#i did not intend for this post to get so long but i get very excited talking about him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

highvern · 2 months 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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mournthebird · 5 months ago

Text

Shower Suds.

summary: You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

a/n: This wasn't supposed to be so long, but somehow it always happens when I write about him. Something sorta comforting with some recovery thrown in there. Unedited because I worked on this for so long lol ignore mistakes please! ;; wc: 5.8k

Filthy. You felt bad, really.

There was a lot of problems to tackle with Soldat's condition, but first thing's first...the soldier needed a bath. Badly.

He was dirty, his hair knotted, matted, greasy, his skin was covered in sweat and dirt, probably blood under the black uniform he still wore. The poor man stunk, and he didn't seem to even notice. Or care.

You found yourself in a bit of a hard situation, unsure of the best approach to cleanse him. A bath seemed problematic; he would essentially be marinating in his own grime, which was far from ideal. Would he sit for that long? Would he fight you? You weren't entirely positive.

On the other hand, a shower presented its own set of challenges. Your observations over the past days had revealed his struggle with prolonged standing. He didn't seem to want to stand for very long and often sat or laid down when he could. The majority of his time was spent either huddled in the furthest corner of the room or barricaded within the confines of the small closet, as if seeking refuge from an unseen threat.

As you mulled over the options, weighing the pros and cons of each, you ultimately figured a shower would be better in terms of cleanliness…if anything, you could have him sit in the bottom of the tub. Better than sitting in dirty water with the increased possibility of infection.

But there was one problem. How the hell would you get him into the bathroom in the first place?

You took a breath in, preparing for the worst, and went to the room he stayed in. It was the spare room in your apartment you barely used, but had been furnished as a bedroom in case someone you knew needed a place for a night or something. Not that you ever figured your friends would want to stay with you, you didn't have many to begin with. When you came in, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, spotting him huddled up in the corner like expected.

He didn't look up at you when you walked in, his gaze fixed downward and obscured by the curtain of his long, unkempt hair. The stillness that enveloped him was almost unnerving. Only when you took a few steps closer did he react, his head snapping up at you. His eyes bright blue against the dark, messy ink that surrounded them, like he tried to smudge off the black paint but failed.

You took another step forward, your movements slow and deliberate. You could see the change in his demeanor immediately with your approach, even as careful as it was; his breathing became more rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace like he was preparing to be harmed.

"It's okay," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand extended slightly, palm open to try to soothe him. Carefully, you lowered yourself to his level, bending your knees until you were crouching before him. This position, you hoped, would make you appear less imposing and more approachable.

In the few days he had been in your care, you had begun to discern patterns in his behavior, learning to recognize the subtle cues that indicated his comfort level. You had started to understand which actions he perceived as threatening and which ones helped him feel more at ease. It was a delicate balance, one that required patience and constant observation, but you were determined to create an environment where he could begin to feel safe and secure.

"I think...a bath sounds nice. Doesn't it?" You asked him softly, smiling slightly to show you weren't intending to do any sort of harm. "It will feel good to clean off all that dirt...nice and warm water too...you've been shivering." You noted how cold he appeared to be, he was still latched in his cold clothes from when you found him. You were surprised the uniform kept in water.

He remained motionless, prompting you to reluctantly take a step backwards to leave him alone, you’d try later. As you turned away, the faint sound of movement caught your attention. Glancing back, you saw the soldier had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed upon you with an air of expectancy. "Would you like to come and shower?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Да." His voice was a harsh, grating sound, reminiscent of shattered glass scraping against parched earth. It was as though he hadn't uttered a word or tasted a drop of water in an eternity. Despite the brevity and roughness of his reply, it carried a weight of affirmation. You found yourself oddly relieved by this simple acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like a significant step forward. The fact that he had agreed seemed like a small victory.

You had him in the bathroom. That was a good thing.

You pivoted slowly to face him, your gaze carefully scanning his imposing figure. For behaving so meekly, he was an intimidating body to be this close to. Your eyes meticulously traced the contours of his suit, lingering on the intricate array of tactical belts and buckles that adorned his outfit. Each piece seemed to serve a specific purpose, hinting at the dangerous nature of his profession. Your hand tentatively reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they approached one of the sturdy buckles.

Your action was met with an immediate and startling response from the soldier. His metal hand shot up with inhuman speed, grasping your wrist tightly, the cold metal a stark contrast to your warm skin. His hold was firm and unyielding, like a vice grip, yet it wasn't painful.

As his hand clasped around your wrist, his entire body tensed, transforming into a living statue. You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the abruptness of his reaction, your body instinctively recoiling even as his grip held you in place.

"I-It's okay, I promise," you managed to say, your voice deliberately calm and steady to avoid startling him further. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I'm just going to help you undress for the shower... I promise I won't hurt you or do anything you're not comfortable with. We're just getting you cleaned up, that's all."

Your words didn't seem to have much effect at first. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his jaw flexed with tension. You remained patient, maintaining a soothing tone and open body language. "Take all the time you need," you added softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. It’s just you and me." His eyes scanned you intently, searching for any hint of deception or ill intent. You met his gaze steadily, allowing him to see the sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his grip on your wrist slowly loosened until he finally released you completely.

Second time's the charm. You reached out with steady hands, your fingers finding the first buckle on his tactical suit. With careful precision, you unfastened it, the metallic click echoing softly in the bathroom. Then, you moved to the next one, and the next, methodically working your way through each fastening. The process was slow but deliberate, each buckle giving way under your patient touch until, finally, the last one came undone. You paused, surveying your handiwork as the suit lay open, no longer confining him.

With the buckles undone, your attention turned to the decked out belt encircling his hips. You grasped the front, feeling the sturdy material beneath your fingers. You pulled the belt free from the thick buckle, the black leather sliding smoothly through the loops. As you removed the belt, you took care to lay it gently on the floor beside you, the heavy belt colliding with the tile was bound to make him jump and you didn’t want that.

The belt now removed, you returned your focus to the suit itself. Your hands found the straps, and you began to loosen them, pulling them out slowly and methodically. His uniform reminded you of a rehashed straight jacket, the uniform nearly acting just as one. When the tight suit gradually relinquished its grip, you noticed an immediate change in the soldier’s demeanor. The restrictive pressure eased, and you could see his chest rise and fall more freely. It was as if a weight had been lifted, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

You watched, a mix of concern and relief washing over you, as he took in several deep breaths. The realization hit you then, a jolt of disbelief and worry. The suit had been so constricting that it had barely allowed him to breathe properly. The thought was infuriating. What kind of protection was that? What twisted logic had led to the creation of gear that endangered its wearer almost as much as it shielded them? You found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell...

"There we go...good..." You praised calmly, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. He stood before you, now shirtless, his muscular frame tense with anticipation as he awaited your next move. Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his exposed torso, taking in every detail of his battle-worn body.

His skin was a canvas marked by the harsh realities of his past. Bruises in various stages of healing painted his flesh in a morbid palette of purples, yellows, and greens. Fresh cuts, angry and red, intermingled with older, silvery scars, creating a chaotic tapestry across his skin. Each mark had a different cause, accidental, intentional, self inflicted.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to the most prominent feature: the junction where flesh met metal at his shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding his prosthetic arm was a sight that made your heart ache. It wasn't a clean, surgical line as one might expect, but rather a jagged, angry border that spoke of crude methods and little regard for the body it was attached to. The metal seemed to dig cruelly into his flesh, as if it were trying to consume more of him. You couldn't help but wonder about the pain he must have endured during the procedure, imagining how they had torn him apart with brutal efficiency, prioritizing function over comfort or aesthetics.

Despite the visible evidence of his suffering, he stood tall and stoic, awaiting your next move with a mixture of trust and trepidation in his eyes.

You offered him a gentle, comforting smile, you were acutely aware of his attempts to appear strong, but the reality of his fear was unmistakable. In that spare room, his demeanor reminded you of a cornered animal, flinching and retreating whenever the door creaked open. He cowered from you, even when you tried to give him water to drink. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, you didn’t know much of what happened just yet, but you knew whatever it was must’ve been utterly horrific.

"I'm going to help you out of your trousers now," you explained in a soft, reassuring tone. "Then we'll get you into the shower. The warm water will help you feel better, I promise." You paused, giving him a moment to process your words before adding, "Is that okay with you?"

He remained motionless. His lack of response was telling - not a nod, not a word, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He simply stood there, statuesque, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come next. The stillness was almost eerie, so you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to come. You truly hoped he wouldn't begin to put up a fight randomly, you knew you couldn't take him if he did.

You grasped the zipper of his pants and slowly pulled it down, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. As the fabric loosened, you gently tugged at the waistband, shuffling them down his muscular thighs and allowing the pants to fall around his ankles. Without a word, he stepped out of them, his movements controlled as he jerked his foot to get the leg of the pants off completely.

His gaze remained fixed on you, his expression betraying no hint of discomfort or self-consciousness at his state of undress. You found yourself averting your eyes, a mix of respect for his privacy and your own sudden shyness causing you to look away.

Turning your attention to the shower, you reached out and adjusted the taps, your hand testing the water until it reached a comfortably warm temperature, you could always adjust it upon request. The sound of cascading water filled the bathroom, creating a soothing ambiance. Once satisfied with the water's warmth, you looked back towards him, your arm extending in a welcoming gesture towards the bathtub. "Come on," you encouraged, your voice soft and inviting, "it's nice and warm." A gentle smile played on your lips, your expression meant to convey comfort and reassurance.

But even with your efforts, he remained motionless, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot where he stood. His lack of movement prompted you to maintain your encouraging demeanor, your smile unwavering as you waited patiently for him to make a decision.

The steam from the shower began to fill the room, creating a misty atmosphere that hung between you, yet he showed no signs of stepping forward or retreating. He just stood there, planted like a tree. You frowned, seeing that he wasn't going to budge.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, "It's just water, and it's nice and warm. I promise it will feel so good. You've been shivering for a while now, and I bet the warmth will be really comforting for your cold skin. There's nothing to be afraid of." You continued to encourage him, your tone patient and understanding.

The soldier's reaction was tense and wary. His metal arm plates made a series of soft clicking sounds as he shifted his arm and adjusted his stance, his body language radiating discomfort and distrust, maybe even a hint of growing agitation. The way he eyed the water, you could have sworn he thought you were about to subject him to some form of aquatic torture. His entire demeanor screamed of deep-seated fear and suspicion.

"It's alright, really... Look, see?" You demonstrated by reaching out and touching the water, letting your fingers trail through the warm liquid. You made sure he could clearly see that the water didn't cause you any harm or discomfort. Could he be afraid of the water? The concept seemed strange, but then again, you didn't really know or understand the full extent of his experiences or traumas. You had made so much progress with him already, and now all that remained was for him to sit under the water and allow you to wash him. It seemed so simple, and yet you could see the monumental struggle playing out behind his eyes.

He finally seemed to respond when he observed that you remained unharmed by the water, and he cautiously approached, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes wore wariness with a flicker of curiosity, carefully scanning your form and ensuring you made no abrupt or threatening gestures. As he inched closer, his body language betrayed a conflicting desire for comfort and an instinctive need for self-preservation.

Once he had convinced himself of a relative level of safety, he gingerly stepped into the bath. The warmth of the water seemed to catch him off guard, and with an almost childlike lack of grace, he unceremoniously lowered himself into a sitting position with a loud thud and for a moment, he appeared startled by his own actions.

Now fully seated on the bottom of the tub, he allowed the soothing warmth of the water to cascade down his dirt-encrusted body. The grime that had accumulated over time began to loosen and swirl around him, running down his body and creating murky patterns at the bottom of the textured bathtub.

He sat motionless, gradually acclimating to the comforting warmth of the water cascading down his back in a gentle, soothing shower. It was foreign to him, a luxury he had been denied for far too long. His time with HYDRA had been bereft of such simple comforts; the organization was a cruel and unforgiving entity, more akin to a heartless taskmaster than a nurturing presence.

His experiences with something as harmless as water was vastly different to what you were treating him with now - he was subjected to harsh, icy streams forcefully directed at him, the intense pressure through the hose so severe it felt as though it was stripping away layers of his skin.

He remembers being forcibly submerged by his handlers, a cruel and twisted game that shattered his expectations of a simple, cleansing bath. What should have been a moment of respite transformed into a nightmarish struggle for survival, where he was forced to submit to their ruthless whims.

The memory of sharp, abrasive bristles tearing at his skin and the application of painful, saline substances lingers. He didn’t want to think about the unnecessary groping he encountered either, something he wished he forgot along with his life during the chair’s wipes.

These traumatic encounters left an indelible mark on his psyche, turning what should have been a basic human necessity into a source of fear and anxiety. The handlers' sadistic approach to something as fundamental as personal hygiene served as a constant reinforcement of their control over every aspect of his existence, even the most intimate and essential.

For him, the act of bathing became synonymous with vulnerability, pain, and the complete loss of autonomy, a far cry from the soothing, rejuvenating experience it was meant to be.

This gentle treatment you were providing was so different from the abusive handling he had endured in HYDRA, it almost caused him to panic, the feigning comforts he were offered by handlers before tricked him too many times, and he refused to let his guard down.

His glacial eyes gazed up at you, the poor man looked absolutely pitiful under the steamy water, his once greasy hair now thoroughly soaked as rivulets ran down the contours of his entire body. You took a breath and exhaled out a soft sigh, your hand slowly reaching for your own body wash. You didn't have any products specifically designed for men, so your expensive shampoo would have to suffice until you went shopping.

You pumped the bottle twice, watching as the clear, slightly viscous shampoo pooled into your open palm and the refreshing scent of cucumber and mint permeated the humid air, filling your nostrils with its crisp, clean aroma. You turned and addressed him softly, "Alright, I'm going to wash your hair now. Just try to relax and sit still for me, okay? This might feel a bit cold at first, but I promise it'll feel good once I start massaging it in."

The soldier regarded you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying only a hint of that fight-or-flight instinct, his mind was reeling as he battled the urge to respond to your presence. You knew he had the strength to easily break your arm if he chose to, so you tried your best to be as slow and careful as possible. Your fingers delicately threaded through his hair, methodically working the shampoo into a rich lather. You watched as the suds multiplied and foamed, the soapy shampoo pure white on top and slowly stained the closer it was to his scalp.

You noticed that every so often he would flinch ever so slightly or instinctively pull away from your hands. You wondered if he had hidden injuries or tender spots on his scalp, or bruises or cuts concealed beneath his hair, or maybe knots of tension that had formed from prolonged stress or blunt impacts. His hair must’ve been yanked around, his scalp was extremely tender and while you did your best to soothingly massage, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you hoped because of the discomfort there.

"It's okay, I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just getting all that pesky dirt and grime out." You spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone, moving a little bit quicker so you could rinse and move on. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, you applied conditioner in the same manner as the shampoo, and then rinsed it out again. He looked much better now, his hair was now clean, wet, and sleek, with a smooth texture and a noticeable shine. It was so much better than before, and it had to feel better too.

Your hand extended under the rain of water, dampening a soft, handheld washcloth and applying a generous amount of body wash to it. You worked the cloth until it produced a rich lather. The soldier moved which caught your eye, you looked up at him and saw he had recoiled, his gaze fixed warily on the washcloth. He became noticeably slower and more hesitant, his eyes widening slightly as he regarded the cloth with apparent apprehension, as if it posed a threat. You furrowed your brow at his reaction to the cloth, he looked at it like you held a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, it’s alright…this won’t hurt. It’s just a cloth, see? A cloth with some soap," you said softly, you felt so torn up about his reaction to the simplest of things. "I won't hurt you, I promise, I'm just going to wash you a bit...get all that dirt and blood off you." You raised your hand holding the washcloth in a placating gesture. “It’s warm, it will feel good scrubbing off all that dirt, you’ll be nice and clean.”

Gradually, he relented and shifted backwards to where he had been sitting, permitting you to gently glide the damp cloth across his skin, meticulously removing every trace of grime from his body. After a few minutes of washing him, you noticed he was beginning to find comfort in the experience. His eyelids drooped, and his head dipped down slightly, a tired expression settling over his features as he succumbed to the soothing sensation of your ministrations. He wasn’t exactly serene, but he was too drowsy to focus on much else other than the feeling of the rag gliding over his back and flesh arm.

You adjusted him and you tended to his metal arm, diligently working the cloth between the intricate plates and joints of titanium, ensuring that no speck of dirt remained. You weren’t exactly sure how the arm was cleaned prior to finding him, but clearly there wasn’t a worry about rust or anything of the sort. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you unhindered access as the warm water cascaded over his back, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. He enjoyed the hot temperature, he hadn’t felt hot water in decades.

Your focus then shifted to his lower extremities, concentrating on scrubbing his legs and feet. As the rag moved up to a more sensitive area, you paused, pulling the rag off his skin and slowly extending the washcloth to him. You pointed towards his privates, you softly instructed, "You can…get right there, I’d rather not touch you in that spot."

The furrow on the soldier's brow gave away his visible confusion, his eyes darting between you and the offered rag with a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. It was clear that he was contemplating with the decision of whether to accept your gesture or not, if there was an ulterior motive, or if this was some sort of test. After what seemed like an eternity of internal debate, he finally extended a trembling hand towards you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a simple cloth.

He grasped the rag from your outstretched palm, his fingers curling around it slowly. Once in possession of the cloth, he set about the task of cleaning himself. His actions, though quick, lacked the assurance of someone accustomed to such basic self-care. Each motion seemed so carefully calculated, as if he were relearning a long-forgotten, essential skill. It had been so long since he was allowed to clean himself. His movements were unsteady, his hands quivering slightly as he went about his ablutions.

It had clearly been an extensive period since he had been granted even this small measure of independence. The concept of autonomy was a luxury he had been denied for far too long.

When he was done with his hurried cleansing, the soldier's gaze immediately sought yours out. His eyes, still holding the rag, were filled with expectation, awaiting your next command. His posture tense and ready to respond to whatever instruction you might provide. The rag remained clutched in his hand, as if he were unsure whether to return it or continue holding onto this small token of independence.

"Good, you're all done," you offered a warm smile to him. Despite the wounds still visible on his body, you felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that at least the layers of dirt and grime had been washed away, your work getting him clean would pay off and be better for the both of you. You reached over and turned off the water, the sudden silence broken only by the soft dripping from the showerhead. "Let's get you dried off," you said softly, gesturing for him to step out of the shower.

He complied wordlessly, his movements careful as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. You couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, standing there dripping wet, his eyes never leaving your face, his body completely littered in discoloration. Reaching for a large, fluffy towel, you unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders, enveloping him in its warmth to fight off the rapidly cooling water droplets all over him.

As you began to slowly dry his body, you noticed a change come over him. His softened expression now returned to its usual blank mask and the brief relaxation he showed in the shower was long gone by now. His body returned to the stiffness he had before he got in. His eyes remained fixed on you, following your every movement with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

You worked in the quiet calm of the bathroom, carefully patting dry each part of his body, mindful of his injuries. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you to maneuver him as needed, but offering no assistance, like a doll. It was as if he had retreated back into himself, leaving only an empty shell for you to tend to. You wondered what he was thinking behind those watchful, guarded eyes, they were pretty up close. Glacial, stormy blue irises that had been glued to you since you started to tend to him.

After drying him off, you were lucky to find a pair of boxers in your apartment and helped him into them, where they came from wasn’t something you could remember at the moment, but you were glad you had them. He cooperated as you dressed him, then stood there clutching the towel around himself like a security blanket.

His gaze fixed on you with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability, as if silently asking for further guidance or comfort. His wide eyes blinked languidly, and his soft pink lips formed an almost imperceptible pout, giving him an endearing, slightly lost appearance.

Lost. He embodied the word entirely. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Taking in his disheveled state, you smiled a little, "How about we get your hair detangled, hm?" Your voice was warm and reassuring as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the damp strands, feeling the water practically seep out of the ends.

The soldier's reaction was a mix of acceptance and hesitation. While he didn't outright reject the idea, there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. However he didn’t dare reject the idea, worried about any kind of retaliation. So he made his way to the stool nestled beneath the counter and lowered himself onto it. As he settled into position, maintaining a stoic silence, his eyes continued to convey that enigmatic expression, hinting at unspoken thoughts or emotions.

You positioned yourself behind him, your hands instinctively reaching for a comb and a bottle of detangling spray already sat out from your use earlier that day. You recalled how your fingers had encountered numerous knots and tangles when you washed his hair, and thinking about how knotted it looked dirty made you sigh outwardly.

The fine mist of the detangling spray settled on his hair as you applied it methodically, you guided the comb through his locks, working patiently to untangle any knots you encountered. You tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing not only were there a ton of knots, but you remembered his scalp was especially sensitive and sore.

Soldat remained still as a statue, his posture composed and unwavering. His disciplined demeanor allowed you to work unimpeded, your movements careful and unhurried. He maintained a firm grip on the towel draped securely around his body, the fabric acting almost like a barrier and protecting him from the world. You continued to work the comb through his hair, encountering tangles and knots that spoke of recent exertion or neglect.

The process of detangling was slow, your touch continued to be gentle yet purposeful, muttering soft apologies when you ran into an unexpected knot. Teasing apart the snarls with patience and skill, the resistance lessened, and you found yourself able to run the comb smoothly through his hair, the strands falling into neat alignment.

"There we are... much better," you praised softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his hair, now brushed out and free of tangles, felt like a monumental achievement. You couldn't help but admire how the clean, detangled strands caught the light, a stark contrast to their earlier disheveled state. Your fingers ran through his locks, gently ruffling the hair from being so flat against his scalp.

You couldn't help but notice the angry red lines marring his skin, peeking out from beneath the towel. The blotchy colors on his skin that ranged from purple to blue, it made you frown. Your instincts as a caretaker kicked in, and you found yourself wondering if he would allow you to tend to those wounds. Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the towel just wanting to get a better look at them.

In an instant the soldier suddenly sprang to life, standing with such force that the stool he had been perched on skidded across the tile floor, the harsh scraping sound shattering the previous calm. He retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, his body language screaming defensiveness.

His eyes, which had been closed or downcast for most of your interaction, now bore into you with an intensity that made you freeze. They held fear, yes, but also a raw, primal aggression that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the look of a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

You immediately backpedaled, not wanting to trigger any aggression from him. "Okay, okay... no wound checks," you reassured as you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. You took a step back, giving him more space, silently cursing yourself for pushing too far, too fast. The fragile trust you had built over the past few minutes seemed to hang by a thread, you didn’t want to snap the little you had.

Your words had a calming effect on Soldat, who clutched the towel tightly in his fists, ensuring it remained securely wrapped around him. His gaze drifted down to his soiled attire, prompting you to shake your head in disapproval. "No, those definitely need to be washed," you explained, your voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur, "And to be honest, these can hardly be called proper clothes. I'll make sure to get you some suitable ones tomorrow, alright?"

Soldat's eyes met yours once more, his gaze still carrying a hint of coldness and wariness, but he managed a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. You gathered his discarded garments and deposited them into the washing machine, silently hoping that the combination of leather and other materials wouldn't prove too much for the aging appliance. The damn thing had to be ran twice already, you just couldn’t afford to buy a new one right now.

As you busied yourself with setting the appropriate wash cycle, Soldat seized the opportunity to hastily retreat to the room that had been designated as his temporary living space.

He immediately gravitated towards the floor, as he had been the past few days. You hadn't seen him use the bed at all, rather stay cuddled in the corner or inside the small space of the closet. The towel long forgotten and laid splayed out on the floor, he ripped the blankets off the bed in one fluid motion and proceeded to wrap himself up in them, burrowing beneath the layers of fabric for comfort and security. The blankets having replaced the towel's symbolism for safety.

You wished he’d rest on the bed rather than the floor, but you knew better than to try to alter what he was doing. Leave him to be comfortable on his own, that is the best thing to do in this situation. And if Soldat wants to sleep on the floor in a huddle of blankets, then fine.

You approached the doorway, peering inside to see him nestled in a cocoon of blankets. His exhaustion was written on his face, yet there was a noticeable improvement in his appearance. The layer of grime and perspiration that had clung to his skin was now gone, you knew he had to feel somewhat refreshed.

You cautiously stepped into the room and made your way towards him, acutely aware of how his body tensed at your approach. In response to your closer proximity, he burrowed deeper into the thick comforter that enveloped him, seeking refuge from your presence.

A soft, reassuring sound escaped your lips as you placed a water bottle within his reach. As you anticipated, he remained motionless under the comforter, offering no acknowledgment of your thoughtful action. He stayed hidden beneath the layers of fabric, like a child seeking shelter from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Get some rest, Soldat..." you whispered gently, your voice barely above a murmur. "I'll be down in the other room if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me, even for the smallest thing." With that reassurance, you slowly stood back up and turned to walk out. A faint noise suddenly caught your attention, causing you to pause mid-step.

The gentle rustling of the comforter drew your gaze back towards the floor, curiosity piquing your interest. The soldier cautiously peeked out from under the blanket's edge. His tired, weary eyes met your inquisitive ones, there was a beat of silence.

"Спасибо," the soldier rasped out, his voice meek and slightly hoarse from disuse, but still loud enough for you to hear clearly.

"You're welcome..."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x you #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #captain america the winter soldier #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #blythewrites⛓

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nottslove · 23 days ago

Text

The Other Girls (t.n)

Pairing: theo nott x fem!malfoy reader

Warnings: VERY VERY VERY LONG!!!!! 18+, mdni, smut, some fluff, a little angst, draco's little sister, brother's bsf, choking, nipple play, fingering, heavy cursing, drug use (theo smoking), corruption kink, degrading, praising, google-translated italian, porn with plot, obsessive/possessive theo, innocent reader, inexperienced reader x very experienced theo, lowercaps intended.

Summary: you're draco malfoy's younger sister by a year, and you've had a crush on theo all your life. you and theo were close childhood friends, but when he went to hogwarts, he forgot all about you. you joined hogwarts a year later, and unfortunately got sorted into gryffindor. as a result, theo and you only drifted apart further. he was always surrounded by girls. as the years go by, you try to get theo's attention in every way, but he never notices you. as a last resort, you end up taking advice from the girls that theo hangs around, in hopes that maybe... maybe it might finally work...

Author's note: WARNING: VERY VERY LONG! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! (sorry but i tend to get carried away with the details). This is my first time writing smut, or posting it here on tumblr... Please be nice. Also, many many apologies that this is super, super long... Kinda got carried away.. Enjoy :))

THEO always spent Christmas at Malfoy Manor. Ever since his mother's death, and his father always having some sort of 'business trip,' Narcissa suggested that Theo resided with the Malfoys for the whole Christmas break, and some of the summer.

You had always loved him. Since you were three years old, you used to follow him and Draco around, tagging along after both of them, much to your older brother's annoyance.

Even during your Hogwarts years, you always tried to attract his attention, trying to show him you were all grown up, that you were more than Draco's little sister. But he never saw, he never once acknowledged you as anything other than a sisterly figure.

During your fifth year at Hogwarts, you realized that Theo was never going to reciprocate your feelings, so you decided to try and get over him. You weren't allowed boyfriends. Draco always beat up any guy who dared to ask you out, and Theo did the exact same. Any guy who talked to you, or said something about you behind your back, or even looked at you, would end up in the hospital wing. As a result, you had been stood up many times, wondering why your date never showed up, only to realize he had either been beaten up, or scared away by Theo and Draco. That night always ended up with you crying.

You were never allowed to go to parties, or drink either. Draco and Lucius were always very, very protective over you. You were the Malfoy princess, the youngest child, the favorite, the spoiled little girl...

Yet somehow, right before the Christmas break, you gave in to your little rebellious streak and your friend's persuasion to sneak into one of the Slytherin parties.

The moment you got to the party, you were completely shocked. This was nothing like what you had in mind... Your outfit, a pretty, dainty, little white dress with a skater skirt felt far too modest, and the whole room smelt of weed, sweat and alcohol. People were publicly making out, the girls dressed in the skimpiest clothing you ever saw, and at the center of it all, next to Draco and his friends, you saw him.

Your breath hitched. He was sitting on the couch, legs slightly spread, surrounded by girls, one was even on his lap, and he was holding a cigarette. Smoke surrounded him as he blew it out from his mouth, laughing as his hand trailed up and down the girl's thigh.

All at once, you felt jealous. All the feelings for him you had tried so hard to bury came surfacing, and your blood boiled with anger, hurt, betrayal... What did Theo see in those girls that he never saw in you??

You quickly turned around, before Theo, or your brother saw you, and accepting the firewhiskey your friend had gotten for you— even though you'd never drunk before.

One sip became one glass, and before you knew it, you were intoxicated enough to dance to the loud music, and you were soon surrounded by a small group of boys, who simply couldn't believe you, of all people, were actually at the party.

Theo had managed to catch sight of you, and he dragged you out of the Slytherin Common room after beating up all three boys to the ground, jaw ticking and fists clenching with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stared up at him, but you didn't let them fall. You clenched your jaw, angry at him. He always, always ruined your fun.

"Partying, of course," you replied, a little too sharply for Theo's liking. But then again, you were drunk, after just one glass.

"Does your brother know?" Theo asked, ripping the almost empty glass of firewhiskey from your hand and tossing it aside lazily. "Do you want me to tell him you're here?"

"I don't care," was your reply, you sounded sullen. "You're not my dad, or my brother."

The answer was enough to send Theo into a rage, and he angrily grabbed your wrist with a grip slightly too harsh. "Go," he ordered, his dark blue eyes ablaze. "Go back to your dorm."

That had been the end of it.

Yet somehow, you still couldn't get over the memory of seeing Theo with a girl over his lap, and somehow, you wished that that had been you instead.

After that, you started to slowly eavesdrop on those Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls that usually hung around Theo, and you had managed to learn a few things from them...

One, that Theo loved short skirts, two, that he liked low necklines and tight blouses, and three, that he liked having girls sitting on his lap.

Which is why you were currently wearing the most revealing outfit you'd ever worn in your life, at the moment.

You always gave Theo a present for Christmas, every year, since you were very young, and this year was no different. The only difference was, that instead of leaving it under the tree, you'd be giving it to him in person, this time.

You'd made him some brownies— muggle style. It had been your first time ever baking something, and you were rather nervous of the outcome. Theo loved brownies, since he was young, and for someone who had everything in the world, you felt like something handmade would definitely be seen as more heartfelt.

The little white box of brownies sat on your dresser, wrapped with a pink ribbon— your signature style as you stared into the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit and applying all the finishing touches.

If your parents, or your brother ever saw her in this outfit, she knew she would forever be banned from doing your own shopping.

A baby pink, short, pleated mini skirt rested around your hips, just covering your ass. If you bent over, your ass would most certainly be on full display. You paired it with a lace, white, bralette top, with a deep, plunging V-neckline. It exposed your entire midriff, ending just short of your ribs, the lace transparent enough to see the milky skin underneath.

Your blonde hair was tied into a high ponytail, a few tendrils framed your face. You applied your waterproof mascara and a final layer of lip gloss.

You had never felt so bare. And yet, you felt so confident that you looked pretty.

Grabbing the box of brownies, you glanced at the clock. Ten past midnight. It was officially Christmas. Everyone was in their own rooms, and Theo's was conveniently just down the corridor from yours.

You were completely silent as you left your room, closing the door behind you, and headed to Theo's.

You gently knocked on the door, softly enough for anyone else not to hear.

"Come in," came Theo's lazy drawl.

Cautiously, slowly, nervously, you stepped in, closing the door behind you, the box of brownies held behind your back.

"Hi Theo," you whispered shyly, balancing on your heels.

He hadn't been expecting you. He had probably thought you were Draco.

But God— did his eyes rake your figure when he saw you wearing that tiny fucking skirt. The sight of you standing there, looking so goddamn shy and innocent was refreshing, to say the least.

He was seated on the couch, legs spread slightly, smoking a cigarette. Just like how he had been sitting at the Slytherin party—an empty bottle of whiskey rested on the side-table. The only difference? This time, his shirt was fully unbuttoned, tie draped around his shoulders.

You couldn't help but let your eyes wander down his chiseled abs, his bare muscular chest, and your fingers had the sudden urge to travel down his bare skin.

His hair was tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it... It looked so soft, you wanted to touch it. His dark blue eyes bored into yours with a hint of wickedness. God— he was so attractive.

"Baby Malfoy. I didn't expect to see you," he purred, lips curling into a smirk. "What brings you here at this time of the night?"

Oh, he knew of your feelings for him, he wasn't that oblivious. He knew exactly why you were here.

"I..." He always made you nervous. You couldn't help but stutter. "I came to give you your Christmas present..." you said softly.

"At this time?" he drawled, motioning for you to come closer with two fingers.

His hands.

His fucking hands.

They always drove you insane... Perfectly manicured, long fingers, veiny, defined, smooth... On numerous occasion, you had imagined him holding you with those hands, touching you...

But those were all fantasies.

Slowly, you moved closer, hesitantly, tentatively, cautiously... You didn't answer his question, you merely set the box in his lap and waited for him to open it.

He was quite surprised to see the brownies, to say the least. He had been expecting something else, something... bought.

He raised his eyebrows, looking at you carefully. "You made these?"

You nodded.

"By yourself? The muggle way? For me?"

You nodded again.

Once again, he smirked, and he grabbed a piece, gently biting into it, maintaining eye-contact with you the whole time.

Your heart was beating madly. Your stomach was full of fluttering butterflies, and goosebumps erupted all over your skin, making you feel cold.

Of course, it was winter, and you were dressed in practically nothing.

He chewed it, slowly, still holding your gaze. "It's good," he finally said, licking his lips and placing the box full of the rest of the brownies on the side table. "Good job, Baby Malfoy..."

He spared you no second glance as he went back to reading his book, and once again, you felt a sinking sensation fill you, and disappointment in your heart.

Obviously, he had expected you to leave. But when he still saw you standing there, he raised a brow. "Is something the matter?"

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You shook your head.

He went back to reading.

Until you could stand it no more. He hadn't mentioned one, single thing, one single comment about your outfit. You felt hurt. Hurt that you had put in so much effort, taken so much time to get ready for him, and he hadn't even smiled.

The words slipped out before you could control them.

"Do you like my outfit?" you blurt, sounding a little bit offended. "Don't I look pretty?" you continued, shyly biting your lip.

"You look like a whore," Theo replied coldly, without even looking up from his text.

This time, you couldn't help welling up at his harsh, hurtful words. He never said anything to those other girls when they dressed up like this for him.

"Th-there's no need to be mean," you whimpered, evident hurt in your beautiful silvery gray eyes. You were on the verge of tears. "I.. I spent hours dressing up just for you... and... and then you say—" You broke off, unable to finish your sentence.

That was enough to snatch Theo's attention. His eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

"You dressed up for me?" he echoed, his tone commanding, yet smooth, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The way you blinked and looked away was enough to tell Theo your answer.

"What gave you the idea I'd like your outfit?" he asked, setting his book aside and putting out his cigarette, leaving the end in the ashtray.

Your cheeks turned red, and you averted your gaze back to the floor. "D-Daphne Greengrass and the other girls," you whispered shyly, very, very softly.

"Is that so?" Theo mused, taking in your every expression.

Slowly, you nodded.

"What else did you hear Daphne Greengrass and the other girls say?" he mocked.

You couldn't catch the irony in his tone until it was too late. Somehow, the answer slipped out before you could catch it. "Th-that you like it when girls sit in your lap," you mumbled, your voice sounding troubled, still very hurt by his words.

He really was mean.

You wanted to go back to your room and never see him again.

"Hm," said Theo thoughtfully, before he slid his tie off his shoulders, crumpled it into a tiny ball and flung it across the room, where it landed directly onto his bed.

"And? Aren't you going to follow their advice?" he asked, inching his legs slightly further apart.

Your eyes slowly slid up to meet his, utterly shocked he would even suggest it when he didn't like you that way.

Tears clung to your eyelashes, and you stood frozen, right there, unable to move.

A dry chuckle rumbled through him, and you hated the way it sent shivers down your spine. "Aren't you? Go on, I'm waiting..."

You blinked, a small whimper leaving you as you took a small step back, ready to go back to your room, but when he patted his lap, as his eyes bored into yours, challenging you, you realized he was being serious about this.

You wanted to leave, but part of you wanted to stay. Your eyes fell down to look at his lap.

This might be your first and last chance to sit on his lap, and before you knew it, you gently perched your bottom on his knee, avoiding his gaze, hands in your lap.

The moment you made contact with him, you felt his breath hitch the slightest bit, but otherwise, he remained composed.

"Like this," he ordered, both hands grabbing your waist and pulling you harshly towards himself, until both your legs were on either side of him and you were straddling his lap.

Fire danced on your skin, especially with the frigid metal rings he wore burning into your skin.

You let out a soft, yet audible gasp and your breath hitched.

Having no clue what to do, or what to say, you shied away from meeting his gaze, nervously chewing on your lower lip, unaware that Theo's eyes were burning into you.

"Good girl..." his praise rumbled in his throat, and once again, those butterflies returned in your abdomen.

His praise sent shivers down your spine, and slowly, tentatively, your eyes slid upwards to catch his gaze.

"Such an obedient whore," he murmured in a low tone, and once again, tears began pricking your eyes. No one had ever spoken to you this way, no one ever dared to.

"I'm... I'm not a whore," you whimpered, your teeth sinking harder into your lower lip.

"Well, you're dressed like a whore," Theo replied, faux pity lacing his tone. "Aren't you?"

You blinked, trying not to cry, but the tears only clung to your lashes and threatened to trail down your cheeks any moment.

"Answer me," he demanded, hands pressing your waist harder, cold rings searing your skin.

"Y-yes," you whispered, your teeth attacking your lower lip once more.

"So since you're dressed like a fucking whore, I'm gonna treat you like it... la mia puttana," he purred, lightly swatting your thigh.

That was all it took for you to break.

"Y-you're being mean," you whimpered, a single tear sliding down your cheek, tears swimming in your pretty gray eyes.

"Aww, poor baby," Theo scoffed. "Never had anyone talk to you like this? Never been treated like a whore before?"

He was breaking you, and he was succeeding. You had always gotten what you wanted, since birth. All you had to do was smile and flutter your eyelashes, maybe pout and fake a few tears...

Theo treated you differently. He didn't treat you like royalty, like you were used to... He treated you like... like a whore, and he seemed totally unaffected by your tears, which were real.

"I.. hate you," you cried, your voice breaking. "I.. I put in all this effort, trying to get you to notice me, and you..."

You broke off, choking a sob, pushing his chest in an attempt to get off his lap, but he only gripped your waist harder, setting you down on his lap and preventing you from moving.

"Sit fucking down," he growled, and you couldn't help but obey. "You're not leaving until I say you are, are we clear, amore?"

You nodded, another small sob leaving you as you gulped.

"I need words," Theo demanded.

"Yes," you whispered, sniffling, refusing to look at him, stubbornly glaring at your lap with your lip stuck between your teeth.

"Good girl," he praised, before his gaze softened slightly, realizing that you had probably learned your lesson. His demeanor shifted, becoming less harsh as he gently lifted his hand to your face, gently caressing your jaw.

Surprised as you were by his tender touch, you still refused to look at him. His thumb gently brushed your tears away, from both eyes.

"Look at me," he requested softly, tone low and very, very gentle.

You slowly lifted your gaze up, as if you expected him his sudden gentleness to be a trick your mind was playing on you. Your eyesight was slightly blurred by the tears you had shed, but as you looked at his face, you could see the softened look in his eyes.

"Shh, don't cry now, Principessa," he murmured softly, thumb gently caressing your cheek bone as he looked into your big, vulnerable gray eyes, full of innocence.

"Pretty girl," he murmured, thumb tracing soothing patters on your cheek.

Your stomach flipped at the praise. You couldn't believe your ears— Did he just call you pretty after calling you a whore??

"You're such a pretty girl, so fucking gorgeous," he continued. "You don't need to wear such revealing clothes, show off your body to look pretty..."

You were silent, yet your sniffles subsided. You were now staring at Theo with rapt attention, his praises slowly bringing back your confidence.

"Those other girls..." he murmured softly. "They're not as beautiful as you, that's why they need to show off their bodies... That's why they dress like whores..."

His voice was soft, delicate around you. "But you..." He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "You're not a whore, you're a fucking princess..."

One of his hands rested on your cheek, the other at his side, on the seat of the couch, next to his pocket. "Why would you listen to the other girls, hm? Why would you want to be like the other girls?"

"I..." you began, finding your voice. "B-because you like them," you whispered. "You notice them.. I thought.. I thought maybe if I become like them, you'd like me too.. You'd notice me too..."

You couldn't hide the pain in your voice, the longing in your tone. And somehow, as the words slipped out, you realized you had practically confessed your obvious feelings for Theo, the feelings you tried so hard to hide.

Once again, you bit your lip, an irksome habit that you'd had since you were young.

Slowly, Theo's thumb gently trailed down your cheek and landed on your lower lip, and he softly tugged it free, away from the grasp of your teeth. His touch was cold against the warmth of your lip, and his thumb lingered there for a while, as if he did not want to pull it away. "I've always noticed you," he confessed, his voice a low mutter.

Your breath hitched, and he chuckled slightly, gently running his thumb across your lower lip.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your cheeks turned slightly pink at how good Theo's touch felt, even though it was just a little bit.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured softly, and you nodded singly, just once.

"Use your words, Baby," Theo cooed.

"Theo," you whispered, accidentally blurting out his name.

Once again, he slowly moved his hand back to your bare waist, rings pressed into your skin, and his thumb resting just at the hem of your bralette top, underneath your ribs.

His other hand remained on your cheek as his thumb continued caressing your lower lip, coaxing your mouth to open slightly, before he slipped his thumb through your parted lips.

A small whimper left your lips, and you opened your eyes, your gaze locked on his.

Slowly, without even realizing it, your tongue accidentally brushed against the pad of his thumb, and Theo bit back a low groan as he pushed the entirety of his thumb into your mouth.

Your heart was beating thunderously in your chest, and you had no idea what Theo was doing, but whatever it was, you liked it. You didn't want it to stop... You had his attention, and you wanted it on you forever.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you enjoyed the way his thumb fit perfectly in your mouth, until you got carried away, tongue tracing the length of his digit.

Theo suddenly lost it. All his control snapped as a growl escaped him. "Does my dumb little whore want her mouth filled?" he drawled, pulling his thumb away.

Hot. You felt hot with the way he spoke, with the way his words drove you insane. Even though he called you a whore, this time, you liked it. Because he called you his pretty little whore.

A whimper left you when he pulled his thumb away, disappointed at the lack of contact.

A smirk curled across his lips and he let out a small chuckle. "Mm, that's what I thought," he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Before you knew it, he had pushed the tips of two of his fingers into your mouth; his index and middle, fingertips pressing down on the pad of your tongue.

"Let's see how long you can suck on my fingers without gagging, shall we?" he cooed, pushing the rest of his fingers deeper into your mouth, until they were all the way in.

A small groan left you, but it was muffled by his fingers, and slowly, you started sucking on his long digits, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in a rhythm.

Theo pressed harder on your tongue, activating your gag reflex, and he only chuckled when you gagged.

"Just my fingers, I know you can handle it— such a good girl..." he praised, his other hand tightening around your throat, blocking your airway.

You choked, a huge wad of saliva dribbling down your chin, tears filling your eyes because you couldn't breathe.

The thought of his very large, veiny hands manhandling you like this only turned you on, and he had barely even touched you. You could feel yourself grow wetter between your thighs, and the fact that you were on his lap, barely clothed, only caused your heartbeat to quicken.

He only pulled out his fingers when they were covered in your saliva that dribbled down your chin, and gently wiped them on his lap.

Once again, you were disappointed. It was like he was playing with you. One moment he was all over you, the next... he was gone.

"Theo, please," you whispered, your voice hoarse from being choked.

"What?" he asked, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted. He had expressed it very clearly that he wanted you to use your words, and that was only when he would give in to your desires.

"Please kiss me," you breathed shyly.

He did not hesitate. Both hands gripped your face gently as he kissed you.

He started off gentle, his lips gently brushed against yours, just barely. Then, when he felt your hands gently rest against his bare chest, he dove right into your mouth.

His lips collided with yours, his mouth devouring yours like a man starved.

You moaned softly, whispering his name, and that was all it took for Theo's other hand to roughly grasp your waist and slide you forward, pulling you closer, until your hips were flush with his. "Fuck," he gasped. "Such a pretty little moan—"

His teeth harshly grazed your lower lip, and he took advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue into your mouth, engaging with yours in a fierce tango.

Once again, you felt needier and needier between your thighs, and you were filled with a mixture of fear and anticipation of Theo finding out exactly what effect he had on you.

He pulled away, and your mouth opened to protest, but the sound was drowned out when he attached his lips to your neck. He took a little bit of skin between his teeth, biting your flesh and eliciting a gasp from your lips as he sucked a mark there, his tongue running soothingly over the spot.

When he pulled away, a red spot had already began to bloom against your skin.

He didn't stop there.

His lips began trailing lower and lower as he left hickeys everywhere. Every sensual caress of his lips, every nibble of his teeth sent you into overdrive. His spicy, citrusy cologne kidnapped your senses, only heightening your pleasure.

His lips traveled all over your neck, all over your collarbones, trailing down to your chest. He was leaving hickeys all over the exposed swells of your breasts, your nipples hardening underneath the thin fabric to the point where they were reduced to aching pebbles.

"Wanna feel these perfect tits in my mouth," he murmured, his hands on both your boobs as he squeezed the soft flesh— they were the perfect size to fit into his palm.

You couldn't control your hands as they harshly gripped his hair, your thighs tightening around his hips. Involuntarily, your hand dragged his head down, until his lips came into contact with your clothed nipple.

"So fucking perfect..."

His hot mouth closed over the little nub, saliva dampening the white, lacy fabric. His other hand slowly caressed your other breast, squeezing the soft mound, thumb tracing gentle circles around your nipple through the thin cloth.

He sucked on your tit, before he grabbed the clothed nipple between his teeth and tugged, causing you to yelp.

At last, you could hold back no more.

A loud moan escaped your lips, and you cried out sharply, begging for him. "Theo, please," you whined, begging him to touch you where you needed it most. "I need you— please..."

That was all that was needed for him to unlatch his mouth from your clothed nipple with ragged breathing as he brought his hands to your back and shifted your position.

Now, you were lying down on the couch, and he hovered above you, leaning down to gently kiss you again.

"Tell me what you want, amore," he murmured, lips brushing against yours. He wouldn't push you, he wouldn't do anything you weren't ready for.

Your chest heaved, and you looked up at him pleadingly, your nipples aching underneath the damp fabric of your bralette top and your panties soaked.

"I... I want.. I want.." words failed you, so instead, you took a deep breath and swallowed thickly, gently grasping one of his larger hands in yours, and sliding it from your waist, to your thigh, above your skirt. "Anything," you whispered. "Please, please... touch me..."

Slowly, not wanting to rush you, Theo allowed his hands to gently travel down your bare midriff and your thighs, smoothing down the material of your tiny skirt, the hem barely reaching your mid thigh.

"Gods— so fucking sexy..." he murmured, allowing his hand to slowly slip underneath your skirt and caress your upper thigh, his thumb inching closer and closer to your heat, settling in the split between your thighs, right where you needed him most, resting above your clothed cunt.

"Is this okay?" he whispered softly, thumb gently tracing soft circles over your clit, through the thin, lacy fabric. He did not look underneath your skirt— he kept his eyes trailed on your face, on your flushed cheeks and your pretty eyelashes that kissed the chub of your cheeks every time you blinked.

"Yes," you breathed, nodding softly.

On feeling how soaked your panties were, a hitch blistered in his throat. "Poor baby," he cooed. "You must be so needy..."

You whimpered at the sensation his words sent through you, and you found yourself nodding.

"Let me help, yeah?" Theo murmured, his fingers sliding underneath the waistband of your panties, hand somewhere underneath your skirt.

He groaned loudly the moment his fingers came into contact with your wetness, and he couldn't help the curses that tumbled past his lips.

His index finger ran up and down your leaking slit, accompanied by his middle finger, whilst his thumb continued rubbing your clit in circles.

He balanced on his knees as he looked into your eyes, his other hand gently sliding the straps of your bralette down, exposing your breasts to the cool air, and to his gaze.

He was hard. So fucking hard.

No one had ever gotten him this hard before, and the sight of you, spread on the couch underneath him, so willingly almost caused him to cum in his pants.

So many times he had envisioned you like this, unbeknownst to you... So many times he had jerked off in the bathroom, imagining what you looked like underneath your clothes.

But he had to hide his desire for you, his obvious need— he couldn't face the wrath of Draco, let alone Lucius.

You were the best Christmas present. The best sight he had ever seen.

"Shit, shit shit—," he rasped, completely speechless, his fingers still playing with your folds underneath your skirt. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he praised, bringing his mouth to one of your nipples as his fingers teased your hole.

You were a whining, moaning, leaking mess for him. You were so wet, you felt like you would explode any moment, yet you needed him— more, more, more.

He seemed to understand, because the moment he licked a long stripe over your nipple, he gently eased the tip of his middle finger into your hole.

"So tight— so perfect," Theo groaned, as your virgin walls fluttered at the invasion, clamping tightly around his finger. He slowly eased it all in, gently pumping it in and out, his eyes watching your reaction for the first time.

Your chest heaved, and your moans grew more frequent at the blissful sensation of having something fill you.

You were content, until Theo eased another finger inside you, pumping both fingers faster into your hole, stretching it. Your eyes widened, and you gripped his hair, tugging on his roots harshly, eliciting a string of muttered curse-words.

"Fuck, fuck— Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo—"

You never realized you could feel this good, and Theo only heightened your pleasure when his two, long fingers curled up inside you, pressing against that fleshy spot.

"Such a tight little cunt," he grunted, words slightly muffled as his teeth attacked your nipple, with roughness that bordered on assault.

You could feel the knot form in your lower abdomen. You spread your legs slightly more as your climax approached, and you made it awfully clear that you were close as your moans grew louder.

"Oh my God—" you gasped. "Theo— ah— please, more... I'm... I feel.."

Theo quickened his pace, his fingers pounding into you as he watched your eyes roll back, your chest heave, your boobs bounce slightly with the way you moved your hips to seek more friction to get you to your climax.

The sound of him sliding his ringed fingers in and out of you was drowned out by your ecstatic moans, as Theo pumped his fingers faster and faster, thumb pressing against your clit. His biceps flexed, the veins popping out as he fingered you, curling and scissoring his fingers to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

His rings were cold against your heat, serving to bring you to your climax faster as they added friction when his fingers pistoned in and out of you.

"You're gonna cum for me—" he promised, hand pinching your nipple harshly, whilst he tugged the other one between his lips, your hips bucking into his fingers.

Her hands were clenched, fingernails digging into her palms as you cried out his name like a prayer. "Theo— ah— fuck... I'm so close... argh—"

That's it, cum for me, lia mia piccola puttana... Cum all over my fingers like a good little slut," he muttered. "Make a mess on my hand..."

With a deliberate force of his hand, he drove his fingers upwards one more time, thumb pressing roughly on your clit to draw out your climax.

With a shudder, and an arch of your back, your walls clenched around his fingers, you finally orgasmed, your body spasming and contorting in pleasure, and there was nothing else on your mind but him.

"That's it, my pretty girl, moan for me," he praised. "You sound so fucking pretty when you moan for me like that..."

Your juices soaked his hand, trailing down his fingers and curling around his wrist, and it was only when your orgasm ended that he stopped thrusting his fingers.

He slowly eased them out of you, blindly sliding your panties back into place with his other hand under your skirt, bringing his long fingers up to his mouth to taste your essence, groaning at how fucking delicious you tasted.

"So fucking sweet," he murmured, licking his fingers completely clean. His dick was hard under his pants, straining against his zipper, but he did not let the attention waver off you.

You watched him, eyes transfixed on his as he slowly slid your bralette back into place, covering your boobs.

"Merry Christmas, Principessa," he whispered softly, gently kissing you.

A smile formed on your lips as you stared up at him, still so shy as you thought about what you had just done. "Merry Christmas, Theo," you whispered back, unable to hide your joy.

You returned to your room a few hours before dawn, before anyone else could catch you. Changing into your pajamas, a constant grin was plastered on your face as you drifted off to sleep.

It lasted for the rest of the Christmas holidays too.

Author's note: there, my first time publishing and writing smut. i hope you guys liked it... please, please reblog/repost (i have no idea how to use tumblr) and let me know if you'd like me to write a part two of this fic.

i know it's super long, but aside from that, i hope it was okay? please let me know your thoughts, comment pleasseeee.

also i take requests, so feel free to send them it!

love, jas.

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reignpage · 1 month ago

Note

how do you think jjk men are with embarrassing moments during sex? like if something embarrassing that happens to either them or their partner, do they play it off, try to inject humor, swear off sex to be a monk?

i read a similar post by an author advocating for well, not just more realistic depictions of sex in fics, but to include some of the awkwardness present in them too?? their post included geto’s hair getting stuck in butt cracks, Toji pulling a muscle, Nanami losing his boner, and Choso full on shitting himself accidentally to help with reader’s embarrassment over queefing 😭😭😭

like yes it’s funny and bonkers but cuz sex isn’t always the passionate sexy fuckfest we see in fics/movies, people don’t always cum at the same time, yes you DO need lube AND prep, foreplay DOES matter, dryness or losing an erection midway no matter how horny you are is common yano?? 😤😤

lowkey wanted to go anon lest you call me perpetually horny 😭 but ignore me if my shit’s getting old

own your shit bae, no pun intended. ur horniness could never get old. I like these questions cause they're like brain teasers. okay okay lemme have a go

Gojo:

says a cringy line

I can totally see him trying something new that he thinks would be super sexy like

"oh yeah? you like that? you're such a dirty whore, aren't you? come on, cum and show me who you're daddy is."

reader will pause and stare at him like, did you hear yourself?

gojo will have a moment of realisation and give himself the ick. even he has limits.

he collapses on top of reader and begs her to forget that, will be a blushing mess.

he'll think about it once in a while and cringe

but in the moment, he'd throw a tantrum if you can't stop laughing and making fun of him.

"it wasn't that bad! you're being mean, seriously. I just got caught up, okay? stop laughinggggg"

gets very pouty, protests, and you have to seduce him back, really compliment the hell out of him

then he'll force you on top and make you take the lead so he doesn't give himself another opportunity to be embarassing

Geto:

trying to switch positions in a tight space and then you accidentally rest your elbow on his long hair and he almost rips outs chunks

probably gets irritated because you've damaged his brilliant hair

takes a breather and then starts back up again

punishes you during sex

will crack a smile if you do

"yeah, alright, laugh it up. but if I develop a bald spot, neither of us will be laughing."

will make sure that never happens again

might even pull your hair during sex to show you how it feels (not too hard obvi)

Choso:

might get too subby lol

like "am I a good boy mommy? am I doing good? I don't want my mommy to be mad at me" and he's in tears

idk how to write mommy kinks lol

and you both have a moment of clarity where it's like, damnnn you okay? didn't know you had trauma like that

he'll get very shy and embarrassed

might even start crying, trying to run away

you'll have to reassure him it's fine and then just go slowly and gently, having more loveydovey sex

late at night, he'll ask you if you really didn't mind because he doesn't want you to be freaked out or think he's not a man

but I imagine it'd become a kink you indulge him once in a while

just gotta teach him it's okay, just don't spring it on someone mid act lol

Toji:

trying a really acrobatic fucking position, whether in the living room or in the shower, gets his footing wrong and slips, smacks his head against the wall, takes you down with him

he knocks himself out

you have to wrangle his 200 pound or something body in to a safe lying position and wait for him to come to

when he does and he remembers what happens

bro is in denial

no he didn't slip

no he didn't overestimate himself

no it didn't hurt

no he's not embarrassed stop asking him

gets very grumpy and will storm off, grumbling under his breath

comes back calmer

neither of you mention it but it hangs in the air as you both prepare dinner together

once sat across each other, you make an eye contact and you burst out laughing

he rolls his eyes but he's got a smile on his lips

"yeah yeah, what fucking ever. you try lifting your heavy ass up whilst you're balls deep"

next time tho, he gets you back by forcing you to endure vanilla sex, going very slow and shallow and overly sweet

makes you beg for him to fuck you normally

he'll consider it

Nanami:

drunk sex, becomes wayyyy too emotional

"sweetheart, you're the most beautiful thing in the entire world, I love you so much do you know that? I honestly -hiccup!- c-can't live without you, oh goodness, please don't make me live without you!"

he's still inside, he's not even thrusting anymore, he's just crying into your neck like a baby

you're brushing his hair, shushing him, orgasms forgotten

might vomit on you a little

wakes up with a killer hangover and a night full of memories he wishes he could erase

"oh god, honey. I'm so terribly sorry. I can't believe I did something so ridiculous. no I know loving you openly isn't ridiculous, but I wouldn't be wrong to say crying, leaving you unsatisfied, forcing you to care for a man child, and cherry on top, vomitting on you is just a little ridiculous."

has to go make it up to himself for being a terrible husband

will spoil you for the rest of the week

or anytime he remembers

might actually drink less because of it lol

Sukuna:

he'd kill you if he did something embarrassing

pray he never does

#reignpageasks

624 notes · View notes

hannieween · 10 days ago

Text

caught up in you | joshua hong

It all started with a little, harmless lie. After telling your mother that you would bring your boyfriend to her obnoxiously high-society birthday party, you had to improvise. With no actual options to ask, you turned to your dear friend, Joshua Hong. Caught up in this lie, you could only hope that real feelings wouldn’t start to bloom… right?

› pairings: joshua hong x female reader › aus: fake dating to ?, friends with benefits, best friend joshua, obnoxiously rich reader, friends to fucking, surfer joshua › genres: fluff, angst, smut (18+) › word count: 13.1k

⌈THIS FIC IS PART OF THE LONELY HEARTS CAFE COLLAB⌋

🎧: spotify playlist

› warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (f. receiver), making out, a bit of nipple play, hard to soft sex, spanking, cream pie, slight breeding kink. pet names: baby, sweetheart (hers) joshie, shua, josh (his)

› read more

› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

› author's note: here goes another reader self-insert for ya 🙂

› warning: this is not proofread.

CAUGHT UP IN YOU

prologue

The atmosphere felt dense with warmth and humidity. It didn’t help that the space was clouded by a giant cloud of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, so thick that the fans on the ceiling didn’t break through.

You sat on a round table surrounded by women that surpassed you in age. All friends to your mother, who sat directly across from you, shuffling a thick deck of cards. She did this expertly, her fingers holding the deck steady as the cards fell one on top of the other. Your mother was listening to one of her friends intently, squinting every time the older lady blew a big puff of smoke, almost directly to your mother’s face.

The urge to resist a laugh was nearly impossible, you had to mask it with an awkward cough. Your mother didn’t smoke, and didn’t tolerate anyone blowing smoke to her face. But in occasions such as this, the prohibition seemed to slip her very restrictive mind.

It was a Sunday evening. And on Sundays, your mother liked to spend time with her closest friends, sometimes at your childhood home, other times at one of her friends’ houses. But today, she made the invitation to everyone to spend it at the clubhouse. Her favorite place in the world since you can remember.

The place was plagued with memories from your childhood. You practically took your very first steps here when you were a baby. All the important stages of your life occurred there: learning to ride a bike, swimming, your first kiss, your first heartbreak—you could go on and on. You knew a lot of people; in fact, all of the ladies sharing the table had known you since you were a toddler.

And with that, they have seen you grow up through all of those stages of life.

With the subtlety of a cat, your mother’s eyes panned from the lady’s face and directly to yours. It was a quick glance, something that could’ve been missed in the blink of an unknowing eye. But to you, that glance carried a meaning. In a split second, the moment changed, leaving you hanging, looking for answers.

You looked to the lady talking to your mother, tuning your ear as she paused to take another long drag from her cigarette. Then, as their conversation carried on, between pauses to exhale the smoke, the puffy cloud dodged now by your mother, you understood the intention behind that glance.

“All I’m saying is that youth only lasts so much,” your mother’s friend, which you knew by Ms. Park. “One day you’re carrying them in your arms, and the other they’re getting married. It’s such an experience.”

You didn’t mean to stare, but it was hard to follow the conversation from the other side of the table.

“When I was my daughter’s age, I already had two kids,” Ms. Park said, delivering the sentence as though it were a complaint. “Now kids these days, they won’t get married; they don’t wanna have kids. It’s just a pity.”

“You do what you can to raise them right,” your mother replied, a smile forcing through the rigid features of her face. And then she looked at you again.

Your mother shuffled the deck into a pile, carefully placed in front of her. She separated the stack in two and began dealing hands of five to everyone, including you. Suddenly, the table turned into a nest of bubbling mutters, gossip, and roaring laughter from the women around you.

You looked at your hand, finding out quickly that yet again you had no luck in this game, just like the last. But it didn’t matter. You rarely lucked out.

It was around five in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set. The sky was pretty with light blue and pinkish hues, clouds crossing the air, painting white lines across in different directions. Looking out the large windows of the room, a lake stretched out to your view, where people were still partying out the last hours of the weekend.

You held your hand of cards close to your chest, eyeing the table as the women around you laid out their cards by turns, and you waited for yours. The only reason you were there was to appease your mother since it was almost her birthday.

The whirring of a ski boat directed your attention to the outside once again. The boat was cutting through the water, dragging a skier, leaving behind waves splashing against the hull. You only recognized the daredevil skier by the voice that echoed with a long, thrilling cry. The skier, of course, was your best friend Joshua Hong.

A sigh tore from your chest before your mom called your name, her sharp voice snapping you out of it. Her gaze was darkened, the frown from your unfortunate aloofness making her forehead crease. “It’s your turn.”

You showed your game, which was not the weakest among the players on the table, but it was still weak. The game carried on, unaffected by your moves, so you continued to watch the sun setting, painting the sky in darker colors until they blended into complete darkness.

“Darling,” your mother called you as you picked up your sweater and your bag from the chair.

“Yes, mom?” You replied curtly, back tensing as you turned around to see your mother.

Your mother approached, settling a fur coat with gold ring-adorned fingers over her shoulders. “You know I’m making preparations for my birthday dinner, and Elise asked me if her daughter could bring her date and...” she paused, swallowing saliva primly as she averted her gaze to the docks outside. “When are you bringing your boyfriend to introduce me to him?”

You nearly choked on your spit. Mind reeling, it was time to fabricate a plan on the spot. Now, the boyfriend your mother might’ve been referring to was one you dated to commit ages ago. And it might’ve slipped your brain to tell her that the situationship never left its talking stages.

You could already hear the judgment that the words “I don’t have a boyfriend” would bring. The infamy that preceded you, eternally celibate, choked you beyond the power of comprehension. So, like the graceful daughter you were, you lied.

“Well, I was planning on bringing him to the party, of course,” you spat out, your tone high in the adrenaline of lying to your mother with such ease.

Your mother smiled, sighing out contently before replying. “Well, I’m looking forward to that.”

part one, fri(end)s

The sun blazed at the highest point of the sky, reflecting on the ocean. Joshua sat on his surfboard, letting the ebb and flow of the waves softly push him about. It was a quiet day; his friends had abandoned him for a morning of practice, being so that they spent the night prior at a party.

Joshua didn’t mind, he relished in the peaceful quiet that the ocean granted him; it’s vast blue extended before him and blended into the clear sky. He had paddled past the waves, chasing those that seemed exciting, but after a while, he decided to sit still, taking a moment to reflect.

He looked back to the shore, spotting something that wasn’t there when he arrived hours ago. A smile tugged at his lips, deciding at once to paddle back to shore, calling it a day.

You were lying on a towel, a book spread open and resting on your face; its paste was so mangled and worn that it showed how many times you had read the same book. Next to you was Yoon Jeonghan, who, unlike you, was sitting in the shade provided by a beach umbrella. He wore dark sunglasses and a white t-shirt, paired with pink swimsuit shorts.

You, on the other hand, were a sight to behold. Lying on the towel, with one leg crossed over the other, wearing a white bikini that made every curve of your beautiful body so seductive that everyone who passed by had to look at you at least once.

Jeonghan mumbled something under his breath, pretending to scratch the tip of his nose with one hand, and then, to top it off, he cleared his throat loudly.

“Hey guys,” Joshua sighed, brazenly lifting his surfboard to plunge it on the white sand, spraying drops of water all over your feet.

“Hey,” Jeonghan croaked nonchalant.

“Hey!” you complained, skin prickling at the feeling of the cold water on your feet. “Asshole,” you muttered, propping your body on one elbow and lifting the book from your face.

Joshua giggled sweetly, looking at the change in your expression, from genuinely annoyed to surprised, mouth gaping at him. “Sorry,” he said, leaning his head back to tussle his wet hair.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to–,” you sent a meaningful glare at Jeonghan, who just shrugged.

“I tried telling you,” Jeonghan said through his teeth.

It was then when it dawned on Joshua. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, panning from your face to Jeonghan’s, searching for indications that he might’ve stepped in while you were having a private conversation with Jeonghan.

“Ah, no, Josh. I thought you were still in the water,” you stammered, squinting as you looked up at him. Then you gave him a sweet smile.

“Of course not!” Jeonghan said, his high-tone pitch cutting through your act like it was nothing.

“I could leave,” Joshua offered simply.

You rolled your eyes. “Jeonghan shut up from now on,” you deadpanned.

Jeonghan made a face, like a kid who just broke a very expensive set of plates, with a downturned smile and eyebrows lifting on his face. “Got it,” he mumbled.

“No, Josh, you don’t have to leave,” you replied to him. “I was just telling Jeonghan what happened yesterday.”

Joshua narrowed his eyes slightly, catching Jeonghan’s suspicious expression before sitting down on the sand next to you, his body dripping water from head to toe. This was his life—mornings spent by the ocean, with sand between his toes. And his two best friends in the world, always bantering between each other.

“Ah, it was your mom’s thing, right,” he remembered, casting a look at you briefly, only to turn back to see the ocean. “How was it?”

Joshua pretended for a moment that he didn’t get Mingyu to invite him over at the very exclusive clubhouse yesterday just so he could do some water skiing, knowing full well that he could’ve just asked you instead.

You sat up on the towel with a tired sigh. “It was alright,” you said breezily, waving a hand.

“Pffft,” Jeonghan giggled, pretending to be looking at his phone. He lifted his eyes, finding you glaring at him once again. “What?” he mumbled, feigning ignorance.

You sighed out your annoyance, blinking it away as you found Joshua’s face. Droplets of water adorned his sun-kissed cheeks, his big brown eyes studying the weird atmosphere between Jeonghan, and you finally stopped at your face. “My mother’s having a party,” you grumbled.

Joshua frowned; his eyebrows had tiny specks of sand in them. “Uh… I know, she always does,” he replied, smiling as he waited for you to elaborate.

“So, um, she asked me if I’m bringing my boyfriend to her party since I haven’t introduced him to her,” you said, avoiding his gaze. You bit your bottom lip.

The frown on Joshua’s face deepened. “Boyfriend?”

Jeonghan stifled a giggle, which you tried your best to ignore, but all you wanted was to throw him the book you were holding. Instead, you copied Joshua’s pose, resting your elbows on top of your knees. “My mom thinks I’m still dating Seungcheol,” you mumbled.

“Seungcheol?!” Joshua spat, his tone rising. “That fucking prick?”

“Joshua!” you reproached. “He’s not a prick!”

There was a brief pause that Joshua left for you to keep talking because you licked your lips and drew in a breath, as though about to speak again, but when you didn’t say anything, he decided to ask. “Didn’t you stop dating Seungcheol like… months ago?”

Now it was Joshua’s turn to receive one of your glares. They failed to be severe; every time you did that, it reminded him of when you were a little girl, reproaching him and Jeonghan for whatever mischief they were up to at the moment.

“That was a year ago, Shua.”

“Mmmph,” that was all Joshua could muster.

A year ago, Joshua’s life looked very different. His destiny painted a married life, committed to his partner of years, April. A relationship that sucked everything and everyone out of his life, leaving him virtually stranded and directionless when suddenly it all came to an end. As a consequence, he missed out on a lot of things his friends did without him.

“So what, your mom thinks you’re still dating him? Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell her otherwise,” you scrunched your nose in utter shame.

“Why?” Joshua asked.

“Because I couldn’t,” you admitted, a defeated air about you as you dropped your gaze, burying your toes in the sand. “I’m tired of always having the talk, so I lied.”

The infamous talk. It usually began with a “honey, you should start reflecting about what you want in life.”

“Did you tell her you’re bringing Seungcheol to the party?” Joshua prodded, his heart skipping a beat when he thought that you might’ve dug yourself in a hole.

“No, I mean, yes, I mean–,” you cut yourself off. “My mother doesn’t know who I’m bringing to the party. She just knows I’m bringing my boyfriend.”

“But you don’t have a boyfriend,” Joshua muttered dumbly, noticing that the reason why he felt suffocated was because he feared what your answer might be.

A grin broke into Jeonghan’s facial features, an expression that Joshua knew all too well: it announced a plan that may or may not fall into mischief. This was Jeonghan’s modus operandi: start a fire, fan the flames, and then watch it burn from afar.

“If only there was some guy that could pretend being a perfect boyfriend for over a weekend,” Jeonghan wondered, his tone rising in a dramatic one.

You frowned, sending a curious look at Jeonghan. “Right,” you blinked, your mouth parting in awe. “Oh, you’re right!” You gasped, turning to look at Joshua.

“I always am,” Jeonghan said between his teeth.

“Shua, you’re a guy!” you said excitedly, bumping his shoulder with yours to drag his curious eyes back to you.

“That is an obvious observation,” Joshua replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Where are you going with this?”

“Would you pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend?” You asked, eyes shining at the prospect of finding a clever solution to this.

“Pretend to be your boyfriend?” Joshua parroted, blinking confusedly over the worst idea pitch he’s ever heard.

Joshua could see in your face how the crazy idea unfolded in your head. “Yeah, it’s crazy,” you shook your head lightly, giving him a look. “Forget it. I’ll probably just tell my mom that the thing with Seungcheol ended a year ago,” you sighed heavily, a sad smile painting the features of your face. “All this time she’s thought that I was dating someone; come to find out that her daughter is just as celibate as ever.”

Joshua considered your words, hearing the self-pity in them. For all the years he’s known you, he’s seen the pressure your parents exert on you, the sky-high expectations they set, and he’s also seen you reach every one of them. But ever since it struck your mother that you had reached an age where other things were expected of you, she hasn’t stopped nagging you. It always left you unhappy with yourself.

“I’ll do it,” Joshua said, his soft tone making you raise your eyes to find him. “I’ll go with you to the party,” he reassured, giving you a light smile.

“Really?” you asked, your tone rising in surprise. Your skin was glimmering under the sunlight, just like the smile that painted your face when he nodded.

“Sure, I mean,” Joshua sighed, casting a look at Jeonghan’s mischievous face. “What could harm could it do? I’d just have to stand there and make you look good, right? Plus, I get to help a friend.”

“Great!” you gasped delightfully, smiling through the gentle breeze that ruffled your hair all around you. “It’s a deal then,” you stood up grabbing your pretty beach dress. “I have to go, but I’ll text you the details about attire and everything.”

“The what?” Joshua blinked at you, feeling a little dazed from the thrill of a new experience.

You threw your pretty dress over your head, letting it fall down to your knees. “Yeah, mom is having a big party this time. She wants everything perfect and… well you know her,” you looked content as you sighed again, grabbing your sandals, shaking the sand in them. “Gotta go. See you, boys.”

Joshua watched you go, the gentle sway of your body as you went about through the sand. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“You said it,” Jeonghan replied. He had lowered his shades to see you walk away, so he was pushing them back on the bridge of his nose when Joshua looked at him. “You just have to look pretty, smile, and pretend to be the perfect boyfriend. Easy.”

“I didn’t say that,” Joshua replied, his tone flat, but a smile came to his lips.

“Yeah but it’s what you meant,” Jeonghan shifted on the lounge chair, stretching his legs with a tired groan. “She gets what she wants, and who knows, you’ll probably get something out of it too.”

Joshua stifled a laugh. “Like what?”

Jeonghan removed his shades, carefully folding them on his lap. “Like letting your ex know that you’ve moved on,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It is the perfect night for it, you know. A couple of pictures posted on social media, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

Joshua made a face, as though he had tasted something bitter. “I don’t want that,” he said, though his tone betrayed him, sounding insecure of his words. “I just want to help a friend, that’s all.”

“Yeah, yeah. The benevolent Joshua Hong at the rescue,” Jeonghan chanted, waving a hand dismissively. “You need a little revenge, my friend.”

Joshua scoffed at his best friend, dismissing the idea entirely. “I don’t want revenge,” he muttered, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop thinking about it.

It was as though Jeonghan had sparked the idea in his mind, and was waiting for the fuel. “Oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that parading around with her—” he motioned a finger to the distance, referring to you. “—for the world to see is not a little bit of a power play?”

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but the words rang hollow even to himself.

Deep down, he couldn’t help but imagine what his ex would think if she saw that Joshua was moving on. And not only that, but moving on with you. He wondered what she’d feel after cheating on him, only to see him some six months later, standing next to you so unbothered.

Joshua shook his head, shaken by the prospect of doing something so vile. “I’ve moved forward. And I don’t need to prove it to anyone,” he licked his lips, lowering his gaze to the sand covering his feet. “Not even April.”

Jeonghan chuckled, seeing that he’d clearly gotten into Joshua’s mind. “Yeah, yeah. You keep telling yourself that, Shua.”

part two, fake it

“Are you sure about this?” Joshua asked, looking around the sleek, colorful, and stupidly expensive clothing shop. The kind of place people like you and him would find themselves shopping for clothes, though it didn’t happen as regularly for him as it did for you, or so he thought.

“Come on, it’s a cute idea,” you said, holding a matching pair of outfits for you and him to wear for your mother’s party.

The speakers played pop music, filling the air along with the low hum of conversations all around. Joshua had been following you through its mazes of clothes of all types for what felt like hours. He saw you sift through rows of beautiful dresses, skirts, and blouses, but never quite finding something that sated your eye.

Until you held up two matching outfits. One for you, one for him.

“You think it’s too much,” you said, lowering the pair of matching outfits with a deflated look in your eye.

“No, no I think it’s…” he started, knowing that look; the big eyes, the protruding lower lip that was beginning to transform into a pout. “I’ve never done something like this. Let’s do it.”

Joshua had agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend, and now he was standing there, trying to relax and appear effortless in front of you, as though starting to psych himself up for the big night, which was tomorrow.

“Good,” you said, biting your lower lip as you gave him a long look. “You know I wouldn’t want you to do something you don’t want to, right?”

Joshua blinked, a thought flashing in his mind. “Why do you say that?” he inquired, pronouncing each word slowly. “I told you I’d do it. I want to do it.”

You sighed tiredly. “Because this is crazy and you agreeing to it so easily makes me think that something bad is going to come out of it, you know?” you said, your words ringing with a mixture of desperation and shame.

Joshua laughed upon hearing your whines. “Relax,” he tilted his head to one side, grabbing the pair of outfits you’d picked. “Nothing bad is going to happen,” he gave you one look, studying you. “What could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled as he motioned for the dressing rooms. “I guess that this feels like it’s too good to be true, you know?”

Joshua snorted, his nose wrinkling as he smiled at you. “Dating me too good to be true, is that what you’re saying? Got it.”

“Shut up. And it’s the other way around, silly,” you sighed, a shy smile tugging at your lips. That was the girl Joshua’s always known. Shy, but never afraid to engage in something mischievous, like your brilliant plan of pretending to be a couple just to get your mother out of your hair.

“Yeah, because you’re a serial dater, right,” Joshua nodded at you, giggling softly when you bumped shoulders with him, affecting more your stability than his.

You stumbled slightly but stopped when you were at the entrance to the dressing room, holding a nice dress in your hand. “Stay here; I want your opinion on this,” you said, raising the hook, and signalling the dress before turning away from him.

“Okay,” Joshua said, leaning against the wall and pulling out his phone.

Some minutes later, you came out of the dressing room, wearing a pretty deep blue dress that accentuated your waist beautifully. You smoothed the silk over your tummy, checking yourself out on the large mirror before turning to him. “Well?” you asked, a flat expression on your face, one that covered a slight twinge of nervousness.

Joshua eyed his phone screen, trying his best to ignore that he got a glimpse of your exposed back when you turned away from the mirror. “You look alright,” he said, clearing out his hook loudly. He pocketed his phone and swallowed back a sigh. “You look—,”

“Alright?” you scoffed, turning to the mirror again. “I look amazing.”

Joshua smiled at you, sighing in the process because you had turned your back on him. He saw the way the dress hugged your waist, the way your back looked. “You look passable. You don’t look like a gremlin in her cage anymore,” he shrugged, trying not to laugh at the dignified expression on your face.

“Please, you’re lucky to have me as a girlfriend,” you deadpanned, twirling once more in front of the mirror.

Joshua just laughed, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling flickering in his chest when you caught the way was watching you through the mirror.

You would’ve said something, mock him about it. If only weren’t for the feeling flickering inside your chest. As well.

It was nothing, you tried convincing yourself. Push it down; you commanded yourself and ignored it.

For now.

The ride over the villa was quiet. It screamed something was brewing in here, and Joshua was not sure whether he should feel danger or not.

He’d offered himself to pick you up and drive to the villa that your mother rented for the weekend. Joshua thought that the idea of a cliffside villa was extravagant, and you seemed to think the same way too, by saying that it was exclusive and would have nowhere to run if you and him needed to—just in case everything went to complete hell.

You were only meant to spend the night of the party there. So you just packed a bag with everything essential, makeup remover, toothbrush, mouthwash, pjs, underwear and a change of clothing.

Joshua looked too calm and collected for your liking, because you were totally the opposite. He wore a pair of dark pants, and a black t-shirt that he meant to change into a dress shirt once he got to the destination. His slick brown hair was styled carefully, a single strand of hair hanging on the middle of his forehead perfectly.

You let out a loud sigh. “It’s not too late to turn the car around,” you muttered sullenly. “I could tell my boyfriend got into a car accident, or was abducted by aliens… or eaten by a troll.”

“Aliens don’t exist,” Joshua giggled merrily, glancing at your face while keeping the wheel steady with one hand.

“So you’re saying trolls do?” you retorted, smirking smugly at him.

“Yeah, I’m looking at one,” he pointed, laughing harder when you slapped his shoulder.

“Clown,” you muttered under your breath.

“You love me,” he said, flashing you what you called his shit eating grin.

“I tolerate you,” you pointed, crossing your arms over your chest.

Joshua shook his head, pointing a finger at you. “No, no, you adore me,” he said playfully, shrugging with an effortless air around him. “Admit it. You’d be lost without me in this mischievous little plan of yours. Just admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching to grab your tumbler that you had forgotten in the cup holder.

Joshua watched you sip from your green tea, which had gone cold, looking out the window as the car continued its smooth ascent up the road. Joshua’s phone, which was mounted on the dashboard of his BMW, estimated thirty minutes to arrive at the cliffside. “Hey,” Joshua called, dropping his foolish act at once. He used a hand to nudge at your knee, demanding your attention to him.

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to look at him. Your tone indicated that you hadn’t taken any offence from the playful banter, since this was the way you and him always behaved, since childhood.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone soft in a way that made your insides melt at once.

Your expression softened. “Yeah, I’m—,” you swallowed hard, the tension in your stomach wasn’t easing. The thought of stepping into your mom’s party was making you feel on edge, you could already imagine it, the scrutinizing stares, the subtle judgement, the backhanded comments. The endless reminders that you weren’t living up to the family name, to what your mother had already accomplished when she was your age.

“I just hate that I’m never going to be good enough for her, you know,” you sighed, dropping your gaze to your hands holding your tumbler. “And now I’ll have to perform in front of everyone to be perfect.”

Even if when you accomplished some things for yourself, it was never because of your own effort. Your success only happened because she aided it. That’s how your mom saw it, that’s how everyone at her party saw it too.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing that I’m here to make it all worse,” he grinned, trying to get that spark in your eyes again.

You resisted the urge of shoving his arm. “Shut up, Shua.”

He giggled softly, but then something about the gloomy look on your face pushed him to be serious. “Seriously. I get it,” he shrugged. Deep down, he felt what you were going through. Not living to everyone’s expectations was hard.

A long time ago, Joshua was decided to follow down a path that looked so different to where he was now. He was supposed to propose to April. Live a happy married life with her, until everything blew to ash, showing him what the reality was. No romance can truly blossom when both hearts have grown indifferent to it, no matter how hard you try.

Maybe that was why this whole plan of yours felt easier than it should have.

“So…” he crooned. “Are we talking about ground rules or are we just winging this?” he asked when the estimated time of arrival marked fifteen minutes.

“Ground rules,” you decided, nodding your head primly.

He smirked. “Good,” he said. “I don’t want you falling in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard he almost saw them turn into white completely. “Right,” you huffed. “Because you’re the hottest one of us in this relationship.”

“Finally, a little bit of honesty,” he sighed, grinning widely.

You stared at him. “Rule number one, no touching.”

Joshua snorted. “Don’t you think that will decrease the chances of your mother believing this?”

“Right,” you sighed. “Hand holding is okay, I guess. You could put a hand on my waist, if we’re having trouble selling it.”

Joshua eyed you, trying to focus on the road ahead but the thought of putting a hand on your waist after seeing what you’ll wear on the party made him slightly dizzy. “Got it,” he muttered. “Pet names?”

“Uh, I’d rather vomit in my own mouth, thank you,” you scoffed, using a hand to toss your hair away from your shoulder. You looked at him through the corner of your eye. “No kissing either.”

“What, are you afraid you’ll fall in love with me or…” he joked, the smirk on his face deepening.

“Wipe that fucking smirk of your face, Hong,” you deadpanned. “And no, I’m more afraid I’ll be scarred for life.”

Joshua laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Okaaaay,” he rolled his eyes. “No kissing, no pet names. Anything else?”

You took a moment to think, racking your brain to remember what it felt like when you dated Seungcheol. You hated that he called you doll, or that he wanted to kiss you all the time and in front of everyone. And above all, you hated that after the thing crashed and burned, he was weird with his friends about it.

“Don’t be weird after this, please,” you said, your tone flat and your face serious. “This ends when the party does, alright?”

“Alright,” Joshua agreed effortlessly.

But you kept going. “I don’t want to find out that you’re telling other people about it in a weird way like that loser—,”

“I get it!” Joshua interrupted, laughing at the maniacal way you were talking. “No being weird about it.”

“Good,” you nodded, satisfied.

“That goes both ways, then,” he said.

“Obviously.”

Joshua tapped his thumbs on the wheel, his mind spinning with all the information he just got from you. No kissing, no touching, no being weird, he kept repeating to himself. “One more thing,” he started, trying to stay focused on the road. “What if a guy tries to hit on you in the party?”

“What do you mean?” you asked slowly, trying to decipher where he was going with it.

“Should I just stand back and let it happen? Or should I cut in and punch him?”

Your eyes widened at the thought of Joshua punching someone. “This isn’t some bar where you can start a brawl in!” You chastised, tone rising in exasperation.

“I’m only theorizing!” Joshua giggled. “What, would a perfect boyfriend just stand back and watch it happen?”

“No!” you replied with an obvious tone. “But do not start a fight at my mom’s party!”

“Then what should I do in that case?” Joshua retorted, already knowing his question was stupid.

“It’s fine if you act possessive, but no punches, okay?” you said.

Joshua shook his head again. “You’re unbelievable, woman,” he muttered.

“Joshua.”

He grinned. “Okay, okay,” he giggled in clear surrender.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw you sigh, a smile painting the pretty features of your face.

The villa your mother rented offered you a room with two large beds that connected through a large bathroom. The rooms were large, both had a balcony overlooking the cliff, the ocean stretching out to your view.

You were standing in front of a mirror, looking at yourself for the umpteenth time, it felt like. You wanted to look good, but not spectacular. You wanted to be seen, but at the same time you wanted to go unnoticed.

Through the mirror, you saw him peek through the crack of the door before softly knocking three times. “May I?” he called.

“Come in,” you replied, turning your back to the mirror to see him entering the room.

“Hey you,” he said, smoothing out his dress shirt and extending his arms at his sides as if presenting himself to you.

“Hey you,” you replied sweetly.

“Well?” he said, leaning against the door frame. “How do I look?”

Your heartbeat faltered. You had chosen a dress shirt that matched the color of your dress perfectly, thinking that you’d look good in that color. But what you hadn’t foreseen was that Joshua would go with that color perfectly. He looked gorgeous, hair slicked back, the upper buttons of the shirt undone, absentmindedly fixing the cuffs on his sleeves as you pretended to study him.

“You look fine,” you replied dismissively.

“Pfffft.”

You huffed in defeat. “You look handsome.”

“I know,” he showed you his infamous shit-eating grin, winking an eye at you. “Are you ready?”

You released a big sigh. “Just let me put on my shoes,” you said, sitting on the armchair pushed to the corner of the room.

Joshua saw you put on your high heels, the skirt of your dress hiking up your crossed legs as you buckled the belt around your ankles with delicate fingers. You stood up, walking up to him. His gaze flickered over you, just briefly, before he smirked, because you looked beautiful.

“Let’s go,” you said, not knowing what you saw in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he replied, clearing his throat awkwardly.

The elevator ride to the ballroom was quiet, and this was the kind of quiet that neither you nor Joshua knew how to respond to. It didn’t scream danger, between you two, but at what expected both of you when you reached the floor.

Your stomach tightened as the elevator doors parted with the softest ding. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. But then your breath caught, Joshua’s fingers slipped between yours, intertwining them like it was as natural as breathing to him.

You raised your gaze to look at him, his expression blank, almost as though he was stepping into a different man. But then he lowered his gaze at you, his brown eyes bringing you peace at once.

“Showtime,” you breathed.

He nodded at you, and you could’ve sworn in that moment—Joshua Hong looked nervous.

The ballroom was stupidly lavish, golden chandeliers filled with crystals, waiters in white gloves moving gracefully among the groups of guests, and a live band playing softly in the background. Everywhere you looked, you saw familiar faces: business magnates, celebrities, people my mother adored and people that you had spent years trying to avoid.

Joshua felt you tense up at his side, and he softly tugged your hand pulling you closer to his side as though saying, “Walk by my side,” when you started using him as a shield from the onlookers.

It worked, because when you started walking side by side with him, it was as if you had also stepped in a persona, same way that Joshua did before. His poise was elegant, carefully tailored to this world. He was perfect for this. And you better match up to that, you thought.

“What are we doing first, say hi to mom, or straight to the bar?” Joshua muttered at your side, his tone coated with the same playfulness as before.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his unseriousness. “I think first order of business has to be saying hi to mom,” you said, lifting your head to look at him.

Your stomach clenched again, because Joshua was giving you the most adoring look you had ever received in your life. Oh, he’s good at this, you thought, seeing his lips twitch in the tiniest of smiles.

“Don’t be smug about it,” you whispered, chastising him.

“What, I can’t have a little fun with this?” he asked, giggling softly as you huffed again.

“Oh, sweetheart!” your mother cooed in the distance, cutting what little hope you had of this plan going well, because you turned on your heels, nearly losing balance if it weren’t for Joshua holding you steady.

“Mom!” you gasped. “Hi!” you said, your tone unnaturally high.

Joshua tightened his grip on your hand slightly, as though commanding you to relax. And it worked, you released a breath, trying to expel your nervousness as best as you could.

Your mother approached, her heels clacking against the white marble floor. She opened her arms at you, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs when she pulled you into a hug. Your heartbeat raced as you released Joshua’s hand to clumsily wrap your arms around your mother.

“You look divine, baby,” your mom said, bringing a hand to pat the back of your head.

“Thanks, mom,” you replied, reveling in her approval.

“Oh, you must be the not-so-mystery man,” she released you from the warmest hug she’s ever given you, only to smile at Joshua and offer her hand at him. Which Joshua took, shaking hands primly with your mom.

“Happy birthday, ma’am,” he said smoothly, uttering your mother’s name as though he had asked you hours before, which he didn’t. “I hope that you still remember me; Joshua Hong,” he said, flashing a charming smile at her.

“And here I thought that you were committed to keep me in suspense forever. I stand corrected.,” she straightened her back, giving you a look that only made the hair of your arms stand. “But why did you omit that you were dating your dear friend Joshua?”

You showed her an unamused smile. “Surprise.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to be content that my daughter isn't completely unapproachable,” she chuckled, covering her mouth with her gold-adorned fingers.

Joshua blinked, and he saw it. He saw the reason why you were so nervous. “With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, grabbing your hand and giving you another one of those adoring looks. “You raised the perfect woman.”

The air left your lungs, and you were pretty sure that Joshua felt your body shift beside him.

The smirk on your mother’s face erased completely, and then you knew she was getting a measure of the man that Joshua Hong was. “Oh?” she egged.

“I’m just lucky to have been chosen by her,” he said, and his words rang true to him somehow, even if this whole thing was fake, he was glad you had chosen him to do it.

You didn’t have the time to study his demeanour any further, because your mom smiled politely at him, and said. “You’re sweet,” she pointed, looking at you sternly. “Well, let’s hope it lasts.”

And then she walked away, waving at her guests and stopping by to hug those she adored, as though she hadn’t just given you a threat in front of everyone in the room.

You exhaled sharply, trying to swallow the rageful tears that had started brimming in your eyes. “God,” you gasped.

“Thar was…” Joshua started, at a loss for words for the first time in his life.

“My mom,” you said, looking up to the chandeliers above you to break the tears forming up. “That’s my mother.”

Joshua chewed on his bottom lip pensively, looking at you shake with so much anger you couldn’t even breathe steadily. “Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah, like three already,” you sighed, lowering your head to mask that you couldn’t fight your tears, which you brushed with the back of your finger swiftly.

“Hey,” he called softly, and you tilted your head back to look at him. “Keep your head up. Don’t let her see you cry. We’ll get through this, just stick to the plan.”

“Right,” you nodded, sniffling quietly. “Stick to the plan; drinks.”

Joshua sighed a smile, tugging at your hand to make sure you walked side by side with him. “Come on.”

“Do you think she bought it?” you asked when you reached the bar sitting on the stool clumsily.

Joshua watched you fight against the stool that couldn’t stop moving. “Stand up,” he muttered, sending a quick glance around the room.

You blinked dumbly, but lowered your feet to the ground. “What?” you asked curiously.

“Stand close to me,” he said, calling the barman while reaching to grab your waist.

Your breath hitched as you felt his warm, large hand slip on your waist effortlessly, the tips of his fingers reaching the exposed part of your back. “Why?” you asked, breathing fitfully.

He lowered his gaze to meet yours. “If you stick close to me, it’ll be easier to make people think we’re in love,” he muttered, his tone flat and his expression unreadable.

“Right,” you scoffed.

“Seriously,” he said. “Would you really like to stay away from someone you’re in love with?”

“Or,” you started. “This is your lame excuse to grab my waist.”

Joshua hummed in thought. “What if it is?” he said, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

“God, Joshua!” you chastised, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

“Stop that,” he hissed, keeping his expression smug. “We need to sell this, remember?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you gritted, looking around to check if someone had seen the exchange.

“Ridiculously brilliant, handsome, smart, hot,” he smirked, nodding at the barman who just approached. “One old fashioned for the lady, one whisky on the rocks for me,” he said, remembering your favorite drink.

“Huh,” you huffed, slightly amazed.

Joshua turned, winking at you. “Thank you sir,” he said, handing you the drink.

You ate the cherry first, swiftly picking it up from the pick with your tongue, knowing Joshua’s gaze was on you. You raised your eyes at him, drinking from your glass deeply.

“Cheers,” he shrugged, downing his drink in two gulps with a satisfied sigh.

“I think I need another,” you sighed, signaling the barman, which he replied to you with a nod of his head.

“Easy, we don’t want this to turn into Cabo again,” he muttered, reminiscing of the day you got so wasted you ended up dancing on top of the tables of a bar. Joshua had to carry you on his shoulder back to your hotel room.

“Cabo was fun, this is terrifying,” you replied. “And unlike you, I need to be drunk to do this.”

Joshua let out a chuckle. “Relax, we could just stick around for small talk for an hour or two, then we could act all lovey dovey on each other and pretend to scurry to our hotel room.”

Your tummy clenched. “God, I hate that idea,” you sighed, grabbing your second drink, eating the cherry first again.

“Or we could pretend to get in a couples’ argument, and then scurry back to our hotel room,” he offered his alternative with a smug look on his face, like he already knew what your answer would be.

“No,” you shook your head. “That would defeat the purpose of this stupid plan.”

Joshua scoffed. “This was your plan, sweetheart,” he muttered.

“Which means it’s only destined to crash and burn, like everything in my life,” you said through gritted teeth, right before tipping the glass in your mouth. You tried to ignore the affectionate name he called you, but you couldn't ignore the tingling in your face.

Joshua opened his mouth to say something, anything. A quippy retort, something sarcastic, anything. But the moment was stolen away from him swiftly.

“Is this… my favorite niece?” a man of thick voice said from behind.

You straightened up, almost choking on your drink before turning around and chant: “Uncle!”

Joshua stood back, watching you being pulled into a tight hug. The man you called uncle laughed merrily, swaying you back and forth as he hugged you tightly.

“Look at you. You’re gorgeous, my dear!” he said warmly. Sending a quick look at Joshua and then paused, noticing something. “And who’s this?” he asked you.

“Oh, thi-this is—,” you stammered awkwardly, looking at Joshua meaningfully. “My b-boyfriend, Joshua.”

Joshua offered a hand. “Joshua Hong, sir. Pleasure to meet you,” he smiled, bowing his head politely.

Your uncle stretched hands with Joshua, while squinting his eyes at him slightly. “Have I seen you somewhere?” he looked at you. “I feel like I’ve seen his face somewhere.”

“Probably on TV, uncle,” you smiled at Joshua.

Your uncle arched one of his unkept eyebrows.

“I’m a professional surfer, sir,” he complemented. “I competed last year.”

“He won bronze,” you added, a proud smile on your face which made Joshua’s tummy twist.

“Oh, yes, yes I think that might be it,” he said, still eyeing Joshua suspiciously.

But Joshua, he played it cool. He stood still, offering one of his small but charming smiles. Like he’d had this conversation a million times.

“Well,” your uncle finally said, scratching his chin. “I can’t say I’m the expert in surfing, but I know it takes a lot of balance,” His gaze drifted briefly to you and then back to Joshua. “You got good balance, son?”

Joshua didn't miss a beat. “I do what I can,” he said, flashing an unfazed smile. “Haven’t slipped in years, sir.”

Your uncle let out a gruff chuckle. “That’s good to hear. Wouldn’t want you slipping up, son.”

You felt Joshua tense up beside you, but he kept himself at ease, slipping a hand on your waist again. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said, tugging your body closer to his. “I do the best I can.”

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, content with Joshua’s responses. He nodded and excused himself, walking through the sea of your mother’s guests until you lost sight of him.

“Was I just threatened?” he sighed, starting to laugh nervously.

“Yeah, kinda,” you gave him a pitiful smile. “But if it makes it better, that just says that he liked you. Imagine how he treated the guys he didn’t like.”

“So I got his approval through light intimidation?” he huffed, amazed by how he was being received in your family as your fake boyfriend. “Huh.”

“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable.”

But Joshua felt his own smile fade, his eyes lingering on your face for a long second. He breathed out, trying to hold a rein to his body but failing miserably, his hand slipping from your waist to your lower back, feeling the skin that wasn’t covered by your pretty dress.

He wondered why he already felt too comfortable. But he couldn’t find any answers, not even in your eyes, which widened as you felt his hand on your skin, igniting every single inch inside you.

You coughed. “Josh, hands off,” you snapped.

He quickly dropped his hand, tucking it inside the pocket of his pants. He ordered another drink, trying to push down the pulsating feeling inside his chest.

But you, on the other hand, knew that you were doomed. As soon as Joshua’s hand came in contact with your lower back, you felt it, your pulse quickened, your skin heated up. Not only that, but his fingers had brushed against your skin, and you couldn’t help but think of his hands, his long and round fingers, the veins that trail from his knuckles to the rest of his arms. His wrist was adorned with a Rolex watch, and the other with a silver bracelet, one that he had gifted himself on one of his birthdays.

You were doomed, because in the blink of an eye, you saw his hands on you, grabbing your body, touching your skin.

You ordered another drink, ignoring the look that Joshua gave you. “I can’t do this sober,” you sighed, avoiding his knowing gaze.

The night dragged on. And the snappy attitude on your part had begun to fade, to the point where you decided to stop drinking and focus on getting back to your room in one piece. But that wasn't all.

Joshua had kept a firm hand on your waist, only shifting it to grab your hand to keep you from returning to the bar and ask for another drink. It wasn’t that he was cutting your fun, you noticed that he was offering himself as an anchor for you to keep yourself afloat.

Ever the benevolent hero, his thoughts echoed Jeonghan’s words. It almost felt like he heard Jeonghan say them forever ago.

“Hey,” Joshua muttered, calling your attention with a soft pinch to your chin. “All sobered up now?”

You blinked dumbly at him, a slow smile stretching on your lips. “Yeah, why?” you drawled.

Joshua smirked knowingly. “Oh, yeah you’re all sobered up now.”

“Just give me ten minutes,” you giggled shamefully, clearly still tipsy but lucid enough to walk and talk.

Joshua sent a glance across the room, finding your mom’s eyes on him. He smiled at her politely, leaning down to press his lips on your hairline. “Your mom’s been looking at us the whole night,” he muttered, closing his eyes briefly.

“Yeah, I don’t think she believed I’ve been dating my best friend this whole time without telling her,” you mumbled, running your hands down his linen shirt, feeling his hard chest without much thought. “It’s okay, this was probably doomed to fail since the start.”

Joshua stopped leaning, pulling back just to get a sight of your face. “Damn. I’m doing a terrible job as a boyfriend,” he giggled softly.

“Yeah, you’re fired,” you said, giggling with him. The sound did nothing to remedy the tight feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach.

He swallowed, the bubbly sound of your laughter created a deep blow to his chest, it screamed danger. This was supposed to be an easy experiment: come with you to the party, hold your hand and smile. That was it, easy, smooth, fake. But now, leaning towards your face, he couldn’t help but think that what he felt was real.

“What can I do to earn my job back?” he said, but the risqué in his demeanour waned. His tone came out soft, like dulled by something he couldn’t quite place.

The smile on your face faltered, but just for a second. You wanted to believe the spark that you saw in Joshua’s eyes, but at the same time, you didn’t want to get your hopes up. This was just his way to flirt, to have you all flustered—by the end of tonight it wouldn’t mean a thing.

“You can keep your job for tonight, Hong,” you replied, and he was glad to know that whatever had robbed him of his voice, it had robbed you of yours too.

But Joshua wasn’t backing down, he needed you to see the urgency brimming inside him, the please tell me you’re feeling this too, look in your eyes. But you were smirking at him, the playfulness in your eye told him you weren’t seeing what he wanted to tell you without words. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Your breath coiled around your throat, your eyes widening with shock. You read his face, over and over, beginning to understand that maybe your hopes weren’t misplaced. “Yes,” you whispered, eyeing his lips briefly. “Kiss me.”

Joshua didn’t think twice, he dipped his head to meet your lips with his own. Kissing you was just as easy as pretending to be your boyfriend, he found out. Your cherry lips were soft, warm, everything he imagined them to be. The way your lips fit into his own, moving seamlessly in a soft kiss—it was real.

There was a brief pause, but neither you nor Joshua dared to back away. Lips lingered touching, your breath warm in his mouth, he could taste the cherry, the sweet and sour whiskey. It was intoxicating.

He dove for another kiss at the same time you did, a small hum bubbling in your mouth. This kiss was harder, hotter, demanding for something that Joshua was eager to give you: passion, pleasure, his whole and undivided attention.

“I must admit,” you hummed softly, backing away slightly, looking at his eyes and then his lips, wet with your drool and his. “Breaking rules feels awesome.”

Joshua smiled, slipping a hand on your nape, his fingers tangling in your mane of hair. “And you haven’t seen anything yet.”

You were surprised when the next kiss was softer, his lips pressing on yours gently with small pecks. It quickly got you drunk, and not the kind that made you say stupid things, but the kind that made you do stupid things. Warmth started sizzling under your skin, as Joshua kissed your bottom lip softly.

But your aching feet betrayed you, making you stumble back clumsily. Joshua quickly put his hand on your lower back to keep you from stumbling further, he pulled back, reading your face expertly.

“Let’s get you to your room,” Joshua whispered, reaching to grab you hand, calling it a night.

Your heart faltered, but you followed him obediently. “Yeah, okay,” you replied, walking clumsily on your sore feet.

As you walked inside the elevator, you caught your mother’s eye. In the distance, you could see a tiny smirk on her face, giving you a knowing look, and before you could dwell on the moment, the elevator doors closed.

The villa had grown quiet, now that it was past midnight and mostly all of the rooms were booked by the people back in the ballroom. Joshua was still firmly holding your hand, like he was pretending to be your boyfriend until the end of the night, just as planned.

His slick and carefully tailored demeanor had unravelled a little, he had rolled up his sleeves, the top buttons of his shirt undone. But his hair had remained perfectly done, even though he had ruffled it throughout the night many times.

You felt like you were the opposite to what he showed. Your feet ached, your hair had lost its composure somewhere along the night, and your whole body felt heavy with exhaustion, but you carried the heaviest weight in your heart.

Because you didn’t want the night to end. Even though you had gritted your teeth through most of the night, his hand on yours was the best thing of it.

Joshua reached for the doorknob, and you swore he felt you take in a deep gulp of air. Because he turned, smirking at you. “Do you need me to tuck you in, or you got it?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that drunk anymore,” you said with a sigh.

But Joshua didn’t let go of your hand, not even as he led you inside the room. “If you say so.”

And for a moment, you two stood there, in front of the doors that separated the bedrooms. Joshua saw you, missing an opportunity to kiss you again with every second that went by. He breathed in, his heart beating fast—faster than ever before.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” he asked one more time, searching your eyes.

“I can manage,” you replied, swallowing hard to push down that feeling. “But I’ll leave the door open.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he whispered.

And then, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, right before letting go.

part three, did we make it?

You lay in bed, covered with the sheets up to your nose, your head spinning, but not from the alcohol. You stared at the ceiling, thinking about what had happened at the party.

You replayed every moment in your head, thinking of the way Joshua played his role so naturally. The way he grabbed your hand effortlessly, when he told your mother you were the perfect woman, every time he looked adoringly at you.

Your chest tightened. It was over, the night was over, so your little plan had also come to an end. But you couldn’t help but wish that the night had been endless.

You had broken one rule, no kissing. You scoffed quietly at yourself. You had been so adamant to keep him at arm’s length that you didn’t realize that you had been playing yourself until it was too late.

You let out a slow breath, rolling onto your side, staring at the empty bed across the room.

You felt ridiculous. You had dragged Joshua into this stupid mess, none of this would’ve happened if you had kept your mouth shut and told your mother the truth to begin with. These feelings you tried so hard to push down, would’ve never had bloom if you had.

But just as you closed your eyes, commanding yourself to surrender to sleep, one memory lingered. His hands on you, his lips as he kissed you.

You weren’t just thinking about Joshua.

You needed him.

And that was far more dangerous than anything your little plan could’ve thrown at you.

You sighed, tossing the bed covers aside and pushed yourself out of the bed, silently making your way to Joshua’s door, which remained half closed. Heart pulsating on your temples, you pushed the door open, the hinges humming softly making your pulse worsen.

You held your breath, trying to see through the dark if he had fallen asleep, or if you had woken him up with the noise. But couldn’t get anything, so you pushed the door further, letting yourself in his room, and thus releasing all self-control you had in you.

Joshua turned on the bed, pushing himself on his elbows just as you climbed on top of him, holding onto his shoulders just as he eased his back on the mattress, welcoming you on top of him with his hands.

“Hey, you,” he whispered, grabbing you by the waist.

“Hey, you,” you replied with a shaky tone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but placed two fingers on your chin, pinching it softly right before he pulled you for a quick kiss.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you blurted, slipping your lips between his.

Joshua could’ve sworn that he had never been more pleased to hear those words. He let out a sigh of amazement, squeezing your waist with his hand, feeling the silk of your nightgown. “Oh, yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth right before sitting up on the bed, with you straddling his lap.

“Yeah,” you sighed sweetly, tipping your head back as he kissed the underside of your jaw.

“That’s good to hear,” he purred against your skin, pressing his lips on your neck, loving the way you instantly tensed up on top of him.

“Why?” you asked, eyelids fluttering wildly as he continued kissing down your neck.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he smiled against your skin.

“Really?” you asked, your tone sweet and high and completely foreign to you.

Joshua nodded, closing his eyes when he got the scent of your skin as his kisses travelled farther down your neck. “Did you really think that I was just playing?”

You pushed his shoulder with one hand, creating some distance to get a read on his face. “What?”

Joshua looked at you, and with one look, you swore that he saw through you. His dark eyes swam all over your face, but then steadied as he let out a breath slowly. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low.

Something sharp shot inside you. “Joshua, don’t—,”

“Don’t what?” he said, his hands steady on your waist. “Don’t say it? Is your game alright for you as long as I don’t say anything?” he read your face again, a smile tugging at his lips. “Or don’t say it because you don’t want to admit that you feel something too?”

Your heart pounded so hard you felt it in your head.

You sighed defeatedly, leaning your forehead against his. “This wasn’t part of the plan,” you whispered.

“Right,” he gritted, his voice weakening now. “Because this can’t be real as long as you command it.”

“It’s not real,” you swallowed. “We’re drunk, and have been flirting all night.”

“Maybe it’s just not real to you,” he whispered, easing his grip on your waist.

Your heart faltered, and you pulled back again to be met with his sullen expression. “Joshua–,”

“What are you so scared of?” he asked, his eyes reading your face over and over again.

“I’m not scared, I–,”

As soon as his hand came to cup your cheek, you choked on your words. He smiled, knowing that it was a game lost. “This can’t be real,” you swallowed hard again. “You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you if all this fails.”

“You prepare yourself for failure before you even give it a chance to happen,” he muttered, the hurt on his face vanishing once he felt your body ease on top of him, as though you were melting under his touch.

“I can’t help it,” you sighed, using your hands to cup his face, pressing your forehead against his.

“You can’t help it, or you just don’t want to?” he murmured, his honeyed tone purring in your ear.

“I don’t know how to do it,” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get rid of the nasty feeling coiling around your heart.

“Then let me help,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched. You only needed to say yes, to believe him. It all seemed so good to be true. Your best friend, the man that made you feel special, the most special you had ever felt to someone in your whole life.

But you only needed to listen to your body. It was as though you wanted to lean into his warmth and get lost in his eyes forever. It felt so safe to be close to him, to have his touch in your body.

So you just dipped your head in, pressing your lips on his.

“Yes?” he breathed.

“Yes,” you replied.

Because for the first time in forever, you wanted to.

Joshua kissed you harder, now forgetting about keeping his touch light. His lips moved seamlessly on yours, while keeping a hand on your waist and returning the other to cup your cheek.

His heart was pounding inside him, feeling elated as he paused for air. “Can I take this off?” he sighed, his tone raspy.

“Yes, please,” you replied with a breathy tone.

His hands moved the skirt of the nightgown up, touching your body freely as he got rid of the only piece of clothing aside from your panties that covered your beautiful skin. As his eyes skirted over the curves of your bare body, his mind spun, making him feel dizzy.

You grabbed his face, commanding his eyes on yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

You giggled, his words making your heart squeeze. “Thank you, Shua.”

“I meant what I said earlier,” he mumbled. “I’m lucky to be chosen by you.”

He didn’t give you time to say anything, because he was pushing your body on the mattress, climbing on top of you effortlessly.

You gasped. The smell of his skin, his hair, his warmth, everything invaded you. It was intoxicating. “Shua.”

Joshua gave you a hot kiss, one that told his aching need for you. It was passionate, and wet, his tongue swiftly rolled inside your mouth, making you moan into the kiss. “Can I eat you out?” he asked, his tone gruff and low.

“God, yes,” you replied with a soft sigh. “Please.”

“Mmn, you do have manners after all,” he quipped with a light smirk.

“Shut up,” you said, but couldn’t come up with a wittier retort.

And he noticed. With a laugh, he gave you another light kiss, using a hand to part your legs so he could slot himself in between them. “You’re a spoiled, prideful brat,” he sighed, kissing the apple of your cheek.

“You love me,�� you retorted.

Joshua laughed, hearing the familiarity in your words. “I tolerate you.”

“Shut up and eat me out already,” you gasped exasperatedly.

Joshua complied silently, sinking down your body, peppering it with kisses as he reached your tits, his hands caressing your skin as he explored it carefully.

Your back tensed up. “Fuck,” you whispered to yourself when he wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, humming as his tongue swirled around your nipple, teasing it softly. “Shua,” you called.

“Yeah?” he replied, lifting his head from your tits, looking at you adoringly again.

Your heart clenched, but you ran a hand through his hair. “Play later,” you pleaded.

“Foreplay is the best part of it,” he teased, giggling as you glared at him. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, tugging at your panties with his fingers.

You helped him get rid of your panties, lifting your hips off the mattress as his knuckles caressed your legs, making your skin prickle.

Joshua wasted no time, burying his head between your legs to pepper your inner thighs with wet kisses. The feeling was like no other, pleasure spiked between your legs, his lips touching your skin felt electrifying.

“Shua,” you pressured, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair.

He replied with a small smile, pressing a kiss on your pussy without removing his gaze from yours. You blinked repeatedly, letting out a small sound through your parted lips. “Do you like that?” he asked softly.

“Mm-huh,” you nodded with your head, catching the smirk on his face before he placed another kiss on your pussy lips.

Joshua slid the tip of his pointer finger between your pussy lips, shuddering when he felt the warmth and the arousal pooling in your entrance. “Stay still,” he whispered when your hips buckled slightly before you could command your body to a halt.

“Okay, okay,” you replied in kind, offering him a meek smile, your mouth dropping when he licked a stripe on your pussy lips, using his fingers to part them for his tongue, pushing it between your folds.

He enjoyed the loud sound of your gasp, your fingers slipping to grab his hair, following the motion of his head buried between your legs. “Joshua,” you moaned lewdly as he moved the middle and ring fingers that kept your pussy lips spread for his mouth, slipping them inside you. “Fuck!”

You realized that he wanted to pleasure you to reach your high quickly, his fingers thrusting inside you with a slow motion at first, exploring you, searching for what brought a louder reaction out of you.

The sound of your moans filled the room. Echoed by the smacking sounds of his mouth on your pussy as he continued making out with it, getting your clit to swell on his tongue and your walls to clamp around his fingers.

Instinctively, you curved your back, pushing your hips up, your cunt tightly pressed to his face. He groaned, sliding his free hand on your thigh, grabbing you tightly to keep you spread open for his mouth.

“Josh,” you called, your fingers threading his soft hair. “Please…” you whispered, but did not know what you were begging for. The tip of his tongue drew perfect circles around your clit, teasing it lovingly, his long fingers thrusting slowly inside you.

You could not see his face, but you were certain that Joshua smiled when you called him by that name. His amused hum told you that much. But then everything changed, the motion of his tongue switched, darting from side to side, his fingers curling in a perfect spot in your walls, now fucking you relentlessly.

You pushed your head back onto the pillows. “Fuck-k,” you gritted, swallowing hard. You could feel your orgasm, taste it as sweet pleasure brimmed inside you. A hand kept you in place, while the other was busy thrusting two fingers inside you, curling them to tease a sensitive spot in your walls.

“I’m cumming,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if Joshua had heard you at all. You arched your back on the bed, while tiny, strangled sounds came out of you. Your high hit you so hard that your mind went blank, all that you could focus on was his tongue on your clit, his fingers massaging inside you.

You eased back onto the bed, sighing and moaning, babbling incoherences as Joshua kissed and nipped at your inner thighs, giggling softly when your body twitched under him.

“Hey, you,” he whispered, climbing back on top of you, kissing your face.

You sighed tiredly, opening your eyes to see his face. “Hey, you,” you replied, wiping the wetness off his chin before kissing his lips. “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he whispered, responding to your every kiss with light lips. “Do you want more?”

You shook your head. “I need you,” you replied.

Joshua paused to read your face. “Sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, encircling his neck with your arms. Not liking the unsure look on his face, you added: “I’m on birth control, Shua.”

He had gone still, but only to consider what this meant for him. It had been so long since he’d felt something like this for someone, the adrenaline, the high of being so close to someone. As close as humanly possible.

“Okay,” he replied, kissing your lips once, then the tip of your nose as your hands search for the waistband his boxers.

Joshua helped your trembling hands get rid of his underwear, pushing it down to reveal his cock. He was fully hard, the rosy-brown tip of his cock leaking with precum. You rolled a hand on his thick and long shaft, feeling the veins tracing down from his cockhead to the base. “You’re big,” you sighed, giggling nervously.

He had nothing to reply, as soon as your hand came in contact with his body, he’d lost all sanity, all self-control flew out the window. He swallowed hard, feeling your hand squeeze around his shaft, rolling it on his cockhead and smearing precum all over his thick shaft.

He pressed his forehead to yours, placing his hands above your head, framing it as he lowered his hips on top of yours. “Play later, baby,” he said, his tone gruff and waning at the last word he uttered.

Your breath hitched. “Pet names,” you whispered.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” he smirked, leaning to kiss you swiftly.

You did, you loved everything. Every single rule you set, and broke showed you just how much you loved it: being called names, kissing, touching, everything.

Joshua noticed that you had choked on your words too, and he smiled at you as he pressed his naked body on yours. You guided his cock between your folds, gasping slightly when you slipped his cockhead inside you and he just started pushing in, easing in himself slowly.

Your mouth parted, eyes watering instantly at the intrusion. But it felt so good, the stretch, the thickness of him, every single naked inch inside you. Your hands flew to grab at his shoulders, back tensing on the mattress, as you gasped again.

“Relax,” he whispered, kissing your cheek adoringly.

“Josh,” you called breathily, trying to tell him to continue, to never stop.

You heard him breathe fitfully once he sheathed himself completely. “You’re perfect,” he praised, burying his face on the crook of your neck, getting drunk on the smell of your hair.

He started moving his hips, thrusting his cock in and out with a steady pace. The sound of his ragged breaths was distracting, almost alluring to you. But Joshua rolled his hips on yours, his cock massaging your walls the same way his fingers had, eliciting a raw moan from you.

“You like that?” he whispered.

You could only reply with a nod.

“Okay,” he whispered, placing a kiss on your cheek, then your collarone, continuing to roll his hips in that same motion, the tip of his cock kissing a spot inside you that made you see stars, and your fingers curl.

“Fuck, Josh, please… don’t stop,” you pleaded with a breathy tone. And he was more than eager to please, only to hear you call out his name like that again, to feel your pussy clench around him.

The air was quickly filled with the sound of your moans, the tiny gasps that came out of you as Joshua fucked you the way that you wanted. His cock massaged your walls so deliriously good that you could feel yourself inching closer to your release.

“Fuck,” Joshua breathed, his lips caressing your earlobe. “Where do you want me, baby?”

Your thighs tensed up at his sides instantly. “Inside,” you gasped, tightening your grip on his shoulders. “Please cum inside me, Josh.”

Joshua gritted his teeth, letting out a strangled sound through them. The thought of spilling himself inside you might’ve sent him to a frenzy. All he could think of was filling you up, but he kept himself sane through the movement of his hips, getting you to your high before he reached his.

“Fuck, please, please,” he drawled lazily, muffling a moan in the crook of your neck.

You kissed his shoulder, moving your hands on his back as you let yourself go. You closed your eyes, letting out soft moans as a wave of sweet pleasure washed over you.

Then Joshua moved his hips faster, his fingers curling on the pillowcases, anchoring himself to them as he started plunging his cock in and out of you. He was quickly getting lost in the warmth of your pussy, the wetness, your smell, and the sweet sounds you made.

“You feel amazing,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly, trying not to lose himself on you completely just yet. So he rolled on the bed, expertly shifting positions so you now sat on top of him, keeping you steady with his hand on your waist.

You understood immediately, using a hand to grab his cock, wet and glistening with your arousal and slipped it inside with a pleased moan. You tilted your head back, blissfully riding him with a steady pace of your hips on him.

Joshua saw your body bouncing softly on him—your head tilted back, your hands placed on your thighs, rolling your hips in a way that he got to see his cock slipping back inside your pussy. He swallowed a moan, closing his eyes briefly to not lose control too quickly.

But it was impossible. The room was flooded with the sounds of sex, your soft and whiny moans, the squelching sound of his cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy, his own strangled moans… it was getting harder and harder for him to hold onto sanity.

You placed a hand on the pillow, right beside his head, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on his chin, then on his lips. The sway of your hips paused briefly, making him groan, desperate for release.

You smiled at him. “I think I’d never seen you this quiet,” you pointed cheekily.

Joshua chuckled, lifting a hand from your waist and landing it on the side of your thigh with a firm spank.

You squeaked, hips buckling on top of him. “Fuck,” you choked out, closing your eyes tightly.

He moved his hands on your hips, guiding them in a way that he felt himself slipping in and out of your pussy again. “That’s it,” he crooned, looking at you bounce on his cock in the motion that he’d taught you. “Good girl.”

“Fuck,” you cried lewdly. “Josh!”

Joshua grinned, his hands following the movement of your hips on him as he tipped his head back on the pillow, spilling himself inside you with a series of raunchy moans. He looked at your face as you rode him until he was spent, and delirious with what you and he had just done.

You breathed raggedly, returning the smile as though you could hear his thoughts. You collapsed on the bed beside him, keeping an eye on the features of his face, which were masked by a stupor that had started to set in.

“So much for ground rules,” you sighed.

“Yeah,” Joshua drawled. Blinking lazily at you right before he reached for your hand with his, taking it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles.

You smiled softly at him, watching sleep claim him with every blinking of his eyes until he started to breathe deeply, finally asleep beside you. As the time went on, you debated whether returning to your bed or stay in his. What finally made the decision for you, was Joshua’s arms wrapping you into a hug.

So you stayed, sleeping blissfully in his embrace.

epilogue

It had been a while since someone truly saw him for who he was. A friend, a warm person you can talk to, trustworthy. It felt like his true self was buried underneath the burden of shame, the ickiness of being looked at and think that he had been somebody’s fool.

Joshua brought his fist and knocked on your apartment door, once, twice. Waited.

His stomach clenched at the sound of the front door of your apartment click, and then open. Slowly, you stepped out, curiously looking up at him. “Hey, you,” you said sweetly, leaning against the doorframe.

Joshua smiled at you, feeling his body relax at once. “Hey, you,” he said, nervously approaching towards you. “Can we talk?”

You read his face before nodding. “Sure,” you replied, letting him in.

It had been a while since you had let someone see you for who you were. But it was something you had to have seen it coming. Joshua was after all, the person who knew you best. And you were more than ready to see where your story with him would go.

› author's note: this felt like city lights in so many levels omg. i loved writing this. if there are mistakes, it's because i wrote about 7k words of this fic in one day lol

toodles!

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