#decided it was better without the caption

[porcupine-girl]

[transfaguette]

[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?”

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[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧JJK Men as Yanderes ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Mahito, Choso Kamo

Word count: Each piece is roughly 750 words

Warnings: implied sabotage (Gojo, Toji, Choso), invasion of privacy (Gojo), kidnapping (Gojo, Sukuna), murder (Geto), kidnapping mention (Nanami, Toji), suicidal ideation (Nanami), light gore (Gojo, Sukuna, Mahito), reader injury (Sukuna), threats of bodily harm/mutilation (Mahito), sexual assault (Mahito), implied murder (Choso)

Satoru Gojo

You're nothing special. Not compared to him, at least. With no long line of sorcery or blue blood running through your veins, your family is just about as average as it gets.

You're nothing special---not to Jujutsu society, anyway. But who gives a shit about that? To Satoru, you're more than special.

You're everything.

He's always been the strongest, and yet, when he's with you, he just feels so weak.

Like a schoolgirl fawning over her latest crush, Satoru often finds himself checking his phone while away on missions, hoping to see your name appear on his screen. It doesn't have to be anything special—even a picture of some ugly animal with the caption "That's u, lol." is enough to get him going. Just knowing you were thinking of him at all, even in an unflattering light, makes him feel lightheaded in a way not even battle can emulate.

It's weird. It's embarrassing.

But he can't get enough.

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel, he'd kneel. If you asked him to beg, he'd beg. If you asked him to rip out a man's heart and present it to you, he'd ask if he should do so on a silver or gold platter.

If you asked him to let you go, however...

You sigh and fall back onto the couch. It'd been a week since your landlord mysteriously kicked you out, and Satoru took you in with a frankly suspicious eagerness. To say that he was an overbearing roommate was to put it lightly.

He'd follow you around the flat from room to room, enter your bedroom without knocking, and once, you even caught him sifting through your laundry. He wasn't even embarrassed about getting caught, let alone the fact that he had done it in the first place.

You decided to start searching for a new roommate after that.

"Y'know," Satoru says, slinging his arms around your shoulders---you hadn't even heard him approach. You quickly close your computer, which happens to have very clearly been showcasing cheap apartments in the area. "I could have just taken ya'. Snatched you up off the street like some kidnapper."

"What...?"

"---But I decided to play nice instead. I thought we could forge a real relationship that way. But you've just been pushing me away. I'm starting to think I've been too lenient with ya'. Like maybe I should have just locked you up instead."

"That isn't funny, Satoru."

"Who said I was joking?" You open your mouth to respond, but Satoru cuts you off before you get the chance. "You want dinner? I can order us takeout. Anywhere you'd like."

Drop it, his eyes say. You do.

That very night, you pack a bag and head to the nearest hotel. In the morning, you'll ask your job if they can transfer you to another city. For tonight, you'd like to just get a good night's rest without the lingering fear of waking up to his figure looming over you.

You wake up to familiar surroundings. It doesn't register as strange until you remember checking into a hotel the night prior. You shoot up to get a better look around. Sure enough, you're in your own bedroom, not the hotel's.

But how...?

You're sure you left last night. Did you dream it? You go to check your phone, but it's not there.

Just then, the door opens. "Oh, you're up," your roommate says.

"Satoru, what's---"

"I called you in sick for work today," he says casually, "and tomorrow. Actually, starting today, you're unemployed."

"What?!"

"Don't worry. I can take care of us. I've got more than enough money."

Satoru wants you more than he's ever wanted anything, and he wants you to feel the same way. He'd do anything if it meant winning your heart.

If you asked him to kneel...If you asked him to beg...

If you asked him to let you go, however...

"C'mon, baby, you know I can't do that," he'd say, arms around your waist and head in your lap. "Ask me for something else, anything. Just not that. Do you want a pony? We can get a pony."

"No---"

"What about a cat? Or maybe you prefer dogs? I could get a purebred if you wanted one. I know it gets lonely being in the house all by yourself."

"I want to go outside, Satoru."

"We could get a fish tank, I guess. Though I doubt they'd make good company."

"Listen to me---"

"Actually, maybe that's for the best. Wouldn't want to compete for my lover's attention in my very own home, you know?"

Suguru Geto

When he was at his lowest, Suguru thought of you. It kept him going. It kept him sane.

So, of course, you were the first person he asked to join him in the creation of the new world. His world.

"Our world," he said, the look on his face desperate, pleading.

You declined, of course. His ideals went against everything you stood for as a Jujutsu sorcerer. As a person.

He took it well---or seemed to, at least. He flashed you a plastered-on smile and released your hands from his, leaving you with no further fuss.

For a while, that seemed to be the end of it.

Life went on. Though you would occasionally catch wind of his nefarious deeds, dealing with such things never fell within your purview. In fact, it almost seemed as if the higher-ups were purposefully keeping you from any cases that involved him.

You had all but forgotten about that fateful evening when a call from the higher-ups had you booking a flight to Okayama.

Apparently, there had been a sudden influx of cursed spirits in the region. And as the lead researcher in cursed phenomena, you were called to the scene.

You had already been given a file outlining the happenings, but out of courtesy, Yumi, the assistant supervisor assigned to the case alongside you, filled you in regardless.

"It's not that there's a higher rate of cursed spirits being born in this area," she said. "They're migrating here."

"Hmm," you look over the map on your tablet again; colour-coded dots mark the locations and grades of each (presumed) non-native sighting. The spacings are far from natural. They seem to have been made with intent, almost as if forming a pattern of some kind.

"We've set up a barrier to track the arrival of new cursed spirits. Nearly every curse from fourth to semi-first grade in the neighbouring towns has been coming here. Some of our windows have even spotted them moving together in groups."

"Was there anything strange about their behaviour? Like moving in single-file lines, with strange movements, or perhaps even speaking?" Yumi lights up.

"Yes, actually! They were all---"

Your screen flashes, suddenly restarting the tablet without your input.

"Huh...?"

"[Last]-San..." Your supervisor almost whispers. You tear your eyes from your screen to hers as she weakly holds up her tablet to you.

Over four hundred cursed spirits have been spotted crossing the Okayama border within the past fifteen minutes.

Your tablet finishes restarting, and you scramble to view the map again, hoping what you just saw was nothing more than a glitch.

The loading screen seems to take ages to complete, but when it does, the map shows exactly what you feared.

Oh. You get it now.

The pattern it was trying to spell out. It's "愛"

---"Love".

You hear a scream.

"Ah, it's good to see you again. How long has it been now?" A voice---one you're all too familiar with---says. "Two, no, maybe three years?" Suguru is wiping blood off of his hands. You don't want to look down. You can't look down.

Yumi is dead.

You looked down.

"I'm not sure why I phrased that like a question I didn't know the answer to," he says, smiling in a way that makes your heart ache. "I've been keeping track down to the days, you see."

"Were you...behind this?" You've never been one for combat. You can't use reverse cursed technique to save Yumi. You can't fight to save the others. There's nothing you can do.

You've never felt so helpless.

"I did," he admits casually. "I recently got my hands on a new curse. First-grade 'Pied Piper', its technique creates a sort of call-and-response between itself and other curses of a lower grade through a musical frequency only other curses can perceive. With that technique, I can manipulate the movements of curses I haven't yet acquired without leaving my residuals behind."

"But if it's coming from the technique of a curse you possess, your residuals would still be left behind," you counter.

"Ah, as quick on the uptake as always, [First]," he praises. "You're right, or you would be if this curse were under the control of my curse spirit manipulation. No, this curse was tamed, not subjugated."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's going to kill you once he's finished explaining.

"I've always appreciated an inquisitive mind," he says. "especially when it's your inquisitive mind." Your mouth forms a vague 'O' shape as the realisation dawns on you.

"愛"

"Love"

...You're never getting away.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is someone who has never really been all that content with life.

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Sometimes, on his darkest days, Nanami thinks about what would have happened if he had joined Haibara—or better yet, if he had never even been born in the first place. If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?

But then he met you, and suddenly, the world didn't seem all that bad.

Don't get him wrong, it's not like your presence suddenly made all the wrongs in the world right, but it did make him feel like they all mattered just a little bit less. Like maybe all this suffering was worth it, if it also meant he could see you smile.

So, of course, he'd do anything to keep you safe. To protect that smile.

The easiest way to ensure that, of course, would be to clip your wings. To lock you away somewhere where only he could reach you. A songbird that only sings for him, a dove in a birdcage.

He'd treat you like royalty, of course. His job pays well, but he's a somewhat frugal person by nature, so he has plenty of savings lying around. Whatever you wanted, he'd get you.

As long as you stayed safe, he couldn't ask for anything more. Even if you didn't love him, as long as your smile could be protected, that would be enough.

He's in the middle of researching what kind of restraints would cause the least damage and irritation to your skin when he realises what a grave mistake he was about to make.

'If the world is this awful, wouldn't it be better to have never experienced it at all?'

What if...

What if you started feeling that way, too?

What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?

He could offer you all the material things in the world, but if it comes at the price of your freedom, it might still not make you happy. After all, it was the same for him.

If money didn't make him happy, why would you be different?

Sorcery sucks. Corporate sucks. Japan sucks.

Nanami is worse.

He doesn't deserve you. It's with this thought in mind that he begins to avoid you. He refuses to meet your gaze, leaves the room when you enter, and declines all missions that involve your presence.

He feels like he's going crazy. Separation has made him sloppy and reckless. He comes home with more injuries, and a part of him thinks he deserves it.

Bags begin to form under his eyes as two weeks go by without the haven of your presence. He sees you everywhere now. The girl across the street is dressed in a substyle you like. The model in that magazine has your eyes. The cafe down the block is having a special on your coffee order.

"Nanamin, why're you avoiding [Last] all of a sudden? They do something to you?" Nanami scoffs at the remark but doesn't answer. He turns to leave but stops when Gojo continues. "Y'know, they actually came cryin' to me about it. Said they had no idea why you suddenly started treatin' 'em like they've got the plague." Nanami turns to look at Gojo, who's fiddling with his blindfold. "You should make up with them soon. Can't leave our cute little assistant supervisor feeling so down, you know?"

Nanami hates to admit it, but Gojo might be right.

'What if, in trying to protect your smile, he ends up being the one to take it away?'

Fuck. He can't do anything right.

He really doesn't deserve you, but what can he do? If he leaves, you won't smile anymore, but if he stays, you'll be smiling at a monster.

But what can he do? He'd do anything to protect that smile.

Even if it means hiding his fangs.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is a man who takes what he wants and doesn't care if he has to get his hands dirty in order to take it.

Naturally, this applies to you as well.

It's strange, he's never wanted someone as badly as he wants you. Not his past flings, not even his late wife.

Toji is no stranger to romance. He was married, after all. He knows love. It's a familiar feeling.

That's why he's inclined to believe that what he feels for you isn't love. No, what he feels for you is far too primal to be love. It's rough and all-consuming. It's nothing like the soothing feeling he had around his wife.

Love wraps around one's heart like a warm blanket. This wraps around his heart like a python.

But if it's not love, what is it?

Actually, scratch that. It doesn't matter.

Whatever it is, it's some form of desire. And if he desires something, then all he has to do is take it.

Yes, it's better to keep these kinds of things simple rather than getting tied up in technicalities.

There is a problem, however. He'd like nothing more than to just lock you up and keep you for himself, but with his somewhat unstable income and his habit of bouncing around from place to place, that isn't exactly feasible.

Ah, what to do...?

He could settle down or stop spending his money as soon as he earns it, but where's the fun in that?

No, rather than try to adapt to your lifestyle, he'd much rather force you to adapt to his. Still, he supposes some sacrifices will be necessary, as his lifestyle is currently only fit for one.

You'll have to quit your job since you'll be moving around from place to place alongside him, but he'll just take on some more jobs to cover the extra cost; it's no big deal.

He proposes the idea to you so matter-of-factly that it's almost as if he believes you to have already agreed to the plan beforehand. In reality, this is your first time hearing of such a thing, and you're so stunned that you momentarily lose your voice.

You've known this man for two, no, maybe three weeks, and yet he's asking you to drop everything and come overseas with him? You're not even friends! He's just a regular at the cafe you're employed with.

It dawns on you that he must be joking, so you chuckle awkwardly and avert your gaze. Perhaps you simply haven't known him long enough to gauge his sense of humour. You feel a little embarrassed for nearly having taken him so seriously.

Then, he shows you the plane tickets.

Bewildered, you end up being more blunt than you perhaps meant to: "I'm not going," you say, pushing his tickets back to him.

"Sweetheart," he says dryly. "I'm not asking." You shoot him a strained, confused smile, which quickly morphs into a more genuine one as the door chimes.

To think you'd ever be happy to serve a customer. It's a foreign sentiment, but if it means an end to this strange interaction, you'd happily serve a hundred---no, maybe even a thousand customers.

You take their order and get to making their drink, shooting quick glances at the man---Toji, you think---from behind the bar.

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you.

It's days like this that you wish the company wasn't so stingy about hiring more than one person for shifts. You're about to clock out, and if that man is going to stay until closing, you'd really like to have a coworker walk you back to your car.

It's twenty minutes until closing when Toji finally leaves. You let out an unconscious sigh of relief, feeling your shoulders relax. That was weird, but you shouldn't have to see him again, right? He's going overseas tomorrow, after all.

Yeah, you won't see him again. Thank goodness.

It's with that thought in mind that you flip the "We're open!" sign to its side and lock the doors. It's only 6 PM, but the fall season means it's already dark. You shiver from a cool breeze as you make your way towards your car at last.

Huh. Flat tire.

Ryomen Sukuna

Those who know of Sukuna will inevitably feel sorry for anyone who happens to catch his gaze. Sorcerer or not, none will ever possess even a fraction of the strength he carries, and for someone like Sukuna, that means you're no better than a bug to be trampled on.

What a poor, pitiful thing you are. You must be treated more like a pet than a person. A plaything for him to toy with, to discard once you've ceased to entertain.

However, this interpretation couldn't be more wrong.

What others fail to realise is that Sukuna would never waste his time on someone he doesn't consider his equal. Weak as you may be, there's something about you that seems different in his eyes.

Like a precious gem left unpolished, there's a certain allure to you that only a trained eye could see, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone else stake a claim on you first.

No, he'll be the one to bring out your true potential.

Sukuna has never met someone worthy of being his companion. This has never bothered him, however. Loneliness was not something he was familiar with. There are those who have tried, of course, to prove their worth, to stand by his side, but none have ever moved him.

None until you, that is.

The funny thing is that you don't even try to win his attention. You never once asked for his gaze to land upon you. And yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Sukuna doesn't know what to do with you. You make him feel things he's never felt before.

Is this weakness? Is it love?

Is there a difference between the two at all?

Should he kill you? Should he keep you?

What can he do to make these feelings go away? What can he do to ensure they never go away?

In exchange for not pillaging your homeland, the townspeople offer you up as a sacrifice. It was Uraume's idea.

At midnight, you're dragged out of the comfort of your home and tied to a stake, where you stay for hours. By dawn, you've worn yourself out with struggle, dried blood sticking to your hands and the ropes around your wrists, when a white-haired stranger comes to collect you.

The stranger undoes your bindings, but only the ones keeping you bound to the pole. You're dragged along like a dog on a leash for countless hours until you eventually arrive at the largest estate you've ever seen in your life. It's midday when you're untied and allowed to bathe. The warm water releases all the tension from your aching muscles, and as you bathe, the white-haired fellow replaces the garments you arrived in with robes made of fine silk.

The stranger's name is Uraume, they tell you. They'll be taking care of you until their master is ready to meet with you.

"What happens after that?" you ask tentatively.

Uruame flashes you a smile that refuses to answer.

Before you know it, a full week has passed you by. You're still yet to see this so-called master, but Uraume tells you not to worry. After all, the master has already seen you lots of times, they say.

The thought of being watched in secret sends a shiver down your spine.

Though the prison is large, you're confined to only one wing of the estate, and after a week of having nothing to do but wander, you have the entire layout memorized. Bored and unattended, you decide to venture out into the unknown past the garden's gates. There, you come face-to-face with the largest man you've ever laid eyes upon.

A hulking figure with four arms and fiery pink hair turns to you, and in an instant, you fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around you and the pain across your chest.

In truth, Sukuna had tried to kill you, but his technique missed your vitals. It takes him a moment of watching your blood ooze out of the open wound to realize he did it on purpose. Before he even realizes it, he's picked you up in his lower arms and applied reverse cursed technique to your injury. You've lost consciousness, and your pulse is weak, but you aren't dead. Relief floods through Sukuna's veins as he listens to your soft breathing.

From that day on, you're never to leave his side unless absolutely necessary. From that day on, Sukuna has someone worthy of standing by his side, not as a servant, nor a pet, but as a companion. From that day on, Sukuna has a lover.

Whether you like it or not.

Mahito

As a curse born from the hatred and fear humans feel towards their own kind, Mahito relishes humanity's anguish and despair. He kills without a second thought, not caring who he hurts or who gets swept up into his path of mass destruction.

So why is it that this particular human sways him so? Why is it that he thinks your soul looks pretty, just the way it is? Why does he want to touch you but not to warp you beyond repair?

Why does he want you to look at him? Why does he want to scoop your eyes out of your sockets so that you can never look away?

To be a curse is to always follow your own desires, no matter how contradictory or inconsistent---that's the motto that Mahito lives by.

So, of course, this philosophy applies to you as well.

It doesn't make sense, and he doesn't understand it. But that doesn't matter to him. Why would it? He's a curse, and curses take what they want. What he wants is you, so, of course, he has to take you, too.

Mahito doesn't spend long watching you before he makes his move. First, he has to check if you can even see curses to begin with. If you can, that'll make things easier. But if you can't...well, that'll be fun too.

He bumps into you at the train station around 2 AM. It was a late night at work, and you're now dead on your feet. There's no one around, so it's the perfect time for him to test you. He taps your shoulder with a smile.

If you don't react, he starts feeling you up, talking aloud about how much he wants you as his hands roam your body.

"Mm, you're so weak," he says, palm on your stomach. "Look at you, all unguarded. If I wanted to, I could take your soul and just—" he squeezes the flesh on your abdomen. "—until you go splat! Hmm, but I don't really want to do that. I wonder why?" His hand trails down to your hips, brushing past—but not quite landing on—your private areas.

"It's weird, isn't it? You can't even see me. You don't even know I exist. But I know you exist." He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. "Humans usually wear rings when they're married, right? I wonder why you don't have one? You're such a catch," he giggles. "Ah, well, I guess it's better for me. Less work, y'know?Though, I would have liked to see the look on your face, coming home to dear, sweet hubby, all mangled up in your living room. I wouldn't even bother transfiguring him. No, I'd want you to see his face clearly, all contorted in pain with his guts splayed out all over the floor."

He follows you home. You still can't see him, but you at least seem a little aware of his presence, with the way you keep glancing over your shoulder, randomly picking up the pace and taking more turns than necessary.

How fascinating! You can't see him, and yet you can sense him? He's swooning already.

"Don't worry, [First]," he says, arms around your shoulders as you fumble with your keys. "You'll be able to see me soon. And after that, you're never getting rid of me."

If you do react, however, he holds himself back, opting to strike up a lighthearted conversation with you instead.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" He asks. "Don't you know the subway is dangerous at night?" You visibly bristle, clearly on guard. He grins.

"Do you need something?" You ask, clutching your bag to your chest and stepping back. His grin widens, easily closing the distance you've just created.

"You're lonely, aren't you? All you do is work; you don't even have any friends! It's kind of pathetic, really. That's okay, though, I like you anyway. I might be the only one."

"What do you---"

"I could help you, you know. Ease your loneliness, maybe?" He's touching you now. Nothing outright inappropriate, but you could smell his intentions from a mile away.

"No thanks," you say. The train stops, and you hurry off the platform. Fortunately, the stranger doesn't get off with you. He waves at you as the doors close, and you run all the way home.

Finally feeling safe, you don't bother to do anything more than kick off your shoes before collapsing on your bed. It creaks under your weight, then creaks again. You freeze, your eyes shooting open.

"Heya," the stranger says. "Fancy seeing you again."

Choso Kamo

If you were to describe him in one word, 'inexperienced' may be your best bet.

Though it's true that he has 'lived' for over one hundred and fifty years, he spent most of that time as a cursed womb, unable to truly experience the outside world for himself. Even after being incarnated and absorbing the memories of his host, Choso finds himself unable to relate to any of his body's experiences. He knows what love is and what lovers do, but only from a technical standpoint. To actually experience it is something he's never even dreamed of doing.

So, of course, when he starts feeling these things for you, he's unable to properly put a label on them. At first, he thinks he's sick, which isn't unreasonable, considering his rather long list of symptoms (fever, shakes, sweats, heart palpitations, and clouded mind, he notes dutifully).

However, that idea is quickly shut down. Being a cursed womb death painting, it's highly unlikely that he even can get sick; plus, his symptoms only seem to surface when you're around (or when he's thinking of you, which, admittedly, is often).

Did you curse him? No, you don't have a technique like that.

Then, what...?

It takes him a somewhat embarrassingly long time for him to realise the truth behind his feelings. It isn't until after he catches himself staring at your lips and thinking about how soft they'd feel against his that he concludes he likes you.

So, he's figured it out. Now what...?

Choso searches through his host's memories in an attempt to figure out how to woo you. Unfortunately for him, his host was a frat boy with commitment issues who knew more about one-night stands than how to build the foundations for an actual relationship.

So, Choso consults Yuki Tsukimo, who he, with his very limited circle of friends, considers to be an expert.

As expected, Yuki is ecstatic at the news that Choso has found his type. Immediately, she's giving an impromptu lecture on the ways of the heart.

"First, you have to figure out their type," she says, wagging a finger. "If it's a match, you're all good. If not, you either need to give up or double down."

Through Yuki's mentoring, Choso learned the general rules for signalling romantic interest. Flowers, chocolates, walks in the park, walks on the beach—a lot of walking in general, actually—candlelit dinner, pick-up lines—he's got it all memorized.

The problem is that his throat gets dry, and his knees lock up when he so much as thinks about talking to you.

So he takes to following you with his eyes instead.

"It's just until I gather the courage to talk to them," he tells himself. "I'll stop once I figure out their type."

Right, if he can't ask you about your interests, he'll just have to observe them instead.

So, he watches you. All the time. Eventually, he all but forgets about his previous plan of it being a temporary habit.

It's just so...addicting. Watching you go about your day like normal. Completely unaware of his presence in the shadows. 

He learns about your hobbies, your interests, what kind of shows you like, your favourite foods, whether you still keep stuffed animals in your room, and more. He has a mental folder of all your likes and dislikes. And while there are some things he’s not able to learn, some places he’s not able to follow, it’s enough. Just knowing this much is perfect. 

He doesn't do anything. He doesn't plan to, either. He’s content with just watching. It's comfortable like this. He doesn't want anything to change. So, he forgets about stopping, and instead sinks even deeper into his newfound obsession.

If he had it his way, things would stay like this forever. Him, never confessing, and you, never knowing. But, unfortunately, fate had other plans in mind.

It was 10:15 AM, and you were at a local coffee shop by yourself when the barista handed you their number with your receipt. You shyly accepted, and just a day later, the two of you had plans for a date the next week.

Unfortunately, your 'date' canceled last minute and blocked you with no explanation.

It's a good thing, then, that your good friend Choso just so happened to bump into you, lending you his shoulder to cry on.

Well, there's no reason to waste a good dinner reservation, right?

You never do go back to that cafe, but if you did, you'd find the barista missing from the register.

[demie90s]

Too Late to Love Me Right

Caitlin Clark x Paige Bueckers x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Caitlin Clark had a boyfriend. And she had you—at least, late at night when no one was looking. You asked for more, but she stayed where it was safe. Wrong Choice.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Angst, hurt/comfort, healing, second chances denied, slow-burn romance (Paige x Reader), ex-regret (Caitlin x Reader)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Emotional cheating, toxic dynamics, heartbreak, pining, past sexual tension, implied smut, strong language, protective Paige energy

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 1k

I should’ve known the second she didn’t pick up.

It was pouring—like the sky was sick of holding back. The kind of rain that soaks your socks through your sneakers. The kind where you don’t just need a ride, you need someone who gives a damn. And I called Caitlin.

Not Connor. Not my roommate. Not even my sister. I called her. And she sent me to voicemail.

The next day she texted, “Sorry. Connor was over. I didn’t wanna start something.”

That was the moment something snapped. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… final. A slow, quiet burn of realization that she was never gonna choose me. At least not fully. Not proudly. And not in the way I needed her to.

It didn’t start that way. We were best friends first. Teammates without a team. She’d FaceTime me at 1AM just to vent about film, about pressure, about how lonely it gets when the whole world thinks you’re untouchable. And I’d listen, every time. We had this rhythm—late night talks, shared playlists, inside jokes no one else would get. She called me her peace. I called her my maybe.

I tried to hold onto that.

Even when she introduced Connor. Even when she said it was “casual.” Even when he started showing up to practices. Sitting front row. Putting his arm around her waist like he had any right. I played cool. I joked. I smiled through gritted teeth when he called me her little bestie.

But I wasn’t little. And I wasn’t just her friend.

Not with the way she looked at me when she thought he wasn’t watching. Not with the way her voice dropped when she asked who I was talking to. Not when her hand brushed mine and lingered. She knew what it was. She just didn’t want to risk it.

I did.

I told her one night, soft and serious. “I’d do this for real. Just say the word.”

She blinked. Stared at the ground. Said nothing.

And a week later, I saw her post him with the caption “my favorite person.”

So I left. Transferred. Got the hell out of Iowa and decided to stop waiting for someone who only wanted me in private.

UConn wasn’t even on my radar until my best friend—a loudmouth, genius media manager—said, “You need a fresh start and a better roster to break hearts with.” She shared a dorm with me. Let me crash her team events. Gassed me up so hard the players started noticing before I even wore a jersey.

That’s how I met Paige. And she didn’t hesitate.

She saw me—really saw me. The first day we talked, I was sitting in the corner of the gym, headphones on, iced coffee sweating in my hand. She sat beside me like she’d been invited. Asked my name. Asked where I transferred from. Asked why I looked like I didn’t wanna be touched.

I told her the truth. I said, “Someone picked the easy choice over me.”

She said, “Damn. Their loss.”

Then she winked. Then she came back the next day. And the next. And the next.

It started slow, but not shy. Paige wasn’t afraid to like me out loud. She pulled me into team huddles. Sat next to me on the bus. Flirted in front of coaches. She never made me guess. And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, I realized I was healing.

Until one night, months later, I checked my phone and saw her name.

Caitlin. No Connor. Just her.

“Hey. I saw your game. You looked good. Can we talk?” I didn’t answer. But I showed the text to Paige.

She looked at it, then looked at me. “You good?” I smiled. “I’m better.”

I hated sitting still. Watching my team warm up without me made my jaw clench. My leg was fine—bruised, not broken—but protocol was protocol. One month off. No exceptions.

I wasn’t mad about resting. I was mad that this game, this one, had to be the one I missed.

UConn vs Iowa. Of course it was.

The second I saw that schedule, I knew it’d happen eventually. I just didn’t expect to be benched, iced up on the sidelines in team sweats and a hoodie, watching Caitlin Clark jog across my court like she hadn’t torn through me a year ago.

She looked the same. A little more tired maybe. Still sharp. Still dangerous with a ball in her hands. But when her eyes found mine from across the gym, she froze. Only for a second—but I caught it.

I didn’t wave. Didn’t nod. I just turned my attention to Paige, who was already leaning over my chair, rubbing my shoulder like I was the star of the show anyway.

“You sure you wanna sit on the floor?” she asked, voice low just for me.

“I need to see everything,” I muttered. “And I want her to see me seeing it.”

Paige smirked. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe.”

We laughed. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Caitlin watching.

It was like that all game. Her eyes kept drifting over. Even during timeouts. Even when the ball was live. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t engage.

At halftime, she finally got bold.

Came over during the shuffle to the tunnel, her warmup towel hanging around her neck, sweat still glistening down her temple. She looked at me like she had a hundred things to say.

“Hey,” she said.

I gave her a flat, polite smile. “Hi.”

Her eyes flicked to Paige, who was holding my water bottle and definitely not moving. Then back to me.

“You look good,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were out this game.”

“Yup. Just this one.”

Awkward pause.

“Well… I hope it’s not serious,” she added, like that might get her somewhere.

I nodded once. “Thanks. Good luck.”

Then I turned right back to Paige, who leaned down and whispered, “You handled that real cute.”

I smiled up at her. “I’m past cute. I’m in my healed era.” The second half started, and I didn’t look at Caitlin again. But I could feel her.

She’d had her shot. Now she was stuck on the outside looking in—just like I used to be.

And this time? I wasn’t coming back.

Third quarter was tight. Bodies flying, fouls building, energy high. But I didn’t flinch from my seat, leg wrapped, hoodie on, completely at peace. Paige had dropped fifteen already, and every time she hit a three, she looked back at me like she wanted to hear me scream her name.

And I did. Loud.

I wasn’t just cheering—I was hers. Unapologetically. The whole team knew it. Our coaches probably suspected it. Hell, even the crowd caught on when she winked at me from the free throw line.

Caitlin did too.

She’d been glancing over since tipoff, but now it was different. She missed a shot, and I saw her head snap toward me after it bounced off the rim. Like maybe I’d say something. Like maybe she needed to see my reaction.

Instead, she saw Paige come to the sideline, sweat dripping, and lean right into me.

“You need anything?” she asked, holding her hands on the armrests of my chair like she was locking me in.

“Yeah,” I said, pretending to think. “A win. And a kiss.”

Paige grinned. Brushed her fingers under my chin. “Later.”

I laughed. Pulled her down just a little by the drawstring of her jersey and whispered something in her ear I knew would make her blush. And when she jogged off, I looked up and saw Caitlin still watching.

Like frozen. Like the pieces were finally clicking, too late.

The way Paige touched me. The way I leaned into her. The way I looked at her like she was the only person in the room. You couldn’t mistake it. You didn’t have to hear the words. It was in the body language, in the comfort, in the quiet claiming of something real.

That used to be her.

Caitlin blinked hard. Looked away. Missed her defensive assignment. And I didn’t feel bad.

I just reached down, grabbed my water, and leaned back in my seat—smiling as Paige drained another three and pointed right at me.

We won.

It wasn’t a blowout, but it was clean. UConn by nine. Paige dropped twenty-three and held Caitlin to her quietest fourth quarter all season. She just… couldn’t focus. Missed open looks. Turned the ball over twice in the final two minutes. She kept looking over. At me. At Paige. At us.

And we didn’t look back.

When the buzzer went off, the bench exploded. Coaches clapping, girls yelling, cameras flashing—and right in the middle of it, Paige sprinted toward me like she was the one coming off the bench. Like she’d been holding it in all game.

“Baby,” she breathed, already climbing into my space, one knee on the bench, one hand in my hair.

“Hi,” I grinned, teasing.

“You saw me out there?”

I nodded slow. “Girl be frl.” That was all she needed.

She kissed me. Hard and sweet and reckless, like she didn’t care who saw—and truth was, she didn’t. She kissed me like I was her prize. Her person. Her proof.

And the crowd ate it up. Phones out. Flashes popping. Teammates cheering louder. I even heard someone gasp from the other side of the court, but I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Caitlin.

She was standing there still in uniform, hands on her hips, sweat curling at her temples, eyes locked on me like she was in a different game entirely. One she’d already lost.

And this time? I didn’t flinch. I didn’t smile. I didn’t even blink. I just kissed Paige back, deep and soft and full of everything Caitlin refused to claim.

Then I pulled away, rested my forehead against hers, and whispered, “Told you I’d get that kiss.”

Paige smiled against my lips. “Next time, make me work harder for it.”

She walked back to the team. And I sat there, still basking. Still warm. Still winning. Caitlin finally looked away. But the damage was done.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @toorealrai @kajspeaks

[deadpresidents]

"Vocabor Franciscus. "I will be called Francis." It was a breathtaking choice. Because no pope had ever taken the name, it needed no Roman numerals but stood stark and simple...No one ever thought a pope could be called Francis; it would be like taking the name Peter, or Jesus. They were one of a kind.

"I was astonished at the boldness of it, because the name Francis is a whole program of governance in miniature," the Vatican commentator John Allen told Boston Radio. "He is this iconic figure in the Catholic imagination that awakens images of the antithesis of the institutional church...That's an awful lot of weight to put on your shoulders right out of the gate. If you're not prepared to walk that talk, then you're going to be in real trouble."

Bergoglio had walked that talk over a lifetime. Right now it mostly meant saying no, like keeping his old black shoes, his silver pectoral cross (a pope's is normally gold), and his faithful black plastic watch, or refusing the limousine waiting to take him back to the guesthouse for dinner ("May God forgive you for what you have done," he joked with the cardinals [who had just elected him]). After Mass with the cardinals the next day, he left the Vatican in a Ford Focus -- the security guards had better cars than the pope -- to pray at the shrine of Saint Mary Major, returning via the priests' hostel where he had stayed before the conclave. There he collected his bag, paid his bill to a shocked clerk ("I checked in under another name" was the caption on a widely tweeted photo), and chatted and joked with staff. There wasn't much to collect. He had been washing his clothes at night, letting them dry on the radiator...

...It was lots of those little things. They weren't mere gestures, nor were they calculated messages. They flowed from his identification with the Christ of the Gospels..."We must learn to be normal!" he told his Jesuit interviewer, Father Antonio Spadaro, in August that year, and he put it into practice, collecting his tray of food in the Santa Marta dining room like anyone else, making his own phone calls and many of his appointments, keeping his own diary, and making visits -- always in the blue Ford Focus, without any kind of entourage -- to parishes and charities around Rome, to spend time with the old and the homeless and the foreign-born.

Stories of Francis's personal kindness, impossible to verify, began to make their rounds, like the time he left his room to find a Swiss Guard standing outside his door and brought him a chair. "But Holy Father, I cannot sit down. My boss does not allow it," the guard told him. "Well, I'm the boss of your boss, and I say it's fine," Francis told him, before going back inside to fetch him the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie...

...Francis has become the most accessible of modern popes, almost always to be found at lunchtime in the Santa Marta restaurant, where he has his own table set aside, but stands in the queue with his tray like everyone else. Visitors report that he comes out of the Santa Marta to greet them personally, while hostel guests are often shocked to find that when elevator doors open the pope steps in ("I don't bite," he reassures them)."

-- Austen Ivereigh, on how different Pope Francis was from his monarchical predecessors and how shocking it was at the Vatican immediately following his election at the 2013 Conclave when Francis decided to live in a simple room at the Vatican's guesthouse instead of the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, in the 2014 book, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[bykshre]

Sure Thing

charles leclerc x female reader (smau) 2/?

a continuation of WE FOUND LOVE (index)

summary: you and charles were meant to be together even if the media, society and his girlfriend criticized you.

trope: childhood friends to lovers, ferrari driver x head strategist , mean gf (no hate to any of charles' gf's, ex or current.)

a/n: hi hii!! :D charles my amour won in COTA and of course I had to create something out of that. Soo without further todo, i shall introduce to you Sure Thing, part 2 of We found Love! Enjoyyy!! <3

Your thumb hovered over Charles’ Instagram post, reading the simple caption repeatedly, fixating on one specific sentence; "Alex and I have decided to end our relationship".

You felt an unexpected surge of emotions — relief, confusion, excitement.

"This is so sudden", you whispered to yourself though there was no one really beside you.

Alex was heavily popular, APM Monaco made her model for their jewellery, she was signed with influencer management and she even promoted many clothing brands throughout her journey as Charles's girlfriend— she was sort of the IT Wag. However, nobody truly knows what she was, what she did and how she acts when she's away from the monumental stardom and attention she got.

And you opened twitter. Which instantly made you regret your decision.

@F1Gossip:

"BREAKING: Charles Leclerc and Alexandra call it quits! What led to the sudden breakup? Rumors are swirling about Y/N’s involvement… 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@AlexandraStans:

"Honestly, good riddance. Alex deserves better than someone who spends all his time with another woman. #TeamAlex #CharlesLeclerc"

@LeclercNation:

"People need to stop blaming Y/N for the breakup. Charles is an adult who made his own decision. #TeamYN #FerrariFamily"

Regardless of whatever you were feeling, you quickly pushed them aside, reminding yourself to not to get sucked into this situation. "Who are you?", you asked yourself, constructing a mental note. You are Charles’ strategist, his friend, and that’s all this was. You did spend hours with him throughout your childhood, of course, you went to school with him, you had sleepovers with the Leclerc brothers, you spent hours in the kitchen with manman gossiping - you were considered the daughter she never had. What have you not done with the Leclercs?

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

Frankly, you've no idea how to bring it up, so you kept a promise to not bring it up and you didn’t. You appreciate the week off without any races — it brought you away from everything. You wanted to keep your mind off things and give some time to yourself. And that's exactly what you did.

ursername

time-off 🤍🐻‍❄️🪽🍸

liked by mlnmarta, charles_leclerc, joristrouche and 2.8M others

lewishamilton enjoy, yn! lets get some almave next time ya?

⤷ ursername omg yes lewsss!! 🍸🍸

charles_leclerc 🩷 see you next week, ynie!

⤷ ursername indeed char 🤍🩷

mlnmarta boubou is missing you, come back soon!! 🤱

⤷ ursername u and me in singapore? it's a definite yes😘😘

alexfanpage look at this homewreker, fucking bitch! 😡😡

⤷ illpresidanto omg get a life!! you so pressed for no reason u ugly bitch

19765K likes

🌟

It was a sunlit afternoon in Monaco, where Marta and Riccardo were celebrating the upcoming arrival of their second child. The garden was decorated with a mix of blue and white balloons, creating a cheerful, celebratory atmosphere. Close friends, family, and little Chiara, who was already running around like a whirlwind, were all present.

You wore a pink dress, your hair tousled on your shoulders, favouring another baby girl while Charles was wearing a blue t-shirt accompanied with a blue bandana — something you haven't seen him wear for the past 2 years. It felt different seeing him wear that bandana, it evoked old memories between the both you. You were brought with a wave of nostalgia where you used to go live with Charles on Twitch racing each other on the sim during the Covid-19 era.

You're a sucker for nostalgia

When you first spot Charles at Marta and Riccardo's gender reveal party, you can't help but pause for a moment. He's standing casually near the edge of the garden, his relaxed posture and easy smile making him the center of attention without even trying. His blue bandana was tied loosely around his head. The way the sunlight catches his hair, tousled from the bandana, adds a soft glow around him. He’s talking to a group of friends, but when his eyes meet yours from across the garden, there's a brief flicker of recognition.

As Chiara ran over to you, her arms outstretched, you quickly scooped the little girl up into your arms — pampering her with your soft kisses. “Hey there, sweetheart!” you cooed, smiling warmly at the giggling toddler. Chiara clung to you, pointing toward the food table, eager to see what was there.

Charles watched the both you from a distance, carrying two glasses of sparkling water. As you looked up at him, you couldn't help but tease, “She’s already stealing the spotlight from you.”

Charles grinned, handing you a glass. “It’s alright, I’ll always be her favorite godparent. She just needs a little time to realize I’m the cool one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Charles shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, it’s working. I’m planning to spoil her with all the toys.”

You smirked. “Bribery isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘parenting,’ Charles.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing, “Good thing I’m not a parent yet.”

As the countdown for the big reveal began, everyone gathered in the garden around Marta and Riccardo. You and Charles stood together, chatting quietly about the possible gender.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a girl,” you said, eyes glancing toward Marta. “Marta’s been mentioning how much she wants a sister for Chiara.”

Charles shook his head, his hands on your shoulder. “I think you’re wrong, honey. Riccardo’s been too quiet—he’s definitely preparing for a boy.”

"I'll prove you wrong today, Miss Strategist," he smirked

"You'll never it's definitely a——"

The moment arrived. The large balloon in front of Marta and Riccardo burst, releasing a cascade of blue confetti. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Chiara clapped her hands in delight as she was handed to Marta.

“It’s a boy!” Riccardo exclaimed, lifting his daughter into the air, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. Marta smiled brightly, holding Chiara close to her chest, both parents absolutely overjoyed.

“I called it,” Charles whispered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. But I guess I’m going to have to learn to spoil a little boy now.”

"And you're proven wrong, y/n," he said while erupting in happiness

"Fuck off Charles!" you said as you roll your eyes

Later in the day, after the excitement had died down, you and Charles found yourselves in a quiet corner of the garden, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. you were holding Chiara, who had fallen asleep in your arms, while Leo lay at Charles' feet, content and relaxed.

“You know, you’re really good with her.”

You glanced up at him, eyes soft. “She’s easy to love.”

Charles watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the calm scene in front of them.

“I think you’d make an amazing parent,” he said, his voice quiet.

You smiled, though you didn’t fully respond to his comment. Instead, you gently brushed Chiara’s hair from her face. “Maybe one day.”

charles_leclerc

team boy!! 🩵🌟

liked by mlnmarta, riccardoberreta, joris_trouche,ursername,landonorris

ursername baby chichi <3

liked by author

mlnmarta mi bebe~

joris_trouche 🩵

alexandrafp no alex and u look like shit!

alexamour wheres that bitch Y/N??

ursername

mon lion et ma petite filleule

liked by charles_leclerc, mlnmarta,oscarpiastri and 3M others

charles_leclerc adorable

lewishamilton soo cute!

mlnmarta my 👶

joris_trouche who took this pic🤭

@FerrariInsider:

"Sources close to the team say Charles and Y/N have been spending more time together since the breakup. Could something more be brewing between them? 👀 #F1Gossip"

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

COTA GRAND-PRIX, AUSTIN, TEXAS.

ursername

story, 4h ago

Looking sharp out there 👀 Let’s keep it smooth this weekend, @ charles_leclerc. 🏎️✨

As Charles arrived at the garage for practice, he seemed relaxed, as if nothing had changed. So, you followed his lead, keeping things as normal as possible. Talking about Alex was the least of your concerns, you were more concerned about how Charles was coping and when you saw him being his usual bubbly and annoying self —you knew this relationship was long to be called off. Then again, this is the Charles Leclerc, the homie hopper, the playboy- you've seen it all. He's messy in relationships and that scares you, so much. Yet, you're treated so differently and you wonder why.

After FP1, Charles and Carlos stroll into their garages to rewind and reflect with the team to consult tyre management, degradation and qualifying strategies.

As Charles unlocked his phone, his thumb instinctively swiped to Instagram to catch up on the latest updates. A burst of laughter escaped him as he saw a story from his head strategist, who had tagged him in it.

“Looking sharp, huh? Not bad for just a practice session.” He said to Y/N who was sitting beside him.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc. You still have a lot to prove this weekend,” you said sternly,

“A lot to prove? I thought I already impressed the toughest critic on the team.”

“I’m a strategist, Charles. Being impressed is temporary — results are what matter,” you said

“So, if I get results, will you post something even nicer?” he said, giving her his winning smirk

“Win the race, and I’ll think about it.”

🌟 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

As the sprint race ends, Charles strolls into the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. Y/N is standing by the monitors, reviewing the data.

Charles: “You’re awfully quiet today. Everything okay, strategist?”

Y/N doesn’t look up immediately, keeping her focus on the screen. “Just making sure you’re as sharp as I said you were. No pressure, though.”

Charles smirks, leaning casually against the desk beside her. “I’m starting to think you enjoy putting pressure on me.”

Y/N finally glances at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “If it makes you faster, then maybe I do.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N tilts her head. “You’d know if you were. For now, just focus on not going wide into Turn 11 again.”

Charles groans playfully. “That’s never happening again. You’ll see.”

Y/N: “Good. I like being right.”

Scuderia Ferrari HP

@charles_leclerc is working hard tonight with the team 🏎 ❇

liked by ursername,ggiada,mlnmarta,riccardoberreta and 5M others

ursername one of the rarest times i see mr leclerc staying overtime! mind-boggling indeed

⤷ charles_leclerc gosh you are annoying

oscarpiastri the dedication 👨

charles_leclerc y/n's fault!

lewishamilton keep it up bud!

After the debrief and post-practice meetings, you're walking back to your hotel, laptop bag slung over your shoulder. The paddock is quiet now, with only a few people milling about under the warm Austin night sky.

“Hey, strategist.”

She turns to find Charles jogging to catch up with her, still in his Ferrari polo and cap.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? I thought you went back? You’ve got qualifying tomorrow.”

Charles falls into step beside you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I could say the same to you. What’s keeping you out so late?”

You shrug. “Notes. Data. Making sure we’re perfect tomorrow.”

“We’re perfect, huh?” He glances at you with a teasing smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s my job to make sure you don’t mess it up.”

“Ah, so you’re saying you’re the brains, and I’m just the guy driving the car?”

you finally stop walking and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re finally catching on.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. The playful banter fades into a quiet intensity. Charles’ gaze softens, and Y/N feels her pulse quicken under the weight of his attention.

Charles: “You know, you’re pretty incredible.”

“Charles…” she starts, but he cuts her off with a soft laugh.

“Relax, strategist. Just giving credit where it’s due.”

You shake your head, “Save the charm for the press conferences. You’ll need it when they grill you tomorrow.”

“Right. Gotta stay focused.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t stay up too late. Wouldn't want my stargirl to get sick.”

You chuckle softly as you walk into your room, catching his eye as he waves from across the hallway, stepping into his room just opposite yours.

RACE DAY

The morning sun was barely filtering through the high windows of the hotel lobby as Charles stood near the entrance, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. His nerves were on edge—not because of the race, but because today felt different.

Just as he was about to check his phone again, he saw you.

You stepped into the lobby, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The buzz of the hotel faded away. You were wearing a dress unlike any other—simple yet striking. It was a fitted black satin dress, hugging your figure perfectly and stopping just above your knees. The neckline was deep enough to tease but still elegant, and the fabric shimmered under the light as if it were made to capture every glance.

you were unaware of the way you had completely captured his attention, you walked towards him with a confident, almost teasing smile. You could feel the tension in the air, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the race day energy or something more.

“Morning, Charles,” you said, your voice warm

“You… you look…”

Your smile widened, though there was a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Thanks. I wanted to make sure you had something to look forward to after the race.”

Charles chuckled softly, the sound low and almost nervous, his eyes scanning over you once again. The dress clung to your body in all the right ways, and his thoughts were running wild. “You’re distracting me,” he said with a grin, taking a small step toward you.

Charles reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers, the touch sending a shock through his system. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Sure, he was always flirty with you but this past week seemed a little different.

“Shall we?” he asked

“Lead the way,” she said

Charles led you through the hotel lobby, his hand lightly resting on the small of your back as you two walked toward the exit. His touch was soft, almost protective, but you could feel the weight of it. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was more.

When you reached the car, a sleek Ferrari SF90 in all its glory, Charles opened the passenger side door for you.

“After you,” Charles said with a playful grin.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat as she slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat pressing against you as you settled in. You glanced over at Charles as he slid into the driver’s seat, his movements smooth and confident. The way he adjusted the rearview mirror, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel—it all seemed like a quiet dance between you both like everything was aligning.

Charles started the engine, the powerful rumble filling the space between them. He looked over at you, a small smile playing on his lips as they began their journey to the track.

“So,” he began, trying to keep the mood light, “Are you ready for today?”

You leaned back in the seat, gaze wandering to the window for a moment as the city passed by. “I think you’re the one who should be ready for today,” you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile. “You’re going to have a lot of eyes on you.”

Charles laughed softly, but there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s nothing new.” He shifted the car smoothly, maneuvering through the streets. “But it’s different when you’re here, you know?” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. “Having you here makes it… better.”

You weren’t sure if he meant it in the way you wanted to believe, but the sincerity in his voice made you feel something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s always been different,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“I’ve always been here for you, Charles. I always will be.”

Charles glanced over at you, his expression softening. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.” His hand briefly brushed against yours on the gearshift, sending a jolt through you, and he didn’t pull away. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world outside the car fading away.

When they arrived at the track, the noise of the race weekend came rushing back.

He looked over at you, his gaze lingering for a moment, his thoughts seemingly racing. Then, with a slow exhale, he opened the door and stepped out, walking around to your side of the car. He opened the door for you, just like before, but this time, it felt different.

As you stepped out of the car, Charles was already there, his hand extending to help steady you, though it wasn’t needed. You didn’t take his hand immediately, but the way he watched you, the way his eyes stayed on you with such intensity, made your heart flutter.

“You look even more stunning in the daylight,” he said, his voice lower now, the playful teasing replaced with something more genuine.

You met his gaze, lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks, Charles,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

formulaone

Charles Leclerc steps into the track alongside his strategist, Y/N today! Charles is starting P4 today - let's see what we'll get with Ferrari, especially with the upcoming title battle with McLaren! Today's going to be interesting.

liked by mlnmarta,joris_trouche, and 4M others

alexandrafp seriously charles it;s only been 2 weeks since you broke up with alex and you're taking y/n around in your car? wtf!

⤷ charlesfp y/n is charles childhood best friend , besides alex was toxic enough that he couldn't spend time with yn!

⤷ ynstrategistupdates frr- yn and charles have always stepped into the track together before this, where is your brains?

⤷ yndefender please what?! charles had ENOUGH with alex past 2 years! stfu and leave the sport if you're only invested in WAGS!

@F1Fanatic

"Okay, but Charles and Y/N arriving together in his Ferrari SF90 and the way he held her hand to help her out of the car??? Gentleman of the year 🥺🔥 #CharlesLeclerc #F1"

@TifosiForever

"Y/N in that dress??? Charles could barely keep his eyes off her. You’re telling me this is just ‘driver and strategist’ behavior? 😏 #Ferrari #COTAGP"

@GrandPrixGossip

"Did anyone else notice how Charles waited for Y/N at the lobby this morning? She’s clearly more than just a strategist to him. 👀 #F1Drama #LeclercNation"

@F1Moments

"The way Charles just casually said ‘I drive better when I know you’re watching’ to Y/N in the garage?? Sir, the cameras are ON. #SlowBurn #CharlesAndYN"

@FerrariInsider

"People are saying Charles and Y/N are just friends, but friends don’t exchange those kinds of looks before a race. 🫣 #F1LoveStory #CharlesLeclerc"

@F1Editz

"Charles Leclerc and Y/N arriving at COTA this morning >>> any romcom scene ever filmed. The chemistry is unreal. 😍 #F1Romance"

@LeclercNation

"If Charles wins today, it’s 100% because Y/N is his good luck charm. Someone check the stats on her presence at his podiums! 🏆❤️ #F1CoupleGoals"

womeninformulaone

Ferrari's Head of Strategy, Ms YN arrives on the COTA paddock alongside Ferrari's Charles Leclerc today. She is wearing a beautiful fitted navy blue dress. Let's see what she pulls off in today's race! 🏎 ❇

liked by carmenmundt,hannahstjohn,ursername,charles_leclerc and 8M others

ynsfp who is this DIVA?

alexfp cunning witch

⤷ charlesfp you should've been banned by now! Why do people like you still exist??

ursername WOW haha featured by this page? I thought this page was just for WAGs, never thought WOMEN in MOTORSPORTS could've been featured.

80K likes

RACE

The track energy was high as the team prepared for the race. Charles stepped into his car after having his debrief with his engineer, Bryan, Fred and of course, you- adjusting his helmet and getting settled in the cockpit. You stood by, watching till the clock hits 12.

Least to say, you were feeling nervous. But when do you not go through a whirlwind of emotions when you see your best-friend driving at 200-300km/h for 2 hours? Formula One is not a just a sport— if not done meticulously it'd be fatal.

Not were you only nervous on that but as a strategist yourself, you are afraid of letting the team down with ridiculous pits and scenarios which scares you. You weren't responsible for what happened at Montreal nor were you responsible for the mishaps this year. But as a woman in motorsports where women are highly downgraded and treated not well — you were determined to make a change in this sport where misogyny has no place and uplift young girls to dominate this world of motorsports.

As you sit on your chair at the pit-wall, you laugh as you remembered your last conversation with Charles making you shake your head.

“I’m going to win today.”

“Confident, are we?”

Charles: “When you’re the one calling the shots, how could I not be?”

There was multiple times where Charles would've said that and not win. So him being overconfident made you remember those moments. However, you always wanted your best-friend, Charles to win every single race if you could. You both grew up dreaming about winning the constructors championship for Ferrari and here you are together working together.

Life is so unexpected and magical.

The Circuit of the Americas roared with excitement as the lights went out, marking the start of the Austin Grand Prix.

As Max and Lando fought aggressively into Turn 1, their cars went wide, forcing both drivers to compromise their exits. This split-second miscalculation opened the door for Charles and Carlos Sainz, who took full advantage. Charles made an audacious dive on the inside, slipping past not just Max and Lando but also gaining a crucial edge over his Ferrari teammate.

Suddenly, Charles found himself in P1 by the end of the first corner, with Carlos right behind him. The commentators were stunned by his opportunistic brilliance:

"Leclerc from P4 to P1! That’s unbelievable! What a move from the Ferrari driver!"

"His race-starts are on point, isn't it?", you ask Fred

"He's definitely perfected it," Fred replied

From that point on, Charles showcased a masterclass in race control. Lap after lap, he extended his lead with precision and consistency. While chaos unfolded behind him, with Max and Lando locked in a fierce battle for P3, Charles focused on maintaining a steady rhythm.

Even the pit stops—often Ferrari’s Achilles’ heel—were flawless. When Charles came in for his stop on Lap 18, the team delivered a lightning-quick turnaround, allowing him to rejoin the track without losing his lead.

"Just keep it steady, Charles. You’re doing an amazing job," his race engineer said over the radio.

"Copy. Let’s bring it home," Charles replied, his voice calm but determined.

As the final lap unfolded, the crowd at COTA erupted in cheers. Charles crossed the finish line with a commanding lead, having led every lap of the race—a feat that underscored his strategic brilliance and racecraft.

"YESSS! Let’s go, ragazzi! What a race!" Charles yelled over the team radio, his joy evident.

As the garage burst into cheers and celebrations, someone nudged your shoulder. “He’s going to be insufferable after this,” one of the engineers teased, and you laughed, shaking her head.

“I think he’s earned it,” you replied softly, unable to hide the affection in your voice

His team congratulated him on a flawless performance, and the commentators lauded his exceptional drive

Leclerc didn’t just win today—he dominated. From P4 to P1 by the first corner and never looked back. This was a perfect race from the Ferrari driver."

Your hands trembled as you lowered the headset, a wide grin spreading across your face. Pride swelled in your chest, almost overwhelming. You clapped along with the team but couldn’t shake the warmth bubbling inside you. This wasn’t just a win for Ferrari. This was a win for him

In Parc Fermé, Charles leaped out of his car, visibly elated. The Ferrari garage was a sea of red, celebrating what was undoubtedly one of their best performances of the season. Charles hugged his team members before making his way to the podium.

You had tears visible flowing down your cheek- they call it the happy tears. Your heart beaming in joy and proud.

You wanted to run out there and hug him, tell him how incredible he was. But instead, you stayed rooted, heart pounding, waiting for him to arrive in Parc Fermé

As the Monegasque driver stood on the top step, the Monegasque national anthem echoed through the Austin sky, marking a moment of triumph for both Charles and Ferrari.

As he made his way to the podium, you stayed back, watching him from the sidelines. Your heart was full, pride immeasurable. You pulled out your phone, snapping a quick photo of him standing on the top step of the podium, champagne in hand, the Monegasque flag behind him.

The camera's were all on you, Ferrari and Charles — capturing the special moment that will last an eternity.

@F1Fans: "Charles Leclerc’s drive today was a masterpiece. Calm, calculated, and utterly dominant. Driver of the day, no question."

@LeclercNation: "From P4 to P1 by Turn 1, and he never gave up the lead. Charles Leclerc is a star! #AustinGP #TeamLeclerc"

@F1Memes: "Max and Lando fighting each other in Turn 1: 'This is fine.' Charles: 'Don’t mind if I do.' #Masterclass"

@FerrariOfficial: "Victory in Austin! Charles Leclerc secures the win with an exceptional performance. A day to remember for Scuderia Ferrari! #ForzaFerrari #CharlesLeclerc"

ursername

story, 5mins ago

What a drive. Proud of you @Charles_Leclerc

When Charles returned to the garage, still beaming, he sought you out immediately.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

You turned, laughing softly at the sight of him—his race suit slightly damp from the champagne, his hair a mess, and his face glowing with happiness.

“That was incredible,” you said as he approached, eyes sparkling with pride. “You didn’t just win—you owned that race.”

He grinned, a little bashful despite the confidence he’d displayed on track. “You think so?”

“Charles,” you said, stepping closer, voice dropping slightly. “I think the whole world knows so. That was a masterclass.”

His grin turned softer, more genuine. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, just the buzz of the team celebrating in the background.

“You owe me dinner,” you teased, breaking the tension. “You promised if you won.”

He smirked, his signature charm returning. “Guess I better make it special, then. For someone who’s apparently my lucky charm.”

You rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t get used to it, Leclerc.”

“Oh, I’m already used to it.” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something unspoken.

@F1Updates:"What a dominant win by Charles Leclerc today at the Austin GP. From P4 to P1 by Turn 1 and never looked back. #CharlesLeclerc #AustinGP"

@F1FanGirl:"Did anyone see Y/N’s story? That caption! She’s so proud of him, and honestly, same. #CharlesAndYN"

@GossipGrid:"Y/N spotted in the Ferrari garage during Charles’ win. These two are definitely giving ‘something’s going on’ vibes. 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@FerrariOfficial:"Victory is red! 🏆 Congratulations to Charles Leclerc on a flawless drive at COTA. #ForzaFerrari #AustinGP"

charles_leclerc

Another one . The team have done such an incredible job recently and it's paying off, so happy we achieved a 1-2. Thanks to everybody for the massive support too, always special to come back to the US.

liked by ursername,scuderiaferrari,joris_trouche and 10M others

maxvertsappen1 amazing masterclass bro

lewishamilton always amazing to see young generational talents winning🥇

ursername well done leclerc! 🥇

ursername

merci charles, you proved yourself right, you earned this win with pure talent and crafted art- to more wins!

liked by mlnmarta,charles_leclerc,maxverstappen1,lewishamilton and 6M others

charles_leclerc finally got a good caption huhuu

scuderiaferrari cota will be in the books!

anthoinethrouchet amazing job charles, merci y/n!

@LeclercNation:"THAT race win. THAT walk back. Charles texting someone during the press conference. Coincidence? We think not. #CharlesAndYN "

@F1Gossip:"Y/N was glowing after Charles’ win. And the way he kept looking at her? We need answers, stat. #F1Tea"

You two stepped into the elevator, the hum of the machinery filling the quiet. Charles leaned against the wall, glancing at you.

“You didn’t stick around for the real celebration,” he teased, his voice low.

You smirked, arms crossed. “I figured you’d be too busy soaking up all the glory.”

Charles tilted his head, his lips curving into that signature smirk. “Maybe. Or maybe I was saving it for someone more important.”

Her heart skipped, but you rolled your eyes, playing it cool. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Only when it works,” he shot back smoothly, the elevator dinging open just in time.

As he stepped out, he glanced back at you with a small grin. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Charles,” you whispered as the doors slid shut.

all rights reserved @bykshre

[5sospenguinqueen]

Post Space Tension | Charles Leclerc x McLaren! Reader

Summary: Struggling with the new frame of her relationship, Y/N decides a visit to her sister is in order. Charles realises that not having you close is even worse than you beating him.

Warnings: Swearing. Female reader. Verstappen! Reader.

I know you guys wanted angst but the doe eyes got to me.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

Main Masterlist

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName a lovely visit with my favourite sibling @/victoriaverstappen, and an even lovelier surprise (p.s. max already knew so no, i'm not spoiling it for him)

5,657 comments

user1 charles in the likes but not in the comments

maxverstappen1 stop trying to get our nephews to like you more than me

→ YourUserName they already do (even the unborn one)

maxverstappen1 also, how am i not the favourite sibling. i listen to all your boy troubles

→ user2 boy troubles!!!

→ user3 all??? how many boys are there 😒

landonorris can't believe you had lunch without me

→ georgerussell63 really don't help yourself, mate

lance_stroll not the burger a week before a race

→ YourUserName don't tell my trainer

→ lance_stroll too late

mclaren future papaya racer

→ maxverstappen1 no.

user4 so, are you and charles still together? the world is dying to know if he was caught cheating or not

→ user5 apparently they're still together but taking time apart

→ user6 source: trust me bro

victoriaverstappen we loved seeing you but he keeps asking for uncy sha so maybe bring a visitor next time?? 🤍 liked by charles_leclerc

→ YourUserName can't believe i'm not enough :( but at least i'm introducing him to disappointment early on

→ user7 not her sister spilling the tea

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user8 so, does this mean LeStappen are back in the same country?

user9 how's he going to keep his distance when they're on the same track

user10 i feel tension brewing

user11 anyone see arthur's latest tweet?

→ user9 no why?

→ user11 he posted that pic of charles and that woman but from another angle. arthur was with them that day and it looks like arthur's holding the woman's hand?

→ user8 so charles wasn't on a date with that woman?!?! chay/n shippers rise!

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon and others

YourUserName 'cause i'm back in the saddle again tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo

6,456 comments

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'me and pookies' but lando and i talked her down from that

→ landonorris you're just jealous that i'm pookie #1

landonorris 🔥🔥

redbullracing we still think you'd look better in navy

→ mclaren back, back, i say 🤺

→ scuderiaferrari please, we all know red is her colour liked by charles_leclerc

→ user12we see you charles

landonorris @/redbullracing stop trying to steal my teammate

→ arthur_leclerc stop trying to steal my brother's girlfriend

(comment deleted)

→ user13 we saw that, arthur

skysportsf1 just posted

liked by YourUserName, maxverstappen1 and others

skysportsf1 read the latest interview from the verstappen twins, and how racing helped strengthen their bond

tagged: YourUserName, maxverstappen1

7,905 comments

f1 our favourite twins

YourUserName wow, we look good. thanks for having us, it was so nice to be able to hype each other up and get paid for it

maxverstappen1 can't believe they left out the part where i said i only like you because i beat you

→ YourUserName because you told them not to? stop trying to make out like you hate me so people think you're tough. everyone saw you cry when i won

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'join us as we chat with racer, y/n verstappen and her lesser-known brother, max'

→ YourUserName he threatened to sue if they used that title

→ maxverstappen1 i hate you both

lance_stroll only read for y/n

alex_albon love how they tried to make max sound good at padel

georgerussell63 does anyone know who either of these people are? it's amazing who they class as celebrities these days

user13 living for the grid picking on them (max)

mclaren going to need these pics blown up and hung in my living room

→ charles_leclerc agreed

→ redbullracing charles is all of us

user14 not charles trying to hide in the comments

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Part 4 will be the final part. Thank you for coming on the journey of self-indulgent fics x

Tag list: @mehrmonga @luvsforme @lemon-lav @missenclod @halleest @formula1mount @k4marina @evie-119 @letmeseeyougotowork @sleepybrokenmelle @eiaaasamantha @tinyhrry @janeholt3 @allywthsr @callsignwidow @raizelchrysanderoctavius @prudyhoo @valentinanappipage @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @delululeclerc @e-nonsense @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @thecubanator2 @butterfliesflyaroundmymind @kqliie @sweate-r-weathe-r @lifeless-firefly @woozarts @silverxxs-world @personwhoisther @eugene-emt-roe @anthonykatebridgerton @entr4p3 @carpediem241108 @forevercaffeinated-lee @youre-on-your-ownkid @xyzstar

[starlostseungmin]

husband!chan

✰ notes: the second entry of husband!skz series!! this is just for the meantime since my brain is still not ready to write a lot. i hope you guys enjoy!! not proofread. DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS! thank you <33

seungmin（ chan ）lee know , jeongin , han , changbin , felix , hyunjin.

ꔛ

Husband Chan who got down on one knee and asked, “Will you marry me?” on a private beach—just the two of you—because it was his ideal proposal and you gladly said yes. 

Husband Chan who took you to (name of country) for your honeymoon. 

Husband Chan who would take you to Sydney for a vacation and meet his family. 

Husband Chan who suggested to make Berry as your child while you were still thinking about having literal kids. It doesn’t matter how long, he only needs you and Berry to make him happy.

Husband Chan who has seven children to feed and declare you as his wife. 

Husband Chan who puts you first before everything. 

Husband Chan who loves to send pictures with the caption “For your eyes only,” and giggles to himself while reading your replies saying how much he looks cute or handsomeーhe can imagine your reactions. 

Husband Chan who loves movie nights and lets you decide which one you’d be watching so you better wear the most comfortable clothes and prepare a bucket of popcorn. 

Husband Chan who cooks you a lot of food and loves spoon-feeding you because you are his precious baby. 

Husband Chan who pretends he doesn’t know about you stealing his hoodies. He doesn’t mind and gets all giddy when you wear them since they look cute on you. “I’m not giving them back,” You said. “What’s mine is yours, baby,” He smiled. 

Husband Chan who invites you out on a dinner date on a casual weekend because he knows you would enjoy it. After dinner you would stroll around the city, holding hands. 

Husband Chan who carries you to your shared bed when he finds you sleeping on the couch while waiting for him to come home from work. 

Husband Chan who writes love songs about you and gets teased by Han and Changbin. 

Husband Chan who gives you the silent treatment but can’t put up with it for hours so he just pretends nothing happened and cuddles you. 

Husband Chan who knows what exactly you want when you’re upset and would gladly take you in his arms. He never leaves your side unless you want some space but you can’t be away from him for too long. 

Husband Chan who scolds you when you are not resting enough when he’s out there overworking himself. You decided that both of you should take a few days off which he willingly agreed to so he can spend more time with you. 

Husband Chan who lets himself be vulnerable when he’s with you because you’re the only one with whom he could let it all out. 

Husband Chan who loves to spoil you with hugs whenever you need them. 

Husband Chan who listens and understands whatever situation and dilemmas you have without any judgments rather he reassures you that everything will be okay. He gives you his full support for your decisions. 

Husband Chan who knows everyone in the industry so he knows a lot of controversies. He would share them with you on a random Sunday to gossip and giggle. 

Husband Chan who loves to make dad jokes and relays pick-up lines just to make you laugh. He gets embarrassed when it’s not funny so he hides in the bathroom until you get over it.

Husband Chan whose love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, and acts of service. 

Husband Chan who has the most precious smile and laughs adorably makes your heart leap. 

Husband Chan whom you love the most in the world and will not let anything hurt him. 

Husband Chan whom you want to spend the rest of your life with, forever and always. 

Husband Chan who will never leave, never lets you go, and never allow you to divorce him because there’s no reason to begin with. He loves you, you love him, same story. 

✰ taglist: @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji , @starseungs , @midsoulz , @oddracha , @armystay89

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[scarluna]

Thoughts of You

Y/N starts work as a client agent at a big corporate company. There, she meets Jungkook, a man who confuses the hell out of her.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, fuckboy jungkook, insecurities, smoking

Chapter available: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

Chapters: 4 / 5

Chapter Warnings: mature language, a little sexual tension

A/N: SIKE I DECIDED TO FINISH IT. Thank you to everyone who stayed and enjoyed my little diary.

The evening air was soft, not quite cold, but enough to make Y/N hug her arms as she stepped outside. Her cigarette lit with a lazy flick, and as she took a long drag, she heard the door creak behind her.

Of course, it was Jungkook.

“Yo,” he greeted casually, flipping his lighter between his fingers as he joined her by the railing. “You ghosted me on the last break.”

Y/N smirked slightly. “Sorry. Had to pretend I care about this job for once.”

He chuckled, leaning against the wall beside her. “Fake it till you make it, queen.”

They stood in silence for a few beats, smoke curling between them, the sky fading into a dull gray.

Then, without fully planning to, Y/N spoke.

“Can I vent for a second?”

Jungkook blinked. “Always.”

She glanced down, watching the ash crumble off her cigarette. “I’m just so tired, Jungkook. Not physically. Emotionally. Of men.”

He made a low, thoughtful sound but didn’t interrupt.

“They act like they want something real,” she continued. “Like they’re ready. Like they’re grown. But it’s all talk. And then they either flake, freeze up, or end up emotionally constipated.”

Jungkook laughed at that. “Emotionally constipated? Damn.”

“I’m serious,” she said, though her lips twitched. “One minute they’re all deep and vulnerable and telling me they want a mature relationship, and the next, they’re ghosting me and reposting gym selfies with Drake captions.”

Jungkook snorted, nearly choking on his smoke. “Yo, not the Drake captions.”

“I’m just saying!” Y/N huffed, half-laughing now. “I’m not even asking for that much. Just… someone who knows what the hell they want. Who doesn’t treat me like a placeholder until something better walks by.”

He turned to look at her then, something unreadable flashing in his expression.

But instead of offering some grand insight, he just grinned and said, “Damn. I feel attacked.”

Y/N laughed, grateful for the way he could still make her exhale the weight of it all. “If the emotionally unavailable shoe fits…”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m reformed now, okay? I’ve been in therapy.”

She rolled her eyes. “You still flirt like a Gemini.”

“Hey,” he grinned. “That’s a hate crime.”

Their laughter faded into comfortable silence, and for a moment, things felt good again. Familiar.

Until the next few days began.

-

It started small.

Jungkook didn’t sit near her during the morning briefing. He always had before, slouching in the seat behind hers, whispering snide comments that made her bite back laughter. But now?

He chose the other side of the room.

Then, he started bringing his personal laptop to the office. No more lingering at his desk, no more casually watching videos with her or dragging her into memes she didn’t care about until she did.

Now he sat in the break room, headphones in, laughing with the guys over something on his screen. Y/N passed by once, hoping maybe he’d wave her over like he usually did — a smirk, a head tilt, a “Come see this shit” — but all she got was a distracted glance and a polite nod.

It was enough to make her stop mid-step.

She didn’t want to overthink it.

Maybe he was just busy.

Maybe she was just being weird.

But then came the group lunch, and he didn’t walk beside her. Didn’t save her a seat. He sat between two of the guys, cracking jokes, his attention miles away.

And Y/N… just sat there. Fork pushing food she didn’t want around her plate. Smiling when she was supposed to. Nodding like she was present.

But in her chest, something uneasy twisted tighter.

Had she said too much that night? Did venting about men push him away? Did he think she was talking about him?

She replayed every word, every expression, every laugh that maybe wasn’t really a laugh.

She wondered if her honesty had made her heavy.

If she’d ruined something by expecting too much.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even know how to ask.

Because how do you bring up distance to someone who was never officially yours to begin with?

-

Y/N stood near the edge of the group, taking slow drags from her cigarette, half-listening to the ongoing banter between Mina and one of the guys from tech, Taehyun. She hadn’t expected Jungkook to show up this early—he’d been unpredictable all week, floating in and out of conversations, always orbiting but never really landing.

But then she heard it.

“Eyo, get off my girlfriend.”

The words cut through the group like a record scratch.

Y/N’s eyes snapped up just in time to see Jungkook stroll into the group like he owned the morning, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, his grin smug as hell.

He was looking right at Taehyun.

Taehyun, who’d just been leaning a little too close while showing Y/N a video on his phone.

Everyone froze for a second.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Taehyun burst out laughing. “Damn, bro, jealous much?”

Jungkook shrugged, unfazed. “I’m just saying. She’s mine. Back off.”

He said it so casually, like it was an inside joke. Like he hadn’t been ignoring her all week.

The group erupted into laughter, Mina nearly choking on her drink.

Y/N, caught between confusion and that weird flutter in her chest, managed to roll her eyes dramatically. “Ugh. Don’t fight over me, please.”

More laughter.

Someone whistled. “Alright, alright, damn. Y/N’s got men lining up now.”

Y/N snorted, flicking her ash and doing her best to play it cool. “One of you fights, the other buys me breakfast. Your choice.”

Jungkook smirked, eyes meeting hers for half a second—just long enough to make her chest feel too tight.

“Bet,” he said, tipping his head at her with a wink.

And just like that, the moment passed. The conversation shifted. Everyone went back to teasing each other and complaining about the early call time.

But Y/N?

She stood a little quieter, a little warmer, wondering what the hell that had just been.

Because maybe it was a joke.

But maybe it wasn’t.

-

The office smelled like lavender and old books, and the soft hum of the air purifier filled the space between them. Y/N sat curled into the corner of the couch, arms around her knees, sipping slowly from the bottle of water her therapist had offered.

Her voice was a little hoarse when she finally spoke.

“I think I like him.”

Dr. Haneul didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just nodded, calm and expectant.

Y/N gave a small, breathy laugh. “I know. Shocker, right?”

Dr. Haneul folded her hands on her lap. “Tell me what makes you think that.”

Y/N hesitated, staring at her knees. “I mean… he makes me feel seen. And not in that dramatic, romantic way. Just… noticed. Heard. Like when I talk, he actually listens. And yeah, he flirts a lot — but sometimes, it feels like it’s not just flirting. Like it’s real.”

Dr. Haneul nodded again. “And what’s stopping you from telling him?”

“I don’t know. Fear? Rejection? I keep thinking I’m just reading into things. Like I’m not the kind of girl someone like him falls for. I’m not that girl.”

Silence.

Then—

“What if you are?”

Y/N blinked.

“What if you are that girl — for him? What if you’re more than enough, exactly as you are?”

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes burning, but she didn’t cry.

“You’ll never know unless you let yourself try,” Dr. Haneul added gently. “And maybe it works out. Maybe it doesn’t. But either way, you will know. And that’s powerful.”

Y/N nodded, voice quiet. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll tell him. Monday.”

Dr. Haneul smiled. “Good. You deserve clarity, not chaos.”

-

Y/N came in ten minutes early, heart hammering in her chest. She wore soft pink lip gloss, the blouse she always felt confident in, and had even straightened her hair — not for him, she told herself.

But also a little for him.

She rehearsed it in her head. “Hey, can I talk to you?” Simple. Direct. No games.

He was by the coffee machine when she found him, dressed down in his usual black tee and silver chain, talking to one of the guys with that easy grin she always secretly watched too long.

She waited until his coworker peeled off, then took a slow breath.

But before she could step forward, Jungkook turned to her, eyes lighting up.

“Yo! I have to tell you something.”

Y/N froze. “What’s up?”

Jungkook leaned casually against the counter, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t about to change her entire week. “I finally got a girlfriend.”

The words didn’t register at first.

“You… what?”

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck like it was still fresh in his mind. “Yeah. Crazy, right? I knew this girl for a while — like we’d see each other at mutual stuff but never actually talked? Anyway, we ran into each other on Saturday and ended up spending like seven hours together. Just… clicked. Talked about everything. Made out. Now we’re official.”

His grin widened. “Feels good, honestly. Like I wasn’t even looking, but she gets me.”

Y/N blinked once. Twice.

Her body moved before her brain could catch up.

“Wow,” she said, voice light, fake-smiling. “That’s… that’s great, Jungkook.”

He beamed, completely unaware of the way her world had just quietly collapsed.

“I knew you’d be chill about it,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “You’re always cool.”

Y/N laughed—short and sharp, like something inside her cracked. “Yeah, of course. Super chill. Ice queen, that’s me.”

He grinned. “You’re the best.”

And then he walked off, still sipping his coffee, already calling out to someone across the office.

Y/N stood there, her smile frozen on her lips, the taste of her own breath suddenly metallic.

She had tried.

She was ready.

And now?

Now she had to sit through eight hours of pretending she wasn’t heartbroken.

-

The bus ride home was a blur.

Y/N sat near the back, headphones in but no music playing, her fingers resting limply in her lap. She kept her gaze on the window, watching the world smear past in muted colors. Her reflection stared back at her — tired eyes, pink gloss long faded, hope wiped clean.

She hadn’t spoken much the rest of the day.

Had smiled when she needed to, nodded when spoken to, even made a half-hearted joke when Mina asked her if she was okay.

But now the sun had dipped, and the world was quiet, and there was nothing left to distract her.

Her chest ached. Her throat burned. And somewhere between the last stop and hers, it hit.

Hard.

The first tear slipped down without warning. Then another. And another.

By the time she stepped off the bus, she was clutching her phone in her hand like it could somehow hold her together.

She made it to her building in autopilot, let herself in, dropped her bag by the door like always.

And then—

She collapsed onto the floor, back pressed against the wall, legs folded beneath her, and finally—

She sobbed.

Not the quiet kind.

Not the cinematic single tear.

The kind that sounded like something breaking loose.

“He wasn’t even mine,” she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice shaking. “He wasn’t even mine and it still hurts this much.”

Her shoulders trembled as she pressed her palms into her face, trying to smother the ugly sobs that poured out of her.

“Why did I let myself think… why did I believe…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Because there were too many endings and none of them were kind.

She curled tighter into herself, heart pounding with self-loathing and shame.

“I should’ve known,” she choked out. “Of course someone like him… of course he wouldn’t want someone like me.”

It all came rushing back — the way she second-guessed every laugh they’d shared, every glance he gave her, every casual brush of his hand near hers.

It had all meant something to her.

And nothing to him.

“I’m such an idiot,” she whispered. “I thought… I actually thought…”

She trailed off again, her voice barely audible over the sound of her crying.

And beneath all the heartbreak, beneath the rejection, a cruel thought rooted itself deep:

It’s because of how I look.

It’s always that.

Too big. Too plain. Too invisible. Too easy to overlook.

She hated herself for thinking it — hated herself for believing it — but in that moment, it felt like the only answer.

Because how else could she explain why she wasn’t enough?

Why no one ever stayed?

Why even when she let someone in — someone she trusted — it still ended with her being left behind?

Y/N didn’t know how long she sat there, crying into the silence of her apartment.

But when her dog padded over and curled against her leg, she buried her face into its fur and let herself fall apart a little longer.

Because tonight, she didn’t have to pretend.

Tonight, it was okay to break.

-

Y/N arrived earlier than usual.

She sat at her desk with her earbuds in, a neutral playlist playing softly — nothing too emotional, just ambient noise. Enough to keep her from thinking too hard.

When Jungkook walked in, she didn’t look up.

But she felt it — the shift in the air, the subtle drop in the noise of the office as he passed by, eyes lingering on her.

She didn’t turn around.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

She was calm. Measured. Walls firmly back up.

Because if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was make herself disappear.

-

She chose to sit with a different group today — people she didn’t normally engage with, quieter coworkers who kept to themselves and mostly talked about client calls and weekend errands.

It was peaceful.

Safe.

But halfway through her sandwich, Jungkook appeared behind her.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but casual. “Haven’t seen you all day.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. She finished chewing, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and then turned her head slightly toward him. “Yeah. Been busy.”

He blinked. “Ah. Right.”

A pause.

“Mind if I sit?”

She shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

Her tone was polite. Not rude. But cold — the kind of cold that didn’t come with anger, just distance. The kind that made it clear: you don’t have access to me anymore.

Jungkook sat slowly beside her, clearly picking up on the shift.

“You good?” he asked after a moment.

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I guess I don’t have much to say.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to read her.

Y/N looked up, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were steady — not angry, not bitter.

Just tired.

“I figured I should give you space,” she said simply. “You have a girlfriend now. It wouldn’t feel right… hanging out the way we used to.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed slightly. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

She gave a small, closed-mouth smile — almost pitying.

“I know you think that. But you weren’t the one falling.”

He blinked, caught off guard. She stood up, grabbing her tray.

“I should get back. Deadlines.”

And with that, she walked away.

No dramatics. No tears.

Just quiet, brutal honesty — and a silence that followed her all the way back to her desk.

-

Y/N was curled up in bed, blanket over her legs, her phone screen glowing in the dim light of her room. She was doing what she shouldn’t have been doing — scrolling Instagram while pretending she didn’t care.

Mina had tagged a few coworkers at a bar, and she tapped through absentmindedly, muted laughter and blurry drinks passing by.

Then she landed on his story.

Jungkook’s.

She hesitated. Her finger hovered — but curiosity was cruel.

She tapped.

The video started with music playing faintly in the background — some soft indie track. It was shaky, handheld, like someone laughing behind the camera.

And then — there it was.

A girl’s perfectly manicured hands holding a large bouquet of white tulips, fingers dainty against the soft petals. The camera panned up briefly to reveal the side of her face — smiley, radiant, glowing. The kind of glow that comes from being wanted.

She had tagged him.

@jungkook97 🤍✨

Y/N’s screen blurred instantly as tears swelled, her lungs tightening.

But it wasn’t just the image.

It was the memory that slammed into her seconds later, vicious and uninvited.

Flashback – Two Weeks Ago

They were sitting outside after lunch, the two of them alone on the bench near the smoking area.

Jungkook had been leaning back, arms spread across the backrest lazily, looking at the clouds like they owed him something.

“You should just marry me,” he said suddenly, voice light.

Y/N had rolled her eyes. “God, shut up.”

“No, seriously. You’d be a fun wife,” he grinned. “We’d just chill all day, smoke, talk shit. I’d never get bored.”

She’d laughed — awkward, disbelieving. “And where’s my ring, huh? My bouquet? My effort, Jungkook?”

He’d tilted his head, smirking. “You want flowers?”

“Yeah,” she’d replied, more serious than she meant to be. “You tell a girl to marry you, at least bring her a damn bouquet.”

He had laughed. That loud, boyish laugh. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you a flower from 7-Eleven next time. A real fancy one.”

And she had smiled through it — tried to match his energy — even though, deep down, it stung.

Because something about the way he said it made her believe he might have meant a piece of it.

Back to Now

Y/N shut off her phone.

Her chest heaved once. Then again. And then the tears came — hot, fast, and furious.

She wasn’t just sad now.

She was angry.

Angry at him — for playing with her heart like it was a toy he never planned to keep.

Angry at herself — for letting those jokes slide, for reading into things that were never meant to be read.

For letting herself hope.

For letting herself want.

“How stupid am I?” she whispered aloud, her voice trembling.

All those little things — the teasing, the flirtation, the “you’d be my wife” jokes — they weren’t affection.

They were just jokes.

And now some other girl got the real version. The soft music. The flowers. The story tag. The seven-hour conversation.

The genuine thing.

Y/N wiped her face, her jaw clenched tight.

No more tears. Not tonight.

She was done romanticizing someone who never meant a damn thing he said.

[zhongfile]

something’s missing. — Lee Donghyuck

PAIRING. haechan x fem reader

GENRE. smut

WARNINGS. blackmailing, dubcon themes, unprotected sex, crying, slapping, oral, degradation, forced breeding, stalking of socials, non-consented recording. big d!ck haechan agenda.

WC. 2.1K

A/N: miss the dreamies so bad it got me writing again😪 please enjoy this smut that i’ve been working on for a while that only @2cupids has known about LOL. feedback is so highly appreciated it’s been so long!! proof read but not rly oops. hope you enjoy:’)

Haechan scoffed when he viewed your story. Jealousy washing over his body when he saw you kissing another man on the cheek. the caption reading happy one month with a pink heart emoji. “Unbelievable” he mumbled to himself, tossing his phone. Surely you were only posting that to make him upset right?

You and haechan parted ways a long time ago. Two years ago to be exact haechan still believing you loved him and only moved on to get a reaction out of him. Which.. wasn’t true. You stopped worrying about haechan the day you two broke up. Threatening to get a restraining order made him back off a little, giving you the chance to call the quits. Haechan tried to rationalize with you saying he couldn’t live without you and wanted to remain good friends even if you two weren’t together anymore. You were easy to manipulate though that quickly came to an end.

Your ‘friendship’ lasted maybe a good week before you stopped returning his phone calls and blocked him on everything. Now here you are two years later in a happy relationship, new friends, and even a better job. Haechan hasn’t even crossed your mind since you’ve been with Jake, finally feeling safe in a relationship for once.

Haechan on the other hand still kept tabs on you. Though you blocked him and all his friends he still had an old burner account he used to stalk your socials. He was happy to see you happy but hated that it wasn’t him being there for you and all your new accomplishments. He hated seeing you under another man. He hated that you were purposely posting all this to make him jealous. To make him react this way.

He shakes his head, smacking his dry lips together, how could you just move on that easily?

Haechan had to think of a way to get you back into his life again.

You laid your head on your boyfriend's chest as you slowly began to drift off to sleep. Your phone buzzed ignoring the first two times it went off getting up to check it the third time it buzzed. The number that texted you was a number you didn't save or recognize, figuring someone just had the wrong number. Your eyes went wide at the three video attachments of you fucking haechan and giving him head. ‘Why does he still have these?’ You asked yourself. Your heart sank at the following messages. He found you yet again.

Unknown: Remember these?

Unknown: Oh how I miss you and your tongue. I still watch these videos to get myself off

Unknown: come on y/n don’t ignore me :((

Unknown: maybe i should send these videos to jake huh? show him how much fun we used to have.

You froze at the text.. How did he know who Jake was?

You: please delete those videos haechan. seriously please

Unknown: look who finally decided to reply!

Unknown: come over and maybe i’ll consider deleting

You: please don’t do this again. just delete them and we both can go our separate ways donghyuck.

Unknown: either you come over or i send it to him. your call

Haechan smiled to himself when you texted you were on the way. He was going to make you his again.

Haechan decided to tidy up the place before your arrival, spraying some cheap air freshener in his living room to make his apartment seem more comfortable. He wanted seeing you again to be memorable, setting up a camera in the far left corner in his living room hiding it good enough so you wouldn’t see. His hands felt sweaty and his heart rate was increasing, butterflies filling his tummy. He couldn’t believe he was actually about to see you, a grin slowly creeping on his face.

You had a horrible feeling about how this whole thing was going to go. Haechan never takes no for an answer and you had a gut feeling it was going to take everything in you to get him to delete those old videos. The pit of your stomach began to drop when you arrived at his apartment. Horrible flashbacks started playing in the back of your head when you parked your car. let’s just get this over with you thought to yourself as you approached Haechan’s door.

It’s like he could feel your presence at the door opening it before you even knocked. He smiled, “hi”

“hey..” you mumbled under your breath barely looking at him.

Haechan opened the door wider welcoming you in. Everything was still the same.. the exact same. Same old raggedy furniture that he should’ve thrown away years ago. Even your old pictures of the two of you were hanging on the wall. All the memories between you two begin to flood your mind and you need to get haechan to delete these videos so you could leave and never think about him again.

“Come sit,” Haechan patted his thigh, that shit eating grin resting on his lips. You didn’t want to upset or trigger anything obeying everything he asked you to do. You sat on his knee, hands resting uncomfortably in your lap. “So tell me what’s been new? How are things with your little boyfriend?” he asked, moving your hair out of your face to see you better, making you close your eyes at his touch. “Things are okay...”

“Just okay?” he asked emphasizing on ‘just’

“things are good..” you corrected yourself trying to shift off his lap a bit haechan pulling you closer to him squeezing your thigh. “Why are you trying to run away from me?” He asked with a slight pout to his lips

“Haechan.. please” your voice was barely above a whisper refusing to make eye contact with him. “I just want you to delete the videos so we can go our separate ways again”

“Come on, you don’t miss me?” you didn’t reply quick enough for his liking making haechan pull you all the way onto his lap a gasp leaving your lips as you now straddled him.

“Haechan” you called softly “ohh now you can hear me” he let out a teasing laugh rubbing his hands up and down your thigh.

“please..” you begged once again. Haechan rubbed your cheek so softly and sweet like he actually cared about anything you were asking him for. He reached in the front of his pocket pulling his phone out unlocking it and showing you his messages. The video of you two already loaded up to be sent to jake. All it took was one press.

“Haechan please stop” you cry, “i’ll do anything!” you blurted out reaching for the phone.

Haechan locked it and looked down at you. And there it was. He knew you were gonna eventually give in.

He rests his arms on the couch looking at your head tilted to the side. “Get on your knees”

You hesitated getting off his lap kneeling between his spread legs. Your hands were shaking unbuckling his jeans only pulling his pants down far enough to free his cock. Haechan hisses at the cool air hitting his tip dripping in pre-cum. your lips glide over his length trying your best to fit him in your mouth. bobbing your head back and forth gently Haechan getting impatient with this little act you were putting up. You’ve sucked his dick plenty of times. Why are you acting like you don’t know what you are doing?

He grabbed a fistful of your hair making you yelp “Are you trying to piss me off huh?” he slapped you across the face making you close your eyes from the sting.

You shook your head no. “I can’t hear you” he slaps you again, a tear falling down your cheek. “no..” you sniffled.

“Then do it right” he pushed your head back down onto his cock doing the work for you.

“fuck” he mumbled under his breath pushing your face all the way down on his cock almost cumming on the spot watching you gag. You pinched at his thigh trying to get him to let go so you could breathe but Haechan didn’t care. He just wanted to get his dick wet by his favorite girl.

He finally pulled you up smirking at the way you gasped for air. He let out a moan at the sight of you. Drool and spit dripping down your chin and chest. Eyes filled with tears. He loved seeing you all messy like this. He swore his cock got harder from you crying. For him it was his favorite site. He grabbed you by the jaw guiding you back to his lap.

“Sit on it” you sniffled again wanting to tell him no but couldn’t risk making him more upset. Taking a step back to take your shorts and panties off. You align his cock up with your entrance gripping onto his shoulders to help steady yourself. Haechan surprisingly lets you take your time easing down on his cock the stretch feeling unbelievable.

Haechan let out a sigh when you finally sat all the way. Hands gripping your hips “still so fucking tight— shit”

“y/n— you gotta move or fuck— i’ll fuck up into you” you let your hands rest on his shoulder slowly beginning to bouce up and down.

“it hurts.. you’re too big” you mumbled in between sobs.

“Jake doesn’t fill you up this well does he baby?” you close your eyes at the mention of Jake. Feeling completely horrible for even doing this.

“You missed me didn’t you?” Haechan asked, thrusting up into you watching the way you bite your lip to hold back your moan.

your legs were growing weak and you felt like you could cum in any second. You wanted to keep your eyes closed but couldn’t help but look at the way haechan was so into it. His head was thrown back resting against the couch as he helped you bounce on his big cock. Lip snuck between his teeth watching the way his cock goes in and out of your sweet cunt.

“it’s so big,” you whimpered. “I know baby” Haechan cooed wiping at your tears.

“missed you and this pretty fucking pussy so much” he shook his head, “can’t believe you stayed this tight”

you tried to ignore his words grabbing at his shoulders so hard you were sure he’ll have marks in the morning.

“so pathetic your boyfriend can’t get you off the way i can”

“stop” you managed to mumble out. “What's wrong? don’t like it when i talk about your sweet boyfriend?” he teased.

“How do you think he’ll feel if he saw you right now? Whoring yourself out like this for me?” the tears wouldn’t stop. You hid your face in his shoulder begging him to stop bringing Jake up.

He let out a laugh at the way you hid yourself rubbing circles in your clit. “Haechan please.. stop” you weren’t even sure if you were letting out real words anymore. Your head was dizzy and full off of being a shitty girlfriend and Haechan.

“You’re so fucking close i know you” he laughed. “Cumming from the thought of your boyfriend seeing us fuck hm? Pretty fucked up way of thinking huh pretty girl?” The tears wouldn’t stop still hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“you’re only crying because you feel bad for enjoying this” you begin to sob harder because he’s right.

You didn’t miss haechan and you didn’t miss your relationship but you missed this. The sex life. His big cock that he only enjoyed abusing on you. You love Jake and everything about him but you knew for a fact he wouldn’t fill you up the way Haechan is right now.

“Gonna cum in you” Haechan groaned, closing his eyes shut. You jolted up at his words telling him no.

“Gonna cum in your sweet cunt” Haechan moaned again ignoring your first protest.

“Haechan you can’t! i’m not on the pill—“ he covered your mouth with his left hand tossing his head back as he came in you. Filling you up so good. You closed your eyes at the feeling letting another tear fall down your cheek. Haechan finally took his hand off your mouth trying to catch his breath.

He unlocked his phone showing you to your face that the videos are gone. Deleting all three. You still sat there cheeks puffy and eyes swollen red from all your crying. Haechan wiped your face and kissed your cheeks.

“You don’t have to worry anymore okay? it’s all done” you gave him a nod getting off to clean yourself up before heading home. You couldn't wait to be back in Jake’s arms again.

When you left his apartment haechan promised not to contact you. Apologizing for bothering you in the first place again. You felt pretty good about it this time not feeling the need to block him on anything.

Haechan reached behind his flower pot, stopping the video he recorded. He smiled to himself when he hit play hearing your sobs and pleads. God it was good enough to get him hard again but not tonight. He uploaded the video to his laptop adding to a folder labeled ‘y/n’ where he kept all videos and pictures of you over the past two years. He walked up to his calendar lifting up the page to October. Circling October 21st. That’s when he’ll text you again with another video, surprise. He couldn’t believe how easy this was again.

He finally had your trust back.

[angelluv16]

Rumor Has It

✩: Kaia Jenner, the youngest Kardashian-Jenner, is an up-and-coming actress. When F1 driver Charles Leclerc casually calls her his favorite actress, the internet goes crazy. What starts as rumors turns into a whirlwind of drama, chemistry, and public scrutiny.

Part 2

faceclaim: Cindy Kimberly, girls from Pinterest

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Jenner!reader

request: no!!

warnings: Hate, fluff, Angst, Language,

previous part | Main Masterlist | Next Part

-------------------------✩-------------------------

It was one of those perfect days where everything felt easy. The sun was out, but it wasn’t too hot, and the pool was the perfect temperature. I was just in a cute bikini and some oversized sunglasses, lounging by the pool with a drink in hand, trying to forget about the chaos of my usual routine.

Kendall was nearby, chatting with Kim while the kids ran around, yelling and splashing. The little ones were being loud as usual, but today, I didn’t mind. There’s something kind of calming about it. Stormi was jumping into Kylie’s arms over and over, laughing each time, while North was teaching Chicago how to swim. They were so cute together.

I didn’t really have much to do but soak in the moment. It felt nice not having to worry about anything—no cameras, no interviews, just family. It was rare we could all be together like this without any kind of press or work obligations getting in the way. It was just… us.

I decided to join in on the fun. I jumped up from my chair, slipped into the pool, and instantly felt the cool water on my skin. The kids screamed in excitement when they saw me, and before I knew it, I was caught in a pool game of tag with them.

Saint grabbed my arm, trying to pull me under, and I couldn't stop laughing when he managed to splash me in the face. "Got you!" he yelled, grinning. I splashed him back, and we kept going, the sound of the water mixing with all the giggles.

Kendall jumped in next, tossing me a pool floatie as she joined the chaos. We were all running around, making waves and having the time of our lives. It was like being a kid again—no responsibilities, just the pure joy of being together.

Eventually, I ended up on the floatie, lying back and staring at the sky as the kids continued to play. Stormi climbed up next to me, lying down with her little head resting on my arm. "You’re the best," she said softly, her tiny voice making me smile.

I looked down at her, brushing her hair out of her face. "You’re the best, Stormi."

It was one of those days that reminded me of why I loved my family so much. The laughter, the chaos, and the love—it was everything. And honestly, it was perfect just the way it was. No cameras, no expectations. Just us.

-------------------------✩------------------------- kaia.jenner

{caption 1: Pool Day💕☀} {caption 2: My little stormi 💕💕}

view replies:

charles leclerc: The Prettiest

kaia.jenner: Thank you But have you seen yourself🤭

charlesleclerc: yeah But you beat everyone

kaia.jenner: You flatter me to much.

username11: Girl ur stunning

kyliejenner: My baby🥰🥰

username12: She's so big wtf

username13: such a cutie

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by charlesleclerc, kendelljenner, kimkardashian,kellypiquet and 54,920,829 other

kaia.jenner: Pool day with my fav

Tagged: @ kyliejenner @ kendelljenner @ kimkardashian @ khloekardashian @ krisjenner @ kourtneykardash

view 67,892 Comments

kyliejenner: Love youuuu 😘❤️

kendalljenner: Pool days are the best

username14: Couldn’t ask for a better fam. I’m loving these posts

username15: Do they do anything that isn’t on camera?

username16: The third photo omfg.

username17: right why is no one talking about that photo.

username18: Imagine the guy that gets to kiss her and hold her omfg He's so lucky. ♥︎ by charlesleclerc

charlesleclerc: Hope you didn’t lose any pool races

username18: ARIANA?!?!?!

username19: Oh this is crazy

kaia.jenner: Lost most of them

charlesleclerc: Then I need to give you some lessons huh?

kaia.jenner: tell me when and I'll be their I need to be North

username19: this shit is crazy like wtf

username20: DID HE JUST OMFG

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

-------------------------✩-------------------------

@anamiad00msday @Ale-522 @sarx164 @gottalovesae @meadhbhcavanagh @fulla02 @fanficfanatic77 @sid-is-gr8

-------------------------✩-------------------------

[frogchiro]

so obsessed with college au omg but like imagine one day reader decides to tease fratboy!leon and calls him pretty boy when he sends a video of him jerking off. he’d probably like die after but y’know

Calling him a 'Good boy' or 'Pretty boy' is like inviting a vampire into your household, you're not getting rid of him😭

No but fr this would provide Leon with fap material for a month :// For you it was just having a little bit of fun, throw the boy a bone you could say like back when you send him that single little heart and it made him go bonkers, it wouldn't hurt to now call him a pretty boy right~?

Well, for you it was all fun and games but for Leon this was a life changing experience; he definitely teared up when he saw it not only with emotion but also with the way his cock got painfully hard, or at least tried to, he already came three times, he's overstimulated to the point of pain and he's a hormonal mess but the little 'Pretty boy~' on his phone screen made his poor, blushing cock twitch and spurt out one last weak pearl of cum :((

Imagine if Krauser barged in without knocking and found his friend teary eyed and pathetic with his dick out and staring at his phone, did he get emotional again while watching porn and the chick was too similar to you again? Jack was about to tease his friend to hell and back but then Leon turned to him with a shit-eating smug grin and waved his phone around.

"She called me pretty boy~!" Leon said smugly, not moving to cover himself or anything which only made Jack more angry as he stomped over to the bed and snatched Leon's phone from his hand to see for himself and...There it was, clear as day...Maybe it's time for him to change tactics too...?

Imagine about an hour later while you're nose deep in a new book you hear your phone 'ping!' again and you couldn't help but roll your eyes with a fond smile on your lips, Leon was weirdly insatiable tonight but when you unlocked your phone it wasn't a message from Leon but from Krauser...Jesus what does this douche want at this hour?

When you opened the message you were ready to berate him for bothering you this late but instead all you did was drop your jaw open; inside was a goddamn dickpic! From Krauser! And it definitely was...something.

His cock was...huge. Long, thick and veiny with a thick blonde happytrail at the base and while it wasn't the main focus of the photo, you could see that his balls were large too...Jack's hands while large, they did nothing to dwarf the length, if anything it only accentuated how big Jack was all over and apparently that translated to under the belt business too...His tip was swollen and red, almost purple with how hard he was and despite that it was only a photo, you could almost see the way his thick precum leaked obscenely down his shaft, rude ://

The caption read 'Hope you like it baby~' and while Krauser was smirking and waiting for your response, something hopefully hot or bashful. You're probably blushing hard right now at the sight of his cock, so much better than Leon, you will want a real man to pop your cherry and-

'ping!' Theeeere you go pretty girl, you sure kept him waiting-

'>:('

[vinnyvamppp]

Your Name Lives Under My Tongue જ⁀➴ ♡

Note: For some reason, I’m having my  “tragic lovesick” moment and hearing this song—absolutely obsessed for the time being, by the way— gave me the great idea to write this. These wholesome and slightly angsty headcanons are a quick palate cleanser for the three smut fics you can expect tomorrow. Each character has a lyric I selected to match!

Synopsis: You haunt their thoughts like a song stuck on repeat—pulling them closer with every heartbeat, every whispered “come here.” Inspired by Love Me Not by Ravyn Lenae. ⇄ ◀ 𓊕 ▶ ↻

Warnings: None! Also, it's my insistent rambles.

☆: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, and Cassandra Cain x GN!Reader

WC: I’m very talkative, just trust me. (song at the bottom.)

ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Dick Grayson Lyric: “I don’t wanna tell you how I feel, but I want you all the time.”

• He’ll joke and flirt and wink like it’s nothing, but when you leave the room, he looks at the door like he’s just lost something sacred. Dick keeps his love quiet because if he says it out loud, it might break the delicate magic of what you are. But every time he pulls you into his arms like you’re his home, his body writes the love letter he’s too scared to speak.

• He sends late-night voice messages that start with jokes and end in confessions, quiet and sleepy, "Wish you were here... you always make my nights better." He’s all warm hands on cold skin, pulling you into his arms like he’s afraid you’ll vanish when morning comes. • He’s the type to send selfies while he's out on missions with the caption, “This city sucks but at least you exist”.

• He buys you earrings “because they reminded me of your eyes,” and gets adorably flustered when you wear them out.

• He’ll stay on video call with you until you fall asleep, whispering about stars and childhood dreams. Dick lingers on the screen a little longer, watching as your features soften into sleep. There’s a quiet smile on his lips as he takes a few silent screenshots, not to tease (sometimes), but to keep you close on the nights he can’t be.

• When he's jealous, he pouts like a golden retriever, until he pulls you close and says, “Tell me I’m your favorite. I need to hear it.”

• Plans rooftop picnics under string lights and always insists on feeding you grapes with hot chocolate in thermoses, he insists are “bat-proof.”

• Always spins you around while dancing in the kitchen, even if there's no music, just your laughter.

• Loves sneaking kisses on your shoulders while he's holding you during movies.

• Keeps a spare toothbrush and your favorite snacks in his apartment as a quiet “stay here more often.” • He leaves you breathless with teasing touches and glances during team meetings, like he’s daring you not to react.

• He’s the king of slow kisses against your neck after patrol, letting his breath linger just a second too long—just long enough to make you forget every good reason to leave. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." He tells himself he can live without you—he’s done it before, hasn’t he? But the second he hears your voice, the cracks show, and he’s already halfway across the city, knocking at your door with apology in his eyes and longing on his breath. Every part of him says, “don’t go back,” but his heart whispers, “just one more night.”

Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here."

You’re across the room, smiling at someone else, and he’s smiling too, but his eyes always find you. He won’t admit it, but it guts him to love you from a distance. He wants to dance with you again, to selfishly pull you in close and pretend the space between you never existed. When Dick looks at you, it’s like the rest of the world goes into soft focus—you’re all he sees, all he wants, like the sun decided to stay for him a little longer. He memorizes the way your face crinkles when you laugh, and sometimes he swears your smile has saved him more than any cape ever could. He wants to hold you until the ache in his chest settles, until being with you stops feeling like a dream he’s terrified to wake up from

ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ!（ꐦ𝅒_𝅒 ) Jason Todd Lyric: “I know that this ain’t right, but it feels so right.”

• He tastes your name like sin in his mouth, forbidden and perfect, so he keeps coming back to you like a moth to a flame. Every kiss is a dare, every glance laced with the kind of hunger that doesn’t go away with time. Jason would destroy the whole world to keep you in it, even if it means burning with the wreckage.

• He swears he's bad at this love thing, but you catch him memorizing your coffee order and leaving annotated pages of your favorite book with "made me think of you" in the margins. He falls in love like he fights, it's messy, bruised, and with his whole damn chest.

• Reads to you in bed, sometimes poetry, sometimes horror, and lets you fall asleep against his chest mid-sentence. If you're lucky, he might kiss you on the knuckles as you rest.

• Leaves you notes in his messy handwriting tucked into your coat pockets: “Drink water, don’t get stabbed.”

• Pretends to be annoyed when you steal his leather jacket, but he never asks for it back. • He’ll write you poetry he swears is “cringe” and hide it under your pillow, sonnets in his scrawl, angry and beautiful.

• He’ll teach you how to shoot, his arms wrapped around you, voice low in your ear... half instruction, half seduction. Your date nights usually end in something morally questionable with a touch of romance.

• If he’s having a rough night, he’ll show up at your window instead of texting. “Didn’t want to be alone.”

• He makes you playlists labeled "do not open unless you miss me." You open them every damn time. • Jason has a thing for kissing you mid-argument, fast and aggressive like he’d rather fight with his mouth on yours.

• He kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, always pushing you against the door like the space between you two is something that is offending his very being. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." He’s stubborn. He’ll ghost you, stay away, swear he’s better off alone, but then he dreams about your hands, your voice, the way you say his name like its a kiss-worn caress. He shows up at your window, rain-drenched and hoarse, saying, “I didn’t plan to come. I just… missed you.” Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here." He sees you and it stings, because you look happy, and he can’t tell if it’s because of or without him. He looks away, but he’s still listening for your laugh, and when you do glance his way, he looks like he hasn’t breathed in weeks. Jason thinks of you like a favorite song he keeps putting on repeat— its familiar, and something he can’t stop needing in the dark. You’re the quiet voice in the chaos, the one person he believes might love the broken parts and the bruised knuckles. He watches you like a man who thinks you’ll vanish if he blinks too long, and he’d rather burn than lose the warmth you give him.

(·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) Tim Drake Lyric: “You been lookin’ at me all night, tryna figure me out.”

• He watches you like you’re the one thing that makes sense in a world made of lies and algorithms, calculating every beat of your heart like it’s the code he was born to crack. But the truth is, you’re the one who’s figured him out, and it terrifies him in ways he’ll never admit. Every time you touch him, he feels like a boy again, hopeful, fragile, and full of impossible dreams.

• He’ll overthink a text for twenty minutes before deleting it all and just sending “You up?” but the second you say yes, he’s showing up with snacks and theories on what your dreams mean. He's the quiet touch on your wrist, the safe place you didn’t know you needed. • He keeps polaroids of you tucked into his notebooks like you're the secret he can’t stop studying.

• You catch him staring sometimes, and when you ask why, he just shrugs and says, “You’re distracting in the best way.”

• When he’s exhausted, he lets you drag him onto the couch and fall asleep in your lap like he belongs there.

• He’ll analyze every text you send, but still answer with something clumsy and real like, “I missed you. A lot.” ... He can't help it when it comes to you.

• Works late but always FaceTimes you just to watch you laugh before he crashes.

• Makes a shared digital calendar just for your dates and labels cuddle nights with bat emojis and falls asleep with your hand in his and a book open between you two.

• Buys two of everything, one for him, one for you, so you always have matching mugs, pens, socks, anything. • He’s quiet in bed until you whisper his name and then, God, the way he comes undone from just your voice.

• He’s all shy glances and soft moans when you run your fingers through his hair, until the moment he stops holding back and decides he wants to be the one making you tremble. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here."

He’ll dive into work, research, anything to forget you, but the silence between 2am and sunrise is too loud. He scrolls through old photos with trembling fingers, telling himself it’s just nostalgia. Then he texts “You awake?” even though he knows you are, because you always wait for him, and that’s what kills him most.

Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here."

He runs into you at a gala, and you look like a dream in a room full of strangers. His chest tightens and he wants to say hi, to say he’s sorry, to say anything, but the words choke behind his tongue. So he sips his drink and watches you disappear again, like you always do. Tim looks at you like a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve—just hold, just study, because the mystery of you is the most beautiful thing he’s ever been given. You make him feel like he’s real in a world where he usually feels like a ghost behind a screen. When you touch him, so gently, he swears the Earth tilts, just for him.

^,…,^ Bruce Wayne Lyric: “I shouldn’t be here, but I’m right here.”

• He’s a master at disappearing, but somehow, with you, he keeps showing up at your door, in your dreams, in the way his voice softens when he says your name. Bruce doesn’t believe in fate, but something about the way you look at him makes him wonder if some things are just meant. He’ll never say I love you initially, but when he presses his forehead to yours in the silence, it’s louder than words.

• He tells you he doesn’t do attachments, but he shows up to your place in the middle of the night with his tie still on and a bottle of wine he pretends he “just happened to have.” His love is quiet, but it’s in the way he memorizes your laugh and lets you see the man behind the mask. • He’ll leave you handwritten notes on your mirror after long nights: “Couldn’t sleep. Thinking of you.”

• He buys you ridiculously expensive gifts and says, “It’s just a thing. You matter more.”

• He pulls you onto the rooftop to watch the sunrise in silence, his hand finding yours in the hush.

• You call him out on hiding his feelings, and he responds by kissing you like a confession, pouring everything into actions rather than words.

• Drives you out to the manor gardens at night just to slow dance under the moonlight.

• Shows his love in tailored suits for you, matching cufflinks, and remembering exactly how you take your tea.

• His idea of romance is quiet protection: warming your hands in his coat pockets, carrying a photo of you in his wallet like he's in high school, and drawing you closer when no one's looking. • He’s slow and intentional, like every button he undoes is a promise he won’t break.

• Bruce kisses you like he’s trying to forget the world, like if he kisses hard enough, Gotham might disappear. Like his responsibilities might disappear long enough to engrave you into his heart. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." He won’t say it. But he’ll find excuses to check on you, to protect you from afar, to stay near without ever stepping close enough to feel. The distance is safety, but every fiber of him misses you like a bruise he keeps pressing. Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here." You’re in the same room but in a different world, one where Bruce let you go to protect you. He tells himself it’s better this way, but every time he sees you, something behind his eyes flickers with regret. He wants to cross the room and tell you he never stopped wanting you, but instead, he stays in the shadows, like he always does. Bruce sees you in flashes—your laughter echoing in the cave, your silhouette in moonlight, and for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s chasing shadows. You are the softness he forgot he deserved, the quiet that calms the noise in his head. He doesn’t believe in fairy tales, but when you say his name like it’s something sacred, he almost wants to try.

⋆. ˚ Barbara Gordon Lyric: “You got me floatin’ but my feet feel grounded.” • You make her feel weightless, like she’s flying without ever leaving the ground, like love could be both thrilling and safe. Barbara doesn’t fall easily, but with you, it’s a controlled descent, both exhilarating and completely consuming. When she’s with you, the world slows down just enough for her to breathe.

• She plays it cool, all clever comebacks and flirty sarcasm, but she melts when you hold her hand under the table or kiss her cheek mid-sentence. She's fierce in love; if she lets you in, it's because she knows you're worth the risk. • She builds you an encrypted app just to send secret love notes throughout the day.

• She’ll steal your jacket and wear it to missions “for luck,” but really it’s because it smells like you.

• She flirts with you over comms during missions, “If you survive this, I’ll let you kiss me again.”

• When you surprise her with flowers, she blushes and tries to sass it off, but you catch her saving the petals.

• Leaves voice notes when she knows you’re having a bad day, “You got this. And I’ve got you.” and buys you matching phone cases and says, “Now no one can flirt with you—branding, babe.”

• Sends you memes at 3AM followed by “miss you, come over?”

• Pulls you into spontaneous, spinning dances in the kitchen to whatever song’s playing (reboot ver). • She pins you against her wheelchair handles and kisses you until you’re the one breathless. • Her voice dips low when she whispers your name, fingers tracing your collarbone like she's writing code on your skin. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." She deletes your contact to prove a point, but never forgets the number. She doesn’t need you, but the second your name lights up her screen again, she’s breathless. She types “I missed you.” Deletes it. Then sends, “Come over.”

Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here." She thought she could handle seeing you again, until you looked at her like she was still yours. Now, every moment is a war between holding back and reaching out. She wants you here, now, always, but she doesn’t know if her heart can survive another “almost. Barbara watches you like you’re the glitch in her code she never wants to fix, a perfect flaw that makes everything else finally make sense. You’ve become her favorite distraction, the reason she finds herself staring out windows and smiling at nothing. When she holds your hand, it feels like finally finding the right frequency after years of static.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Stephanie Brown Lyric: “What’s the use in tryin’ not to feel it?”

• She tried to play it cool, to act like this was just fun, but the way her hands linger on yours says otherwise. Steph’s heart beats too loud when you're near, and no amount of joking can hide the way her eyes follow you like she’s afraid to miss a moment. Eventually, she just gives in because if falling for you is a mistake, it’s the kind she’d make every time.

• She'll flirt with you like it’s a game, but go all soft when you bring her flowers “just because,” and if you make her laugh until she snorts, she’s gone for you. She loves loud and holds your face when she kisses you, and writes little hearts on your coffee cup. • She doodles little hearts and inside jokes in your patrol notes because “vigilanting should be fun sometimes.”

• She takes the dumbest couple selfies and sends them with captions like “We’re cute. Tell your enemies.”

• She throws popcorn at your head during movie night when you won’t cuddle closer, then grins when you finally do.

• She teases you mercilessly but melts if you call her "my girl."

• Shows up at your window with takeout and a playlist she made just for you. If she brings to-go coffee, she always writes, "You're cute. Like, really cute," with a ridiculous sticker that says "Best Kisser."

• Wears matching socks with you on purpose and brags about it.

• Makes blanket forts with fairy lights and insists it’s the most romantic place on Earth. • She whispers dirty jokes mid-mission just to see you lose your cool in public. • She’ll pull you into a closet for a quick makeout, lipstick smeared and giggling, “Oops, I needed this.” Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." She says she’s over it, but she laughs too loudly, flirts too much, and tries too hard to look unbothered. She still walks past places you used to go, still hums the song you sang to her that one night, still whispers “damn it, I miss you” into her pillow like it’s a secret.

Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here."

She smiles when she sees you, but her grip tightens on her drink like it’s the only thing holding her together. She wants to run to you, to kiss you, to scream “I still love you, damn it” but instead, she raises her eyebrows and walks away like a scene from a movie she’ll watch later and cry to. You don’t follow, and she hates how much that hurts. To Steph, you are the bright spot after a string of bad days, the golden moment when the sun breaks through and everything feels possible. She notices every little thing about you—how you bite your lip when you’re nervous, how your nose scrunches when you're mad—and it wrecks her in the best way. Sometimes, when she’s alone, she whispers your name just to remember what love sounds like.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Cassandra Cain Lyric: “You read my mind, you know what I like.”

• Cass doesn’t need words to fall in love, you just move right, feel right, are right, and she reads you like a second skin. You speak her language in glances, fingertips, and shared silences, and it makes her feel more seen than any sentence ever could. When she rests her head against your shoulder, you know without asking: she’s chosen you, and that means everything.

• Cass doesn’t say much, but the way she looks at you, like you’re the first good thing she’s ever seen, is more than enough. She shows her love in small, perfect gestures: a touch to your cheek, a shared silence, a dance in the dark with no music. • She traces the veins on your wrist like she’s reading your body language like a poem.

• You teach her how to say “I love you” in five languages, she only uses it when she really means it.

• She gives you gifts in silence, a flower, a feather, a paper crane, each one left where you’ll find it without her watching.

• Her hugs are rare but consuming, like you’re being held by someone who never lets go once they care. • If you matched outfits with her (even just a color or detail), she’d blink slowly, look at you for a few extra seconds, and then just… softly smile. If you learned some of her body language or trained alongside her to move in sync, she'd be floored. If you mirrored her signs or small gestures? She’d reach for your hand, link your fingers with hers, and squeeze. That's intimacy, that's “you care about my world.”

• When you’re sad, she doesn’t ask questions. She just holds you like a lighthouse holds light. • Cass doesn’t say what she wants. She shows it in every kiss, a message in a language only your body understands. • Her lips brush yours slowly, her breath catching, like she’s learning what it means to want, and then she pulls you closer, like she’s decided to want you over and over again. Lyric 1: "Oh, no, I don't need you, but I miss you, come here." She doesn’t understand why missing you hurts more than physical wounds ever did. She left because she thought it was right, but the echo of your heartbeat still lives in her ribcage. Sometimes she opens the door at night, hoping the wind will carry you back in. Lyric 2: "And, oh, it's hard to see you, but I wish you were right here." Seeing you again feels like watching a ghost walk through her. She says nothing, but her hands tremble slightly, and you’d only notice if you ever learned to read her that well. She stands still, heart aching, wishing you’d come to her, but she won’t beg, not even now. Cass sees you like movement—fluid, beautiful, real—like a story translated into film just for her, and she reads you with her hands more than her eyes. You are the only person who’s ever made her feel both safe and wild, like she could be soft without being small. When you look at her with that kind of patience, that kind of wonder, she thinks maybe this is what it means to be known.

A/N: I might add some more later on. I'm pretty content with how it is, but you guys know I love to run my mouth so…

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Lonely Christmas

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

summary: Lando and Y/N decide that they want to play a prank on their fans and the rest of the grid by hinting at breaking up over X (twitter)

warnings: Cursing & “Cheating”

F1 Masterlist

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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“hey babe, I have an idea.” I said with a smirk as I plopped myself on the bed next to my Formula 1 race winner boyfriend, Lando Norris.

“Oh no, this doesn’t sound good” Lando says chuckling as he props himself on his elbow to get a better view of me, before leaning down pressing a quick kiss to my lips

“mm, I think we should prank your fans and the grid.” I said with the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“and how do you suppose we do that, hmm?” Lando said, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips.

Sitting up and criss cross apple sauce, I stare into his soul “I think we should stage a twitter breakup,” I searched his face for some type of answer

“What? Is this a way of telling me you want to breakup without telling me you want to breakup?” He looks kinda hurt, which quickly prompts me to swing my legs over his body so i’m sitting on his lower torso.

“Absolutely not baby! i love you beyond the galaxy. I just think this would be funny,” i plead but Lando looks unsure “I’ll tell you what to say and all !”

“fine, but only if you let me eat you out, BUT you have to sit on my face” Lando knows I’m insecure about my weight and crushing him to death.

“oh! fine!!” I say plopping right off his body and landing on the bed with a huff. “so i’m gonna tweet something to indicate that we’re breaking up but not actually saying anything”

“and how are you gonna do that-” I quickly interrupt him

“make me cry” i say nonchalantly

“what?” Lando’s face reads 50 shades of Stunned “no, I promised you and your family that the one thing i’d NEVER do to you is make you cry.”

Hearing Lando admit that means the world to me, but i need him to stop being nice and make me cry. It doesn’t take much for me to cry and since Lando doesn’t want to make me cry, I’ll resort to the next best thing: thinking of my (very much alive) dog die.

Just a few seconds of thinking of my (breed/dog) die, the tears well up in my eyes and I let out a choked sob, before whipping my phone out and taking a picture before posting it on twitter with the caption

"nobody wants a lonely Christmas but I'm about to call it quits with you. Breaking up is at the top of my wishlist and baby you don't have a clue."

I flip my phone to show Lando with a smirk plastered on my face. "So, what'd ya think?" I question as I post it and wait a few seconds before twitter starts going absolutely nuts. " wait wait let me read you some of the comments I'm getting, 'slut4ln' says 'NO MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP FIGHTING' haha look, here's another 'mother/n' said 'mother always knows wtf is up, Lando Norris count your days' !!" the chuckles leaving my lips are loud

"I think that I don't know how to respond to that on twitter," Lando says with a faint chuckle "here, how about you take my phone, type out what you want me to say and then let me read it before posting it." a smirk evident on his face as he hands me his phone, before putting said hand on my thigh, rubbing it up and down.

"What about this...?" I question as I'm typing

"You say our relationships fading and you've been thinking bout leaving and though I know it's the truth I just don't want to believe it. You've gotta be kidding me, are we really breaking up? We just picked out a tree, damn."

"Okay Y/N/N lets give it a second to spread, we have to get juicy comments before we keep going, oh. never mind. George is texting me asking me what the fuck I did and why am I arguing twitter about it"

"fuck it, ignore him. we need to make this believable." I say swiping George's message away. "Opinion on this?"

"wait wait, let me tweet something else before you tweet y/n/n. Here, read this"

"You haven't even left yet and I miss you. I was looking forward to the holidays with you. How could you do this on Christmas, girl that's so malicious? C'mon baby, please don't make me beg cause I can go and date your friend instead. Yeah, I'll put the nut in meg. But If you're thinking about leaving, then I already blew it. screw it, then I guess I'll have to beat you to it, bitch."

"OKAYYYY LANDOOOO LET ME STEP UP MY GAME!!!" I scream as I finished reading his reply after he hit tweet bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement.

"okay, okay what about this for me?" I question as I finish typing, turning my phone so Lando can read what I typed.

"I tell you I love you but I don't really mean it, cause after this Christmas sorry but I'm leaving you."

"I'm starting to feel like you're just soft launching a break up with us right now" Lando says "Why else would you gave suggested a fake twitter break up?"

"Baby, please. This is just for shits and giggles. AHH OH MY GOSH!! OSCAR'S CALLING ME" I screamed in panic as I declined the call. "Lando, I think you need to eat me up in the twitter beef again, put your pretty head to work and think of some insults for me."

"I'm almost done, but first I got a question. Why is it one week before Christmas you feel the need to mention a break up with me is in the process but still pending? Is it depending on your gift and what I'm spending? Or are you fishing for more compliments? Because to my astonishment, you're acting like little kid. Was it something I said?Sometimes my head stops thinking, when I say some stupid shit to you, you know I don't mean it, it's just the season, it's confusing, can we just get along?"

"LANDO MY COMMENTS ARE GOING CRAZYYYY! LOOK" I giggle in excitement as I flip my phone so he can scroll through the comments

slut4ln: MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP! CHRISTMAS IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER AND I CAN'T DEAL WITH A DIVORCE RN

georgeswhore: I wake up from a nap to SEE THESE?!?!?!?!

leclercsgf: What the absolute fuck did they fight about that THEYRE BEEFING ON TWITTER FOR AND AIRING OUT A POTENTIAL BREAKUP???

>y/nforpresident: potential? honey I think they are done

Landoslefttoe: Lando kinda ate mom up though 😭😭

LewisHamilton: Answer your fucking phones now!

CharlesLeclerc: LANDO?? YOU CALL YOUR GIRLFRIEND "BITCH"??

CarlosSainz: Cabron, call me asap and fill me in

LoganSargeant: Does this mean I actually have a chance with Y/n?

"I'm choosing to ignore Logan's comment," Lando said flipping my phone back so I could read it. "When are we gonna go public and say it was a prank?" Lando asks as he readjusts himself on the bed, pulling me down and closer to him so we're cuddling

"We can tell them all tomorrow" I yawn as I cuddle closer to my boyfriend "goodnight handsome"

"Goodnight precious" lando whispers as he kisses my temple

<333333

idk what this is but 🎀😗

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSesvRpKqBaYY-Ow5IgHoD0gSX6OzJ03qGMXOhHUI6Xg1wfKaA/viewform.

[inawickedlittletown]

From Loaves to Love -BuckTommy (one-shot)

Summary: Set during 8x07, Eddie sends Tommy a picture of Buck's baked good filled fridge. Fix-it fic. A continuation for the snippet I posted this morning. Words: 2.9k Read on Ao3

-

Tommy receives a picture of a fridge full of baked goods. Mostly, from what he can tell, loaves. The picture comes from Eddie without a caption. It takes a while for him to realize that the fridge is familiar because it belongs to Evan.

Eddie texts him a few minutes later:

Every time he thinks about calling you, he bakes something instead.

Tommy has a little bit of a breakdown about that because maybe in his mind he'd thought that Evan would already be over it, over them. He'd been not hoping for it, but expecting it, even while he knew that he would probably have a few more cries about it and that any reminder of Evan was enough to make his heart hurt.

The thing is that Evan isn’t really a baker. Or at least, he hadn’t been in the six months that they were dating. He’d been busy from the looks of it. He’s still looking at the picture when Lucy plops down next to him. 

“What’s happening there?” 

Baked every time he thought about calling Tommy. He doesn’t even fight when Lucy grabs the phone out of his hand and scrolls back on his texts with Eddie. 

It’s been the only form of communication he’s had with anyone from the 118. He was thankful for Eddie and for the way that he’d reached out the day after the break up not to demand anything of Tommy, but to ask how he was doing. 

Tommy had texted him back after some consideration. In all their back and forth, they hadn’t discussed it or Evan. Tommy hadn’t allowed himself to ask, not sure if he wanted an answer. 

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

Lucy fixed him with a look. “Tommy, you’ve been moping for days. Clearly he is too. Neither of you wants this.” 

“It’s for the best,” Tommy said and he didn’t even know if he believed that anymore. 

He’d believed it in the moment, had been so absolutely sure that it was the right move for both of their sakes and yet…

“You’re running,” Lucy said. “I know…I know you’ve been hurt before, but this time you’re not just hurting yourself. You’re hurting Buck too.”

“He’ll get over it. I’ll…I’ll get over it.” 

Her eyes bore into him even as she handed him his phone back. “Thomas, you’re in love with him.” 

—

Buck had bought all the baking supplies when he’d decided he’d take a stab at making Tommy a birthday cake. That had been before his heart was wrenched out of his chest and given a few stomps for good measure. That was before Buck decided to Buck things up by pushing for more too quickly and before Tommy decided that it was better if they ended things before Buck could end it in the future.

He didn’t bake a birthday cake. 

Instead, he baked a banana bread with the bananas that were going spotty. He discovered that being busy and having to pay attention to something like the recipe kept his mind off Tommy. Except that Tommy came rushing back into his head afterwards. 

Buck almost called him. Wanted to. Wished he could hear his voice and his laugh and that they could fix it. 

Fear stopped him. Fear that Tommy had blocked his number. Fear that he wouldn’t pick up. Fear that he would and that he’d tell Buck not to call. Fear that he would call him Buck again instead of Evan. Fear that Buck would be sent to voicemail and that he would say something he couldn’t take back. 

So, he didn’t call. 

Instead, Buck baked a pumpkin loaf. Then an apple loaf. Then a walnut and date loaf. That was when he realized he was out of flour and also that hand mixing was not ideal. 

He called Eddie. 

It had taken him hours before he told Eddie what happened. Eddie hadn’t said much, but he’d offered Buck the couch and then went out and got them breakfast the next morning. Eddie was the one to tell the rest of the 118 and when Buck begged for Eddie to check on Tommy, Eddie just hit his shoulder. 

“I already did,” he’d said. 

Buck didn’t talk about Tommy again. 

“What’s going on, Buck?” Eddie asked over the phone. 

“I need you to come to Costco with me.”

“Costco?” Eddie asked and after a pause. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll even drive.” 

Eddie didn’t say anything when Buck bought the twenty-five pound bag of flour or the bottle of vanilla extract, or the sugar, or the bags of nuts. He did raise his eyebrow when Buck picked up a Kitchen-Aid mixer. 

“What is all this, Buck?” 

“I just…I need to do something.” 

“So you’re starting your own bakery?” 

After they got everything up to his apartment, Buck sent Eddie home with all the bread he’d made the night before. Eddie didn’t say a word, but he did look like he wanted to say something. A few days later, Buck thought that he’d gotten quite good at making different types of loaves. He’d even branched out and found more interesting and complicated recipes. 

He did have to take a second trip to Costco to get more eggs when he got it in his head that he should attempt a baked alaska.

Buck did think he saw Eddie take a picture of the contents of his fridge the night he came over to play video games. 

Maddie and Chim both didn’t seem to get it. When she said the universe would give him someone special, did she not realize that it had already happened? That Buck had somehow still managed to blow it and that Tommy wasn’t leaving his heart anytime soon? That not calling him was Buck trying not to push where he wasn’t wanted? That not calling was Buck letting Tommy have what he wanted. 

And yeah, Buck had been thinking about what Tommy said after Buck not being his last and how he needed to explore. It was bullshit, but if that was what it took…if he could prove to Tommy he’d tried to find whatever it was he was supposed to find with other people then…

The logic was dumb. 

After they left, making him promise he’d cut back on the baking, Buck went back to baking. He made brownies and took them right into work the next day alongside a banana bread, a walnut loaf, a zucchini bread, and a pumpkin spice loaf. 

—

The knock on his door was in a quick rhythm and Tommy almost didn’t answer. He’d been wallowing a bit because they’d had plans for tonight. Plans to celebrate his birthday, no less. 

Tommy hadn’t celebrated many birthdays in his adulthood. There had never been much of a point, but Evan had wanted to plan out a date for them and now…now Tommy was all alone in his house wallowing. Moping. Rethinking his whole life. 

“Coming,” he called out when the knocking started again. 

He was not expecting Hen and Karen. No kiddos in sight to see the state of him at least. Tommy was a mess. He’d changed into sweats and a tank the moment he got home. His hair was a mess. His eyes probably looked red rimmed and exhausted. 

“Hi,” he said. “What are you—”

“Happy Birthday,” Karen said. 

“Oh? Uh, come in.” 

Tommy didn’t even realize they had a small box with them until Hen plopped it on his kitchen counter. 

“What is that?” 

“You broke it, and suddenly we’re all on the verge of becoming diabetics and it was just Halloween so we’ve all had more than enough sugar. But it’s your birthday and we figured you should get a taste of what you’re created.” 

“What?” 

Out of the box came bread loaves. Muffins. Cookies. Brownies. Hand pies. Were those meringues? No cake, though. 

“He bought a Kitchen Aid. He’s becoming some sort of baking machine,” Hen said. “All because he can’t bear to think about you.” 

That went right to his chest. Lucy wasn’t wrong. Tommy did love him. Tommy was in love with him. 

Looking at Karen and Hen, he wondered if they would understand where he was coming from. 

“I was his first boyfriend,” he said. 

“We’re aware,” Karen said. 

“So, then…then you know what that means. He’s been out for…for six months and he doesn’t have any other experience except for with me. How is that fair to him? To me? One day he’ll realize and then that’ll be that.”

“You’re a dumbass for thinking that,” Karen said. 

“My wife is usually right about things,” Hen said. 

Tommy groaned. “He put me on a pedestal. He doesn’t know it, but he sees me as his gay mentor and he’s confusing that with…with, I don’t even know. I just — I had to put a stop to it before—”

“Before you got hurt,” Hen finished for him. 

“Looks like you didn’t avoid that,” Karen offered. “Did you talk to him about any of this? You guys were together for six months, what was the point if you were always going to just leave in the end?” 

Tommy hadn’t even realized he was crying, but he was. “It’s not like I planned it. It was…it surprised me too. He asked me to move in with him and he was talking getting engaged and married and—”

“Wait…wait, he asked you to move in? How do you go from that to breaking up?” 

Tommy couldn’t explain about the Abby thing and he couldn’t explain about how he wasn’t the guy that got forever and how he wasn’t the guy that deserved someone like Evan. He couldn’t explain about how much it freaked him out to think that Evan could jump right to moving in together before they had even said that they loved each other as if Tommy were just some kind of place holder until Evan found someone else. Someone better. Explaining that would make him be seen and Tommy…he didn’t know that he wanted to be seen even if Hen and Karen could understand where he was coming from. 

“Look, talk to him. Please,” Hen said. 

“This is just a bump in the road. The two of you, you’d never looked happier than you have in the last six months,” Karen added. 

“I…I don’t know.” 

—

Buck ran out of sugar. 

Jee was partially to blame because she’d spilled some the night he had her as a helper. It was 3am and Buck supposed that there was probably somewhere open that he could get some sugar, but he was down to just his underwear and the plaid shirt Tommy had left behind that didn’t even smell like Tommy anymore and wasn’t that just unfair. Plus, his oven was on and Buck didn’t want to leave it on while he went out to get sugar. It would be just his luck that he’d be back and his apartment was one fire. 

Eddie probably had sugar. Buck didn’t want to bother him. 

Chim and Maddie would judge. 

Bobby might bring some over or he might just tell Buck to go to sleep. 

He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy. Missed him. Wanted him. 

Buck grabbed his phone and he went right to messages and typed:

Ran out of sugar. Do you have any? 

Sent it to Eddie. 

No response. 

He wandered over to his couch and…Tommy had slept there just a few weeks ago because he didn’t want to leave Buck on his own. No one had ever done that for him before, cared enough to stay and cared enough to give a damn. Buck wiped at his eyes. It wasn’t fair. 

When he broke up with Natalia he had felt free. When he broke up with Taylor he’d felt like he was finally choosing himself. Ali leaving had been clouded with so much else that Buck had hardly been able to think about the break up because his leg was in a cast and his future was in question. Abby…well that had been devastating and yet this…this was worse. So much worse. 

His phone pinged. 

He fished it out of his pocket and oh no…he…the text hadn’t been sent to Eddie. He’d sent it to Tommy. 

Yes. 

Oh no. And he was typing. And not typing. Typing. Then…nothing. No message. No more typing. No call. Tommy was bubbling him again. 

Buck dropped onto the couch with a groan. At least Hen and Eddie weren’t there to try and steal his phone again. This time, Buck didn’t even want to call. 

After all the times he stopped himself from reaching out, that was what he sent? A text asking for sugar? 

When the knock came at his door, he went to open the door, reluctantly. A part of him almost didn’t even expect it to be Tommy but of course…of course it was Tommy standing there in his pajamas with just one of his flannels open over it all, in each hand a container of sugar. Brown and white. 

“You didn’t have to,” Buck began. 

“It sounded desperate,” Tommy said. “Hi, Evan.”

“Come in,” Buck said. 

Tommy stepped inside and Buck closed the door, trying to gather himself. In the light of his kitchen, he could see that Tommy looked if nothing else tired. The skin under his eyes was dark, like he hadn’t been able to sleep. Buck could relate. Tommy was taking him in too and that made him feel the tiniest bit self conscious about his lack of pants. 

“So, you’ve taken up baking.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s not a normal response to a break up.”

Buck laughed. He laughed because he might cry if he didn’t. 

“Do you want me to be like you, then? All unbothered at the end of the best six months of my life? Is that it? Oh, wait…no, you want me to go find myself or something? Sleep around and what, go back to being the himbo that Abby dated after you left her? Except I guess now I can sleep with men and women, somehow I don’t think it will go any differently.” 

“Evan,” Tommy said and his voice was gentle and sad and there were tears in his eyes. 

“I can’t do that,” Buck said and his voice broke. “I can’t. I can’t. I miss you. I want you. I wanted to bake you a birthday cake and since I couldn’t do that I baked everything else and it still isn’t enough.”

“Oh, Evan,” Tommy said and he set down the sugar and opened his arms, giving Buck the option. 

—

Evan rushed into his arms, burying his head in Tommy’s shoulder, tears and all. His arms clutched at him and Tommy didn’t think that Evan was likely to let him go any time soon. It didn’t matter, because Tommy wanted to hold onto him too. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “I’m so sorry. I did this to us.” 

Evan nodded against him. “I didn’t help,” he muttered. 

“When you texted me tonight…the thought of you up at this hour baking, I got worried and I’ve been literally doing anything possible to stop myself from driving over since that night. I had to come. I had to see you.” He took a breath and couldn’t hold it in any more. “I love you, Evan.” 

“You love me,” Evan said back, pulling back, staring at him with that amazed look in his eyes like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

His hands reached for Tommy’s face. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you too. And I am never letting you go, again.” 

Their kiss was reminiscent of the first. It was even happening near where that kiss had happened. It was gentle, soft, full of so much wonderment and feeling. Neither of them willing to push it into more because this was what they needed. There was so much to talk about and so much to consider and work on and yet, Tommy wasn’t afraid of that as much as he was afraid of giving up on this. On them. On Evan. 

He’d lived a little over a week without Evan and even that was too much. 

“I’m still not moving in with you,” Tommy informed Evan after a few more shared kisses.

“Oh. Yeah, I jumped the shark on that a little.” 

“You also forgot to consider that I own my house and you rent,” Tommy said. 

“So, how about this, nothing changes and we communicate more. You decide when you want us to move in together because we will. One day. You may be the first dude I’ve ever dated, but I think you can be the last too.” 

He kissed Evan again and Evan moaned into the kiss. They were interrupted when the oven timer went off. 

“I thought you ran out of sugar?” Tommy asked. 

“I was going to make apple pie,” Evan said. “That’s cupcakes.” 

He let Evan go take them out of the oven and out of curiosity began to look around. Opened the fridge. He couldn’t even begin to count how much Evan had managed to bake. 

“What are you planning on doing with all of this?” 

“I have no idea,” Evan said. “Donate it?”  

Tommy just laughed. “Yeah, Evan, I’m sure someone will appreciate it. Those cupcakes are mine, though.” 

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Happy birthday, by the way,”

Tommy ate the first cupcake before it had cooled and without any frosting. “Hmmm. Delicious.”