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#my heart rate is picking up the more I think about it so I am trying to think about other things AHAHAHAHA
starryeyedjanai · 3 months
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bad boys do it better
rated: teen | @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: modern au tags: dating apps, innuendo, bad flirting read on ao3
Eddie finally opens Tinder after downloading it in a fit of desperation.
He's tried everything but these stupid apps—bars and clubs and pottery classes and rock climbing—trying to find someone he can connect with.
But he's mostly found guys that string him along with whispered sweet nothings and half-promises they don't intend to follow through on.
So he makes his profile and then promptly fumbles and drops his phone because— no fucking way.
There's no way this is real life.
There's no fucking way the first guy to pop up is Steve fucking Harrington, his unfortunate and longest lasting crush in high school.
He picks up his phone and sees Steve's face staring back at him, unassuming, a bright, cheery smile on his face.
Steve, 28 2 miles away "Hope you like bad boys because I have it on dvd and vhs" Interests: baseball, basketball, live music, movies
He taps to get to the next photo and lets out a shaky breath—the shorts of what can only be his Halloween costume are so short, exposing hairy thighs that Eddie wants to sink his teeth into.
The next photo is a snapchat picture of him grinning wide, cradling what might be the world's ugliest dog, the text across the screen reading my nephew is so handsome 🤩🤩🤩.
The last is an obligatory shirtless mirror pic, not showing off washboard abs, but the soft, toned skin of his stomach.
He closes the app, sets his phone down, and breathes through his nose.
This can't be real, right? In what world would Steve be the first person in a sea of profiles in San Francisco of all places?
Eddie expected him to chase after Nancy Wheeler when she went to Boston, but he didn't stick around long enough in Hawkins to find out if they ever rekindled their will-they-won't-they relationship.
Maybe he's just visiting. Maybe he found his match and just forgot to delete Tinder. Because there's just no way Eddie has this kind of luck.
He opens up Instagram and searches for Steve and finds him right away because they're probably still Facebook friends.
He scrolls through his profile and deflates a little, because all of the pictures on Tinder are from his Instagram. Which means it's probably much more likely that someone is catfishing using Steve's pictures.
Because the Steve from high school wasn't into men. And he's hot enough for someone to use his pictures to scam people or whatever.
He opens up Tinder again and his thumb is swiping right before he thinks about what he's doing.
It's a match!
Okay, now he knows it's a catfish. Or maybe it's a bot.
There's no world in which Steve Harrington would swipe right on him in the twenty minutes it's been since he created his account.
He types a message to "Steve" saying so are you a bot or just a catfish?
He doesn't get a response right away, so he clicks out of the messages, looking at profiles of what are hopefully actual people he can connect with.
His phone buzzes when the message from Steve comes in.
Hi3 Eddiems, cl!ck th3 linkin my proffile to . achat I am waitin9
He rolls his eyes and goes back to perusing profiles. It's not like he thought it was really Ste-
His phone pings with another message and he clicks back into the chat immediately.
That was a joke. There's not even a link in my profile
Eddie's heart beats a little faster, his fingers typing out a response.
So a catfish then?
Why do you think I'm a catfish?????
Because I know the guy in those pictures and there's no way hes into men. That guy was a jock extraordinaire in high school and very straight
You're awfully judgey for someone who was so anti-conformity in high school. Whos to say I haven't changed?
Or like, learned new things about myself?
Eddie's breath stutters in his throat.
Also you didn't really know me since we never talked.
Okay, I mean. It's pretty easy to guess that I was counterculture in high school by looking at me. So I'm still on the fence about the catfish thing
How about we meet up then? So you can see me in all my nearing-30 glory
And watch bad boys on dvd and vhs with you?
Dude, I am not inviting you to my house on the first date
That's a third date kind of thing
Oh yeah? Is it a back-to-back feature? We start with the vhs then move to dvd?
He can't believe he's entertaining this. A catfish wouldn't offer to meet up unless they thought Eddie wouldn't call their bluff. He kind of wants to see where this is going.
No see, we start with the dvd playing in the living room and then when we inevitably start being bad boys🥵 in the middle of the movie, we can pick it back up on vhs in my room later
To be clear, we stop the movie, right? I'm not sure bad boys has a soundtrack meant for the kind of activities we'd be doing
Oh for sure. I'd even put on my "let's get it on" playlist. As a treat.
Eddie can't help but grin. Even if this guy is a catfish, this is maybe the most fun he's had talking to someone in a long time.
Are you serious about meeting up?
Uh yeah, I can't have you thinking I'm a catfish forever
What's your favorite brewery?
Cellarmaker
Wanna do tomorrow afternoon at like 2 when it's not busy?
That sounds perfect
He isn't sure if it's really Steve or if he's going to be met with someone else or stood up, but at least he'll get to drown his sorrows if it doesn't work out.
Well—he's unsure until he gets the 'stharrington started following you' notification on Instagram a few minutes later.
He screams into his pillow so loud his neighbor thumps on the wall.
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eternal-moss · 1 month
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Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.
tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser
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My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.
Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.
I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.
It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.
Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.
This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.
The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.
I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.
Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.
So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.
***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they
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inkbybambi · 5 months
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best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —
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words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.
one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.
not that you’ll tell him that.
you hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.
except for simon.
which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. you don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.
losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. you've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.
but losing simon? you don't think you'd ever get over that.
it's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold your tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.
your call log is all simon.
some appointments here and there, but simon everywhere else.
fuck.
you hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.
you don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.
he answers before the third ring.
"i'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. you take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired.
“no, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. you’re only half-convinced.
"i'm sorry," you begin again. your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. you're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "i didn't know who else to call, and i lost my tram pass, and i don't have an umbrella, and — "
“dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. you ache.
"i can just walk home, i-i'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone.
“darling,” he says, a little stern. not angry, never angry. trying to focus you. “what’s wrong?”
“u-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "i waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "messaged him too, y'know. but he just. didn't show."
you think you hear simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick.
“where are you?”
there's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. you manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking.
“twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “sit there and be good and patient and i’ll pick you up, yeah?”
"okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.
thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. you make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.
you can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
he says your name gently. you take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. he's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. assessing you, worrying.
"i'm sorry," you croak out. you can't help it. it's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. he doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.
"love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. his eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "you know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.
you can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. he hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.
"this is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. you were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.
"yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "you really think i'd let you stay home alone?"
his eyes are so fucking bright. it startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.
"i..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. his eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "i was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.
"as if i don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. you scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.
"go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.
you hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.
"go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.
his flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.
well.
you might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. it's a you're a bit clumsy thing. simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.
his bedroom is familiar as well. which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.
you take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. you’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.
as you pad back out to the living room, simon’s already on the couch. your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. but you’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.
his balaclava is off. the last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv already ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.
“knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.
“am i that predictable?” you mumble, a small ‘thank you’ as he hands you a bowl.
he doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.
the silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.
“were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.
you blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. you can’t read his eyes. something hot twists in your gut.
“i-i don’t know, simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “maybe?”
he doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “depends how the date went, i suppose. doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. his gaze hasn’t changed. “why?”
his jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “you deserve better ‘n that.”
a confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “i know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.
he seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. you feel sick.
dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. you bite at your nail, just for something to do.
“don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”
your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. relationships aren’t easy. being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.
you never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. you don’t deserve that kind of attention. after a while, they’ll get tired. you’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.
it’s easier to be by yourself. the only person you have to worry about bothering is you.
“love.” he tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. how hasn’t he tired of you yet?
a hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.
“what’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”
you swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.
“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “no one would want me anyways.”
“‘n why would you say that?”
frustration burns the back of your throat. isn’t it obvious? you can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. how can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? how could he think anyone else would put up with it?
“you wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. you crumble back into the couch.
“make me understand.”
heat flashes at the nape of your neck. he takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. your name sounds so soft in his voice.
“how aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. you look at him. hesitant. scared.
the silence is loud. his frown deepens. it takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.
“you know i’d do anything for you, yeah?”
your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.
“because you do the same for me,” he continues. you doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.
his touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. he slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips where the waistband of his boxers start.
you slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. firm and broad and safe.
“you apologize so much. you worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. one hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.
“you’re allowed to ask for help.”
you shake your head, a “no” caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.
“oh, love.” he cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “you have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”
he lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. but his cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. you’re so tired.
his lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. you’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.
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ywuji · 7 days
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Omg so like I want to hear your thoughts on perv!Megumi like finally after so long of Gojo teasing him for being in college for two years at this point and being single, he’s finally procured a pretty girlfriend who’s unfortunately (for her) so naive and sweet??🩷💕 Idk I got shy but I know you’ll do something good with this lol
ik i told u id post this after my wips but i started on it n i couldnt stop i liked the idea too much LOL im sorry for being so confusing D; tysm for the ask though!!! :o i rlly enjoyed writing this!!! (n don’t be shy ahjwhs you’re so lovely T_T♡)
perv!megumi !!! please i feel like he’s the type to be a pervert that’s kinda embarrassed n self aware about himself—especially bc gojo kept teasing him all those years n he was kinda just jacking off to whatever x-rated video that came up first (i feel like perv!megumi is highkey into hentai too but he’s taking that to the grave!!)
n when gets a pretty little girlfriend who acts so cute and who he loves so much, when he gets hard he can’t help but let some of that side of him slip out from time to time...
i think he’s also the type to take lots of pictures,, like pictures while you sleep, peeking through your door while you shower, in clothing store changing rooms while you change, upskirt pictures… he’ll make you his little model!! some of them you know about but some of them you don’t, he’s so lewd.
it’s not just pics of you he takes, it's some of himself too. i feel like one of the things he’d love to do to you is when you tell him to come with you to some random uni event, n he’ll randomly disappear in the middle of it, only to go to the bathroom to take pictures of his hard leaky cock to send you with some casual caption like he didn’t just do that ?!?! he’s crazy (more under the cut)
it’s not megumi’s fault he’s so in his head about you, he still just doesn’t really know how he managed to get someone as pretty and doting as you are as his. 
he sometimes feels guilty for being so obsessed with you—your body clad in pretty little outfits that you show off to him with a twirl, the way you’ll always show him your shiny new sparkly nails when you get them done, how he’s always the first one you’ll pick to talk to about something new you’ve found to love—it’s all that seems to be on his mind recently.
maybe it was gojo’s accidental doing, those feelings of guilt. unintentionally planting a little growing seed of shame in him the first few times he started teasing him for not having a partner yet at his ‘big age’, borderline lecturing him with the ‘when i was your age’ stuff—maybe that was the logical reason why he felt so attached to you, the reason he couldn’t help getting fully erect even when he only saw as much as a pair of your flung-away panties lying at the edge of your bed when coming to your room one day.
but when he recalls back to those nights where you’re innocently cuddled against him, watching whatever movie, a quiet ‘megumi?’ leaving your lips as a sign to tell him you’re falling asleep, and he finds himself shifting in his seat, carefully adjusting your head to let you rest comfortably on him, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he strokes it and tells you a ‘sleep now, angel’, he knows that’s not the reason.
nevertheless, he’s always been worried about it, thoughts of ‘am i doing too much?’ or a ‘would she not like this?’ clouding his mind. but for every single thought like this he has, he’ll always have two more memories where he’s coming up to you, his sweet-faced little girlfriend, waiting for him with open arms and open heart. and to him, it means more than the world.
and as his cheerful sweetheart girlfriend, you’ve never really minded of course.
you know he’s at least a little perverted, asking to take those pictures of you trying on your new swimsuits, or bras, or skirts, or those times when he pulls out after spilling his load into you, and the first thing he does after making sure you’re okay is to go face-to-face with the trail of cum seeping out of you to snap a few photos.
honestly, you’ve gotten used to it at this point. you just take these moments, seeing what you do to him, as a way of reassuring yourself that he really does just love you that much. and he really does. really!! :(
no matter how innocent or dirty the context, he’ll let you know whenever he gets that warm little feeling in his chest.
“i-i love you,” he pants, head coming up from sucking marks on your neck, languid thrusts coming to a gentle stop as he peers up at you with flushed cheeks. it feels like he’s admitting it for the first time again.
when you stare at him with his same love-drunk look, brows furrowed and eyes pleading, whispering out an “i love you too, gumi”, he’ll pause a moment to study your expression before gently raising you further up the bed, hooking his hand under your leg and repositioning it around his waist.
he’ll drop down to press a kiss to your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder and picking up the pace again, now only determined to make you cum.
when he thinks of times like these, despite what you’re doing together, it’s innocent in his head.
a time where that’s not so much the case though is when you persuade him to come with you to some uni exhibition event, looking up at him with hopeful, doe-like eyes and as many ‘pleeeaaase, gumi’s and ‘please, guuuum’s as you could muster—cause it’s not like he could say no to that, right?
at first he put up an act of feign stubbornness. but eventually he agreed—only when he knew you’d excitedly hug him and press your soft chest to his as a thank you for it though.
he’d tour the hall with you, watching you gaze in awe at everything with your cute, simple curiosity, occasionally pointing out little things in the pieces he liked. before the artist began their talk though, he got up from his seat, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before muttering a “‘m g’na go to the bathroom.”
in an empty stall, he’ll sit atop the lid and pull down his jeans, freeing his stiffening cock from his underwear. he quietly groans as he pumps himself a few times, a slow trickle of translucent white leaking down from his tip.
he silently curses, throwing his head back, thinking about how you let him flip up your pretty skirt before you left, letting him take a peek at your cute ass in the frilly panties he bought for you.
he reaches for his phone, fumbling to send a picture of the sight to you, adding a casual caption of something like ‘hi pretty girl’ or ‘u look so pretty today, angel’.
he pauses, realising that maybe you won’t see it for a little while. he’s imagining you so obediently listening to the artist speaker to notice the ping of his notification—he enjoys that thought too, but he can’t say why.
he’s careful not to thrust up into his fist, not wanting to make too much noise, but it’s futile—he’s too hard staring at the lewd shots of you saved in his secret hidden album—the way you act so innocently, the way you have no clue what the true extent is of what you do to him. he can’t help but let a few breathy whines slip.
he won’t let himself cum though, thinking he’s too good to be letting himself release over some scrunched up, bathroom tissue when he’s got his own pretty little girlfriend waiting for him a few halls down.
he sighs. cleaning up and tucking himself back into the band of his briefs, leaving the stall and washing his hands, walking back out like nothing happened.
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skylarsblue · 9 months
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✦Incorrect C.O.D Quotes, since AO3 is down✦
Gaz: I wanna know what exactly your type is. Y/N: I'm not just gonna give you more fodder to throw at me- Gaz: I have an idea of it already, but I want details! Y/N: No! Gaz: Like- König! Would you- Y/N: Of fuckin’ course I wanna fuck König! He’s huge, he could LITERALLY snap me in half and my dad didn’t love me, of course I want him to fuck me! Soap: *does that weird inhale-choke-cough*
— (Dick mention + a woman’s experience of a dude making gross comments. It’s funny I swear-) Fem!medic!Y/N: most of the time, people are pretty nice and sometimes impressed when when I bring up I’m a medical professional. Other times…eh.. Soap: Eh? Y/N: Sometimes you get conspiracy theorists. Soap: Ohhhh… Y/N: Some evangelists, gross dudes. Gaz: Gross dudes? What’s the worst you’ve heard? Ghost, sipping a whiskey: This outta be good. Y/N: Uh, once I told this man hitting on me I was a field doctor? He said, and I quote. “Been awhile since my last check up, mind checking me for ball cancer.” And I- Gaz: WHAT Soap: YOU’RE KIDDING Y/N: I am not. I just- I walked away. Price: Fuckin’ hell. Y/N: It’s fine. He got shot in the dick next mission, ended up with a male doctor. Ghost: Karma at its best.
- Graves: Oh FUCK YOU Y/N: Tsk, oooo…you don’t have enough money for that. Soap: HAHA!
- Soap, drunk: Back Street’s back, alright! Do do do do- Gaz, drunk on Price’ shoulders: Dodooodo- Price: Simon, get your boy. Ghost: *picking Soap up by his belt, carrying him like a bag* Yes sir.
- Recruit: When you gonna stop giving me blue balls? Gaz: Whoa hey!- Y/N: Aight, I got my steel toes on. How bout we make’em black and blue? Recruit: I- Y/N: Shut the fuck up. I’ve already turned you down, get a hint. Word of advice? Rather than shoot for the stars, maybe shoot your shot in your lower bracket, yeah? Recruit: Gaz: Someone get a fire extinguisher, this dudes been burned. Soap: On it. *sprays recruit with fire extinguisher*
- Soap: Nice onesie, does it come in men’s? Gaz, in his pyjamas: I think you cum enough in men for the all of us. Soap: ACK- Ghost: *slides out of the room*
- Ghost: Have you ever considered, just once, using your brain first? Soap: Now why would I do that?
- (Insert random name I HC for Laswell’s wife) Kate, after being in a bad explosion and ending up in this hospital: My wife, she’ll get upset if she sees you rubbing me like that on my chest. Diana: I am your wife. Kate …. Diana: :) Heart rate monitor: BEEPBEEPBEEPBE- Kate Hi. Diana: Hehe, hi. Gaz, in the corner: Oh to be in love. Soap: This is disgusting, why can’t I have this? >:,( Gaz: Cause your type in men is awful. Soap: Hey!
- Y/N: *walks into common room* Hello, I am very upset. I feel a meltdown coming on and you are all buff men, so I would like to request being picked up and held like a baby for a short period of time, please. Soap: Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you? Y/N: Nope. König: ….*slowly approaches and picks Y/N up from under their arms* Y/N, clinging to him like a koala and hiding in his shoulder: Thank you, I appreciate you. König: *awkward back pat*
- König: :) Y/N: Bloopbloopbloopbloop- Horagi: Y/N! Y/N: What? Horagi: Tha-That is our colo-that is a dangerous man! Y/N: He’s not a dangerous man! Horagi: What are y- Y/N: We’re bloopin’! Bloopbloopbloop- König: -w-
- Price: Kid, I need you to- Gaz & Y/N: *dancing like they don’t have jobs to do* Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: Fuck it up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: Fuck it up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: That’s what’s up! Gaz: Go stink! Y/N: I’m in love! Price: AHEM Gaz: Oh shit- Y/N: HEEEYY captaaaaiinn, what’s uuupp ahaha… Price: *sigh*
- (Based on; Me if COD was real. Deadass. Full serious. I am not kidding) Gaz: So have you met the Captain yet? Y/N: No. Gaz: Are you nervous? Y/N: No no, I have a firm belief that they’re just people. Obviously I’ll respect him as a superior but that’s nnnnnnnnwho the hell is that? Y/N: *fucking breaking their neck* Gaz: Oh- Nope. No no, THAT is Captain. Don’t think about it. Y/N: I’m thinking about it. Gaz: That’s not allowed. Y/N: Ive done worse for less, if he asks I’m sucking it, you can’t stop me. Gaz: Jesus Bloody Christ- Y/N: Tell him to call me when he’s on leave. Gaz: Stop-
- König: *walks in* Ghost: ?? Soap: Oh, hey! Gaz: Y’a need somethi- König: *picks up Y/N under his arm while humming, leaving the room* König: I love stealing, I love taking things!~ Ghost: What the f-
- Colonel!König: I’m 42 so, I don’t- Y/N: YOU’RE 42?! Colonel!König: Yeah. Y/N: …it’s okay no one has to know babygirl~ König: NEIN! Nein, don’t call me babygirl!-
- (Based on this awful Gaz outfit I saw on Twitter) MILF!Y/N: *doing paperwork* Gaz: Would you date me? Y/N: Baby we couldn’t even get a drink together. You can’t buy me nothin. Gaz: What do you mean? :( Y/N: Look at your outfit! What are you wearing? Gaz: I think I look pretty fly. Y/N: For who, your mom? Gaz: :((
- Gaz: STOP DATING MY CAPTAIN Y/N: ….you know what, I’m gonna start dating him even harder. Gaz: What’s that supposed to mean? Y/N: You know what it means.
- MILF!Y/N: *shoving apple juice into a cart* They gon’ need nutrition. Laswell: How many kids do you have? MILF!Y/N: Eleven! Laswell: So I’m assuming your kids really like apple juice? MILF!Y/N: No but they looove orange juice but they’ve been bad this week. Laswell: What grade are your kids in? MILF!Y/N: Sixteenth grade. Laswell: PFFT Sixteenth- that’s not even a grade! So your kids graduated college? MILF!Y/N: No they, they- …where are my kids?
- (Her “kids” on the other side of the store) Price: Boys please- Gaz: I AM NOT LOSING! Soap, in a fuckin’ headlock with him: Yes you fuckin’ are!! Ghost: *slipping cookies under his mask, he did not pay for them* König: *looking for a fruity snack* Horagi: *grabbing as many packs of spicy chips as he can* Alejandro: This is a disgrace. *holding up frozen burritos* Rudy: These are worse. *motions to frozen tamales* Alex: Did you know you can use coke as rust remover? Farah: …and you want to drink it??
- Y/N: So. Kyle. Gaz, already afraid: …yes? Y/N: I found some of your old playlists… Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: You an emo? Gaz: I was a SCENE as a teenager, get it right.
2K notes · View notes
mimimui · 9 months
Text
comma after dearest (genshin impact)
wherein (character) reacts a certain way to a grammar mistake you made in your letter (or was it?)
includes: kazuha, ayato, thoma, xiao, zhongli, alhaitham, kaveh, scaramouche
tags: a bit unserious writing, fluff, i am obssessed with "it changed the meaning, did you intend this?" forgive me, not proofread
a/n: not sure if anyone's done this before, but take it as my apology for not having written in a while (╥﹏╥) my fever + colds are killing me & i have a lot of scheduled things to do for school aaaa. maybe i can write this with other fandoms as well ? (and character x character ships hehe) .. enjoy !
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kazuha notices it immediately. aside from all the work with the fleet, he spends time reading—or rereading—your letters. written messages aren't uncommon when he's at sea, but this letter was different. had you made a mistake with your punctuation? no, it can't be, you've always opened your letters with "my dearest kazuha".
he blinked at the words, now seeing a comma between the word 'dearest' and his name. as much as he was confused, he was flustered. if this wasn't a mistake, and that you intentionally called him your dearest, then it's a shame you can't see how absolutely smitten he is for you right now.
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ayato is busy going through papers and folders when he sees an envelope slide under his door. he chuckles as he reads his name in your writing, carefully picking it up and opening it. you have a habit of writing him letters and sliding it under his door while he works, which ayato finds very endearing.
when he reads "my dearest, ayato", his smile only widens more, finding new motivation to finish his assignments for the day so he can get to you as soon as possible. he knows how much effort you put into writing these short, yet loving, letters when he places this one on his (already full of other letters) pinboard.
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thoma takes a while to realize, but when he finally notices it, his heart rate increases by a concerning amount. he loves you so much to the point that when he reads "my dearest, thoma", there's hearts in his eyes. thoma's so much happier after reading your letter, and now he's doing everything smiling.
ayaka told him he looks brighter than usual today, and ayato even asked him if he received good news. of course, he was shy about this, but he told the kamisato siblings it was nothing to worry about. though, he continues to do his work with a little bounce in step.
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xiao denies it. he thinks he's read it wrong at first, but when he looks over at it again, it is confirmed that you did write him as your dearest. forgetting about the rest of the contents of the letter, xiao began to contemplate. an error like that was unlikely, especially since you're fond of writing.
the next time you meet, he has a hard time trying to bring up the topic. he knows you meant what you wrote, but he wants you to confirm it. when you tell him, "yes, i mean it." he tries to hold back a smile. keyword: tries.
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zhongli adores the salutation. or rather, he adores you. he appreciates the sweet, small detail you added in. zhongli hurriedly, yet carefully, writes you a letter back, addressing you as "my dearest, (y/n)" and replying to the contents you had in yours.
he never really indulged in using endearments, but ever since your letter, he's only even been calling you his 'dearest'. when greeting you, when asking for your attention, when talking about you, whenever. zhongli's never said it outloud, but you know he absolutely loves that nickname now.
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alhaitham is amused. he thinks you genuinely made a mistake in your letter, but doesn't address it until he returns to sumeru. when you see him again, he brings it up, expecting to be able to playfully taunt you about it. but he was so wrong.
"but you're my dearest. how is that wrong grammar?" you say, turning the situation around and teasing him instead. alhaitham wanted to tease you so much that he didn't bother to think of other possibilities. he's defeated, and all he can say is, "...i have no reply."
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kaveh doesn't know how to react to it. should he be flustered, or correcting you for the mistake? was it even a mistake? he does write you a letter back, but best believe he immediately asks you about it as soon as he comes back home. "did you intend this?" he says, showing you your letter.
when you nod your head, all the shyness and blush that should've came in before came in now. kaveh uses the folded letter to cover his smile, but it's too wide and too bright to even try to. when you tease him about it, he strongly denies having his heart race from it.
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scaramouche chooses to ignore it. he knows you wrote that punctuation on purpose, but he doesn't want show that he's thinking about it. this ultimately failed when he doesn't write you back, and you knew something was up with him. once he returns and he acts indifferent, you bring it up.
his eyes widen as he looks away, realizing he forgot to reply to that letter. scaramouche hesitates before quietly apologizing, mumbling something about 'my dearest' and 'running out of paper'.
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thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
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valeskafics · 3 months
Text
"Not So Silent Night" - Osferth x Uhtred's Daughter!Reader
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a/n: request from @tallemajas-scriptorium combined w/ one from @toms-cherry-trees and an anon request. enjoy my loves 🩷
Summary: Osferth is surprised at how your people celebrate Yule.
Word Count: 2,700
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, references to brothels, osferth and reader being peeping toms, oral f receiving, fingering, loss of virginity, p in v sex, creampie
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Last Kingdom characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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The day of the yule festivities in Rumcofa, hosted by your father, is always a stressful, surreal blur. However, this year you’ve managed to weasel your way out of helping by declaring that it’s time for Æthelstan to pick up a sword and for you to train him. So, when Osferth comes to your family’s home, he sees the two of you out front, sparring. He smiles to himself at the sight, observing from a distance.
“Keep your chin up, little one, or I’ll ring your head like a bell!”
He holds back a laugh at your light-hearted scolding of the boy you see as a little brother, watching as you pinch his cheek. You are one of the most formidable fighters he’s ever seen, charging headfirst into battle alongside him on many an occasion, never once flinching in the face of death. Your bravery and your strength of will are two of the things he admires most about you. But then, there is another side to you. A gentle, kind, protective side. One that you exhibit around those you care about. He feels quite lucky to count himself among those select few.
As if sensing his presence, you tease, “Oh, Æthelstan, there he is! The most feared Saxon in these lands… The warrior monk!”
Osferth chuckles at your words, “A handsome one at that, would you not say, lady?”
“Hm,” you glance at Æthelstan, “What do you think, sister?” The boy snickers and runs off, You smirk at your friend, “That was a no, sorry, Os.”
He shakes his head at you, grinning boyishly, moving to walk beside you as you put away the training swords, “Oh, come on. You must at least agree that I’m one of the better looking warriors.”
“Mmm, I suppose,” you reply playfully, “Considering you have all your teeth. Now, are you here to see my father or little old me?”
His cheeks flush at how you are flirting with him, doing his best to flirt back, though too fearful to truly make a move, “Both, if I may.”
“Well, me more so than him, I hope?” You ask, stepping closer to him, his breath catching in his throat at your proximity.
“That goes without saying.”
The two of you have always toed the line between friendship and something more, neither of you willing to take that final jump. And so, Osferth is surprised at the sharpness in your tone when you reply to him.
“Did you use the same line on those girls at the brothel?”
He blinks stupidly for a moment, wondering how in the world you found out about that. It must have been Finan or Sihtric. The bastards. He swears he’s going to wring their necks. However, he knows he cannot lie to you. And so, he tries playing it off.
“Perhaps, yes.” You turn on your heel to leave, but he grabs your arm gently, pulling you back toward him, still smiling, “Will you not forgive me?” When you simply turn your face away petulantly, his smile grows mischievous, “Would a kiss help you change your mind?”
He thinks he has finally gathered enough courage to make a move, to take your friendship out of this limbo it is currently in, but you merely scoff in his face, “I’d just as soon kiss a horse! Go play with your brothel girls, baby monk.”
Osferth shakes his head, resting his hands on your hips, keeping you close to him, “I believe you do want to kiss me. Otherwise you wouldn’t be bothered by me kissing other girls. Am I wrong?”
“Kiss whoever you want, you arseling!”
“But what about what you want?” He asks, leaning closer, close enough to be able to kiss you.
You narrow your eyes, lips pursed as you sass, “I want you to go far far away. Back to your little brothel girls.”
He chuckles, moving to pin you against the wall of the stable behind you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath intermingling with yours as he murmurs, “What if I don’t do that, but instead, I kiss your pretty little mouth?”
“Well, you can’t!”
“Why not? If you truly didn’t want me to, you’d have slapped me long ago,” Osferth teases, brushing a strand of hair off your face. You raise your hand as if to slap him, though he catches you by the wrist, pressing a chaste kiss to your palm, his eyes filled with longing as he gazes at you.
Your eyes flutter shut as he leans in closer and closer…
Only for the two of you to be interrupted by the sound of your father, Finan, and Sihtric laughing about something or the other as they approach the cottage. You scowl in annoyance before an idea strikes you. You and Osferth are never invited to engage in some of the more… Risque yule activities. So now is as perfect a time as any.
“Would you like to see the snow with me?”
Osferth nods eagerly, whispering, “I’d like nothing more.”
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It is late when the two of you return from your walk into the woods, arm in arm, freezing cold but utterly content. You can’t help smiling and giggling around each other, and Osferth blushes when you blurt out a question you’ve had on your mind for a few days now.
“Did you really call that girl by my name?”
He avoids your gaze as he mutters, “Maybe.”
“So you were thinking of me?”
He turns to you, those sweet blue eyes meeting your own, pure white snow falling around the two of you, as he admits, “I am always thinking of you.”
You smile at him, taking his hand as you continue walking. He can’t help but look over at you every so often, can’t help but imagine taking you back to his humble room, your body pressed against his, kissing every square inch of you. It takes every inch of self restraint within him not to press his lips against yours every time he gazes upon your sweet face.
The two of you hear a ruckus from the longhouse and you give the blond a cheeky smirk, “I’m going to see what’s happening. You coming?”
He nods, following after you, the two of you peering inside to see what in the world is going on. You gasp quietly at the sight before you. Dozens of people, bodies bare as the day they were born, partaking in the pleasures of the flesh. You’re sure your father is likely in there somewhere, but you thank Odin that you don’t see him. However, you do see someone quite familiar, the muscles of his back tensing as he rolls his hips against a young woman.
“Osferth! I see Sihtric’s arse!” Osferth snickers, amused and surprised by the sight. He can’t help but feel the slightest bit jealous at the way your eyes glaze over slightly when you’re staring at Sihtric, envy growing tenfold when his friend turns around and your jaw drops, “Oh! Oh, wow, that is… Oh.” Osferth blinks owlishly at the size of Sihtric’s… Well, he’s clearly well endowed. You whisper aloud, “How does that even fit inside a woman? Doesn’t he injure them?”
Osferth bursts into laughter at your query, “I imagine my friend knows how to ease his way in, so to speak.”
You turn away from Sihtric, eyes dancing with mischief as you gaze up at Osferth, “And how about you?” Osferth can’t stop staring at you, completely intoxicating, everything fading to the background, only your face remaining in focus. Perhaps tonight truly is the night he can make you his. “Well?” You murmur, “Would you ease me into it?” The way you speak… It is so seductive, so unexpected. He gathers every last bit of his courage and nods, watching as you step closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you ask, gazing up at him, “How?”
Osferth takes a deep breath, still holding your gaze, leaning in as he speaks lowly, lips nearly touching yours, “I would start slowly. With little kisses on your skin.” His fingers move to intertwine with yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, “Caress the curves of your body with my hands. I would take my time with you. Making sure you’re ready.”
“And then?” You ask breathlessly.
“And then we would finally be together,” Osferth says, his forehead resting against yours, his nose brushing against your own, “Two hearts beating as one. Two bodies moving as one.”
He watches your eyes widen, glad his words have had the intended effect, a smile spreading across his face as you request, “It’s so cold, Osferth. Won’t you take me home and warm me up?” Osferth nods eagerly, taking you by the hand and leading you toward his cottage, loving the way you giggle as he opens the door and gestures for you to enter first, “What a perfect gentleman.”
You stand in front of his bed, gazing up into his deep blue eyes. He crosses the room in two long strides, standing before you, cupping your face in his hands. The moment is silent, but not uncomfortable, desire clear in both of your gazes. He leans in and whispers.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod, “Please.”
He smiles, finally pressing his lips to yours. The moment is finally here and it is everything he prayed for, everything he ever dreamed of. You taste so sweet, like the berries you two had picked and eaten while in the forest, your tongue moving against his in perfect harmony. Your hands rest on his chest while he holds the back of your head, pulling you flush up against him. You are so beautiful, so strong and yet so delicate. He is overwhelmed by your kiss, by your touch, wanting to lose himself in you. Wanting to lose himself in the woman he has loved ever since he met her.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you admit quietly, as if hearing his thoughts.
He is speechless, mind blown by your confession. It would appear that you have yearned for him just as he has yearned for you. The hard, lithe muscles of his body press against the soft curves of yours as he gently pushes you down onto the bed, crawling over you. He keeps his promise from before, kissing every inch of your body, helping you out of your dress. He gazes upon your bare form with reverence, like you are something to be worshiped. He kisses your neck, down to your chest, to your lower stomach, before his lips reach where you desire them most. He maintains his self control, being gentle as can be, wanting your first time to be perfect, to be everything you deserve. He would love nothing more than to ravage you, but right now is not the time. There will be time for that later.
You moan softly as he licks a stripe along your entrance, your toes curling, eyes scrunching shut as he slowly pushes his tongue inside you. You taste divine, he thinks, like the sweetest wine, and he could partake from you from the rest of his life. He holds your thighs apart, his blue eyes gazing up at you, admiring you as you writhe in pleasure from the way he works his tongue against you, dragging it along your walls, nuzzling the cleft of his nose against your sensitive pearl. You whine pitifully at the noises he makes, the way he moans against you as if this is just as pleasurable for him as it is for you. Your thighs tremble in his grip, your entire body quivering, and he knows you are getting close. He speeds up his movements, going faster and faster until you spill yourself on his tongue with a wanton cry of his name.
Osferth replaces his tongue with his fingers, wanting to prepare you for his cock, wanting it to be as painless as possible for you. God, you feel so tight, so wet wrapped around his digits, he grows impossibly hard at the thought of burying himself inside you. He gazes into your eyes as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing against your pearl while he crooks the other two digits, making sure they brush against that spongy spot deep inside of you. You squirm in his grip, clinging to him, pulling his robes off, wanting to feel his bare skin against your own.
And when you reach your peak once more, soaking his fingers, Osferth moves so that you lay atop him, you in all your glory, your beautiful body above him. You realize he means for you to take the initiative, to go at your own pace. You smile at him shyly as you sink down onto his rather large cock with a whine of his name, feeling him fill you in a way you only imagined in your dreams. It stings only for a moment as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, his cock splitting you open. Osferth groans, his hands grabbing your hips, easing you into the act.
When your bodies are joined and the initial discomfort has subsided, you gaze at him, lips parted, “You feel so perfect…”
The words send shivers up and down his spine, because in truth? He was thinking the same thing about you. You’re so warm, and joining his body with yours feels like coming home in the strangest way. This is what he has always wanted, he thinks, pulling you close as you begin to bounce yourself up and down on him, lips locking with yours. He keeps his eyes open for a moment as you kiss, not wanting to stop looking at you, too enamored, too in love. One hand rests on your hip, the other at your back, holding you close as he ruts up against you in time with the movement of your own hips, each thrust filling you to the brim. You feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot, and when you squeeze around him, Osferth knows he’s found it. He holds you in place, rolling his hips against yours.
“Is this what it is?” You ask softly, your hands resting on his face, “To be one?”
Osferth nods, breath heavy as he feels his stomach tighten with every thrust, bringing him closer and closer to his own end., “I love you.”
The smile on your face is dazzling at his words as the two of you lock lips once more, his hands caressing your body as you whisper back, “I love you too, sweet Osferth.”
“Let me love you,” he says, rasping against your ear as he nears his climax, “Let me worship you and take care of you. No one will take you from me.”
“I don’t ever wish to be parted from you,” you reply, gasping softly as he kisses your neck, “I love you, Osferth.”
“And I you.”
You reach your peak, collapsing against him as he thrusts into you once, twice more, readying to pull out of you to spill himself, but you quickly shake your head, “Inside me… Please.”
Your words have a visceral effect on him as he nods, a wave of emotion overwhelming him as he spills himself inside you, moving to hold you close to his chest after he pulls out of you, your body trembling against his. He runs a hand through your hair, the two of you clinging to each other desperately, exchanging tender kisses and words of love. He can’t stop staring at you, fingertips tracing the contours of your face, trying to convince himself that this is real. That he truly has everything he ever wanted.
“You’re so warm,” you say, nuzzling against him, “I love you.”
He tucks you under his chin, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he whispers, “Will you be mine, my sweet love?”
“Yes, with all my heart, yes.”
You are his destiny, you always have been. And he is yours.
And what is it that your father has always told you?
Destiny is all.
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607 notes · View notes
worldlxvlys · 2 months
Text
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the way i loved you
chris sturniolo x reader
warnings: cursing
a/n: hope you likeee <333
i watched as nick pulled an array of snacks from a plastic bag, setting them on the table.
today nick, matt, chris, and i were going to be filming a video where we rate snacks from around the world.
once nick set the camera up, he did the intro and explained what we would be doing.
while nick explained where he got the food, i watched Chris pick up a small pink tin, inspecting it.
i slowly began to tune out nick’s voice, focusing on the way chris’s fingers ran across the tin.
he carefully placed the tin down, drumming his fingers along the table.
god, his fingers are so long. they’re perfect-
no! stop! you shouldn’t be thinking about your best friend’s fingers like that !
i quickly look away from his fingers, realizing i was staring.
luckily, he didn’t seem to notice.
as nick continued to explain the concept of the video, i watched as chris began to smile.
i love how excited he is, he’s adorable.
as i smiled at his eagerness, he happened to look at me, catching my gaze as we smiled at each other.
once nick finished explaining, we decided to try the sour candy in the pink tin first.
i watched as chris attempted to take the plastic wrapping around the tin off, but was unsuccessful.
he fumbled with the plastic, and it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands still. he almost seemed, nervous ?
he turned to me with a bashful smile on his face, “can you open it, please?”
“yeah, i got you” i said as i grabbed it from his hands, removing the plastic wrapping and handing it back to him.
“this one has vitamin c, which one’s that?” he looked at me, expectantly.
“why would i know ?” i asked, furrowing my brows.
“i don’t know, you’re the smart one” he mumbled.
“shut up” i laughed as i shook my head , “you’re smart too” .
we all tried one, and agreed that they weren’t actually sour, despite the tin having the word sour across it in big letters.
“doesn’t it feel like you have to put a lot of effort into getting that grape flavor ?” nick pointed out.
he scrunched his face up, making us all laugh, as chris put his hand on my shoulder, leaning onto me as he laughed.
i love hearing him laugh.
we gave it a rating, and moved onto the next candy.
once we realized they were slide whistles, we all started busting out laughing.
we all started fooling around, laughing at each other’s shenanigans.
chris wrapped his arms around my waist, laughing into my shoulder. the sound of his laugh, made me laugh even harder.
as we continued to try and rank the snacks, chris grew more and more touchy.
not that i’m complaining.
there were many times where i would catch him staring at me and vice versa. he made it so easy to enjoy his presence.
once we finished our last snack and agreed on the final ranking of everything, nick closed out the video and turned off the camera.
i turned to chris. “that was fun” i said trying to fight the shit-eating grin that was forming on my face.
“i agree” he said, returning the smile.
“jesus christ” matt spoke up from behind us, rolling his eyes and walking away.
“what ?” we called out.
A FEW DAYS LATER
nick, chris, and i were hanging out in the living room.
i was scrolling on tik tok, occasionally showing them videos that i found funny.
as i continued to scroll, i came across one video in particular that made my heart begin to race.
the lyrics of The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift filled the room.
what the actual fuck.
and he says, you look beautiful tonight. and i feel perfectly fine. but i miss…
clips of chris and i staring at each other fill the screen.
screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain and it’s 2 am and i’m cursing your name
chris holding onto my waist, hugging me, leaning on me
so in love that you act insane, and that’s the way i loved you
us laughing together, looks of pure joy on our faces.
i glance to my right, seeing chris already staring down at my phone.
fuck. what do i do ? what do i say ?
suddenly, nick yells “oh my god is that the ship edit of you and chris ? that shit’s blowing up !” he said.
“damn, nick. how’d you know ?”
“i reposted it”
“WHAT?” chris and i stared at him like he had five heads.
“well, it was good. and c’mon, doesn’t take a genius to realize y’all like each other” he said, nonchalantly.
“i’m going to the bathroom” he said, walking off.
i’m literally losing my mind. a ship edit ? a TAYLOR ship edit ? we’re never beating the dating allegations.
“well, what do the comments say?” chris asked, his voice shaking the slightest bit.
i glanced over at him, before opening the comments.
sturniolowhore
awww they’re adorable
blueeyedbesson
they’d look so good tg
abbie13sworld
they’re literally in love no one can convince me otherwise
mommysturns
i literally love them tg 💗
babydollfae22
they need to stop playing and get tg
mbbsgf
them + taylor makes me so happy
“damn. they kinda love us together” i said. i scrolled, expecting to move onto something else.
suddenly, Tattoo by Loreen came on. this edit had clips of chris and i from the recent video and over the years.
it’s like we’re watching a progression of our relationship over the past few years.
every wandering eye, stolen glance, smile that was a little too wide, touch, hug that lasted a little too long, the fans always noticed them.
it was literally right in front of our faces the entire time.
listening to the sound of violins swelling while watching chris and i’s interactions almost made me want to cry.
i turned to chris, who was already staring at me.
he looked down at my lips. “what do the comments say?” he asked.
i turned back to my phone, opening them up.
sophssturn
they’re literally perfect for each other
xhiejfy
how adorableeee
bernardenjoyer
they’re cute ig but me and jimmy would be cuter
queen161718
literally just watched them fall in love with each other
vib3swithanuk
they’re good for each other
fr3sh-love
so so happy for them
“they think that we’d be good together” i told him.
“i think i agree with them” he whispered.
“then maybe you should ask me out” i said, my gaze shifting from his eyes to his lips.
our noses touched. “will you go out with me ?”
i smiled, “hell yeah” i whispered before pushing my lips onto his.
—————-
y’all see any familiar names ? 🤨
i love y’all <333
masterlist
tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @mommysturns @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna
649 notes · View notes
froggibus · 10 months
Text
Got Me Up All Night - Ramattra
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Pairing: Ramattra x fem! reader (reader uses female pronouns + has a pussy)
Genre: smut/NSFW
Word Count: 2.7k
Summary: Ramattra is used to putting you to sleep when you can’t, but he’s found a far more effective way now…
CW: slight somno (consensual), size difference + size kink, thigh riding, overstimulation, edging, fingering, Ram has a cock, spanking, dom! Ram (that rhymes lol), sub!reader, possessiveness, insomnia, unprotected sex (but he’s a robot so idk how that even works lol), creampie but not really (^)
guys I am so down bad for this guy rn it’s not even funny…trying to focus on my comp games but he’s standing there being this sexy and ugh (also ykwho, if you’re reading this, I have no words lol)
————
It’s well past three am when you’re rolling out of bed and padding down the halls of the monastery. It’s been a while since you went to sleep at a reasonable time, most nights you tossed and turned until you gave up and resigned to wandering around until you found what you were looking for. Or rather, who you’re looking for. 
You find him in his office, legs propped up on his desk while he studies a map. Though he doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, you know he knows you’re there. He says nothing even as you approach him slowly and climb into his lap. 
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle your head into his neck. 
Ramattra freezes at your touch. He’s not an affectionate being by any means—he’s never really understood why humans are so caught up on it. But having you drape yourself across him, your warm body against his cool metal, he almost understands it. 
He wraps an arm around you, large hand settling on your back. “Another restless night?”
You hum in agreement, nodding your head. The skin of your cheek brushes his and if he was capable of blushing the way humans did, he would. Something about you just gets into his head, and while he’s never cared much for humans and their antics, he cares for you. 
“Do you want to discuss it?” His thick fingers tangle in your hair, gently tugging on the strands. 
“Just wanna sleep,” as if on cue, you yawn. 
He nods, going back to studying the map on his desk. Still, even as he concentrates, his hand still plays with your hair and rubs your back and brushes your fingers. 
You can’t help but stare at how much bigger he is than you. Ramattra, the omnic warrior who could crush you with one hand, but he’s being more gentle than anyone has ever been with you in your entire life and a part of you just melts. Ramattra, who you thought hated you and your kind until he lulled you to sleep in his office and carried you to bed. Ramattra, who can’t communicate his feelings for the life of him—but why would he want to have feelings for you? You’re just a human, after all.
As soon as he notices your heart rate steady and your breathing soften, he’s scooping you up in his arms and carrying you down the hall. He’s as careful as he can be, supporting your body with just enough strength so that you won't wake up. 
He lays you down in your bed but your arms don’t loosen from around your shoulders. A quiet whimper leaves your lips. He tilts his head in confusion. You were asleep a second ago, and he was so careful. 
It doesn’t seem like you’re awake though. 
He sighs and lays on the bed next to you, letting your body weight drape over him. It’s a good thing he finds your sleepiness endearing. 
You subconsciously wrap your arms around him, slinging one of your legs over his muscular one. You’re completely draped over him, and though the omnic could remove you at any point, he thinks it’s a good excuse to stay the night with you. 
He relaxes with you, letting his thoughts wander from Omnic supremacy for a minute. He thinks of you, laying like this underneath him, showing him things he’s always been curious about. Of course, it doesn’t last long. Not when you’re suddenly whining and rubbing up against him. 
He can feel your heart rate pick up too, the steady thumping growing uneven. He’s not sure what to do—are you having a nightmare? Are you in pain? 
He scans you over, looking for any reason for your sudden change in attitude. He grips your shoulder and gently shakes you awake. 
Your eyes flutter open, squinting to adjust to the dark. “W-what?”
You try to gather your bearings. You were having a dream, a really good dream. It’s then that you notice the dampness in your underwear and the way your legs are wrapped around one of his. 
“S-sorry!” You stammer, and go to pull away your leg, but he grabs your hip and keeps you in place. 
He’s so big, so strong—his fingers reach almost to your belly button while his palm is on your hip, and he effortlessly holds you still. “What’s happening? Are you in pain?”
You bite your lip and shake your head, trying to keep your eyes away from his. Your pussy is still gushing and you fight the urge to keep rocking your hips against him. 
“No. I’m not hurt, I—I just…had a weird dream.”
Ramattra looks at you curiously. Your body temperature has gone way up, you can’t look him in the eye, and he can feel a warm wetness in the crotch of your pants. He’s heard of these symptoms before but he’s in complete disbelief. There’s no way you’re aroused, is there?
He holds you still with one hand while he slowly trails the other one down your side, slipping it into the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brush your swollen clit and you whine, trying to clench your thighs around his thick fingers. 
Your reaction confirms all he needs to know, and then he’s withdrawing his hand from your pants and rubbing circles on your thigh. 
“R-ram,” you whimper. 
He finds your pleas endearing. You’re so frail and desperate beneath him, straining your hips against his grip to try and get the friction you’re so desperate for. Still, he holds you in place. 
“Tell me what you need.” 
You whine again, looking at him with desperate eyes and trying to rub your hips against his thick metal thigh. “P-please, let me just—” 
He releases his grip on your hips and you let out a whine as you get the friction you’ve needed. You roll over so you’re somewhat on top of him, gliding your hips up and down his leg. He keeps a hand on your hip to guide you along, occasionally pressing you into him in a way that makes you lick your lips and roll your eyes. 
He’s in utter disbelief. He never thought he’d be close to a human, let alone having sex with one. But you look so fucking cute, and he loves how he has complete control over you. How he can give you so much pleasure or take it away at will. 
You look up at him in utter want and he knows what you’re trying to say—you need more. He rips the fabric of your shorts and underwear apart in one fluid motion, discarding them somewhere on the bed. The cold night air hits your aching pussy and the skin to metal contact is delicious. 
You go faster, rolling your hips up and down in waves, the knot inside of you building. You know you won’t hold out much longer, and all you want is to finish. 
Ramattra considers stopping, lifting you up and ruining your orgasm. But he’s not that cruel. At least, not for the first one. He wants to see you come undone, he wants to see how fucking pretty you’ll be when you cum for him. 
It only takes a few more seconds before you’re clenching around him, muscles spasming and pussy gushing. He holds you still during it, large hand stroking your head, trying to keep you calm while you thrash around wildly. 
You let out a sigh of relief, rolling off of him. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I wasn’t really thinking straight and—”
Ramattra is on top of you, caging you in to the bed with his body above yours. “Who said I was done with you?”
You swallow hard. “I-I don’t think I can take another one.”
“You can,” his hand trails down your stomach, thick fingers starting to work on your clit, “and you will.”
You suck in a breath, your legs spreading against your will. You’re so wet and warm and waiting for him, your pussy practically begging to be opened up by him. He circles the tip of his finger around your entrance, admiring the way you clench the air in anticipation. 
He slips his finger inside of you. Just one of his fingers is so thick, so long. He reaches places you could never dream of reaching on your own, filling you up so damn good. He works you open, watching you writhe beneath him and whine from the sensitivity. 
It doesn’t take much to stretch you out enough to slip another finger in, the omnic pumping in and out of you at a brutal pace. You’re thrashing around so wildly that he keeps a hand on your stomach to steady you, pushing down and creating a pressure against the fingers he has inside of you. 
He can feel your muscles starting to tense again, hear it in the way you’re whining. He knows you’re not going to last long. He curls his fingers inside of you, trying to get you closer to your orgasm. 
You’re so close, you can taste it. You thrust your hips into his hand, desperate to finish. You can feel it, your whole body is begging for it. 
And then he pulls out.
You don’t waste a second in trying to shove one of your hands between your legs. Ram catches your hand before you can even touch your oversensitive clit, grabbing both of your wrists in one of his hands and pinning it above your head. 
“Do you want to finish?”
You nod furiously, looking at him with your messy hair and pleading eyes. “Y-yes, god, so fucking badly.”
He trails his other hand up your thigh, going so painfully slow. You arch your back, whimpering. Just before his fingers can slide back into you, just before he touches you, he pulls back. 
“R-ram!”
He squeezes your wrists in warning, reminding you who’s in control here. “You finish when I say you finish. You want to be good for me, yes?”
You nod. 
“Good,” he sounds pleased with your answer, and trails his hand back up your thigh. 
His finger barely grazes your clit but you shiver, arching your back off of the bed. He can’t help but laugh at your desperation, the way you’re so whiny and needy for only his fingers. The way you’re so desperate to be fucked by an omnic almost double your size. It’s so dirty, he loves it. 
He finally shoves two fingers back inside of you, returning to his earlier pace without letting you adjust. That burning need to cum mixed with your sensitivity from earlier and the way he’s so lost in your pussy is all too much for you. It only takes a few thrusts before you come undone around him. 
This time is way more intense than the first, walls spasming around his fingers. He releases your wrists, letting you arch your back and whine beneath him. 
He waits for you to catch your breath for a minute before leaning in close to your ear and whispering, “do you need more?”
You shake your head. Your skin is already feverish and sweating from cumming twice, and your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you can take much more. 
Ramattra slaps your pussy hard, staring at you expectantly. “Do you need more?” He emphasises each word with a slap, admiring the way you gush with each one. 
You like pain—he’ll have to remember that. 
“Y-yes!” You gasp out, clenching your thighs together. “I need more. I-I need you.”
He hums in satisfaction, happy with your answer. “That’s the slut I know.”
His words fluster you, making your head even dizzier than it was before. It’s so brash, so unlike him, but you love it. You love how he’s treating you like an experiment. 
Ramattra gets onto his knees in front of you, messing around with the plate just below his abdomen. Omnics aren’t built for breeding, they aren’t meant to procreate. But through years of the evolution of technology and omnic-human relationships, modifications have been made. 
You’re shocked to see Ram remove his plate, revealing a tentacle like cock made of the same organic metal as his body. It’s long and thick, and it’s bigger than anything you’ve tried to take before, but all you want is to feel it inside of you, stretching you out. 
Ramattra laughs at the size difference. He’s already much bigger than a human, and he knows that extends to every part of him. He knows that by fucking you he’ll be ruining you for every human man after, but he doesn’t care. Those human men can’t have you—no one can. They don’t deserve you. 
He lines up the tip at your entrance, rubbing his cock through your folds and gathering up your juices on his length. It’s such a funny feeling for him, you feel nothing like he expected but he loves it. 
He slowly pushes his way inside of you, feeling your gummy walls stretch around him. You whimper, desperately wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He pushes his way deeper, his cock stopping just past halfway. 
He frowns. “You can take more than that.”
You shake your head, toes curling. “Too deep,” you protest. 
He pulls out and slams back in, trying to force more of his length inside of you. He’s so much bigger than you, so much bigger than anything you’ve taken before. He completely stretches you out, reaching places you never knew were there. 
He picks up his pace, slamming his hips against yours in a way you know will leave bruises tomorrow. He’s so deep inside of you, you can hardly take it. Regardless of the pain and the stretch, you find yourself lifting up your legs to give him easier access. 
Ram uses this as an excuse to force himself deeper, hips colliding with yours with every thrust. He trails his hand down your stomach, squinting when he feels the slight bulge in your abdomen. He looks at it in shock—is he really that deep inside of you? Are you really that much smaller than him?
It only drives him to fuck you harder, throwing your legs over his shoulder in a mating press. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, crying out so loudly he’s sure half the monastery can hear you. Good, they’ll know who you belong to. 
You’re almost sobbing from the pleasure, alternating between squeezing his shoulders and burying your head in his neck. Everything is so hot and sensitive, and he’s so big and so deep you can feel him everywhere. But you want more. You need more. 
You moan out his name and please like a prayer. You’re not even sure what you want, what you need. Your brain has practically turned to mush at this point, and you’re getting close to the edge. 
Ram can feel it too, and his cock vibrates in response. The feeling makes you shiver, only begging him to fuck you harder. You’re so close, so so close. All you need is a little more…
His cock pulses again and you come undone, tugging him close to you while you cum. Everything is so hot and wet and the faint feeling of him fucking you through your orgasm only drives you even more. 
Your orgasm is enough to bring him close to his, cock vibrating steadily as he thrusts into you sloppily. He’s so desperate, collapsing on top of you in an attempt to get as deep as possible. 
Finally, he lets go. There’s a hot warmth spreading through your stomach, and you look up at him through teary lashes. “Did—did you just…?”
“Organic nanites,” he explains, smoothing your hair back. 
You nod slowly. It feels so good you don’t care, he could keep fucking his nanites inside of you all night as long as he makes you feel this good. 
It’s not long until you’re starting to drift off to sleep again, your head on his chest and a leg around either side of one of his. Ram strokes your hair, admiring how fucked out you look. There’s still more that he wants to try with you, but there will be plenty of sleepless nights for that in the future.
2K notes · View notes
miraclewoozi · 10 months
Text
DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh
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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?”
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norrisleclercf1 · 6 months
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Letter 2
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader x Charles Leclerc
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, just plain Angst
Words: 677
A/N: Yes yes this part is short but it's supposed to be this way as it mainly just focused on Nico's letter
Our Boy Series Masterlist / Previous: Broken Hearts and Duct Tape / Next: Memories of Old and New
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"Ducky, don't be alarmed at the empty apartment. I'm coming back," 
I swear I am. I know you're looking at the apartment and thinking I've freaked out and left. I swear I haven't. 3 days ago, you told me the most incredible news anyone could ever hear from the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. 
Not once did I think about having children, but with you? I cried. You are the first person I've ever truly loved. Who cares what people will say? I'm going to protect you, Ducky, and our unborn baby. Whenever I think about us having a baby, I cry all over again. I'm sure you're scared, I would be too, but really I can't wait. 
I keep picturing a little baby with my eyes and your gorgeous hair, their little laugh. When they say their first word, everything. I'm sure you don't care about all this, but I've returned to Germany. There's something I need there: a ring. A specific ring I want you to have. My stuff is gone because I've bought us a house. 
A pretty house boarding the line of Monaco and France. Lavender is everywhere. It's just like you told me that night. Walking the streets of that little Greek town under the stars, we talked of our future. I want to win the title, and you want nothing more than to have your dream home. Well, Ducky, I got us that dream home. 
On the back are the directions. Movers are coming tomorrow for your stuff, but forget it all. I'm here waiting, painting the nursery. I picked a soft blue, not that boyish blue, but that blue that reminds me of a cloudless sky. It's perfect, you'll love it. I even have little stincles to paint ducks on the wall. 
Ducky, I love you so much. I've retired from racing to focus on our family and build on it in the future. Fuck, I have to call your Dad and ask his permission to marry you. He doesn't like me very much, probably the age gap. I don't blame him. I'd react the same way with our little one. Oh, I forgot the house has a little nook for you. Where you can read and watch the lavender fields. 
We have our problems, Ducky, but we can work through them. We always do. So please, grab your stuff and join me here at home. We can talk more when you get here. I love you. 
God, I love you so much, Ducky. 
Nico 
"He called her Ducky," Elijah whispers, looking up to see his Dad with tears in his eyes. Elijah turns to his Pa, Charles, staring out into the garden, but the slight sniffles also let them know he was crying. "Charlie," Lando reaches out for Charles, who turns face crumbling. "He loved her. He loved her so much." Charles didn't understand why he was crying. 
Maybe it was because if Nico had reached out or Y/n read the letter, he wouldn't have had this life. Or it could be he was crying in relief because he was the one honored to raise Elijah and love you. He didn't know. "I have to make a call," Charles stands, ruffling Elijah's hair and kissing the crown. His hand slips out of Lando's, who moves to pull his little boy into his arms. 
"Is Pa okay?" Lando hums, fingers untangling those blonde locks as he watches Charles hold the phone to his ear. "No, Ducky. He's not okay. But, he will be." Lando refused to lie to his children. It's the one thing he wouldn't do. "Dad?" "Yeah?" Taking a deep breath, Elijah folds the letter back up. "We need to tell Mama what the letter said." Lando hates the anger that flares up but shuts it down quickly. 
"I know," Charles comes back into the room, flinging himself into the chair and rubbing his face hard. "They're on their way," "Who is?" Lando asks, sitting up, and Elijah leans in more. "Nico," 
--------------------------------------------
Taglist: @thomaslefteyebrow @a-stray-soul @formulas-bitch @mickslover @myescapefromthislife @glow-ish @kittyfluffypaws28 @ryntro @copper-boom @allabouthappiness @jaydaaasworld @christianpulisic10 @lyraleclerc @daddyslittlevillain @dreamerrosie @driveswiftly13 @harrysdimple05 @sueesstuff @why4anne @nataliambc @cwiphswmwasohmm @buckybarnessweetheart @makingmyway-downtown @elijahslover @kapsylia @zeusmyster
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thesensteawitch · 12 days
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NEXT CHAPTER IN YOUR LIFE!🐝
Pick A Pile Reading
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Hello, Senstea Souls! 💫
I am back with another collective reading. Make sure you pick your pile intuitively!
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Pile 1
Tarot Cards- Three of Swords, Knight of Swords, Two of Cups, Two of Swords, Eight of Cups, Page of Wands, Six of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles
Hello, pile 1. You are a giver. There's so much depth in your heart that you must let the world dive in and see all that resides within your magical space. I can feel a push and pull within you. On one side, you want to give in to the energy of the source (the creative force), but on the other hand, you only showcase what you think the world deems important. You want to be loved, but not based on your authenticity but on the preferences of others. Are you a writer? Do you journal? What's this message I'm sensing about sounds for you? Perhaps listen more. Someone broke your heart, or are you pulling the strings of your heart? You have walked away from your gifts, and this next chapter of your life is pushing you to rewrite your life and not burn the whole book. The next chapter is about slowly but mindfully walking away from something that was breaking your heart silently. Go slow, but don't stop. Soon, the universe will bless you with a harmonious connection and will clear the air between you and someone or something you love dearly. In this next chapter, the universe will pay you back for every ounce of strength you invested in this difficult situation you went through. The universe wants you to know that you're protected and that your kind heart is safe in the hands of the universe. The universe is removing anyone or anything that broke your heart and is going to fill that space with divine love and connections. This next chapter of your life asks you to fall in love with your art. Your art is a gift; show it to the world. A lot of financial stability will come your way if you choose to give rather than take from the world.
Pile 2
Tarot Cards- Page of Swords, Eight of Cups, Eight of Swords, The Empress, Knight of Cups, Death, Queen of Wands, Five of Wands
Don't be afraid, but the universe is going to forge you towards your destiny by ending some toxic ties with people who are dimming your confidence. The next chapter of your life is going to be about realizing who you are and tapping into the authenticity of your being. You need to validate your tiniest of achievements. This is how you'll be regaining your confidence. I see challenging energy at work; make sure you're using your power wisely. In this next chapter, you may feel stuck, which will lead to what you have been trying to create ending up in shackles. So please take care and make sure this doesn't happen. In this next chapter of your life, you'll be clearing up the toxicity in your work and love lives. It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. You'll be realizing your true potential. After you heal from these situations, you'll be blessed with unexpected blessings in love and finances. Don't give up yet! Keep doing what you're doing. You'll soon see the results, and a lot of blessings will come your way that will be emotionally fulfilling. Walk with confidence, and everything will be fine. People can easily pick up on your energy, so come out strong and passionate about your work. And when it comes to relationships, walk away gracefully. After a lot of pain and challenges, abundance will be coming your way!
Pile 3
Tarot Cards- Queen of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, Eight of Cups, Strength, Knight of Cups, Two of Cups
"You know what's best for you, pile 3! In this next chapter of your life, your dreams are coming true. Something you never dreamed of is going to happen. All the spiritual work and hard work that you've been doing is going to pay off soon. Justice will happen for you in this next chapter because you're now doing the right thing for others and, most importantly, for yourself. You will embody the spirit of a lion and the intuition granted by the moon. People will recognize you and your power. You'll walk away from anything that didn't serve you and will be heading towards a soulmate connection. Your creativity is going to take you far in life. If you've been wanting to study or teach for a long time, then that's what will happen for you in this next chapter. Expect the best for yourself, and it will be. Release all doubts! You have called your power back, and you're going to gracefully claim it now. You will be healed in this next chapter of your life from any wound that has been keeping you stuck in a cycle. I also see you going on dates and resting well. You'll have financial stability and a lot of love for your work. For some of you, I also see you walking away from someone who made big promises to choose someone who would do anything for you. This other person will be your great supporter. I am so happy for you, pile 3."
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black-aurora-nora · 1 year
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New Baby Pt. 1 | Yandere!Todoroki Family x Reader
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Inspo: @i-cant-sing
You weren't woken up by the familiar sound of a heart monitor or the chatter of nurses. You were woken by something much more unexpected.
You felt the sun's shining warmth against your face. Someone was gently attempting to shake you awake. Their hand felt huge in comparison to your shoulder and you fought to get yourself to wake up.
"(Y/N), it's time to wake up now." A deep voice told you when you let out a tired whine.
Finally, your body cooperated and allowed you to flutter your eyes open.
You immediately took in the stranger sitting in the bed beside you, then the pastel bed sheets and the feeling of silk pajamas that you definitely weren't wearing the day before.
You scrambled back in shock, your mind screaming danger.
This wasn't the hospital and the red-haired man sitting in front of you was neither a nurse or a doctor that you recognized, and he wasn't wearing anything that told you he was a medical professional.
He didn't seem very shocked at your behavior either, just a little worried.
"Who are you?!" You asked, now standing at the opposite side of the queen sized bed you'd just been sleeping in, "And where am I?! This isn't the hospital!"
Your heart rate was picking up and your chest was beginning to hurt. You knew that you needed to sit down but how could you when you'd just woken up in a strange place with a strange man?
The man didn't answer either of your questions, only glancing at you in concern, "I'll answer your questions, but you need to sit down and lower your heart rate before you pass out."
How did he know about your heart condition, you wondered. Was he actually a nurse?
No, that couldn't be right.
You were very obviously in someone's house; most likely his.
Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you asked again, "Who are you and where am I?"
You could tell the man wasn't happy about you not sitting down but he relented, "My name is Todoroki Enji, but you will address me as 'dad'. And we're in your room in our home."
You faltered at the new information and shook your head like it was reflex, "You... you're not my dad though. My dad looks nothing like you... What's happening?" Tears welled in your eyes, anxiety springing back into your body, "I want my mom! Please take me back to her!" You pleaded.
Enji only sighed, softly shaking his head, "I know this a lot to take in, but this is your home now. Your biological parents decided to leave you in our care-"
"No!" You snapped, "No, they didn't! We were supposed to go to the movies today!" You recalled the day prior and gripped at the silk cloth over your chest, heart drumming and chest beginning to grow tight, "Tak-" You gasped out, "Take me to my parents! Right now! Right now! Right now!"
Enji stood up at your screeching and your voice got caught in your throat.
He was so large and intimidating. He could probably kill you with ease.
And having that knowledge in mind had you second-guessing if you could just scream your way out of this situation.
"(Y/N), I will not tolerate this behavior. Either you calm yourself down or you can take a nap and we can try again later. What will it be?" He questioned.
Oh, how you really did want to calm yourself, but how could you?
It felt like someone was squeezing your chest like a tube of toothpaste. No matter how hard you tried to take a deep breath, your lungs remained clamped shut like a clam.
Heart drumming in your ears, your sight blurred significantly and spots began to decorate the fuzzy world around you.
Next thing you knew, your knees buckled from beneath and you dropped to the ground like a ragdoll.
Enji cursed under his breath, strolling around the bed and settling you back under the pastel comforter.
He knew you wouldn't take any of this easily, you were young after all, younger than Shoto, now that he was thinking about it.
But he was sure that once you met the rest of the family, you would warm up to them in no time.
Once he made sure that you were sound asleep, he left your room and was immediately greeted by the rest of his family gazing at him expectantly.
Shoto glanced up from his phone, "That didn't sound too good." He commented.
Rei stepped forward, hand clutched to her chest worriedly, "Is my baby okay? She sounded so upset."
With a nod, Enji explained that your first awakening went just as smoothly as he thought it would, "I'll make sure to show her the 'letter' her parents left for her. Hopefully, she'll be more at ease around us thinking that her parents really did leave her in our care."
Rei gave an agreeing nod, "Absolutely, anything to get her to trust us."
Natsuo grumbled, clearly frustrated, "Damn, I was really hoping we could meet her today and have dinner together like a family."
Fuyumi kept a hopeful smile on her face, "Don't worry, she'll be ready tomorrow and we can have a nice breakfast together! Right, dad?"
"Of course. (Y/N) is the key to fixing our broken family. She'll be ready tomorrow." He said knowingly.
They quietly left your door, leaving you to sleep for the rest of the day.
You'd need your energy for tomorrow.
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xtreklx · 8 months
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Nicknames ~ Ninja Turtles x reader
Headcanon: bayverse Turtles x reader
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: SFW, fluff, slightly mature themes (rated 17+, see my masterlist for disclaimer)
A/N: some silly headcanons I thought up about what nicknames the turtles would use for their partners. lemme know ur thoughts 🤭 enjoy!!!
__________
~ Leonardo ~
imo Leo is not suuuuper into nicknames, but he will use some. just nothing too over-the-top for this turtle in blue
he's not a huge PDA guy in general, but he knows that you think it's super cute when he's affectionate
so using a sweet nickname for you is one of the ways in which he is publicly affectionate
his favorite name to call you is "princess" because let's be real, this man is 100% treating you as such
"hey Lee, could you do ___ for me?" "anything for you, princess."
but he will also call you things like: love, beautiful, gorgeous, etc.
because he always wants you to know how much he cherishes and loves you
examples are as follows:
"hey beautiful, how did work go today?"
"are you hungry, gorgeous?"
"I'm gonna go meditate, love. would you like to join?"
just as he cares for his brothers in an almost parental way, he's very nurturing and attentive with you
and he definitely tends to talk to you with a soft voice because you're his delicate and precious flower and he just wants to protect you alwayssssss🥹
you tend to refer to him by his full name, "Leo", or just "Lee"
but he LOVES when you call him handsome, so that's definitely your go-to
it makes him feel like he's the only man on your mind, which is 100% the case, but he loves the reassurance
you'll also use "love" back at him, or "honey", or "babe".
ever the romantic, one of his guilty pleasures is when you answer the phone, greet him, or wake up next to him with a "hey, stranger"
that has his heart fluttering and his face flushing every time he hears it
all in all, he's not a super showy guy, but will take such good care of you and do whatever you need to make you feel loved, and you just want to do the same for him
~ Raphael ~
okay this man is big into nicknames, and I know this is a fact so I am not taking criticism at this time!!!! like, tell me I'm wrong. you can't!!!!
he has a bank of nicknames for you that he uses to come off as cool, flirty, and witty
trustttttt that these are what he uses in public to show his relationship off to his family and friends
he definitely used these nicknames w you before you two started dating as a way to flirt or pick on you (🤭)
because he'll be using these nicknames if he's being sarcastic or facetious
^and these nicknames are: dollface, shorty, tiger, and sweetheart (again I am not taking criticism at this time! I am simply spitting facts)
examples:
if he's training you in the dojo: "you got yer work cut out for ya, shorty." 
every time he greets you (or after a hello kiss): "hey there, dollface."
if he sees that you are getting annoyed: "woooah, easy there, tiger."
if you're starting to get on his nerves: "aight, listen here, sweetheart--"
HOWEVER, in more intimate moments with this guy, he can be a lot more tender, and you'll catch him using names like: baby, doll, or babygirl
"baby, if I ever lost ya, I don't know what I'd do." 
"thanks for listenin', doll."
"come lay with me, babygirl."
at the end of the day, you are the light in the darkness for him, and he is going to make it known to you
as for how you refer to him, you tend to go with either more complimentary nicknames ("big guy" or "big boy", "hot stuff" or "hot shot", etc.) or more jokey nicknames ("hothead", "meanie", or "Raphie")
but secretly, Raph's guilty pleasure is the sound of your voice as you say his name (😉), because it's just a constant reminder that you are his person, a dream come true
and you are aware of this fact, so you like to use it to your advantage
if he's in the middle of something and you need his attention, you know that saying "Raphael," in a low voice and beckoning him with your finger is going to have him dropping everything and sprinting to you
he may act all big and mean, but deep down he's a huge simp <3
~ Donatello ~
like his oldest brother, Donatello is not huge into nicknames
I would argue that Donnie is probably the least likely to use a nickname with his partner
I think this is because tbh you are the most special person in the world to him, so your name is already his most favorite word on the planet!
what better way to describe his special person than with the most special word?
just like he does with his brothers, he's going to repeat your name over and over again when he wants to show you something, but you find it much more endearing than annoying
when he does use a nickname with you, it will be something short and sweet, like honey or darling or sunshine ✨(edit: OHMYGOD U GUYS I forgot abt dove!!! this is something he 100% uses. too cute!!!)
examples:
"hey honey, I fixed your computer screen for you!"
"just five more minutes, dove, I promise"
"do you think I'm a geek?" "no, but I think you're a dork." "thank you, darling."
"I love when you keep me company, sunshine. as the name suggests, you brighten my days!"
he repeats the last one all the time, but even though it's cheesy, it makes you giggle every time
if you're ever feeling especially down, he'll softly sing the "you are my sunshine" song to comfort you and make you smile. it never fails, and his voice isn't that bad!
similarly, you don't have a ton of nicknames for him either, but you will use honey back to him
and you'll call him "cutie" because you know it will make him flush immediately
ESPECIALLY around his brothers. if they hear you call Donnie a cutie, they will tease him about it to no end
he gets all flustered and acts annoyed, but he secretly loves the nickname. 
like Raph, Donnie loves to hear you say his name. it fills him with a sense of pride, knowing that you're his partner in crime. or, as he likes to phrase it, partner in science😎
he will never tell you, but one of his guilty pleasures is when you sternly say "Donatello," as you scold him for working too hard
after you've finished scolding him, he'll let the smile break out on his face and pull you in for a big hug
you always do your best to take care of him and show him how much you love him, so he'll always try to do the same for you
~ Michelangelo ~
as we all know, Michelangelo is BIG into nicknames. definitely the most likely of the turtles to use nicknames with his partner. this is definitely an inarguable fact
he has probably called you every name under the sun; every name that his brain can come up with
his most-used are definitely: sweet cheeks, angel cakes (of course!!!), babygirl, little mama, and babe
but he will also use things like: honey bun, sugar, hot stuff, angel face, love bug, cutie patootie, ohmygod the list goes on and on. 
it's almost like a game he plays with himself, attempting to fit a new nickname for you into each sentence
examples:
on the phone with you: "are you coming down to the lair today, angel cakes? ... wellllllllll, do you think you could bring some pizza with you, little mama? extra cheese? ... pleeeeEEEAaaaSE my gorgeous sugar-bear honey-bun sweetie-pie?"
his brothers, overhearing him on the phone: "SHUT UP, MIKEY!!" 
you watching him break dance: "see my sick moves, sweet cheeks? this skill is all for you, baby girl!"
him being needy: "babe, can you just come to bed? come be my little love bug! I'll give you a massage?"
he may annoy his brothers but he could never annoy you, and you always gave into his sweetness
you were not quite as creative with nicknames as he was, but you still have a few up your sleeve
like his two oldest brothers, Mikey loved when you called him "handsome" or "big guy/boy". it makes him feel like a badass being called those things by his beautiful, attractive partner
"are you gonna walk me home, handsome?" "you really think you can beat me in mario kart? you're on, big boy." ohmygoooood, he's weak in the knees!!!!
you'll also refer to him as "babe" or "baby" on the regular, the second of which his brothers also tease him for
"awe, little Mikey's just a baby. ain't that cute?" Raph always comments, laughing with Leo in the corner
but Mikey didn't give a rat's ass (sorry Splinter). he loves showing off your relationship and bragging about you, especially to his friends and family.
you are easily the greatest thing to ever happen to him. and not only that, but you are a total babe! he scored big time.
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bunnybunbun0 · 5 months
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Can you please write a Michael smut where he takes readers virginity with a lot of praise or mutual masterbation please plz
TO DE-STRESS A FRIEND
Anon,that ask rocked my shit! and lucky you i love writing about virginity loss! hope you like it! <3
Summary: Living the life of a young adult was stressing you out,you needed your best friend Mike to help you relax
Warnings: Smut , minors DNI,unprotected sex,fingering,virginity loss,mutual masturbation,afab!reader,let me know if i forget any.
You are responsible for your media comsumption.
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You swear that one of these days you will make it to the front page of the news,the headboard will say "local college girl goes insane".
The stress were just over the board for you,the pressure at college,maintaining a minimun wage job to pay rent of the cubicle appartment you called a home. You needed to relax. So you just did the best thing you thought off.
"Hey,i picked up pizza!" Mike greeted at the door with a smile as you let him in.
Mike has always been your best friend,he was the only one that would be kind to you when you had to change schools for junior year,and youve been inseparable since,it was weird to see one without the other,and all you needed to calm yourself down were your best friend.
"Thank god you´re here! i think i´m gonna explode!."
You sank yourself on your old couch on the small living room sighing deeply,hearing Mike´s chuckle from the kitchen as he fetched you both plates for the cheesy delight.
"Relax,two more years and youll have your degree." He smiled at you with those sweet brown puppy eyes that could easily melt your heart.
You´ve been into Mike since the first homecoming you two attended together,its been you two in all events since,graduations,proms,homecomings,halloween parties,always matching outfits and always glued to one another.
As just friends of course! It´d be way too awkward to ruin the best friendship you ever had,but the caring way mike always made those nights special for you,even tho he thinks they´re lame,he always proteced you from creepy guys and mean girls at school,he listened to you ramble about your interests,he made you feel confortable and safe,and happy...
...but just as friends of course!
"Ugh,all that suffering for a lousy piece of paper!" You reflect while getting your plate of pizza (your favourite flavour of course,mike always remembered which one it is) "Just pop in the movie already!"
You took a bite of your dinner and watched as mike popped the cd on,then sitting by your side while the movie started.It wasnt a very interesting one but it was good enough to keep you both entertained. Your leg lazily hung on top of michaels and the mood was peaceful,until it wasnt.
You knew this movie were r-rated,but you didnt expect to see that,that one hot actor that been distracting you the whole movie is the one getting it on in the scene,you squirm a little,wishing you could excuse yourself to your room and let your toy do the job of settling the throb between your legs.
Mike´s eyes on you were´nt helping said throb either,you knew he could tell what happened and weirdly enough the shame of it was thrilling you more.
"You okay?" He asked suspiciouly
"Huh? Uhm,sure...." Making eye contact with him while the moans kept going on the background proved to be a hard task.
"Really? You seem...agitated" To say that was an understatement,your thoughts of mike were running wild,to the point where you could feel your underwear cling to your soaked heat.
"I´m...uhm...i am...." Mike´s sincere concern about your well being and how sweet he was about it were thriling you on even more,to the point where you couldnt muster up any words.
"I get it,you´re into that short guy on the screen" He said jealously "The scene clearly messed you,its okay if you need to...yknow...reliev yourself"
You were mortified by his words,but something about the thrill of being watched by michael´s sweet puppy eyes were making your fire burn higher.
Without taking your eyes from his and unsure of how he´d react,you slowly slid your hand into the hem of your pyjama bottoms,his lustful eyes following every movement of yours carefully,his breathing getting heavier by the moment.
"Fuck..." He whispered when you let out a low whimper as your cold finger finally found your needy clit.
You kept on staring at each othe while you pleasured yourself and after a few minutes the tent on his pants were hard to miss,and the way his hands tended to it were even harder to miss.
The movie behind you were long forgotten,the gasps and whimpers of you both were drowning the small space,eyes glued on one another and hands unable to stop pleasuring yourselfs.
"God,i cant wait any longer!" Mike pulled you suddenly on his lap kissing you deeply and passionately,swallowing your whimpers as you grinded on his lap,frenetic hands locked on the hem of his shirt pulling it over his head.
Your eyes lock on his shirtless figure and his hands caressed your waist below your shirt,goosebumps coming from your back. His hot lips went down with open mouthed kisses on your neck,a satisfied grin on his face as he took off your pyjama shirt and met your braless torso.
"Youre gonna be the death of me..." He huffed out in a breath.
You could´nt even think about responding before you felt his hot tongue on your nipple,he sucked on your breasts like his life depended on it,erupting multiples whines from you,the fire getting higher and higher between the both of you.
You snapped back to reality once you felt his hand grip your thigh strongly,inching closer and closer to where you were soaked for him.
"Mike wait!" You breathed out and he immediately stopped his ministrations,staring at you wide eyed.
"I´m so sorry,the sounds you were making,i thought you were liking it" his voice leaked of honesty.
"I´ts not that mikey,it feels great im just...i...never did this..."
"Oh,youre..."
"A virgin,yes,pathetic i know" The weight of being a twenty two year old vigin sank on you after that.
"Hey hey its fine!" He cupped your face gently and looked into your eyes,so tenderly you nearly forgot you were both half naked. "It´s all right...you should have told me sooner...if you wanna move on with it,i wanna make it special for you,like you deserve" He strokes your cheecks lovingly and you dont even need to think twice.
You threw your hands around his neck and pulled him closer kissing him with all the need in your heart.
"Please michael...make me yours"
He got up with you on his lap bringing you into your bedroom laying you gently on your bed,slowly peeling you off your shorts,you were only in your underwear now,laying in bed in front of your best friend.
"You look beautiful."
He dives into another deep kiss sliding his hands closer to where you need him the most.
"May i?" He asks teasing your hips with the elastic of your panties,you nod giving him acces to your whole body.
He slides a first finger into you with ease,revelling at the sweet moan you let out.
"Fuck baby you´re so wet"
Baby. You liked being called that,specially when mike did it. His kisses were growing desperate and erratic,just as the pace of his now two figers inside you.
"Mike,please,stop" You mutter almost out of breath opening your eyes and seeing his worried expression "Wanna cum on your cock,please."
Michael´s painfully hard cock nearly busted hearing those words come out of you,how could he deny anything you asked for? He was always putty to your wishes.
his hands quickly fumbled with the fly of his pants,making you giggle at his eagerness to get undressed,when he finally did your laugh got stifled at the sight.
His big red angry cock sprung free hitting him back in his abdomen,there was no way in hell that could fit inside your tiny virgin hole,he could see the worry in your eyes clear as day.
"Relax,ill be gentle..."
He kissed you again removing your panties now leaving you bare for him,the sight itself of you naked and wet for him,with that adorable blush on your face was driving him nuts. He drew his body closer to yours until his tip was teasing your entrance.
"You ready baby?" He asked,you nodded,and his fat tip was inside you.
You both gasped in unission at the feeling,his hands holding yours giving it a slight grip,signaling he was gonna push more in. The moan you let out were other wordly,busting his usually low ego and egging him on pleasuring you.
"Fuck baby youre so tight" With a final push and a guttural groan he was fully inside you.
The disconfort and euphoria were fighting to see who would take place on your expressions. Mike gave you a few minutes until you got used to the feeling of his shaft deflowering you,the pain turned into needines at any growing second,until it was unberable for you to have him inside you and not moving.
"Mike please,i need you to move" Your wish was his command.
He thrusted in you slow and deep,every time he bottomed himself you let out a moan,and each time you moaned he moved faster,making you moan more. It was a vicious cycle and before you could even register he was fucking you senseless.
You were flirting with your orgasm,only needing that one final push to send you over the edge.
"Mike,fuck,i´m so close" you whined out,only needing his sweet final push.
"Come on baby,be good and cum for me,feel good for me."
You couldn´t hold it at his praise,moaning his name loudly followed by a string of profanities. He was hypnotized by the sight of your orgasm,seeing you trash and moan underneath him,his hips moving on his own as you ride your high.
"Oh,fuck baby,watch me cum so good for you"
He pulled it out jerking off quickly on top of you painting your pretty tits white his seed before collapsing tired on top of you.
"So..." He rolls to your side holding your hand and laying close to you "Did you liked it? Are you okay?" You chuckled at the shift in his personality.
"It was amazing..." Your voice was hoarse from all the moaning "My legs will definetely be sore by the morning and i have class tomorrow" You laugh a little
"You can afford to miss class one day,you need to de-stress" He kissed your temple as you both drifted into a peaceful post sex sleep.
I guess yiu were more relaxed after all...
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Gosh,i suck at endings and i´m writing this at four AM so i hope it doesnt suck!
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fabulouslyflamboyant5 · 2 months
Text
The Unrighteous Knight
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pairing: azriel x second archeron sister!reader
summary: Azriel and you have never gotten along, being the outlier of your three sisters, you should have expected as much. What happens when a sparring match goes wrong and repressed questions make themselves known?
warning: canon typical violence
a/n: My first ever ACOTAR fic, I hope you guys enjoy! I’m thinking of making this into a series so let me know if you have any feedback or suggestions <3 The following chapters will be considerably longer, I just need to figure out where I want the story to go.
Part One
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Azriel does not know nor understand what it is about you that draws him in like delusion to the desperate.
He is a shadowsinger, and you are no more than a cauldron made fae; destined to be forgotten in the presence of your kin.
Despite your uninspired nature, you are utterly captivating.
So much so that Azriel cannot help but scoff at your desperate sparring attempt.
Clad in Night Court training garments, your body sways unnaturally as you raise your blade to Nesta: the formidable one of your pair.
Your ability to draw a smile from the face of Lady Death sickens Azriel.
Then again, she is probably just holding back a scowl.
The reverberation of swords hitting the ground breaks him out of his trance. Regretfully, amber eyes meet your own, witnessing the contentment on your face succumb to distress at the very sight of him.
"Azriel," Nestas voice captures his attention, her upturned eyes shooting him a stern warning. His body moves against his wishes, dragging him towards the sparring ring, dragging him towards you as though the heavens have insisted on it.
Wordlessly, he picks up one of Nestas discarded swords and sends an expectant grunt your way.
Equally silent, you draw your blade and flash him a playful grin.
Gods, the things you do to him.
He moves swiftly and suddenly, not giving you any time to anticipate his actions. Then again, attempting to anticipate anything would be frivolous when the night sky practically absorbs the lines of his silhouette.
With aching knees you lunge to the ground, hands gripping the dirty terrain as you narrowly escape his eager blade.
The two of you fall into a dance of sorts.
Azriel despises how much you have improved, if not for Cassian you would certainly be unable to even lift the sturdy weapon, so he reassures himself this is Cassian's work, not your own.
And with that, he drags his weapon to your abdomen, as if you were Cassian.
You stumble back, not entirely dodging the blow, and let your weapon fall carelessly.
Azriel scoffs at your hunched form, his heart rate increasing with every second you refuse to meet his gaze.
"It hurts," you groan, pain coursing through your ribs.
It hurts him as well.
For the first time since he's encountered you, Azriel reaches forward with the intent of helping you.
He pays attention to how you flinch at the prospect of his touch. If not for your current state, he is certain you would have ran from him. Nonetheless, scarred hands meet your trembling skin and he lifts you with ease.
No words are spoken between the two of you as he departs to the house of wind.
Thank the stars that Nesta and Cassian aren't here to witness this predicament.
Though not fatal, or serious for that matter, the wound on your side is certainly quite the nuisance.
"I'm sorry, I lost control of myself, I don't know what took over me," is what Azriel wants to say.
But of course, he says nothing, only letting a sliver of regret paint his indifferent expression.
You nod silently, refusing, or perhaps unable, to meet his eyes. There is so much more to be said, to be done, yet Azriel stays placid, drowning in the self-loathing he longs to seek refuge in.
"Why is it that you despise me?"
Your question lingers in the air, ironically making Azriel feel as though he had just been stabbed.
You wait a few seconds longer, as though you are expecting him to struggle to say what he intends.
"Am I really that bad?" You laugh, devoid of any true humour.
Azriel looks away, refusing to a knowledge your watery stare.
"I'm sorry" you let out, "for whatever I did to you."
“Don’t be, it’s me who should be sorry.” Is what he wants to say, what he should say. But he settles for something much worse.
"Stop." Cool and assertive, Azriel cringes at the manner of his response.
For a split second you are able to properly observe his expression. Eyes clenched and head turned down, had you not known any better you would have mistaken him for sorry.
But Azriel is Azriel and you are no fool.
With your wound no longer bleeding, you allow yourself to sit up, removing yourself from the close reach of the shadowsinger.
‘Thank goodness’, he attempts to comfort himself, to justify his actions as though they were not treacherous.
Had it not been for your disgustingly beautiful face and entrancing presence then perhaps you wouldn't have been hurt.
‘This is your fault’, he again ventures to contend his crimes. But this time he does not believe the lies spewed from his mind.
His beloved shadows have wrapped themselves around your curled up form, comforting you; hiding you from the monstrosity you likely view him as, you should view him as.
With a single look at your tear ridden face, Azriel vows to destroy whatever hurt you.
Even if it means destroying himself.
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