#(damn forgot how many fingers they have

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

#cod x reader #cod fluff #john price x reader #john price fluff #captain john price fluff #captain price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick fluff #gaz x reader #gaz x fluff #soap x reader #soap fluff #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish fluff #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish fluff #cod mw2 x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 fluff #cod mw2 fluff

[evilminji]

Okay but I just? Made myself snort?

Imagine~☆ Grandma Fenton. Young, hot, built like a tank.

She meets a SUAVE and well muscled man of mystery. With a CAPE! Fabulous facial hair. There are ninjas. She was hunting the Supernatural. Very, very badly.

But still! That Fenton STRENGTH. That smile! That "just back handed an assassin through a wall"! Mystery man is... intrigued ™.

They do unspeakable things to each other hot young nuible bodies against every surface they can find. There are explosions and sword fights. She has a BLAST! It was a great trip.

Prooooobably should have gotten more then his name though!

Maybe used protection!

WHOOPS ™!

Ah well, she always DID want kids! A jack is a wonderful kiddo! Strong as an ox! Bit obsessive, but what Fenton ISNT?

She goes about her merry way. Things to do! Monsters to HUNT! Crocodiles to WRESTLE! Feeling like... she's... forgetting? Something? But what could it BE?

It's only after YEARS, as she's retired, down a leg (damn Sasquatch) and two fingers, that she squints at some hoity toity shin-dig on the TV... and... huh.....

You know? That lil Wayne kid reminds her of someone. It's... it's on the tip of her to- OH FUCK! *slams down the morning paper* she forgot to tell her sprogs DAD!

Shit! He didn't know he got her preggers!!!

Which? Is how Ra's AL Ghul? Get a VERY sheepish call from that lion of a woman he had... relations *unholy smirk that makes SO MANY people around him uncomfortable* with, informing him? He not ONLY has a son.

But a grandson and granddaughter.

Neither fit to inherent, obviously. But his blood has run true. His son married the most powerful woman he could locate. Because studying the borders between life and death. And can snap lesser men in half like a twig. Grandchildren? Much of the same.

So obviously, he shall become... Supportive. A loving grandfather.

Why? Because he has no standards for them! They are but a pleasant suprise. The bloodline MIGHT be useful. Eventually. But for now? Charm champaign.

EVERYBODY loves Grandpapa Ra's, after all. :)

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @dcxdpdabbles @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #minji's writing

[nastyaromatherapy]

Brother's best friend (18+)

You see Nate, who you're not so fond of, at your house hanging out with your brother.

do i have many Ethan requests currently? yes. but am i currently salivating, thirsting, and barking for nate? yes.

pairing - bbf!nate jacobs x fem!reader

one shot length, 1.4k+ word fic

warnings: PIV, nate's kind of the worst obvi, nate says the r-slur, nate's like graduated highschool by now, uhh idfk creampie ig

The stench wafting out of your brother's room was disgusting, the fumes infiltrated your nostrils when you walked through the hall to get your laundry. You tried to ignore him and his friends over their yelling which was damn near impossible, who knows what the fuck they did in there. All you knew is that it was stinky, sweaty, and weirdly horny.

You shuffled your way into the laundry room and started loading the machine. Somehow the smell of your dirty clothes was more tolerable than his room. Suddenly the noises from the musty dump got louder, signifying that the door had opened. You paid no mind, not wanting to see him or Daniel, or whoever else was lurking in that place.

You had just about finished loading the washer until you heard a voice. "Forgot something?" You turned around and looked up to see Nate with a pink thong dangling from his fingers. "Thanks," you said with annoyance. You yanked it from his fingers to throw it in the drum.

Nate was hot, a grade above you, but you still disliked him with rationality. In your junior year he catfished you, leading you to embarrass yourself in front of the person that you thought you were texting, and then you became a joke amongst his friend group.

He stood behind you as you threw in tide pods and started the machine. You turned around and he was still there. "That the same pair you wore in that one pic?" You rolled your eyes, "Which one?" He chuckled to himself. "The fact you have to ask 'which one' is laughable." You scoffed and stormed out of the room, brushing past him.

"When will you stop being mad at me?" He called out, making you turn around. "It's been a year, c'mon everyone's forgotten." He spoke. "Not you apparently! Maybe if you stopped being a total dick, we'd be neutral like how I am with the rest of my brother's friends." You huffed and walked to your room with him following behind. "Okay, okay y/n, I'm sorry." He said as he leaned against your doorframe.

"Whatever Nate, why do you want my forgiveness so bad anyways? Just go back and hang out with my brother." You said while straightening random trinkets on your dresser. "Because, y'know, I want to be neutral with you. Besides, I'd be lying if I said I haven't jacked off at least once to those photos-" "Oh my god Nate, ew! Just get your perverted ass out of my fucking room!" You yelled, attempting to push his tall frame out to no avail.

He looked down at you, finding the power difference endearing. "It's not my fault you're perfect," he purred, making you soil your your panties. You always loved when he complimented you. You swallowed as you looked up at him. "My brother's gonna wonder where you are so, you should y'know, before he comes looking for you." He shakes his head. "Your brother's retarded, he's not gonna wonder shit." He said as his hands reached to shut your door.

"Nate," you whispered before he leaned down to kiss you. You internally gasped as your hands found their way to his cheeks, and his traveled to grope your ass through the oversized tee you drowned in. The groans he let escape into your mouth was enough to make you completely drench your panties, your other hand reaching for his shirtless chest. The two of you traveled to your bed, not breaking the kiss, only casually coming up for air.

You were positioned at the bottom, head resting on your pillow with him above you. He slipped his tongue into your mouth just as he slipped his hand underneath your shirt, fingers making their way to your heavy clit. You whimpered and jolted at the connection, inching your legs wider for him. He rubbed circles around your bulging clit through the panties whilst his tongue journeyed through your mouth.

"Nate, please," you whimpered into his mouth. He pulled away leaving your mouth agape as he lifted your tee over your head. "Fuck," he whispered to himself. You sat up to kiss him as he grasped your tits, kneading them and squeezing on your nipples. You moaned into his mouth from the friction as you reached down to his crotch. He groaned when he felt your hand on his erection. You broke the kiss to unbutton his pants, pulling them down as you licked your lips. You eyed his length through his Calvin Kleins and massaged him through the fabric.

He moaned from your touch, biting his lip as he looked down at your hand. You reached your hand in to stretch the waistband and pull his cock out. His chest rose and fell as you leaned down to lick his shaft before swallowing him. He bit back a whimper as you took him deep into your mouth. Your soft plush lips wrapped around his shaft like a ring that slid up and down his girthy length. Your doe eyes met his dark ones as your cheeks hollowed, making you moan around his cock.

"Fuck, I always knew you were a slut from those photos," He said between grunts. Your eyebrows furrowed as you breathed heavily through your nose, stomach churning from how aroused you were. Vibrations were sent up his cock from your moans, making him twitch in your mouth. "Shit you're gonna make me cum," he whispered before painting your mouth white. You slid off of him, letting the cum canopy over the rest of his length, making a mess on your bed.

After catching his breath, he fisted your hair in his hands to pull you up to him to interlock lips. He grimaced at the taste of his bitter cum on your lips as his tongue grazed yours, his hands again toying with your perky nipples. "Why'd b/n have to have such a hot sister," he whispered, making your hole flutter. "Maybe so you'd have something fun to do in his godforsaken tomb." You smirked against his lips before he laid you down back onto your mattress.

He spread your legs, eyeing that darkened, damp patch on your panties. You closed your eyes, slightly embarrassed by your physical arousal. He pulled them down, a string of natural lubricant following behind. You stretched your legs in the air and opened them wider, letting him view your glistening pussy.

He tapped his tip atop your sticky folds, his cock already covered in cum. You whimpered at the contact, and he smiled a smug smirk at your reaction. "Yeah, you want it?" He whispered condescendingly. "Yes Nate, please! I need you so bad," you begged. He lined his cock up with your gaping entrance before plunging in. You moaned out as your pussy stretched to accommodate his length. You moaned out with every thrust of his hips, not doing your best at keeping quiet.

He chuckled at himself whenever you cried out when he went deep, his tip grazing your sensitive cervix. "Such a slut taking one of your brother's friend's cocks, yeah?" He groaned as he pistoned himself in and out of your pussy. Your hole was sloppy and wet, and a ring of his previous cum formed around his base. "Please don't stop Nate, it feels s'good," you slurred out.

He slapped your tits making you yelp and leaned down to suck on your lips. You moaned into his mouth as his cock fucked your pussy animalistically. "'Pussy's so fucking good," he groaned against your lips. "You gonna touch yourself whenever I'm on my way to hang out with your brother? Gonna pull me away so I can fill you up with my cum like the good slut you are?" He asked. "Mhm, yes Nate, I'm gonna need your cock everyday," you moaned, clenching around his length. "Good fucking girl," he groaned.

Your stomach twisted and you found yourself throbbing around his length, close to cumming. "Nate, I'm s'close," you whimpered out. "Fuck, cum for me baby," he grunted through his teeth, making you unravel all around his cock, your cum dripping like warm honey on his length. With one final thrust he came too, shooting his load into your tight cunt. He pulled out and watched the mix of cum spill out of you, leaving a puddle on the sheets, and your hole that was left gaping.

***

The two of you put your clothes back on and he walked out of your room. Your brother notices him from the hallway and finally wonders where he's been. "Nate, dude, where the hell were you?" He just smugly shrugged. "Bathroom, jacking off to your sister," he starts, looking back at you. "She's fucking hot." You scoffed, "Gross," before closing your door.

#nate euphoria #euphoria x reader #euphoria #smut #euphoria smut #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs smut #nate jacobs #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs fic #nate jacobs fanfic #euphoria fic #euphoria imagine #nate jacobs imagine #jacob elordi #jacob elordi fanfiction

[c0kitty]

NOW PLAYING ... NOBODY KNOWS ft. spider-women!ellie x reader

“…BUT NOBODY KNOWS MY LITTLE SECRET.”

(⭑) summary: r/reddit, when’s the best time to tell your girlfriend of three months, (who you are so desperately in love with) you are that "crazy" vigilante on the news, fighting crime in a spider-suit, and that you now shoot fucking webs out of your wrist. (⭑) content: wc 1.2k+ nerd!ellie. confessions. making out. comfort. spider-man!ellie. established relationship. suggestive. insecure!ellie. HEAVILY inspired from the roof-top scene in tasm bcs im obsessed. cursing.

you guys find yourself on the roof-top of dina’s-friend’s apartment, for a random party, celebrating god-knows what. it's slightly chilly, you stand next to ellie with her oversized jacket on you; despite ellie telling you numerous times it was going to be cold, she was not one to refuse you.

ellie wished she had her camera right now; outside’s a pretty scene with the many buildings scattered, the sky, gradually transitioning into yellow and pink hues, night unfolding, and you, looked so pretty by her side. 

the city below though remains bustling with constant movement, and ellie's mind is no different. because today was going to be the day —

ellie’s hazel-green eyes shift towards you, observing your soft expression, her heart ached with uncertainty as she wondered if you would hate her — hate her for lying, hate her for not being normal, hate her for having so much baggage. hate her for being spider-women. 

“you think dina and jesse are shagging?” you ask, randomly, breaking the comfortable silence. your hands moves to the railing, casually pushing yourself backwards on it.

“saw dina sneakin’ out at 1 am, like she was a teenager. so, yeah, definitely.” 

also due to ellie’s super-senses, she had heard so many “private,” conversations with him and dina she wished to unhear.

you nod your head, turning your attention towards ellie. “so, why do you seem so te—”

“i need to say something,” 

you guys both interrupt each other, it elicits a small giggle from you. “okay... is this about before? is that the reason you’ve been so pissy tonight?” 

you were hinting about earlier. when someone had hit on you, even with you being on ellie's lap, her arms even wrapped at your waist. it irritated the hell out of ellie, leaving her to characteristically run her mouth at em'. 

you almost had to drag her away to stop the growing commotion.

ellie sports a slight pout at her pink-lips. “it’s not my fault men can’t get fucking context clues, it’s a wonder they survive. and i haven’t been “pissy” i—” you raise your eyebrows in response, conveying a silent ‘you sure?’ ellie stops talking, only rolling her eyes.

“okay, whatever, maybe i was but, it's not about that,” ellie wasn’t sure how to start this conversation without sounding crazy or scaring you.

“...i was bitten,” ellie says, bushy brows slightly furrowing.

your head tilts, “that’s a little ominous.” ellie rethinks; maybe that wasn’t a good way to start.

“nevermind. you know, when i was sick. that whole two weeks, couple months back.” you nod your head, “yeah, you said you were sick. projectile vomit and shit. couldn’t lift a finger because it was so bad.” damn, ellie forgot she said all that.

“yeah, um sorry. i lied about that.” before you could say anything, lips pulled into a frown, ellie blurts: “i’m spider-man,” finally with a breath. you’re staring at her, but she can’t decipher your expression. unconsciously, ellie bites at her bottom lip.

silence fills the moment, and ellie finds it unbearable; suddenly, in just a second, your face relaxes. “oh, wait. you’re fucking with me. els thought you were serious for a second.”

ellie was regretting playing pranks on you so much, “i’m not fucking with you,” ellie’s arm cross, unconsciously flexing in the process, but you only a grow smile on your lips, like this was some ongoing joke. “jesus, stop smiling — it’s not a joke y/n,”

“i’ve known you all my life ellie — i think i would know if you were fighting crimes with iron-man,” you ignore her, releasing the bar. “wait just w—”

“lets go els, please. it’s getting cold and i’m tired,” you say, making your move toward the door; but in a quick reaction, ellie’s translucent webs shoots out her wrist, spinning you around til’ you're close, her hands, now holding at your waist.

you’re staring at her, eyes widened comically, and your mouth parted, seemingly trying to process what just happened. ellie's attention was drawn to something else though; light in the distance, drunken footsteps heading their way. 

“you just fucking — shot webs out your hands, ellie! you’re sp—” 

ellie didn’t have much time to think it through, because as soon as the drunkards stumble in, ellie's lips, soft and sweet, press into yours.  “..shh,” ellie whispers, faint to your lips — trying to calm you down.

a small gasp leaves your mouth. but after a second, hearing the commotion behind you; you get the message, relaxing yourself into the kiss.

ellie's kisses are usually greedy, but tender, her hands would rummage your body confidently, possessively pulling you in. but this kiss, its … different. it’s tentative, hesitant, like she was afraid to push.

at that, you try to make her feel comfortable with a subtle touch beneath her loose black-shirt. your lips, coated in strawberry gloss, glides seamlessly over hers, giving her a little push; and it works.

ellie tongue pushes in hastily, its smooth tracing from your lips to your tongue. her moppy-brown hair tickling your chin as she eases in the kiss, embracing the subtle buzzing in her chest. 

you hear the people leave, and it’s silent now, besides the busy cars. “ellie… t–” 

“one more second,” she grumbles, you wanted to keep going, but you still had a lot to say — questions cycling. so you pull away, with a gentle smack of the lips.

she lets out a small groan in response; her cheeks dusted in pink and round eyes flutter open, looking at you in a wistful gaze.

“so… you’re spider-man. well, spider-woman,” you finally say, exhaling. ellie’s eyes shift to the floor. her hands drop from you, and instead, runs through her hair anxiously. “yeah. i know it’s fucked up, and weird. i should’ve told you, warned you, but i—”

you interrupt her depressive rambles, “no, ellie i mean it’s cool, you’re cool. it’s just, fuck.” you take a breath, throwing your hands up. “i was just surprised because you’re, like, nerdy and cute, and then … spiderman, you know?”

ellie’s eyes lifted to meet yours, “relieved” couldn’t fully capture how she felt, but all she could managed to say was: “oh, okay. that’s great, yeah.”

a silence falls between you two in response to ellie’s awkwardness, exchanging glances; both of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“i feel like i should feel offended though, ‘nerdy?’” you playfully nudge at her feet, “you know what i mean. passionate about space, introverted, so obsessed with your grades. it’s like a text-book definition,” ellie couldn’t really deny that, so she just playful rolls her eyes instead.

“...but you know what’s crazy, i had a small tiny crush on spider–man, well you, before we officially dated.” 

ellie’s lips curve into a smile, “so now you get the best of both worlds, huh.” ellie comes closer to you, hands finding their place to your body. "i bet you dreamed of both of us fighting over you, hm?”  

in the quietness that follows, your eyes drift away from ellie, intentionally avoiding her gaze. ellie could tell there was more story to your silence, “wait — did you have a wet dream about spider-man and m—” she begins, but you swiftly cover her mouth.

“...shut it,” you say beyond flustered, which only intensifies ellie's curiosity.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #tlou #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #ellie williams x poc reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams tlou

[wizzard890]

So there’s a trend that I absolutely hate in online discussions of (non-satirical) genre, particularly genre that’s influenced by the gothic. This trend makes my eyes roll back in my head until I can see through my own skull. It makes me want to bite a car in half. It makes me want to step into the jellyfish tank at the New York Aquarium and beg for the sweet sweet annihilation of a thousand stings. 

I call this trend: Oh Just Be Sensible, and it goes like this:

“Why do vampires always end up covered in blood when they feed, I don’t spill soup all down the front of my shirt when I eat dinner. Real toddler energy.”

“Why do people always cut their hands to swear oaths, everyone knows it would hurt way less on the [insert body part with fewer nerve endings]”

“Vampires shouldn’t be feeding from people’s wrists, it damages the tendons, if doctors don’t take your blood from your wrist, vampires shouldn’t either! No one will be able to flex their fingers the next day.”

(This comes up a lot with vampires, I mention, as I stride purposefully into the glistening mass of jellyfish.)

There are direct answers for some of these when it comes to the practical visual language of a particular medium (for example, you cut your hand on stage / on set because you can hold a blood pack in there, and even if you don’t have an effect, the gesture and its purpose can be discerned from the nosebleeds) but what really gets me is how thematically boneheaded this sort of observation is. 

Like, let’s go down the list here. 

Why do vampires end up covered in their victims’ blood? Well Scoob, do you think it could maybe have something to do with their bestial, inhuman nature? Or with the erotic and sensual abandon with which they can approach violence, now that they’re untethered from human morals? 

Why do people cut their hands to swear oaths? Aside from what I mentioned above, do you think maybe it’s because it adds a layer of gravity to see two people swearing an oath to one another with blood dripping from their clasped hands? Do you think it’s maybe to evoke a unity of body, something greater and more primal than a unity of word? Or maybe to remind us of the dire consequences of breaking a blood oath?

Why are authors having vampires feed from people’s wrists if it damages their tendons? Damn, maybe that’s because it’s where the pulse is. You know, the pulse? The heartblood, the thing that races when you’re scared or turned on or both? The thing that stutters when you’re close to death and could, should the author choose, ring in the vampire’s ears like a chime or a great pounding thunderclap. Maybe in a story about undead beings who drink blood, we can sacrifice a bit of sensible reality in order to enforce the emotion and thematic heft of a scene? 

Images like these communicate what is happening between two characters, not just the events that are transpiring! No one making stories forgot to consider ~sensible~ little observations, because it would be absolutely inane to consider an observation with the creative value of a wet paper towel. This stuff is part of our visual language for a reason! Themes also need to be communicated! 

God, like, okay, I’m exhausted and the aquarium staff keeps yelling at me when they find me here, but let me just wrap up by saying that relationships, character and meaning are expressed in so many ways beyond dialogue or internal monologue, and those expressions are so rarely sensible. 

(Also all this shit looks cool as hell, do you really want your protagonists swearing to die for one another by dabbing their slightly bleeding elbows together, grow up.)

#me: don't make me tap the sign #sign: fun allowed #(thematic clarity and character relationships should trump sensible realism every time) #(realism is fine! but monocle popping smirky little 'hmm I think dan brown was an idiot' smugness is just....bad!) #(it's bad and it makes for bad writing!) #my thoughts about books

[gloxk]

Think she grippin’ on my dick but that’s my gun baby~

(Eren Y.)

A/n: Lil sum sum— srry fa neglecting yall. My schedule is so fuckkkkkeedd. But, I got sum more ‘plug’ eren comin up for my luvz. Anyway I hope yall enjoy this my luvz🫶🏽!

Synopsis: First link w Eren Yeager after not seeing him in a long time. ♥︎

Warning (s): Gun kink , dirty talk, Eren talking you through it, Mentions of drugs, riding an inanimate object, f/m, Uhm like reader calls him sir? Pet names, Needy s*x, Smut, ovi. girl yk the deal 17+ around here!

━━━━━━━♥︎━━━━━━━

You kicked your feet while biting your bottom lip, “Yeah, I know you miss me, baby.” You cheesed at his comments. Eren knew exactly what to say, his words were so sweet and slick. “Of course I miss you ren. When you gon come see me?” You heard his music blaring through his speakers. This boy really had you thinking about him every second of the day and night. “Whatchu mean? I’m outside right now ma.” You nearly took flight running down to the front door. It felt like time was nothing more than a mere interference with your speed. You swung your door open , your smile instantly dropped looking at your empty driveway “Fucking asshole, you lied.” He cackled as if you said something funny. “Nah I’m here.” He flicked his head lights grabbing your attention, you forgot his car was completely black. You didn’t understand why he would make his Hellcat so dark. Didn’t he want people to see it?

You smiled seeing him get out of his car, he looked so fucking fine in his Nike tech. To say you were nervous was an understatement, you were terrified. Knees nearly buckled as Eren approached the door. You gulped back your salvia, it felt like swallowing a golf ball. “Heyyy baby.” His lips met your cheek, it’s been so long since you saw Eren. His voice held a sweet tang and a long draw to it. His fragrance was a mix of Dior Sauvage and Backwoods. His eyes spoke for themselves; red and low. “Eren—are you high?” you pulled his face closer to yours. Examining his eyes—yeah, he was fucking hammered. “When am I not?” He flashed his pearly whites, you always wonder how he got his teeth so nice and white. If perfection was a human it had to be him, there was no visible flaw within that man. “You gonna smoke your brain away if you keep it up.” You closed the door and walked with him up to your bedroom. Eren looked at you with a soft expression, his eyes locked on to yours. “Aww, you care about me, baby? Fine, I guess I have no choice but to do as you wish.”He jokingly replied. Eren didn’t have many people who cared for him, so it was nice to know you were one of the very few.

Eren found himself in your bed once again, he nuzzled into your neck while a basic Netflix movie played. He wasn’t particularly interested in the movie, and you were aware of this. But he acted like he was excited to watch it. Your hands ran over his thigh grazing over his dick. Fingertips wrapping around it. “Damn Ren, you must be very happy to see me huh?” you giggle sinking into your bed lining. Eren's dark jade eyes met yours, the lower part of his face was covered by his hand. Unbeknownst to you, he had a new hand tattoo; a skeleton face—damn he looked fine. “That ain’t my dick, that’s my gun baby.” He laid on his back, his shirt slightly lifting revealing the weapon. You couldn’t resist wrapping your fingers around the handle of his gun; it was calling your name. You held it in your hand admiring the weapon, it alone held the power to remove a soul from this world.

“You like it?” he took the gun away from your grasp. He parted your thighs placing the cold metal against your cunt. “Yes sir.” You bit your lip at the sheer cold touching you. The hairs on your neck stood up, it was so dangerous, it turned you on. He slid your panties over letting the blistering cold metal meet your pussy. The gun started at a gentle pace, moving slowly against your clit. Erens lips occupied your neck; kissing and sucking it. His tongue lightly brushed over your collarbone, you felt his tongue piercing glide against your skin. You rutted hard against his gun trying to relieve the built-up pressure in your abdomen. You didn’t want his gun, you wanted him. You wanted him to fuck you silly until you could no longer comprehend your surroundings. “Fuucck, I need more ren, I need you.” The gun hastily left your thighs. “I need you too ma.” His mouth met his glock licking your slick off of it. Eren's lips pressed firmly together creating a ‘mmm’ sound. He got on top of you pressing his chest against yours. You felt his bulge through his sweatpants, his dick was begging to be left free. He pulled his sweat pants down, just below his crotch panel. Your fingertips slipped under his elastic waistband; tugging his boxers downwards. His dick pounced out, an angry red color washed over his tip. “Fuck, it’s been too long.” He stroked his dick letting the bead of pre cum coat his tip. Eren slid inside inch by inch, he grunted feeling your heat. “Damn baby, I ain’t fuck you good in a minute huh? You miss this dick?” You nodded quickly, yes—you missed everything about him. His hand wrapped around your mouth looking at his tattoo covering your face. It turned him on seeing it on you— whether his hand was around your throat, mouth, or ass. It always looked so perfect on you.

Eren tugged your shirt up watching your tits bounce as he pounded into you. You tried to push him away from overstimulating your cunt “Nah, This what you wanted right? Take this dick.” He grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulder, he fucked you faster making you scream out. You could have sworn you put holes in the sheets because you were gripping them so tightly. You threw your head back clenching around Erens cock. Your body jolted at your release, finally letting go of that pressure you once had. “Ahh- fuck-“ you moaned while subtly grinding against his abdomen. His pace faltered, but not ending, Eren didn’t stop fucking you until he came all over your stomach. By then you were already on your third orgasm. He positioned himself beside you kissing your neck while tracing circles on your arm. “I know you love that shit.” He sighed, he was a fool for you as you were for him. He loved looking at your fucked out expression knowing he was the reason you looked like that.

“Mhm, I do, I really fucking do.” He grabbed his gun again setting it down on your chest, “That’s my favorite gun now, ima get your name carved in it.” That gun will forever be by his side from now on.

━━━━━━━♥︎━━━━━━━

4 my whores.

#eyena writes♡ #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x reader #eren smut #eren x black fem!reader #eren x black reader #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren yeager

[itaipava]

— moments that make f1 boys look at you and go “damn, they’re so pretty”

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS:

it’s when you two are at a party and you’re dancing with your friends while he’s at the bar with his friends; and it is in that spontaneous but sweet moment that your eyes meet across the room, even in the midst of so many people and blinding lights, your eyes met as if you never tired of each other. and it’s the moment you smile at him that he forgets about the rest of the world; as if the conversation he was having with his friends disappears from his mind, as if his feet were stuck to the floor, as if the drink he drank wasn’t burning in his stomach. but then you bump into someone awkwardly and he lets out a soft laugh as he watches you apologize to them and then you turn your attention to him with the goofiest smile like nothing happened and he knows he’s a goner that moment.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO:

it’s when he sees you dancing happily in your room with your headphones on. you thought he was in the living room playing video games, but he forgot his headphones and when he subtly opened the door he found you dancing freely. he smiled widely as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you dance. you are the most beautiful and precious thing he’s ever seen and he didn’t know he could fall in love with you even more until that moment.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

it’s under the soft morning sun when you’re barely half-awake. it’s when you look like a mess in the prettiest way possible; and when you feel the weight of his gaze on you, your eyes flutter open slowly and look at him like you’re memorizing every feature on his face just as he’s doing with yours - when you look at him through half-lidded eyes and a lazy little smile, he silently admits to himself that he’s absolutely smitten.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s when you’re with kids or animals; when you use your baby voice to speak to them, your eyes twinkling with encouragement and kindness; and when you play with them, your laughter is louder than the kids’ or the animals’ barks and meows; and in the gentle way you hold them; in the way you watch with warmth and protectiveness in your eyes when they’re sleeping. he can’t help but smile while looking at you; you look so pure, so precious. he couldn’t be more in love.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

it’s the look you have on your face when you make a loved one smile or laugh. you look at them like you would sometimes look at the clouds on a warm midmorning; lost in thought yet also so present in the moment; you have this little grin on your face as you watch your friend or family member laugh at something you said and you look at them like perhaps they’re most beautiful person on earth; but of course, he thinks, you’re oblivious to how beautiful you look in those moments.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

it’s under the flourescent bathroom light when you’ve just washed your face to get ready for bed; the way droplets of water dribbles down your face and you look so purely you. and he pauses his tooth-brushing for a moment just to admire your reflection until you pat your face with a towel and playfully ask him what he’s looking at. and he just shrugs and continues brushing his teeth, his gaze on you lingering.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

it’s when you relax and unwind after a long day; when your shoulders begin to slump and you throw your head back, letting out a slow exhale; when you gently tap your foot to the melody of soft music playing in the background, your eyes lazily staring out at the blinking city lights; and when he suddenly says he thinks you’re really pretty, you just smile, huffing out a small laugh, then run your finger over his jawline before pressing a light peck on his lips, wordlessly letting him know that you think the same of him, even if he doesn’t believe it.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff

[sahkuna]

needed to write a drabble about sukuna being that hot older brother you always look forward to seeing at your best friend’s (yuuji) house... eee!

UPDATE: there’s a FOLLOW UP to this drabble

content warning: f! reader, smut, childhood "friends" with benefits, best friend's brother trope! oh and modern au:]

he’s only a couple years older than you, (by three years, if you want to be exact) and you’ve been acquainted with itadori yuuji's older brother— sukuna— multiple times.

whether it was through seeing him over at the itadori household during high school or being invited out by yuuji to sukuna’s new place a couple years after college— sukuna had always been a lingering presence in your life.

your relationship hadn’t been anything more than exchanging brief pleasantries whenever needed. until things start growing more suggestive as the two of you grew older.

it wasn't planned. the kissing, the meet-ups late at night, him deliberately lingering around when everyone else seems to have left the room. there were too many incidents to recall.

but one thing leads to the next and...

the slapping of skin on skin can be heard throughout his apartment, echoing against the walls of the vacant hallway that leads towards the doorway of sukuna's apartment.

tucked away behind his bedroom door, is quite an obscene scene. with your chest pressed against his mattress and face covered deep into his pillows, there's only so much left for you to do as you stick your ass up to receive the rough pounding from sukuna's thick cock.

the coherent sentences you used to form a few moments prior have slowly turned into a series of whimpers and broken moans all while sukuna has a tight grip on your waist pulling your ass flush against his hips so he can bury himself deep into your sweet cunt— unprotected.

you forgot how this came to be, of who convinced who to dip their toes into the world of sex with each other but you're damn glad that it happened.

"oh god," you blurt out between cries. sukuna's left hand drags down away from your waist, and finds its way toward your clit. "ah—! please, don't stop! that's… so good, so goo—ah!" you just about lose your mind when his fingers tease your sensitive clit in slow, torturous circles.

there's a mean, wicked smile tugging at the corner of sukuna's lips. his brows rise in amusement at how quick you are to fall apart in his hands— quite literally at that, too. "think you can hurry up and finish before your friend comes back?" sukuna asks, tone unwavering despite how his hips thrust into you repeatedly.

ah. your friend. his brother. the fact that he doesn't even bother to address him by name and does it dismissively would have you chiding him to be nice— but you're too far gone to digest what he said.

between the touching and the fullness of his dick pressing and rubbing against the walls of your pussy, you squeeze your eyes shut and wail. "please, please— i think i'm—!" your hand shoots down to hold onto his wrist. but you don't pull it away from you, despite how overstimulated you feel. "shit!"

when sukuna pulls out briefly to rub the head of his cock against your slit, you whine at the loss of him. with shaky hands you press your palms against his mattress, and make a weak attempt to change positions onto your back.

"please, put it back in!" he's definitely gonna make fun of you for begging later. but perhaps a higher power decided to have mercy on you— just this once— because sukuna's back between your thighs and stretching your hole.

fuck him, fuck him, fuck him and his stupid, girthy cock. and the smug ass expression he's probably got on his face right now.

despite that all, you wanted to kiss him. just the thought of it was—

the harsh sound of a fist pounding at his front door tears you from your thoughts. you're about to question who it is until you hear a voice from the other side that you know all too well.

"answer your phone, sukuna!" wait, why's yuuji here? "if you're gonna invite me to your place, at least do it when you don't have some girl over!"

"are you crazy?!" your voice is sharp, incredulity seeps through your tone.

with his dick still submerged in you and his hips rolling at a languid pace tacked with the sound of the gentle plap-ing of his skin against yours, — as if his fucking brother wasn't technically right the fuck there— he offers you a mere shrug. "forgot i invited him over."

and fuck him for being your best friend's older brother.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #bfb sukuna #hopefully this shows <333 #TUMBLR STOP HIDING MY STUFF

[teatreeoilll]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 1.2k content - fem!reader, hurt/comfort??, ain't nobody really gonna divorce this man i mean, please

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

For the past two months, once every two weeks on Thursday afternoons, Higuruma Hiromi finds himself on a leather chair in the stifling offices of Hayashi Divorce Law. Hayashi himself is a walrus-looking man with nicotine-stained fingers and an expensive wristwatch, who leans back in his chair across the desk from Hiromi, unbuttons the top button of his Italian blazer, and eyes him with a grin that says “I’ll clean you out before you can finish saying divorce.”

The worst of it comes when you enter the room. You sit down by Hayashi, getting trapped by the scent of the walrus’s sour cologne and stacks of papers on the desk, without so much as a glance in Hiromi’s direction.

Hiromi’s throat dries up the more he sits and nods along to Hayashi’s words. He doesn’t remember much about equitable distribution from law school and he doesn’t care to - the only thing he does is tug on the wrinkled fabric of his suit and mutter variations of “Alright” and “You can have it”.

After the first meeting was over, and you left the room leaving nothing but a whiff of perfume that soon dissipated into nothing, Hayashi turned to him and furrowed his bushy brows “Didn’t your ex-wife say you’re a lawyer, Mr. Higuruma?”

To which Hiromi replied “My wife,” while clinging to the last unsigned papers that would make this statement false.

By the fourth meeting, he’s a wreck. While he sits and nods along, Hiromi notices you’re looking at him with a hint of concern in your eyes. As you open your mouth his mind fills with hope. He’d drop to his knees without a second thought for a “It’s a mistake” or just a simple “let's go home” - even though it’s your home now since he’d forfeited it a month ago.

But when you finally open your mouth, after two months of silence, the only words he hears are “What about the car?”

Hiromi looks up at you. The car. A navy blue Ford Sedan with it’s best years behind it much like himself. A Ford Sedan which only four years prior got its old wheels stuck in the wet sand of a Kanazawa beach, causing the both of you to stay the night in a nearby motel.

He remembered the motel room's crumbling ceiling and the scale models of ships that lined the shelves - below them a bed with azure sheets - which you collapsed on with a grumble, cursing out both the damn Sedan and its fucking wheels. All he could think of was how beautiful you looked with that shade of azure surrounding your skin - and by morning you’d called out his name so many times he forgot it had a meaning outside of your lips.

He’s silent for a long time. So long your confidence wavers a bit, “We can sell it,” you say, “take half of the money each.”

Hiromi awakes from his mind trip to Kanazawa and reality knocks the wind out of his lungs. “You can have it.”

“I mean it,” you shoot a look at Hayashi who looks displeased with the sudden display of kindness, “we can sell it and split the money.”

“You can have it.” Higuruma says, and Hayashi grins.

It’s already dark by the time Hiromi steps out in the hall. It takes him a few steps towards the elevator and a squint of his tired eyes to see you standing by it. It’s alright - he’ll just take the stairs.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him when he passes behind you. You press on the elevator button again. It’s been stuck on the 17th floor for a while now.

“It’s alright.” He assures, continuing his path to the stairwell.

“No. It’s not alright. Nothing’s been alright for a year now. Now wait here for the goddamn elevator.”

By the tone of your voice he knows he hasn’t got a choice. He takes his place next to you, shifting his gaze between the silver elevator doors, and the little screen that keeps showing “17” without any sign of movement.

A few minutes go by and there’s still no sign of the elevator. Your leg bounces on the marble floor and your lips purse before you let out a silent “What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?” Hiromi blinks. The elevator doors ding open. The man and a woman inside move to make room for you, but you motion to them to go down, mouthing ‘we’ll take the next one’. The elevator closes.

“I said ‘what’s wrong with you.’” You turn to him. “I’m robbing you blind and you don’t say anything. So what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You can have anything you want.” He says, noticing you haven’t pressed the button to call the elevator again.

“That’s not what I asked -”

“You can have anything you want,” He repeats. “Just don’t make me come and listen to which bits of our life you’d like to sell and which to split. Take what you like, really - Whatever’s left will remind me of you anyway and I don’t think I’ll be able to stand looking at it without -” Going insane, he wants to say, but when he sneaks a look at your face he swallows the words. The crease he got used to seeing between your eyebrows vanishes.

“I’m not making you come, you know.” You say, “If you signed it all away after the first meeting we wouldn’t have to go through this.”

He can’t make himself tear his gaze off of your face, “I know.” His fingers press down on the fabric of his suit, “But if I did that I wouldn’t have a reason to see you again.”

“Don’t say things like that.” You press the elevator button again. This time, it arrives in a flash. You step inside, and Hiromi follows. The doors slip shut.

“Then don’t divorce me.”

The floor numbers change, a rapid countdown - 12 - 11 - 10. Hiromi’s mind races. He really pushed it this time - and even though he doesn’t have anything left to lose - his heart plummets together with the elevator.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” Hiromi’s eyes stick to the numbers still, 10 - 9 - 8. He’s not sure if it’s an auditory hallucination that’s speaking.

“I said ‘fine.’”

His hand finds the emergency stop button and smashes it in. The elevator rattles before it halts.

“Did you say -”

“I won’t repeat it again.”

And you really don’t need to. A moment later you’re pressed between his warm body and the cool metal lining the elevator car. His kiss is a desperate one - open-mouthed, all teeth and tongue - with his hands running under your blouse to relish in the warmth of your skin. You tangle one hand in his hair while the other’s clinging to a fistful of his suit jacket.

Hiromi detaches from your mouth, only for a second - which is enough for you to catch a glimpse of his flushed face - before leaving a trail of gentle kisses down your neck. Unlike his lips, his hands aren’t gentle in the slightest, they hold a tight grip on your waist under your blouse - as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he releases it.

Hayashi stands by the elevator, looking at the screen that shows “7” without any sign of movement. His face grows tomato red. Two interns stand at the edge of the hall, looking at him.

“What’s he so pissed about it?” One asks.

“It’s the elevator.” The other motions to the number on the tiny screen, “If it’s stuck too long on one floor it means a couple’s doing it inside. If they’re doing it inside they’re not divorcing - and if they’re not divorcing Hayashi’s not getting paid.”

#higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi x y/n #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi x you #higuruma x you #higuruma x y/n #higuruma hiromi #hiromi x reader #hiromi x you #hiromi x y/n #jjk hiromi x reader #jjk higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n

[jqnehr]

꒰ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲-𝐚𝐭-𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞… ꒱

word count: 950 contains: domestic fluff, crack, my shitty writing strikes AGAIN zayne x female!reader note: guess who's brainrotting again!! 🥰 I haven't posted for l&dps in a hot minute so uh here y'all go (those requests are still sitting in my drafts bro im so sorry 😔) masterlist

⟡ …is fairly uneventful. but it’s the kind of unexciting lull that’s peaceful, not boring. you get up in the morning, turn the ac on, lay out his work clothes and shoes and towel for his morning shower, before heading to get the coffee machine going. you don’t mind having to get up so early in the morning for him; making his bento lunch boxes full of food that would be bound to get him through the day. zayne treats you like a queen, his hefty paycheck leaving more than enough for him to arrive home with a little bag from some expensive jewellery shop, presenting you with either a lovely gemmed pendant, a dazzling pair of earrings or stylish bracelets. 

⟡ …is relaxing. when he leaves for the day, you having helped him into his coat and him bidding you goodbye with a long, loving kiss, you get to blast your favourite songs and get on with what housework that needs to be done. once the chores are completed, you can chill for the rest of the day—sometimes, you just settle for being a couch potato and binge your favourite dramas with an entire tub of ice cream, maybe do some baking (i.e., chocolate brownies or cake that zayne adores), or you head out to do some grocery shopping, treating yourself along the way. 

⟡ …is amusing for those around to see. from time to time, zayne is rather in a rush and forgets to pack his lunch box that sits on the bench, ready for him to take. this provides you a perfect excuse to visit him at the hospital, tapping on his office door at a certain time when you know he’s free—which is, of course, lunchtime. the idiot usually works through his lunch break. the scolding he receives upon your arrival always has him quickly turning off his computer and obeying your orders.

“you forgot your lunch box again this morni—” looking up, zayne sees you standing frozen in the doorway, his blue bento lunch box in your hands, staring at him with this expression of pure disappointment that immediately tells him what’s coming. resigning himself to his fate, zayne steels himself for a lecture in 3, 2, 1…

“how many times do i have to tell you to actually take a break when it’s break time?” slamming the lunch box down on his desk, zayne watches his wife plant a hand on her hip and jut a finger at him, then the bento box. “do i have to come down here everyday to monitor you like a fussing mother hen? i’m going to start calling you at twelve pm, on the dot, if you don’t get your act together, zayne!”

slipping his glasses off, he reigns in his annoyance and reaches for his bento box. he can smell the still-warm food within it, and his stomach instantly rumbles in hunger. eating meals made by you is always a highlight of his day. “no need, my dear. i’ll set a reminder—”

“rubbish! you said that last week when i barged in here, catching you spending more time with your damn computer and documents than you do me.” 

“love, you need to understand that i have a lot of work that needs doing—”

“of course i understand that! but whenever you skip your lunch breaks, you come home grumpier than usual, you grumble at me when i don’t do something right, and complain of a headache! it also sends your evol off kilter, putting you in danger! i hate to be that one nagging wife, but sometimes it’s like i’m taking care of a seven-year-old who refuses to eat his brussel sprouts, and then wonder why he’s not getting any taller.”

so zayne did as he was told and ate every morsel in that bento box under your strict, watchful eye. dr greyson ushers the other interns away from the office when he heard you two ‘arguing’, the young kids snickering to themselves at the sight of the unapproachable, frigid chief cardiac surgeon zayne hastily obeying his wife’s every order.

⟡ …is sometimes stressful. zayne occasionally has these vigilante tendencies, roaming around the alleyways way past his due hour home and wiping out all these wanderers without sending you a single text about it. it leaves you absolutely worried sick, and the beratings he receives immediately upon his arrival home are ten times worse than the ones he’s subjected to when he forgets his lunch box. 

⟡ …means there are ‘terms and conditions’ established. he makes the money, but you run the shop. your shared apartment is spacious and very modern, yes, but there’s still quite a lot of vacuum cleaning and window-washing to do. zayne respects that you’re the woman of the house, and never misunderstand that your marriage is a mutual effort. you both love each other very much, and you hardly ever fight (apart from petty arguments over who’s doing the dishes tonight). just because zayne works all day does not mean he doesn’t have to pull his weight around. 

⟡ …means his days off are spent sleeping in, making love, and spending what time you have together preciously. you’ll go out to eat or go for a walk along the beach. he’ll tell you about his week, you’ll comfort him over the patients he couldn’t save. it never helps that he always beats himself up over it. no matter how much you try to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that sometimes there’s only so much he can do, he’ll always feel responsible. zayne may seem like a cold, unfeeling man, but he’s likely the most empathetic, humane person you’ve ever met.

it's the RATE at which feminism leaves my body whenever this man shows up 🙏

I apologise for this, it was written on a whim when I am supposed to be studying for my history assignment due next week!! 🥰 oh well <3

and I'd just like to say this - if this has already been done before, then I can tell you right now that I did not know. I don't want to have another anon enter my inbox saying "erm actually this is really similar to [this person]'s post 🤓☝️" and basically accuse me of being a plagiariser. because I wrote this, as I said, on a whim while eating my avocado on toast after doing my dailies on l&dps, not after reading some other author's fic and going "hey im gonna write that", because bro ☠️ that's crazy. so if it is similar to someone else's, I apologise! I genuinely did not know (I can't stress that enough) 💛

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne fluff #zayne x you #lads #zayne #I have 54839753925943 things I should be working on but instead im posting this #pray for me guys im about to wither away completely 🙏 #I also have a very bad headache anyways LOVE YALL!! #zayne love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace headcanons

[iwritefandomimagines]

MORE THAN ENOUGH — ETHAN LANDRY

masterlist

pairing: ethan landry x f!reader

description: you’ve been hanging around the group more often lately, and they haven’t clocked the way you always end up leaving with ethan. when you overhear them doubting you’d ever date him, you decide to make a show of just how much your boyfriend means to you.

warnings: swearing, mindy is kinda being an asshole but i love her it just fits the plot, also they make popcorn like … impossibly fast at the end but i was not wasting time on popcorn making when i had FLUFF to write huh. no gf mentions !!!

author’s note: this has been almost finished for so long and i finally finished it today lmao. hope you enjoy!

“Hey E, when did Y/N say she was getting here?”

“What’re you asking him for?”

“Because obviously it’s him who’s going to know?”

You rolled your eyes at the argument between Mindy and Chad as you quietly paced down the hallway towards the lounge.

“Why is that obvious?” Mindy countered, and you could practically picture Ethan’s pout as he butted in now, “Why are you so sure she wouldn’t tell me?”

Mindy scoffed, “What, you know everything just because you have a massive crush on her? You probably just, like, stalk her or something.”

“I don’t stalk her—,”

“Okay, you just follow her round like a lost little puppy she has to deal with all the damn time,” Mindy snorted, “I’m just saying she’d have text the group chat, not just you.”

“Hey, that’s harsh,” Tara interjected, “Whether she’s out of his league or not, that’s not what the deal is here. They’re just as close as she is with you, if not closer. It makes sense she’d text him.”

You shook your head even though they still couldn’t see you, lingering just past the doorway and listening in as they talked.

“Why is this whole thing being blown out of proportion? He only asked when she’d get here, not for you to all talk about me like I’m a total loser she’d never be seen with,” you could hear that he was taking their words to heart as he tried to stick up for himself for once.

“Nobody said total loser,” Mindy shrugged, “But we’re just speculating. Chad talks about you two like a couple, and I’m simply reminding him that you’re obviously not.”

Anika put her hand on her girlfriend’s arm for a second, “Mindy, c’mon. You’re just being mean now.”

“I know she’s out of my league and I never said any different Mindy,” Ethan groaned, “Could we shut up about this already? She’ll be here any minute and I don’t need her hearing you talking about how pathetic I am.”

Mindy huffed, raising her arms in feigned surrender, “You said it, not me. Look, sorry, I’m not trying to be harsh I swear. Just no point in you getting your hopes up, is there?”

You took that as your cue, striding into the room and heading straight towards your boyfriend.

“Hey guys,” you hummed, throwing down your bag and plopping yourself down onto Ethan’s lap and curling your arms around his neck.

He looked perplexed, unsure why you waltzed in and made such a show of PDA all of a sudden, but his tense body relaxed under your touch regardless.

His hands curled around your waist as he shuffled back in his seat to make you both more comfortable, his voice shy as he responded, “Hey.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mindy rose to her feet, “What?”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning your head to shoot her a sickly sweet smile, “What?”

You could see Chad stifling a laugh, because he’d seen you sneak out of their dorm one too many times not to have figured out you were actually dating by now.

“Why are you—,”

“Sitting on my boyfriend’s lap? There’s no other seats, Minds,” you shrugged, fighting back a smirk as she went bug-eyed, “Oh, shit. I forgot we still hadn’t told you guys. My bad!”

Mindy fumbled over her words for a moment, still staring at you as your fingers twirled Ethan’s curls at the base of his neck and his fingers danced over the waistband of your jeans.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling warmth radiate from his skin as his eyes darted around the room for everyone’s reactions.

“Boyfriend? You’re together?”

Tara was grinning, “Nice!”

“Aw you guys,” Anika grinned, “That’s so cute. We can double date!”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe if Mindy apologises for talking to Ethan like he’s the shit on the bottom of her shoe, yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I just—,”

“It’s fine, Mindy,” Ethan shrugged, nuzzling his face into your neck to hide away from the attention, “Can we just move on? At least you all know now.”

You frowned, pressing a kiss atop his curls as he remained close to you. You watched Mindy frantically search for the right words to say, before deciding to stay quiet.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, tension evident as Ethan’s grip on you seemed to tighten.

“It’s Ethan who’s been asking to keep things quiet, so thanks for the reminder of why,” you huffed, “Because you make him feel like he doesn’t deserve me. It’s not fair, Minds. At all. And you’re supposed to be my best friend.”

“I am your best friend!” Mindy replied, “I just didn’t expect this, that’s all. I’m sorry, okay? I’m happy for you guys. I really am.”

You scoffed, “Well maybe if you spent a little more time treating Ethan like an actual person and not some pointless side character in a, like, movie or whatever, you’d realise he’s a good person and that it’s me who doesn’t deserve him.”

You felt guilty for your outburst, and you could see that it had really driven your point home to Mindy, who was now staring at her feet shyly and snuggled in close to Anika.

You snuggled in closer to Ethan’s lap, interlacing your fingers as you did so. His hands were as warm as his face had become as a result of all of the attention, and you could tell he felt uncomfortable.

He did, however, enjoy the fact that everyone knew you were together now.

A sudden bout of confidence sparked in him as he pulled your joined hands up to kiss the back of yours, “Whatever. Whether she’s out of my league or not, she’s my girlfriend. Now let’s just put the stupid movie on, yeah?”

Everyone nodded silently, tension still thick in the air as Mindy picked up the remote control, but before she could press play you hopped back up out of your boyfriend’s lap.

“Oh, I brought popcorn,” you exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up as you picked up your bag again too, “We’ll go make it really quick. Won’t be long.”

Ethan followed you into the kitchen, your hands still interlocked, and smiled confusedly at you as you hopped up onto the counter beside the stovetop and quickly began preparing the popcorn.

“Sorry about that,” you bit your lip, watching him carefully as he sauntered to your side and placed a palm on your hip, taking control of the popcorn making, “I overheard the conversation and got really pissed off. Also just missed you and wanted to be annoyingly PDA’y… Is that alright?”

He scoffed, “Are you kidding? I only wanted to keep it from them because they don’t think I deserve you and I didn’t want you realising they’re right… I’m like, so happy, that I can kiss you around them now. So happy.”

You pouted, “I hate that you think that too, though. You more than deserve me, Eth. And I’m really lucky to have you.”

His thumb rubbed at the skin of your waist just beneath your top as his other hand shook the popcorn as it heated up.

“You’re the best, Y/N,” he hummed, pecking your lips quickly before refocusing on the popcorn, “I kinda wish we could just go to mine or something instead. I’m not in the mood for anyone else’s company anymore.”

You leaned in to kiss him, a hand carding through his curls briefly as he took the popcorn off the heat and set it aside, turning off the hob. His hands then flew back to your waist, settling himself between your parted legs to kiss you properly.

“I wish we could just go to yours too. We’ll dip as soon as the movie ends, yeah?” you grinned, biting your lip as you pulled back from the kiss, “We can deal with them asking questions another day. ‘M more in the mood to just curl up with you.”

He nodded, “Me too. Sounds like a plan. And thank you, for tonight, seriously. I’m not exaggerating when I say how lucky I am to have you.”

You shook your head, “You’re my boyfriend, and I’m proud of that fact. Mindy just needs to get her head out of her ass sometimes. I’m sorry they’re so shitty to you sometimes, it’s pathetic.”

He kissed you quickly again, scooping your waist to pull you down from the counter to stand beside him.

“Honestly at this point I don’t care anymore,” he shrugged, “I’ve got you. Oh, but please don’t agree to any double dates without me. No offence, but a double date with Mindy and Anika would be, like, my personal hell.”

You giggled, shaking your head again, “We’ll work on her weird unnecessary disdain for you, babe. But of course, I understand. C’mon, we better get back in there.”

“Can’t we just stay in here instead?”

“I wish.”

“Ugh,” he huffed, an adorable pout gracing his features that almost made you give in and make up an emergency reason for you both to leave, “At least we get to cuddle this time. I’m sick of you always having to sit away from me.”

You chuckled, “You do tend to watch me from across the room like a lost puppy. It’s adorable. In fact, I’m surprised nobody ever notices me doing the exact same thing back. We’ve been totally obvious this whole time.”

He kissed you again, briefly and feverishly like he couldn’t stop himself, “Our friends are idiots, huh.”

“Absolute morons,” you smiled, kissing him one final time before grabbing the popcorn and his hand.

“Let’s go get through a movie, hey?”

———

thanks for reading !!!

i hope this was okay, it felt a bit messy and shit when i was editing but i’ve been stuck on it so long so thought i’d post and then maybe come back to it? let me know what you thought!

feel free to request more, i’ve been chaotic with which old drafts i’m finishing lately but my requests are still open — and here’s my masterlist!

#ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #scream #scream imagine #scream imagines #scream vi #scream vi imagine #jack champion

[theemporium]

okay okay blurb concept: what do you think ab Oscar on a blind date? maybe Lando set him up with someone?

you ask and you shall receive🫡i hope i did it justice!!🫶🏽

.

This was a stupid idea. 

In fact, it was an incredibly stupid idea for a multitude of reasons, but three in particular played in Oscar’s head on a loop as he drummed his fingers against the table, mocked by the empty seat across from him. 

The first reason was the fact Lando fucking Norris was the mastermind behind the whole thing. In all honesty, he didn’t remember the last time the Brit had a genuinely good idea outside of racing and car improvements. He wasn’t even sure how Lando made him agree, though he wondered if he had hit his head off something and forgot about the whole thing.

The second reason was that it had been a dreadfully long time since Oscar had been on a date. It was embarrassing enough that he couldn’t even remember his last date, let alone remember whether it hadn’t ended badly or not. But it definitely didn’t help that this was the first one in possibly years, and he hadn’t even played a part in planning the damn thing if the fancy restaurant Lando chose said much.

The third reason was that despite Oscar almost begging his teammate, the boy had refused to tell him who he was actually attending a date with. It’s all a part of the fun, mate, Lando had said to him with a big smile. Never heard of a blind date? It’s romantic and shit.

But nothing about the whole set up felt romantic in the slightest.

Lando had tried to reassure the boy on his drive to the restaurant. He had wanted to arrive early, to settle himself and feel like he had some control on the situation even if he really didn’t. Lando had been insistent that the girl he set him up with was just his type, but it was a little hard to believe that when Lando had also been the reason Oscar had a stripper show up on his door to celebrate the end of the last season.

A gift Lando was also insistent that he would have enjoyed. 

So now, Oscar was sat by himself in a fancy restaurant, almost twenty minutes early and looking absolutely pathetic as he sipped his glass of water and resisted the urge to scoff down the complementary breadsticks lying in the basket in front of him. He had given the waiter so many strained smiles, he was worried they were going to kick him out soon if he didn’t order something that actually cost money.

His eyes shifted down to glance at his phone, his fingers itching to reach out and dial Lando’s number again. The sickening feeling in his stomach was only growing, the anxiety bubbling inside him the longer he waited and he was honestly tempted to scrap the whole thing and lock himself in his apartment for a few days before he could face the real world again. 

And yet, before he could even unlock his phone, someone paused by his table and a voice called out his name. 

“Oscar?” 

His head snapped up, any semblance of a reply quickly leaving his mind as he openly gaped at you. You were gorgeous, beyond anything he could even imagine. Not that he cared much for looks or thought Lando would set him up with someone horrendously ugly but…fuck, he wasn’t expecting someone as pretty as you. 

And suddenly he was nervous for a million other reasons. 

“Sorry, are you not Oscar?” You continued after a few moments of silence, a look of embarrassment crossing over your face as you moved to take a step away from the table. “I’m so sorry, I could have swore you looked like the photo my friend sent me—” 

“No!” He blurted out as he quickly stood up, his chair screeching against the floor as he did. “No, I mean, yes.” Your confusion only grew. “I mean…I’m Oscar.” 

“Oh,” you said and something in your face brightened as you extended your hand to the boy, offering your name in response. “It’s lovely to meet you, Oscar.”

“Yeah, you too,” he supplied lamely, frowning a little at himself before he cleared his throat. “Uh, can I get you something? I mean, not me. I meant like I could call the waiter for you and you could order. But I should probably let you look at the menu first so—” And fuck, he didn’t think he had ever spoken this much in one go ever. 

But your giggle cut him off as you smiled at him. You glanced around, noting the high-end restaurant that you knew Lando probably got a kick out of picking before your gaze landed on the Aussie once again. 

“Can I be honest?”

Oscar nodded his head vigorously.

“This doesn’t look like your kind of scene,” you said to him, and Oscar could feel his cheeks burning.

He shrugged. “I really don’t mind—”

“It’s not mine either,” you added, something almost mischievous shining in your eyes. “But there is a really cool arcade about fifteen minutes away that do really good burgers if you’re interested.”

And it wasn’t Oscar’s fault that he couldn’t bite back the massive grin on his face. “That sounds perfect.” 

And maybe—just fucking maybe—one of Lando’s plans had worked out far better than anyone ever assumed.

.

#oscar piastri #formula one #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 41 || The Cute Bartender

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, very cute fluff, & teasing.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOUR QUESTION REMAINS unanswered for quite some time. To constantly weigh out your options of who would be a better lover for you is going to take time.

But, as of right now, even if you wanted to choose Gojo over Choso, he's already made it clear he's not allowing that. He doesn't think he's good for you and, in case you forgot, you're technically supposed to hate him.

That being said, your choice is already made for you.

But none of that is important right now. You were allowed a break until the semester began again but, since your university's winter break was a span of two, almost three months, you were honestly ready to finish the list by late January.

Even though you said you were taking a break from the men, you still kept in contact with them. You'd text Choso on some days but he'd often scold you about how you wanted a break, which only made you want to talk to him more.

Then, you even had your phone calls with Gojo which consisted of him doing the same damn thing-- pestering you by saying 'As much as I love listening to you talk, sweets, you're supposed to be taking a break from me' which, was just as sweet as the messages Choso would send.

Yeah, you were definitely falling for both of them in your own way and nothing could stop that. Even so, you were ready to get back to the list.

There was one name left. You couldn't believe it. As of now, you were laid out on your bed, your delicate fingers curled around a pen as you went down the list of yours. Reading over each name reminded you of your experiences with them, whether it was good or bad, and you were surprised you finally made it this far.

At one point, you doubted you could even do this. So many lessons have been learned, so many personalities and so many situations have been experienced. It's almost, emphasis on almost, beautiful when you think back on it.

To go from a broke and regular college student to one whose life is filled with drama, good (for the most part) sex, and men who've somehow managed to fall for you. It's the kinda thing you never imagined for yourself.

Just one semester ago, you were worried about even landing a job and now look at you; you've managed the money from Gojo better than ever so you're truly set for quite some time.

With a sigh, you place the pen down beside your journal and trace your fingers over the final name; Nanami Kento. Once you sleep with him it's over. It's almost bittersweet to think about.

As you stare at your journal, you think you have a plan for it once the list is complete. A plan that you've talked to Gojo about and he's agreed to-- the two of you are going to burn the list.

Neither of you want any physical evidence of it so you think burning it once it's complete will prove to be a nice way to say goodbye to the memories that come with the list. Nowhere in your text messages or his do you two discuss the list explicitly, just in case someone were ever to go through your devices, and the only time it's been talked about aside from in person is over phone calls.

But, you're not worrying about that getting out. Someone would have to dig really deep to find the recordings of you and Gojo's phone calls. Like, to the police deep to find them. Or hacking your cell. But, you have no reason to worry about that, right? Gojo said he's not involved in anything illegal and you trust him (to some extent).

So again, it's bittersweet to think about this list finally coming to an end. It was like a game you had to play and knowing that the end credits were about to roll soon just made you feel odd inside. Yeah, you wanted it to end but as it was actually happening, it was like leaving a chapter of your life behind.

After all, you'll never be able to undo what's been done. You can't go back and change who you've slept with or how.

So, with that final little thought, you sigh again and then shut your journal. Getting up to put it away in its locked drawer compartment, you wonder what it'll be like to finally meet Nanami.

You have a good feeling about him.

And no, not one of those good feelings that result in disaster but, an actual good feeling. Something about the thought of this tall, blonde, and sexy man whose facial expression holds a stupidly attractive seriousness at all times just makes you feel calm.

You feel like you're going to be dealing with someone so mature that it'll ease your mind, kind of like how your mind was at ease when you first met Choso.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

And you had every right to be in good spirits about meeting Nanami because the man did, in fact, turn out to be one of the best and lightest experiences for you.

Despite how difficult he may seem, Nanami is just a man you couldn't catch at the right time. That was the only reason why you ever considered him to be 'hard' to seduce. And no, it's not some magical effect you had that made your efforts work, it was this genuine and raw connection that formed when you met him.

It was surely a night to be remembered.

A simple pair of black heels lightly clacked against the floor as you walked with your head held high into that damned nightclub-- the same nightclub in which you couldn't run into Nanami at the right time for the longest. This night was different though, as you had arrived before him for once.

It wasn't planned or anything but, your arrival to the building was before he'd gotten there. The dress you wore to accompany the heels on your feet was just as simple and was shaded in the same color; black. It was moderately tight-fitting and hugged your body just right.

Unlike some of your past dresses, it didn't make you feel like you were going all out and you thought you blended in nicely with everyone else that was there. Around your neck was that same necklace Gojo gifted to you on Christmas as you never really had the heart to leave home without it on.

Your excuse for wearing it all the time was because it was really pretty. It had nothing to do with Gojo of course. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Making your way to the bar, you took a seat in an area you knew Nanami to typically sit at and then you scouted the area for either him or the cute brown-haired friend he's always with. Finding nothing and no one, you sigh and decide to order a drink.

After which, you gave yourself thirty minutes before you'd leave and try again in another two weeks. You didn't even tell Gojo you were starting back up on the list yet so it's not like there was any pressure for you to seduce Nanami tonight, maybe that's what made everything so different.

Your nails tapped across the bar as you waited and at some point, you even made conversation with the cheeky bartender. The thing about this bartender is that you've seen him talk to Nanami plenty of times and you're pretty sure they're friends.

He had this really cute face and pretty brown eyes that made you feel safe in a strange way. Every time you see him he's got this beanie on top of his head and his clothes are always baggy, something you saw his manager scold him about a few times at one point.

Either way, today was your first time actually talking to him and you learn that his name is Ino Takuma and that he actually recognizes you, having paid attention to the few times you've been there.

"Are you waiting on someone, beautiful?" Ino had questioned you.

Oh yeah, and he's also been complimenting you nonstop from the moment you two began talking. It's in a friendly way, you think. It doesn't seem like he's flirting, just being kind, which you like.

You smiled at the man, "Is it that obvious?"

He makes this silly face in thought and you note how expressive he is. "Hmmmm, I mean for me, yeah. But that's only because I see you come here around the same time every two weeks."

"Yeah?" You meet his eyes with a smile on your face and he holds the eye contact for at least five seconds before he looks away. He's adorable. "So, you've really been paying attention to me all this time?" You ask before going to take another sip of your preferred drink of the night.

Ino laughs and the sound is so joyful it almost heals something in you. "I mean, nooo..." He drags out, smiling through his words before he shrugs, "I pay attention to everyone. And plus, how could I forget a pretty face like yours?"

You're still staring at him and you don't think you've ever paid attention to how much someone avoids eye contact before dealing with Choso. After that man, it's so obvious to you now when someone gets nervous to look you in the eye for too long.

"Is that a compliment, Ino?" You ask softly, the use of his name making his ears flush a cute shade of pink.

He clears his throat and wipes down a part of the nearby counter. There are not that many people at the bar tonight so that gave him the leisure to speak to you. "...Yeah," Ino replies, trying to focus on his small task instead of your eyes gazing at his face.

You hum. "Thank you," You say before moving to rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you rest your elbow on the bar.

Ino finishes his little task and then places the cloth he used elsewhere, finally looking at you now that your eyes have gone elsewhere, "He'll be here soon, by the way."

You blink and your eyes flick up to Ino's face, confused by his words, "Who?"

He flashes that friendly smile at you, "Nanami."

You're not sure if you should pretend not to know who Nanami is or if you should ask how Ino knows you're waiting on the man. For now, you swallow, "Nanami?"

Ino moves his hand up and over his head a bit, "He's like this tall, blonde," The brown-haired male gestures toward his eyes, "Wears these funky glasses sometimes?"

You bat your eyelashes at him in confusion, "Okay... Why uh, why're you telling me he'll be here soon?"

"You know him, don't you?" Ino asks, his thin and well-kept brows furrowing a bit as he innocently tilts his head.

"I know of him, I suppose," You answer vaguely, "But, why'd you think I know him?"

His shoulders raised a bit, "Cause' he asked me about you."

You swallow the sudden nervous lump in your throat, "H-He asked about me? Why? When?"

Ino chuckles at the worry in your face. To him, it just seemed like you were nervous in a shy sort of way, "He just asked me if you came here any other times. Like, times when he's not here."

"Why?" You ask.

"I dunno'," Ino shrugs casually, "I think you caught his attention." He adds on with a little wink.

Your lips pull into a straight line, "I highly doubt that."

"Why? You're pretty," Ino compliments yet again.

"Thanks but I've seen Nanami enough times to know that I have not caught his attention. Trust me, I know how men operate when their attention is caught." You scoff as you glance over to the dance floor and watch some of the people there.

Ino doesn't seem to understand what exactly you mean by that and his brows furrow, "You caught my attention, and yet this is my first time talking to you." He points out.

Almost naturally, as if you'd grown accustomed to flirting, your gaze trails back over to the cute bartender and you smirk, words slipping out of your mouth without thought, "I've caught your attention? How so?" You ask, unintentionally adding a sultriness to your tone.

He gulps and his eyes avoid yours yet again, "I mean you are an attractive woman. S-So I just mean it in that you catch more people's eye than you think. A-And uh, y'know, not everyone's gonna approach you first because sometimes attractive people make others nervous..." He stammers out.

He's so ridiculously nervous and it's the cutest thing. You lift your head from your hand and cross your arms over the counter, leaning forward a little and your chest unknowingly growing more visible as you do so, "Am I making you nervous right now, Ino?" You whisper.

Okay, now you're purposefully teasing him.

He chuckles, kinda awkwardly, "N-No? Pfft... I'm not nervous. Y-You-," He clears his throat, "You're not making me nervous."

You raise but a single brow and keep your gaze on him, "You can't even look me in the eyes while we talk."

Ino suddenly looks at you, meeting your unwavering gaze and sweating a bit. "I'm lookin' at you now."

You stare long and hard, right into those brow irises of his and he tries to stare back but, he can't help but glance to the left or right for a split second before trying to keep his eyes on yours.

A slow and taunting smile spreads across your features, "Barely." You point out.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, "Whatever. I wasn't nervous I'm jus' not good with eye contact."

You tilt your head at him and narrow your eyes, "That's not true."

"Eh?" Ino's brows push together, "How are you gonna' tell me..." He says with a pout.

You giggle, "You manage eye contact with everyone else just fine."

He moves for a nearby empty glass someone's placed down, and glances at you as he does so, "So you've been paying attention to me, then?"

Of course, your eyes have hardly left his. It's fun teasing someone like this, "A bit, yeah."

Ino moves with the empty glass to place it with other dirty ones, humming a little nervously, "Oh..." As he does so. Then, you watch him pick up a clean glass and move to make a new drink right in front of you.

"Is that okay?" You murmur. Your voice has this purposeful flirtiness to it and it does not go unnoticed, "Am I allowed to pay attention to you, Ino?"

He gulps, "Course' you can."

Your eyes drop to the glass in his hands as he pours alcohol into it and you smirk, "Ino..."

His gaze flicks to your face for a moment, "H-Hm?"

"You're shaking." You point out.

Ino nearly fumbles the glass in his hand entirely and you watch him miss the cup for a moment, a bit of the liquid he'd been pouring trickling onto his hand and then the floor, "Shit," He curses.

You chuckle slightly at first, earning a little pouty glare from the man.

Then as he goes to clean up you hear him mumbling to you, "That's not funny..."

Your chuckling proceeds to elevate into genuine laughter, "Yeah it is," You snicker, "You're adorable, holy fuck."

Ino's face is a little red as your words hit his ears and he drops down to clean the mess on the floor. After which, he pops right back into your line of vision, seeing you still laughing at him and pouting yet again.

"I am not 'adorable'," Ino grumbles.

You giggle, "Yes, you are."

He shakes his head and sighs in this sassy kinda way, "Am' not."

"Are too," You argue.

His eyes meet yours and despite being embarrassed, he's got a little smile back on his face, "Nuh-uh."

You nod, “Yuh-huh."

Ino then rolls his eyes, still smiling, before he puts all the items he had in his hands down to the side. You then watch one hand drop down into his pocket before his phone is pulled out. Ino unlocks the device and then places it in front of you, sliding it closer to you with an empty contact slot on the screen.

"Put your number in here," He sighs, smoothly requesting your contact info like it's nothing.

You raise a brow, "Are you asking for it or are you demanding it?"

Those almost innocent brown eyes of his trail over to yours and he holds eye contact for a longer moment, "I'm asking. I like talking to you so, can I get your number?"

"Hmmm..." You hum playfully, purposefully taking your time to answer, "Is this to be friends or something more?"

He's still looking you in the eyes, "Uh, friends? I'm not sure I could even handle a woman like you."

You raise a brow.

"I mean that in a good way," Ino clarifies.

You shrug and move to enter your number in his phone, "Thanks. I was only asking that 'cause I uh..."

He tilts his head and watches your fingers tap across his screen, "...Have a lot going on?"

"Something like that, yeah." You answer before you finish adding your info and then slide the phone back to him.

He picks up his cell and pockets it before shrugging, "I see, well, if this makes you feel any better, I always try to get people's numbers after a nice conversation with them."

You frown playfully, "Aw, so I'm not special?"

Again, he's flustered, "W-Well, I mean you are b-but I just-"

"Ino," You snicker, "I'm just teasing you, relax."

He rolls his eyes again and sighs, "You're driving me crazy."

For one last time, you tilt your head and give him this flirtatious look, "Am I?"

Ino looks at your expression and gulps, "Yes ma'am."

Okay, is it weird that a part of you wishes he was on the list too? Holy shit is teasing this man fun. Even so, you've got enough men to worry about in your life and you don't need to add to that.

You chuckle and your expression returns to something more platonic, "Alright, I'll stop then."

"Please," Ino begs quietly in a joking manner.

That makes you laugh again and this time, he laughs along with you. Then, you watch him go back to preparing that drink from earlier and he does it flawlessly this time, his nerves calmed after you stop all your teasing.

As the drink is finished, you sip on yours and then a pleasant smell slithers into your nose. It's cologne, a strong but ridiculously pleasant scent filling your nostrils. You blink a few times as you take in what you're smelling and for a second, you wonder if it's coming from Ino because he got kinda close as the drink he prepared was placed next to you.

Your question is answered within the next second though because you hear a voice that accompanies the scent. A deep, sexy, and soothing voice that makes your posture straighten due to how surprisingly close to you it is.

Nothing more than a simple, "Thank you," Was voiced but even so, it was extremely attractive.

Then, you curiously turn to where the voice came from, which was to your right, and you're met with your last target; Nanami Kento.

There he was, in the flesh, right next to you. Like, literally sitting in the barstool next to yours. And that drink Ino made? Yeah, it was his. Your eyes were all over the man, drinking in his features shamelessly.

The man seemed to be more muscular than you thought he was as the blue button-up shirt he wore clung to his body so delectably. The sleeves were rolled up near his elbows and you could see how muscular his arm was, veins decorating his skin as they became visible from his elbow and down.

The shirt was just hugging his body and you couldn't help but stare. Then, for a moment you look down at his pants. He wore these khakis that were just as fucking tight as his shirt and you swear you didn't mean to look at his crotch but because of the way he sat it was like your eyes were there before you even rendered it.

God, his pants hugged his thighs and you just drink in the way his hips push up slightly as he adjusts the way he sits. Holy fuck, you had to force your eyes up because you swore you could see his manhood, or at least imagine what he's hiding beneath those clothes of his.

So, your eyes went back up to areas more respectable to look at, such as his shirt, which you noticed he had enough buttons undone to reveal a teasing amount of his chest. His collarbone was so sharp and defined and you could only imagine the rest of his body.

Then, you trailed up just a bit more to his neck, then his jaw which was sharp as fuck, to his defined cheekbones, and then his eyes-

And shit.

He was already looking at you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

#the f*ck list #the fuck list #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #naoya x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #nanami kento x reader #choso kamo x reader #kamiverse #kamiversee #smut fic #jjk smut #gojo smut #geto smut #choso smut #toji smut

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

What if instead of Wednesday being in the room when Bianca knocks on Xavier's door, he's cuddling with his new girl? Hides under the bed or closet or whatever

my taglists are here + you can requests here at any time

—

You rubbed soft circles into Xavier's waist where his shirt was riding up while slowly kissing. His sketchbook had been abandoned and kicked to the end of the bed, no longer of first interest. Despite being alone, neither of you had any further intentions.

Xavier hummed at your touch and leaned into you like the soft and needy kitten he was. You smiled and continued your caresses.

Your and Xavier’s relationship was completely unknown to your Nevermore peers. After his very public breakup with Bianca Barclay, Xavier didn’t want to flash his new relationship to everyone — especially Bianca. She didn’t call the shots and tried many times to get Xavier to take her back, but he refused every time.

Besides, sometimes things are better if you keep them just yours.

A knock on the door forced you and Xavier to break apart. You didn't want to, very comfortable entangled with him on his bed, but there was a possibility this was the house master passing for his evening checking.

Xavier pushed you into his bathroom in prevention and closed the door. The floor was still wet from his shower, but it wasn’t dirty like under a bed.

He tamed his hair a little and opened the door, finding a smiling Bianca on the other side. Slamming the door in her face was tempting, but Xavier didn’t want to make a scene.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her inside. ‘’You're not supposed to be up here,’’ he said flatly.

‘’Good to see you too,’’ Bianca snarked back.

‘’How did you get past the house master? Did you use your siren powers?’’

‘’Not while wearing this.’’ She touched her amulet necklace.

Xavier walked away from her, keeping a distance between them. ‘’What do you want, Bianca?’’

You could hear in his voice that his interest in her was completely gone, but she refused to bury their relationship. She kept searching for a spark through the burned embers to revive the flame. Unfortunately for her, Xavier was fueling another fire.

‘’I wanted to see how you’re doing. I’m sorry about Rowan. I know you and him used to be close—’’

Xavier huffed. The last time he heard her talk to Rowan was in fencing class and she called him lazy.

‘’Since when do you give a damn about Rowan?’’

‘’I care about you.’’

He couldn’t deny that. Although she made him doubt his own feelings for her, Bianca wasn’t an evil soul. She always cared about Xavier, whether they were in a relationship or not.

Bianca stepped up to him by his bed and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. ‘’We were good together, Xavier.’’

‘’Were we?’’ he asked, looking up at her. ‘’Or was that how you wanted me to feel?’’

The walls of the bathroom were thin enough for you to hear their conversation close to perfection. Thin enough to hear the lingering pain in Xavier’s words, still hurt by Bianca’s past actions.

‘’I made one mistake and you can’t forgive me—’’

‘’There is nothing to forgive. I just want to move on,’’ Xavier said, tired of going over the same things every time they talked. ‘’I broke up with you, remember? Now, please leave before the house master comes for bed-checks.’’

Regardless how sorry she was, the manipulation of his emotions was something he could never forgive Bianca. His whole life is controlled by his father in a way or another; the only thing Xavier has control over is his emotions and if someone take that from him, he’ll have nothing left.

She accepted her defeat and turned to leave, but on her way out, Bianca caught something on the adjacent empty bed. A jacket.

‘’Isn’t that Y/N’s jacket?’’ she asked, recognizing the clothing.

For a short few seconds, Xavier thought he had been caught. He found himself stammering while searching for a quick but good enough lie.

‘’She…she forgot it in the quad a-and I was planning to give it back to her tomorrow.’’

Bianca raised an eyebrow, doubting him. ‘’I’ll see you tomorrow at the lake. Make sure to get enough sleep…or not.’’ Her blue eyes shifted to your jacket. ‘’I’m gonna crush you anyway.’’

After her departure, Xavier groaned. She knew you were there.

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r  @rhaenyraswife  @teaganthemorningstar   @aphex2winn @moompie   @ifevilwhyhot @oliviah-25 @spenglerslime @wetwilliam02 @yellowcupcakes @haileyismoo @theyslayallday @wrldofsage @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @toylewestinnyc @meme-queen-1999 @rottenstyx

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday #wednesday imagine #wednesday netflix

[miraclewoozi]

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader.  content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI). w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change? warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut ( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net.  )

note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass. ( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )

smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).

—————

He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday. 

As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.

The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.

His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house. 

The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure. 

Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.

He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back. 

—————

You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.

Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.

Variety.

Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch. 

He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.

This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.

They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.

“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over. 

Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.” 

He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.

“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit. 

That’s when he sees you again. 

He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.

By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.

“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”

—————

Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.

Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.

It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.

To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.

He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.

“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person. 

Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice. 

“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.

A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.

You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.

He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.

It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.

He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.

Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat. 

He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.

To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.

It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?

“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly. 

Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.

“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).

It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.

“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…

“Hm?” he questions. 

You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning. 

“Oh. Right.” 

He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.

He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure. 

“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”

You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.

“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.

“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”

You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.

“I guessed you could,” you say. 

Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.

“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.

“Mm. You can tell.”

Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.

He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.

Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”

What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.

“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”

“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.

You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do. 

With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”

Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.

He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.

“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”

“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.

Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.

“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.

But you don’t.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.

“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day. 

But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?” 

He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.

“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”

You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.

“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly. 

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself. 

“See you around, y/n.”

You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone. 

—————

He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks. 

For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays. 

It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?

Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something. 

Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts. 

The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served. 

Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.

Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to. 

You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today. 

He can hazard a guess at your predicament. 

After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress. 

But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look  at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.

“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.

“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle. 

He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”

“How… have you been?” you ask. 

“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question? 

“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”

Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”

The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you. 

“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.

“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.

“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.

“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”

A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.

“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —” 

His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”

The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”

“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”

Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.

Except the obvious. 

“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.

Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.

“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them. 

“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring. 

“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.

Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.

“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”

You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen. 

Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm. 

His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.

“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”

“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.

Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.

“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”

“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table. 

More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.

“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”

You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun. 

“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him. 

“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”

You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though. 

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?” 

He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one? 

“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.

Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers. 

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten. 

All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when  Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon. 

Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.

It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since. 

He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other. 

jihoon: fine. you’re right. 

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right. 

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao 

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!

soonyoung: because we told them????? 

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks. 

At least he’s admitted it now. 

He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters. 

So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

—————

Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.

As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty. 

All this before he even gets to work.

He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.

It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.

Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else. 

Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway. 

A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.

So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.

It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.

He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus. 

“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.

“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this. 

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Slim, he decides. But not zero. 

There’s hope.

“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin. 

He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”

“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”

“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”

“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.

“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.

He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach. 

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.

Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time. 

And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?

You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel. 

“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”

“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.” 

Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs. 

“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”

“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest. 

“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.

“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.

You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.

For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.

y/n: hey :)

y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?

He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)

Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no. 

jh: apparently yes, you can.

jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.

He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.

The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away. 

“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.

“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”

He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.

You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside. 

You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in. 

“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.” 

“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”

“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.

“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.

“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”

——-

Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.

“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”

“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that. 

“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”

A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.

Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.

One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.

The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.

He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him. 

Any. Fucking. Minute. 

“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”

“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”

In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you. 

“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”

He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”

You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold. 

Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.

“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.

“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.

You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.

Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too. 

And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.

“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point. 

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”

“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”

“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”

“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”

You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…

“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”

Oh, so you can read his mind now, too? 

You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.

“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”

You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”

“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.

“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor. 

He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.

“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.” 

You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.

“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.   

At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely. 

“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard. 

“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”

He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”

“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”

“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”

“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans. 

He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”

“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”

His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.

“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.

“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length. 

“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.

He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.

“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.” 

A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.

Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing. 

“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.” 

Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”

“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”

“Mm, says you.” 

It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.

The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.

You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.

“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”

So, you do.

Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.

“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”

You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.

It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth. 

—

You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms. 

You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.

“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”

“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers. 

“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”

“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks. 

“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”

“Of course I want to.”

So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

——————

He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again. 

All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.

“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.

Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.

“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.

“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.

Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.

He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly. 

“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”

“Not important enough,” he sighs. 

“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers. 

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows. 

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

#woozi smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #??? how do i tag anything lmao #running away now it's nearly 2am lmao BYE #j writes. #*

[moonhoures]

baby

pairing: jake (enhypen) + reader (fem.)

genre: non-idol!au, college!au (barely), smut

warnings: explicit smut, 18+, minors do not interact, friends with benefits, masturbation (fem.), oral (fem. receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl!), pull out method, pet name “baby” for reader

word count: ~4.3K

a/n: based heavily off of the lyrics of madison beer’s song “baby”! hope you enjoy 😚

posted: august 7th, 2023

One downside of living with a roommate was the lack of alone time. You liked having your privacy and found yourself looking forward to the times when you got the apartment to yourself. Fortunately enough, your roommate had been working with their friend on a project for a class and the due date was tomorrow. So, they had told you they were going to stay the night at their partner’s dorm for the night so they could work on finishing their project. You did a good job at hiding how elated you were about this information, but you were already planning what you would spend the night doing.

They left right before dinner time, so you ordered some take-out for yourself. You dined in the living room, watching an episode of your favorite TV show. Then you went to take a shower, not worried about taking too long because your roommate wouldn’t be waiting on you like usual. You let your music play as loud as you wanted, and you sang at the top of your lungs. You walked from the bathroom to your room, draped only in your towel, and decided to put on a cute sleep set you had gotten from Victoria’s Secret.

With your hair still damp, and a sheen on your skin, you stood in front of the full length mirror at the corner of your room. You admired the set on you. It had sat at the bottom of your pajama drawer for months, forgotten, until tonight. You forgot how cute it looked on you. The black, silky material felt so good on you, and the floral trim hugged the top of your breasts nicely. You looked too damn good to keep to yourself.

You took your phone from the top of your dresser and opened the camera app, snapping some sultry pictures of yourself. You didn’t have any intentions of sending them to anyone in that moment, but you never know. The opportunity could arise someday where you could send them to someone.

After your makeshift photoshoot, you went back to the living room to watch a movie and enjoy some dessert. The movie you threw on was one you had seen many times before, so you were only vaguely paying attention. About an hour into it you found yourself growing bored. You switched the movie to one you had never seen before, hoping it would keep your attention this time.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Another hour passed, and you were growing restless. You felt uncomfortable despite being in the most comfortable pajamas, on the coziest couch, in the plushest blanket you had. Then, as the two main leads in the rom-com that you were half-enjoying started to make out, it dawned on you. You were horny.

You reclined yourself length-wise on the couch, sliding your hand under the silky shorts, feeling your folds. The pads of your fingers started to rub up and down the skin, attempting to warm them up. After a minute or so, you began to move your fingertips around your clit. Your body felt like it was heating up from the stimulation, but after several minutes there was practically no progress. Something didn’t feel right, and you weren’t sure exactly what. You wet the pads of your middle and ring fingers, going in for a second attempt, massaging your labia. You felt yourself growing wetter, but the usual feeling of excitement just wasn’t there. Maybe it’s just one of those nights, you thought to yourself. It just didn’t feel as good as you wanted it to. It felt incomplete.

For a moment you contemplated calling the one person that you knew could help you ease the tension you were riddled with. Then you decided, fuck it.

You grabbed your phone from beside you, opening it and going straight to the contacts. Your fingertips expertly swiped right to his name, tapping it before bringing the phone to your ear. While the dialing tone rang a couple times, you twirled the drawstrings of your sleep shorts. The line picked up and you instinctively sat up straighter.

“Someone better be dying.”

You smirked to yourself, “You know I wouldn’t call you this late unless something was wrong.”

There was a muffled sound from his end, like he was sitting up in bed. For a second you worried you might’ve woken him up—only for a second, though, “So, what’s wrong, ________?”

“I’m bored. And I really need you to come keep me company.”

Jake wasn’t stupid, far from it, actually. He was one of the smartest people you knew. It was one of the many things that made him so attractive.

“So you’re horny? _______, you do know it’s almost one in the morning, right?”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but the smile was still in your voice when you spoke, “Come on, Jake. I need you so bad. It’s been so long since you came over.”

Jake scoffed, “You were at my dorm three nights ago.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said ‘since you came over’. Keep up, Sim.”

The corner of your lips lifted further into a hopeful smile when there was a long pause. He hadn’t said “no” yet, which is a really good sign. The odds of him coming over were highly in your favor.

“You can’t just masturbate or something? I have class in the morning, so I really need to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve tried. It doesn’t feel as good as you do. And I have class tomorrow, too. We could always skip, though. My roommate won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so we could always have round two in the morning.”

Another, longer pause. You were so close.

“You’re crazy.”

He just needed one more push, then he would surely come running. You had an idea.

“I might be, but I always keep you coming back for more. If it sways your decision, I took some really cute pictures earlier. Fresh out of the shower,” while you spoke, you opened your text messages with him and quickly selected some of the mirror photos you took. You sent them without any hesitation, your heart pumping a little faster when they were immediately marked as ‘Read’.

A small groan emitted from him, and that’s when you knew you had won him over. He was coming, whether he liked it or not. Thank God you took those pictures.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“The door will be open for you, as always,” you sing-songed to him before hanging up. You happily kicked your feet beneath the blanket that shrouded you. As stated before, there were many things to love about Jake, and one of them was how absolutely down bad for you he was. Sure, you two weren’t dating or anything; you two had just been casually hooking up for the past five months. But that didn’t stop him from practically worshipping you. He loved everything about you. He agreed to your decision to stay as friends with benefits because he figured if that was the only way to have a relationship with you, then so be it.

Several minutes passed, and you got up to go back to your room while you waited for him to arrive. You laid on top of the duvet on your bed, propping yourself up against your pillows to get comfortable. Just the thought of Jake coming over alone made you even more horny. You were already imagining how the night would go. There was no doubt in your mind that he would ask—no, beg—to eat you out, like he usually did. So you looked forward to that.

His tongue always felt so good between your folds, lapping up the juices that leaked from you for him. Because it was always for him, and only him. That was his favorite part. You grew restless at the thought of him and how he would touch you. How long would you have to wait for him?

You figured you could get started now, returning your fingers back to your heat. This time it felt much better, but there was still that feeling of insufficiency. Still, you were determined to feel something. So you continued with a vigor, massaging your clit, chasing any semblance of a release. Your knees were twitching and your toes were flexing as you started to feel the smallest hint of an orgasm.

“You started without me?”

You could hear the pout before you saw it. You didn’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you opened them to see Jake in the doorway of your room, dressed in gray sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt. His blond hair was tousled (likely un-brushed) and confirmed that he had been sleeping when you called him.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” you admitted, keeping a slow, steady rhythm on your folds. There was no shame anymore when it came to Jake. He had seen you in your most vulnerable states (sexually) so you weren’t embarrassed around him anymore. If anything, you knew it turned him on to watch you masturbate, “Are you just gonna stand and watch?”

Jake didn’t bother answering you; instead he just walked up to your bed and started to climb on. He had left his shoes at your front door before locking it behind him, so there was no hesitation. He knew exactly what he wanted, and his eyes were locked on it, covered in the thin, black, silky material. His mouth was already watering as he moved on hands and knees up your bed between your legs. He could practically taste you already.

Your boy toy was stopped in his tracks as your foot rested on the top of his shoulder, keeping him from moving any further. His eyebrows scrunched together and his lips formed into a pout as he sunk down in defeat. His glossy brown eyes resembled a wounded puppy when he looked up at you, looking for a reason as to why you were stopping him.

“Why are your clothes still on?” you asked simply, mirroring his pout. Though, while his was genuine, yours was mocking.

“I can take them off later,” he said, “I just wanna eat you out first.”

“At least take your shirt off, or you won’t be eating anything,” you set your foot back down on the bed and waited patiently for him to comply. He always did. He was a good boy.

Although impatient, he sat up and pulled the navy t-shirt over his torso and flung it behind him onto the floor. His hair stuck up in some places, but neither of you cared. He helped you tug your panties off before he got back down onto his stomach. His shoulders fit themselves between your knees, pushing them more to the side to make room. Honestly, that’s why you wanted his shirt off—to see his shoulders. They were broad and smooth, and you liked watching the way his back muscles flexed.

You watched as he sunk his face between the plush of your thighs, inhaling your familiar scent before pressing his flat tongue against your lips and dragging them up past your clit. You swore you heard him moan, but maybe you were hearing things.

Your legs shifted with his movements as he ate you out like a starved animal. If Jake was anything, it was a passionate pussy worshipper. He treated every time like it would be his last time. Sometimes you wondered if he was like this with every girl he hooked up with or just you.

“Shit, you taste so good,” he groaned after lapping at you for a few minutes. One glance confirmed that his lips were glossed with your juices. The tender skin of his lips were blushed red, “I would pay for pussy like this.”

“I should start charging you then,” you joked breathlessly, your fingers grasping the sheets beside you. His own fingers had begun pumping into you slowly, dragging in and out of your now-wet hole. Each thrust made you more sensitive.

“I would empty my bank account,” he replied without a second thought before diving back in, using his tongue to suckle your clit while his fingers sped up. Your legs tensed around his shoulders and your lower back arched a bit off the mattress. His name left your mouth in a breathy moan, making him go faster. He wanted your cum so bad it was driving him mad, “Cum for me, _______. Come on, baby.”

You clenched on his fingers, your orgasm following shortly after. Jake smiled to himself, watching his fingers pump and collect your cum. He never let any of it go to waste. He stuck his digits in his mouth, licking them clean before returning his tongue to your cunt. Any drop that he could reach was consumed. Even when he was done, he continued to lap at your wet folds, making your thighs twitch, attempting to close and shut him out. That’s when he knew you had enough, so he let up on you. He pressed simple, sweet kisses on the skin between your thighs and just above your groin.

“You taste like candy,” he said matter-of-factly as he sat back on his legs.

“Do I?”

“Mhm, the sweetest pussy ever,” he hummed with a smile that could only be described as pussy-drunk.

“The best you’ve ever had?” you asked, watching his eyes as he hovered over you, his bulge pressing against you through his sweatpants. Your jaw slacked open slightly as you felt him shift his hips subtly against yours.

“Of course, why do you think I always come back for more?”

“You’re right,” you chuckled, hands moving up to his face to bring him closer, “Be honest, though, I’m a handful.”

Just before his lips met yours he said, “That’s what hands are for.”

You hummed in satisfaction into his lips, tongues dancing together slowly, melting into each other with every flick. His hips continued to rut in between your legs, earning small whines and moans from you. You grasped at the top of his sweatpants, tugging at them. And even though he knew very well what you wanted, Jake enjoyed a good tease. So he ignored your want, continuing to leave a hickey below your jaw while you whined in frustration from attempting (and failing) to get his pants off.

A low chuckle erupted in his throat as he noticed you giving up, your hands resting on his waist, “You’re giving up that quick?”

“I’m not begging you to take your pants off,” you said with a hint of brattiness. Jake always called you that—a brat—and he knew it annoyed you. You didn’t want to be a brat, but you were one sometimes. In all honesty, he kind of liked when you acted like this. He liked when your lips pouted and you got impatient. It reminded him of how much you desired him. You two might not be dating, but it was always nice to feel wanted.

“You don’t have to beg,” he spoke so casually as he pulled back a little to look you in the eyes. He noticed a piece of hair clinging to your eyelash, so he moved it out of the way with his finger, “Just ask nicely, baby.”

“Please take your clothes off,” you batted your eyelashes for good measure. Jake’s favorite part of you—besides your pussy, of course—was your lips, but your eyes were a close second.

“Close enough.”

You internally celebrated as he got up to remove the gray sweatpants and his black boxers. You only had a moment to admire his erection before he was getting back on the bed. There usually wasn’t a certain power dynamic between the two of you in these situations—though Jake was very obviously more whipped for you and willing to do what you said. But when it came to positions, he was more likely the one to choose them. He didn’t even bother asking, just telling you or putting you into whatever position he wanted you in, and you usually didn’t mind. You simply propped yourself to his liking and enjoyed the experience, and tonight was no different.

His veiny hands gripped your thigh, and one look of his eyes let you know how he wanted you. You turned onto your stomach, and his hand pushed one of your knees up so that your cunt was spread for him. He got behind you, slightly straddling your leg that was still straight. His other knee was just behind yours that was bent. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him pumping his dick in preparation. The sounds were already wet, presumably from his spit, and boy were they arousing. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

“Ready?” he asked in that sultry accent of his.

“Mhm,” you were practically moaning already. You clenched at nothing, full of anticipation before you felt him at your entrance. You subconsciously sucked in your breath while he slowly slid into you. A small hiss escaped his lips as your tight walls hugged him, almost threatening to never let go—not that he wanted them to anyways.

“Fuck,” he whispered out, head thrown back as he bottomed out inside of you. A smirk played on the edge of his lips.

You barely gave him a moment to enjoy the feeling of just being inside of you before you started to push your butt up against him. His hands quickly caught you by the hips, stopping you and making you whine. He shook his head, but he gave you what you wanted nonetheless. He began to thrust into you at a moderate, shallow pace. His knees dug more into the mattress with every stroke, which progressively got quicker and more harsh as he went on. You never complained though, living for the roughness. You let out a string of groans and phrases that spurred him to keep going.

“How’s that, baby?” his voice sounded closer than before, and it was then you realized he was hovered over you now. His hands were digging into the bed beside each of your shoulders. His lips placed a kiss on your back just beside your neck.

“Perfect,” you replied. That was the only way you could think to describe it. The pace was great, a little fast but not too fast. Jake’s cock wasn’t too big or too small, it was just right; it was like it was made for you. And he knew just how to use it, hitting you so good it made you drool.

You were on the verge of tears from how good he felt, babbling some nonsense to him. He merely laughed softly at you, joking that you sounded dumb but that you “looked so cute like this”. You wondered what was so cute about you getting fucked to the point you could barely speak coherently or lift your head properly.

There was a pressure beginning to form in your lower tummy and you hummed, arching your back and stuffing your head into the pillow below you. You let out a load moan when he gripped your waist even tighter and deepened his thrusts, slowing down the slightest amount. You could feel him so well like this. You felt so full. So warm. While your moans were muffled by the pillow, his were let out proudly into the room.

“I love this pussy when it’s all mine,” he spoke breathlessly as he slowed down even further, treating every stroke like it had a purpose. He could feel you clenching around him, getting closer. It was driving him insane, “Isn’t that right, baby? All mine?”

You spoke but it was useless, he couldn’t hear anything because of the pillows. With the patience of an angel, he reached up with one hand to grip your hair. He gently pulled your head to the side and slid some of the stray hair away so he could see your face.

“What was that?” he teased, that damn smirk remaining on his lips.

“All yours,” you mumbled, glancing back at him.

His eyes seemed to darken from the contact, and he resumed picking up the pace just enough to get your orgasm closer again. You stuffed one of your arms between you and the bed, wedging it under your body until you felt your core. The moisture collecting on it from Jake’s thrusts was enough to help you massage your clit.

The room got to the point where it felt ten degrees hotter, and your body felt on fire, especially in your lower regions. The pressure had returned in full force, getting lower and lower. You begged Jake to make you cum, and who was he to deny you? He kept the pace up for you religiously, not faltering for even a second. Not even when your insides twitched and convulsed around him, seemingly wanting to anchor him inside of you. He grew even weaker when his name fell from your lips like a song and you came around him. Your insides grew slick, making it easier for him to slide in and out of you. It felt like pure ecstasy to him. He could die now and he’d die a happy man.

He was so lost in that feeling that he hadn’t had the realization that you did in that moment. Even in your orgasmic bliss, your eyes grew wide and your body went stiff.

“I’m gonna cum,” Jake whimpered, now sitting back on his knees while he continued to rut into your messy cunt with a new verve.

“Jake, we didn’t use a condom! You have to pull out,” you tried to stay calm, but your tone very much sounded panicked.

Still, Jake only hesitated for a moment before quickly thrusting again. He wanted—no, needed—to cum soon, “I will, ________, I promise.”

You had no reason to distrust him. After all, Jake was one of the very, very few guys you felt safe having sex with, even more so than some boyfriends you’ve had in the past. You two had only ever not used a condom once before, and that was also because you both forgot one. Luckily, Jake pulled out without you even having to ask, and he was really helpful in calming you down when you worried about it afterwards. You just had to have faith in him this time too.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, his abdomen twitching. He was so close. So close.

“You can’t cum in me, Jake,” you reminded him, taking a deep breath. Despite the fact that you were in panic mode, you couldn’t resist how good he felt. He was still filling you up so perfectly that if you were in any worse state, you probably would’ve let him cum then and there without a care in the world. And you both would’ve loved every second of it.

“Gonna cum,” he repeated, eyes screwing shut. His neck was flushed red. Sweat clung to his hairline. His fingers gripped you like a lifeline. But he wouldn’t let up.

“Don’t you dare cum inside me. Don’t you fucking dare, Ja- Fuck,” your own moaning cut you off, catching you off guard. Your forehead slumped back into the pillows as your eyes screwed shut and your fists tightened.

You clenched on him again, but he managed to pull out with just enough time to spare. The moment his tip fell out of you, the first ropes of his cum were landing on the back of your thigh. Grunts were choked out of him with every spurt, making his body twitch. He let out some quiet expletives, and his hand helped him complete his orgasm, milking everything out onto your leg. Not one drop inside of you, just like you said. Once again, he was your good boy.

“Please tell me you didn’t get any on my bed,” you groaned, looking back at him with hopeful eyes.

He did a quick check, breathing heavily as he lifted your thigh to see beneath it. He shook his head, and you took that as a sign to relax fully onto the pillows. While you kept your eyes closed and recuperated, Jake left the bed to fetch some toilet paper from your bathroom. When he came back, you both mellowed in the comfortable silence while he wiped your leg for you. He took a few seconds between cleaning to admire how sound you looked, as if asleep already. You did look cute when you slept, according to him. No matter how rough he would be with you in bed, he always saw you as the one he would do anything for and protect until you didn’t want him to anymore.

“Are you sleeping over?” you asked once he returned from throwing the soiled toilet paper and washing himself up. He was in the middle of sliding his boxers back on. He swiped his hair back from his face, exposing his dampened forehead. Even in the crappy lighting of your college apartment, after a messy sex session, he still looked like a model.

“Depends, what YouTube videos are you going to make me watch while we go to sleep if I stay?”

You thought about what videos you had been watching as of late, and then your eyes widened excitedly, “I did watch a video of this girl telling ghost stories the other day and didn’t get to finish it, can we watch that?”

“________, you know I don’t like that stuff,” his face contorted into a mix of discomfort and pleading. He couldn’t handle most scary stuff, much less ghost stories. He wouldn’t be able to sleep.

“Come on, Jake, they’re not even scary,” you sat up in bed and patted the open spot beside you, gesturing for him to take it. He shuffled towards it begrudgingly, letting out a deep, dramatic sigh as he got into bed with you again. He noticed you had slipped your black panties back on but his shirt was the one you were wearing, and he tried not to smile. He would have to leave his clothes here for you more often.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to leave a like, reblog, and/or a message in my inbox! i would love to hear your feedback! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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