#the term you are looking for is “girlfriend”

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

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

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

Length: ~16k

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

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

collab m.list || m.list

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

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

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

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

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

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

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

She’s like my sister.

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

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

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

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

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

Assholes.

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

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

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

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

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

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

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

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

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

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

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

You say yes, following him inside.

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

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

“Do you want to talk about it?”

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

“We only broke up at Christmas last year.”

“And he’s already engaged?”

“To his best friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is….”

You laugh. “Insane.”

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

“I know!” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t even know me.”

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

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

He tells you without a shred of judgment.

“Seokmin.”

“I’m YN.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry about my music,” he says.

“Sorry for being a bitch.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

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

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

“Ouch.”

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

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

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

“Three months.”

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

“So what’s your play?”

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

“Never seen it.”

“What?” he gasps. “It’s a classic!”

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

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

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

So you snuff it out.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s so fucked up.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, Lydia noticed him long before you did.

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

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

“How do you know my neighbor is hot?”

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

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

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

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

“Not that long,” you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael and Dena Spencer along with 

Jason and Zoya Phan 

Invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children,

Samuel Spencer and Carson Phan

You fling the card away like a venomous snake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are a very scary woman.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you ask.

“You want something to rub in their faces.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

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

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

“I have an idea.”

“Does it involve more Celine Dion and whiskey?”

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

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

“He sent you a wedding invitation.”

“Okay?”

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

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

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

“Just water.”

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

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

“As I was saying: soft launch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

“Eh…”

“‘Eh’? What does ‘eh’ mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who gets turned on from having their shin fondled?

“How is your play going?” you ask.

“Not horrible.”

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So…”

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

“Isn’t it? It’s a classic.”

Something about his sheer enthusiasm tugs at your heart strings. 

“I’ll help you.”

Everything in your body screeches WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A woman never reveals her secrets.”

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

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

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

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

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

Lydia thought it was ridiculous.

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

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

“You just want me to sleep with him.”

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

Your eyes roll. “He is my neighbor.”

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

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

You find a parking spot and bid Lydia goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is…” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Her who?”

“Mrs. Bald dog walker.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did that actually work?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“So what is this idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Small problem,” he says.

“What?” 

Lydia sighs. “Mingyu has a girlfriend.”

“Since when?” you ask.

“Apparently fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh,” you say. “Good for him.”

“Except we’re a man down.”

“I’ll do it,” Seokmin interjects.

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

But it doesn’t stop you.

“You can’t!” you blurt.

“Why not?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

Someone else interjects. “Forty dollars!”

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

“Seventy five.”

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

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

“Two fifty!”

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

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

“Then why is he doing this?”

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

“Sold!” Seungcheol yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fifty!” someone calls.

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

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

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

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

“One fifty.”

“Two hundred.”

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

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

“Four hundred dollars.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least it’s for a good cause.

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

“You,” Seungkwan says.

“Me?”

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

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

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

“I’ve never been there before.”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Four hundred? Really?” Lydia asks.

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

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

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

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

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

Nothing you couldn’t handle.

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

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

“I’ll start making ghost noises.”

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

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

“Works for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” you ask.

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

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

“Just say when,” Seokmin says.

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

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

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

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

“What?” Seokmin asks.

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

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

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

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

“KISS!” Lydia demands. 

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

Mistletoe.

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

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

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

“It’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you would,” you correct.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you like it?”

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

“Celine Dion is a classic.”

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

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

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

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

“Woah, you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m good to go. Promise.”

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

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

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

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

“YN?”

“Huh?’

“We’re home.”

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

“I’ll see you later?”

“Night,” Seokmin says.

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

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

“Should we call them?”

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

How dmbarrassing.

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

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

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

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

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

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

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

“Wanna watch a movie?”

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

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

“Cold?” 

No.

But you nod anyway. 

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

“I mean it.”

“I don’t know if it's true though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take your pants off,” you beg.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“But you’ve thought about my dick?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

Seokmin grins, clearly amused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my neighbor.”

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

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

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

You thrash. “Don’t be mean.”

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

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

“Is this okay?”

“Yep!” you choke. “Great.”

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

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

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

“J-just like that,” you hiccup. 

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

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

“I’m good.”

“I want to,” you beg.

“No like—”

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

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

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

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

Seokmin is gone by the time you wake up.

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

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

“You bastard,” you groan.

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

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

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

It’s like that for days.

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

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

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

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

Instead, you accidentally pick up Lydia’s call. 

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

“I’m…I’m sick.”

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

“Seriously?”

“What?”

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

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

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

“I—”

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

“Alright.”

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

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

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

“How's it so far?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is going on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t leave without telling me.”

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

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

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

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

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

He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say. “Can we talk?”

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

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

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

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

“The play was good.”

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

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

“I—”

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

“What? What are you talking about?”

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

“I am over Sam.”

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

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

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

“Why did you leave?”

“I had work.”

You want to smack to frown off his face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your cat?”

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

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

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

“Shinx is loyal to no one.”

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

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

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

“I could’ve called you.”

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you rasp. 

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

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

“Seokmin,” you whimper.

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

“God,” he exhales close to your ear.

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

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

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

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

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

“I got you,” he promises.

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” you pant. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

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

“But I want to fuck you.”

“Next time?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna ride you.”

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

“God, you’re perfect,” he praises.

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

“Touch me,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

“Can,” he chokes. “Can I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

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

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[pixellezz]

Girlfriend Jinx headcanons? (Also it’s simpystarrr from c.ai!)

yep!! love your bots for the record!! :3 -- Jinx being your girlfriend headcannons!!

you're in charge of braiding her hair daily. it gets tiring occasionally, but for the most part, you enjoy it.

you witness a lot of her episodes\breakdowns, though after figuring out that when your closer, you can help ground her, she always goes to you when she's even the tiniest bit sad

she paints your nails like hers :3

i feel like she'd be asexual \ biromantic

she makes you listen to her music 24\7. don't like it? too bad! get jinxed on repeat for the rest of your days.

she's loyal. and overprotective, she doesn't want to lose another person, so if she sees someone flirting with you, well, they won't be bothering you two anytime soon.

when she first opened up to you about her family, she'd expected you to leave her and be upset or look at her differently, so when you consoled her and held her as she cried, she was more open with you from that point on.

chronically online if they had phones. you will not get through a day without hearing some brainrotted term [ironically].

isha loves you, you're like her second parent. :3

she makes kandi and gifts it to you.

she's not the most romantic, but she tries. (( sorry if this was short! but hoped ya liked it >:3 ))

[loveyouprongs]

winter mornings

sirius black x fem!reader

upcoming content: fluff!!! literally just fluff!!!! mention of smut at the end, but only a little.

authors note: :] been a hot minute since i wrote something but i hope you all like it! please please please reblog or comment if you enjoyed! it gives me sm motivation❄️

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

the staccato clicks of sirius’ back as he twisted his spine in the sheets served as your alarm for the past week. he let out a soft groan as he ran his hand down his face, then through his hair- which even after two years of being his girlfriend were you mystified at his ability to have his dark locks always fall perfectly into place. “it’s so not fair,” you muttered and you could see a grin spread across sirius’ face before he fully turned back to face you.

sirius darted his stare across your form, your warm body wrapped up in blankets and an image of the stuffed bear he treasured as a child flashed in his mind, only doubling the love inflating him. even with half your face smushed in the pillows and sleep in the corner of your eyes, to him, you’re a siren. he immediately flopped back onto the bed, pressing his body as close to yours as possible, letting his fingers dance across your waste and you shivered from the cold he let in when he lifted the blankets.

“what’s not fair, my love?”

“you.”

“me?” sirius’ eyebrow quirked up, the giddy smile on his face only growing.

“yes, you. your immune to bedhead. it isn’t fair.” you pouted.

sirius let out a giggle that, if he wasn’t lying right in front of you, you’d believe would have come from a child. you remembered when you first met sirius, you couldn’t even look him in the eye, he was that intimidating (and attractive) to you, but now you’re the one who makes him grow bashful from a little compliment slipped into his mornings.

“what can i say, doll, some of us are blessed by the hair-gods.”

you hummed agreeably, twisting his strands through your fingers and sirius basked in the warmth of your skin touching his. god he was pathetic and god was he happy. “and some of us are blessed by them being our boyfriends.”

sirius giggled again, he’s been doing that a lot lately, “c’mere silly,” he whispered, the last syllable already affected by his lips pressing to yours. with a sharp inhale, he branded his hand to the small of your back, bringing you impossibly closer to him as his lips parted and he tilted your head for better access.

the way sirius kissed was addicting. he held you to him tightly, greedily, eating up all the love and affection he never believed he’d ever be on the receiving end of. the way he warmed you from your head to your toes, mouth working yours with passion and care that made you believe he wanted to sometimes eat you up whole, have your body meld into his until you became some “two headed, one body, blob” (his own words)

sirius recalled this to you during a late night makeout session earlier into your relationship, sirius’ eyes rimmed red from the high he was riding, and he pulled back to tell you his wishes.

“siri… that’s so gross!”

“it’s not gross! it’s lovely, we’d be one big person made out of love! but with two heads so we could still chat.”

your body shook as you laughed at the memory. “oi, wha’s s’funny?” he muttered against your lips, “not exactly good to make your girl laugh while your kissing ‘er.”

you let out another bark of laughter, falling back onto the pillow and sirius fell helpless to the magnetic pull you had on him as he rested his head on your chest. the snow was roaring away outside, making it impossible for either of you to leave the flat. not that you wanted to anyway. he couldn’t believe how lucky he was, how lucky he is. a pang of something dark struck in his ribs as he thought of how young he was when he came to terms with being forever alone. how whoever he could pull at some bar or club would be enough to satisfy him. he never thought he’d memorize the rhythm of someones footsteps, come home to two tea-stained mugs in the sink of the flat he shared. never thought someone would be able to split his chest in two and reach in to hold his heart in their soft, soft hands. never thought he wouldn’t find that enough. he wanted to give himself to you entirely.

“what’re y’thinking about?” you asked softly, lightly scratching his scalp and sirius practically purred as he bonked his head against your hand.

sirius propped his chin on your collarbone, faces merely millimeters away from each other. his sparkling silver eyes traced your face in a way that would have made you intimidated in the early days of your relationship, but now you allowed yourself to bask in his gaze.

“you,” he said simply.

“sirius black is thinking about me? wow, dreams do come true!” you gasped, a beaming smile splitting your face.

sirius rolled his eyes at your surprise and snuggled up closer to your warmth, his face fitting into the crook of your neck.

“for your information doll, sirius black is always thinking about you,” he rasped in your ear.

it couldn’t be said any other way, your heart felt like it was going to explode. every now and then sirius would say something so lovely it stopped you in your tracks, made your brain short circuit. and he knew it.

“siriusssss,” you whined, trying to hide your face with no luck as sirius gripped your shoulders.

he chuckled, his stomach rustling the thin sheets. “it’s true,” he crooned.

the two of you laid like that as the minutes of the morning ticked on, both staring at the snow falling down outside the window.

“there is no chance we can go out in that.”

sirius snorted incredulously, “did you have any plans today?”

you turned in his arms, facing him, “well no, but siri, we’ve been inside all week. we’ve become hermits!”

sirius rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “that’s what winter is about!”

“spending all day lazing about?”

“yes! spending all day under the covers, drinking hot chocolate-“

“that you spike with irish liquor”

“drinking hot chocolate! watch that sass, little lady, or you won’t get to know what the third thing is, and if i know you,” he laughed hautily, “and i think i do, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

you could feel the once warm energy around you both crackling with electricity, “oh i will be, will i?”

“mm-hmm”

“well, we can’t have that. siri,” you began, blinking your eyes at him as sweetly as you could. the way sirius’ smug grin fell for a second revealing his soft, enamored smile proved to you that it worked. “please tell me what else winter days are for? i would hate to be ‘sorely disappointed.’”

“ah, for you, doll? anything.”

sirius pressed his lips to your ear, shivers ran down your spine.

“winter days are for sleeping, drinking hot chocolate, and eating your girl for lunch.”

the snow was halfway up your window by now and sirius’ hand running up and down your leg further made you feel like the two of you were the only people on earth.

sirius pressed hot kisses to your cheek, trailing downwards your body. “thank god for winter days then.”

[tpwk-formula1]

2K event

I was looking at my blog for the first time in months in I noticed today that I am less than 300 followers away from hitting 2k and when I do hit it I will be doing an event to celebrate since I didn't for hitting 1K which was my original plan but I hit it so fast I had no time to prepare.

I have made a list of 15 fics I want to do but I need you guys to pick which driver you want to see! Just message me with which driver you want to see for a specific story! Once a fic has been claimed I will update this page! It will be first come first serve.

Some of these might even become a universe here at Lee-Lee's so if you end up falling in love with a story send in requests for it to keep it alive!

Masterlist (Will link once every AU has been claimed)

Side Note: I am trying to keep this as diverse as possible so I will more than likely not be using the same driver more than once (other than our Wag x Driver x Reader threesome)

Prompts for event

Porn star! Carlos X innocent! reader (Claimed)

Y/N is the innocent college student who secretly pays for a subscription on a porn sight to watch her favorite actor. When she finally starts using all the features her subscription has to offer she starts to build a little relationship with the man behind the screen.

Kinks involved - innocent kink, phone/ facetime sex, virginity loss, long-term edging, corruption, first orgasm

Tattoo artist! Lewis X piercer! reader (claimed)

Y/N is the new piercer her boss can't seem to take his eyes off of. What happens when he gets the bright idea of having reader give him a Jacob's ladder piercing. It becomes the start of their unprofessional relationship inside and outside the walls of his shop.

Kinks involved - body modifications (piercings and tattoos), oral (HUGE oral kink), forced orgasms, pleasure dom

Virgin! Oscar X PR manager! Reader (claimed)

Y/N has watched the way her driver interacts with fans and can't help but slightly fall in love with him, but what happens when she finds out he's spent his whole life working towards his career that he has never had a girlfriend or sex for that matter. She makes it her mission to corrupt and tease the driver until she gets what she wants.

Kinks involved - CORRUPTION KINK, sub! driver, loss of virginity

Charles X Pay for Sex! reader (claimed)

When Y/N gets a hefty payment to spend an entire weekend in Monaco fully paid for she's shocked to find a F1 driver on the other side of the door. She spends the weekend being his sex slave.

Kinks involved - sex slave, FREE USE

Pierre x Max X Reader (Claimed)

When Y/N brings up the idea of spicing up their sex life she's shocked to find her boyfriend brings up the idea of being with one of the other drivers on the grid. She's even more shocked when they make it back to his place to find a full furnished and decorated sex room.

Kinks involved - threesome, toys, bondage, edging, multiple orgasms

Lando X Luisha X reader (Claimed)

When Y/N and her WAG bestie start a low-key affair behind her best friend's back their shocked when her boy friend finds out and instead of him being upset is only rule is he gets to join sometimes.

Kinks involved - CHEATING (not a kink but a TW), threesome, wlw

Oscar X Bookworm! Reader (claimed)

When her boyfriend over hears her on the phone talking about how hot some of the scenes in her book are and how she wishes she was getting fucked like that her boyfriend can't help himself the next time she's reading.

Kinks involved - rough sex, oral

Frat boy! Lando X Sorority president! reader (Claimed)

Y/N and the president of her brother fraternity have been close since their first year joining the sorority and over the years they've had their moments but nothing to crazy, but after one drunk night that all changes.

Kinks involved - drunk/ high sex

Retired! sebastian x Young! driver (Claimed)

Y/N has always been a huge fan of (driver) and when he becomes her mentor her rookie season some questionable training builds between the two. Her reward and punishment system would have almost anyone else clutching their pearls but for Y/N it works.

Kinks involved - Dom/Sub, spanking, edging, multiple orgasms

Gabriel X Older! Reader (claimed)

Being Lando Norris's twin sister made for the most interesting childhood and now she's grown and working for Mclaren, but what happens when she catches the eye of one of the rookies.

Kinks involved - Quickies, sneaking around, caught in the act

Single Dad! Max X Nanny! reader (claimed)

When the newly divorced dad needs to have a full time live in nanny he goes on a long search to find the perfect person to take care of his twins.

Kinks involved - Age gap, low-key slow burn (Lots of plot with lots of porn)

CEO! Toto X Assistant! Reader (claimed)

Y/N is the new assistant to the rich and powerful CEO of Mercedes Racing. She's young but she knows how to do her job damn good. Her boss can't help but slightly fall in love with her.

Kinks involved - SOFTER SEX! Age gap, oral, breeding kink (LIKE HEAVY)

Nico X Ollie's Older Sister! Reader (claimed)

Daniel X (surprise) (I will announce this one once the materlist is created)

For the final fic it will be from my Paddock Bunny universe! It will be the whole grid x Y/N Brown! For this one send me in ideas or scenes you would want to see!

[namism]

🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷KOBY🩷

little things | koby

➳ categories: college au, gender neutral reader

➳ word count: 3k

➳ summary: It's no surprise when your friends' significant others swing by to drop off snacks and drinks for sustenance as you pull a much needed all-nighter for finals, but while everyone else is being looked after, who's looking after you? Enter Koby, the guy you never expected to care for you.

➳ notes: thanks for the request @mibso! ur like the best koby fan i know 🗣️

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"I... I think I'm gonna be sick."

Usopp tells you that he's on his third Red Bull as a dumb excuse for taking an unhealthy dosage of caffeine in a span of 18 hours because Nami has taken over four energy shots to power through the rest of her materials. She did it for the sake of passing Physics 189, an elective class on atmospheric physics that she stresses on too much because her love for it exceeds the exosphere, but she's starting to tweak (in Gen Z terms) because she has no fucking clue what's going on anymore.

Her head falls on the table of your study room—rightfully booked, not stolen, because your friend group is deferential compared to those study room squatters who don't even do any studying—and immediately, you and Usopp turn toward her in concern, the bags under her eyes being telltale signs of her surrender. It isn't Nami to give up on Physics 189 because she loves it more than anything, probably more than the weatherman in your local news, but in her defense, she hasn't slept in 31—going on 32—hours, and her body is giving into exhaustion despite the energy shots.

You stand from your seat across from her, reaching forward to gently shake her awake, but Nami is down like a snoozing puppy. Usopp groans when he realizes that he's going to need to carry her back to the girls' dormitories, while you thank your beliefs silently that she has finished enough of her materials to pass the exam she has to take the following morning.

"Sucks to be a physics major," Usopp mutters to himself as he pats Nami's head one last time before going back to his devices. He says that pitifully as if he isn't pitiful himself this finals week; he's a fine arts major because he likes being creative, likes putting things together, whether it be digital or traditional works of art, and if that isn't tiring enough, he also minors in engineering for fun (but maybe it isn't so bad because he has actual written exams he can study for instead of submitting a subjectively okay-tasting spaghetti due at 11:59 PM—only Sanji has to worry about that kind of shit in your circle).

Nevertheless, the grind never stops. You train your eyes back to your laptop, regaining your focus as you continue the assignment you've been working on the past hour. Once done, you hurry to the comfort room to take a quick break and arrive back at the study room to continue working.

By the time you arrive, however, more people have entered the small space, visitors from the neighboring rooms on the upper level. It turns out that they've come to visit your friends.

"Oh my god, um, is she okay?" Nami's girlfriend Vivi tries to shake her awake, causing Usopp to tell her softly that he tried to wake her earlier but to no avail. Distressed, Vivi puts down the small container she was holding and embraces Nami from behind, tilting her head toward her girlfriend's sleeping face and trying to talk her into waking up.

Usopp's girlfriend, Kaya, is the next to make her presence known by skipping over to the man, patting his head, and offering a bag of goodies and a PET bottle of lemon iced tea she got from the vending machine a few floors down. She smiles at you, and you reciprocate, not until the doors open to yet another sickly cute couple that makes you want to depressingly barf.

Sabo and Koala appear at the entrance of the study room with Sabo holding the door open for his girlfriend to come inside. She tells the two girls that study break is over, which promptly gets them moving. Vivi tells everyone that she has to bring Nami home, or else she's waking up to a grumpy girlfriend tomorrow morning, while Kaya obediently lets go of Usopp and helps him pack his things. As Sabo and Koala disappear, Usopp shyly apologizes.

"Why apologize?" you ask with a shrug.

"Because!" He gestures to the once-messy table where you, he, and Nami spent the past 15 hours studying. Now that Nami is being carried back to the dorms and he's leaving with Kaya, you'll be left alone with no one to look after you.

You shake your head. "I appreciate the concern, but everyone has to fend for themselves this season. You know the joke, 'Is it finals week or is it my final week?'" The couple bursts out laughing. "So really, you shouldn't be worried about leaving me here. I've survived the past few years in college, so this is easy shit!"

"Well, if you say so," Usopp says with a doubtful tone, but he takes it back because he's just playing with you. When he gets his things packed neatly inside his bag, he helps you and Kaya transfer a snoozing Nami on Vivi's back for a shameless piggyback ride to the dorms.

Once all is settled, your friends shuffle out of the study room, and the place is finally quiet.

Lonely and quiet.

Loneliness creeps up your shoulder as you lean back on the armchair with a sigh. Your chest feels empty, and it becomes more evident the longer you sit in quiet without the sound of Usopp's confused whispers or Nami's silent cusses. You're just alone, without your friends or any lover to bring you food to cheer you on. While everybody else is being looked after, no one is looking after you, and you'd be lying to yourself if you said that it didn't upset you.

There's always that unwanted feeling of jealousy that boils in your stomach whenever your friends and their lovers appear in front of you. They act so sweetly cute toward each other that it makes you yearn for a love as real as theirs, and now that finals season is rolling in, you need someone else's company more than ever. Kind of like aftercare, since college is kicking your ass and beating you into a pulp, so it makes sense to seek comfort. Unfortunately, you aren't graced even with the smallest bit of romantic interaction, so you just sit alone, sad, single, and most importantly, jealous.

As you wallow in silence, your stomach growls, and you realize that you haven't eaten or drunk in a while. You think back to the food Vivi and Kaya brought their lovers, and your heart sinks as another wave of loneliness crashes onto your pitiful single soul.

It feels nice to be loved, doesn't it? You think to yourself in jealousy as you look at the home screen of your cellphone.

"Shit, it's one o'clock?!" Yelling to yourself, you correct your posture on the armchair and shake your head to ward off grogginess. No wonder why Usopp and Kaya decided to leave; Kaya has strict guardians, and she only gets to hang out with a select few because she still has a curfew at her big age. It seems like she's broken that rule tonight, though.

Opening your laptop, you're notified that the battery is low. You roll your eyes as you angrily retrieve the charger from your backpack.

Unfortunately, it isn't there.

You look around your bag frantically, believing the device to be there even though it isn't. As you ransack your bag, tears of anger well in your eyes at the unfortunate event, your patience running thin by the second. You look through every pocket, hole, and nook and cranny, but the charger isn't there. When your laptop screen goes black and the stupid low battery icon flashes in the middle of the screen, your eyebrows automatically knit in fury as your hands clench into a tight fist.

Not only were you left alone, but you also can't find the one device that will get you through the night.

Having had enough, you slam your hands on the table in anger, letting the sound echo in the room and the pain settle on your skin. Fuck this shit. Fuck tonight, actually. You feel so alone and stressed by school, and to top it all off, you can't find your dumb laptop charger that you just want to—

"Ugh! I want to punch someone!"

"Okay, I'll just leave then!"

Your head spins toward the door in surprise. A guy with light pink hair peeks through the small opening like a lost dog, his hands a little shaky and his mouth forming a frown. You recognize him: Koby, one of the guys in your classes, who you got to spend a month-long group project with because the other people in your group weren't helping. Koby is calm and sweet, and you may not be close, but you vibe with him just right.

"Um, did you need something? Sorry for the noise, by the way." You sneak in an apology at the end of your question because you're not sure how Koby feels about witnessing an acquaintance-almost-stranger blare out about wanting to punch someone. Like you said, Koby is calm and sweet—it would be bad to give the poor guy a heart attack.

"I-I was going to ask if I could share the room with you since, w-well, you seem to be alone, and I saw your friends come out earlier—"

"Just come in."

Koby ignores the heavy sigh you let out in fear of ticking you off even more. Entering the room, he doesn't know why you're so stressed since you seemed to be having a good time earlier with your friends. The walls are made of glass, so he's been scouting the area like a hawk to hopefully score a vacant room to spend the rest of the night in. Helmeppo left the study hall hours ago in defeat, so he had to fend for himself alone.

Thankfully, you don't seem to be too bothered by his presence. He doesn't mean to be cocky, but maybe it's because he was a good group mate to you in the past.

Koby settles on Nami's vacant seat across from you, putting his bag down on the chair beside him. You watch him with bored eyes, and Koby swears he feels a chill run down his spine when he realizes that you're eyeing him intensely. Even then, he decides to mind his business and begin setting up his materials on the table.

Koby being Koby, unfortunately, he ends up breaking. "Sorry for the interruption," he says after feeling too embarrassed.

"It's okay. Sorry for staring," you mutter. Koby nods, disregarding your tired tone. Justifiable, he thinks. It's one o'clock in the morning, and everybody in the hall hasn't slept much besides him. He mentally pats himself on the back for deciding to sleep before coming there to study—good job.

Suddenly, he notices you groaning to yourself quietly, like a silent cry for help because you're too embarrassed to ask for it. Koby decides whether or not he should ask, seeing that you were already enraged to begin with, but he decides to just go for it because what could possibly go wrong with just asking?

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You roll your eyes. Koby hopes it wasn't meant for him.

"Yeah, yeah, I am— well, not really. No, I'm not okay. Do you have a Type C charger?"

Koby's lips open in slight shock. He's starting to get scared, like you're a ticking time bomb that can detonate any second now. Even then, he slowly nods and reaches for his backpack again to come and collect the charger you're asking for.

"Here." He pushes the device toward you, and you all but leap across the table to grab it. Koby notices your desperation when you crouch on the ground and plug the charger into the wall socket and hastily get your laptop back up and running. He gulps.

Once the screen lights up, your face brightens. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Uh, you're welcome!" Koby awkwardly replies through a nervous laugh, delighted to see that you aren't angry anymore.

"You're my savior," you tell him. "You don't know just how sad I was today. I mean, my friends are gone, and my laptop just died on me, but I didn't bring a charger and all that shit. Worst of all, I'm literally—"

Your stomach growls.

"Starving," you finish. Koby keeps the same expression on his face, lips quirked up into an awkward smile as he listens to you ramble. You place a hand on your tummy and you rest your head on the table. "Sorry, Koby..."

He's glad to hear his name, though. It's nice to know that you still remember him despite your foggy brain and tired system. Looking into his backpack again, he grabs a small pink eco-bag and pushes it toward you.

You tilt your head up at the noise. The bag is right in front of your face.

"What's this?"

"You said you were hungry, so..." He nods to the bag and almost jumps from his seat when you snatch it with your quick hands. You look inside, then you scatter the contents on the table. Koby motions to the array of snacks: yogurt, milk, chocolate bars, peanuts, coffee-flavored candies, chocolate malted powder, and two bottles of probiotics. Realizing just how much food he had with him, he scratches his nape shyly. "Um, I always have food with me, but you can have these. I think you might need it because you've been here since morning."

You blankly stare at the assortment of snacks in front of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your lips form a pout.

Koby notices and assumes that you're staring at the milk.

"Sorry," he says meekly. He's kind of panicked, thinking that he brought the wrong flavor of milk. "Do you hate strawberry?"

"What?" you ask, then later on realize what he's talking about. Oh, poor innocent Koby—he thought you were upset with the milk, but really, you're just moved by his generosity. He's so kind. Do you even deserve this after scaring the guy? "No, I was just, like, thinking to myself, that's all."

"Oh," he says. "What were you thinking of?"

"I'm wondering if you're my guardian angel." His ears perk up and his cheeks start to turn pink. You pick up the strawberry milk he was talking about and inspect it closely. Then, you hold it in front of his face and make a side-by-side comparison. "Your hair and cheeks are pink, just like the milk."

His face flushes even more.

"And now you're blushing harder," you point out. As you observe the snacks on the table, many of what Koby bought seem to be strawberry-flavored, and it warms your heart to think that he seemingly has a natural attraction toward anything pink, like his light fluffy hair (and his seemingly squishable cheeks). It then crosses your mind if his hair is all-natural or if he dyes it regularly because it's the kind of pink that doesn't look real, but at the same time does. Koby catches you staring at him longer than socially acceptable though, so you snap out of your trance to avoid the awkwardness.

"I don't want to assume and waste your study time, but it seems like you're the one all entranced now," he mutters the last part because he realizes that he isn't bold enough to be making such moves on you, so he keeps his head down in embarrassment. When you don't reply, Koby opens his textbook, fixes his specs, and reads.

Your stomach aches another time, so you grab the yogurt and eat it like you haven't eaten in years. One by one, the snacks on the table disappear as you eat in silence, giving yourself a well-deserved break.

Suddenly, it hits you. Loneliness is washed away by a feeling of comfort, and, ugh, it feels so good to feel this way. Truth be told, you're still sad that your single self doesn't have a special romantic support person like your friends do, but even if you never saw Koby in that light, his company almost feels similar to it. Maybe it's the bitter jealous pang in your chest after seeing couple after couple be so lovey-dovey during finals season, but whatever it is, it's eased down a bit because of Koby. The kind guy, Koby. The oh-so-generous guy, Koby. The pink-haired guy who might be a modern-day superhero in secret, Koby. Just how many people has he done this for? Is it just you? How kind is he to share his cute pink bag of snacks because he sensed that you were hungry? What about the charger he probably needs for himself?

As you chew on an energy bar, you realize something.

Since when did Koby look this cute?

"Hey, what are you— are you crying?! Are you okay?!"

You nod your head. You didn't even realize you were crying until Koby looked up from his textbook and pointed it out. You cover your eyes with your arm.

"I'm fine, just, um, ignore me and keep studying! Gosh!"

In panic, he reaches inside his backpack for a fresh pack of tissues. He rises from his seat and walks over to you, offering it.

"Was it the candy? What's wrong?"

You reject the tissues. "No! It's just, like, about you and stuff—"

"Wha— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"No, you got it all wrong! I'm thankful for you, not the other way around." You smile through your dramatic tears. "You're just so sweet to me. You lent me your charger and gave me food when I needed them most."

He blinks slowly.

That's it?

"W-Well, I'm glad that you're... happy... about it... I guess..." he replies questioningly. "Do you still need...?"

"Tissues? No, I'm okay." You wipe your tears with your hands and shake your head. You feel energized. "Thank you, Koby..."

...for being here.

There it goes again: the slight shock on Koby's face has a hint of confusion as he tries to make sense of your actions, but he's more understanding than judgmental given your circumstances. He doesn't know what got you all annoyed in the first place, but if you're okay as you claim to be, then that's good enough for him.

Koby smiles at you genuinely. As he goes back to studying, you make a mental note to befriend him once this is all over.

[yet-another-leo]

Hi fellow Leo, can you touch on Lilith conjunctions in synastry? Specifically your experience as well. :) I currently have a guys Lilith conjunct my sun.

My Experience With Lilith Synastry

General Meaning:

"Lilith relates to: love-triangles and infidelity, being the other man or woman, sexual allure and attraction; both feminism and misogyny; abortion, miscarriages, infertility; adoption and lost children; outsiders, wildness, taboo-breaking, rule-breaking, sheer outright craziness; wild beauty, wilderness itself and being cast into the wilderness; both inability to love and fierce desire; aloneness; witchcraft and magic; natural power; abuse and retribution. There is more, but suffice to say, I never disregard Lilith when looking at a chart." — https://oxfordastrologer.com

Usually Lilith in a hetero men's chart represents the woman he's both incredibly sexually attracted to, hates and fears, the woman he wants to tame and possess but can't, and Lilith for women represents the dark feminine side, the wild woman archetype, how and where you rebel, break taboos and face punishment, and why and where you get outcasted.

I never actually dated any of the guys I'm talking about but we were friends/in the talking stages. Also I apologize in advance if this is too negative, lilith synastry can have some positives from what I've heard, I personally just never had any unfortunately.

Guy 1: His Leo Lilith Conjunct My Sun

We were friends for a long time and he was very attracted to me — sexually more — and very obsessed with me but he also secretly hated me a lot. He was very possessive and would talk shit about anyone I talked to or was friends with, even though we were just friends and I made it clear that I don't see him in a romantic light. We were similar in terms of toxicity and we also brought out the worst in each other most times. When he first asked me out, I rejected him and he's been bitter ever since. After the rejection, the awkwardness made us fall out with each other for a bit until I saw him again after 2 years and he had a girlfriend at that time too so I thought we could be friends again because I felt bad for what happened. But what I didn't know is that for the time we weren't in touch he was cyberstalking me and was doing the most to tarnish my reputation as a way to get back at me the whole time. His girlfriend hated me a lot too but at that time I didn't know why but later I found out it was cause he would talk about how much he hates me a lot to her and his friends told me he hated me for ignoring him after the rejection (I didn't, he did lol). Then he made a move on me again and he also wanted me to be his side chick so I cut him off for good.

Guy 2: His Virgo Lilith Conjunct My Venus

I was in the talking stage with this guy I met in one of my classes. He was also very attracted to me (once again, more sexually than romantically) and very obsessed right from the start. I wasn't as attracted to him as he was to me. When he asked me out, I said yes and went out with him. After the first date, he started getting all entitled for sex and kept asking me for my nude pictures so I cut him off and ghosted him. A few days later I find out he also had a girl and he was talking shit about me to her and others. Then he broke up with her and started telling everyone and their mother that I'm the one who was desperate to date him and broke up their relationship, obviously none of that was true and I had to clear my name for months. I have yet to receive an apology for this bs >:(.

Final thoughts: This synastry is very sexual, obsessive and intense and in a way is similar to what people consider pluto & 8H synastry. I think lilith synastry really depends on individual charts and can work if both people have a prominent lilith or a lilith conjunction in natal cause then they would know how to handle this kind of energy.

Note: I also had nodal synastry with both of them and I've got natal venus in 12H so that probably played into this too.

@dippindots0

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Omg...... Like Mother, Like Daughter is doomed Yuri (half yuri? One sided yuri?). TT0TT Sol doesn't feel the same way I'm pretty sure (sadly), but Som is DEF down bad. TT0TT And Som's not exactly the most mentally stable jakfjdksalfj (I think she has a bit of a "Sol's my pet" vibe going on as well. Som means well but she is NOT healthy either jfakslfj oh this is just going to be a fucking wreck I'm ready let's GO!)

(spoilers under cut, also under cut cause length and pictures)

Like she saw the boy Sol is hanging out with and was just ">:("

*sobbing* She is SO DONE when she finds out they are dating TT0TT

*sobs* ahhhh! klasjfdk OhmyGOAD SHE is tREMBLING as Sol tells her how she got with the guy TT0TT

She is literally SULLEN that Sol and guy have been dating FOR A MONTH! she looks os SICK TT0TT

My poor girl is literally doing the Arthur fist clench with her fist TT0TT

Som! Som! Girlie! I don't think this is just a friendship for you anymore.

LKFJDASKLFJKLAJFKL WAIT

"Anyone can see at first glance that he's good for nothing. But how does she not see that?"

OHHHHH MY GOD SHE'S LIEK 'HE SMELLY. HE STANK. HE POOR. HE BROKE. HE TOO NORMAL FOR HER." GURL! GET OFF THE FLOOOOOR!

"To be honest, I wish they'd break up" NO YOU DON'T SAY???? nEVER WOULD'VE GUESS!

Oh I was just here for the matricide but I've been blessed with more angst! Let's goooooo!!!!!!!!!

[valyrfia]

I need to talk about Max's soft smile in that "just an inchident" RBR tiktok, because I can't be the only one who's noticed that he's got a very specific, bashful, gentle, almost-shy, Charles smile that he only pulls whenever he is speaking to Charles or Charles is mentioned. It's like his entire demeanour goes soft and light and gentle, he's like a cat suddenly flopping belly-up.

[teddybeartoji]

o wait before i start posting any pics.. i was thinking that maybe.. you guys could help me liquify this gender some more by switching up what you call me.... DON'T GET ME WRONG I LOVE . LOVE LOVE LOVE WHEN YOU USE HE/HIM AND JUST OVERALL LIKE MORE MASC STUFF THAT'S SOOO MMMMMMMMMSO FUCKING GOOD like i don't get to feel that irl at all so it really does make me so happy but i've just been thinking abt TRYING to switch it up more yk? does this even make sense...... . hhhh anyway i might won't even like it and i'll want to just go back to hehim but i wanna try... JUST TO SWITCH IT UP.

[katyspersonal]

1 Insight: Djura's third companion is Josef

15 Insight: Josef is just a cooperator variant of the NPC type 'Izzy's Successor', Djura's third companion is that corpse you pick Charred Set from

40 Insight: 'Djura's companion' might not even necessarily mean Powder Kegs. For example, Djura's Ally doesn't have any Powder Kegs weapons but is clearly included! Even then, there were multiple Powder Kegs, why just three specific ones? Maybe 'companions' refers to his polycule divorces closest friends or whatever. Could that mean Bestial Hunter who is from Oto Workshop (beta Powder Kegs workshop)? Could that mean Valtr since his weapon was made in Powder Kegs? Could that mean Izzy? Who knows!

60 Insight: Djura's third companion is an OC spot because developers forgor/had no time and we've been doing blue curtains effect this whole time

99 Insight: Djura's third companion is a Blood-Starved Beast that Djura's Apprentice fights with, they left Old Yharnam together and this one was poisoned with Ashen Blood all along and eventually turned

0 Insight: You've been fighting Brainsucker in Upper Cathedral Ward's corridor for too long lol

[darlingghoulette]

something something biker!eddie and his flirtation via motorcycle 

Eddie buys the damn death trap of a Kawasaki after a particularly good couple of months dealing and Steve hates it. He absolutely refuses to allow any of the kids to get on the contraption, even after he’s promised that Eddie has practiced and knows what he’s doing. Won’t budge on the subject at all.

...until Eddie wears him down enough to try it for himself and then make the judgement on whether or not the kids will be in grievous danger by a spin around the block.

Steve is already in a mood the night they try it, staring at the huge, shiny black beast of a machine, with a matching helmet Eddie had pushed into his arms propped up on his hip. 

He would never admit that he might be just a tad grumpy that Eddie looks way too hot in the leather and straps that make up his jacket. He already had an inconvenient crush on the man enough without adding the way the helmet on Eddie’s own head was kind of doing it for him. Steve will examine that particular reaction later, when he wouldn’t be hashing out his new found kinks in the middle of the street. 

“We really don’t have to do this if you’re unsure,” Eddie’s already perched on the bike, kickstand up and balancing it perfectly with his feet. A professional. The bastard. 

His voice, which had previously been teasing and “What’s the matter? Scared, Harrington?” had softened to something gentler. A peace offering muffled from underneath that fucking sexy helmet. 

Steve knew that if he were to back out right now, that would be it. Eddie would drop it and wouldn’t hold it against him at all. Wouldn’t even make fun. Because that’s just how Eddie was. A unmitigated asshole when he was joking around with his friends--and a fucking sweetheart if he knew something really mattered. 

It moved Steve’s feet forward, climbing on and settling himself on the pad just behind the dipped driver’s seat. He eases himself down fully, noting how Eddie keeps the bike solidly balanced the whole time despite the shift of weight. 

“Shut it, Munson, I’m not scared. Just would really prefer not to crash into a tree, so keep your eyes up front,” He put on the borrowed helmet, pushing at Eddie’s shoulder to stop him from craning back around to look at him. “Eyes front!” 

Eddie laughed.  “We’re not even moving!” 

“I don’t care! It’s like a loaded gun. Always assume it’s loaded! Always assume this thing could kick up at any moment and make us smears on the pavement.” He grumbled, but it was halfhearted. He was mostly distracted now with what to do with his hands. Eddie lifted his leg and brought it down swiftly, kicking the motorcycle on in a way that was...undeniably confident and hot. Oh, Jesus Christ. 

“I promise to keep us in one piece, your majesty. Nothing crazy, but you’re definitely going to want to hold on to me,” The machine under them roared, making Eddie yell just a bit to be heard. He reached back to pull one of Steve’s hands to his waist only for it to be immediately pulled away.  “Uh, it’s fine. I’ll just--”  “Steve,”

“I’m good, you can go!” Steve braced both hands on either side of himself, digging his fingers into the padded cushion beneath him. They didn’t speak for a few beats, the engine rumbling carrying on relentlessly, until Steve saw Eddie’s shoulders shrug in an exaggerated way and then he--

The bike revved and lurched forward a few feet, throwing Steve’s balance out of the proverbial window. He yelped and fought against the momentum throwing him back by yanking forward and plastering himself to Eddie’s back. 

There was no space between them now, with Steve’s arms completely wrapped around the body in front of him, fingers digging viciously into Eddie’s waist. Despite his nervous system still working through the scare, Steve had to admit to himself that he did feel more stable like this. Like they were one person on the bike, now. Balance aligned, weight together. 

Eddie had them braked safely again, feet on the ground and the echo of his laugh in Steve’s ears. Once the jock got his breath back again he was really going to have some words to say about that. Most of them curse words. Their helmets knocked together slightly as Eddie turned his body and flicked up his visor. Their position made it difficult to be face to face, but Steve caught the corner of Eddie’s smirk and a flash of a chocolate brown eye.  “There, much better. Now, you just hold on like a good backpack and let me take you for the ride of your life, ‘kay?” 

Before Steve could even process that the visor was back down and they were taking off, his heart pounding against Eddie’s back for reasons that were only partially to do with the bike underneath them.

He really hated this thing.  (He loved it. The kids were allowed to get rides, occasionally. That seat became Steve’s.) 

[burger-goblin]

.

[echothelover]

There were three stages to my development as a Juri fan.

Stage one, you are 100% pro Juri and too emotionally close to the conflict, and thus it hurts when Shiori does anything. Wtf was Ruka's part of the story even about.

Stage two, you relate to Juri just a liiiitttle too much. And you become a Shiori apologist. Shiori may be mean but she's not THAT bad. I mean, Juri is pretty cold to her too. Surely there's a REASON Juri liked her in the first place. Also Ruka GET AWAY FROM THEM.

Stage three, you are now a fan of both Juri and Shiori but please please please stay away from each other til you've both got years worth of shit figured out. Shaking Juri by the shoulders- i get it, i understand, but GET OVER IT. Cheering loudly at the scene where the locket is cut off. Appreciating Ruka's narrative for shaking them out of their patterns (but still hating him so so much and laughing when he dies offscreen). Get therapy please girls. And then, if after lots of self reflection and improvement you still love each other, THEN... you should keep going to therapy but also add couple's therapy into the mix.

[haystarlight]

trans lesbian straight men who can't get laid by a woman

That's not even remotely right

Straight men don't usually dress feminenly

Lots of trans lesbians have girlfriends, idiot

[xx-psych0-rabbit-xx]

what got you into the kirby series first ?

ehhh hard to say ? i was rly into 90s nostalgia gaming channels so i just kinda always knew older series even if i rly didnt understand most of them.when i was younger i didnt rly understand most of what was happening ever so i was just like hehe funny pink ball go brrr :)

[winepresswrath]

drusilla's canon grandma kink is a thing that can be so charming & unhinged.