#but they blank it for the international realise

[dasozelotvonnebenan]

can someone tell me why tf I am crying from looking at the stars?!

#I never cry #and I don't mean that in a I'm a guy guys don't cry kind of way I mean it litterally #I do not remember the last time I genuinely cried #I just blank out and then realise I've sat motionless staring at the wall for two hours #that actually happened #oz reveals his deepest internals to strangers on the internet for absolutely no reason

[multifandomimagin3s]

Realising they accidentally hurt you while making out - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

some angst, fluff, mentions of sexual themes but nothing explicit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Gentle isn't really in his vocabulary - he's six feet of pure muscle and strength and while he tries to make a conscious effort to reign himself in, he can sometimes get a bit carried away in the moment.

For him to be physically intimate with you on any level, you'd have to be close to him; in this scenario, you'd have worked your way into his heart.

Doesn't like being vulnerable, point-blank.

But once he realises that he'd hurt you, someone he cares so deeply for, he feels guilty. Beyond guilty.

Notices the bruising on your wrists from his solid grip, when he'd been holding them above your head during a passionate kiss, and feels his stomach drop.

Even as you insist to him that you're okay, he'd be distant.

With all of his past experiences - with his Father, his Mother, and his childhood as a whole - he internally and solemnly swore that he would never lay a finger on you or hurt you, in any way.

And now? He feels like he's done just that.

Would probably take him a while to get out of that headspace - you knew that trying to push him wouldn't help but still checked up on him; which in turn made him feel more guilty, you were so kind to him and deep down he felt like he didn't deserve such kindness.

You would be cooking a meal for the both of you, when he would wrap his arms around your waist from behind, wordlessly pressing his head into the crook of your neck.

"'m sorry." He was apologising not just for the bruises, but for everything - he had been hiding himself away, and the lack of intimacy was borderline painful for the both of you.

You turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you to him in a hug. He stiffened, before his arms tightened around you slightly, as if he was making sure that you were still here with him.

You were, and you silently promised that you weren't going anywhere.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is your typical 'class clown' - he's charismatic in such a way that you can't help but laugh along with him, and his energy just makes him fun to be around.

The only time he really gets serious is when he's working but even then he's always one to crack jokes with the Team - namely, with Ghost (who 9/10 pretends to be annoyed at the Sergeant, rather than admitting he enjoys his company).

He always misses you so much when he's deployed - to be honest even if you were also in the military, if you both got sent on different missions or were even apart for a day, he'd still feel like he hadn't seen you in forever.

So when he does see you again, he's very passionate in showing you just how much he missed you.

It wasn't until you winced from how hard he was gripping onto your hip during a make-out session that he pulled away, panicked eyes searching your form for the source of the pain.

His eyes fell onto the slightly discoloured blotches on your hip, and he instantly frowned, scooping you into a hug.

"Aw I'm so sorry, Darlin', I didnae realise I was hurtin' ye."

The make-out session was completely abandoned, as he rubbed your hip gently, kissing your forehead.

Makes mental notes to keep his strength reigned in in future, and feels absolutely awful when he sees the finger-shaped bruises forming on your skin :(

Definitely would turn up with a bouquet of flowers for you, orders your favourite food and dotes on you for days after it - no matter how much you may protest, he's going to treat you the best he can.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another guy who's very passionate when he's been away from you for a long period of time.

He misses you more than you'll ever know - he even carries a little photo of you in the pocket of his tactical vest.

Can get a bit excitable when making out, picking you up under your thighs, pushing you against the wall - a little bit too forcefully.

He notices your breath hitching and it takes him a second to realise that it wasn't sexual, but he had in fact accidentally knocked the back of your head against the wall with the momentum.

Immediately places you down on the bed, apologies continuously flowing out of his mouth as he pulls you to his chest, cradling your head.

It didn't hurt that much, more of a dull ache, but in his eyes he might as well have fractured your skull.

Like Soap, he dotes on you for ages after it, promising that in future he'll be more careful with his strength.

Captain John Price

He's been in the military for a long time so he likes to think that he has a good awareness of his strength, and is always mindful around you.

He doesn't treat you like you're fragile, but he's never rough with you - unless you ask, that is.

I reckon that he's incredibly good at reading people, so if he noticed even a slight hint of discomfort or pain on your features during a make-out session, he'd immediately stop and ask if you were alright.

If you voiced your discomfort or pain, he'd feel guilty for hurting you in the first place, hands delicately massaging any sore spots.

He treats you like royalty anyways, but after this? He'd practically on bended knee, would do anything you asked.

Wouldn't ask to continue with your make-out session, waiting for you to be comfortable first; he'd never want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable with him.

All in all, he's very mature about it, apologising profusely - your happiness and safety is paramount to him.

König

König is always hyper aware of his sheer size and strength - he knows he's big and strong, it's what makes him so good at his job in the first place.

It's also why he's always so cautious around you, he practically treats you like you're made of glass.

Even if you're in the military or part of KorTac, he's still going to be hesitant to spar with you for fear of hurting you in the process.

If he hurt you while making out, he'd honestly want to curl up in a ball and cry.

Doesn't matter if it's a tiny bruise or a scrape, he's going to completely shut down; it'd be like how he was when you initially met him, the closed-off mercenary who doesn't speak to anyone and keeps to himself.

He tries to make it clear that he's not angry at you - quite the opposite, he's livid with himself for not being able to control his own strength.

Like Ghost, it would take him a while to come around - but you would have to make the first move.

He would be sitting on your shared bed, head in his hands as he licks his wounds, inwardly cursing himself; his sniper hood would be back on, as if he was trying to hide himself away from the world.

Coming to stand between his legs, you'd gently place your hand over his, encouraging him to lift his head up to look at you.

"It's okay, I'm alright."

He said nothing, hands coming to rest on your hips, as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. You encircled your arms around his broad shoulders and his tentatively wrapped around your waist.

He'd eventually come around but it would take a lot of convincing to get him out of the mindset that he was going to end up hurting you again.

Poor guy just loves you so much :(

#simon riley #soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #konig #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #konig x reader #cod #call of duty #multifandomimagin3s

[demonpiratehuntress]

period pain

OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader

A/N: This is the Zoro period one-shot I mentioned in my previous post.

"Luffy, if you take a single thing off my plate I will stuff you in a fucking blender."

An inhuman growl left your lips as you shot a withering glare at your captain, pulling your plate closer to you. The younger boy looked taken aback by your threat, his hand retracting slowly in slight fear. Usopp and Sanji stared at you with their jaws dropped, Zoro raised an eyebrow, and Nami looked unfazed.

"What are you guys looking at?" You snapped, turning your glare on the rest of them.

They all looked away, mumbling apologies, except Zoro. You rolled your eyes, grumbling something about him being so stubborn and tough. He would have said something about it, but his feelings for you stopped him. He's seen you angry, but this was something else. And he'd rather not risk saying something regrettable to you while you were clearly bothered by something.

"(Name), can you please..." Usopp gulped, "Pass me the salt."

You practically threw the salt shaker in the poor guy's hands, your deathly glare not leaving your face. You ate your food aggressively, attacking it like it was the reason for your anger. The rest of the crew sat in silence, even Luffy not wanting to aggravate you more - and that was saying a lot. Nami was trying her hardest not to laugh, which confused the boys, who didn't understand why such a situation would be funny. But she knew what it was.

"You guys are idiots," she snorted when you'd left the table.

"And why's that?" Zoro asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"It's so obvious," she confirmed, then backtracked, "Oh, wait. You guys really don't know?"

Their blank, clueless expressions made Nami sigh.

A little while later, you hobbled into the kitchen for dinner. But this time you weren't mad, you were groaning and clutching your stomach tightly, earning concerned glances all around. But because of earlier, everyone was too afraid to say a word. Except Zoro.

"Go back to your room."

"W-what?" Your eyes widened, then glossed over with tears.

He instantly cursed himself and his monotonous voice. He hadn't meant it to sound harsh or anything, but from the way you looked at him he knew you had taken it the wrong way. And when the tears actually fell, guilt ripped through him and he felt an unusual pain in his chest.

"Zoro-" Nami started.

"No, it's okay," you said quietly, turning around, only to feel that familiar feeling of something wet down south.

"You're bleeding!"

Embarrassment washed through you and you instantly turned back around, trying to cover it, but the blood soaked the front of your shorts as well. You instantly regretted wearing such light-coloured shorts, but you hadn't expected your period for another two days. But now, seeing them all staring, you felt humiliated and ashamed, and the tears fell faster.

"Someone get her a damn blanket," Nami practically growled at the gobsmacked men, before coming over and helping you to the counter.

You refused to look at the green-haired swordsman, but you soon realised he was no longer in the room. You internally groaned, then began crying even more because you felt as if you had disgusted him. Nami tried to comfort you, but you barely heard her as you felt the sadness of impending rejection mixing with your already unstable emotions. 

What happened next was beyond anything you could have imagined.

You felt a blanket being draped across your shoulders, seconds before you were lifted into a pair of familiar, strong arms. You quickly covered your tear-stained face with the blanket, not wanting to meet his eyes as he carried you to your room.

"Don't do that."

"What?" You choked out, your voice still weak and soft.

"Don't hide," Zoro clarified. "I want to see your face."

"Why?" You slowly removed the blanket from your face.

"You're pretty."

Your heart hammered in your chest when you heard that, sadness immediately dissipating. You couldn't believe what you had just heard, but it made your heart swell knowing he really thought that. You felt your cheeks heat up, and the familiar feeling of butterflies that you always got around him.

"I'm crying. And bleeding."

"Nami told us what's wrong," he looked down at you, and his eyes gleamed with concern, "It's natural."

Before you could say anything else, he set you down. In a hammock. With a start, you realised he'd brought you to his room instead. You opened your mouth to say something, but he was already walking away to his closet. Your words died in your throat when he pulled out his own clothes and offered them to you.

"Change. I'll wait outside."

He started towards the door, but you stopped him, sniffing, "Thank you."

He felt his own heart swell when he saw how happy his actions had made you, and it sparked some hope in him that maybe you felt the same way. Not knowing what to say, and also wanting to hide his oncoming blush, he just nodded and quickly exited to let you change. You looked down at his clothes, your own blush dusting your cheeks. As you changed into them, you realised you'd need underwear.

"Z-Zoro?" You called, blushing harder.

He was in the room in less than a second, his eyes widening when he saw you pants-less but with the blanket covering your lower half. He coughed, trying hard not to blush, "Yeah?"

"I need...underwear," you said quietly, feeling more embarrassment come on.

"Oh."

You started to get up, thinking you'd rather get it yourself since he was clearly uncomfortable, but he stopped you, "Stay. I'll ask Nami to bring it for you." Then he reached down to grab your bloodstained clothes, and your eyes widened.

"No! You don't have to-"

"(Name)," he sighed, looking up at you, "Shut up and let me take care of you."

You would have probably burst into tears again if anyone else had told you to shut up, but the words that followed it were enough to comfort you and make you relax back into the hammock. You bit your lip, flustered and embarrassed but feeling much better already knowing he was going to - and he wanted to - take care of you.

A while later, you were dressed in his clothes and relaxing in his hammock, your heart thundering as you looked around his room. He hadn't decorated, being the simple man he was, but just the fact that it was his brought you more comfort. You felt calmer here, like the room itself was reducing your stress and pain. Your cramps had subsided, but that was because of the hot soup that Zoro had brought you which he had aggressively demanded Sanji make. The man in question had disappeared somewhere, but came in just as you were starting to wonder where.

"How you feeling?"

"Better," you admitted. "Thanks to you."

He sat down next to you on a chair he'd brought in, "Stop thanking me."

"But-" You were cut off by another wave of cramps, groaning loudly and curling up into a ball.

He shot up again, "What? What's wrong?"

"More...cramps..." You managed to get out, whining and whimpering in pain.

"Should I get more soup?"

"N-No, just..." You blushed at the idea you had, wondering if he would really do it. "Could you...maybe lie down with me?"

Instantly his cheeks warmed up. Unlike many people would think, Zoro was easily flustered by requests like that coming from you. He'd long dreamed of laying with you in his hammock, you on his chest with his arms around you, but he hadn't ever expected it to really happen. His heart was beating faster than it usually did, as always when he was around you, but he happily obliged despite his nervousness in doing so. You shifted to give him space, letting him slip onto the hammock beside you.

"You might not be comfortable with it, and it's totally okay if you, arent, but-" You groaned in pain, then continued, "Can you please put your hand here?" You placed a hand over the spot, and he almost choked on air when he realised how far down it was. You saw his expression, and your eyes widened, "I-I'm sorry, you don't-"

His warm hand settled over that spot before you finished, "I want to help."

You blushed, "Well...your hand might help better inside."

His eyes widened, but he slowly slipped his hand in and settled it over that same spot, and was about to ask if that was right when he looked at your face and saw you visibly relax. That gave him his answer. When he started rubbing slowly, the pained look on your face completely disappeared.

"That feels really good."

He smiled, then guided your head to his chest as he slowly relaxed as well. You closed your eyes, mumbling something about how you never knew such peace existed during your period. Another unusual bout of pride swelled in his chest, knowing he could help without words, because those were not his strong suit.

"Can I kiss you?"

He was surprised to hear you ask, and looked down to see your eyes on his lips. He leaned in without saying anything and captured your lips with his own, kissing you slowly and softly. The kiss was much gentler than you expected it to be, but you weren't complaining because his lips were soft and warm, and you leaned into him even more, deepening the kiss. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered around wildly, but this time you didn't try to calm them because you loved the way he made you feel. He pulled away too soon, but pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You should sleep. You look tired."

"I am tired," you complained, "But I don't want to sleep. What if I wake up and you're gone? And I'm in my own bed, and this was all a dream?"

He chuckled, finding it adorable how sleepy you sounded, "I promise I'll be here when you wake up. You and I are both staying right here."

"Okay."

That 'okay' was so innocent and childlike, making you much cuter to him. You yawned once, before closing your eyes again and getting comfortable on his broad chest. He held you close, and you fell asleep knowing you had the best caretaker watching over you.

#zoro x reader #one piece live action #opla #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #opla zoro x reader

[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. #*

[suiana]

firstly I would like to thank you for feeding the horny goblin in me, now I've come back for more janitor shit and I had the dumbest prompt in mind! I don't know if you've seen White Chicks, specifically the beach scene ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) look it up if u haven't seen it but PICTURE IT:

dumb shy ready is walking along the halls doing something, doesn't see the wet floor sign and slips, on the floor like a starfish and dizzy from the impact; janitor comes and stands over them, reader's vision is blurry at first so they don't realize his junk is all up in their face (cause I imagine he's packing both ways 👀) - I will use this excuse as he's helping us up to cop a feel of his cake, I bet its heavy and I'd need both hands to hold one cheek AAHHHHHHH---

I will pay you to let me touch the butt

P L E A S E

"ugh... my head..."

you grumble, eyes still half shut. what even happened..? you were just walking, trying to get to class... your hands reach up to your face, trying to rub them only to realise that 'hey, it's kinda dark'.

your eyes immediately shoot open, wanting to figure out why it was so dark but to your horror, your crush was hovering over you. with his grey sweatpants... and... prominent bulge....

"shit- ah you're awake! I'm so glad!"

he murmurs, bending down as his worried face comes close to yours. his relieved sighs of relief help him to forget why he was so panicked in the first place. thank goodness you were alright! he'd never forgive himself if his lovely sweetheart died because of wet floor!

but to you, all you could focus on was how his round, plump and juicy ass was just mere centimetres away from you.

'i could touch it...'

devious thoughts swirled through your head as you completely ignored the janitor and his thankful prayers to god. your eyes were blank, filled with silly thoughts as you reached your hand out and...

"my ass- wait are you..."

time slows as you grope and squish the janitor's ass, totally mesmerized with the feeling of it. you didn't stop, no. not even when the janitor tried to tap you lightly with his shaky hands. you were far too lost in the amazing feeling of his juicy ass. only when soft moans flowed like music into your ears did you truly snap out of your drunken stupor.

your hands immediately retract back as your cheeks rush with blood.

"I-I'm so sorry!"

you gasp out, trying to excuse your pervertic actions. but to the older man whose cheeks were flushed, eyes hazy with lust, no excuse would ever be enough.

you tried wiggling away, to escape as usual. however this time, the janitor had the upper hand. he plopped himself down on your hips, toned arms crossed over his chest as he smirks.

internally you were screaming. but on the outside you were only babbling nonsense, trying to comprehend what was going on. what was the janitor doing?! was he mad?! no no no! your chances of being with him had to be in the negatives now!

...was what you thought until the janitor leaned forward, hands beside your head as his... man thing poked you.

"didn't know you were into me too... ah today really is a good day. thought you were scared of me or something..."

he hummed as his lips grazed yours. shit?! what the fuck was going on?!

"now... could you please touch me and finish what you started? consider this punishment for making me worried."

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabbles #yandere janitor #yandere janitor x reader #suiana brainrotting #suiana rambling

[ayaboba]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #albedo x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #wriothesley x reader #anya writes ✧.*

[dreamofjoys]

18+ talk and pregnancy stuff with Malleus / A little crack lol / afab mc / slight chapter 7 diasomnia spoilers about fairies

*Malleus and MC having sex for the first time*

*Fast forward to 2/3 months later*

MC: Uhmmmmm.... remember the deed that we did last time?

Malleus: The ... deed? *smirks* yes I do. What about it? Want me to do it again?

MC: *embarassed* Im pregnant

Malleus: *stares at you with a blank face, blinks (he's internally brainstorming how to take care of you)* I see... where's the flower?

MC: ????? What flower????

Malleus: Don't babies grow on flower nectar?

MC: *Doesn't know that fairies grow on flower nectar* Since when???

Malleus: It has always been like this? Fairies grow on flower nectar

MC: Oh.... *realises what's going on* But I am a human... so the baby is going to grow inside my belly

Malleus: *Eyes wide, looking at you up and down* Inside you? You mean it's going to grow as big as a football since your belly? How is it going to come out? Through magic?

MC: It's going to come out through my vagina?

Malleus: *Knows nothing about human bodies* HUUHHHHHHHHHH????????????????????????????????

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #dreamofjoystwst #y/n #diasomnia #twst malleus #twst smut #twst malleus smut #malleus draconia x reader #malleus smut #malleus x reader #tw pregnancy #tw smut #smut #afab reader #twst spoilers

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 03: WAR WITH HEAVEN. izuku midoriya (2K)

about. upon spending time apart from your pro-hero fwb, deku, for a work trip — he quickly realises he wants it all with you. heaven, hell and life on earth.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, sneaky links, long distance relationships, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, friends with benefits to lovers, journalist + fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

things to note. another saturday is upon us and so is another instalment!! i really like this one n can’t believe we’re half way through already !! anyways i hope you enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

whether you believe it or not, izuku midoriya has never been hopelessly in love. 

like most people with an overexposure to romance saturated media — the number one hero has always had that nagging feeling, craving for something more. the person to come home to, the partner, the kids and the dog that chews through the white picket fence or makes a mess on the freshly cut lawn. he wants a family like most individuals. but with a schedule as busy and a lifestyle as reckless as his…there’s hardly any time for izuku’s dreams. 

dreams were for losers, anyways. 

after high school, izuku quickly learned that dreaming wasn’t enough to get by even if it had motivated him to become a hero. reality is harsh and full of hard truths — bearing the responsibility of future number one and being all might’s prodigy had taught him that. so his rose tinted view of the future he had planned for himself quickly collapsed, the stain glass window shattering above him while its shards nicked at izuku’s youthful, hopeful skin.

he wasn’t so pure and good after leaving U.A — at least not in front of the public. behind closed doors izuku was a pessimist. he was sly and maybe a little sleazy, always on the prowl for something or someone to toy with. little deku was all grown up, no longer baby-faced and bright eyed but instead buffer with an unfairly tiny waist and an angular sharpness to his jaw that could cut diamonds. 

he was attractive and he knew it — his new found confidence bled into his sex appeal and sky rocketed his popularity and now…the number one controls the whole of Japan in the palm of his hand. everybody wants a taste of the new and improved izuku midoriya. 

everyone including you. 

mindless hookups, despite being easy stress relief, always left izuku with a sour taste in his mouth. conservations with the elite that happened to stumble into his bed never went further than superficial talk and the odd ‘lets do this again sometime’s. he hated how people would change around him, clinging onto him after a night in the sheets like deku owed them a piece of his soul. 

being the number one was no longer enough for hungry mouths. sex no longer satisfied those in his circle. 

that was until he met you. the first time deku encountered you (at a hero press junket), you had been a shy intern journalist forced to follow around her mentor with an extreme lust for the green haired hero. he felt bad for you, you were obviously there to learn and do your job but the senior professional they’d stuck you with couldn’t help but slobber all over him instead of teaching you. 

half-way through the junket, izuku had managed to sneak away from the pestering paparazzi to get a moment to himself — and it seemed, you’d had similar ideas. his initial assessment of your character was way off too. you were quiet, sure, but observant and snarky as well. a realist just like him. and somehow, you’d managed to convince him to leave to conference; get drinks at a secret roof top bar for only the highest members of japanese hero society, and talk and talk for hours about everything and anything. from quirks to the best snack combinations at the only kombini open past three AM on your street.

izuku liked you, he hadn’t felt such a spark for someone since his rookie days. you were cute, he couldn’t stop looking at your eyes and how they sparkles. your lips when you sipped the drinks he ordered for you and the way you instinctively leaned up to deku just to hear what he was saying. 

the way you ended up in his bed that night was no mystery to either of you. 

except the sensual and sultry night you shared together didn’t end there — at every event, every occasion, where journalists were required to be present, you found yourselves gravitating towards one another. one moment you’d be sharing bedroom eyes with one another from across the room and the next deku would have you bent over in bathroom stalls, his hushed moans in your ear and his fingers deep in your mouth to keep you quiet.  

months went by and the sex didn’t stop, neither of you wanted it to. you made izuku feel a little bit whole again, you made him feel good and made him laugh all in the same breath. he didn’t just like it when you left your claim on his neck bordering the line of keeping your rendezvous a secret and letting the whole world find out — but he liked it when you stayed over and wore his shirts around his luxury apartment. or came to hang out with him at his private gym with a bag of cheat-day take-out katsudon and an earful of gossip from your office. 

deku really liked you, more than he should’ve for a girl who was meant to be just a fling, more than he should’ve for someone who didn’t have time in his day for a lover.

“did you get over me?” the hero pouts into the FaceTime call, watching you struggle to grab your luggage off of the conveyer belt in baggage claim. if he were there, he’d have gotten it for you by now.

despite not being anything serious to one another, izuku had made it a habit to weasel his way into your everyday life. you sent cute little good morning and goodnight texts to one another, along with other messages like ‘get home safe’ and ‘have a good day’ too. those text messages quickly escalated to phone calls once the green haired number one admitted to you that it’s hard to fight crime whilst looking for the right kao emoji to send you.

you roll your eyes, coy smile budding on the edges of your lips. “it’s only been two hours, izuku.” you say, finally managing to grab your bag before you head out to the main lobby of the airport.

one thing about that man, is that he’s clingy as fuck. all of your attention has to be on him or he’ll feel like he might die. with you being away for the weekend at a journalism conference instead of in his arms, izuku feels like he might burn the whole world down from the ground up. just to be near you.

either that or he’s just extremely pussy whipped. 

“streets are sayin’ you might sleep with that guy from your team while you’re there, is that true?” deku fires back, running a scarred hand through the mass of curls atop his head. he lets it run down to smooth over his face, peach fuzz starting to grow through — but you made him promise not to shave until the day after you got back. apparently his light stubble against your inner thighs made you cum so much—

“—i don’t even like him like that, you big baby,” you tell him matter of factly, cutting through his train of thought and bringing your phone up to your face once more to let emerald eyes peek down your sweater. “and i think he’d get the hint if he saw all these damn marks on my neck.” 

pink blooms underneath the freckles on midoriya’s cheeks at the sight of the purple hues decorating your neck and shoulders. he remembers the extra turtlenecks you had to pack because of it. “couldn’t help it, i needed to give you a reminder of what you’d be missing while you were away from me.” 

“you’re so dramatic, deku.” 

“oh, you wound me, angel.” he purrs into the mic with a sly grin, knowing that he’s affecting you just as much as he misses you. especially when you give him a pointed glare. izuku let’s the conversation wither out as you order yourself an uber that’ll take you the hotel. he can’t help but chuckle when you perk up and notice the amount of money he’s sent you to cover the costs of it. “yanno…” deku mumbles, resting his cheeks on his knuckles. “you’re like heaven away from hell to me.” 

you won’t admit how sexy he looks, even if izuku is all googly-eyed and soft for you. even if his forest green locks curl over his pretty eyes and hide them. it almost pisses you off. that he’s so blissfully unaware of how fucking pretty he is and how that mere fact manages to ruin you you even though you’re miles apart. “what’s hell, then?”

“my work. this city. this apartment, without you.” he says smoothly, filling your stomach with butterflies. izuku has a away about him that makes you feel like you’re his entire world and only his — but there’s never been any strings attached, you’ll never fully be his and he’ll very much be the nation’s hero (and dick) until someone manages to tie him down. 

“are you asking me to move in with you, izuku?” there’s no expectancy in your voice — you say it mostly as a joke because you have no idea how much the number one pines for you. how tonight, he’ll drink himself into a stupor with his friends and whine to them about how much he misses you. izuku may have changed on the outside, may be stronger and faster but he’s still that insecure teenager on the inside. 

he has to force his knees to stop knocking whenever you’re around. he finds himself swallowing the lump in his throat whenever he thinks about the possibility of you being with someone who isn’t you. he feels sick to the stomach and panics at the thought of losing you. you mess with deku’s head in the worst of ways and yet he finds himself wanting more. nevertheless, he smiles, loving how his name sounds on the sweet glaze of your lips. 

“you’ve got a place in my bed. you’re always here anyways.” 

“you’d never let me leave it, if you had a say in the matter.” 

“you’d never have to work again if you let the number one hero take care of you angel.” izuku sighs longingly, giving you his cutest pair of puppy dog eyes that never fail to make you swoon. “but you love your job.” 

“i do.” your uber pulls up and you reply curtly so you can properly greet your driver. they aid you with your suitcase and you slip your headphones on while in the back seat to keep your special conversation private. 

“do you love me?” he can’t help but ask. izuku is hopelessly enamoured by you, you’re like a virus that’s spread across his brain and controls his every thought or action. he needs you like his lungs need oxygen to breathe — you’ve changed him for the better, shown him that maybe he can have both work and luxury. a family and foundation. with you, if you’d want him. 

“izuku.” you warn, but playfully.

“so it’s true,” the hero drawls across the line in faux disappoint  though his eyes speak mischief. “you only like me for my cock ‘n my money.” you can practically hear the pout on his pretty plump lips. 

a fondness takes over you and you can’t help but squirm happily. “and your pretty boy smile,” you squeal cutely, filling midoriya with the same amount of fondness “don’t forget.”

“so you do love me.” 

“i can’t answer that until you ask what you want to ask me properly.” 

“alright then,” sitting up, deku grasps at his phone between shaky fingers and holds it above his head — giving you the perfect view of his freckled and scared (and chiselled) body. he chews on the swell of his lower lip, dancing around the question he knows he wants to ask. “angel. i want you. more than just a fling. i want you to be mine.” he blurts, closing his eyes so that his thoughts come easy and he can’t see you reject him.

midoriya doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you, he’s seen what losing your love has done to his friends. kirishima and his partner had almost broken up with each other recently. he’d be a mess in that situation.  izuku has faced too many hardships in his life, his career, to let this one good thing slip from between his fingers. 

“will you? be mine?”

he sees you poke your tongue into your cheek, laughing as you pretend to think. “i will, izuku. i want nothing more,” you coo. “keep my side of the bed warm. i’ll be home soon.” 

relief floods through deku’s body. “don’t be too long, gorgeous.” with a couple of blow kisses, he lets you go with the reminder to call him back once you’re settled in at the hotel (so he can pay for your room service). it’s only when you’re alone again that izuku realises he’d rip stars from the sky to be with you, pull the heavens right down to earth to be by your side.

you’re everything to izuku, and for you, he’d go to war with heaven. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#deku x reader #deku fluff #deku smut #deku x you #deku imagine #deku drabble #deku thirst #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha fluff #bnha x you #izuku midoriya x you #izuku midoriya fluff #izuku midoriya smut #mha x you #mha x reader #mha smut #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

[bloodycherry22]

Insomnia | Ellie Williams

Genre: Smut

Summary: Dina invites you over, you didn't realise that she would be there, nightfall hits and you just can't sleep, annoyingly, neither can she. (enemies to fuckers/lovers)

Warnings: Hate sex, smut, cussing, like alot of cussing, fingering, tribbing, Ellie is cocky af, kind of mock hate, Dina mentions a 'jen' this is a made up, filler character that means nothing.

Not proofread

----

Fucking liar. Fucking Dina said she wouldn't be here, said it was just a few people and that it would be no bother. Here you are, sat on the couch, holding a clear glass, half full of a brown alcoholic liquid, surrounded by some friends, Dina beside you, Jesse on the couch opposite you and next to him, Ellie.

God knows why you hated her, but she hated you, and it was rare you two could be left for longer than 5 minutes before someone was on the others ass about something, yelling their ear off. It was like she held some kind of enjoyment from pissing you off, the way she stared at you and smirked as she drank from her glass, not even acknowledging the burning sensation in her throat. Her slender fingers wrapped around the glass as she leaned back into the couch, man-spreading, deep eyes glaring into you. You scoffed, narrowing your eyes and turning away from her, if she wasn't such a dick, she'd be good looking.

Dina nudged your arm, making your gaze shift in her direction, she frowned at you teasingly "will you two be friendly for one night?" She huffed, drinking her beer. You smiled at her and nodded apologetically, finishing your own drink, biting down a sour face at the strong taste. "i'm going to get another drink" You state, internally fending off thoughts about outright leaving. As you stride by her, walking into the kitchen and pouring more of the thin brown liquid into your glass. Whiskey. It sucks ass, but sources are limited. The transparent liquid slowly began to overfill the rim of the glass as you zoned out, clueless to your surroundings.

A sculpted hand reached for the bottle and tilted it till it stood straight once again "Careful, some people also want to drink tonight." Her voice filled your ears. Instantly, you recognized her presence, the passive aggressive tone to her coarse voice. You sucked in a sharp breath and turned to face her. "I zoned out, sorry." You replied calmly, wanting the conversation to be quick and sharp.

"It's fine, just you know, takes weeks to find a crate of this shit, no bother" She shrugged and poured herself a glass, not spilling a drop before wiping down the counter. It gave you a moment to look over her, a brown shirt draped over her arms and shoulders, unbuttoned, covering up the lighter shirt beneath, her thighs jean clad, looking muscular and usual black converse on her feet, stained. Her hair was tied slightly, falling out of place and her expression was blank. You didn't like the feeling and tension in the air from the interaction.

The way she aggressively handed the cloth to you, a stench of whiskey filling your nose as you looked at her, raising your brows as she smiled sarcastically. "Bye" Her smile turned to a smirk as her eyes scanned over you, up and down, it was as if she had placed a frog in your throat, unable to respond as she calmly left the kitchen, heading back to the living room.

The kitchen suddenly seemed smaller and your heart began to beat faster, but you shook it off, knowing it was just her and you shouldn't let her annoying antics bother you. A sigh escaped your throat as you picked up the glass with so much care you swear it was worth more than a new born baby because you were not fucking dropping this.

When you stepped back into the living room, Dina waved you over happily, talking with a few friends and Ellie, was she trying to set you up? But, begrudgingly, you walked over and greeted everyone, nodding at Ellie who just seemed to be aggravated that you were here, maybe she was just as annoyed as you were. Yet, both of you kept your cool, seemingly for Dina but also because it could cause a scene.

Dina smiled at the both of you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, both you and Ellie sharing uncanny glances. "So.." Dina spoke up and Ellie groaned at her tone, making you roll your eyes at her annoying attitude towards everything in life. "I know, you have your..differences, but, i'm worried that Jesse is going to kill a guy, he's been on me all night"

"Dina, babe, what does this have to do with us?" You interrupted and to your disbelief, she nodded in agreement.

"Well, the rooms tonight, were meant to be me, y/n and jen in my bedroom and Jesse, Ellie and that guy..in a room" She paused to scan both of your reactions. "I need you guys to stay y/n to swap places with Jesse so they don't kill each other is what i am saying" She said rapidly and you snickered, shaking your head in response "Funny"

"Yeah, funny, nothing will happen, i'll be there with Jesse" Ellie stated, putting her drink down to focus on the conversation. "Guys..please just make this easy on me, it's one night, your just sleeping, nothing more, no need to talk or yell or fight." She pleaded and picked Ellie's drink back up, handing her it. "Thanks!" She left.

"I didn't agree!" Ellie yelled and you scoffed, turning away.

Hours passed, and a few drinks, but just enough to sit a comfortable buzz in your head, it was pitch black outside and you grew weary of your night with Ellie, you expected her to just sleep outside or something, rather than sleep within 6ft of you, but when you stepped into your assigned bedroom, she was sat on the bed, kicking off her shoes.

"That guy hasn't even showed, i think i saw him passed out in the bathroom" She stated, voice sounding not so happy, her eyes facing her shoes.

"That sucks." You said. Carefully and quietly, you took of your own shoes, and jacket before looking at the double bed Ellie sat on, then the couch not too far from it. "I'll sleep on the couch, guessing thats 'the guys' bed" You huffed and flopped onto the old cushion, looking at her and seeing her gaze on yours.

Her eyes were dark and tired, hair slightly messy and freckles fading a little due to being inside more often. She nodded and turned away "If you get uncomfy, i don't bite" She teased. switching off the light. Other than the rustling of both your blankets, it was silent, and it stayed that way for what felt like hours.

Hours of nothingness, eery silence, she wasn't asleep, she hadn't even let out a snore or a heavy breath, she hadn't mustered a noise, she must've been awake. "Ellie?"

"What?" She asked, but it sounded like more of a statement, the tone of her voice being fed up.

"Jeez, just seeing if you were awake" You huffed, furrowing your brows, although you knew she couldn't see.

"Of fucking course i'm awake, it's like creepily fucking silent but you don't see me asking you questions" She spat

"Jesus Christ, i said your name, you so easy to piss off."

Suddenly, the bedside lamp clicked on and Ellie sat up, she was a little more disheveled and she squinted her eyes due to the light, her shirt fell off one of her shoulders. She ran a hand through her hair and tilted her head at you. "I'm not easy to piss off, your annoying" She calmly stated and you grumbled, turning away from her.

"Come on, you said my name, you must've wanted a chat" She teased, again, in that snarky voice.

"Shut the fuck up Ellie" You got up from the couch and walked towards the door but she was quick to jump up, reaching to stop you, hand landing on top of yours, not allowing you to move the door handle. "Okay, I'm being a dick"

"Yeah, you are" You tried to nudge her away but she stood her ground and looked at you in confusion. "What? I'm apologizing"

"No, your admitting to being a dick, which you are, but that makes you no less of a dick, in fact it makes you more of a dick because ultimately your simply saying it to make yourself feel better which is like the ultimate dick move-"

She kissed you, aggressively, her lips feeling like fire against your own, her hands grasping either side of your face as you imagine the dirty sight of them on your cheek, veins spread over her slim fingers which you stare at all the godamn time. Her lips move against yours and you find yourself doing the same in perfect symphony, your hands finding her auburn hair, tugging at the ends, making her gasp and pull back.

"Your the fucking worst" She says and you smirk

"I hate you" You tease, but she just grins, leaning down to kiss from your jaw to your neck, letting her tongue glide over the skin of your throat.

"I hate you more" She responded, hands moving to land on your hips, pushing you against the door with a gentle slam, she sucked at the skin of your neck, peppering kisses down your collarbone before pulling back. "No witty remark?" She snickered and you just scoffed, pulling her in for another rough kiss, her tongue pushing into your mouth and fighting with your own as her hands squeezed your waist.

Her right hand trailed to the zip of your pants before undoing them and slowly tugging them down. A hum left your mouth into the open mouthed kiss as she pressed her index finger over your barely clothed heat. A whine escaped you as she began to draw small circles against your clit, biting at your bottom lip before pulling back.

She pushed your panties to the side and swirled her finger over your cunt, watching the way your hips jutted ever so slightly at the 'touch' with focus, she pushed her middle finger into you, biting down on her lip as she stared. Your head fell back against the door as she curled her finger to meet your g spot, uttering out a moan, you grasped her wrist and she chuckled lightly.

"Fuck babe, you suck me in so well, not even two fingers" She commented, her eyes stuck on your hole, watching the way her finger slipped in and out of you perfectly, just the way you wanted.

"Y-your insufferable" You declared through gritted teeth, your eyes screwed shut as she began rubbed at your clit, breathing out small moans.

"Sure i am doll, and your the fucking worst" She pushed especially hard into you, knuckle deep, eyes trailing up to watch your reactions, loving the way she had you.

"Ellie-I'm gonna cum" You whimpered out, hips resting fully on her hand as her finger pummeled your insides, body shaking slightly. She nodded "Thats it, cum for me, you know you want too" And you did, with a few rocks of your hips, you released all over her hands, much to her pleasure and she laughed a little.

"Fuck, your a mess" She teased, wiping her hands on her jeans an looking at you, her hand cupping your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "You really shouldn't go out looking like this" she joked

"Your not fucking funny" you panted and pushed her onto the bed, climbing on top of her and kissing at her neck, she hummed and placed her hands on your thighs.

"So cocky" She huffed, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your lips just below her collarbone "Such a bitch" she mumbled. Your hips rolled against hers as you lifted your head to pull her shirt over her head. You then kissed at her rib cage as you undid her jeans, tugging them down with a desperation before sitting back up to look at her. She narrowed her eyes "You know your not in charge right?"

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Me, don't be a fucking idiot" She grasped at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises causing you to let out a small gasp, building her ego even more. With a huff of defeat, you helped slide her underwear off before looking into her eyes, giving her your best puppy dog eyes. "Those eyes don't work on me sweetheart, maybe you should've tried that in the past rather than cussing me out or throwing hands hm?" She cooed teasingly and you scoffed, looking away.

"Your so easy to piss off" She mocked you from earlier, making you smile a little before groaning. "Ellie just fuck me already"

"So glad you asked" She announced and sat up, kicking off her underwear, she lifted one of your legs over hers so you were perfectly intertwined and smirked. "You ever done this baby?"

"Shut up and get on with it"

"So feisty" She commented and rested her head in your neck, pressing the odd kiss to your neck as she began to rhythmically move her hips against yours, the sensation overwhelming and amazing in the best possible ways. She let out a quiet moan into the crook of your neck, sending a shock wave to your core, keening your body against hers, you whined out. She panted and you felt the coil in your stomach growing tighter, suddenly she moved against you faster, her hips bucking and rolling out of sync with yours but somehow feeling amazing.

Her noises grew louder along with yours and the blended noise of both your curse words filled the room as you felt yourself coming undone against her. She seemed to do the same as she rutted a few mire times before resting against your frame.

"woah"

----

The next morning Dina raised her brow at the both of you, noticing the fact there was much less tension, and you were wearing Ellie's shirt, she smiled, her plan had worked.

A/N:i honestly don't like this but i disappeared for months and needed a comeback.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #tlou part 2 #ellie tlou2 #tlou x reader #the last of us #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie smut

[babybadger]

Charles takes you to Monaco for the first time and youre scared because you dont fit that lifestyle

The flight to Madre

When you met Charles as an intern at Ferrari, you never would have imagined that 2 years later you would be at the airport waiting on his private plane to go meet his entire family. This was stuff of fairytales- of fan fiction. He had spent the whole morning trying to comfort and reassure you that everything would be fine with his family and the trip but you still weren’t convinced.

You were both cosied up on a couch on your phones waiting on the announcement that your plane was ready when you suddenly locked your phone and stared at the door infront of you. “Whats got your brain rattled behind those pretty little eyes?” Charles questions as you continue to stare at one of the blank walls in the private lounge. “Does your mum have a favourite colour?” Charles looks slightly taken aback. He removes his arm from round your shoulders and leans slightly away from you to get a full view of your face. His eyebrows crease as he looks at you confused. “Okay out with it, what’s really going on? Why are you asking such a question?”

“I just realised I haven’t packed much red stuff. I don’t know I just wear it so much at ferrari and all my long gowns are red for ferrari events so i don’t really buy summer stuff in red cause red in like my work colour but then i saw a tiktok saying meet your mother in law in her favourite colour so she has a good first impression. But you’ve never told me her favourite colour so what if it’s red and I don’t have any clothes that are-” “Mon amour, calme-toi, tu penses trop à ça. She’ll love you, you’ve met arthur and enzo. You have nothing to worry about I promise.”

You giggle through the worry, “Cha you know i have no idea what you’re saying in French. My A in my exam when I was 16 in school means very little in a conversation with- oh my god does your mum know i don’t speak French? You need to teach me French on the plane!”Charles giggles in return as he looks in front of you to see the airlines crew member coming towards you telling you the plane was ready. You both stand up, Charles picking up both of your backpacks in one hand and using the other to wrap round your waist and pull you into him as you walk.

“Well I can’t teach you the whole language in one flight my love, but I can teach you some phrases to impress mi madre. That’s mum by the way.” Charles laughs as you roll your eyes. “I know that my love, I just don’t want your mum to ask me questions and I look stupid because I have no idea.” Taking your seat in front of him on the plane you sigh. “Y/N baby, she’s so excited to meet you. When she facetimed yesterday she asked what she should cook because she wanted to make sure you liked her cooking. You two are as bad as each other, stop being so stress babe.” You smile and lean over the table “It’s stressed babe, stop being so stressed.” He mimicked you leaning his elbows on the table, his face centimetres from yours. “See no one can be perfect, especially in a second language.” A smile spreads your face and you close the gap creating a very gentle kiss.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader

[nahoney22]

🥳🥳congrats on 4000 !!🥳🥳

For your follower celebration

May I request a sfw f! Reader x crosshair

In which reader is woken up from a nightmare and is comforted by cross, which leads to cuddles and falling asleep in his arms? 👉👈

Maybe reader has a crush and wasn't expecting to be shaken from a nightmare nor was she expecting cross to be the one to wake them out of it and comfort her (because despite his standoff attitude Mr. Snarky has a crush too )

Lol sorry if that sounds confusing or complicated

Totally fine if you pass this request up lol

Nightmare Rescue

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 1.2k

When a nightmare takes over your sleep, your roughly awakened by the squads Marksman. But what you didn’t anticipate was for him to crawl into the same bunk with you.

warnings: Safe for work, female reader, mutual pining, reader has a nightmare, moody Crosshair, fluff and comfort, cuddles. Can be read as GN.

authors note: many thanks for the support and request @secretthegriffin. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy 🤍

With intense, inscrutable eyes, Crosshair observes you from across the room, attuned to the slightest shift in your typically calm expression. Your brows furrow as you begin to mumble incoherently, your breath turning erratic, punctuated by occasional gasps.

He keenly discerns the distress etched on your face. The fluttering of your eyelids, as if ensnared in a tormenting dream, leaves him deeply unsettled. He can't bear to witness it any longer and he firmly grips your shoulder and shakes your body.

Abruptly, you awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your body ensnared in tangled bedsheets. The nightmarish grip still clings to your mind, the vivid and unsettling images haunting you. As you strive to make sense of it, your thoughts race in a whirlwind of fear and confusion, your mind wrestling to distinguish dream from reality. But then you meet his gaze.

"C-Crosshair? What... are you okay?"

He hums, his moody facade making it hard to discern his emotions. "I'm fine. You're not."

You wipe the sweat from your brow and swing your legs around the bunk as you sit up. "Did I wake you?" you groan, running a hand through your untamed hair.

"Yes," he replies dryly, his moody expression giving nothing away.

Cursing internally, guilt gnaws at you as Crosshair moves back to his bunk and hunches forward once he sits.

“What was it about?” His unexpected question catches you off guard. You had anticipated Crosshair might wake you and leave you to your own devices, so his display of concern surprises you. It's a rarity, but not unwelcome. You've always found him intriguing since joining the Batch, though you can't envision a relationship beyond comrades, and perhaps, at most, friends.

His inquisitive "Well?" breaks your reverie, snapping you out of your thoughts. His frowning gaze meets your momentarily blank expression, making you feel like you've been gawking at him as if he has three heads.

"Oh, erm," you stammer, not eager to revisit those dreams, "just like... death, I guess." It's not far from the truth.

You glance back at him, finding his gaze unwavering. "You must dream about it a lot."

Your heart twinges, realising that Crosshair has likely seen your internal struggle more than once, and it's possible that the others have noticed too. It's not every time you sleep, but it happens often enough for someone to say, ‘oh, another one?’.

"Yeah, I guess," you admit.

The ship falls into a comfortable silence, with only the typical hum of the engines and the faint, rhythmic tapping of Crosshair bouncing his knee. His silence doesn't bother you; it's not unusual, and merely being in his company is enough, especially with your lingering crush.

Moments pass until he suddenly looks at you, his eyes piercing, a code you can never fully decipher. Your legs feel like jelly, and you momentarily forget how to breathe.

"You should go back to sleep," he orders abruptly. However, for that fleeting moment, there's a softness in his tone when he meets your gaze. "Long day ahead tomorrow."

You nod softly, releasing a deep exhale, breath-taken as usual when he speaks to you. "I suppose. Goodnight."

He doesn't respond with the same words, instead emitting a subtle grunt, his own version of 'goodnight.' But tossing and turning brings no relief as you fail to fall back asleep.

Uncertain whether your inability to sleep is due to the fear of more nightmares or the worry of disturbing Crosshair, you let out a subtle sigh. To your surprise, Crosshair remains awake.

"Can't sleep?"

"Nope," you say, emphasising the 'p'. You turn your head to see Crosshair has maintained the same position for nearly an hour now. He sits in his stark, stoic silence. "What about you?"

"I don't need to," he mutters, reaching under his bunk to retrieve his rifle and a cloth. His hands move with precision and care as he idly cleans his most prized possession, a ritual he performs with unwavering focus.

You watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the graceful movements of his hands. Then, you return your gaze to the dull and boring ceiling above you. A minute or two later, something shifts, and the whole galaxy seems to pause as Crosshair stands over you, his expression stoic. "Move up."

You blink up at him, words caught in your throat. "Huh?"

"Move," he commands, taking a step closer. His voice holds a hint of determination. "Up."

And you comply, shifting your position to make room for him.

He lays down, and the atmosphere in the cramped bunk is charged with tension. Both of you are stiff, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling, your hearts pounding in the confined space.

Summoning your courage, you turn your head to face him. "Why are you in my bunk?"

You see him suck on the inside of his cheek, a subtle sign of his nerves, and you wonder what's going through his mind. He turns to face you, his face incredibly close, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. "Do you want me to leave?"

You find yourself briefly lost in the depths of his eyes, drawn into their enigmatic allure, but you snap out of your trance before it becomes awkward, shaking your head slightly. "No," you whisper softly, your heart fluttering as you watch him turn his head away to gaze at the ceiling once more.

A silence descends once again, a little more comfortable than the last, and just as you begin to relax, you're nearly startled when you feel his fingers, with the utmost gentleness, twitch toward yours.

You hold your breath, uncertain if it was accidental, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his fingers gradually interlace with yours. Slowly, you close your hand, allowing the realisation to sink in that you are holding Crosshair's hand.

Crosshair remains quiet for a while, and you don't mind the silence. However, when he does speak, his voice is barely above a whisper. "You can sleep into me," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "If it would help you sleep better."

"Really?"

"Yes," he replies swiftly, anticipating your question. "Cuddle... into me."

How could you resist such an invitation?

You quietly shift onto your side, laying your head in the crook of his torso and armpit, your arm draping delicately over his toned frame. If this wasn't an innocent gesture, you might have melted at the sensation of his body against yours.

You half-expected him to flee, second-guessing his decision, but instead, he chuckles lowly. "Don't be scared, come closer." His words send a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you shake off any distracting thoughts, pressing yourself more firmly against him and sighing contentedly.

But nothing feels better than when his arms snake around you, pulling you close, and he lays a hand on the back of your head, gently massaging your hair.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you hum in delight. "Crosshair, you don't need to do this," you comment shyly after a few minutes.

"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't," he replies, gently meeting your gaze. For a brief moment, your gazes fully lock, not just fleeting glances. His eyes roam your face and pause briefly at your lips, but he doesn't give in. Instead, he smiles, a soft and rare expression.

"Go to sleep now, darling."

As soon as your eyes fall shut, you drift off into a peaceful slumber, and not a single nightmare disturbs your rest.

Masterlist

More Crosshair Works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

#crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #bad batch crosshair #bad batch crosshair x reader #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #crosshair bad batch x you

[phenomenalgirl9]

Jungkook x Reader: I loved you so bad

Summary: This is Part 2 of Lost You, you will surely keep the baby, but what of you and him?

A/n: don't cancel me, I'm very nervous about this part. I just wrote Lost you thinking nobody will read and poured out feelings in it. Even this one is filled with feelings. I really hope you guys liked it.

W/c: a lil more than 2k

_____________________________________

You sat on the floor in front of the bed in the spare room that Jimin and Chan like to call Y/n's Room. You were staring into the blank wall, the gamjajeon that Jimin had made for you long forgotten. A single tear left your eye and you didn't even realise, not until you heard Jimin calling for you and you quickly wiped it away. "Someone's here to see you," he said. "I don't-" you started but he just nodded his head and heard footsteps the next moment. You put your head down only to be engulfed in a  warm hug, more like the person enveloping you. You looked up to see Mingyu, his always cheerful face had bo spec of joy.

"What happened to us?" Was the first thing he psaid as he looked at you, his eyes filling with tears as well. "Mingyu-" you were interrupted before you could say anything. "I'm gonna divorce her" he said, and you went stunt. He continued "she tried to get all my assets under her name, even company shares! She's a sneaky b-" he stopped himself. "I realise why you, Jihyo and Chan were so hostile towards her. I'm so sorry! It's all too late now" and with this he broke down and this time you rushed over to hug him. He hugged you tight as well and said "I'm so sorry for unloading on you and for everything that happened" he said. "Jungkook fucked up, but that's not your fault. Let's not dig dead birds" you said and wiped his eyes and sat down. "What did you think of doing?" He asked and you looked at him confused, he looked towards your stomach and then to your eyes. "It's my baby, I'm keeping it regardless" you said. He smiled his cheeky boyish smile "you're gonna be a great mom" he said.

"Well you'd be a greater mom if you'd leave the house" you heard and turned to see Chan at the door of the room "Come to the office, there's so much left for you to do" he said and you smiled and nodded, Jimin appeared from behind him and cheered. These two have been dating for two years after Jimin became your assistant. You phone rang and you looked at it to see your mom's number, you silenced it and looked back to find surprised faces, as your mother and you were very close and it was unlikely you would not receive her call. "She keeps telling be to either abbot the baby or give it away. I will not, I can manage" you said firmly. "You're not alone, you have uncles," Chan said, making you laugh. Suddenly you heard another voice saying "and aunty", as Jihyo appears and rushes to hug you. "I'm going to break that fucker's face Chanie is coming with me" she said and you all laughed. You all missed this, this laughter had been long gone, you all came down all together to meet and talk. Minji would generally be gatekeeping Mingyu and Jungkook barely cared. You all missed what it used to be like. Mingyu joined your hug and so did Chan. "Jimin get here" you mumbled and he was included in your group hug. 

_____________________________________

You looked up through the glass of your office to find Jimin standing and talking to a very known figure. The person saying something and Jimin vigorously shaking his head a no and guarding his way. You sighed and walked out, as soon as his eyes trailed on you you almost saw a gleam in his eyes. May be you were imagining it you thought laughing internally. "Office hours are for official purposes only. If there's no official requirement, then leave" you said and were about to turn around and leave. When he called out "you did not renew the contract. It was signed by our fathers" he said. You clenched your fists and turned and said "I made a new contract, as far as the old one concerns my father has passed away and in no way would discourage me to not improve the company stardards because of sentiments. Now if you'll excuse me Mr Jeon, Jimin meet me inside for a minute please" you said and walked back to your cabin smiling at the person you were having a meeting with and apologized for leaving. You quickly wrote a note and handed it to Jimin and motioned towards Jungkook who just kept looking at you through the glass.

_____________________________________

Jungkook stood there talking to Jimin asking him yet again to let him see Y/n just once. Jimin never opened the door for him when Jungkook had gone to their apartment to meet Y/n. And he was failing here as well, he couldn't make a scene here, he can't let things get worse. As he spoke to Jimin he watched how you takked an interacted to who seemed like your new business associate. Sitting on that chair was no other than Min Yoongi, no way you were having business with him, Yoongi was your senior back in high school and in college as well and he made it very clear back then that he liked you. You even went to senior year prom with Yoongi, as he had gine with Minji. 

He remembered the way Y/n's eyes looked at him over Yoongi's shoulder when he was dancing with Minji. Suddenly, you stood up and walked outside. You refused to look at him at first but later when you did your eyes looked dead at him, unlikely of how you looked at Yoongi or even Jimin. 

Once Jimin came out after talking to you he handed Jungkook a note. 

"Company cafe 12:30 pm, 15 minutes" 

He looked towards his watch and found he had to wait an hour, so he did. 

_____________________________________

"Seriously Y/n I thought you were better than this" Yoongi said, "I thought so too, I've just been dumb" you said. "Doesn't mean you have to stay dumb and keep on hurting yourself" he said.

"We're here for thr business, Yoongi" you told him. "Then come out on a dinner with me where there will be no business talk" he said, the weight of his look was too much so you dropped your gaze. You shouldn't have, because you noticed the way his dress shirt hugged his body and his now, broad shouders. His veiny hands that rested together on the table along with his beautiful fingers. Min Yoongi is a desirable and polished man, yiu knew that, but it could be due to the hormones but you felt like you saw him in a new light. You nodded your head and smiled at you, that smile suddenly made all the rest of your worries disappear. "Today, I'll pick you up at 7pm, text me the address" he said as he stood up and picked his coat and extended his hand to shake, as you thought. But the moment you presented yours he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "See you" he said with a gummy grin and left. 

You sighed and sat down as Jimin looked at Yoongi and then at you with excited eyes that told you, that he saw what just happened. You looked at the time, and it was 12.50pm already, so you headed towards the cafe. 

"What do you want?" You asked the moment you sat down infront of him. "When will you come back home?" He asked. You chuckled "home?" You asked cocking your eyebrown. Jungkook looked taken aback "our apartment" he said, damn he had so much hope in his eyes, you wished this was atleast few months ago, cause that Y/n would had ran and hugged him. But the Y/n you are today doesn't give a fuck about this, rather you feel repulsed. "I am not going back, at least not now, I need time to process what I want. And to confirm you, yes I am pregnant, you are welcome to stay in his or her life but I don't think there will be anything much between us. We can co-parent if you want." You said and Jungkook's head was down. "Will you never return to me? Have I lost you?" He asked. "You should have thought about that when you went to Minji when I needed you!" You whisper yelled. "I didn't understand back then, I didn't know. I was dumb please-" he tried to reach for you but you backed away. "I've told you what I had to say. I'll go now, I have work and I think, so do you" you said and stood up and walked away. Jungkook noticed his phone had 3 missed calls from Minji, he shook his head and stepped into his car and drove towards his office. 

_____________________________________

It was 6.58pm when Jimin let you know that Yoongi had arrived with a smirk on his face. You had considered if moving out but Chan and Jimin insisted on staying with them (two men) for the pregnancy and birth so that they can help during and after the delivery. Hence, you continued staying

 Yoongi took your hand into his and lead the way, he opened your car door for you to settle in before closing it and walked to his side. The two of you reminisce about old times, Yoongi very cunningly avoided any talk that involved your now ex-boyfriend. 

In the restaurant, being the gentleman that he is, he pulled your chair for you. "Wine? Sir?" A waitress asked  and he shook his head a no "juice for us" he said. You looked at him surprised and he said "you shouldn't drink when you are pregnant" he said. "You know?" You asked in shock. "Your mother might have called me up to tell me" he said, fixing his hair, a habit he has when he is nervous. "Are you aiming to talk me out of it?" You asked. "Y/n, this is your baby, you do whatever you feel is right. I will always support you" he paused to take a breath and said "I would love it if you'd let me stay beside you" he said looking at you. You remember this look on his face the same one when he had asked you to prom and when he asked you out on Valentine's day in college. Both times Jungkook was the first thing that came to your mind. "Let's see how we go then" you said, flashing a smile and he flashed a gummy smile at you and held your hand, rubbing comforting circles on the back of your palm.

You remember those times during high school when Yoongi used to almost force himself into your room and refused to move on days when Jungkook ditched you for Minji. You thought he pitied you, so once you had told him "you don't need to do this! I'm not really looking for your pity". "I'm not here because I pity you. I am here because I want to, I'd rather you spend time with me than that jerk, or better to say than waiting for that jerk" he said. You remember how even when you were young he used to give you candies and chocolates. Even though his father and you didn't really see eye to eye, that never stopped Yoongi from being around you. 

"Why are you doing this?" You asked him when he asked you out to prom. "Mr Jerk asked Little Ms Bitch to prom, do you wanna be a loser and go alone?" He teased, "I won't be alone, I'll go with my friends" you said and his face judgy face said he won't take that shit, so you said yes. Yoongi was good, he always cared about how you felt and never overstepped your boundaries, if only you could like him then things would be better, you used to think. Even in college, when Yoongi had to partner up with a junior he had written your name without hesitation. You always enjoyed your time with him. "You know how I feel about you, I feel worse when I see you wasting your love on him" he had once said.

Thus, when your contract was over with Jungkook, you reached out to him and he immediately agreed to this deal. You found out, even working with Yoongi was better than working with Jungkook as you generally did most of the planning with Chan, but Yoongi had important inputs to place and ideas that enriched your plans. You took so long to see him, you wasted so much feelings and time, when this person was there for you all along. Even in a crowded room all you saw was Jungkook, who's eyes would be instilled on Minji, but Yoongi's were always on you. 

_____________________________________

As dumb as luck could be there sat Jungkook in a corner of the same hotel on the same floor as you and Yoongi sat with his board of directors having a business dinner. He clenched his teeth as he watched you laugh at Yoongi's jokes and he reached out to hold your hand. The images flashed in front of his eyes when he reached out for you this morning and you curled into yourself.

He remembered how you used to look at him with the same eyes as you are now looking at Yoongi. He now remembers how slowly that light started dimming and that night the light in your eyes wasn't there when you looked at him. His mind reminded him of all those promises he broke, dates he missed, of all the lost time that he put behind someone whom he shouldn't have given daylight to. He remembered all those tears he made you shed. You've been there for him all this time and he dared to take your presence for granted. He dared to think you'd wait around for him forever? How could he make the most important person of his life feel like shit. Maybe Mingyu was right, he did try to tell him about Minji's malicious intentions months ago, but Jungkook only saw that Mingyu was mistreating Minji. He refused to see the truth time and again and lost the last chance he had to bring himself back, to correct himself. Now, all he has were your memories and the child you promise to let him co-parent, maybe that's enough for him, it has to be. He lost you and it was his own fucking fault. 

_____________________________________

Taglist: @bbl32 @back2bluesidex @cherryblossom-2004 @welcometomyworld13 @chaconnelatte @ane102 @kookswifesblog @crvame @mschievous247 (couldn't tag)

Masterlist

#imagines #bts x reader #bts #bangtan fanfic #bts imagines #bangtan #bangtan x reader #bts angst #jungkook angst #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook fluff #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #jeon jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #bts jeon jungguk

[perfluorononanoic-acid]

Oooh I have a request! The youngest Itoshi f!sibling neglected over many years after both brothers prioritse football. Has a moment of realisation and decides to put herself first and move on. Stops messaging in family chats, calling, birthday wishes, festive greetings etc. Moving on and finding better for oneself ~~!

Synopsis: Itoshi Y/N was never the first priority when it came to her parents and her two older brothers that were pursuing football. She has a moment of realization that no matter what she does she will never be any of their top priorities, and so she decides to cut off contact with her family and pursue her own passion of sport.

Content Warnings: angst, u realize ur self-worth, neglect, platonic!Rin Itoshi x reader, platonic!Sae Itoshi x reader, good ending

Word Count: 788

Author’s Note: I tried to fill in the blanks for some of this, I hope it’s to your liking, dearest!Tysm for the request! Requests are still open!

_______________________________

There was another family-friend reunion of sorts happening and Y/N had to sit at the far side of the table as she constantly heard her parents boast of her brothers’ accomplishments. She sighed and just stared at her plate aimlessly toying with her food as nobody spared a single glance her way, until one random adult spoke up,

“And what does your nice daughter over here do?”

She quickly perked her head up with slight excitement from the attention and said,

“Oh well I do [insert sport]!”

The adult politely smiled at her comment and was about to respond until her brother, Sae, finally walked into the room and everyone directed their attention towards him leaving Y/N forgotten once more. With some disappointment in her eyes she just turned back to her plate and continued to silently stare while listening to everything around her. Everyone was congratulating Sae on his triumphs and his becoming of an international star, he simply nodded not really showing much care as he was only visiting Japan for a few days before leaving again. Rin was brought up into the conversation too, being praised for becoming another upcoming star, Rin followed his brother’s actions in nodding and mainly staying silent. Hunched over in her chair, Y/N slowly turned her head to her brothers’ direction, watching as they were showered in compliments and praise while she was just the only person sitting at the table now. Rin looked in her direction and saw her staring, but acted as if it was nothing and directed his attention to the adults praising him as if he were a god of sorts. She decided to stop her staring and focused on her plate once more while thinking,

I’m tired.

I want to go to my room and sleep.

I wonder how [friend’s name] is doing at [insert sport].

I want to go to the [insert sport] meeting.

Nobody would notice if I leave anyways, I’m kind of worthless staying here.

Why do I even bother trying to be part of this family?

As her mind continued to wander, she quietly got up and walked out. Nobody even noticed she left. Her mother didn’t notice, her father didn’t notice, Rin didn’t notice, and Sae most certainly did not notice nor cared to. Y/N called her friend to ask if the [insert sport] meeting was still going on, and thankfully it was as she rushed to the train station to get there. Once she had arrived she swore she would no longer affiliate herself with her family due to the countless years of neglect and missed opportunities her family caused for her. She also swore she would practice [insert sport] extremely hard and become even more known than her brothers.

As time passed she kept to her oath and did not communicate with her family at all, not even sending any holiday messages and such. She still missed her brothers very much as she remembered them trying to teach her how to kick a ball into a goal when she was very little. She grew sad at the thought, but remembered she was no longer going to try and be the initiator to try and get their attention. If her brothers wished to speak to her, then they must do so themselves. She slowly but surely made her way to the top of [insert sport] and became internationally known just like her brothers. As she was about to get up from her seat, she heard her phone buzz and saw it was from an old group-chat that consisted of her, Sae, and Rin. There was 5 minutes until she had to go out, but she opened the message which read from Rin,

“Good luck we’re out here if you need anything”

She took a slight peek and scanned the crowds until she spotted Sae and Rin sitting amongst the crowd with both their arms crossed. She smiled to herself; she finally was able to be seen by her brothers once more.

________________________________

#bllk angst #bllk fluff #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #platonic #itoshi rin angst #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae angst

[aonungapologist]

act fool

neteyam, lo’ak, kiri, ao’nung, tsireya x reader

ೀ neteyam

the sun filtered through the heavy coat of branches as you paused for a rest. hunting with neteyam was a daily occurrence, hours spent crouching low, tracking the tiny footprints of forest creatures in the mud, not saying a word but speaking plenty with your eyes. neteyam reached for a curled up leaf, the rainfall from earlier that day sitting patiently, waiting for a passing na’vi to drink from it. he tilted his head up, letting the water fall into his open mouth, some of it dribbling down his chin. his jawline was as sharp as his knife as he swallowed, gracefully wiping the excess water from his chin with the back of his hand. you found yourself unable to look away from the defined curve of his jawbone, barely registering when he offered the remaining water in the leaf to you.

ೀ lo’ak

your ilu yelped as lo’ak’s nipped at its fins. adrenaline rushed through you as you dodged corals and unsuspecting fish, desperately trying to evade lo’ak. but he somehow caught up to you, his smile wide and his eyes bright when he resurfaced, you following not far behind. he laughed out in delight, radiating elation and exhilaration. you internally swooned at the sound of his laugh, feeling butterflies take flight in your stomach. alas, all good things come to an end, and the sound of both yours and lo’aks parents calling for you from the docks caused your laughter to dwindle down. you talked about anything and everything as he walked you to your marui, slowing when you neared the entrance. his hand left where it had sat comfortably on your back and reached for your hand, smiling and giving it a light squeeze. “thanks for today,” he mumbled, meeting your eyes and moving his hand to your cheek. “i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“yeah, see you.” your hand grazes your cheek, feeling the blush that heated them. his subtle touches never failed to fluster you.

ೀ kiri

the morning light shone harshly on your eyes, forcing them open. you groaned, turning around to see kiri still sound asleep. she could sleep through anything, you thought to yourself as you admired her peaceful, relaxed face, the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips. eventually, she stirred, yawning and finally opening her beautiful golden eyes. she stretched then, her back arched like a cat as she released the built up tension from sleep. you looked away, embarrassed you were so easily fazed by such a simple action. kiri started her morning as usual, telling you about her plans like she did every morning. her voice was in the background of your mind as you replays the scene of her stretching over and over again, not hearing when she snapped her fingers in your face and laughed at your blank expression.

ೀ ao’nung

the festivities were in full swing. several young na’vi had completed their iknimaya and were now warriors, ao’nung included. he had been whisked away by his fellow warriors to prepare for the celebrations, and you had not seen him since. you sipped on some fruit juice as you watched your clan dance and sing along to the music of the musicians. “you look lonely,” a voice behind you startled you, turning around to see ao’nung smirking smugly down at you. you almost didn’t recognise him, for he now had the sign of a warrior tattooed across his cheekbone, reaching up to his temple. it accentuated his already sharp features, and gave you a sharp feeling in your stomach, the sudden realisation that he was a man now. he also wore the special garment given to all warriors, strapped across his chest and shoulders. “you look different,” you murmured, feeling a way you had never felt before. you reached up to dance your fingers along his tattoo, and he grinned and took your hand in his own, holding it to his chest. “dance with me.”

ೀ tsireya

fruit picking was always a calming and rewarding activity. most of all when done with tsireya, who had a naturally calming presence and always made you feel at ease. deciding your basket was full enough, you picked a few fruits to eat yourself on the journey back to the main village. you bit into the sweet fruit, sighing at the refreshing taste on your parched tongue. tsireya giggled, picking one herself and taking a bite. the purple juices stained her lips and you had to admit that maybe the reason you enjoyed fruit picking was not because you found it relaxing but that the fruits would paint tsireya’s delicate lips the most beautiful colours. abandoning your basket and fruit, you crossed over to her and pressed your lips to hers, tasting the fruit on your tongue. she flushed when you pulled away, noticing how your eyes were locked on her mouth. “is this why you always ask me to accompany you fruit picking? because this is always how it ends,” she grinned when you broke out of your reverie, your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape that she had caught you out. “n-no! i just-” “it is okay, i understand. i am not the only one who looks good with fruit on my lips.” with that, she leaned in again, and you vowed to go fruit picking more often.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam #avatar neteyam #neteyam x reader #lo’ak #avatar lo’ak #lo’ak x reader #kiri #avatar kiri #kiri x reader #ao’nung #avatar aonung #ao’nung x reader #avatar ao'nung #tsireya #avatar tsireya #tsireya x reader

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 3 - Confessions

Synopsis: Azriel is nervous about something important that he has to tell Gwyn.

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

This is it. This is the day. Azriel is going to confess. Finally!

He has gone through a hundred different scenarios in his head and rehearsed a thousand different speeches. All of this in the hope for the best possible ending to this conversation. He isn’t even sure whether he is prepared enough for it. Anything can go wrong. But he can do it. Right?

Some may well think that it is no big deal. But for Azriel, and since it is Gwyn, it is the biggest of deals. He has felt the blood draining from his face the moment the realisation has hit him. Since then, a sense of dread has filled him every time he has thought of telling her. They have spent a lot of time together in the past week but the fear of her reaction has taken over every single time he had thought about admitting it to her.

Even now, he is still nervous despite being, as Gwyn likes to say, older than some of the rocks that have been used to build Velaris, and having been through much worse experiences in his life. But this is Gwyn. And he won’t be able to take it if he somehow ruins the precious thing that is their relationship. A few months aren’t nearly enough. He wants to spend years with his Gwyn. Centuries during which he intends to cherish her like she deserves and build a life with her.

“You know I care about you, right?” he mumbles to himself while pacing the length of his room. “No. You know that I care a lot about you, right?”

And on and on he goes until three knocks sound at the door of his bedroom and it opens without waiting for his response.

“Hi,” Gwyn’s sweet greeting soothes him as she walks in.

Azriel prays that her good mood will not be completely ruined by the upcoming conversation. He waits until she kisses his cheek – something that she always does when they meet, even if they are simply crossing paths and going about their business two seconds later – before he takes her hands and guides her to the bed. She sits down on the edge of the mattress with no question except for the silent one visible in her eyes and furrowed brows.

“I have something important to tell you,” he starts, squeezing her hand and kneeling down in front of her.

This is it. There is no going back now that he has her full attention. He has been holding onto this for long enough anyway. She deserves to know the truth.

“Is something wrong, Az?”

Azriel brings her hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles before placing their joined hands back on her lap.

“Gwyn.”

He takes a deep breath in. And on his exhale, he looks at her in the eyes and finally lets the truth come out.

“I lost your favourite book.”

Silence follows. Azriel’s eyes scan her face in search of a reaction so that he can know whether he should start running now or if he will have the time to give her an explanation and an apology. Gwyn’s face remains blank though her body has gone quite rigid since he uttered his last word. These could truly be his last words if she suddenly pulls out a dagger.

“Which one?”

A little relief washes over him at the calmness in her tone. It is short-lived however and disappears as soon as he notices her reaction at his following response.

“The one you lent me last week.”

Her eyes widen. Azriel feels her grip tightening on his hands.

“The first edition one?”

Azriel nods while internally debating if he should launch into the explanation and apology part now or if interrupting her interrogation will upset her more. So many questions and none leaving him feeling less guilty and nervous.

“The one that I tracked across Prythian for weeks?”

He nods again.

“And that by some miracle I managed to get the author to sign?”

He gulps. And nods again.

“HOW COULD YOU?” she shouts and harshly pulls her hands away as she stands up.

“I’m sorry, Gwyn,” he pleads. “I took it with me on my last mission so I could read it. It’s only when I got back home and looked for it that I realised my mistake.”

Gwyn crosses her arms and looks down at him with all the anger a female who has lost her most treasured possession can possess. It probably won’t take long before the dagger comes out.

“How could you be so careless? This isn’t meant to go promenading with. You know how much this means to me.”

Azriel abandons all the pretty speeches and decides to just go for the truth. He grabs Gwyn’s hand again and looks up at her from where he still kneels at her feet.

“It was extremely stupid of me. I’m so sorry. I’m already doing everything I can to find you another one.”

Gwyn stomps her foot down like a petulant child. “Yes. It was stupid of you,” she grits out.

She tries to withdraw her hand again but this time he holds on. She tugs harder, trying to turn away from him. Azriel holds onto her hand firmly even as she turns her back to him.

“Please don’t stay mad at me. I will make it up to you. I love you so much and I can’t stand when you’re cross with me.”

Gwyn suddenly stops trying to free her hand from his and slowly turns towards him.

“You... What?”

“I will make it up to you,” he promises.

He will do anything to avoid that Gwyn keeps her distance from him. He knows that she will be even more stubborn about it when he is the one at fault. The last time they had an argument, Gwyn, the petty minx, has done everything she could to be in his vicinity but not actually interact with him. It has been torture watching her act as though he wasn’t there at all.

“No. Not that. You said...”

“What? Don’t stay mad at me?”

“No, you idiot,” she says with an exasperated eye roll. “You...love me?”

Azriel frowns at her in confusion. “Of course I love you,” he answers matter-of-factly.

He watches as her expression morphs from shock after the anger to what he can only describes as wonder. A smile starts to brighten her face again and Azriel swears that tears start to line her ocean eyes. It only causes his confusion to grow.

“Wha- why are you smiling? Are you not mad anymore? Is it because I lo–”

He stops. And realises that it is the very first time that this confession has come out of his mouth.

“Oh!”

“Oh?”

Gwyn’s smile turns into a smirk while Azriel tries to process what he had just said. And why he didn’t say it sooner. Hasn’t he known for a while that he loves her? Hasn’t he been thinking earlier about how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? Of course he loves her. And it has taken a stupid mistake for his mind to come to terms with what his heart already knows.

“I love you,” he whispers more to himself, as though testing the words on his tongue.

“I love you,” he says, louder, when he looks up at her.

Gwyn’s laughter prompts his own. At the first tear that rolls down her blushing cheek, Azriel stands on his feet, cups her face and kisses her as though he has been deprived of her lips for a long time. He pulls away after a while and lifts her up to twirl her around, barely avoiding that they crash into any furniture around the room.

“I love you too,” she says in between laughs after he finally allows her feet to touch the ground again. “And I forgive you for now.”

Azriel looks down at the one he is certain is the love of his life. She is it. Though right now he has no idea what he is being forgiven for.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #fluff and fun #I don't really know what to think of this tbh #gwynriel fic #gwynriel weeks 2024 #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #pro gwynriel

[starbylers]

Mike’s lack of personal journey in a Mlvn reading of the show: why so many people complain about Mike’s character

Something just occurred to me…I actually would challenge any Mlvn to tell me about a character motivation/internal conflict of Mike’s that does not revolve around El. What struggles does Mike as a person deal with throughout the series? When trying to build an effective, realistic, well-rounded character you can’t have their biggest fear be ‘loosing this particular person’ as Mlvns love to claim is Mike’s. As a writer you have to understand your character’s deepest desires and what drives them at their core, they cannot be purely motivated by an external force. A character such as that will feel hollow, boring and difficult to connect with. This is basic character development stuff.

Examples (simplified to get the point across):

For the whole show, El struggles with finding her place in a world where she feels fundamentally different

For most of the show, Will struggles with his sexuality and feeling like a ‘mistake’

Dustin in s2 deals with his self-esteem and understanding that he is good enough even if he doesn’t have a girl’s approval

Lucas in s4 wrestles with a desire to be popular and to ‘fit in’ which we see him overcome

Max in s4 deals with depression and the process of wishing to no longer be here to realising she actually wants to live

But…what about Mike? A brief Mlvn interpretation of everything he does through the show and why he does it:

S1: he saves and looks after El because he fell in love with her. He also looks for his friend Will.

S2: he is heartbroken because El is not with him anymore, and then madly in love again once she’s back.

S3: he has ups and downs with El because teen relationships are just like that, and then they get back together because they’re truly in love. He’s also too in love with his girlfriend to care about his old interests.

S4: he fights with El because all couples fight, and then rescues her from Nina while taking friendly advice from Will. Finally he confesses his love, which he didn’t do before because he’s terrified to lose her oh and he’s not good at feelings (but they won’t digger any deeper into that last one 🤐).

Like…yeah they acknowledge Mike also helps with the supernatural stuff, he’s smart and observant. He generally takes charge of the group and looks out for his friends, and (at least in earlier seasons) he’s the leader. But those are character traits. Everyone has them. (Max is sarcastic and kinda scary when she needs to be, Dustin can be cocky but is highly intelligent, Lucas is very headstrong and follows his own judgement, Will is sensitive and empathetic). I’m talking about character conflicts/journeys. Can they tell us what journey Mike has gone on as his own person???

And this, this is why lots and lots of people complain that Mike’s character revolves around El (especially since they started dating). This is why people say Mike is the Duffer’s self-insert and is just meant to be a blank slate relatable character. This is why Mlvns characterise him as El’s obsessed loser boyfriend. Because if you view the show through a Mlvn lens then yeah, Mike looks utterly two-dimensional with no drive other than screeching El El El when she’s in danger (sorry it had to be said).

The problem is when you try to dig into what Mike’s deeper motivations could possibly be, it gets very bad for Mlvn very fast:

‘Mike is scared to lose El because he’s worried she won’t need him’

Let’s detach El from that and figure out the root of this problem, what is really going on with Mike here (we already know but just for the sake of my point), because he is a character in his own right and this was a large focus of his story last season.

What do we know? Mike expressed feelings of worthlessness (‘I’m just some random nerd...’) and feelings of inferiority (…‘who got lucky superman landed on his doorstep’) in his relationship. He acknowledges that his and El’s relationship was fundamentally built on her just needing someone. Also, throughout the series we see Mike has a strong desire to help and serve and save those close to him, it’s who he is.

Mike is so clearly driven by a need to feel needed and fears being an unimportant nobody. He doesn’t think he’s special or useful next to El and it hurts him, his self-esteem is very, very low. But Mlvns never acknowledge that, because that would require admitting that a) Will’s words in the van showed he recognises & loves the Mike as the brave and inspiring leader he wants to be, and in doing so soothed Mike’s personal insecurities (because those do exist, and the talk wasn’t just ‘relationship advice’) and b) Mlvn’s relationship makes Mike feel shitty.

Another example:

Common Mlvn interpretation: ‘Mike was spending all his time with El in s3 because he’s in love with her and he is growing out of childish games’

What do we know? (1) Mike didn’t truly loose interest in DnD, he just neglected his interests when he got into a relationship, super healthy (2) He tries to act cool around El (‘Sorry that made me sound like a 7 year old’ / feigning disinterest in Dustin’s inventions) (3) When arguing with Will, Mike frames him getting a girlfriend as being the inevitable progression of life, the opposing choice from ‘sitting in his basement playing games’…but then he joins Hellfire in s4…as soon as El leaves. He didn’t truly believe anything he was saying to Will, he just can’t juggle being himself and having a gf simultaneously 😬.

Mike’s internal conflict here is clearly feeling like he has to grow up, and has to suppress his true identity in the name of achieving that. (And this continues somewhat into s4 with the fake, not-at-all-his-style Cali outfit in El’s fav colours). But again, understanding that requires understanding that Mlvn as a couple is not a safe space for Mike to be himself, and what Mlvns characterise as a normal teenage ups and downs is actually indicative of an unhealthy relationship.

Basically what I’m saying is it makes so, so much sense why Mike is one of the most disliked characters among the GA (aside from like the actual villains) and why he always ends up on those stupid lists. People are sick of him existing just to be El’s love interest. And that is not true in the slightest, but when you aren’t looking deeper than Mlvn…yeah it does look pretty bad, and I understand where they’re coming from. And as much as we say El is the one who Mlvns are obsessed with making everything about her boyfriend, the real victim of this treatment from them is Mike. Even his heart-to-hearts with Will are actually Mike thinking about El, apparently.

This is another reason why I’m so sure about Byler because Mike is essentially the original main character (aside from El I guess). I’m sorry but there’s no way he is the only one the writers managed to mess up this badly when they are capable of adding deeper personal development to characters who are much less central to the story. Even Finn himself said we’ve not been as personal with Mike recently but s5 will remedy that and people will be happy with his journey. The day Mlvns and GA are forced to look deeper at Mike’s personal internal conflict outside of how it relates to El is the day I will know peace 🙏🏽

#byler #anti mileven #wow this got incredibly long congrats if you make it to the end