friction. But he was right, so you locked yourself in your room with a loud slam of the door.

The next confrontation wasn’t long in coming. A week later, while Sasuke was away, you couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening between the two of you. You couldn’t deny that there was something about Sasuke that attracted you—a darkness that seemed to call to your own inner shadows. But there was also something about him that repulsed you: his indifference, his inability to connect. You were so alike, yet so different.

Since the wedding, your world had changed drastically, but that didn’t mean you would stay silent in the face of the contempt you felt from your husband.

Sasuke arrived home late, as always. You were waiting for him with a cup of tea in your hands, staring at the floor. Sasuke removed his sandals, paying little attention to your actions, and went straight to the window, seeking some calm after a long and exhausting day. The barrier between you remained firm.

You stood up, leaving the cup on the table, and slowly approached him. “Why are you here, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice firm but with a layer of vulnerability you couldn’t hide. “If you don’t want to be here, if you really don’t care to make an effort, just say so and leave.”

Sasuke turned to you, his dark eyes as empty as ever, but this time there was something different in his gaze—a spark of doubt, of guilt, as if your words were beginning to sink in. “I don’t understand you,” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I don’t care about this?” His tone softened slightly, but his attitude remained cold, calculating.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, locking your eyes with his. “Because you haven’t said a single sincere word since we got married. I don’t know what you think, I don’t know what you feel. Is this really what you want, Sasuke? For us to live as strangers under the same roof?”

Sasuke stared at your face, noticing for the first time the intensity of your frustration, your pain. You were hurting, too. “Not everything can be solved with words,” he murmured, turning back to the window. “What I do, I do for the clan, for the future. If you have something to reproach me for, say it. I don’t have time for explanations.”

But in his eyes, you saw something else. An internal struggle, a battle he had never wanted to share. It couldn’t be that simple. Sasuke Uchiha—the man who had dedicated his life to revenge and solitude—was fighting against something he didn’t understand, something you couldn’t clearly see.

The tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the anger beginning to simmer in your chest, but at the same time, there was a strange sense of attraction toward him. His presence, his strength, the way he seemed so distant, so out of reach, stirred a mix of conflicting emotions within you. Once again, you let it pass, retreating to your room.

The next day, you decided to do something you hadn't done in a long time: step out of your comfort zone. For years, you had been part of the clan, always controlled, always aware of your responsibilities. But at that moment, you couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt. So, for once, you took a risk.

You walked toward the library of the Uchiha mansion, where Sasuke often spent long hours reading. The air was silent, the whisper of books sliding between shelves filling the space. He was there, standing in front of a bookshelf, his body hunched over the volumes.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked, the voice softer than usual, devoid of the anger that typically accompanied your words.

Sasuke glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes void of emotion. “About what?”

You stepped closer, with your heart pounding in your chest. “About us,” you replied, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. "I don’t want to live like this, Sasuke. I don’t want to be in a marriage where all we do is ignore each other, and when we don’t, we argue."

There was a pause. Sasuke said nothing, but his expression softened slightly. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

"Maybe, just maybe, if we give ourselves a chance, we could understand each other. Maybe even become... friends."

Sasuke turned fully, his eyes fixed on her. “I don’t want to be trapped in a lie,” he said, his tone heavy, but the intensity in his gaze suggested those words were not only for you but for himself as well. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to act. I...”

But seeing how much he struggled to open up, you didn’t let him finish. You took another step closer and suddenly stopped him with a hand on his chest. Sasuke froze at your touch, staring into your eyes with surprise, and though his body remained tense, the energy in the air shifted, both of you felt it.

"I know," you whispered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. Because, Sasuke, if we don’t, this story will never have an ending.”

It was then that something shifted between them—a change so subtle no one else could have noticed. But in that instant, thanks to that small touch, you and Sasuke realized that the tension growing between you for so long was not just the result of the clan’s expectations or family responsibilities. There was something more, something that connected you, something neither of you could fully understand.

As days passed, the tension between Sasuke and T/n didn’t completely disappear, but something began to change in their strange dynamic. Both started interacting more subtly, less distantly. They no longer avoided glances or uncomfortable conversations. There was a fragile peace between them—one that seemed more like a temporary truce than a definitive solution.

One night, while dining in silence, Sasuke broke the stillness. “Y/n…” His voice sounded less harsh than usual. “Why do you always challenge me?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. Sasuke rarely spoke of emotions, let alone his thoughts. “Because I don’t think everything has to be so cold and calculated. The clan shouldn’t be the only thing that matters. Not when you’re so trapped in your own thoughts that you can’t even see what you have here.”

Sasuke stared at you, unsure if your words had any truth or if you were just searching for something more in him. But without a doubt, you had struck a nerve. He had always lived for his family, for the Uchiha clan, and had learned to disconnect from emotions. But with you, everything seemed different.

Silence fell between them again, but now it wasn’t as heavy. Though they didn’t speak, Sasuke began observing her more closely. There was something in her gaze—something defiant, something he had never noticed in any other woman of his clan. She wasn’t someone who would submit to the will of others, not even his. That intrigued him more than he wanted to admit.

A few days later, the Uchiha clan organized an important business meeting that you were both obligated to attend. During the meeting, Sasuke was absorbed in discussions with the leaders, while you watched with disdain the conversations about alliances and strategies. For some time now, you had been considering stepping back; you were tired of fighting. At that moment, a man from a rival clan began to make insinuations toward you, praising your skills and hinting at something more than mere admiration.

“You’re a very strong woman, Y/n,” the man said with a smile, stepping a little closer. “It’s an honor to meet such an… impressive Uchiha.”

You frowned, uncomfortable. However, the man’s words flattered your ego. “Thank you, Yamada,” you replied, stepping slightly away from the man’s hands, which had shamelessly landed on your waist. “But I’m not interested in your empty compliments.”

Sasuke watched everything from his position at the table, and although his face remained impassive, something inside him stirred. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. But what right did he have to feel that way? After all, he himself had treated you coldly, and you two were only just beginning to coexist in peace.

But the way that man approached T/n awakened something in Sasuke. He couldn’t let another man be so close to you. Though he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, he knew he couldn’t allow things to get more complicated than they already were.

When the party ended, Sasuke walked toward you without saying a word, brushing past the man with a deliberate bump. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, recognizing the tension in his posture.

“Was that necessary?” you asked, crossing your arms. “It’s just a game for him, Sasuke.”

“I couldn’t care less about what he wants,” Sasuke replied in a low tone, almost murmuring. “I care about what you want.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and though you wanted to challenge him, a part of you felt touched by his words. Sasuke, in his own way, was telling you something without fully saying it. There was something more behind his distant and protective demeanor. Why did he feel that impulse to protect her now?

The previous night, something had changed in Sasuke. Although he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, seeing T/n distant from him—even smiling with another man—made him realize he wasn’t willing to let you go. Somehow, you were beginning to stir something inside him, something that had been dormant for years.

You, on the other hand, were confused. Although you still saw him as your husband by obligation, the tension between you had intensified in ways you couldn’t ignore. Was that what you wanted now? To have something more with Sasuke, even if he would never be the romantic man you had dreamed of?

One day, after a morning training session, Sasuke stopped in front of you while you practiced your ninjutsu techniques. It was clear that the way you both looked at each other had shifted, but neither dared to speak about what they truly felt. You were exhausted, your breath uneven, yet you stood tall and defiant as always. Sasuke, on the other hand, watched you with a mix of respect and... something else.

“What is it, Sasuke? Are you just going to stand there staring at me all day?” you said without stopping your training, a touch of sarcasm in your voice.

“I’m just wondering…” Sasuke began, his tone serious. “Why do you push yourself so hard, Y/N?” He had spent his whole life watching you push yourself to the edge, becoming formidable.

You stopped training and turned to him with a challenging look. “Because I need to be better. I can’t afford to fail. This is my life, Sasuke. The one I’ve built for myself. And you? Why do you do it? Is it just for the clan, or is there something more?”

Sasuke stared at her in silence, a mix of frustration and strange admiration bubbling within him. you are unstoppable.

“I do it for what I represent,” he finally said, his voice low but firm. “For my clan. For Konoha.”

“Then keep pretending you’re not human,” you replied sharply. “Keep pretending you don’t care what you think or feel and stay out of it.”

Your response left Sasuke silent, but inwardly, he felt wounded. It was true. He had always kept his emotions under control, never letting anything distract him from his responsibilities. But you had seen beyond his facade, and that both irritated and intrigued him.

That same night, after dinner, they found themselves once again in the Uchiha mansion garden. The moonlight bathed the ground covered in fallen leaves, and the stillness of the place allowed them to remain silent without the pressure of prying eyes.

“Have you ever thought that we could be more than a political arrangement?” Sasuke broke the silence, his voice deep.

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. “I don’t know,” you answered after a long moment. “I’ve never thought about what could be. I’ve only focused on what is.”

Sasuke stepped closer to you, cautiously, as though weighing every word. “And what is that, exactly? You and I living like this forever?”

Your gaze remained locked with his, a flash of emotion passing through your eyes. “I don’t want to be just another pawn on the chessboard, Sasuke. I don’t want to be your obligation.”

Sasuke studied you intently, feeling your words sink deeper than he expected. There was something in your gaze that was disarming him. Something that told him he could no longer ignore his own feelings, the ones he had kept locked away for so long.

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked in a low voice, a spark of desperation in his tone that felt foreign to him.

You took a step back, returning to the strong, defiant woman you had always been. “I want you to stop hiding behind your responsibilities and start being real with me, Sasuke. I can’t keep living in a world where everything is just another damn duty.”

The air between both of you grew heavier, but Sasuke didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Something in his chest was beating fiercely, and it wasn’t just for the clan, not just for Konoha. Something else was driving him to stand there, facing you, ready to confront his own demons.

For the first time in a long while, you were not just adversaries. Perhaps, just perhaps, you were beginning to understand each other.

Even though you and Sasuke shared the same home and, in theory, were fulfilling your duties as husband and wife within the clan, there was a palpable distance between you. However, something had shifted in your relationship: words were no longer necessary to acknowledge that your feelings were evolving.

A couple of months after the marriage, Sasuke was in his office reviewing documents when a shadow appeared at the door. It was you, with your usual defiant demeanor, but this time, there was something different in your gaze.

“What’s keeping you so busy, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity. “You can’t spend the entire day buried in paperwork.”

Sasuke looked up, his expression as impassive as ever, but his eyes revealed a spark of interest. “Work, as always. Do you have something to say, Y/N?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his desk. “Do you really have to spend all day locked in here, doing things that have nothing to do with us?” Your words, though direct, carried a faint tone of reproach.

Sasuke watched you for a long moment, something he rarely did. For a second, everything about him seemed more vulnerable. His life, always so controlled and calculated, was beginning to crumble under the weight of his own heart. What did he truly want? He couldn’t keep living solely for the clan. You knew it, and he felt it too.

“What do you suggest, then?” he finally asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You smiled faintly, the spark of challenge in your eyes. “That we stop pretending we’re just tools of the clan, Sasuke. Maybe what we need is time... time for us.”

The change in Sasuke was subtle but unmistakable. There was something in your words that resonated within him, something he hadn’t considered before. What you needed wasn’t just to fulfill a duty. There was a need to be honest with each other, to finally be real.

That afternoon, Sasuke decided to break free from his daily routine, spurred by your words. He invited you to train outside the city, in a calm area far from the Uchiha mansion. You wanted to train together, simply to enjoy each other’s company without the expectations of the clan.

The sun was setting as you arrived at a clearing near the forest. You glanced at Sasuke as he began to stretch, preparing to start. His body, always so rigid, moved with an innate grace.

“How do you manage to stay so... cold?” you asked as you began your own warm-up.

Sasuke looked at you again, as if deciding whether to answer. “It’s not cold. Just... efficient.”

“Efficient,” you repeated mockingly. “I know you, Sasuke Uchiha. It’s a façade. And you know it.”

He said nothing, but inside, his thoughts were turbulent. Did you really see him that way? What you said had struck a nerve. He wasn’t just a “cold man” or a machine that only thought about the clan. There was more to him, and for the first time, he felt you were the only one who saw it.

When the two of you began training, the tension between you became palpable. Every movement, every technique, was a blend of challenge, rivalry, and something more... something that was slowly building. However, the most disconcerting thing was the electricity that seemed to flow—a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Suddenly, as you sparred, Sasuke blocked one of your attacks, causing you to fall to the ground. The air grew heavier, as if everything between you had condensed into that single moment. Sasuke extended his hand to help you up, and as your eyes met, you found yourselves closer than ever before.

“You’ll have to do better if you want to beat me,” Sasuke said, trying to deflect the tension, though his voice was softer, tinged with something he couldn’t quite identify.

Instead of responding with words, you challenged him with a fierce red gaze—the unmistakable Sharingan you both shared. He smiled. Something was brewing between you, something even your egos couldn’t deny.

After an exhausting day of training, you shared a light meal at the mansion. Though both of you were reluctant to show emotions, the dynamic between you had changed. Sasuke couldn’t stop watching you, noticing how you ate, how you smiled, how every small gesture seemed more genuine than the empty moments of his past.

When you both finished, Sasuke stood and walked to the window, gazing at the horizon. The silence in the room was comfortable, something he rarely felt.

You watched him from where you sat, saying nothing for a few moments. Something in the air had shifted.

“You know,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “I... I don’t know if we’ll ever become what the clan expects of us. But maybe, we can try to be something else. Just us.”

Sasuke turned to you, his piercing eyes meeting yours. For a long second, he said nothing. Your heart pounded, feeling the weight of your words. Perhaps you’d ruined things, and he would withdraw again.

Then, suddenly, Sasuke stepped toward you, close enough that your breaths mingled. “Y/N...” he murmured, almost in a whisper.

The world seemed to stop, and you weren’t sure if it was the right moment to continue, to take the next step. But something in his eyes told you that, perhaps, the future wasn’t as uncertain as it once seemed.

Sasuke didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours. The tension in the air was palpable, indescribable, something you both felt but neither wanted to admit. Your hearts seemed to beat in sync, and the silence between you turned into something almost sacred.

Taking a deep breath, your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to maintain composure. Should you take the first step? Something inside told you yes. You couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt—not when every fiber of your being yearned for him.

Finally, it was Sasuke who broke the silence, his voice low and husky. “Y/N...” he whispered your name again in a way he never had before. It was soft but carried an emotional weight you immediately recognized. In that moment, it was just the two of you.

Without further thought, Sasuke stepped even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The distance between you closed, and as you looked up, your faces were so close that your breaths intertwined.

“What... what is happening between us?” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sasuke didn’t reply with words. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, and in an impulsive act, captured your lips with his.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, as if you both feared what would come next. But soon, the tension that had been building for weeks—that spark that had always been there but neither dared to acknowledge—exploded. Sasuke pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you clung to his clothes, seeking more of the feeling only he could give you.

The kiss deepened with urgency, as if everything you hadn’t said before was being conveyed through that single moment. The world disappeared. The clan’s duties, the weight of expectations—all of it faded away. Only the two of you existed, discovering a new feeling, something you’d never experienced before.

When the kiss broke, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads touching, gazes locked. Your heart pounded wildly, as if it had finally found its rhythm.

“This...” Sasuke began, but his words trailed off, unable to find the right way to describe what had just happened.

With a shy but genuine smile, you whispered in reply, “This is just the beginning, Sasuke.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of your words lingering in the air. But the certainty of what you had just shared, of what was growing between you, was clear. It no longer mattered what the clan thought or what the history of your families dictated. From that moment on, the rules had changed.

Now, the story was yours to write.

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fingertipsmp3 · 3 months ago

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Lads I’m officially a great-aunt at the age of 28

#found out through facebook because no one tells me anything #not least because i’m not close with my sister’s family #anyway one of my nieces has a newborn son #i kind of love this to be honest. every day i get closer to being the old person i want to be #great aunt ellen who never married or had children but has multiple animals and knits all the time #by my 40s i want to be the weird white woman at the farmer’s market #in my 50s i want to be the cool older coworker #60s onwards i want to be a difficult great aunt who everyone is just waiting for to die #but spoiler alert i’m leaving my money (assuming i’m not like. bankrupt at death. which seems likely) to my goddaughter #her parents are idiots. she needs it the most #personal

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milolunde · 3 months ago

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We all know Timmy is Wanda’s mama’s boy but we need to keep in mind he’s still Cosmo’s kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda

#fairly oddparents #not that anyone has portrayed him different #certainly not distance he loves Timmy he probably says it the most in the show and in fanon #but still- watching New Wish there felt like there was a disconnect with Cosmos character-like he wasn’t as well defined as he was in OG #that’s in part due to them toning him down from being an idiot plain and simple but I feel like it wasn’t fitted with something else it was #simply taken away #just to say he didn’t have as much of a presence to me in New Wish as Wanda did and I crave spinning Cosmo around in my brain #I want to see Poof being his Dad’s Boy yknow and I want to see cosmo doting and I want to see when he gets like. parental rage for the sake #of his kids #yknow? Yknow? part of him feeling detached in a new wish has translated into him not wanting to get as close to Hazel as he did Timmy-#to try and play it more like godparents are supposed to- just a presence for a couple months #but also because like. he got SO attached to Timmy and he’ll never regret it and he’d never do anything different #but idk. if it were me I wouldn’t have the capacity to go through losing my godkid again after becoming that attached #that’s not even mentioning that they don’t HAVE to be in hazel’s life the same way they were in Timmy’s because Timmy was going through #neglect and Hazel has loving family and friends all around her at all times- her blocks are mental #in that way cosmo and Wanda just have to do the Typical Godparent Job of aiding her- not becoming people she desperately needs in life #which also bleeds into why I think Peri was having such a. difficult time #godparents aren’t supposed to be attached the way his family was to Timmy and that how he learned it #but his first godkid is Not Easy and lends immediately to the issues Timmy was having where he HAS parents he HAS things (though . Timmy #was not rich and would sometimes not be fed… dev’s dad also forgets to feed him but dev is still able to eat you know)#and how he grew up with his parents as godparents and how he’s been taught are conflicting and it’s nature vs doing a good job quoteunquote #I didn’t mean to ramble so damn much in the tags I’m really sorry #told myself if I had more to say I’d write it down and post it later but I must be heard.

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morningmask27 · 3 months ago

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I'm going to be bitching about Star for a while now. I'll tag them all with #asc spoilers, but really what the fuck was this book?

#morningtalks #asc spoilers #The biggest flop I've ever seen in the history of everything #How could you even fail this so badly? Where did you think these were good ideas?#The Icestar thing I'm personally miffed about because I genuinely wanted Froststar. Not for her happiness but because she's the only cat #Who felt like she had a bit of a REASON to be leader #Look for the less obvious choices. Makes a senior warrior they ALREADY CONSIDERED leader #While she was off on a whole other adventure in Another Book You Gotta Buy Now To Know What Icewing Was Up To #While the Real Plot Was Happening #Splashtail is dead already when she arrives #Do these fucking morons really just sit on their asses AGAIN up until Icewing arrives/Frostpaw wakes up?#Timeskips of hell. I hate it here #Berryheart's death is also one I am FURIOUS about #Woman Died For Her Daughter So Now She's Good and All Her Family Mourns Her #They really had to go Redemption Death for the most radioactive piece of garbage in existence #She spent THE ENTIRE ARC being an absolute shithead berating her son/trying to KILL her own daughter-in-law #Manipulating (or at least trying to) Sunbeam. Plotting against Tigerstar within and outside of ShadowClan #Was fully into the plan to trap Tiger and co ''because then she could fix ShadowClan herself and get River out''#This fucking book I swear I hate it so deeply #How do you fail such an arc?#How idiotic do you have to be to not let Sunbeam (and Spireclaw) deal with their rancid mother once and for all?#Why does Sunbeam still Love Her So Much after everything?#(okay I know Trauma and Parents and growing up within odd situations and how you still kinda love them)#But Berryheart was a Problem the entire arc #Why?#It is really just because Berryheart is Mom and this Has The Mom Instinct still?#You let some rando horrendous man kill his own daughter in SkyClan's destiny by accident. Why can't Sun and Berry fight?#I wanted some horrific death for Berry. One that would haunt Sunbeam for a long time and maybe if needed cement her choice #To not return to ShadowClan because it hurts #Yes I wanted SUNBEAM to kill Berryheart (or at the very least Spireclaw)

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neonvqmpire · 5 months ago

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vent in the tags

#truly astounding how my grandma was like: walking so much in your first job toughened you up like no it did not u idiot #i was so overworked and depressed and miserable. i had frequent panic attacks about going out.#im also not like her or my parents or anyone in the sense that everything is much harder for me because im audhd #even if i wasnt its just the pain i was and am feeling is very real #u can cure fatigue by walking and going outside like are u fucking serious 😭 the point is that my body is so tired it cant move #*cant #moving makes it worse #how often do i have to tell them (my family) that #i thought my grandma would understand bc of her illnesses but she has srthritis and stuff ehich does get better from moving #fatigue is very different tho (!!)#and i now realised after all this that ive struggled with fatigue my whole life. more or less. and when i worked at my first job i was #burning myself out after already having had a burnout at school before.#like im literally disabled idk why im even having a discussion about this. its not the same thing.#do they think i dont want to go outside in the summer????#im not fuvking lazy !! they need to stop thinking they know what its like for me. its not. like i have to rest after half a day of uni bc #its legit SOOO exhausting to socialise for me. the only reason i can do most things in a day and have the enrrgy for them is because i take #amphetamines for my adhd. like stop thinking that we are the same and that i can just do shit without it having a consequence for my energy #levels. im a spoonie #if theres no spoons i have to lie in bed for 2 hours until i can get up again to do sth to keep myself fed and needs met #like audhd disables me so much ON TOP OF the fatigue i accumulatef from burnout over the years AND this most recent post viral fatigue #god i was yapping so much here im sorry 😭🫶#personal #sage posting

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hellfire--cult · 1 year ago

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Harrington!reader who struck up a friendship with Billy after finding him crying. It wasn’t long until she developed a crush on the older boy. But she knew she was the least attractive girl in school, and on the cheerleading squad. Every girl was all over him, she never thought he’d see her that way.

Movie Night

I'm so sorry, I got carried away, and I made it super long, SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND I HOPE EVERYONE ELSE DOES this has: fluff, angst, mean brother persona on Steve's behalf, OOC Billy Hargrove, soft side.

wc: 8k (i got a lil inspired, no one requests Billy and I love to write him 😭)

Stupid Steve. Stupid school. Stupid fucking stereotypes.

You understand, you get it, the fucking sister of Steve Harrington should be the perfect girl, perfect as her idiotic brother. If only they knew that being in every single sport isn’t what Steve wants, it isn’t what he desires, it isn’t what he always dreamed about.

But it’s not that perfection they want from you, oh no. It’s not your fault you have bad eye sight so you have to wear glasses, and for some reason that made you fucking undesirable. Just because you are wearing glasses, and you’ve been wearing them ever since middle school, where there were minimum problems with it, and now in high school when you just want to be able to date someone, or even kiss, it’s almost impossible because of them.

So yes, you knew people didn’t want to be with you, and you knew that it was all because of the idealization of the Harrington girl not meeting their expectations. Jokes on them, every single fucking guy in school looks like stepped on shit.

When you finally got into freshmen year, you already knew Steve was the most popular guy in school, always boosting about it at the dinner table, father always saying how proud he is for Steve being the captain of almost every fucking imaginable sport. You looked up to Steve, you really did look up to your brother… Until you crossed those forsaken high school doors, and the only face your brother sent you was that of disgust and turned his back on you.

And that sets your fate.

Now as a Junior, your brother finally graduates this year. Ever since he started dating Nancy who is in the same year as you, he has relatively changed. At home, he now tries to invite you to hang with him at the mall, or tell you to have dinner together when your parents aren’t home… You declined his invitation every time. You prefer to eat dinner in your bed, alone, while he drives away to be with Nancy. Just you, your books, and some good music. You are fine.

It doesn’t help the fact that you have just one friend at school, and she’s not even always with you because she is Nancy’s Best Friend. Barb was always nice to you, and it’s the only one you talked to in class, because then in cheerleading practice, which you had to enter because you needed extracurricular credit because your parents said so, you were given the cold shoulder by every teammate there. You didn’t participate in the cheers really, you just wear the uniform every now and then and pass them bottles of water.

You just have to survive one year, just one more year and you can go to college, probably start anew, meet people, meet someone. You fixed your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you took notes while sitting at the bleachers, hearing the squeak of the tennis shoes of all the boys in the basketball team just going around. You hear a thump, making your eyes look up to see your brother laying on the floor, making you frown.

Then it made sense, as Billy Hargrove smirked, helping your brother stand up again.

You knew that he wanted to take Steve’s position as the most popular guy at school, getting prom king and all that shit. You have heard your brother complaining about him on the phone sometimes, maybe to Nancy or to one of his friends. From what you’ve seen, Billy looked like a tough and irritating guy, and there is no need for you to get close to him at all, and you really could care less about what he does to your brother.

And that is basically your everyday life. Invisible, and you’re fine with that.

You’re fine.

“Hey, can you believe that guy?” Your head snapped up to see your brother at your door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking back down at your book. “If he takes away my captainship in the team, I will– Dad will fucking cut my head off.”

“That’s what you get for following his dreams from day one.” You mumble in a low tone, but he caught onto it, frowning at you.

“I have my own dreams. I don’t follow his.” You nodded at that while still not looking at him. You really could care two shits about all of this.

“Maybe Nancy can help you with this kinda stuff. I'm busy.” You heard shuffling at the door and then a sigh. You heard steps and you raised your head to hear him slam his door shut, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go to a party or something because of the music he started playing on his radio. Not once you were invited to one of those, not even by your own brother. He had hosted parties before, and you were commanded to stay in your room all night. The only time you came out of your room was to the bathroom to pee, and even then you had to wait because people were always making out inside.

You got up from bed, closed the biology book to then set it on your desk, looking over to your library of VHS’s tilting your head to check what to watch tonight. You picked Terms of Endearment and Sixteen Candles. Your collection was full of romance and dramatic movies because it’s just your favorite genre to watch. Same with your books, your favorite being Sense & Sensibility.

Steve left after a few minutes, and you made your way down to start your Friday movie night, and tomorrow will be the same, next weekend too. You should get more movies, you are on a roll of rewatching stuff by now. But it was at this moment, when you put the cassette into your player, and you finally sat down and started watching Sixteen Candles that it all simply fell apart.

Your rough facade crumbles down as you see the romance of the characters on screen, the friendship that is displayed in these movies, late calls with friends, kicking your feet because the guy you liked kissed you, or even called you to spend time with you. You stare absentmindedly at the screen as you see the kissing scene finally happening and your fingertips brush over your lips, just softly, tracing the shape of them.

After a few hours Steve finally returns home, completely sober and cursing under his breath. He sees the light of the living room turned on and some blue light shining on. He walked inside to find you asleep on the couch with the TV still on. He sighed, walking over to turn it off but then his eyes looked at your form, making his face completely fall down.

He bent over your figure to see the dried tears on your cheeks, falling down onto the couch. He looked over to the coffee table to look at what you were watching, getting hold of the case. You watch the same movie every Friday night… And every Saturday night. He rubbed his mouth with a frown to his face as he looked back at your frame. And he always repeats the same action every Friday night and every Saturday night.

He stands up to grab the blanket that’s over the couch to put it over your body, and with tears in his eyes he bends over to press a soft kiss at the top of your head with a quiet whisper that he always repeats and that you never hear, not that you would believe him anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Monday came way faster than you expected, and the morning was even quicker. Your parents were still away on their business trip, but Steve and you knew they were just out on vacation by themselves. Why have children when you just push them aside?

You take out the lunch bag with your sandwiches in it, and you walk out of the school doors and into the football field which was deserted because it was lunch time, so it always gave you the best opportunity to head behind the bleachers to have some peaceful time for yourself, and that was until you almost dropped your bag as you screamed and flinched when you saw someone already there who snapped his head back at you.

Billy Hargrove.

Your breathing was heavy and your eyes were still trying to focus from the scare but as soon as they did you realized that Billy’s eyes were filled with tears, one or two might have escaped because you could see the glistening trail that they left behind on his cheeks. You were trying to talk to him, but then his eyebrows furrowed together, a tight angry look on his face.

“The fuck you looking at Harrington?” You flinched back at that, annoyance switching inside of you instead of fear. This guy was crying and has the audacity to sound threatening?

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just seeing Billy Hargrove actually having feelings is a sight.” His eyes snapped wide at your response, surprise crossing his features while he stared at you this time. “Who’s staring now?”

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just that hearing you fucking talk for once is a sight.” You were taken aback by his response, mimicking yours. You sucked on your right cheek in annoyance as he wiped his cheeks away.

“Well, off you go.” He snaps his head at you, a frown on his features to then letting a smirk spread on his lips.

“I came here first. You go.” You scoff at that, shaking your head at him.

“No, I always come here at lunchtime, it’s my place.”

“Well, that’s lonely as fuck.” You know that. You fucking know that, he doesn’t need to say it to your face, not the heartthrob of the school. Before your heart could turn in pain you nod at him.

“Fine, take it for today.” You turn to finally walk away. Maybe you can eat at the picnic table in the forest? But sometimes the stoner would go there to deal, and you weren’t judging Munson really, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.

“Wait.” You stopped on your tracks and slowly turned around to see Billy slumping down on the ground, his back resting against a column of the bleachers while he rested his forearms on his bent knees. “You can stay here if you don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.”

Who would you even tell this to? He might be scared that you would tell Steve about it, but Billy seems to not know you don’t actually have a good relationship with your brother, and you have just one casual friend in this school. You look in between the bleachers and towards the woods and then you look back at Billy, giving a sigh and finally sitting down with your legs crossed.

It was silent between you two, almost uncomfortable but not quite. You were eating your sandwich and you took out a bottle of water out of your bag too. You glanced once at him, and he was looking at the distance, just breathing slowly. You wanted to know what happened to him, because he didn’t seem like the guy that would cry easily. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow up at you.

“Why do you eat here?” He asks and you clear your throat, taking a sip of your water.

“Why were you crying?”

“Touché.” You gave a nod in understanding. You weren’t going to talk to him if he wasn’t going to talk to you. You looked inside your bag to grab onto the other sandwich, and you handed it to him. He looked at it with a frown and then back at you.

“If you’re here it means you didn’t eat. Basketball players need food.” You calmly say to him and he looks down at the sandwich, taking it from your hands, and then taking a bite out of it, grimacing in disgust.

“What the fuck is in this?” He looks down into it and you smirk at him, finishing off your own.

“Mustard and pickle sandwich.”

He ate the sandwich anyway. It was nice to eat lunch with someone for once, even if that person was Billy Hargrove and it would be a one time thing in your life… Though, it wasn’t. Billy was back behind the bleachers almost everyday after that. He wasn’t at all that persona that he was with everyone else with you. The cocky insufferable bastard you knew was all a mask, and you could see it when he told you about how Tammy Thompson tried to hide a fart with her cough in class.

“You’re fucking kidding…” You were giggling, covering your mouth as you both sat in front of one another, and the closeness slowly shrinking as two weeks went by of eating lunch with him.

“I am not, she actually thought it was discreet, but I heard it. Not that I said anything about it, but it was a total boner killer.” You raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing your apple that you were having as dessert.

“What, girls can’t fart Hargrove?” He rolls his eyes at you and then raises his hand to flick your forehead, making you wince and rub the skin he left in a red state.

“I didn’t say that. When you trust someone enough to do it in their face, sure. Not in the middle of class, and much less when you are a chair in front of mine.” At that you let out a laugh, throwing your head back. He chuckled and took a swig of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side so it wouldn’t hit your face.

“God, I really don’t pay attention to shit like that.” You took another bite of your apple and Billy was still looking at you, clearing his throat, making you look up at him.

“What do you do on Friday nights? I mean, your brother is at every single party but you are nowhere to be found.” He asks you and you feel your cheeks flush slightly at that. You look down at your apple and swallow your bite.

“I often watch movies. Have my own movie nights, sometimes with popcorn, and if I am feeling fancy, S’mores.” You gave him a small smile as you took another sip of water but Billy was still looking at you with a frown to his eyebrows.

“By yourself?” And you suddenly felt embarrassment washing over you. How pathetic were you? He is a guy that has every student in this school eating at the palm of his hand, plans of going out somewhere almost everyday, a date every single night, and you just watched movies and read books for company.

“I– I have to go.” You suddenly blurt out, standing up abruptly to then wipe your jeans from the dirt of the floor. Billy was following suit, doing the same thing, and about to stop you, but you were already walking away. You didn’t need the reminder of how stupid all of your life sounded. You didn’t need it from him. You were always reminded of it by your father, saying that you should be more like his son. Your mother says that at her age she already dated someone and had tons of friends. Steve showing off his new relationship and friends to you, keeping you in the shadows from everyone.

You didn’t need more reminders.

So when you got home, and realized Steve was already out of sight, probably at Heather’s party, you took your time to shower, put on some comfy sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a gray hoodie, and you grabbed your movies and went downstairs. Maybe they will cheer you up from all the stuff that has happened with Billy today. It’s stupid, you both don’t talk to each other all day, yet at lunch you just talk non-stop.

Sweet popcorn was today’s choice and you were already salivating at the smell of it all. Once it was done you put it in a bowl and headed over to the living room, turning the TV on, and putting Pretty in Pink in your VHS. Steve must be getting drunk with his friends by now, dancing to Roxette or something like that. You popped a single popcorn in your mouth and you were about to press play but you were interrupted when glass knocking was heard from the sliding door to the garden.

You jumped up in fear, eyes widened as you quickly turned your head and saw Billy fucking Hargrove outside the doors. You blinked once, twice, three times. Wasn’t he at Heather’s party too? You stood up from your seat, blushing at your attire but he already saw you in it, no time to actually go change. You fixed your glasses at the bridge of your nose as you walked towards the doors to finally unlock them and open a side for him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Billy!” You almost screamed at him, but he raised his hands up in a surrender mode and chuckled at you.

“By that yelling I am assuming your parents are still gone. Let me in, I’m fucking freezing.” He walks past you and you scoff at the nerve of this man. You close the door and you see him looking around with his hands inside his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed downwards for a second, taking in how tight his pants were, but you snapped out of it, walking around him so that you were facing him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again and he simply shrugs, still looking all around your house.

“Party was lame as shit, and you said there was a movie night here tonight. That seemed far more interesting than Tommy trying to do a keg stand and falling onto it, breaking his nose.” He walks to the couch, sitting down on it and he immediately grabs the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. Your mouth hangs open again at this, going to the couch and sitting down next to him.

“You– I don’t need your pity.” You say to him, looking down at your hands as you played with the hem of the sleeves of your hoodie. He chuckles at that and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t pity anyone. The party was really fucking boring.” He takes a popcorn in his mouth and he hums at the sweetness. You raise an eyebrow to look at him. You never thought Billy Hargrove would be on the sweet side of stuff. “So, what are we watching?”

A smirk formed on your lips. He was gonna fucking hate it, that’s what he gets for barging in your house.

Yet–

“I fucking hated Duckie.” You were wide eyed at him. He had paid complete attention to the movie, even giving small commentary that he really liked the fact that the girl stood up for herself. He turns to look at you, a frown coming to his eyebrows. “What?”

“I just… I didn’t think you like this genre of movies.” You reply to him, a little bit nervous for some reason and he smiles at you and then looks back at the screen.

“I never watched one of these. They have a lot of plot, and they’re interesting.” Your eyes sparkled in excitement and you grabbed his shoulder, which made him look at you alarmingly.

“You’re in for a ride.”

Billy came back again the next day, taking the chance that Steve was out at Nancy’s for the night. He then sneaked into your room while Steve slept and you played Grease on your small TV and VHS that were on top of your dresser. He actually enjoyed it, but despised it because it was a musical. The next time, he actually came through the front door, and you both finally watched Sixteen Candles together. Now, Saturday Night, Steve was at Nancy’s for a family dinner and Billy was taking out two beers from the six pack he came with.

“I don’t drink…” You say to him and he raises an eyebrow up at you.

“Daily or weekly, but you have tried alcohol. One beer is not going to kill you Sweetheart.” You nodded at that and you grabbed onto the can, sitting back down on the couch. You opened it as Billy walked towards you and plopped down with a huff, already taking a swig out of his can. You grimaced at yours and you took a tentative sip, lowering the can to look at him, completely disgusted by the taste and he simply threw his head back in laughter.

“Disgusting.” You say to him and he shrugs at you, sending a smile your way.

“It’s an acquired taste baby, you just keep drinking it, if you feel fuzzy you can leave it.” You felt your heart accelerate at him, feeling the butterflies exploding in your stomach. You didn’t know when your relationship with Billy took a turn for the better, but he actually sends a smile your way this time when walking down the halls, he sometimes greets you when you pass by him in the hallways, like he is not making it seem like he doesn’t know you.

So it was hard not to fall for him. It was undeniable at this point, and even if he was strong and mean, and an ultimate bully to everyone else, he comes here to your house, watches romantic comedies with you, eats popcorn with you, and you two talk about nonsense all evening. Nobody knows about this, and you’re happy to have this secret between the two of you. You can live in the fantasy a little bit longer.

“What did you bring?” You look at the cassette he got and you look at the front of it. You grimaced again and showed it to him. “The terminator?”

“Classic sweetheart, it’s an action movie, you gotta expand your movie knowledge a bit.” You didn’t want to complain, it was the first time Billy suggested to watch something he likes, and in reality you were interested in knowing it, and hopefully like it the way he does.

News flash, you didn’t like it.

“Why are there so many guns?! It's unnecessary!” You complain, your beer gone and you do feel a little fuzzy but not too much. You just felt giddy. He laughed at your side and shook his head as he drank his second can.

“That’s what action movies are, baby, they are irrational, little to nothing of plot, and shooting everywhere.” He says and you sigh at that, shaking your head. The room filled with silence as Billy looked forward, his smile slowly disappearing. “You know why I come here often?”

You straightened at that, blinked with confusion as you turned to look at him. You frowned when you saw how serious he got, just out of nowhere, and your belly turned for him, not in a romantic way, but more of a worry kind of nervousness.

“Because parties now bore you?” You ask him and he gives you one chuckle and then shakes his head, resting it on the backrest of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

“You help me distract myself.” He took a deep breath in as you kept looking at him and you knew it was something he was having a hard time talking about. “The day you saw me crying… I was actually afraid.”

“What?”

“My father… Let’s just say he has– a rough hand. Any slip up I make, I just get a punch out of it… I’m just so angry all the time, so unlike my fucking self and who I actually am when I am at school. I just let out my anger towards people, because I cannot take it out on my own father.” You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and you knew he was trying to choke back tears as he talked. Your heart just knotted at seeing him like this, feeling helpless, not knowing what to actually tell him.

“Billy–”

“And you… I tried to be mean to you… And you actually had the guts that no one had at this school yet. Talk back to me.” His head turned to finally look at you again and your eyes burned at his confession. “I couldn’t be mean to you… With you I can— I can be calm, watch a movie, talk about how creepy that Creel house is and how we should sabotage it– I mean, the only thing I talk with the people from school? Chicks, sex, cars, alcohol.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips, turning your whole body to face him, your legs coming to rest on top of the couch too, bending them and resting your side on the backrest.

“Well, I am glad I could help in some way… My house is always open for you Billy.” His eyes were just staring into yours now, the only thing being heard in the room were your breaths, until he finally talked.

“Can I kiss you?”

What?

There is no possible way you heard that from him. This is a dream, it has to be a dream. There is no way Billy Hargrove, your now friend, your crush, the guy you like has asked to actually kiss you. This only happens in movies, in books, and it never happens in real life, at least, not to you.

“W-Why would you want to kiss me?” And Billy’s features turned into saddened ones at your words. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? He straightened up on the couch, his body turning to face you as well as both of your hearts jumped out of your chest.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” was his short answer. Your belly turned in pure nervousness now as your body grew a cold sweat. You never kissed anyone, and Billy seemed to know how to do it, and you were just too inexperienced. A flush came over all of your body as you fixed the glasses on the bridge of your nose and you looked down to avoid his gaze.

“I– I never–” You gulped, not being able to finish the phrase from how stupid it sounded. A warm hand was pressed on your cheek, making you lift your head up to look at him again, and you didn’t realize how close he got to you, his blue eyes staring into yours.

“I ask you again… Can I kiss you?” And you finally give him a nod. You weren’t going to miss this chance, not for one second. He still wants to kiss you despite you not knowing what you were getting yourself into. He smiled at you and grabbed onto your glasses, pulling them off your face and setting them on the coffee table. “They were just going to get in the way.”

You took a shaky breath in, his hand still on your cheek as he slowly leaned down towards you. You closed your eyes and his remained open to remember your features as he finally does what he has been wanting to do for the past weeks. At first it was a simple attraction of course, but he knew it was more than that, and he was scared as shit about it… But he never wanted someone as much as he’s been wanting you.

His lips connected with yours in a soft peck, brief, and you let a breath go out of your lips, only for another peck to land. Then another, then another that lingered there a bit more, and then the next one he just stayed there, and suddenly started moving his lips, guiding you as your heartbeat made you deaf in your ears. How do people do this and not faint at the spot?

The lip smacking was heard in the room as your hands finally were brave enough to travel, one scanning his bicep, the other one moving towards the back of his neck, feeling his skin under your fingertips. His free hand landed on your waist, not pressing too hard so that you know that he is being mindful of you. At this point, Billy would already be inside someone, satisfying his needs, but with you… He wasn’t going to do that, at least not now, not yet, and that is if you let him.

He wants to take care of you.

He pulled away for a second, his lips touching yours still as your breathing mixed with one another’s in soft pants. You were feeling as if you were burning all over, not knowing what was happening with you. You never felt like this before, and maybe it has to do with the fact that not only was Billy good looking, but you also feel more than just friendship for him.

“You okay?” You nod frantically at him, wanting more, giving him a peck on the lips making him chuckle in a low tone. “Sorry baby, but I need more.”

He suddenly pushed you back on the couch, crawling over you and you didn’t even think, you just wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he kept his bottom half away from yours, even if it pained him on his thighs from the strength he was doing to keep himself up. His lips connected with yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, the kiss suddenly turning into a very heated one as he suddenly licks your bottom lip a few times.

The butterflies in your belly explode as you open your mouth and his tongue finally slides in. You gasp at the feeling, your hands finding his biceps through his blouse, and you felt his chain hitting your neck at every movement. One hand was still gripping on your waist, while the other remained at your nape, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You really can’t believe this is happening, not to you, not with Billy, it doesn’t make sense that he looked your way, it doesn’t make sense that he actually wants to kiss you, not when he has Heather on his tail all the time, or Carol even if she is dating Tommy. Or Janet. You always hear them talking about him in the bathroom, always planning their move on him, and this feels you with a sense of power, with a sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself.

Your hands ran through his hair and he groaned into the kiss, and that ignited so many things inside of you that you never felt in your life, and you wanted to hear more of it. Billy was trying his best to keep himself in a hovering position with you, but he was finding it harder and harder to do so. He can’t go on, at least not today when it was your first kiss. He didn’t want to scare you, even if your urges were the same as his, because he could feel your need to pull him even closer.

The door suddenly clicked and both of your eyes snapped wide open, pulling away, looking at one another, panting heavily. Best scenario, it's your parents, and they would be thrilled that you actually, and finally, have someone over at your house… Now, worst case scenario–

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?!” You both sat up on the couch to look over at Steve, who was standing there in the living room, wide eyed, and his face reddened bit by bit. Shit.

“Steve–” You started talking but he raised his hand at you, to then point a finger at Billy.

“Get the fuck off my sister.” You wanted to roll your eyes at this, because why is he acting all protective now? You finally got some action in your fucking life and he wants to take it away from you.

“I don’t think she wants me to leave.” Billy dares to say, glaring at your brother who took a look at the coffee table, seeing the cans of beer. His mind started racing, and Billy followed his gaze, his mouth opening to talk but Steve was running up the stairs already. Your eyes widened and you pushed Billy off, standing up quickly and urging him to do the same.

“You have to leave!” You were trying to push Billy towards the front door but his feet were still planted against the floor with a frown to his face, and your head snapped to the stairs to see Steve running back down with his baseball bat in his hands. Billy’s eyes widen when Steve starts to approach him with a swinging motion.

“Taking fucking advantage of my sister is something I won’t take from you Hargrove, so get the fuck out of my house before I crush your skull in!”

“Shit, Harrington– Fucking listen for a second–” Steve’s baseball bat hits the backrest of the couch, and you could see the dent of the wooden under it that he created. Billy ripped himself off you and gave you a look as if asking if you were okay.

“I’ll talk to him, you go.” You tell him and he gulps, looking back at Steve with a threatening look on his face which Steve only scoffed at.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Billy says with a small squeeze to your hand as he walks out of the house, passing by Steve. Your brother follows him to the front door and he doesn’t walk back inside until Billy drives away with his Camaro. After the roaring engine can be heard in the distance, Steve slams the door shut, throwing the bat at the floor and stomping back into the living room where you were standing there with a glare on your eyes as if you were about to kill him.

“When I saw his fucking car out in front of the house I thought it was a stupid coincidence, and I come in here to see you about to have sex with the sluttiest man in the goddamn school! What are you thinking!?” You frown in anger at that, stepping towards him.

“I am his friend! I wasn’t going to have sex with him, and he wasn’t taking fucking advantage of me! I drank ONE beer, ONE!” You yell back at him and he fake laughs as he runs his hand over his face.

“The first time you have a guy in this house, and it is Billy FUCKING Hargrove. The one guy that I am fighting with for Captain at our basketball team, the one guy that gives me the hardest fucking time of my life at the moment, and you want me to just accept that he wants to be with you because he WANTS TO?” Your chest hurt at those words, your own coming out in soft stutters at Steve’s blind rage.

“He even asked me if I wanted to, and I said yes–”

“God, you cannot be this fucking stupid! He hates me, makes my life a living hell, and you seriously think that he is a nice guy!? You really think there is no ulterior motive!?” He yelled at you and his words were stabbing you in every part of your body, your head already spinning from how harsh he was being with you.

“Why? Is it impossible that he actually wants to be with me?” You try to say loudly at him, even if your fingers start to feel numb. He scoffed at that, looking at you.

“Yes, and I don’t think you are dumb enough to not see that.” He was referring to so many other things, and it was regarding Billy’s persona, in Billy’s actions, in his rivalry with him… And when he saw your tear rolling down your face, his anger evaporated as if water was being thrown at him.

“Okay…” Was your defeated response. You turned around to retrieve your glasses from your coffee table and Steve winced, clenching his eyes tightly together as pain rushed through his body.

“That wasn’t what I meant– Hey, listen to me, I really didn’t mean it to sound like that–” But you weren’t listening, putting the cassettes back into their cases and turning off the TV. You grabbed them and walked past him, going up into your room. Steve stood there, knowing he hurt you once again, not knowing what to do but run a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he started pacing back and forth.

He didn’t mean it to sound like no guy would want you, he didn’t mean it at all like that, yet the words coming out of his mouth betrayed him, completely. He doesn’t know how to make it up to you, because if he had given you the chance to go to the parties with him when you asked in your freshman year, many times, and told you yes instead of no, you would have more experiences, you might even have friends. If only he had let you come out of your room at his own parties when you asked him, almost begged him to let you participate, but he declined each time. Then in your sophomore year, you didn’t ask anymore, just accepted that he wasn’t going to tell you anymore about them, and you automatically locked the door whenever he hosted a party.

This year, he tried to invite you, many times. You always declined. You didn’t even want to eat dinner with him, and he knows you want to leave the house as soon as possible thanks to him. Even with your parents. For the past two years he had been so blind because of his father’s approval and the one of all the students in Hawkins High that he didn’t notice how your parents didn’t ask you stuff at dinner. All questions were always directed to him. He noticed this year, and he tried to tell them you had nailed your exams, and the only thing you got from your father was ‘As she should.’

He was the cause of who you were now. Not at all the bubbly and animated girl that asked him to raise her up like an airplane in their backyard, not at all the small girl that put makeup on him pretending she was a stylist, not at all the middle school girl that got excited to see him whenever she got home from school to tell him about what she learned that day.

He walked up the stairs and raised his hand to knock on your door, only to hear soft sobs on the other side, muffled. He wonders if you had also cried when he denied you all those times. He doesn’t know how to even make it up to you. He doesn’t know if he even can.

So the next day, when you didn’t come out of your room, he let you have your alone time. Now on Monday he tried knocking on your door, only to receive the notice that you felt sick. He tried walking in but your door was completely locked. His eyebrows twitched and his mind had come up with a plan. A plan he will terribly hate. A plan that might end up badly for him. But it’s what he deserves for what he did to you.

Billy looked everywhere for you, and even asked Barbara Holland where you could be. She told him that she hadn’t seen her at Science that day either, so his best guess was that you had skipped school. His jaw clenched when he asked other people about you and some of them didn’t even know what you looked like. He waited for the bell to ring, and he was going to tumble Steve down if he had to in order to see you. He didn’t care.

But when he walked out of the school doors to rush to his Camaro, he was surprised to see Steve Harrington sitting on his trunk with his arms crossed. Billy’s eyes hardened at the sight, walking towards him, tilting his head in question at the brown haired boy who was looking at Billy with a mix of emotions behind his eyes.

“Harrington. Get off my fucking car.” He says and Steve gulps as he looks to the side.

“I fucked up.” At that Billy’s eyebrows turned into a frown, but his fists started clenching as Steve kept talking, telling him everything, everything he did to you, and what he had said to you that night when Billy left.

While this was happening, you were combing your hair after the shower you took while sitting on your bed. You had taken a shower because you were greasy from yesterday already, and you really didn't want to get up, but you didn’t have a choice. Ever since Steve said that, you didn’t have the guts to actually call Billy because at some far away place in your mind, it made sense.

You were invisible, and suddenly you were noticed? It doesn’t sound real.

So maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it really was to get into your pants to mess with your brother, and that was honestly the most reasonable explanation for it. You frowned when you heard the door open downstairs, your door was left open so you could hear some drawers being open, to then hear steps coming up the stairs. Your eyes widened when you saw Steve slamming himself against the door frame of your room.

His eye was completely inflamed from a punch received to the face, his nose was bleeding and he was holding some ice covered in a rug to soak the blood in it. From what you could see, his lip was busted as well and his breathing was coming out of his mouth, almost in a pant.

“Steve, what happened?” Even in your hatred for him, seeing him this way made your heart fill with worry, pushing all of the other feelings aside. You were about to rise from the bed until Steve raised his hand up at you.

“I deserved it.” He looked towards the hallway and your eyes widened when you saw Billy coming into view, a pack of frozen peas on his right hand, his eyes glaring at Steve as he passed by him and into your room. His eyes turned to yours and you couldn’t help but look up at him, completely stunned. Steve groans and closes the door for you two as he heads downstairs.

“What… Did you…?” You stutter as you sit back on your bed, seeing Billy’s injured hand as he sat on your bed too, nodding as he looked at you.

“I sure as hell did. Fucker deserved it. He told me everything, from the very beginning, and also what he said to you on Saturday night right after I left.” You feel your face flush with embarrassment and you look down at your hands again. You are not understanding what is going on, nor why Steve would go and tell your life story to Billy. “Though I have to say… Your brother does care for you.” You scoff at that.

“Right. Like he cared for me the past two years.” You reply with venom in your voice and you feel Billy scoot closer to you.

“He knows. He knows what he did to you. Your freshman year was the punch on the eye, your sophomore year was on his lip… And what he said on Saturday was the one on the nose.” He lets out a chuckle and you feel mixed emotions to that. You were happy that he defended your honor, but Steve was still your brother and you didn’t want physical harm to come to him.

“Don’t punch him again… Please.” You slowly looked up at Billy and his blue eyes were already looking at you. Your heart rate picked up the longer he stared at you.

“Do you really believe what he said to you that night?” He asks you, a small worried tone behind his voice. You feel yourself gulp and you look away in embarrassment or nervousness, you no longer know.

“I– After years of feeling this way, it was a very possible scenario.” You say to him in a low voice, your fingers playing with each other. You see him put the bag of peas away, and his hands look for yours. You look down to see his right hand completely bruised up, some skin completely chipped off on his knuckles. You gasp at that and his hold gets stronger on you, making you look up at him. He was closer now, making your breathing get stuck in your throat.

“How can I prove to you that I want you? How can I prove to you that I like you, that I like you very much that I drive myself insane with this fucking feeling, because god knows I am not good with relationships…” For the first time you see a blush come to his cheeks, and his gaze looks down at your connected hands, like how you do when you get nervous. “But I wanna try that with you.”

Your heart leapt out of your mouth almost, not truly believing what was happening, but the bruised knuckles made it more real, the blush on his cheeks made you realize it was no dream at all. This man in front of you wants you, despite it all, and you both have so many broken pieces to pick up inside one another, but you figure that you can help each other. You can mend his heart back, as he can mend yours.

“I think… The first step would be a date…” You say to him almost in a whisper and he chuckles as he looks up at you. He squints slightly at that as if in thought as your smile grows on your face while looking at him.

“I have an idea for it. I think they are showcasing the new Rambo movie.” He says to you with a smirk to his face and your mouth fell open at that, shaking your head.

“I am not watching an action movie on our first date!” He chuckles at that, his face coming closer to yours slowly, and you feel magnetized to him as you both leaned into one another.

“Oh, I bet you prefer the one where the bad boy goes for the intelligent and perfect girl, that genre, right?” You squint at him, pretending to be offended by his words.

“Don’t act like you don’t like those movies Hargrove.” At that he chuckles, his left hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, a soft breath hitting your lips as he talks.

“I might have a thing for romance.” His lips touched yours again, and you smiled through the kiss, your own hands resting on the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, to taste him even better. Your lips moved along with his, taking in eachother’s breaths, bodies coming closer at each second.

“Don’t fuck my sister, I draw the line there. Not today, not with me here.” You both heard Steve’s voice behind the door, making Billy groan in annoyance and pull away from you to glare at the door as the steps could be heard and another door closes down the hallway.

“I am punching him again.” Billy says and you were glaring at the door too.

“My turn.”

A/N: Well shit, I hope you enjoyed. IT TURNED OUT TO BE A ONE SHOT.

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timmydraker · 3 months ago

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Everyone in the Bat Clan has been noticing something over the years, specially about Tim.

Every so often he will go to do something with his hands or even his entire body, such as swaying or shaking his hands, but always stops himself.

There’s almost this look of annoyance on his face that just barely hides discomfort, but he brushes it off quickly.

Bruce noticed and, thinking about Robin more than anything, offered some kind of fidgeting device to help him stay on task, only for Tim to snap at him for the first time. It was his usual snark or commenting on Bruce’s well being, but a real moment of lashing out.

He decided then not to bother Tim about his clear want to move around it play with something even if it’s just his hands, mainly because he was doing his job well.

Yet, as he starts to really try and be a good parent to his kids and realises that Tim is one of the places he messed up most by basically using him to cope with grief, he decides to ask the rest of the family what they think.

Dick says it could be ADHD and he needs movements, with Barbara backing it up with a few websites in agreement.

Damian says he should mediate and Cass so what agrees but says it probably won’t help someone like Tim that much.

Duke and Steph make up a somewhat chaotic plan of coercing him into telling them what he needs, out of love and somewhat aggressive care.

It’s Jason who just scoffs and says, “It’s stimming, you idiots. He has like, super messed up standards cause of his parents, right? They probably didn’t allow it but he’s got that like, autastic thing.”

Only Jason Todd could say something so smart followed by completely idiocy.

But he is right, very much so. It might also explain why sometimes he seemingly couldn’t handle touch but when he panicked he need to be squeezed as tightly as possible.

Naturally, with a family of emotionally repressed vigilantes, they decide to subtly let him know it’s okay.

Dick is the worst with it, speaking far too loudly about how Autism is okay and how he wants to learn to support autistic kids, while Bruce thinks nodding along to this helps.

Damian just stares at Tim for five minutes before bailing and running away.

When a month passes and Tim seem more like he’s even more ashamed than anything my, Cass smashes her hand on the table at dinner and drags him out of the room to talk to him.

Tim is forced to sit and listen to his sister, who may or may not be his favourite sibling, talk about how he’s not damaged or wrong for needing to stim and move his body. She calls him out on how he is being a hypocrite, for accepting people like Bart and Barbara and and her for their disabilities whether ADHD or something physical but not himself.

Tim wouldn’t have been moved by this if it was anyone else, but never in all the time he’s known her has he heard Cass say so many words in one go nor can see her cry so much. She’s loud when she cries, making up for her silence, but it’s only something any of them have seen twice and that was Bruce and Steph.

He doesn’t just magically accept that he’s neurodivergent, nor does he ever want a title as to what is different about him, but the difference is still noticeable.

A week later him and Dick are watching an episode of their show and something Tim adores, a comic series, is referenced. Instead of what he usually does, that being sitting there as still as he can, he bats his hands around a for a few seconds before pausing and waiting for Dicks reaction.

When Dick beams at him brighter than a sun he continues, smacking the couch and even Dicks arm in his excitement.

A few days later he makes a high pitched noice just to get to an itch in his throat and doesn’t realise that Jason is there, yet when the other responds with the same noice, given a bit deeper, Tim smile. Bruce walks in on them making strange noises at each other in a sort of echo.

It’s months later when it’s his birthday and his family has come together to buy him a new, stupidly expensive camera only to reveal they also added a red light room in the manner for him to print them that they really see how much safer he feels.

He flaps his hands aggressively and jumps in place, rumbling out words that don’t all much and thanking them over and over.

He squeals happily but only has a moment where he looks shamed before Bruce holds out a flat palm for him to smack excitedly.

Later, when he gets overwhelmed and crashes a little, Duke lies on top of him to give him pressure only for Steph to sit on him.

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brucewaynehater101 · 10 months ago

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Time Travel AU: Timothy "Trash" Drake Edition

Tim, to save his family and the world, travels back to when he was a kid. Considering the super powerful shadow organizations that are trying to take over the world (and to prevent his family from becoming targets [or he doesn't trust them. Your pick]), he elects to take on a persona:

Timothy "Trash" Drake.

Instead of the kind, charming, intelligent kid he used to be, Tim methodically mucks up his reputation. He's an asshole, he's self-important, and he's like a typical Gotham Socialite but worse. By 16, he's practically a drunk idiot who's only passing school by the Drake name. He's like Brucie Wayne, but he's hated instead of being a loveable fool.

In the background, he's subtly saved people from their tragic events in the timeline. Drake industries has been booming (try as he might, he couldn't save his parents and became the CEO at 16 as an emancipated minor), and a lot of their funds goes towards better wages and benefits for their employees. Continually, they spend a lot on Gotham infrastructure and social programs. This doesn't match the CEO's arrogant, asshole, and greedy ways. Most assume he's just a figurehead anyway.

The important part to note is that the Waynes hate interacting with him and have a strong dislike for him. They don't know that his demeanor is a persona. Jason, in particular, hates his frivolous, wasteful guts.

Tim has been somewhat successful in mitigating the shadow organization's plans and stopping the world from ending. He's still got a few plans in the works, but he's overall satisfied by what he's accomplished.

Issues start to arise when the Waynes notice contradictions in Timothy Drake's behavior.

Timothy is an asshole who only cares about himself, so why did he give away his coat to someone in need? Sure, he complained that it was of poor quality and not to his standards, but he could've just thrown it away.

Someone else notices that he crashes into the champagne tower when someone was getting harassed at a gala. It was supposedly an accident, but the person was able to get away from the harassment.

Timothy also slapped a homophoic asshole when he kept going on and on about their prejudice. The kid played it off as him being mad at them for stealing his look, but are all of these incidents coincidences?

The final nail in the coffin? Cass goes to her first gala where Tim in in attendance (he has purposefully avoided anywhere she would be). She takes one glance at him, smiles, and then softly says, "Little Brother."

Safe to say everyone promptly looses their shit.

Anyways, I kind of want to see a Trash of the Count's Family AU with Tim Drake

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #dc au #batfam au #Inspired by the fanfic: The People We Lie To (Including Ourselves) by frogsupportanarchy on AO3

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impval · 28 days ago

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cinnamon in my teeth pt.2

CaitVi x fem!reader

You were so used to coming home to an empty, silent house. No parents, no friends, no one to greet you after your shifts at work. Just the soft, solitary hush of an empty house.

The silence sat heavy on your shoulders - that feeling of being alone, and isolated.

You'd spend hours sitting quietly, lost in your head.

You'd go hours without speaking a word to anyone, the only company you had being the sound of your own heartbeat and the voices inside your head.

Life was quiet. Lonely.

But now… now the house was full of sound. Of warmth and laughter and love.

You'd come home to the sound of arguments, of giggles and laughter, of two women who loved you very dearly. You'd be met with smiles instead of loneliness, and you'd be greeted with warm kisses before even finished saying hello.

The silence was still there sometimes, but it was different. Softer. It was a comfort to walk into the house and still feel the presence of your girlfriends, even when they weren't there. Their clothes, their accessories, their distinct scents.

They didn't always come home together, unfortunately. Their jobs often left them both late at night, either one getting home before the other, sometimes both being late. Caitlyn was a workaholic, so often she'd be at her desk well beyond the hours most normal people would consider reasonable.

Caitlyn was an incredibly dedicated person, and while you knew work was important to her, both you and Vi were always happy that she tried to make time for you.

There were times when it was hard, though. When she'd come home in the late hour, looking tired and worn out and stressed. When she'd spend long hours hunched over paperwork, and you'd find her in the middle of the night, still not done.

But overall, it wasn't too bad. You appreciated that she was willing to put work aside for you and Vi.

You can never get excited for Fridays. You love that the end of the week brings a break from work, but at the same time, that Friday energy always seems to bring all the idiots with it. Meetings, last minute reports, and unexpected calls from clients who need their paperwork signed by the end of the week.

You let out a soft sigh, dropping your pen down on the desk. Your back popped as you finally straightened your spine, feeling the knots of pain in your shoulders unknotting.

Your eyes roamed over the rest of the office, eyeing out your coworkers. Just like you, they all had that shrimp-like slouch, slumped over their desks.

Office life was slowly destroying your back.

Your eyes narrowed as you spotted your boss, standing across the office with a cup of tea and another coworker. Your boss is an absolute ass - a massive jerk who thinks that just because you're the younger, he can push every last responsibility onto your shoulders.

But he'd been much quieter lately and seemed to be avoiding you like you had a deadly disease, passing on work to others instead of giving it directly to you. It was a strange change.

And there was something about the glitter on his neck that was familiar… pink and blue, he tried covered it with a scarf but you noticed. The glitter dusted across his skin, plus the hint of a limp he now had, and the fact that someone had spent an entire day cleaning the graffiti from the his office...

You finish the last of the coffee in your mug, unable to help a small smile lifting your mouth.

Caitlyn and Vi hadn't promised to stay out of it, but Jinx… Jinx didn't make such promise.

Jinx was Vi's younger sister, and the relationship between the sisters was… complicated, to say the least. At least they weren't currently fighting, but it was only a matter of time.

She was insane, that was for sure. But you also kind of liked Jinx… when she wasn't kidnapping you or trying to burn down the city, that is. Despite her occasional kidnappings and pranks, Jinx did sort of treat you differently than anyone else. You couldn't quite pin down why.

You were normal. A civilian, no history of violence, no blood on your hands, an average person. Perhaps it was just because you were normal.

It had been an odd encounter when Jinx kidnapped you for first time, but the first thing you'd said to her? "I like your hair."

The clock on the wall finally reached the end of the work day, marking the end of your shift.

You stood from your seat, stretching your stiff back, letting a sigh out of your lips. Your boss looked nervous as you smiled at him, walking past.

The evening air was cool, sending a chill down your spine. With a sigh you tightened your jacket around your shoulders, searching for any sign of Vi.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands fall over your eyes, and a familiar voice spoke behind you.

"Guess who?"

Vi leaned her face close to your ear, her smile widening as she heard your comment, her breath warm. You could feel a smile tug at your lips, the familiar scent and warmth of your girlfriend's presence bringing you comfort. The feel of her body next to you was as natural and comforting as breathing.

"A bit predictable, don't you think?" you smirked, a slight hint of sarcasm in your tone.

"Maybe. But it gets you every time."

She moved her hands away from your eyes and instead wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The kiss was light and gentle, and you could feel the blush quickly take over your cheeks.

Vi's hair was a bit dirty, a mess of tangled locks, yet somehow it still looked as cool as ever. There was a slight smudge of dirt across her cheek, probably from some sort of grease, and you reached up to wipe it away.

Vi's arm wrapped around your waist as you took slow strides towards your house, your pace relaxed in the cool evening air. The walk wasn't far, only ten minutes from the office.

You still couldn't believe it sometimes, living in a mansion now, a far cry from your small apartment, and you had two girlfriends. Life was weird.

"How was your day?" Vi said softly.

You loved your job for the most part. Yeah, it had endless paperwork and tedious reports, but it paid the bills, and the people you worked with were nice and helpful.

Vi didn't always fully understand what you said, but that never stopped her from paying attention and trying to grasp the concepts. It was one of the things you loved most about her - her unwavering attention and curiosity.

The walk home was filled with you discussing work and venting to Vi, who listened and asked questions in the right spots. She nodded along, making noises of understanding to let you know that she was following along.

The lights of mansion glowed warmly in the windows as you and Vi approached, letting you know that Caitlyn was home. Perfect, since that meant she was probably already cooking dinner.

Vi didn't quite know how to cook, although Caitlyn and you was more than happy to help her. You usually took the lead in the kitchen, but you'd grown tired of it recently, and you couldn't deny the appeal of Caitlyn handling all the cooking.

You and Vi exchanged a knowing look, both of you thinking the same thing. Caitlyn's cooking was that good.

The moment you stepped into the house, the scent of freshly-cooked meat immediately hit your nostrils, your mouth watering at the thought of a proper meal after a day filled only with snacks.

Both you and Vi walk into the kitchen, finding Caitlyn standing by the stove. She looks adorable in the little apron she’s wearing, and you can tell she's a little tired - her forehead is creased with a worried little crease, and her messy hair is pushed back into a bun.

The moment you enter, she turns to you both, a warm smile on her full lips.

"You're home!" Caitlyn exclaims with a pleased sigh.

You watch as Caitlyn leans over to give Vi a swift, affectionate kiss. Vi leans into the kiss, her arms wrapping around Caitlyn waist in a tight little pull.

"I missed you," she murmurs.

It was true that a lot of people didn't understand how three women could be in a relationship with each other. So many people tried to insist it was some sort of twisted experiment - that someone had to be left out, or that everyone was secretly miserable.

You had heard the questions - Don't you feel lonely? Don't you get jealous? - and you usually had just shrugged them off with a wry smile. After all, you were dating both the two most beautiful women in existence.

Jealousy? Loneliness? You feel neither.

Caitlyn then turns her attention to you, her expression softening.

"And I missed you too," she adds, her hand coming up to gently caress your cheek. "Did you have a good day, sweetheart?"

"It was..work as usual." You can't help smiling. It's such a stupid, lovesick, soft expression - like lovestruck puppy.

But you don't care at all.

Caitlyn smiles back, the corners of her eyes crinkling faintly.

"You're all happy like an idiots," Vi teases, an amused scoff in her voice. Her arms are still wrapped around Caitlyn's waist.

"Just work, huh?"

Caitlyn raises a curious eyebrow, her eyes watching you closely. A flicker of something - something you can't quite decipher - crosses over her face. There was something in her expression, like she was expecting a certain answer from you.

Well, someone had to set Jinx on your boss, right? Well, Caitlyn promised not to hurt your boss. Smart decision and no broken promises.

She nod regardless, and simply says, "Dinner's just about ready, so you might want to go wash up before you eat."

"Ugh," Vi groans, her grip growing tight on Caitlyn, as if it's to hold her in place.

Caitlyn simply rolls her eyes and gently bats Vi's hands away from her. "Go," she says, her voice firm. "You can't eat if your hands are all dirty."

You take Vi's hand and start to pull her towards the bathroom, leading her away from Caitlyn.

Vi gives one last, half-hearted protest, but she lets you pull her away without too much fuss. She follows you to the bathroom, and you start to wash at the sink.

It's so stupid how cute Vi can be when she's pouting like this. She's always been so used to getting her own way that she acts like a whiny five-year-old sometimes. It's both adorable and incredibly annoying at once.

You all sit at the table, and Vi is already shoveling food into her mouth like a greedy puppy. She's completely ungraceful, taking large, messy bites.

Caitlyn, on the other hand, is incredibly slow, savoring every bite of her food. She's a woman raised with manners and discipline, after all.

Christmas was on its way, and you now had a beautiful tree in the living room. Vi has never, ever been able to celebrate Christmas properly. Now she was going through all the effort to make her first Christmas "proper," and it was adorable how enthusiastic she was about it.

She was practically vibrating with excitement when you all first got the Christmas tree out. Her eyes lit up so brightly as she excitedly babbled about how much she was looking forward to decorating the tree together.

You all chat. The snow is falling outside, slowly blanketing your home in a layer of white, soft snow that creates a sense of comfort. Vi is so excited that you can't help but laugh at the fact that she didn't even notice the mess she's made of her own face.

Caitlyn has to wipe away some of the sauce from Vi's face, muttering about how she's a mess - but there's an affectionate, amused smile on her face.

You remember the days of instant ramen in a bowl and a quiet, empty apartment - you were always alone. The difference now is incredible, the change in lifestyle so immense that it still feels a little like a dream sometimes.

Christmas has always been a bit of a mixed bag for Caitlyn - she didn't hate it by any means, but there was always a lot of pressure for her to be on her very best behavior.

She would have had to arrange an event for the entire Kiramman family, which meant she would have had to talk to an awful lot of people who she absolutely did not like.

You're aware of this, and you'd make sure that she'd never have to go through it again. So you'd insisted that both of your girlfriends spend Christmas with you - no formality, just three girlfriends together in a happy home. You wanted it to be a peaceful holiday, without the usual stress.

As you pick up the dirty dishes, Vi cracks her knuckles and stretches before heading upstairs to take a shower. You know she'll be waiting in bed for you and Caitlyn later.

Caitlyn follows you, her hands at her sides, looking at you as you start washing the dishes. She watches you for a moment, studying you quietly.

Caitlyn has never been fond of people doing chores in her home. She'd rather do it herself, even though it was never necessary. She'd grown up in a house with servants, and she always hated it - it left her feeling like an outsider in her own home.

There is a time you remember when her gaze scared you. The weight of her stare was almost uncomfortable. She was so strong, so smart, so intimidating. Now you cherish that gaze. Now you love it when she stares at you.

"You know, my boss has been incredibly quiet lately," you say, breaking the silence with a saccharine-sweet voice.

Caitlyn's eyes narrow at your comment, a small frown marring her perfect face. She knew you knew.

Somehow, Caitlyn had convinced Jinx to... prank your boss. You knew Jinx wouldn't have thought to do it on her own - she was currently too busy with Zaun politics to really care about your problems. You hadn't seen her in months.

"He was?" she says, her tone as calm as your own. "I wonder why."

You finish washing the last dish in the sink, and turn off the water.

Caitlyn gives you a towel, and you quickly start to dry your hands. There's something you want to say, but you can't outmaneuver Caitlyn - she grew up with all these little games, and you, for all your effort, can never really match her.

No games, then.

"Jinx? Caitlyn, honey, just how?"

Caitlyn snorts, her head tilting to one side as she pushes some hair out of her face.

"How do you know it's me?" she asks, pretending to be unperturbed by your accusations. "Maybe it was Vi."

You roll your eyes, so hard it almost hurts.

There's no way it was Vi. She never would've thought up something like this on her own - and she would never be able to talk to Jinx without a fight. Those sisters are hopeless, two bickering children. You honestly wish they'd just get therapy or something.

Caitlyn laughs at your reaction, the sound soft and amused. She pulls you closer, wrapping her hands around your waist. She smells of spice and food - but there's that lingering scent of gunpowder there, that was just a part of her now. Always lingering like some sort of phantom.

"It helped that she likes you," she said, voice laced with amusement. She knew Jinx had a soft spot for you, and she'd have used that to her advantage. "And she likes to cause chaos, and i showed her the right direction."

Right. Well, you definitely won't tell Vi about this.

You nuzzle your face into Caitlyn's neck, just like a affectionate cat.

"I should've handled this myself." You murmur against her skin, your voice a little annoyed. You're not sorry for the man getting what he had coming - the jerk deserved it.

Caitlyn lets out a small sigh, your statement coming as no surprise to her. "I know," she murmurs, her voice soft and gentle.

Your girlfriend knew about your insecurities all too well. She could see the way you eyed Vi and her, the way you'd always compare yourself to the two of them. Just a regular person - you worked in an office job and had never stepped foot in combat. Nothing really special.

Caitlyn was particularly attuned to your feelings - she'd known you long enough now to be able to tell when you were feeling especially down on yourself. You were so much more to her than "nothing special."

Because you were a remarkable person. You should have more confidence, and know that you were worthy, special, and desirable in your own way.

She murmurs apology as you nuzzle against her, and you feel her gently running her fingers through your hair. "You know I hate that man for treating you the way he does," she murmurs, her voice soft and caring.

You and Caitlyn press each other close, clinging together. You both know that you can't stay like that for too much longer - Vi probably already waiting in the bedroom for you both, and she's not exactly the most patient person in the world.

Caitlyn presses a soft, final kiss to your forehead, before slowly detaching herself from your embrace.

"We should go to bed," she mumbles. "I'll probably get chewed out if we keep Vi waiting."

Caitlyn leads you up to the bedroom, a soft look in her eyes as you try to stay awake.

A yawn escapes you, and you cover it with your hand. Not only were you glad you didn't have to go anywhere tomorrow, but you were incredibly happy to get to just curl up in bed all morning, with both of your girlfriends still asleep beside you.

You loved those quiet moments. The stolen glances, the walks through the city, the soft touches and easy banter. It just felt so good, so right.

Yes. Life was good.

#wlw #arcane x reader #caitvi x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi x reader

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yandereunsolved · 4 months ago

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Yandere Five w/ apocalypse reader— 'the end of the world is the most unfortunate circumstance to develop an obsessive trauma bond.'

Yandere Five had been but a barely pubescent teen when he so wisely chose to manipulate time to win an argument with his dismissive parental figure. It was jarring in the beginning. Everything he had ever known had been stripped from him. There was nothing left but debris and blood.

He always had his powers to aid him, yet for the first time they failed. He realized that his reliance on them is what caused this problem in the first place.

How could he be so idiotic?

Fastrack, six years or so, he tended to lose track due to the harsh winter blocking what was left of the sun and the overarching smog always present. Where was he going with this? Oh, yes. It made it difficult to calendar because of the extenuating circumstances.

It had to be about February when he met you. The snow had settled over more monotonous ruins of what was probably a rural town. Most of the sun rays were blocked by smog and strange cloud formations manipulated by the effects of it all. Still, he could see you, leaning against what still stood of a brick building, devoring a stale-looking twinkie.

"This one's interesting, huh, Dolores?" Think we're gonna have to shoot em'?"

Yandere Five ends up sticking by your side to culminate resources and find your true reasoning for being here. That's totally the justification, yeah. It isn't as if he is incredibly touch starved and on the edge of losing what little sanity he had. He just needs to figure you out. That he does, a little too well.

Yandere Five becomes overbearing. You can't tell if you are being questioned by your future murderer or stalker. He demands you answer all his questions promptly and with the utmost truth. He doesn't fluff them and act nicely or reply with basic human empathy. He simply loses his edge after he learns one more thing about you.

Are you allowed to do the same to him in return?

Absolutely not.

You learning about him is on a need to know basis. So if he feels that you need to know it, you will.

Take him by his word. You have to.

Yandere Five isn't the largest fan of physical affection, or physical anything in fact. It takes years in the apocalypse for him to willingly be touched by you. That's at least how he tries to appear. His expressions are always so blank and dismissive. A sarcastic quip is always on the tip of his sharp tongue.

Yet after only a few months of traveling together, he is more than eager to feel your skin under his.

He doesn't want to be near you, no, but you injured yourself by being foolish. He warned you against it, and still you continued. So now he is using some of the minimal medical supplies you both have so he can patch you up. If both of you were back pre-apocalypse, then he would definitely install a tracker inside your arm. For protection, obviously.

He doesn't want to be touched, no, but you're shivering. Losing the only other seemingly living human being, besides Delores, in the apocalypse would leave him at a great disadvantage.

He doesn't want intimacy with you, no. He has just to cuddle you to protect you and keep the nightmares away. He has to kiss your irresistible lips to keep your morale up. He has to let his thoughts about you to linger about in private, unexplored places so he may relieve himself to release relaxing and happy hormones. It's simple as that.

Deep down, he knows the true reason is that he has become utterly smitten with you. He has just chosen to do his best to gaslight himself, even though statistics state it only makes those feelings worse. Perhaps he wants that. Maybe he just wants one person in this fucked-up world that is his and his wholly and unequivocally.

Yandere Five even gets rid of his beloved Delores for you. He was growing paranoid about her. She kept teasing him about how lovesick he was. She was talking about starting to fall in love with you too. The final straw is when she said she wanted a threesome with you. In the dead of night, he disposed of her, a bullet in her head.

Strangely enough you dropped the subject after asking once. It puzzled him. Did you truly dislike Delores that much to be so nonchalant about her disappearance? Did you know what he did? Of course you didn't. You obviously hated Delores and are glad she is gone.

Good.

He likes it this way.

No more distractions, just you two.

Yandere Five doesn't want to figure out the equation to get back to his pre-apoctalyptic life. He writes down a bunch of meaningful numbers in chalk. They aren't coordinations for returning to the academy. They're calculations about your possible romantic relationship, sexual aspects, how submissive you are, and more.

He has detailed a four letter plan in his private journal.

S ubmissivness — how complacent are you? are you gullible to his tactic? how strong is your moral code? would you go along with him knowing how truly infatuated he is with your very existence?

I nterest — how are you feeling? what are your reactions? he needs to know every single thing about you. he needs to know all of your likes just as importantly as your dislikes.

N eutrality — how will his actions affect you and everything else around you? what is the path that will keep you closest to him while also making him seem like the one in charge? this is how we will know if he has gone too far.

S way — how close are others getting to you? are they looking to befriend you? are their true intentions more sinister? he has to analyze every expression and every movement of those who make any contact with you.

You call it his diary. It is not a diary! Diaries are for feelings; journals are filled with statistics. Besides, you won't ever find the location of his actual diary. He writes it in southern Sumerian anyway. You don't have a chance at deciphering it.

Yandere Five meets the Handler while you are snoozing away after a particularly hard day of labor. He can't believe the promise this strange woman puts before him. He works for this Commission for five years, and after that, he's good as done. He gets you in whatever place he wishes for the rest of your lives.

It's a bunch of bullshit as far as he's concerned. Miracles usually don't come with strings attached. Then again, does he really have a choice? He doesn't want to see you suffer anymore than you already have.

So he takes this once in a lifetime 'golden' opportunity.

Let's just hope this one doesn't bite him in the ass.

Yandere Five tells you that he has a way to get you out of here. The both of you just have to spend a little time away from each other. His body psychically aches while way from you, and it isn't just because he's a crotchety old man. The both of you weren't going to be young forever.

He doesn't necessarily hate the job until he learns that killing you is part of keeping the time continuum in check. He doesn't wait a day after learning that information. He takes your hand and escapes somewhere in the past.

Of course his calculations were rushed and were off in the worst possible way. Of course he ends up in the middle of his father's funeral, both of you stuck in your thirteen-year-old bodies. Of course Kalus has to make a sex joke about it.

Damn it! He wants to scream at the top of his lungs.

He needs you! He had you all to himself, and then other people just had to fuck it up.

It's okay. It's okay.

He'll figure out a way to stop all of this and keep you forever.

Forever. What a pleasant thought.

#yandere #yandere x reader #tua #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #yandere tua #yandere the umbrella academy #yandere tua x reader #five x reader #number five x reader #number five #five hargreeves #tua five #yandere five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #yandere five hargreeves x reader

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 6 months ago

Note

Hi 👋🏻 Lou!! Congratulations 🎊🎉 on 6k!!

So how about Arranged Marriage w/ Simon?

Again congrats to 6k 🙃💛🦡

.⋆｡Give 'Em Hell｡⋆.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader

Your parents think you need to get married and settle down, so they called in a favour. A big military man of a husband might do you some good just not in the way they think

Warnings: arranged marriage, sort of sugar baby/daddy relationship, misogynist parents, future revenge, mention of hook-ups WC: 986

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You often wondered about the true scope of your family’s stupidity. Sure, there were moments in your childhood where you had the vivid thought that no one could be as ignorant and blatantly idiotic as your parents were but somehow, they had absolutely hit rock bottom of moronic decisions.

“What the fuck do you mean I’m getting married?” Your mother gasped.

“Watch your tone young lady, that is no way to speak to your parents.” She scolded as your father’s expression hardened. There was no question that your parents were ‘traditional’ believing that women were less than their male counterparts in every way but while they had constantly lectured you on those beliefs, they hadn’t gone so far as to inflict them upon you, until now at least. They even helped you and encouraged you through college!

“You’ve been running wild long enough, it’s time for you to do your duty,” you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “We’ve let you chase your silly little dreams but you’re getting older and your clock is ticking.” Your father clicked his tongue and reached for the tumbler of expensive bourbon on the table beside his recliner.

“We’ve picked out a good man!” Your mother chirped from her place on the expensive love seat next to your father, “He’s highly decorated in the military, he can give you a good life.”

“I don’t give a shit about that! I’m not marrying anybody! Period!” You snarled. Anger curled in your gut, turning your tone sour.

Your father’s glass slammed down onto the wood, making your mother flinch. “You will marry him or I will make your life a living hell. I make one call and no one will want to hire you, not even as a fucking garbage collector. You know the connections I have. Suck it up and be a responsible adult for once.”

——————

“I don’t want a husband.” The man across from you made a sound that you thought might have been a laugh. Simon, as you had learned from your parents, was a Lieutenant in a special ops task force. Never married, no family to speak of and copious amounts of money, your mother had gleefully added as she literally dragged you into the official-looking building where you would be meeting your future spouse.

He was by all means, an intimidating man. Almost 6 and a half feet tall and wearing a stupid balaclava with a skull on it, he looked more fitting being in a slasher movie than in a conference room negotiating marriage stipulations. His bulky, tattooed arms were crossed over his chest, somehow making him seem even bigger to you, as he leaned back in his chair.

“I don’t want a wife.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that.

“Then why are you here?”

His massive shoulders rolled back as his head tilted, cracking his neck. “Same as you— orders.” You hummed under your breath and forced your gaze away from his tanned arms and up to his eyes. He was obviously a quiet man but in no way did that intimidate you. He seemed more pissed off at your father who had so rudely guided (shoved) you into the room than he did at you.

You cleared your throat. “I won’t fuck you.” This time, his laugh was more discernible. His broad chest rumbled with the sound.

“‘M not expecting you to, not unless you beg,” you made a face at him but Simon continued, “I get deployed most of the time, I’d just like someone to take care of the house and spend my money.”

“So I would be your sugar baby.” He shrugged.

“If that’s what ya wanna call it. Do what cha want, I don’t care. We just need to show up to official events together.”

You planted your elbows on the table between you and stared into his brown eyes. Simon didn’t waver. “So you wouldn’t have an issue with me getting a job?”

“None.” He answered quickly.

“Going back to school?”

“I’d happily pay for it.” You raised an eyebrow before a devious smirk crossed your lips.

“Get a lover?” His eyes blazed while he mirrored your position, the swivel chair beneath him groaning with his mass as he leaned forwards, planting his massive palms onto the table.

“I’d like to see you try.” Against your will, heat raced through your body, setting your nerves alight with the thrum of arousal. Simon’s mask shifted and you imagined that he was smirking at you.

You tamped down the feeling of wetness between your soft thighs, forcing yourself to remember exactly why you were in this situation in the first place. “You’re a lot different than I was expecting.”

He huffed. “So are you. Thought I was getting stuck with some bratty trust fund baby who’s never even set foot in a thrift store.”

“I thought you were gonna be a crusty old man who wanted me to put out so he could feel better about his broken dick and receding hairline.” Silence settled between you before suddenly, you both broke into peels of laughter, an oppressive weight suddenly lifted from the room.

You were relieved; Simon seemed at least like a decent human being if nothing else and it appeared that you could continue living your life, although without the occasional hook up here and there. But considering how handsome you presumed your almost husband to be, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“I guess we both got lucky didn’t we?” You wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Or just benefitting from the sheer incompetence of the people that thought this was a good idea.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“So, should we do this then?” You asked. Simon rose from his seat and offered you his hand, which you didn’t hesitate to take. As he pulled you to your feet, he uttered:

“Let’s give ‘em hell.”

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girlgenius1111 · 6 months ago

Text

no time

jenni hermoso x reader. jenni is feeling neglected by how much time r is spending away from her, focused on football and getting her degree. jenni decides r is avoiding her, and pulls away too. eventually, it all becomes too much for r, who is feeling the pressure from everyone and everything. i would say teeny amount of angst and majority amount of fluff. for all the underfed jenni girls 😌😌

-----

Jenni knew you were busy. She knew you had a million things going on, and that the lack of time you’d been spending her was probably completely unintentional. A more insecure part of her worried that it was intentional, but she tried to quiet that part down. The Spaniard came across as a very outgoing, confident individual, and for the most part, she was. In her relationships, though, she had an issue with asking for what she needed, just like you did. She craved your attention and your company, but something inside of her just… wouldn’t let her ask for it.

And it wasn’t like Jenni wasn’t trying to spend time with you. She’d come into the office while you were studying, trying to convince you to take a break. In the past few weeks, the answer had been no. You were drowning in school work, with practices picking up in frequency and intensity for the team. When you did have time to focus on school, you were always rather exhausted. Adding another 2 classes to your course load this term had been a mistake if you’d ever made one. Instead of the two you normally took, sometimes three, you were taking four. Four more classes, and you’d be done with your degree, fulfilling your promise to your parents to have a backup plan in case football didn’t work out. Maybe you didn’t deserve a degree. It was pretty idiotic to come to the conclusion that four classes wasn’t that much more than two.

Jenni had never cared for school, getting it done as soon as she could. She loved you, a lot, but she couldn’t really comprehend the deeply ingrained need you had to get your degree, and get perfect marks. She was supportive nonetheless, but she didn’t really quite understand what another two classes would entail. For the first part of the term, it had been manageable. Now, things had piled up, and you were absolutely drowning.

You were a perfectionist, and you’d do anything to make sure your university work was perfect, your football was perfect, at the expense of everything. Even your own wellbeing. And, apparently, Jenni’s wellbeing too, although you weren’t quite aware of the toll your lack of time spent with her was causing.

It was really a lack of communication that caused things to bubble over.

Jenni felt neglected. And you wanted nothing more than for her to pull you away from your late night study sessions and remind you to put yourself first, because you were sure you couldn’t do it yourself. If either of you had just spoken to the other, it would have been resolved so easily. Jenni would have realized that you needed her, but were too stressed to really know what you needed. And you would have realized that giving Jenni space wasn’t some kind of gift for her, and that she would be happy to sit next to you while you studied and just keep you company. Communication was an area that your relationship tended to struggle, though. It was a work in progress, and this situation clearly presented where there was still progress to be made.

-----

As you typed away at your computer, you again wondered why on earth you had added classes. Another term would have been worth it, if only to avoid this hell. It was Tuesday, and you had 3 essays due on Sunday. The week was stuffed full of training and extra workouts, though, and then the team was traveling for an away game. Everything had to be done by Friday, or it wouldn’t get done, and that wasn’t an option.

Not only did it have to be done, it had to be perfect. There was no possibility of halfassing any assignment. You’d tried before, but you always ended up redoing it until it was perfect, and it was just much easier to do it the first time around.

You had just finished the first essay, which was at the very end of the page limit. It was up to your standards, you decided, reading over it once more before turning it in. You should have felt relieved, that one of the things hanging over your head was now completed. Instead, you could only look to the next essay, and the one after that. And the exam next week, the project the week after. It was so easy to get overwhelmed if you thought too hard about everything, so you did your best to focus on each task one at a time.

Perhaps it was this very narrow view of your life that had you not really thinking about your girlfriend in the other room. She’d been waiting for you to emerge from the office all afternoon, only getting you to take a short break to eat.

She just wanted to spend time with you. Catch up on a show, or hold you on the couch and talk. It didn’t make any sense to her, why couldn't you just put the schoolwork down for one night, and pay attention to her. Maybe you would have, if she’d just asked for it. Instead, she sat quietly in the living room, trying her best not to cry as her feelings began to overwhelm her. Was she really that horrible to spend time with? That her own girlfriend preferred mindless busy work to being with her?

Deciding to end her pity party, she wiped at her eyes, checking in the front hall mirror that there were no visible tear marks, before she made a very pathetic attempt to get your attention. It wasn’t very late, but training had been grueling today, and Jenni knew that if she was tired, you must be exhausted.

“Mi amor?” Jenni called from the doorway of the office. “Are you coming to bed?”

You didn’t even turn your head away from the screen in front of you for a full 20 seconds, and when you finally did, it was to stare almost blankly at your girlfriend. “Huh?”

“I was just- I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.” Before you could reply, Jenni was turning around and heading down the hall towards the bedroom. No goodnight kiss, no request for you to join her. You blinked after her, struck by how cold she’d just been with you. Now that you thought about it, she’d been like that for a few days, and you hadn’t noticed.

You turned back to your outline, copying lines from your notes mindlessly as you tried to figure out the source of Jenni’s frustration. Of course, you settled on yourself. You were a disaster at the moment, and you knew that. The only logical thing you could come up with was that Jenni was just… annoyed with having to deal with you like this. There were only a few weeks left of term, and you decided to try to bother her as little as possible until then. Once school was over, for good, you could go back to being the smiley, relaxed girlfriend Jenni was used to. The one Jenni preferred.

You had very little clarity of when you fell asleep. One second, you were typing away, eyes drooping. The next, you were facedown asleep, your face smushed into your keyboard.

Jenni managed to fall asleep without you next to her, but did not remain that way for long. After only two hours she woke, frowning to herself when she realized the bed was still practically made on your side. With a sigh, she dragged herself from bed and walked down to the office, prepared to drag you to bed if she had to. Even if you were avoiding her, she had to put her foot down somewhere; this was bordering on unhealthy.

She trudged into the office, lips curving into a small smile as she noticed you out cold on your laptop. It didn’t look very comfortable, and the quiet inhales and marks on your cheek told her you’d been asleep for a solid amount of time.

“Amor,” Jenni sang, her voice soft and loving as she roused you from a deep sleep.

“Jen?” You picked your head up, blinking groggily up at her, and winced at the knot that had appeared in your neck. You’d fallen asleep, you realized. It was dark in the room, and Jenni’s face was half hidden by shadows. It was unreadable, and you cursed yourself internally for immediately breaking the promise you’d made to yourself just a few hours prior. The promise to not make Jenni suffer through your stress along with you. She must be so upset with you, having to come check on you like you were a child. Still, Jenni was kind and you knew that the way she carefully picked you up and cradled you to her chest didn’t mean she still wasn’t annoyed. It didn’t mean you weren’t being too much for her, it just meant Jenni was a good person.

“Let’s go to bed, sí?” She cooed, carrying you down the hall.

You nodded into her chest, allowing yourself a moment of comfort. You fought against the tightness in your throat and the moisture in your eyes as you realized just how exhausted you were, not wanting to make the situation any worse. Warmth filled your girlfriend’s chest at the feeling of having you so close to her again, but that feeling faded quickly when she placed you down on the bed, and you immediately rolled to the edge of your side. As far from her as possible.

This cemented it in her mind, honestly. That you were avoiding her on purpose, using your school work as an excuse. And you were only more sure that she was tired of how much stress you brought to her life when she didn’t curl her body around yours, as she normally did. Both of you were miserable as you drifted off, completely incorrectly convinced that the other person was angry.

-----

You were not a morning person, but your girlfriend was. It was your daily routine at this point for her to wake you up in the morning, a mug of coffee in her hand and a soft smile on her face, dimples just barely peeking out. Or, you’d wake to her curled around you, her breaths steady puffs on your neck. Never, never, did you wake to nothing. No Jenni at all. Your alarm went off, and you groaned, feeling that the few hours of sleep were not enough. You were barely conscious, rolling onto the other side of the bed in search of your girlfriend’s warm body. Nothing.

Waiting a beat, you listened for her footsteps coming up the stairs. Nothing. Minutes passed with no appearances from the striker, and you rolled over towards the bedside table, grabbing your phone. Her location showed her already at the training grounds, a full hour early. You pictured her taking free kicks from all over the pitch, the same scowl on her face she always got when she was worked up about something. You loved that scowl, despite the cause of it. You liked to make it turn into a huge grin, one that brought out the dimples on her cheeks.

God you missed her. Suddenly, with full force, you missed her deeply. Though you’d seen her last night, it felt like you’d been gone for weeks. You supposed you had, too caught up in your school work to think of much else. You wondered if she missed you, too, or if she was glad for the break.

No way to know, you decided, even though there very clearly was. Deciding that you could get a bit of your next essay done before you had to get ready for training, you dragged yourself out of bed and down the hall to get some coffee. There was some left on the counter for you, in a mug that had Jenni’s face on it, a joke gift she’d given you last christmas. On the very rare occasions Jenni had to leave the house before you were up, she almost always left a little note. Sometimes it was something cheesy and adorable, and other times it was just a heart. Today, there was nothing but the mug, the coffee inside already cold.

------

When Jenni entered the house after dinner, she was feeling kind of guilty for being so distant the past few days. Especially after seeing how exhausted you were the night before. With the whole day to think about things, she realized maybe she should be more worried than upset with you.

She’d left before you were even awake. Obviously, you couldn’t discuss anything at training, and you’d gone straight to the library after to work on your essay. Jenni had made herself get out of the house, getting together with a few friends, texting you quickly that she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

She knew she’d been a bit immature and that she should have just communicated her issue to you. Before you, she’d never felt needy. Now, though, it felt like any time away from you was difficult. And the distance she’d forced in the past few days hadn’t made her feel better like she thought; she hadn’t gotten used to not being around you. Instead, she just missed you even more. Maybe she would have talked to you, honestly, if she hadn’t been convinced that you were upset with her, tired of her.

She couldn’t hear the clicking of the keyboard coming from the office, and that would have been her first guess as to your location. Moving further into the house, Jenni looked around, finally spotting you in the living room. You weren’t lounging in the armchair, watching a show, like she’d been expecting. Instead, you were curled up into a ball on the sofa, sobbing into your hands. It was loud and painful, and the brunette was sure that you hadn’t even heard her enter the house. There were papers scattered around you, your computer set aside, still open to the essay that just wouldn’t get done.

The small sounds you were making in between each sob broke Jenni’s heart, and it only took her a minute to unfreeze, and cross the room.

“Amor, hey,” she cooed, crouching down next to the sofa and trying to tug your hands away from your face. You jumped slightly, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. You thought you’d have more time to hide your breakdown before Jenni got home.

“Go away.” You murmured, attempting to move away from her. Jenni was strong, though, and before you could move very far, you were being pulled into her lap.

“No. Talk to me.” Jenni encouraged, finally getting a look at your face. Her stomach dropped as she realized just how exhausted you were, and just how upset. Your bottom lip trembled as you tried to stop your tears, fighting against the urge to lean into your girlfriend. If the past day had taught you anything, it was that Jenni didn’t need to deal with your stress. That was the reason she must have been pulling away, and you wanted to respect her obvious need for space.

“I’m fine, Jenni, just go to bed. I’ll be in later.” Your voice was raspy from crying, and Jenni’s brow furrowed.

Shaking her head, she leaned in to place the gentlest of kisses on your cheek. “Cari, I am not going anywhere until you tell me what is wrong.”

Again, it felt like every part of you was begging to collapse into her. You just couldn’t do it. “You have enough on your plate. Don’t worry about me.” Even as you spoke, tears ran down your face, and you sniffled pitifully.

Jenni rolled her eyes in response, her slender fingers pushing your hair away from your face. “I love you, I am going to worry about you. Especially when I find you like this. Now tell me what is wrong so I can fix it.”

There was nowhere for you to look but at her, and her eyes were so earnest and so concerned, you gave in. “I-I’m just so stressed, Jen. I can’t- there isn’t enough time for me to get everything done and I’m so tired and I can’t do this anymore I’m losing my mind, and I’m too much for you and I just-”

Jenni became laser focused on the end of your rambling sentences, her hands working frantically to run through your hair and caress your face in comfort. “No, you are not too much for me, mi amor. Never. Why would you think that?”

Looking at her with wide eyes, you wondered why she was lying. “You’ve been avoiding me these past few days. You’ve barely been here, you left this morning without even waking me, I-”

Shaking her head rapidly, Jenni felt guilt tugging at her. She should have known better, should have known you’d never do anything to hurt her, but yourself? That was another story. “Amor, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks. I was only trying to give you space.”

“I was trying to give you space.” You choked out. “I thought you were tired of me.”

“No, mi amor, no.” Jenni sighed, gripping you by the shoulders and internally cursing herself. “I thought you were tired of me. You’ve been so busy, and I just thought you wanted to spend less time with me.”

‘No, I didn’t want that.” You shook your head, shrugging her hands off your shoulders, only to wrap your own arms around her abdomen and bury your face in her neck. “I was just so busy and so overwhelmed, I didn’t want to stress you out.”

With a gentle hand on the back of your head, Jenni pressed you in closer to her and left a kiss on the side of your head. “You do not stress me out. I want to help you when you are stressed, but I cannot do that if it feels like you do not want me around.”

You nodded into her neck, knowing she likely felt the tears running off your face and onto her skin. “I’m sorry.” You whimpered.

“It’s alright, cari. I’m sorry too, I should have noticed you were stressed.”

When she only got a shrug in response, she leaned you back from her and studied your face closely. “What’s going on, hmm? School doesn’t normally get you like this.”

Subconsciously, you tried to match the rise and fall of your girlfriend’s chest, willing yourself to just calm down so you could have a conversation. “It’s the extra classes. It’s way too much, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m barely getting everything done and it’s building up and-”

“Extra classes?” Jenni asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

You blinked at her. You’d told her about the extra classes… right? Admittedly, Jenni didn’t listen very hard when you talked about school, so it was entirely possible she’d just missed it, but she always remembered the important things. “I told you. I’m taking four this term.”

“Four! Why would you do that?!” Jenni exclaimed, her face so comically surprised, you had to fight a smile. “You didn’t tell me, amor.”

“I did!” You argued back. “So I can finish school this term instead of after the next one.”

Jenni shook her head, her face turning slightly stern. “You did not tell me. That is too much, mi amor, why would you do that? No wonder you’re so overwhelmed.” She tutted.

You thought hard, your eyebrows scrunching in a way Jenni found downright adorable. “Oh. I decided when I was home with my family for the holidays. I must have told them and forgotten to tell you…”

You looked at Jenni wearily, wondering if she’d be upset. Instead, she was chuckling at you and shaking her head. It was very you to forget something like this. Jenni liked to joke that you spend all your brain power on football and school, and there wasn’t any left over for common sense.

“Sorry, Jen. I thought I told you.” You mumbled, face turning red with embarrassment. Maybe your girlfriend would have been annoyed, if she wasn’t so very in love with you. All your quirks, though, were just silly to her, endearing. She had become horrifically soft for you, she realized.

“It’s okay, you didn’t do it on purpose.” Jenni said kindly. “I understand now, why you’ve been so busy. But, amor, if it is too much, why don’t you just drop a class? Or turn in a few assignments late. You only need a certain grade to pass, no? Not everything has to be perfect. You have to give yourself a break.”

It was everything you’d needed to hear, and still, everything you refused to believe. You couldn’t drop a class, couldn’t get less than a perfect score. You didn’t deserve a break, not until everything was done. Jenni’s face fell as your eyes began to water again, and she worried she said the wrong thing.

A flood of words spewed from your mouth, trying to help her understand what you didn’t even really understand. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to take a break without someone telling me to, I feel like my body is shutting down Jenni, I’m so tired,” you sobbed, once more pressing your face into her chest, likely staining her shirt with tears. She was quick to wrap you in a hug, hushing you quietly.

“Oh, mi amor.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through your hair. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you were having a hard time, I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

That felt like an incredibly ridiculous thing for her to apologize for, and you told her so. “You shouldn’t have to do that, you shouldn’t have to take care of me like that”

“Of course I do. I want to. That is what partners do, no?” She replied incredulously, using her sleeve to gently swipe the tears off your face. She hated to see you cry, but she loved how long your eyelashes got when they were wet with tears; it made your eyes look bigger, somehow, and it always made her want to hold onto you and never let go.

“You don’t have to.” You argued weakly.

Jenni kissed you gently instead of replying right away, her soft lips pressing into yours telling you more than she could probably convey with words. “I’m going to, cariño.”

“Okay.” You whispered, effectively convinced by her kiss, knowing Jenni well enough to know that if you agreed with her, she’d kiss you again. And she did.

“We’ll start now then. Let’s take a break. We can lay on the couch and take a nap and then order dinner in.” She was already shutting your computer and carefully putting your notes into a pile, before placing it all on the table.

“But my essay,” you argued halfheartedly, knowing you would probably only be capable of writing incomprehensible sentences at this point. The striker turned back to you, a stern look on her face once again. Jenni shook her head firmly, her thumbs running back and forth across your cheeks in an incredibly soothing manner. “No essay is worth this. You need to take a break, and rest.”

“I- I don’t…”

“Hmm? You don’t what, amor?” Her voice held a challenge, almost begging you to argue with her about needing a break. She didn’t understand, but she wanted to, more than anything.

“I didn’t finish.” You whispered. “I don’t deserve a break until I’m done.”

“Cariño,” Jenni sighed, gently pulling on the back of your neck until you’d tucked your face in against her. She kissed the top of your head, mumbling her next words into your hair. “You are not a machine. You deserve a break whenever you need one, and you need one right now. No arguments.”

And though it felt all wrong, you let Jenni remove all your study materials from the room, putting them god knows where. She returned, sliding onto the couch and pulling you so you were laying in her arms.

Once your favorite show had been put on the TV, you looked up at her, chin resting on her chest. “I’m really sorry you felt so neglected, Jen.” You murmured. Now that you were no longer panicked about not getting your essay done, guilt had flooded you. “I wasn’t trying to avoid you, I promise. I’m so-”

“It’s okay, mi amor.” Jenni smiled. Now that her insecurities had been relatively addressed, [and now that she felt ridiculous for having them in the first place,] her only focus was on getting you to relax. Incidentally, that meant you would be spending a fair amount of time with her going forward, and that was a win for the striker. “I do not want to hear any more about it, si? All is forgiven.”

Jenni’s ability to forgive was one of her best traits, and you knew that when she said she forgave you, she meant it.

“Now, for my plan.” She continued, smiling almost mischievously at you.

“Your plan?” You asked wearily.

“Si, my very smart and well thought out plan.” Jenni grinned. “We are going to make a schedule. There will be Jenni time and study time, but not too much study time.”

“What about too much Jenni time?” You smirked.

She frowned at you. “That is not possible.”

You laughed, laying your head back down on her chest. “Anything else?”

“And now it is nap time, because your eyes are falling shut and you slept for three hours last night.” Her arms locked around you, allowing no escape. Not that you wanted one.

“Okay.” You mumbled, squirming slightly until your face was tucked into her neck, blocking out the light of the room. You drifted off quickly, lulled into sleep by Jenni’s hands rubbing up and down your back, and the rise and fall of her chest under you.

Jenni waited an entire hour to order dinner, thinking that she could wake you when it arrived, if you weren't already awake. She got the message that the food had been delivered a half hour after that, trying to wipe the stupid grin off her face at the way you were curled up on top of her. How she could have ever doubted your love for her, she wasn’t sure.

“Amor? The food is here.” She whispered, pushing your hair out of your face enough to see that your eyes were shut, your face relaxed. Giving up ridiculously quickly, she settled into the couch, allowing you to stay asleep. The food could wait. You needed the rest, and your girlfriend was more than happy to be a pillow for you, for as long as you needed her to be.

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as if i would study if i was jenni's girlfriend, and not spend the whole day looking at her like 🙂

#jenni hermoso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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