#I am head over heels for this fic i swear

[the-rarest-sexiest-coinkydink]

heyo, could i request a mikey x transmasc! reader (he/him) where reader is childhood friends with the ways but moved away when they were little. and then they move back to nj later mostly post-transition and mikey falls like,,, super hard?? sorry if it’s too detailed but i just really like the idea!! no pressure tho :))

New Jersey, Revisited (Mikey Way x transmasc!reader)

Summary: as above, basically :) 

Word count: 5133 (yes I really enjoyed this one how can you tell) 

Warnings: little bit of talk of dysphoria, one use of a deadname but not in a nasty way! It’s entirely accidental; discussion of surgery + recovery, but not in tons of graphic detail

AN: so I’ve kind of got it in my head that Mikey and (y/n) are about 25/26 (so we’re looking at the year of the ProRev tour era wise) but if you want to interpret this any other way then feel free!

(also why is naming fics so fucking hard) 

The idea of coming back to live in New Jersey again was always one that made (y/n)’s heart do a little dance in his chest. Sure, the area he’d grown up was a bit of a shithole - but it was his shithole. He’d always had fond memories of the house he’d grown up in, the school he’d gone to, the friends he’d made. His older cousins that had stayed in the area had been talking about a ten year high school reunion next year, and he quite liked the idea of that. He wasn’t ten years out of high school just yet, but it also wasn’t that far away either. Maybe he’d get away with tagging along with someone else and surprising all those people he hadn’t seen since he was a teenager. Not that they would have any memory of him. For one, he’d moved away when he was thirteen, so they’d probably have forgotten about him by now. And point number two - he wasn’t the same man he was all those years ago. 

Well, neither would his old classmates be. Puberty, and all that. But somehow he doubted that anyone else in his year group would have transformed in quite the same way he had. 

Sweating after the exertion of moving all his boxes of crap into the right rooms in his new flat, he dug through the nearest suitcase for a clean shirt (cursing his own terrible packing skills as he did so) and tugged the other one over his head, starting a little laundry pile in the corner of the bathroom and stopping for a second to admire himself in the mirror. He really did look good. The pinkish top surgery scars decorating his chest were just over eighteen months old, and those last eighteen months had been some of the best of his life so far. Of course there had been some rough patches; post-surgery recovery sucked ass, and life couldn’t be perfect all the time. But overall, he was so much happier now than he ever had been before. 

Life had just got exponentially better with every milestone in his transition, thinking about it. The first time his parents used the name he’d chosen, coming to accept him after initial confusion when he’d come out. His very first short haircut, which hadn’t exactly been stylish but he’d loved it nonetheless. His first binder, first testosterone shot, first straggly facial hair. And then top surgery had blown everything else out of the water. And he had a feeling that the next surgery on the list would have the same effect. 

Thinking back on his coming out experience as he reapplied his deodorant made him laugh. His parents hadn’t really understood what he was trying to tell them - they had been wonderfully supportive, just... a little bit unsure. Around nine months after they’d moved to Chicago, he’d written them a letter in the dead of night and left it on the table so they’d wake up to it and read it without him having to be there. Which wouldn’t have been a terrible idea if his parents hadn’t entirely misread the thing. So he’d woken up to his mom sat on the end of his bed, letter in hand, a sympathetic look on her face. 

“Honey, you must really miss Mikey and all your other friends back in New Jersey. I get that. But give it some time and you’ll make some nice new friends here, I promise. You’ve just got to get to know people.”

“I- huh?” 

She waved the letter slightly. “You said you feel like you get on better with the boys than girls. And that’s okay! Some girls are just more comfortable around boys for a little while. Girls can be pretty bitchy.”

“No, I - I said I wanted to be a boy. Like, I’m not a girl.” 

“Oh. I... Oh.” She looked back down at the paper, squinting to reread the words. “Honey your handwriting is terrible! I never would have worked that out from this.”

“Hey it’s not that bad! But... is it okay? You know, that I’m not...” 

She leant over and patted his knee. “Honey, you’re you. That’s more than enough for me and your dad. Whatever you need us to change, let us know. I can’t promise we’ll remember all the time, but we’ll try our very best.” 

It certainly made for a funny story to tell, anyway. And his parents had always been phenomenally supportive of him - even when he said he was moving back to New Jersey. They’d originally thought that he meant just for the duration of the recovery period after his upcoming surgery, but when they realised that he meant to move back for good they only had one thing to say: it makes sense. Over time he’d fallen in love with Chicago, but New Jersey was still home and it had always been obvious that he felt that way. And when he’d found a surgeon based out of a hospital twenty minutes away from where he’d grown up? Well, it was like fate. Clearly, the universe wanted him back in New Jersey. 

As it often did when he was reminiscing about his journey, (y/n)’s mind wandered to Mikey. They’d been best friends since the day they started school, bonding over the fact that their birthdays were only a few weeks apart, and had been inseparable until the day his family moved away. Mikey had actually cried when the car pulled away, clutching the piece of paper with his closest friend’s new address on it almost as tightly as he’d hugged him. They’d been each other’s first ever sleepovers, spent years trailing around after Gerard and getting on his nerves - and once, memorably, each received a tremendous bollocking from both sets of parents after (y/n) had hidden in Mikey’s wardrobe so he didn’t have to go home when his parents came by to collect him and made everyone panic that he’d gone missing on the way back from school. No two kids could possibly have been closer. 

The two of them had stayed in contact for almost a year, but as life had got in the way (and he hadn’t quite found the courage to come out, scared of how his best friend might react) the letters had slowly grown further and further apart before stopping altogether. Somewhere within his luggage, there was a shoebox full of those letters. He’d kept every single one. Every little update about what their favourite teachers were up to, every fuzzy polaroid of the rest of the gang doing whatever stupid shit they’d decided to do that day, every drawing and friendship bracelet and bad joke from a chocolate bar wrapper. He’d clung onto those little fragments of his childhood best friend like a lifeline. Part of him imagined that Mikey had done the same, thinking about him from time to time, wondering what he was up to now. 

Of course, he knew exactly what Mikey was up to these days. His small town best friend in the whole wide world had gone on to become a big time rock star. How cool was that? They had always had a very similar taste in music, and so a lot of the inspirations behind My Chemical Romance were instantly obvious to him the second he put his headphones in. It felt a bit strange, calling himself a fan of the band when he’d grown up with half of the members, but he supposed that was good enough for now. The chances of the two of them ever meeting up again were incredibly low. He didn’t know if Mikey still lived in the same place, if he even still lived in New Jersey! And it wasn’t like he was going to just bump into him on the street. Coincidences like that belonged in rom-coms. 

Looking around at the haphazard stack of cardboard boxes that contained his entire life, (y/n) decided that there was no way in hell he could be bothered to sort them out now. That was just far too much effort after lugging them all up the stairs. He had plenty of time to get it all sorted at a nice slow pace, so there was really no point starting right this minute. He needed a coffee. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

It really was nice to be home, Mikey thought as he walked through the door of his favourite coffee shop and got in the queue. Even if home meant being sworn at by people if he walked a bit too close and fearing for his life every time he crossed the road. There was a sweet familiarity that came with the grimy streets, and he honestly wouldn’t trade it for the world. It did feel strange being back, finally standing still after what had felt like two months of constant moving. He loved touring, but it really did suck the life out of him sometimes. Two months of crap motels, raging hangovers and constant performance was the perfect combination for exhaustion, and he was really looking forward to the time off. It was the little things that made him smile, too. Like being back in his favourite place, that tiny cafe that in his opinion did the best coffee in the world. He’d spent countless hours in there, listening to the rain against the windows while he read a book or watched Gerard sketch. It was it’s own peaceful little bubble. 

He ordered his usual when he got to the counter, fighting back the blush that threatened to paint his cheeks as the cute barista smiled up at him. Thankfully his favourite table was clear, and he kept an eye on it while he was waiting. The little table in the corner with the slightly wonky leg was where Gerard had taken him and his best friend for their first ever coffee when they were ten. They’d both sworn not to tell their parents, but that had gone straight out of the window when they’d taken her home - she’d practically been buzzing. That memory always made him smile, the way she’d bounced on her toes and the look on his big brother’s face that very clearly said, ‘I’m so fucked’. 

He thought about his childhood best friend a lot, these days. So much had happened in his life since she’d moved away, stuff that the two of them had daydreamed about as kids, staring up at shapes in the clouds and wondering what they’d be when they grew up. He wondered if she even remembered him. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget her. 

Lost a little in thought as he took his drink and started forwards to go to his table, he bumped into someone. It wasn’t exactly a high impact collision - the coffee in his mug barely rippled - but the effect it had on his heart was seismic. Standing at his shoulder, a mixture of pure shock and embarrassment on his face, was the prettiest man Mikey had ever seen. If you had asked a younger, much more Catholic Mikey, what he thought angels looked like, he probably would have described the exact face that was now staring up at him. His tongue tripped over the words as he tried to apologise, barely aware that the man next to him was examining every detail of his face in sheer wonder. 

“God, I am so sorry! Are you okay? I- I didn’t see you, I was- I... thinking a little too hard, sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going.” 

Feeling like all the air had left his lungs, (y/n) managed a nod. “Yeah, I- I’m fine. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t even spill my drink, so...” He trailed off, something nagging at the back of his mind. As he tried to put his finger on what was catching his attention it darted away, like a fish clever enough to avoid a lured hook. He just couldn’t work out what it was; he wanted to put it down to the sheer beauty of the man before him, but a part of his brain was screaming that there was something more than that. “I... I’m sorry, do I know you? You look kinda familiar, but... I’m not great with faces.” 

A smile caught at the edges of his mouth; he was going to have a little fun with this. Why wouldn’t he? Hundreds of times over the years he’d dreamt about what it would be like to swan into a room of his old classmates, watching them fawn over the teen heartthrob he’d become without realising who he’d been before, then basking in their reactions when he told them. Now, he was getting to play that out in real life for the very first time. 

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure we have met. I’m not great with names though, so... sorry.” 

“Oh it’s okay. I’m Mikey.” He didn’t notice the little glimmer of emotion in the shorter man’s eyes. “I... wait. Hold up just a second, I do know you! You, uh, you’re one of (deadname)’s cousins, right? I think we met at someone’s birthday party.” 

Somehow, his old name coming out of Mikey’s mouth didn’t make him as uncomfortable as he thought it might. He didn’t hate his dead name, not really; while some of the kids at school had been assholes about it for a while before getting bored with harassing him and moving on to some other poor sucker, his parents had never once used it against him maliciously. So while there was some discomfort there, it wasn’t as bad as the feelings that some of his trans friends had surrounding their deadnames. Perhaps it was the context, though: the fact he’d assumed that he was one of his own cousins was a shot of gender euphoria stronger than any liquor. 

“Well, you’re almost there, so, uh, you get points for trying. But... I haven’t used that name in a good few years. I’ve been (y/n) since I was 14.” 

Mikey’s jaw dropped, and he put his coffee down with enough force that it slopped a little over the side. His hands moved to (y/n)’s cheeks, squishing them gently the way he’d always done when they’d made fun of each other as kids. He moved to do the same back, the tears finally spilling over. “Hiya Mikes.” 

In the space of a second, Mikey was hugging him tightly enough to crush some ribs, sniffling into his shoulder just as he had done on that day so many years ago. He smelled almost exactly the same, that soft note of cotton scented deodorant mixed with laundry powder and minty shower gel, dashed with something that was so unique to his best friend that he’d know it a hundred miles away. (y/n)’s hands splayed across his back in the same way they always had, his forehead pressed against Mikey’s neck. He’d always felt safe like that, listening to the thrum of his heart beneath his skin, feeling his breath on the top of his head. When he was with Mikey, the rest of the world just slid away. He was glad that that had stayed the same after so long, too. 

The barista set (y/n)’s coffee down at the end of the counter, smiling softly at the obvious emotional moment going on before shifting the rest of the queue ever so slightly so that they wouldn’t block people’s way. 

He pulled back, eyes glittering with disbelief as he tested the new name on his tongue. “(y/n)... (y/n). God, that suits you so well. You... you look amazing.” 

“Yeah? You’ve grown up pretty well yourself.” Blushing deeply at his compliment, he allowed himself to stare at Mikey properly. He really had matured, growing into those pretty cheekbones magnificently. All those times he’d imagined what his best friend might look like now, and he’d never quite pictured him like this. But looking at him now, it all made sense. And the raging crush that he’d had when he was twelve years old came back, crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. 

Little did he know, the exact same thoughts were going through Mikey’s head. He was astounded by how much he’d changed - and yet, how much he’d stayed the same. The shorter haircut fit his facial features so well, and his style was pretty much the same as it had always been; it just framed him so much better now. He was head over heels, and there was no hope of denying it. If Gerard walked in right now, he’d instantly jump to making the exact same jokes he always made about Mikey having a crush - without even realising that he was joking about the exact same person, over a decade later. 

“Dude, please tell me you’ve got time to sit down.” 

“For you? Always.” 

Finally picking up their coffees the two of them headed over to the corner table, settling opposite each other and grinning wide enough to split their faces in two. They were both taller than they had been the last time they’d sat here; their knees were squished together under the table. The two of them started talking at the same time, giggling as their words overlapped before stopping for a second. 

“You go.” 

“No, you can start.” 

“No, you go first.” 

The bickering took them straight back to old times, and soon the conversation was flowing like water. It didn’t seem possible to cover over a decade of separation in as much detail as they both needed, but they certainly tried their best. 

“So, yeah. The FBI came round.” 

“You were fifteen?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Your mom must have wanted to kill you!” 

“Oh she did... I still got to go the gigs though. That Pumpkins tour was insane.” 

When they got round to the story of (y/n)’s transition, Mikey had tons of questions to ask. Like everyone else, he found his coming out story hilarious - and knowing his mom personally made it even funnier. When he talked about his voice cracking after getting on testosterone, the only thing Mikey could say was, “Now you know how I felt! I wish I’d been there to give you the same shit you gave me.” 

He smiled softly, hands wrapped around his mug. “Yeah, I wish you’d been there too. I’ve missed you a lot, you know.” 

“I’ve missed you too. I don’t know if I can describe just how much, but...” Trailing off, Mikey pushed back the sleeve of his hoodie, revealing the tatty band of coloured string around his left wrist. “I’ve worn this since you sent it to me. It hasn’t come off once.” 

Mouth hanging open, (y/n) pulled his hand closer to take a better look. Both men tried their hardest not to show just how wonderful it felt to hold the other’s hand, but when (y/n) pushed his own sleeve back to show the matching friendship bracelet, just as ragged and grubby as Mikey’s, the two of them cried almost enough to refill their empty coffee cups. 

It took (y/n) a few tries to choke the words out through the tears. “I thought... I thought maybe you would’ve forgotten about me.” 

“Never. No way.” Mikey squeezed his hand, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You’re the one person I could never forget. Not in a million years.” 

“I only ever took this off once, you know.” 

“A whole once?” He managed a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Wow, I see how it is.” 

“Hey, it wasn’t exactly my idea!” (y/n) scoffed, whacking him softly. “I wasn’t allowed to have it on when I went in for top surgery, something about an infection risk. My mom was there when I woke up after, and apparently the first thing I said was, and I quote-” He paused, taking a deep breath for effect. “If anyone touches my damn bracelet, I’ll eat their balls.” 

Mikey cackled so hard he almost fell out of his chair, clutching at his ribs as he wheezed. “You’d eat their balls?” 

“Shut up, I was doped up on painkillers! I don’t even remember it happening.” When Mikey continued laughing, he grabbed a packet of sugar from the little tub on the table and tossed it at his face. “I bet you say stupid things when you’re drunk too.” 

“Well...” 

The two of them sat there trading stories about being in My Chemical Romance and working as a photographer at concerts until the cafe closed, apologising profusely to the very amused barista as they watched her switch all the machines off, then the lights. 

Mikey offered to walk (y/n) home, both of them delighted to find out that they only lived a five minute walk away from each other. They traded phone numbers at the door to (y/n)’s apartment building and were texting before he’d even got in the elevator, elated to finally be back in each others lives. Neither man had wanted to say goodbye, but the promise of seeing each other again tomorrow kept them going. After so long, the thought of missing out on anything else was too much to bear. 

~~~~~~~~~~

And so three weeks later, as he set his bag down in the little stand next to the hospital bed, (y/n) shot a quick text to Mikey. 

Hey! Won’t be around today - I’m having the ol’ baby-making kit removed up at the hospital this morning. I’m pretty sure I told you about that but if I didn’t... well, I just did! Anyway, I’ll be pretty sleepy post-op, and the doctors have told me I’ll have to take it easy for a while, so I’ll catch up with you in a few days, yeah? Say hi to your mom for me! 

The two of them had spent at least fifteen of the last twenty-one days in each other’s company in one way or another, whether it was at someone’s flat or out for coffee or wandering around the comic book store for hours on end. It was a shame that he probably wouldn’t see him for another week or so, given that he had mentioned a couple of interviews that had been scheduled for the band. But the doctors had told him in no uncertain terms that he’d have to take it easy for at least four or five days, to give the incision a chance to start healing before putting it through too much stress. So he’d have to settle for texting, just for a little while. 

Careful to put his bracelet in the safest place possible, (y/n) slipped quickly into the hospital gown and stuck his head out from around the curtain. 

“Okay! I’m good to go.” 

When he woke three hours later, groggy and aware of a slight pulling sensation across his stomach, he certainly hadn’t expected to also feel a hand tucked into one of his. Careful not to sit up just yet, he glanced down - smiling at the sight of his bracelet, back where it belonged. And a very familiar person sitting in the chair next to his bed. 

Spotting the little movement, Mikey squeezed his hand, grinning. “Couldn’t have you threatening to eat anyone’s balls this time.” 

“Much appreciated.” 

“How are you feeling? And you didn’t tell me before, by the way, so I freaked the fuck out reading that earlier.” 

He laughed slightly, wincing a little as the pulling sensation got stronger. “Sorry. But hey, no more uterus. That’s pretty fucking cool.” 

“Yeah, it sure is.” He stroked across the back of his hand, careful not to knock the cannula where it was taped in place. “Do you want me to get a nurse? Tell someone you’re awake?” 

“Nah, they’ll find out eventually.” His eyes slid closed again, heavy with the weight of anaesthesia. “You being here is enough right now.” 

Mikey tried to tell himself that it was just the meds talking, but he couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at those words. He was ridiculously, stupendously, immeasurably in love with his best friend, and right now he wanted the whole world to know it. Ideally he’d tell him first, of course, but that required being brave. And he really didn’t know if now was the right time. 

Inhibitions steamrollered by the remaining drugs in his system, (y/n) had no such problem, and just kept rambling on. “Y’know, I’m so glad I found you again.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Thought I was gonna have to make do with committing all your bass lines to memory. This is so much better.” 

“You know, I’d always wondered whether you’d find out about the band or not. Every time I get on stage, I imagine you being in the crowd, having the best time. Maybe I can bring you to a show someday.” 

“Oh, I’d love that.” He nodded thoughtfully, still holding Mikey’s hand. “But I would be happy anywhere as long as I was with you.” 

“You would?” 

“Mhm.” He yawned, stretching his neck gently. “Don’t you ever go anywhere without me ever again, Mikey Way. You’re my everything.” 

“I... I am?” That pretty much sounded like a confession to him, and his heart ached against his ribs as he tried to scrape together the courage to say something back. 

But as he took his first deep breath, (y/n) had already drifted back to sleep. 

When he woke again an hour and a half later, he had zero recollection of the conversation they’d had. Mikey was very quick to realise this, given the way his face lit up at the sight of the little friendship bracelet. 

“Aww, did you put that back? Thank you. And thank you for being here.” 

“Hey, I’d do anything for you.” Knowing that really, it was now or never, he decided to take the plunge. “So, you were awake earlier. Do you remember anything from that?” 

“I was awake?” (y/n) frowned, thinking for a second before shaking his head. “I don’t remember being awake.” 

“I didn’t think you would. You, uh... you weren’t making much sense, but there was one thing I did pick out.” 

“Mhm?” All of a sudden, anxiety clawed at his veins. What had he said? Had he confessed the way he felt? Was this Mikey’s way of telling him that he wasn’t comfortable being friends any more because of it? 

“So I needed to tell you...” He paused for a second, taking (y/n)’s other hand in his free one and bringing it to his lips. “You’re my everything too. I... God, I am so in love with you it doesn’t even feel real. I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven years old, and you going away tore me apart. And now you’re home again, and you’re you, and it’s the most incredible thing. I thought those feelings had gone away, but... they’re so strong. You’ve still got that stupid sense of humour, and amazing taste in music, and you’ve gone from being that crazy tiny kid to the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I love you so much.” 

(y/n) was entirely speechless for a few moments, struggling to comprehend exactly what was going on. Was he dreaming this? Was this the anaesthesia playing tricks, lighting up the sleeping parts of his brain and sending his mind on a wild goose chase? But no. The feeling of Mikey’s breath, warm against his cold knuckles, was enough to prove that this had to be real. And he damn well knew what he was going to do about it. 

He started to sit up very slowly, not wanting burst stitches to ruin the moment. Mikey tried to stop him, eyes watery as he waited anxiously for a response but still more concerned with his safety. “What- what are you doing?” 

“Something I should’ve done a very long time ago.” 

And, as gently as he could, (y/n) kissed him. 

The sensation made the emotions they both felt upon coming back to New Jersey seem miniscule, insignificant. It couldn’t possibly matter where in the world they were, as long as they had each other. Careful to avoid the new wounds, Mikey settled one hand on (y/n)’s thigh and the other on the back of his neck, keeping him as close as he dared as they drank each other in. This was everything he’d dreamed of. For now, he had no intentions of telling the other man that he’d been the subject of every wet dream, the thought fuelling every hasty wank. No intentions of telling him that he’d pictured them meeting again, falling in love, spending the rest of their lives together. No intentions of telling him that instead of a prom date, he’d taken a Polaroid of the two of them and kept it in his pocket the whole night, never dancing with anybody else. 

And of course, (y/n) definitely wasn’t going to tell him that his was the name he whispered in the dead of night, fingers finding all the right places and wondering what it would feel like if they belonged to him. Definitely wouldn’t reveal that he’d slept with the shirt that he’d given him as a goodbye present every day for three whole years after moving away, desperately needing him to be back by his side. Definitely wasn’t going to share that every time he’d seen a couple walking down the street, he’d pictured it as if it was the two of them instead. 

Not yet, anyway. All those stories could wait for later - they had forever to spare. For now, the only thing that mattered was the way their lips felt against each other, like they’d been designed solely for the other to appreciate. Like they’d been made for each other right from the very start. 

Well, (y/n) thought as they broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together and hands stroking sides. Eleven year old me is definitely punching the air right now. 

“I love you too, idiot.” 

“R-really?” The hope in Mikey’s eyes was brighter than the stage lights he was still so uneasy performing under, shining as (y/n) cupped his face. He moved to do the same, smiling as he rolled his eyes. 

“The kiss wasn’t enough to prove it, huh?” 

“I don’t know man. Maybe it’s best that you do it again.” 

(y/n) grinned as he leant back in. “Well I guess I’ll have to, won’t I? Because I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight any time soon.” 

“Oh, what a shame.” 

[girasollake]

Hi! Can I request a smut imagine with prompt 48 and trope 8 with Theodore Nott.

She’s a slytherin too and a badass bitch who everybody wants to be or date

Thank youuu!

✧ theodore nott x fem!reader x jealousy x "you. are. mine."✧

(this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )

this took longer than i expected, thank you for your request anon! x

told u guys i’d post smth… surprise!!!!

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v sex, some swear words, some slight cedric x reader, theo being bitchy ig, fingering, general sex stuff, orgasm denial, ummmmmm yeah i think that’s it

i’ll reread it later to fix mistakes cuz rn it’s 2 am where i live and i’m going to bed bye

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Your relationship with Theo was complicated. At least in your mind that was the most suitable word for this dynamic, you could never find anything else that would quite describe it. You were friends, that’s for sure, this was the only thing you were certain of. Some days you had found yourself tangled in his bedsheets, his soft fingers caressing your back as you lingered in his scent. But, there were also days when you didn’t speak to him at all, strolling through the halls and seeing him tug a piece of hair behind the ear of some Ravenclaw girl while simultaneously giving her his infamous smile. Even though you also flirted and went on dates with others, something inside your guts sunk down each time you saw him with a girl who was not you. And you could barely handle it. Every time you promised yourself you’ll never sleep with him again or give him your attention, you’d always end up doing the opposite. There was something about him that lured you in, it was toxic, but so divine. So, whenever his lips connected to yours in a hungry kiss, you’d forget about all of the other women he probably does this with. It was just you and him and your only thought during these moments was to stay with him like that forever.

‚-it’s not like it’s that important.’

‚Huh?’ You lifted your head and met Pansy’s annoyed face. ‚Sorry, what were you saying?’

¨What is going on with you lately?´She shook her head and sighed. ´I asked if you have a date for the ball.’ She then added.

‘Oh, well, not really.’ You shrugged.

‘Seriously? Is this about Theo again? I’ve told you multiple times that there is a fucking queue of guys just waiting for you and all you do is always go back to him.’ She huffed. ‘What about Mason? Louise? Henry? They were all head over heels for you, I don’t believe they didn’t ask you at least once.’

‘They did. I just said no.’ You mumbled and avoided her angry gaze.

SShe groaned and took a sip of her butterbeer. ‘I was not going to tell you this, but I see there is no other option.’ Pansy took a deep breath. ‘I heard the boys talking about the ball and Nott wants to take Arisa.’

You swallowed a big gulp in your throat and looked down into your drink. You expected that something like this would happen, you just didn’t think you wouldn’t be prepared to hear it.

‘’M sorry.’ She looked at your numb expression with caring eyes.

‘It’s okay Pans.’ You gave her a soft smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

Even though you tried to not think about him for the next few days, it was unusually hard. He was on your mind non stop, like a song playing on repeat. On top of that, everyone was talking about the upcoming event. While walking through the halls you overheard people gossiping about the pairs, discussing what they are gonna wear and you were also a witness to roughly 7 performances of the boys creatively asking their crushes to go with them.

You walked into the courtyard and took a seat on the nearest free bench. You pulled out your sketchbook in hopes to finally draw something. Truth is, you didn’t remember the last time you practiced your beloved activity, not that you didn’t have time, you just didn’t have any ideas. This time wasn’t different, you looked around and then your gaze rested on the empty page before you. You made a soft line with your pencil and stopped, it was like your hand didn’t want to listen to your mind. You groaned and closed the sketchbook to put it in your bag again. While doing this, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Cedric Diggory, a charming smile plastered on his face.

‘Hi, do you have a moment?’ He asked and you stood up to face him.

‘Of course.’ You smiled.

‘I have a question.’

‘If you want my help with something, then no. I can barely finish my own essays and-‘

‘No, that’s..’ He chuckled. ‘I was wondering if you’d want to go to the ball with me?’

‘Oh..’ You bit your lip softly from the inside. ‘I.. I’ll think about it. Is that okay with you?’

‘Surely, just don’t take too long, darling.’ He sent you a wink and walked out of the courtyard.

Later that night you were studying in your dorm, soft music was playing in your headphones as you scribbled some sigils for one of the classes. Your back was turned to the door, so you didn’t hear that someone came in. It was the feeling of being observed that made you move your head to inspect the room and there he was. Theodore Nott stood next to your door, his arms were crossed and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You grabbed your headphones and took them off.

‘Knocking exists.’ You told him.

‘Not for me.’ He replied sternly.

‘What are you doing here, Theodore?’ You fixed your position on the bed so that you were fully facing him. ‘Don’t you have any other hoes to tend to?’

‘Are you going to the ball with Diggory?’ He avoided your question.

‘Why do you care?’ You stood up.

‘Answer me.’ He took a step closer to you.

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.’

‘For fucks sake, stop being a brat and answer the question.’ He said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s none of your business.’ You replied while stepping closer to him and poking your finger into his chest.

His scent filled up your nose and you felt this forbidden feeling again. Your body was lustful, for him, but you couldn’t let him win again.

He chuckled, ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’

You scoffed, ‘Fine. Yes.’ You spat at him. ‘I’m going with Cedric. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

His eyes darkened at the confession, which wasn’t even true. You just wanted to get on his nerves and see what he would do. You didn’t even have time to react before he pinned you to the wall and hovered over you. Your breath hitched and you tried your best to avoid his eyes, because if you looked into them, you’d lose.

‘No, you’re not.’ He stated. ‘You are not going with anyone.’

‘Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?!’ Your eyes were glued to the ceiling.

He gripped your face with one of his hands and forced you to look at him. You closed your eyes.

‘You.’ He whispered and brought his lips closer to yours before breathily adding the rest. ‘Are. Mine.’

The sound of his voice was angelic and it sent a certain feeling down to your core. You tried your best to resist but your eyes fluttered open and met his. You lost.

He grabbed your face and connected your lips in a hungry kiss. You whimpered into his mouth and cursed yourself in your mind. Why was he so addictive? Why couldn’t you quit? He just felt too good to be true. Kissing you in all the right places, his fingers touching where you needed him most, every time you felt him inside of you, it felt like heaven.

He took a few steps back and tried to not break the kiss. He pushed you onto the mattress and with one of his hands he pushed all the books off the bed. He left wet kisses along your jawline and you moaned at the feeling. He discarded both of your shirts and attached his lips to your chest, leaving a couple love bites along the way.

‘I want you to say it.’ He mumbled into your ear.

‘Hm?’ You were brought out of your trance.

‘I want you to admit you’re mine.’

‘But am I?’ He stopped kissing your neck and gripped your throat.

‘Are you?’ He raised his brow and smirked challengingly, knowing you’d fold under him.

You stared deep into his eyes and swallowed harshly because of his grip, before replying, ‘I’m yours.’

‘Good girl.’ He let go of your neck and connected your lips once again.

Soon enough both of you were a sweaty mess, clothes laying somewhere on the wooden floor, soft sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His breath on your neck and occasional kisses made you feel dizzy, his fingers making you squirm from the pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I need to feel you.’ You breathed out and Theo didn’t waste a second.

He positioned himself on top of you and slowly entered your aching pussy. You threw your head back and he used that to immediately attach his lips to your neck once again.

‘’S okay, darling. You’re doing so good f’me.’ He whispered to help you relax.

His voice made you let go of the tension in your lower body, finally allowing him to move at a pace so perfect for both of you. He lifted you up and spinned both of you, so that you were on top of him. His thrusts became quicker and stronger, one of his hands was caressing your breasts, while the other rubbed your clit so deliciously. You cried out his name a few times when you were close, but he always stopped just then. He just smirked every time and continued his actions, it turned him on, watching you whine on top of him. He felt he was getting closer to his release, so he sped up again, and this time his hand stayed on your sweet spot. You reached your high with a loud moan and threw your head back, your hand grabbing Theo’s arm. He released inside of you with a loud groan and you used that to push away his hand which was still rubbing circles on your bud, too sensitive for more. You collapsed on top of him and gave him a peck on his collarbone. Theo reached for the blanket and covered the two of you.

‘I lied.’ You mumbled.

‘What?’

‘I’m not going with Cedric.’ You replied softly. ‘I told him I’d think about it and..’

‘Good.’ He interrupted. ‘You’re going with me then.’

‘Am I?’ You looked up at him playfully. ‘I thought you were taking Arisa.’

‘Who?’ He replied and you giggled. ‘She asked me to go. But I refused.’

‘Why? She’s a nice girl.’

‘Maybe. But she isn’t you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘And I belong solely to you.’

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

@ girasollake 2024

[ellecdc]

Could you continue on the moon water x pregnant reader, where she’s further along? And how the boys react, like who’s more protective Remus or regulus? Who’s doing all the cooking? Just a cut little domestic fic

Also I love all of your work!!

THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING I TOTALLY DIDN'T HAVE THIS DRAFTED UP IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE LAST ONE....THAT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING LOL thanks though I love this little dynamic so friggen much

poly!moonwater x pregnant!reader who's in her first trimester

You learned a lot about yourself and both of your boyfriends throughout the first trimester of your pregnancy.

Though you had always known that both Remus and Regulus were prone to worrying, you learned that they both had very different methods of worrying over you.

Regulus was what you called a fusser. He was constantly fussing over you. Adding extra servings to your plate unprompted. Running out the night he found out you were pregnant to buy prenatal vitamins and potions (muggle and magical), which he served to you each morning himself so that he knew that you were taking them. No one was allowed to use the loo attached to your bedroom, as that toilet was deemed the vomit toilet, which he disinfected twice a day in case you needed to ‘rest your poor beautiful face on it’ as was often the case. He insisted you stay bundled, almost forcing extra layers on you before you stepped outside. And he insisted you begin pelvic floor exercises immediately.

Remus was what you called a coddler. He was always hovering over you at the off chance you might need something at that exact moment. “Are you comfortable, dovey?” “Do you need anything?” “Are you thirsty?” “Did Regulus upset you?” “Do you want me to rub your feet?” “Do you want me to call you in at work?” “Why don’t we go take a nap, hm?” “Have you drank enough water today?” and so on and so forth.

What you learned about yourself during the first trimester of your pregnancy?

You hated being fussed over. 

“Regulus Black, I am full.” You pressed, shooting your boyfriend a stern glare where he stood beside you, serving spoon hovering in the air from his attempt at putting more on your plate.

“Amour, I don’t think you’ve had enough to eat today. You’re eat-”

“For two, she knows. Bubs, she full named you, I’d cut your losses if I were you.” Remus stage whispered to Regulus, shooting you a sympathetic albeit concerned glance.

Regulus looked distressed as he awkwardly hovered at your side, seemingly trying to decide between surrendering or pushing his point. 

“Maybe just-”

“Full!” You shrilled, standing from the table and storming off towards the entrance. You pulled on a pair of shoes and your jacket before grabbing your car keys and heading for the door when you noticed movement in your periphery.

“Regulus I swear to gods, if you come over here with another jacket I will set you on fire.”

Without missing a beat he turned on his heel and disappeared back from whence he came - one of your jackets still firm in his grasp.

Regulus, Remus, and James all gawked at you when you told them you wanted to buy a car. You were a witch, you could get anywhere in seconds with a flick of your wand, a portkey, or a handful of floo powder.

Lily understood the contentment that came with going for a drive once in a while, but your biggest supporter had been Sirius. He loved almost nothing more in this world than the way he loved his motorcycle.

He had insisted on accompanying you car shopping, and whilst he teased you to no end for not choosing the flashiest car available to waste Regulus’ inheritance on, you were happy with your purchase. 

You were also beginning to wonder if portkey and apparition was a safe way to travel now-a-days, what with your pregnancy and all.

You’d driven for maybe all of twenty minutes before you were parked back outside of your flat, staring at the navy painted door.

You felt ridiculous for getting upset. It’s not even like this behaviour of theirs was new, though it was perhaps heightened on account of your growing family. 

You hated drawing attention to it - not one to minimise your own feelings - but you also supposed you were feeling… extra sensitive lately on account of the…hormones. 

You suddenly felt teary; Regulus was being so thoughtful; you haven’t once had to think or worry about, well, almost anything. He ensured you had everything you needed, and you never even had to ask for it.

And Remus was always close by to ensure you never wanted for anything, willing to drop whatever he was doing on a sickle to serve you.

Fuck, they were saints, you were awful.

Feeling thoroughly ashamed of yourself, you got out of your car and made your way to the flat, shucking off your jacket and shoes before moving down the hall to the living room.

Regulus snapped his head in your direction immediately, whilst Remus smirked to himself and calmly placed a scrap of paper in his book to mark his spot. 

“Amour, I-”

“I’m so sorry, Reggie.” You whimpered, causing Regulus to deflate and his face to fall in misery. 

“No, darling, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He insisted as he moved to envelop you in his arms. 

“I was awful.” You muttered into his chest causing him to chuckle. 

“You were not awful; you were really quite reasonable.”

“I was mean.”

“Amour,” he pressed more seriously, pulling away from you and forcing you to make eye contact with him. “When I broke my heel and was stuck in that cast for weeks, what did I say to Rem when he was fussing over me?”

You chuckled slightly as you looked over to Remus, noticing him roll his eyes fondly at the memory. 

“You told him to go fuck a cactus.” 

Regulus looked at you with an expression of pride. “I told him to go fuck a cactus.” He agreed dreamily. 

“Dove, even if it doesn’t always feel like it, you’re working awfully hard right now. You’re going to be tired, perhaps a little irritable, and it is more than fair for you to tell us to back off, yeah?” 

You pushed your face back into regulus’ chest as you felt your sinuses fill painfully. 

“Yeah.” You whimpered back pathetically. 

Remus made an equally pathetic cooing sound and moved to stand behind Regulus, wrapping his arms around the both of you. 

“Probably doesn’t help to have two of the most overbearing partners, hm?” He asked as he rubbed circles into your back. 

“You’re not overbearing.” You argued. 

“No?” Regulus asked, pressing a kiss into your hair. “What are we?”

“Lovely.” 

“Dove? Are you crying?” 

“……no”

“Why are you crying, amour?”

“Because I’m pregnant and you’re lovely.” You whined. 

They both chuckled at you and the three of you stood in each other's embrace. 

As was usually the case, Regulus was the first to break the silence. 

“I really would feel better if you ate a little bit more tonight, amour. Can I get you anything, anything at all?”

You suppressed a groan and thought really, really hard about it. You supposed you were a little peckish, and if you didn’t eat now - you’d surely be hungry by the time you got into bed. 

“Can we have fast food?” 

Regulus let out a sigh of relief and Remus barked a laugh. 

“You know, I was sort of hoping you’d suggest that, Dovey. I’ve been dying for some curly fries.” 

With nothing more said, Regulus went and grabbed two jackets for you, tossing you the car keys and asking if you were in the mood for a drive to look at the city lights. 

You sat parked in a turn-off facing a bridge and overlooking the Thames, watching the lights of cars, planes, and boats dancing along the water in your view. 

Though both boys had been nothing but supportive of you and your pregnancy, you knew that they both had some worries and fears that only their brother and best friend could pacify. 

“We should probably tell the others soon.” You admitted finally.

If you didn’t know better, you’d have assumed the silence in the car meant that you actually hadn’t said anything out loud at all.

You did know better, though, and it was the way Regulus’ spoon paused halfway between his ice cream and his mouth that assured you he had, indeed, heard you. 

“Really?” Remus asked first, breaking the silence and rebooting Regulus’ hard drive as he finally brought the spoon to his mouth.

“Yeah, I think it would be helpful, for all of us really. I mean, James and Lily have done this before, and Sirius would be very enthused.” You explained.

The three of you had decided to play it safe and wait until the end of the first trimester to start telling anyone, with this being your first pregnancy and all.

You knew, though, that if you weren’t already starting to show (the boys insisted you weren’t, but you think they were just trying to appease you), you would be very soon. 

Regulus finally hummed and plopped his spoon into his now empty ice cream cup.

“Or,” He started, keeping his eyes trained on the scenery in front of him. “We could pack up, change our names and move to Switzerland.”

His suggestion was met with silence (and unimpressed looks from both his partners that he didn’t bother to look at himself), causing him to groan and sink further into his seat.

“Fine. But you have to deal with Sirius’ insufferable excitement.” He pouted, though he couldn’t hide the soft blush adorning his cheeks and the little smile gracing his lips. 

“Your options are Sirius or James, bubs.” Remus chuckled.

“I still don’t see why Switzerland’s not on the table.” Regulus countered, earning him a pinch in his ribs from Remus.

You picked the right ones, you thought; you had the best family to bring your little one into.

[florasvenus]

My Sweet Little Demon

Pairing : So’Lek x Na’vi (Avatar) Female!Reader

Warnings : Smut, Sexual/ Explicit Contents, Slight Fluff, Posessive attitude, So’lek and reader in Love, p in v Slight agressive behaviour, swearing and that should be it.

A/ N : Hello Everyone! I hope you’ll like this story. I originally come from AO3. Mostly surfing on there, but I decided to take a look here and found the vibe pretty nice. I decided to write this So’lek fic because I obviously got obsessed with him and I guess not having the game contributed to it even more for some reason? Plus I am very obsessed with Neteyam too as I just watched the movie again, so it all restarted lol. I hope I'll be forming a nice community here. For now this will be it. Smooch 💕💙

Index : Tawtute = Human/ SkyPerson | Nga yawne lu oer = I love you

Nga yawne lu oer...

Nga yawne lu oer~

You pronounce together, looking profoundly in eachothers irises. Each of them a pure yellow color. Dark pupils dancing in the golden sky. So’lek kisses with lust the slight swell of your stomach, slowling traiking up to suck on one of your hardened nipples. He quits it with a small pop, the humid glaze of left on it making them more enticing than they already were. He sits up on his heels, after your long make out session. As he leans back, his erected cock bobs and twitches in anticipation. Without any shame you glide the flat of your hand over his torso, down his abs until you grab his throbbing dick showing a delightful bead of pre-cum. You slowly caress him and he lets his head fall back, locks danfling down, waving down at his round ass contracting in need. With a swallow he recovers and adjust himself, ready to enter your beautiful flower.

So’lek pierces the breach of your dripping entrance with a low growl. Gritting his teeth to the point of grinding, he lets out a jerky breath at the sight of his pretty tawtute spread out for him beneath his thick, masculine frame. He tightens his grip around your thighs, whitening his knuckles even more, and spreads your legs with surprising grace, considering everything about him radiates strength, endurance and certainly not softness. He looks at you with hooded eyes and a snarl is blown to your nose, contrasting the care he's been laying on you since you both started to make out in the lushious Pandoran greens.

You’d been such a brat. Such a fucking bitch, with your human lips, pouring endless words of nonsense. Such a tawtute manner, he thinks bitterly, though he couldn’t contain how much he loved this about you. And this was one of the reasons he fell in love with you. Your vivid mind never ceased to impress himself, as he always believed humans had a weak and poor thinking brain. But this was not true for you. You were able of so much introspection and impressive deductions that you couldn't stop yourself from talking during the whole day, yet with wisdom. You had this way of speaking every thought. As beautiful as it was, it could seriously piss him off after a long day amongst the clan warriors. And today was one of these, were the strenght of his nerves weren't enough to mirror your sense of verbal connection, but just enough to pound the attitude out of you.

Sky Demon oh so delicate and gracious, that it was able to break the stiff wall of his long lasting beliefs. Sky Demon, oh so pure hearted, made him fucking feel what love was and felt the ground crumble under his feet since the day he met you. Sky Demon, oh so sincere and kind, able to knock the most harsh feelings he always felt towards any of your kind out of his lungs. And Sky Demon, so unbelievably true to herself, made him drool at the curious idea of how such a being could ressemble to one of his kind. You truly were the person proving him wrong on the fact that it wasn't your source, your race nor your home that should make you an enemy. But it was the hearts of those rejecting Eywas truth that had to be feared and chased.

As you were learning him to see the world through a different way and less darkened eyes without changing his aspects. He himself, showed you how much you deserved to be loved, even how far down you fell and how unalive you used to feel. Originally from earth, you arrived on Pandora by the mission to seek out new ways of life. Finding a way to save humanity without any harm. You then were attributed to your own avatar. Everything was fine until, the higher people, controlling the plan, lost their mind and you decided to flee into the forest and then you met So’lek. Luckily you had found a way to transfer your soul for good in your blue grand form and said goodbye to your human form without any regret, as you never felt any glimmer living this life of human roots. This amplified by the days you had the chance to live amongst them, as the tsahik saw something true and pure in your soul.

Back on earth, the world is destroyed and getting the chance to leave for Pandora, was like the four petal clove found in the endless pain field. A gift from the universe you never awaited and in distress needed. You smile everyday at this chaotic story and at how it somehow worked and shaped into the most beautiful story to share, with quite the amusing anecdotes. Like you loved to and it was utmost crazy to see that maybe yes. The universe always had a plan for you, by the way such uncompatible puzzle pieces still locked into place together. Or by the way two completely different souls managed to pull together easely. In the end, the only language is still love. And it will be the hymn of the universe forever.

His warm calloused and soothing palms craddle the little fat of your legs, calming your racing heart as he tries to penetrate deeper and deeper into your intimate warmth. Your labias spread evenly as his dick slides in you with difficulty. You two weren't having intercourses for long so it was only normal as you in addition were very tight to begin with. You're so damn tight, he thinks. But he regrets his thoughts, feeling how good your walls kiss the skin of his member. So tight, that he could even feel the rythmic beat of his heart down there. Deep pulse gaining speed with each second passed and as the most carnal needs grow. He sighs erotically, stopping his way inside for a second and taking his time admiring you. Everything in you radiates light and Love and he now couldn't even dare to imagine living without you. When he first met you, he had this irrepressible urge to cut of off your devil hands. Five fingers, the art of destruction, but today as knowing who you were inside, he only wants them to be feeled on evey inch of his skin.

Reaching down to hold one of your hands up, he put your small finger into his hot mouth, sucking on it hard while humming unintelligible sounds. Praising this part of you today was something important. Maybe was it out of guilt, but it wasn't something to ignore at how it just fueled desire powerfully by just a small actions as simple as this. The way it delivered trust and love around the air, was a drunk dizzying feeling. But you both loved to feel succumbed under such circumstances.

You look up in awe, squirming at his bold chest glistening with sweat and at the way his pecs contract with each fast inhale. As you move you can feel the resistance in your core, jolting at the way it sends electricity to your heart and you mewl at the way his warm tongue swirls around your slender petite finger. The rough surface of his tongue momentarely stops as you clench down on him, only to fully decontract yourself and finally letting his way easely in. Exactly how he planned to. You were so putty under his touch and he loved this. Loved to feel so masculine and viril in such a tender and yet feminine moment.

You moan, body wriggling at the size of his member resuming his ascencion down your belly, slowly forming a bulge without struggle. Given his posture, it's never been strange that he'd come away with such a large, long size and length. But as always, theory surpasses reality. And right now, it's the practitioner who's got the upper hand. An expert in the art, So’lek revels in your face as it contracts in innocent pleasure, and despite your pain, the oh so delectable stretch of his greatness evokes a sensation of intense well-being.

His voice breaks the silence only punctuated by heavy breaths. Pronounced accent and long vocal chords, and so on low growl, expressing their intention.

Look at you.... My beautiful Tawtute~ So ready and wet for me... He breathes in emotion with a smile while whispering just below your ear, his hot breath fanning over your sweet spot, before lapping at it like a starving man. You shiver, cold spikes travelling down your spine in an addicting way. Mouth long release of its favorite finger, he still caresses it with his own and pins it down just over your head, vanishing into the dark chocolate hair of yours splayed into the humid ground into a captivating canvas.

He enters slowly, letting your body adjust bit by bit. The vein of his dick slides through the membrane of your throbbing hole until it is stopped by the bump of your cervix. You moan in unison, ragged breaths escaping your luscious lips, coated with a thin film of saliva. Your eyes roll back into your skull, your mouth falling open as he maintains a steady rhythm. So'lek slides out of you, then gently in, testing the waters again and again. But as soon as your walls get wetter and the desired slick accumulates at the base of his stiffness, he begins a merciless rhythm that frees never heard harsh sounds from your mouth, vibrating on your tongue rarely, with each thrusts.

He lifts your hips, embracing the bulge of your bottom, and the new angle forces a long, desperate whimper out of him. The whole scene would have been obscene, between the dry tumults of his pubic bone slapping the soft down of your pussy and the grumbles escaping So’leks throat, it’s more than a mystery. Only you can bring him to do that. Be so free of his emotional restrains and that's what makes this moment so profound. And this is exactly what makes him angry too. Fortunately, you're hidden in a rocky alcove near a river that blocks out any auditory vibrations. And the headwaters of the waterfall muffle the voluminous muses of your companion, lost in an almost animal trance.

Your arms are now limp, framing your lulling face, enamoured with an expression of aggressively delicious pleasure. Your cheeks blaze with a new colour, a bright red, growing in intensity as the knot in the pit of your stomach becomes more and more oh so fucking good tensed. Noxiously more.

So’lek rises to his knees, lifting his bottom up, this new position much more within reach of an intoxicating act. Sinking deeper into the sweet warmth that has become a necessity at this stage of your shared passions, you can feel your body bounce with each stroke. Only your bobbing shoulder blades are connected to the sacred humid soil. Only witness next to the curious lifting leaves.

This goes on for minutes until the familiar sensation of orgasm approaches. Your face contorts in shock, letting out a melodious gasp as it arrives, and in a desperate gesture you reach out your arms, searching in vain for something to cling on, your eyes closed. Your upper limbs fall back onto the sumptuous floral carpet with a flat thud, convulsing with pleasure as the overstimulated nerves finally relax with a well-placed dip. Your first orgasm is like a firework exploding on your erect bud. Your second cuts you off from all air, arriving like an uncontrolled tsunami, and the last. Oh, the last one. You see it coming, but as it shoots its first gusts into the centre, it develops into a veritable firestorm. Burns your being up to the depths of your core, embrace you to the tips of your toes.

You see white as the last exhilarating breeze fades and you whine at the overstimulation. So’lek is still chasing his climax, frustrating shouts echoing off the stone walls that clatter in the suffocating atmosphere. All his muscles tense, his cock throbs and his balls contract unbelievably close to his crotch. He gives it all until the pulsation of his member points its knowing pump and in one last stroke he glues your two pelvises flush together and empties his seed directly into your womb, staying there.

You both semi-giggle in a transe, lost in your sensations. You feel his warm seed fill you to the brim, finally able to take a complete breath, whilst he lets his head fall down, groaning at the amazing way to claim you, that his to fuck you dumb until his cum paints your leaking walls.

Missions accomplished. You are exhausted, eyes fluttering in a way to try and keep them open. Long lashes shadowing the little of sight you are able to get. Wanting to watch the beauty of this man after he'd use you and worshipped you whole. Soul to Mind, to Body, to Spirit, to every inch of Life living inside of you. This always leads him in a charming sweet way to be and there is no way you'd miss it. To bad, turns out he fucked you too good. Now you can't even open your eyes the way you should...

You awake the second he pulls out though and exhale an annnoyed complain. He chuckles as he heavily lays down next to you, wrapping his big arms around your sweating body, trailing them along your curves and enjoying the after care time. So’lek loves to relish in the smell and sensitive skin of yours. Damp and buttery from the effort, your scent is stronger making the world around him satisfyingly disappear even more.

You sigh, happy to have him near you for once. It isn't often you get the time to succumb to your wants and it feels good when you can. You nuzzle your cheek against his, shiny orbs waiting for his owns to connect with. And when they do, your heart swells with love. So’lek can be seemed as a brute and careless man for the simple by walkers, as he is very dominant looking. But in truth he's the teddiest of all Teddy Bears. He smiles, showing off his sharp fangs, and cups your jaw with attention.

He prepars to lean in and kiss you, but the movement of your lips stop him. Look at you... My beautiful Na’vi~ You reflect his previous words with playfulness, ears flicking and fluttering. So ready and wet for me... You joke by reusing his words, looking down at his blue and oh so tempting lips. With a groan, he looks up unimpressed. You just can't stop youself and talk nonsense, do you, he thinks. He smiles at the thought, though he would never admit, that it is you, with you never ending blabber, that got him out of solitude.

You let him lean in and as he devours your mouth again, holding your neck, he lingers there until both of you are out of air for a second time.

Now. If you want to be this bratty again... He pauses and grins. What if I show the consequences of it? Again~

You cup his growing naked bulge and smirk. He gasps, amazed at how you caught his words and the implying behind them so rapidly.

Oh... I would love to. My beloved Teddy Bear~

©️ FlorasVenus

[miraclewoozi]

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

Variety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when he sees you again. 

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” he questions. 

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

“Oh. Right.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guessed you could,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

“Mm. You can tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself. 

“See you around, y/n.”

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can hazard a guess at your predicament. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How… have you been?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except the obvious. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?” 

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

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

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

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten. 

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

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

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

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

jihoon: fine. you’re right. 

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

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

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

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

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao 

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

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

soonyoung: because we told them????? 

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

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

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

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

At least he’s admitted it now. 

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

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

—————

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

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

All this before he even gets to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

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

Slim, he decides. But not zero. 

There’s hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

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

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

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

y/n: hey :)

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

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

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

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

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

jh: apparently yes, you can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any. Fucking. Minute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm, says you.” 

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

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

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

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

So, you do.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I want to.”

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important enough,” he sighs. 

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

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers. 

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows. 

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

[nouvellevqgue]

✦ PICTURE ME NAKED

📷: lewis hamilton x reader

💭: everybody loves him and his talent. and of course, the fans love his talent in capturing his girlfriend's moments every time.

‼️: her face claim is taylor russell, age gaps (reader is 27), lovesick lewis, supportive fan, no bad fan behavior here bcs we only want some peace, some curse words.

💌: happy holiday and (late) christmas for those who celebrate!! while i finish my oscar and lando fics, let me treat you with lewis one. hope you enjoy it!💗

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

ynupdates

liked by lewishamilton, and 17,212 others

ynupdates Y/n L/n for The Face

view comments...

username oh motherrr

username she's literally jenna ortega but older version

username i knew why lewis is so head over heels for her now

⤷ username i mean look at herrrrrr

username hey siri can i marry a picture?

username lewis liking this... so that means he followed her fan accounts to see updates or he's just lovesick as fuck?

⤷ username probably just lovesick

username giving mick when laila's fan account's are posting something

username aside from their age gaps, but whatever tho i still like them both bcs i cannot think of any gorgeous couple aside from them rn

username how many years apart are they now?

⤷ username fucking twenty years😎

username she is literally so gorgeous, i'm gonna watch bones and all now

username timothée chalamet and lewis hamilton are those lucky guys who can be with her and she's looking so happy with them

⤷ username she's been with multiple men, but they're the person who can makes her happy

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, tchalamet, and 238,100 others

yourusername 😵‍💫

view comments...

georgerussell63 🤣🤣🤣i love the way you captured him like that

lewishamilton Why are you even posting this🤦🏽‍♂️

username THE WAY SHE CHOSE VIOLENCE AJSJAJAJSJ

username but he looks so good in every angles ugh i'm jealooouusssss

username he looks so done

username WHAT IS HE LISTENING???

username lewis taking her pictures: 🥰😍😚💗 meanwhile y/n on the other hand: 💀🤔🤨🫢

username but he looks so good too thooo

username the contrast difference between them both making me cackling so loooud

username me when mercedes lost:

⤷ yourusername Same

⤷ username SHE REPLIED TO MY COMMENT Y'ALL‼️‼️🔥‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️

username good at taking pictures bf + just snap whatever comes gf

mercedesamgf1 🫢🫢🫢

username we got his crumbs but at what cost

username i never expected this would come outta her account but what am i even expecting

username george what are you saying to him

⤷ georgerussell63 I swear I'm not saying anything

username but i love this still 🤣

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, rachelzegler, and 208,614 others

yourusername i miss this so much

view comments...

lewishamilton no tag?

lewishamilton 🧍🏽‍♂️

⤷ username just calm dooown we're always knew that it was you all along because who could everrr

username i love this type of love language

username when will i ever got a bf like him

username american actress gf 🤝 british driver bf

⤷ mercedesamgf1 what a good combination, right?😉

username this is going to be my roman empire

username yourusername hire him as your photographer

⤷ yourusername Probably one day I will 🫡

⤷ georgerussell63 I agree though don't mind me

lewishamilton added to their story!

caption: Morning rambles dj-ing mate✌🏽

yourusername added to their story!

caption: Don't doubt me, I'm a DECENT photographer now😎

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, justinbieber, and 241,986 others

lewishamilton My version of this thing.

view comments...

yourusername Oh this is quite low though

⤷ lewishamilton When you got low, I go low-er

⤷ username look what mercedes admin do to a man

⤷ mercedesamgf1 Swear we don't do anything

username not only her skin that's glowing, HER HAIR TOO✨✨

username wondering how did lewis took this since that he's not an actor

username he is so unserious😭😭

username but her face looks more relaxed tho can't lie

username the lightning being so bright just reminds me that he probably taking this sneakily

⤷ yourusername Honestly I know🤷🏽‍♀️

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, lewishamilton, and 128,087 others

yourusername WHAAAT??? THAT'S CRAZY!

👤: yourbestfriend

view comments...

username plane on a parking lot is my dream

⤷ yourbestfriend i've never thought about that either though🤷🏼‍♀️ it's just so random and spontaneous

username and why is he taking this?

⤷ username i think this was the second pic after the one from the twitter but idk don't come at me

charles_leclerc But really how could you move your plane to a parking lot?

⤷ yourusername By power.

username the plane looks so real tho

⤷ username because it is

username sometimes i wonder is her hair short or long

⤷ username we'll never know about that, next question.

lewishamilton added to their story!

caption: Recharging🔋🍔

yourusername

liked by calvinklein, lewishamilton, and 97,519 others

yourusername #ad #MyCalvin

view comments...

username i love when she gave no fuck and just put two hashtags and proceed to go

username calvin klein: mmm i just love the taste of nothing

username by the filter i know it's taken by one and only mr hamilton himself with his disposable camera

⤷ username how did u kno?

⤷ username most of her pictures is taken with that camera

calvinklein 🤩

lewishamilton

liked by rosalia.vt, yourusername, and 373,281 others

lewishamilton Stylish baby

view comments...

rosalia.vt muy bonitaaaaaaaaaaaaa❤️‍🔥💕

⤷ username ROSALÍA'S HEREEE

⤷ username we all know because she is def motomami cause he is a broom broom papi

⤷ username the heck u talking about

username literally mother

username that shirt thoo🔥🔥

username now i know why is she paired with him...

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and 241,102 others

yourusername My favorite colorrrr<33

comments on this post has been disabled

yourusername added to their story!

caption: Stroll around NYC💋💋

Y/N'S DIRECT MESSAGE

lewishamilton replied to your story!

lewishamilton: Since when did you even landed in New York?

yourusername: Yesterday

Oh wait, last night. I forgot🫢

lewishamilton: WITHOUT ME??

yourusername: I've noticed that you've been busy, so I don't want to bother you futher.

lewishamilton: Not anymore now

yourusername: So come here thennn

lewishamilton: Okay

Love you

yourusername: I LOVE YOU TOOOOO

lewishamilton added to their story!

caption: Nothing's better than wine picking with you🍷

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

—TAGLIST! @dinosushilun1 @miarabanana @4mula-1 @meowtastick @cabbyhabs @avengers-assemble123456 @4limq @queenofmanydreams

[sluts4matt]

Hiiiii Ik you are not Latina but you write for latinas (which I’m so thankful for btw because I can’t find many Latina reader fics as a Latina) but I wanted to ask that if you are comfortable with it and you know anything about it if you could right a fic about Latina reader dating either Chris or Matt and her introducing them to stuff like pan dulce, tres leches cake, flan, Hispanic candy and big family parties just how they would react to all of it. Again this is only if you are comfortable with it I don’t want you to feel pressured to do it at all I just really love your work so I had to ask.🫶

TRADITION

pairing: matt sturniolo x mexican!reader

summary: family get togethers happened once every year, this year you were more than happy to bring your boyfriend to share your traditions with.

warnings: swearing, fluff, small argument between reader and their cousin, kinda suggestive in the beginning, i make a small joke about white people which could set a snowflake off so 🤷‍♀️.

word count: 2074

authors note: i can't tell if i like it or if i feel like i didn't do your request justice. i'd like to say that i've never had flan myself, but like everything else i mentioned i've eaten before. (twas not made by white people)

you and matt had been dating for basically a year now. and while obviously your parents, and close family knew matt, your tía’s and tíos did not. however, this month your tía cindy was hosting a family get together.

they typically happen one time each year, each family member hosting a year. last year, your parents hosted. "i think you should come with me to my family get together," you mutter to matt, running a hand through the boy's brown locks as he laid his face on your chest.

the two of you were currently cuddled up in your bed, the babadook playing on your tv. your phone was resting on your pillow next to your head, your phone going off because of the groupchat you were in with your cousins.

"that would be cool," he mumbled, nuzzling his face into your chest. you could feel his eyes close against your skin, obviously meaning he was tired.

"i can introduce you to them as my boyfriend," you spoke quietly, almost as if you were trying not to scare him off, though a small smile was on your lips. though in reality you didn't know how you would. bro had seen you in all your naked glory, as well as seen you breakdown on many occasions.

there really was no scaring him away.

matt pulled his face from your chest, propping himself up on his elbows. the chain he wore dangling in front of your face as his blue eyes stared into your brown ones. "yeah?" he said, a teasing tone in his voice as he tilted his head.

you could feel your face heat up as you rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his face away. "don't tease me, asshat." you pout, looking away from the boy above you.

matt laughed, moving his face back down to press kisses to the top of your breast, before peppering kisses to the valley of your breasts and up to your neck. "i love you," he whispered, pecking your lips before pulling back, sitting back on his heels.

"so when is the gathering?" you snort at his response, "we're not witches matthew, this isn't a coven." you roll your eyes playfully. "mm, could be," he tilts his head.

"it's in a few weeks," you mutter, sitting up and grabbing your phone. you unlock your phone and click on the group chat, seeing what was going on. you rolled your eyes at the chaos that were your cousins.

"fun," he mumbles. "now lay back down," he states, pushing you back down. you look up at him and raise a brow. matt gives a small smile and grabs the blanket, resuming his previous position, pulling the blanket over your bodies.

he pressed small kisses to the spots his lips could reach on your boobs.

"you're such a horny bitch," you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. matt hums and shakes his head, "i am not, i'm just affectionate." he mutters, looking up at you.

"mm, whatever helps you sleep at night, babe." you tease. matt nips at your skin and shakes his head.

the two of you walked hand in hand into your tías house. the foyer was big, decorated with art, that quite frankly you couldn't exactly say where she had gotten the pieces from.

"dios mío, mira cuánto has crecido desde él año," cindy gushes, walking towards you. she incapsulates you in her arms, giving you a good squeeze. "tía, esté es matt," you introduce the confused looking boy. "i've heard so much about you matthew," your tía speaks, her mexican accent thick.

she pulls the boy in for a hug, "so glad you could join us this year." before you knew it, she was dragging him towards the snacks. there had been an assortment of candies, as well as salty snacks. next to it was a drink table, which held different types of liquor for the adults, as well as juices and jarritos for the kids.

you were greeted by other family members as you followed your stolen boyfriend through the people. "tell me matthew," you heard your tío marco say, making your eyes widen as you rush over.

"tío, hi, so happy to see you," you squeak, interrupting, knowing that your tio had a nick for scaring the people you dated away, either that or embarrassing you.

"i was just saying that your boyfriend looks like a real gentleman," he says, slinging an arm around the boys shoulders. "he threaten you?" you ask, looking at matt. this earns a scoff, "now, would a sweet, loving tio do something like that?" he tsks.

he looks over at matt, "tell me son, would i do something like that?" he says, squeezing matt's shoulders. the boys eyes widened slightly, "u-um, no, no sir," he says.

you give your tío a glare. he simply smiles and claps matt on the back, "excellent, glad we're on the same page. now, tell me about yourself." "i'm a youtuber-" matt starts, but gets cut off by your younger cousin who had just walked up the table. "a youtuber?" she squealed with excitement, "no wonder you're so pretty."

"back off kid, this ones mine," you mumble at the ten-year-old, wrapping your arm around matt's waist.

"okay, okay, no need to get territorial," your tía says, pushing her daughter away, "now, matt, let's get you a drink." "i don't drink, i'm sober," he says quietly. she winks at the boy, tapping her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "i like you, that was a test, you passed," she stated, grabbing a jarritos. "have a jarritos."

"and for my favorite sobrina," she stated, pouring tequila into two shot glasses. "don't tell your mom about this," she says, handing you one. you took it with a grateful smile, "cheers to you having a good guy by your side for once," she laughed at the last part. the two of you clinked your shot cups together, throwing them back.

the alcohol burned going down, causing you to make a face. "you okay?" matt asks, his hand rubbing your back soothingly. "woah," you shake your head. "mhm, fine," you hum, answering him.

everyone was seated at the table, the children sitting at the kids table. a bowl of pozole sat in front of everybody, as well as a big plate with some elote on it. "what it this?" matt whispers, ducking his head down to talk to you quietly.

"soup," you say, "tía sofia will you pass me a few limes," you ask. she nods her head, passing the small bowl over for you to grab a few. "look," you tell matt, "like this."

you squeeze the lime into the dish, "or you could just put it on top if you want," you shrug. you stir it around, adding some lettuce and onion to yours. "it's not authentic if you leave out the beats," you cousin miles whispers to matt. "literally shut up, like who asked you?" you mumble quietly, not looking to cause a scene over something as stupid as the way you like your pozole.

"here, let's try a little," you tell him, holding a spoon up to his mouth. he opens his mouth and lets you feed him. his eyes boring into yours as you do, he hums when his mouth closes around the utensil.

you pull the spoon away from his mouth and place it down, "how is it?" you ask, grabbing a piece of elote. "elote will never not be good," you state, "pass me the tajin miles."

the black-haired boy complies, sliding the bottle over to you, the plastic clanging with your glass. "thank you." you open the container and sprinkle the seasoning over the cob.

"isn't that a bit much?" matt says, tilting his head. "white people," you mutter, shaking your head as you take a bite of the corn. "no, it's never a bit much," you say, licking the tajin from your fingers.

you look up and see the eyes of your cousin miles staring at you, "what?" you say, glaring at the boy. "you're mean to him, wonder how you've kept him so long." he was obviously trying to get under your skin, it was what miles did. it was like he lived to be able to piss you off whenever he saw you.

"oh yeah, you're the fucking expert in relationships," you say, rolling your eyes. "because you haven't been able to keep somebody for more then five months," you add, looking back down to the table.

"i'm not the one who cheated on her last boyfriend," he says, crossing his arms. "miles," your aunt warns, "not here." "literally a bullshit lie and you know it," you state, getting up, walking inside to the bathroom.

matt quickly followed, leaving behind a table of people that were shocked. he walked in, closing the door behind him, and locked it.

you stood at the sink, gripping the edge as tears filled your eyes. his arms were wrapped around you, "it's not true," you mumble shakily, "i-i didn't," you hiccup. matt shushed you, pulling you closer to him.

"i don't really care if you did," he shrugs, though he knows there would have been a tad bit of fear that it could happen to him. "you didn't," he says, "but even if you did, i don't care. because you're mine, and i love you." he turns you around, cupping your cheeks.

"let's get you cleaned up," he says, using his sleeve to wipe the tears off of your face. you lean into his touch, and nod. "is it normally like this?" he asks, pressing kisses into your hair.

"miles will do or say whatever it takes to get under my skin," you mumble, "he's an immature little boy who doesn't care who's relationships he hurts," you scoff.

matt hums, and holds you close.

"i don't deserve you," you mumble, shaking your head, "i'm a mess." "then i will gladly be a mess with you so we can do it together," he mutters. "let's go back," he says, and unlocks the door.

as soon as he did, your cousin was standing there. "tía wants me to apoligiz-" "save it," you cut him off, holding a hand to his face. you and matt walk back to the table; pan dulce, flan, and tres leches cake gathered in the center of the table.

"here," your tía hands matt a piece of pan dulce. "thanks," he says, smiling at the older woman. he took the sweetened bread from her hands, tearing it in half before handing you one side. he takes a small bite, melting into his chair. "good?" you giggle, glad that most of the family was having their own conversations.

"magical," he hums, "then taste, tres leches," you state, grabbing a small plate with a slice. "tres leches is the only birthday cake i allow," you say, a smile on your face as his eyes light up. "why does this taste better then actual cake?" "because it is," you and your tía selena state at the same time.

matt nods his head and eats his dessert, looking around at all the people. his blue eyes landing on a picture that was hung on the wall. it was a photo of your abuela, the woman who raised your mom. you followed his eyes, "she was an amazing woman," you state, nodding your head.

“she would have loved you if she had the chance to meet you,” you mumble, resting your chin on the palm of your hand.

he looks over at you and smiles, grabbing a piece of flan. he puts the spoon in his mouth and hums, looking at you with wide eyes. "what is this? how did i never know this existed?" "because you never dated a bad ass latina bitch before me," you giggle.

"that's a good point," he shrugs. "and yes, flan is the shit," you laugh, "i love me some caramelized milk." matt's brows furrowed, "milk?" you hum, "milk, sugar, and eggs," you nod.

matt nodded his head and looked back at the dessert. he scooped some more and ate it. by the end of the night, mostly everyone was telling matt what a great guy he was, telling him they'd hope to see him at my cousin delorese quinceañera.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @etvar12 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolhoe @sturniolowhore @imwetforyourmom @novasturniolo03 @spencerstits @junovrsmp4 @breeloveschris @skyslondon @stars4chratt @monkeyscientist22 @sophssturn @hearts4chriss @l5ka @sturnlovr @blahbel668 @sturncakez @livvy4realll @raysmayhem-72 @jnkvivi

[tojiwrd]

1: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

warnings not much tbh,, just swearing, satoru being an ass, mention of family death, family drama, bad parents, and breakups, not proofread

word count 3k

a/n made a new account because the gojo brainrot is so deep i wanted to start a multichap, mega-angst fic lol

send requests next ↠ to be added to taglist

You stood under the silver luminescence of a crescent moon on your balcony, fingers curled around the neck of a wine glass that’s contents were dissolving into your bloodstream a lot slower than you wished. You didn’t expect anyone to walk through the looming windows behind you and condemn you for disappearing from the meeting because—in your mind—you’d done everything that was expected of you: sit there, look pretty, and occasionally nod your head whenever your mother speaks and voices her opinion.

It was rather funny, though, because your mother had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. When your father decided to kick the bucket seven months ago, he’d left your mother dealing with the remnants of his problems he wasn’t able to solve in his lifetime. Yesterday, your mother had to finally meet with the stockbroker as her grieving period was officially over and today, your father’s advisor advised her to have the meeting with the Gojo family your father set up before his death. 

You had assumed it was niceties, a sense of normalcy after losing a bigshot businessman between two powerful families. You were wrong. Twenty-seven minutes into the dinner, Gojo Takayashi throws his wine glass against the wall, staining the clean sheen of white paint a horrifying shade of crimson that looked like what the walls would truly be painted with were this dinner not to go the man’s way. 

“I need this company back,” he’d said, a lilt of rage coating his voice as he did his very best to not do something that would warrant him being kicked out. His wife, Aya, merely looked down to scan her manicured nails and took a large gulp of her wine, then sneakily took a sip from her flask (that obviously contained something much stronger) you’d caught a glimpse of. 

You’d pursed your lips, a melancholic sigh leaving your lips as you inspected the damage on the wall. Knowing your mother, she’d have somebody come in by tonight to fix it. 

“And you can have it back, as I told you.” Your mother evidently rolled her eyes as she replied to the man, jaw gritted. 

“I am not emptying my entire wallet to buy my own company!”

Your mother, much to the eldest Gojo's ire, let his statement simmer and marinate in the inexplicably thick air of tension and continued chewing down the last bit of her food. 

Nobody dared to talk, even your grandmother who stuck to clicking her heels against the linoleum floors. You’d decided to skip out on dessert, creating some measly excuse of a stomach ache that nobody believed but didn’t deign to respond to. You didn’t think you could get away with both families not noticing the tension between you and the Gojo’s youngest, but the elders truly gave you a run for your money because you went almost the entirety of dinner without having to speak to Satoru. Keyword being almost. 

You couldn’t be childish and spill the red wine over his obnoxious, perfect-fitting white shirt like his father spilled over your walls because that would most likely start the next war were his family to see such blatant disrespect. But, when you felt his presence behind you in the balcony, you knew you had free reign and you could, in fact, be childish. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft, so soft that you almost forgot how the last time he’d spoken to you his voice had run through and sliced your chest like a knife. “Dinner’s over so—”

You cut him off and said, “Then go home, Gojo.”

Not Satoru. Not ‘Toru. Just Gojo. You were sure he couldn’t be the tiniest bit affected by the subtle (glaringly obvious) jab, but it felt good for more than a millisecond to reclaim some thin shreds of your dignity. You wanted to crane your neck to gaze at his reaction, to see if there was a reaction in the first place but you knew if you looked back, he’d be the one seeing a crochet of emotions weaving over yours. 

“You look good, Y/N,” he said, completely ignoring your disinterest in the conversation. Of course, you looked good. You knew that. But why did he have to say it? 

“Can’t say the same for you.” Lie. You intended to have more bite in the words, but they came out almost emotionless.

You looked down at your waist as you heard him shuffle behind you and his hands reached out to clutch at the metal railing in front of you, arms almost brushing against your waist. His fingers curled, and it gave you a chance to see the ring on his finger. You took in a shuddered breath as the sandalwood and slightly musky scent of his cologne snaked their way to your nostrils, entirely taking you back to the times when you fell asleep to that scent and had it floating around you nearly all the time. You hated him. You hated him because the way he let out a small, barely audible chuckle at your inhale, you knew that he knew exactly what was going through your mind. 

“I just—I want to talk about everything, Y/N.”

When Gojo Satoru broke up with you, it wasn’t poetic nor was it something for the movies. 

When Gojo Satoru broke up with you, you couldn’t respond with prettily crafted words to make him reconsider or, in fact, respond at all. Your friends always told you that you had a way with words, and you believed you did, too, because you were hardly ever afraid of speaking your mind. However, when Gojo Satoru broke up with you, your mind most likely short-circuited because all you did was stare at the deep sea you were sure resided within his eyes. 

His voice was unwavering, or maybe it wavered and you were simply too gone to notice it, when he said, “I think we moved too fast, Y/N. I don’t think I’m ready to be tied down for life, honestly.” 

When he opened with words as hard-hitting as those, how could he have given you any more closure? What could you have asked him to make him stay? He was the one who got down on one knee in the rooftop restaurant he’d rented out for the night and gave you a perfectly mesmerizing speech before he pulled out a maroon velvet box. He was the one who assured you that both your families would be okay with this—that they’d finally accept your relationship as a genuine one instead of as a fling between two twenty-something-year-olds who have nothing better to do with their time. 

You thought about how ecstatic your father would’ve been once he realized his little princess was getting married. Your mother would probably squeal in excitement before running herself ragged with the wedding preparations. You weren’t sure about his parents, though. Your families always had a moderately decent relationship, decent enough that Satoru’s father signed over their shared ownership of their company to hers after the Satoru’s began being involved in legal issues that threatened the company’s image. But you did know that despite the companionship, Satoru’s parents were difficult. They were sheltered people that knew nothing of how to treat their kid except what they’d learned from their own parents, and that was why Satoru hardly ever let himself feel too much over their words and demands. It didn’t cut deep for him because he knew they didn’t know any better.

All of that didn’t matter anymore, though, because Satoru had asked for the family heirloom engagement ring back with shaky, hesitating hands. You wanted to laugh and cry because he’d said, “I don’t want my parents to notice it’s missing, just in case they check.

How were you meant to know that after three months, you’d be hearing from Suguru that Satoru was engaged to Kimura Hana and she was wearing that wedding ring?

Suguru didn’t blame you when you got the idea that he broke it off with you because he wanted to marry her—docile, do-no-wrong Hana that you weren’t even aware he’d met—and he let you go along with that idea. You tore apart the rhinestone-studded invitation that your mother handed to you, a sad look gleaming in her eyes when your teeth dug into your lip at the sight. You cleaned up the strayed pink jewels that fell off from the thick paper and threw them in the trash, though you kept finding several of them in every nook and cranny of your room for the next month. 

It was a horrid feeling, seeing the heavy cursive inviting you to the wedding of Gojo Satoru and Kimura Hana. Inviting you, your name in just a small font at the top when it should’ve been next to his. In the middle. 

You called him a week after receiving the invitation, words you should’ve spoken in the car heavy on your tongue waiting to be let out. 

“Hey!” You’d heard the chipper, upbeat voice of a woman through the speaker of your phone and your fingers loosened their grip enough that it fell onto your blanket with a soft thud. “Who is this?” 

“Hana?” Him. His voice. It was hardly close enough for you to fully make out it was him speaking, but you’d heard the lilt of his voice you’d memorized over three years and it would’ve been difficult not to recognise it. “Who is it?”

She hummed, as though she forgot you were still on the line. “I don’t know, it’s an unknown number.”

You heard him scramble for the phone, and heard when it pulled away from her ears. “I told you not to pick up calls from—”

The line went dead, and it seemed as though a part of you died with it, too.

Maybe it was silly that what hurt the most out of everything—even hearing the girl who he’d picked’s voice—was the fact that he deleted your number. It wasn’t news that Satoru had found somebody else, but to know that he had erased nearly every fragment of his life from yours when the movie ticket of your first date was hung safely on the corkboard above your desk hurt. You were still finding pieces of his wedding invitation in the parts of your room the housekeeper hadn’t reached, and he didn’t even have any trace of you left on his phone. 

When you went on your second date, he showed you the list of his contacts on his phone to prove he only had a small list of twenty-eight numbers saved. He told you he only kept the phone numbers of people who mattered. At that moment, it was funny that he’d said the words, verbatim, “I only keep phone numbers that matter to me.” It was also a warming feeling when you noticed your name amongst them. 

Two months into your relationship, he’d told you in the midst of conversation that he saved your best friend, Reina’s number because he felt it was important. 

And now… 

Well, you couldn’t do anything. You felt as though him saying he didn’t want to be tied down was enough closure for you to come to terms with it. It made sense, too, in a twisted way that did hurt you because commitment wasn’t easy for many people and Satoru had fallen prey to that mentality. What you couldn’t come to terms with was how he’d gotten engaged three months after your breakup. And now, she was picking up calls for him and asking you who you were when you were one of the few people that reached his phone. 

It hadn’t made sense, not one bit. But you only had the tattered bits of dignity left in you to not make yourself seem weak in front of the person who’d given you the carpet to be vulnerable upon then abruptly snatched it from under your feet. Even if you wanted to. 

You were sure the wedding was a gorgeous, over-the-top, once in a lifetime procession. That was one of the many reasons that you didn’t go: it was once in a lifetime. And although people remarry very often around the world, they only have one first wedding. One first kiss as a wedded person. One first night of married bliss. You didn’t want to think that Satoru and Hana would separate because that was, in every way, a devilish thing for someone to even imagine but you were assured by your friends that it was completely valid for you to want him to hurt after what he did.

You didn’t grow the guts to tell them it was because you wished it would be you who he remarried. 

If you couldn’t be his first, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t settle for being his second. 

Satoru’s father went to prison not long after the wedding and that, finally, cut off nearly every form of companionship between your family and theirs. Your father had begun talking down on his father’s name after that, and you weren’t sure why and you didn’t ask because you couldn’t stomach speaking of anybody related to Satoru. Every trace of Satoru’s name vanished from your household, and you believed that was destiny’s way of offering you a chance to start anew because Satoru had. With Hana.

“We should meet Suguru soon,” Reina had said, and you knew she was right. You’d cut off contact with Suguru, albeit slowly and subtly enough that he forlornly caught onto the hints and crept out the door of your life completely. But that didn’t mean it was closed; neither of you held bad blood for one another, and you knew that he understood. 

You declined, wanting to live in the prolonged moment of life that had nothing to do with Satoru. 

The next, and only time, you’d seen Satoru in person was a completely miscalculated and chance encounter even the most highly-regarded fortune teller couldn’t have predicted. You had been in the bathroom of the club you, Reina, and your other friends went to nearly every weekend, when you heard a small squeal of recognition coming from the door next to the sinks. You didn’t need to do anything and were merely waiting for Reina to finish using the bathroom while you reapplied your lipgloss. 

“I know you! You’re Y/N from the… L/N family? My husband’s father works with yours.”

You craned your neck to the side, and were met with a delightfully sweet smile coming from one of the largest banes of your existence. 

You gave her a short, curt, once-over before you met her eyes and forced yourself to reply. “Yeah, and you are?”

She looked a bit shaken at your indifference and lack of recognition. You could only imagine how awkward she felt after deigning you with a bubbly greeting. “I’m—well, I’m Gojo Hana now, I guess.” She giggled, though the humor was hardly there behind it. It seemed as though she was scraping any and every corner to lessen the tension of the interaction. You didn’t care, though, because your mind was reeling at the idea that his wife didn’t even know you and Satoru dated for three years.

“Are you fucking—are you serious?” Reina appeared next to you, and you hadn’t even noticed the click of her heels as she’d walked out of the stall. You reached out a hand and placed it on her forearm to stop her from asking the question that was lingering in your mind, too. “Your husband only tell you that their fathers work together?”

You gritted your teeth. “They don’t work together, actually, since Mr. Takayashi is…”

In prison, the words went unsaid but were still communicated through the neon haze of the bathroom lights. 

“Well, that’s all I know. I’m sorry?” You almost felt bad for Hana because she was clearly clueless. A part of you wanted to mock her, say that he was mine first. But she could instantly rebut that by saying, he’s mine now. And you would lose that pissing contest. So, you kept your mouth shut. 

“Alright, sweetie,” Reina responded, giving her a wide berth, catching a hint of your thoughts and turning around to wash her hands. 

You blinked. “It was nice meeting you,” you said with no sweetness and kindness she offered you. 

Hana took that as her cue and mumbled it back before she scurried off to leave, completely forgetting why she had to go to the bathroom in the first place. 

“Man, she’s something.” Reina whistled through her teeth once the sound of the door shutting reverberated off the walls. 

“Isn’t that right,” you murmured, attempting to hold yourself from letting your thoughts drift into ones that could get your mind racing at 200 miles per hour. “Never thought I’d have to see her, though.”

When you and Reina walked out of the bathroom and sat down at the table with some of your friends—the others presumably on the dance floor—you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to find Hana in the crowd. And you immediately regretted it when you did, because she was at the bar, tucked between a pair of jean-clad thighs you knew all too well. She seemed to be speaking to Satoru, and a hand reached back to the nape of his neck as he hung onto every word she spoke and you felt your stomach twist into small, ugly knots at the sight. His neck turned around instantly, and his eyes immediately found yours, and you attempted to look away. You really, really wanted to. But that was the first time he’d looked at you in a year and three months.

Your throat clogged up, and though he was far away under the dimmed red lights shining from the large, obnoxious signs near the bottles, you itched to speak to him. His shiny white hair was a soft shade of crimson under the lights—you’d always point it out to him, how his hair looked exactly a solid color whenever he was underneath a shaded light. 

His lips curled slightly when he looked at you and his nose scrunched up into what you assumed was anger for treating his wife with such animosity. But the small moment of staring at what once could’ve been—at what once was—ended when he blinked and turned to meet her eyes again, and a healed fragment of your heart cracked again.

[musings-of-a-rose]

Not Without You

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader (nickname: Poppy)

Word Count: 2800+ 

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. I saw that clip of him making out in The Uninvited. That's it. That's the explanation. This is not betad. This one is for the sluts.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Masterlist

--------

I get out of my car, staring up at the ridiculous mansion in front of me. The sound of the ocean, just out of sight behind the giant home, is soft and gentle in my ears, calming me. Giving me a little mental boost before I sigh, smoothing down my dress. I make my way to the front door, weaving between a few cars that were parked out front. Expensive cars.

It's not that I'm jealous of my childhood friend. Emilia deserves to be happy and she's happy that she married money. Some fancy producer out here in LA that fell for her big eyes and bright smile the second he saw her.

But that doesn't mean I wanted to come to one of her dinner parties, having to schmooze and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say. I've been here before, met the people, fucked the party boy actor that eventually broke me, and yet here I am, unable to say no to Emilia.

I raise my hand to knock, dreading what the evening will bring but the door flies open before my knuckles touch anything. Emilia stands before me, a few rollers still in her hair, stress all over her body.

"Poppy, you're early! Thank GOD!" She pulls me inside and hugs me, the door closing heavy behind me.

"I always come early because you need me," I smile as she chuckles, lightly punching my arm. "What can I do to help?"

"You're angel, I swear! Can you make sure the table settings are right? There's extra silverware in the-"

"I know, Emilia. Everything like normal?" I'd been to so many of her parties, I know exactly what the set up is.

She nods, her smile growing wider. "Keep it simple and classy. You know me!"

I nod. "So what kind of party is this one? Another schmooze for Mr.?"

She waves her hand. "Yeah something like that. He's meeting with a bunch of actors for some upcoming project. He's hand selected them."

"Cool."

Emilia thanks me again before running off to finish getting ready. I pause for a moment, looking around trying to remember where the dining room is. I head down the hall and into what I think is the dining room. It turns out I remembered correctly, my eyes roaming over the table and making small adjustments to the settings already there. I end up pulling out more silverware, fixing them to Emilia's standards. I hate that I know this stuff, but I've saved her ass more times than I can count at these things so it helps to know what to expect.

As I work, my mind goes back to all the parties past. The ones she brought me to when she first started dating the producer several years ago. She had been so nervous, as if the producer wasn't already head over heels for her. That's where I met-

No. Not going down that road again. I can't do that to myself.

I shake my head and finish the settings, adding some minor touches to the decorations and finally lighting the candles. A knock at the door brings me out of my head and I walk over to answer it. An older gentleman stands there, putting out a cigarette with his shoe. He introduces himself as the director. What an ego.

Several people arrive after him, a mix of actors and a screenwriter. They all mingle in the sitting room for a few minutes before Emilia and the producer make their way in, everyone doing introductions.

The producer claps his hands together, looking around. "We're still missing one, but I doubt he'd mind us getting started. Who's hungry?"

Everyone gives their approval but as they move towards the dining room, a knock raps on the front door.

"That should be him. Guess I tried to start too soon!" Polite laughter at the producer as Emilia moves to answer the door, a quick glance in my direction before she disappears down the hall. The producer is telling some little story about a prior movie he was involved in, one I've heard a zillion times. But his story is short and he motions behind me.

"Just in time! We were about to eat. Welcome, Lucien."

My back stiffens. The room starts to spin my chest heaving. He didn't say Lucien. Did he? Maybe it was another Lucien. It couldn't be my Lucien? No. He's not my Lucien. He made that very clear when he wanted to continue partying and I wanted to settle down.

"Perfect! I'm starving."

Fuck. There was no mistaking that voice, the one that sets my skin ablaze, makes warmth pool between my thighs, the one that told me he needed to focus on his career and couldn't be with me. Not in the way I wanted him.

A small hand on my elbow squeezes me and I know it's Emilia, gently guiding me towards the dining room.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. He invited him and I didn't make the connection until the last minute."

"You couldn't have given me a heads up?" I yank my arm from her grip and swallow hard. I can't let him see how he makes me feel. He doesn't deserve that. I turn, letting the others file past me until he stops in front of me.

"Poppy. I..I didn't know you'd be here."

I'm determined to show him how much better off I am, that he means nothing to me now. I look up into his eyes and all of my resolve goes completely out the window. Were his eyes always that big? That round? So soft? I want to yank him to me by the thin chain around his neck, press my lips to his and never let go.

Way to show him, Poppy.

"I didn't know you'd be here either."

A silence stretches between us, a heavy, loaded silence. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me and is that regret I see? No. I'm projecting. But then he offers me his arm, taking me completely by surprise.

"We can be adults. Shall we?"

Don't do it. Don't take his arm, Poppy. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

My fingers close on his offered up arm. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity for you."

Fuck, he's still warm. His skin smooth where my fingers touch him. Way to go, Poppy.

He escorts me into the dining room and I feel Emilia's eyes glued to us. He pulls out my chair and I sit, him scooting the chair in behind me before walking around the table, looking for his name card. Which was conveniently placed directly across from mine.

The producer clears his throat after everyone sits and starts making some speech about the project, about handpicking everyone here, blah blah blah. I zone out, trying to use my peripheral to steal glances at him. It's been several years since that night we split, the yelling match that had devolved into quite possibly the hottest sex I'd ever had. No, don't think about that. I need a better look so I turn my head to take a drink and chance a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, still with the soft eyes. I nearly choke on my drink, managing to swallow it and clear my throat.

He finishes his speech and everyone claps politely, starting to eat and talk amongst themselves. I sit, deciding to choose silence while eating but then Lucien looks directly at me.

"So, what do you think?"

"Uh what?"

Fuck him with those big, stupid eyes.

He gestures towards the producer with his fork. "The project."

"Oh. Well I'm not involved so," I shrug. "I'm just here for Emilia."

He chuckles. "How many rollers were in her hair this time?"

I laugh, my body betraying me. "Four."

"But seriously. A good project?"

"I think..I think it's an honor he hand picked you. I'm not sure what the project itself is, but I'm sure it would be great for your career."

His eyes study my face as I take a bite of my food. "It's not always about the career though."

Anger surges up through me. "Isn't it?"

"How are we doing over here?" Emilia had walked up, cutting off whatever Lucien was about to say to defend himself.

"Great, Em. I'm just going to get something from the kitchen." I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, Emilia giving me the smallest squeeze to my arm before I turn and head into the kitchen, the door closing behind me and effectively cutting off the sounds of the dinner party.

I lean over the kitchen island, my hands splayed out over the cool marble, trying to calm myself down. I hear the door open, the chatter from the party momentarily loud again before the door swings shut and it's quiet again.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. He just...caught me by surprise. I can hold it in."

"What if I don't want you to hold it in?"

My head snaps up, meeting his gaze, embarrassment making my skin heat up. "Oh. I thought you were Emilia."

Lucien takes a few steps towards me, the light glinting off the thing chain around his neck. "You didn't answer my question."

I stand up straight, crossing my arms. "We've done this dance before, Lucien. It didn't end well."

He smirks and I want to slap him. "I think it ended just fine. In the doorway, on the floor, in the front yard. I had to move my neighbors were too jealous."

My body betrays me with a small smile at the memory but then I reign it in. "I'm still not paying for that end table."

He's closer now. When did he move closer? Almost close enough to touch. His voice is low and raspy. "I'd destroy every end table on this planet if it meant having you under me again."

Fuck. Me.

I turn away from him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing what he does to me. "Flattering. But you made it very clear I was not number one in your life."

"I was stupid. I guess I needed to prove to you, to myself, that I could actually do this acting thing."

Finally composing myself, I turn to face him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

His eyebrows furrow together. "Have you not seen any of my films?"

I had. I had seen them all. I know I shouldn't have, that it wasn't helping me get over him. But Lucien has this pull, this hold on me I've never been able to fully shake.

"Some. But I'm asking your opinion. Off camera."

His jaw ticks a moment before he takes a swig from the glass I only just realized he was holding. "It brought me here."

I scoff. "Yeah, the producer hand picking you is actually a very high honor. I'd be-"

"No, you misunderstand." He shakes his head and sets his glass down on the counter. "I lied earlier."

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows. "When? You've lied to me a lot."

"Earlier, when I said I didn't know you'd be here. I knew, well...more like hoped you'd be here. Knew it was a long shot but the only way you'd talk to me again."

My heart was racing, nearly bouncing out of my chest as he takes another few steps right into my personal bubble, my lower back against the counter. "I already told you I'm not replacing that end table."

He's right in front of me, the warmth from his body radiating onto mine. "I was a fool, Poppy. I..I love you."

I've waited years to hear him say those words to me again, to hear him actually mean them. To hear them not sandwiched between things like "but I have to focus on my career".

His lips are so close to mine, his breath fanning over my face.

"You broke my heart, Lucien."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me put it back together."

"Lucien, I-" but he cuts me off with the softest touch of his lips I've ever felt, a whole slew of emotions flooding my body, including the one pooling between my legs.

"I can't do this without you, Poppy."

"Do this?"

"Life. I don't want to do it without you."

Fuck.

I grip that chain around his neck and pull him to me, our lips crashing together, his body pressing into mine. But then the counter scrapes across my spine and I jolt, breaking the kiss to gasp in pain. Lucien steps back, offering me his hand.

"Let's go somewhere where we won't break the furniture."

I shouldn't take his hand. I can still back out. But a small voice in the back of my head believes that he means it. That he wants a life with me, wants what I wanted all those years ago. And right now, I'm letting that voice win. I take his hand and he smiles, that smile that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world. He guides me out the back door, past the pool, past the changing tents between the pool and the beach, and down the walkway alongside the neighbors cement wall that leads down to the beach.

He spins me and I laugh, tasting the salty ocean air on my tongue. I back up towards the wall and he follows me, lowering himself to my level. His large hands wrap around my hips, gliding down to cup my ass, and I moan into his kiss, my hand gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it had so many times before. One hand still firmly on my ass, the other slides up my side, cupping my face so tenderly, full of love. He pulls back slightly and looks at me, like he's shocked I'm really here. That he's really kissing me.

"I love you, Poppy. I never should have let you go."

"Then don't let me go. I've always been yours."

He kisses me again, his hips pressing into mine and I can feel him hard, my cunt desperately throbbing, begging to feel him inside me again. Somewhere in my haze of desire, I hear myself begging, whispering pleas in his ear to take me, that I need him inside me before I die. His hands slide my dress up my thighs, reaching under and ripping my underwear in two, tucking them into his pocket. He had ruined so many good pairs of my underwear that way, but I honestly couldn't care less. My fingers fumble with his zipper, but I manage to get it down, reaching in to grip him, a sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around him, pumping him a few times. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me up as he presses me against the wall. He slides into me and the world stops moving, colors are brighter, and I finally feel right, like I'm actually here on this planet. Every thrust of his hips brings him deeper into me, holding me here, holding me to him. His breath comes out in short pants, desperate pleas of love and apologies between our moans as he fucks me against the wall.

And then the light blooming inside me breaks, my head pushing back, my nails digging into his skin, my entire body tingling as pleasure radiates out from where we connect. Lucien follows suit, moaning my name as he spills himself inside of me, pushing as deep as he can. We stay like that for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.

"I want to stay inside of you but my legs are fucking shaking."

I laugh and he yelps, quickly trying to pull out of me as my laughter contracts my body around him. He sets me on the ground and zips his pants as I smoothe out my dress, my laughter slowly fading. I look at him and he looks back at me, his eyes still soft and gentle. He tucks some hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek again.

"I wasn't kidding, Poppy. I was fucking stupied before. I need you next to me. When we're together, I feel...right. like I belong here. I don't think I can face this life without you."

I know it's a possibility this will end the same way it did before, but something in his eyes is different this time. He's had time to think, time to experience life without someone with him. Without me. He's grown, matured - well, matured some at least. But do I want to open my heart back up to him? Knowing that he could shatter it again at any moment?

"I'm still not replacing that end table."

He smiles and it lights up my entire world. "That's ok. I have plenty more furniture we can ruin with our love."

-------

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings  

[turtletaubwrites]

Sanji's Super Birthday Present ~ Part 2

Here's the long awaited (sorry!) sequel to Part 1 (WC 988). The request was for someone to commission a sex toy from Franky, and our love cook is about to enjoy his present.

Pairings: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1105

Ao3 Link

Summary: You've never had so much fun giving someone their birthday present before. Sanji makes sure you know how grateful he is.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Comeplay, Sex Toys, (Strap On), Bottom Sanji, Rimming, Anal Play, Pegging, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut

A/N: Both parts of this fic can be read on their own, but they would occur in the not so distant future of the We've All Got Needs poly fic. (Also, I am sorry about the wait, but this was one of my first requests. I don't think I would have done this smut justice back then, so I hope you forgive me, and enjoy this filth now 😅)

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“Bend over, birthday boy.”

Your voice had never sounded so husky, so dangerous, and the thrill you felt as Sanji arched his back was delicious. 

“Don’t keep me wait–”

Laughter almost poured from your lips, your teeth clenching down as Sanji practically flew to the center of the bed. This time he arched his back for you while he lifted that biteable ass into the air. 

“Fuck, angel, I love you so much,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering as he pressed his face into the mattress.

“Love you too, pretty boy,” you teased, pressing your lips against his ass cheek while your fingers caressed all that gorgeous flesh. 

Sanji was too much fun to play with. He was always so focused on you, all of his attention ripping you into throbbing pieces before he’d ever take anything for himself. 

This felt amazing. His eagerness spurred you on, a pleased hum moving through you as you spread his cheeks apart.

“I wanna make you feel soo good, honey.”

Sanji tried to reply, but let out a needy gasp as your tongue touched that sensitive ring of muscle, leaving wet circles and increasing the pressure until he made more pretty noises. 

“That feel good, handsome?”

“S-so good,” he answered, shaking as you returned to your work. 

You let your tongue press inside him slightly, just as you reached a hand between his legs to stroke his swollen dick. 

“Oh, fu-uucckk,” Sanji cried out, grunting as you felt that familiar twitching, his thick cock pulsing in your hand. You moaned into his ass, the whimpering praise leaving his lips only growing as his orgasm stretched on.

Leaving soothing circles with your palm on his back, you waited for your lover to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing himself back to sit on his heels, shaking his head at the mess he’d made on the bed. 

“We can clean the blanket later, sweetie. I’ll clean this for you though.”

“Gods, fuck,” Sanji practically shouted, laughing after you released his sensitive cock from your mouth. You grinned, the taste of his pleasure on your tongue. 

“You are my filthy angel, aren’t you,” he purred, pulling you in for a kiss before helping you tug the messy blanket off the bed. 

“Can I show you how much I love my present?”

Sanji didn’t wait for an answer, just went to his knees, smoothing his strong hands along your thighs as he pushed you back against the wall. 

“I–”

“You are so sweet to me. So perfect.”

Shivers ran through you as he traced around the straps holding his gift in place. A hand traveled between your thighs, bringing moans from both of you as he found the wetness that had soaked through your panties. 

“So good for me…”

Sanji pulled your panties aside, circling your clit before plunging two fingers inside of you. His other hand gripped your waist, keeping you steady as you met his dark eyes. 

“I love my gift, sweetheart.”

His fingers curled, dancing along that perfect spot within you, right as he took the strap on into his mouth, his eyes fluttering as he looked up at you. 

“Oh my– oh, Sanji…”

You had no idea that the sight of him shoving the toy down his throat would affect you like this, but with his fingers at work, you were already coming. He kept you pressed against the wall, moaning his name while he sucked that toy for you. Your twitching pussy squeezed his fingers, trying to pull him in as you fell apart. 

He hummed as he released you, helping you move toward the bed after giving the toy a few long strokes with his tongue. 

Shaking yourself to bring back your mind after that orgasm, you fisted your fingers into his hair, loving the little moan he let out. 

“It’s your birthday, lover. Be a good boy, and lie down for me. I wanna see your pretty face.”

A wicked smile touched your lips at the desperate whimpers he made while you went to the dresser. Turning back to him with a towel and lube, you found him lying at the edge of the bed, that pretty cock ready and leaking again.

“So good for me, handsome,” you rasped, pouring lube on your fingers while he pulled a pillow under his head to get a better view.

You let your tongue hang loose with want while you rubbed lube around his asshole. The noises and faces he made were already so frenzied, you couldn’t imagine what would happen next. 

“Gods, angel, please. You’re so–”

Your fingers cut him off, pressing in, testing, making him writhe as you wrapped your free hand around that swollen length. 

“How’s that, honey,” you checked in with a tease. “Do my fingers feel–”

“Fuck me, pleeease,” he pleaded, and you rewarded him with another finger. You went slow, but he begged for more. 

Sanji held his legs up, spread wide as he watched you drip lube along his new toy. The drool at the corner of his lips made your body tighten again, loving every second of his frantic pleasure. 

“You really like your present,” you faked a shy voice as you teased his asshole with the tip of the toy.

“Fuck yes, angel. Please…”

“Please, what,” you taunted, kissing his knee.

“Please, fuck me, sweetheart. Please shove that toy in my– Fuck. Oh fuck…”

Nice and slow, you rocked your hips into him, every face he made etching into your mind forever. 

He whined for you to go faster, so you fucked that curved toy into him, knowing it was hitting right where he needed it.

“Y/N, angel, so good–”

“Yeah, pretty boy? You like it when I fuck your ass, handsome?”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond as you grabbed his cock again, thrusting into him while you felt those thick veins pulsing in your hand. 

“Y/N, feels so– coming, angel,”

He choked out those words while you praised him. You let out your own soft moans of pleasure as you watched hot ropes of come spill out, covering his chest and stomach while his eyes rolled back. 

Letting him go only when he twitched and begged, you laid beside him to catch your breath before meeting his eyes with a grin. 

“Soo, did you like–”

“Best present ever,” he panted, rolling to kiss your cheek. “My filthy angel spoils me too much. Let’s clean up so I can spoil you back.”

His raspy words arched your back a bit, and you sighed as his lips met yours. 

“Mm, happy birthday, pretty boy.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Oh, Sanji 🥰🥰

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @vinsmokesangio

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[lixxpix]

burn- lee minho (l.mh)

| spotify playlist to listen to while reading^^

| summary: "you really think you can charm your way out of anything, don't you?" minho sighed, eyebrows pinched as he drove you back home.

"it's worked so far, hasn't it?" you grinned, chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out the window.

"one day, you'll meet your match."

| warnings: angst, bad parenting, daddy issues lol, cursing, drunk people, physical fights, blood, comfort and fluff tho, reader is a bit stupid while drunk but minho is her protector (we love a protective lino), lots of comfort and fluff i swear

| pairings: badboy/biker/college/honestly idk what to classify him as!leeknow x reader

| word count: 9.9k

| author's note: i decided to make it a proper story/fic with capitalisation and punctation this time! i realised my other fics are written in my texting style much like the style i am writing this note to you in rn, so hope u enjoy this format more or if you just want drabbles. i had to write this because hot badboy protective leeknow has been in my head for days lmao. enjoy luvs!

Minho sighed as he wove through crowds of sweaty, drunk people grinding against each other like horny animals. However, he kept his attention focused on you, trying to find you amidst the sea of bodies in a dingy, dark, and frankly overcrowded club. Eyes narrowing as he finally caught a glimpse of you, sitting at a bar drunkenly flirting with some idiot of a man.

"Y/n." He kept his gaze firmly trained on you, grabbing on to your arm tightly. You turned around, a scowl on your face until you saw who it was. "Lino!" you beamed, words slurring together as you tried to stand up, but unfortunately stumbling due to you deciding to wear six-inch heels to the club tonight. Minho's hand darted out, supporting you by the elbow, just barely saving you from completely toppling over.

"We need to go, it's late. Chaeryoung and the rest have already left." His lips thinned into a line, raising his eyebrows as you pouted up at him.

"But I wanna stay," you whined, tugging at his elbow in an effort to go back to the bar you sat at not too long ago.

"We don't have time for this, you're clearly wasted and we need to go. Don't argue with me." He sighed, eyebrows pinching together as you whined and protested.

"B-but- I wanna drink more, plus the guy at the bar said he would buy me drinks if I talked to him," you stared pleadingly up at him with your best doe eyes.

Just as you finished your sentence, right on cue, a man walked up, placing a hand on your shoulder. He looked menacing, rich, and was staring at you in a way Minho definitely did not like, he decided.

"Hey love, where did you go to? We didn't finish our conversation earlier," the man grinned, bending down to whisper in your ear, and Minho didn't miss the way you shivered the moment his hand slipped from your shoulder to your waist and the minuscule distance you tried putting between yourself and the man. "O-oh, nothing, I was just talking to my friend right here," you batted your eyelashes at the man in an attempt to make him think you were interested, not wanting him to attack you if you told him you honestly just wanted him to fuck off. The man was clearly a lot different now, his nice persona at the bar could have almost fooled you, you had only started to dislike him when he placed his hands on your shoulder.

"Look, mate, I'm not in the mood to be fighting with someone else right now. Get your hands off her and fuck off. Y/n, we're leaving." Minho gritted out, taking your arm and guiding you to his side as you cowered behind Minho like a baby deer.

"What the fuck? You told me your name was Yena!" the man looked at you, rage and fury in his eyes as he took a step towards you.

Minho's instincts immediately kicked in, pushing you behind him and stepping forward so that the man and his own noses were almost touching.

"I. Said. Leave. Her. Alone." Minho snarled, rage bubbling in his viens. The man was almost as tall as Minho, yet Minho had a more muscular body and was certain he could probably out-power him if he tried. The man sneered.

"I'd like to see you try."

And with that, Minho's fist was swinging towards his face, smirking when a crack resounded out the moment his knuckles met the man's nose, ignoring your cry of horror and the gasps from the patrons of the club.

The man stumbled back, clutching his nose, crimson blood dripping from his face, soaking his shirt as he howled in agony.

Minho grabbed your hand, dashing for it as the two of you ran out of the club, never stopping until you were in his car.

"What the fuck Minho," you gasped out, still clutching at your chest and trying to regain your breath.

"He deserved it," Minho shrugs, grabbing a pack of tissues from his backseat and trying to wipe the blood off his knuckles dry, wincing as he let out a hiss.

"Here," you grabbed the tissue from him, taking his hand before gently blowing on it and dabbing at the blood around the wound, being careful not to touch the wound.

And it was then Minho's world stopped, time freezing as his breath hitched. It was a sorry sight, the both of you sitting in his car in the middle of a parking lot behind the club, yet it felt like everything as he watched you treat his hand with the most gentle care. It was no secret to all of your friends that he had a crush on you, only that you had never noticed, pining on you from afar but never making a move. His breath stuttered when you smiled, placing a soft kiss on his hand when you were done with cleaning.

"Done," you giggled drunkenly. "A kiss to make it better. We can properly disinfect it later," you smiled, comfortably reclining in his car's seat as you stared out the window.

"U-uh, yeah," he stammered out, before hastily turning his car on and driving out, brain hazy from the kiss you had placed on his hand, butterflies erupting from his stomach.

He sighed. "You really think you can charm your way out of anything, don't you?" Minho sighed, eyebrows pinched as he drove you back home.

"It's worked so far, hasn't it?" You grinned, chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out the window.

"One day, you'll meet your match. He could've done something to you if I hadn't stepped in. Batting your eyelashes and pretending that you're busy isn't going to work all the time, what if he had persisted?" Minho's hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes on the road as he sighed.

"I'll find a way out," you shrugged.

The rest of the car ride to your apartment was silent, you gently snoring as all the alcohol got to you and making you fall asleep.

Minho shook you gently, parked right outside your house.

"Hey, wake up."

You stirred slightly, grumbling before promptly going back to sleep.

"Yah, wake up or I'll pour cold water over you." He shook you more vigorously this time.

After several attempts to wake you up, he decided he had no choice but to carry you, grunting as he lifted you up and kicked the door of his car shut.

"God, when did you get this heavy," he groaned slightly to himself, arms aching as he waited for the lift.

Unlocking your apartment door with the spare key you had given him, he kicked off his shoes and removed yours, setting you down on the couch before shuffling over to the fridge to get you a hangover drink he knew would definitely come in handy tomorrow morning. Getting the necessary ingredients out of your fridge, he started making pasta, knowing your stomach would be empty when you woke up.

You woke up twenty minutes later from your nap to the aroma of homemade tomato sauce wafting through the house, blinking groggily as you watched a plate laden with piles of tomatoes, cheese, and spaghetti be set down in front of you, coupled with your favourite brand of hangover drinks by a giggling Minho.

"You look like a mess," he chuckled, digging into his own plate of pasta while sitting cross legged at your coffee table.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You grumbled, rubbing your eyes and unfortunately smearing mascara all over your face. "Shit."

Hurrying to the bathroom, you grabbed some makeup wipes, removing your makeup and throwing on some comfy clothes nefore heading out to eat your midnight meal with Minho, currently halfway through his plate already.

"Mm, this is good," your eyes widened in surprise as you took a bite of his food.

"Since when has my food never not been amazing?" Minho scowled playfully, glaring at you for a total of three seconds before bursting out in laughter.

Rolling your eyes, you silently ate, letting out small sounds of satisfaction as you smiled.

In that moment, Minho knew he was fucked. Well, truly, and utterly fucked. The way you looked at him with those sparkling doe eyes to the curve of your lips and the scrunch of your nose when you smiled had him bewitched and entranced, and he knew that his feelings for you were going to be there for a long, long time.

"I need to go back home, it's late," he stated, after both of you had eaten your fill and were lounging on your couch.

"Stay," you whined, and he felt his resolve crumble the moment you looked at him pleadingly.

"Fine."

You beamed at his response, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

Minho was no stranger to sleeping over at your house, the friend group the both of you were in always having random sleepovers whenever, all of you had clothes at each other's homes, so there really wasn't much of a reason for him to have to go back to his apartment at this late hour.

Taking a shower and changing into comfy shirt and shorts, he made his way into the living room, where you were fast asleep once again, shaking you gently.

"Go shower."

"Fineeee," you pouted, finally finding the will to get up and trod to the bathroom.

Later that night, the both of you lay curled up to each other in bed, his hand disinfected and wrapped up carefully in bandages by you.

"Min?" you asked sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"I like you. Like- like, like you, you know? In fact I think I love you," you rambled, a dopey smile on your face as you faced him, watching his features instantly morph into ones of shock.

Minho felt like his world had stopped, reeling from the shock as he processed what you said.

"This- this isn't a dream or a joke, right? It's real?"

The question came out as a barely there whisper, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

You smiled softly, taking his hand.

"No Min, it's not."

And that was all it took, that simple sentence, to have him lean forward and connect his plush lips to yours as he kissed you with every fibre in his being, holding you close as if he was afraid that you were a dream that would slip away the moment he let you go. You poured your soul into the kiss, deepening it, both of you never separating 'till your lips were swollen and your faces were flushed, gasping for air yet smiling giddily like toddlers receiving a lollipop, the rush of adrenaline and thrill coursing through you.

"I love you," Minho says, holding you close.

"I love you, and I would burn for you."

And he meant it.

[regulusrules]

FIC RECS: Tore apart my sanity edition

Missed doing those, especially that the brilliance of this fandom is quite endless. You'd think you've read everything, then a fic comes and makes you stare two ceilings above. I think we all have PhDs in ceiling reading at this point.

1. through storm and hellfire by @prattery.

Look, I know I scream a lot about fics, but this time it's so rightfully, I swear. There is something about this one that just unravels you so fully, so reverently. It was a spiritual experience; reading this fic. Anything written by this author is a spiritual experience. If you're new to my blog, you will soon know that I fall apart for such beautiful prose so easily. And the way Arthur was written here.. holy lord in the sky. I haven't survived this fic as of yet (weeks later). It was not Merlin who got kidnapped here; it's our literal hearts.

2. you hold a knife at my throat (i tell you exactly where to cut) by @nextstopparis.

All I can say is that I found this one on the night of my final MA exam and risked failing because I stayed up till dawn reading it. And guess what? I'd do it a hundred times over. Because this fic killed me 🤩 With a knife knowing exactly where to cut 🤩

Whenever it's Protective!Arthur that is as much consumed by Merlin's safety as Merlin was with his, then know I am absolutely and utterly gone. And everything that comes with Arthur teaching Merlin how to wield weapons and its close proximity trope. Oh boy. I was literally killed, I'm telling you.

3. Of Course Falling in Love is Awful. Why Else Would They Call It a Crush? by watchriverdale.

Respectfully, how does this marvel of a fic have less than a thousand reads?? If I may, it's one of the best AU - Canon Divergence that I've read in so long! Merlin being an actual physician, Arthur making silly excuses to go visit Merlin and it ending up for him falling head over heels, BAMF elements of both, just everything! Absolutely AMAZING. And the full circle at the end; what an icon.

4. The Walls of Camelot by spqr. (@andthepeople)

I'm literally not joking when I say my brain function grew and developed more after reading this fic. It was so fully-fledged in a way you don't find in literal published books. The amount of creativity and research combined in this fic.. WOW! You just literally live the war with them, all emotions entangled, all thoughts experienced. I think I had the hardest time processing that the fic ended more than anything else because of how invested I was in the story. I didn't want it to end. It was a wonderful, wonderful ride.

5. I suppose that I look different (without the robes and crown) by WingedWolf121. (@lancelotofthelake)

You know when fic writers begin to narrate Arthur through Merlin's eyes and describe him as golden? That is what I would say as the overall feel of this fic. I felt it radiating gold and beauty. It was unmatched, truly. From the AU idea to its execution.. I was hooked all 18K. I'd give it 18K kudos of my own alone. And the way it was written !!! Please. Any Arthur who just loves Merlin a tad too much is unparalleled. And when the same energy is returned by Merlin >>>

Oh and lastly: “Ask me who you were there to me, Merlin.” I'll leave you at that.

+ 1: My heart is readily yours by yours truly.

Have I mentioned how much this one tore my own sanity apart while writing it? (yes. yes I already have like a thousand times, tell me to shut up about it already). But it's for good reason. I am a changed human being after this fic. For better or for worse, I'm still not sure about that.

[xpao-bearx]

"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 1 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

NOTES: Y'ALL the way my jaw literally DROPPED when not even H A L F a minute after I posted the first part, you guys were already exploding my notifs which I wasn't expecting AT ALL I swear Oscar Isaac's really got us sluts in a chokehold O_o

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ This is truly wonderful and encourages me a lot, especially since this is my first ever Moon Knight fic AND the first time a story of mine blew up this much! This is also great cuz I've been terribly sick, but of course ✨️priorities✨️ I gotta shower our Moon Boys with some much deserved lovin' and it's just so fucking nice to see that it's paying off! \(^o^)/ I was so happy and inspired that I couldn't resist and just HAD to write this second part ASAP!

Dissociative identity disorder is also briefly mentioned here and if I made any mistakes, then I apologize and please kindly correct me. And I feel like the ending may be a bit rushed, but it's the best my tiny brain could think of!

I'll shut up now and I'm very proud and excited to present... PART 2!!! 🥳 And if you'd like to be tagged for any of the next parts, feel free to tell me!

Also Marc does something very asshole-y here oop

TAGS: @autismsupermusicalassassin @ungracefularchimedes @pimosworld @ababynova @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @anapnovo-blog @am-3-thyst @harrys-tittie @zukoisbabee @wiltedwonderland

Part 2: You made me feel I've nothing to hide

After work, instead of heading home, you rushed straight to the nearest boutique to buy yourself a new dress for tomorrow night. The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults and you felt as if you could spontaneously burst into song like in those cheesy musicals your former college roommate was so obsessed with.

You knew the employees were all looking at you oddly as you constantly giggled to yourself like some lovesick schoolgirl while you perused through endless racks of the latest fashion. Of course you knew you were acting ridiculous--crazy--but wasn't that what attraction or, dare you say, love did to you?

Besides, you wanted tomorrow to go perfectly. In your eyes, Steven Grant was already perfect--perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect, you didn't know or care which was which. You just knew that you liked him. A lot.

And it relieved and pleased you to the moon and back that he actually felt the same! So, who cares what anyone else thought?

You just hoped that after tomorrow, Steven would like you enough to go on another date. And another. Then another...

Maybe you were looking--wishing--too far into the future, but you swore you could almost hear wedding bells chiming in the distance.

God, is this what happens after being a total virgin for twenty-something years? There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a virgin, but your insecurity bugged you. What if you weren't at all what Steven expected?

But another part of you, a positive ray of sunshine, clobbered all your doubts. For once, you were going to be brave! You were going to take a leap of faith! You were going to control your life!

Because, in the end...it was worth it. Steven was worth it. Sure, you've experienced various crushes throughout your life, but not like this. Not with Steven. This felt more...serious. Adult.

It felt as if right from the get-go crossing fates with "Steven with a V", your life was about to change--for the better.

Of course you were afraid, and yet you've also never been more sure of something in your entire existence. You've been waiting this long and you're glad you did, and now you were ready to jump head first (and head over heels) into whatever adventure was in store for you--with Steven.

You then squealed excitedly when you spotted the perfect dress, ignoring the judgmental stares other customers shot you as you hurriedly grabbed it like a child in a toy store.

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a dream come true.

♡•••🌙•••♡

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. It was totally embarrassing how eager you were, but you couldn't help yourself. Though at least with how early you were, you snagged a good table overlooking the restaurant's beautiful back garden strung with fairy lights and you can have some time to calm down before Steven came.

And you looked stunning. Your hair tumbled down in elegant waves, light makeup adoring your face and donning the contact lenses you rarely used. And the dress you bought fit like a glove; it was the shortest dress you now owned, stopping around your thighs. It was baby blue and had an off-the-shoulder style with some frills, and it hugged your figure just right.

You felt very self-conscious. You've always fancied clothes like this, but never actually had the guts to wear them--until now. Did it really suit you? But you couldn't deny that you were happy and, truly, isn't that all that mattered?

"Shall I get you started, ma'am?" A waitress snapped you back to reality and you shook your head.

"Not yet, thank you. I'm still waiting for my...date." The word made you blush furiously, as if sharing a dirty little secret.

The waitress smiled and nodded, leaving you by yourself once more as you sighed wistfully.

You took out your phone from your purse, checking the time. 6:45 p.m. Alright, not too long now. And you double checked that the address you texted Steven was correct, which it is.

You settled back in your chair, peering over the garden and giggling softly.

"I'm right here for you, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

"It's about time, innit?" Steven murmured, glancing over anxiously at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. It was already eight p.m., a whole hour past your meeting time (not to mention he arrived embarrassingly early). And he was just informed by one of the servers that the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, to which a pitiful look was also casted to him.

"It's not 'about time', Steven. It's late." Marc gruffly pointed out, Steven seeing Marc's reflection glaring back at him from the shiny silver flower vase set in the middle of the table. "Face it: she's NOT coming."

"Don't you dare say that." Steven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a certain edge to it that one would normally not hear from the soft man. "Y/N would never do that. Not her. She's just running late, I'm sure. Traffic and all."

"Oh, please, we both know that even the traffic here doesn't take this long." Marc scoffed. "Stop kidding yourself, Steven. She's. NOT. Coming."

Steven frowned, and with a shaky hand he pulled out his phone. He should've called you since way earlier. It was the logical thing to do, after all. But he was...scared. Scared that, maybe, a terrifying maybe, Marc was right.

He found your number and called you, pressing his phone to his ear as it began to ring. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until you finally picked up, voice groggy.

"Hello..?"

"Y/N..." Steven heaved a relieved exhale. "Hey, uh, I'm at the restaurant. Guess you got stuck in traffic?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

A long, dreadful pause. And then:

"Fucking EXCUSE me?"

Steven's eyes widened, having never heard you swear before. He was just about to ask what was wrong when you continued without skipping a beat.

"Are you playing with me, Steven? Is this what it is?!" You definitely sounded angry, but he didn't miss the faint sniffles coming from you. Shit, were you crying? What the hell was happening?

"How can you be such a...such a DICK?!" You shouted, causing him to jerk his phone a few inches away from his ear. "I fucking waited for you like a total idiot until closing time, you prick! You never showed and you never answered my calls! What the fuck can you POSSIBLY gain from toying with me, huh?!"

"W-Wait, I don't understand!" Steven was nearly hyperventilating, all the colour draining from his face and his mind running a mile a minute. "I-I'm here! Right now! D-Didn't we agree? Friday night, seven p.m.?"

You were dead silent. Steven was going to check if the call was still connected when you beat him to it.

"Steven... It's Sunday."

Steven froze. Then his eyes landed on Marc's reflection, refusing to meet his gaze and it clicked.

"Y/N." Steven said slowly, steadily, despite feeling like crying himself. His eyes were still on Marc, cold and pissed. "Please. I promise I have an explanation. I just... God, can we meet? Y/N, please, I'll come to you."

"No need." Tears threatened to spill from Steven's despondent eyes at your flat response, before you suddenly added: "I'll come to you. You said you were at the restaurant, right? Stay there."

You ended the call, and Steven flared at Marc--no longer caring if other people perceived him as a lunatic fighting with himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Marc?"

"Steven..." Marc struggled to find the right words, and the asshole actually had the audacity to look ashamed. "Listen, she's nothing but a distraction--"

"You always think you know better, yeah?" Steven laughed humourlessly. "A distraction? YOU stop kidding yourself, Marc. This is not just your life, but mine. And it's about fucking time you stop being such a selfish bastard!"

"Um, sir?" Steven winced, greeted by a baffled waiter. "We'll be closing soon, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

Humiliated and repeatedly babbling apologies, Steven abruptly sprang out of his chair and dashed outside. He sighed deeply and collapsed listlessly on the ground, finally allowing the tears to fall.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching until he saw a pair of worn bunny slippers in front of him. His eyes heavily dragged upwards, finding you staring back at him with an unreadable expression and breaths coming out in ragged pants.

"Y/N!" Steven jumped up, surprised you actually came despite the way he--the way Marc--treated you. Your bloodshot eyes and the dried tears on your cheeks only made him feel even shittier, much more fucked up than any beating he suffers on a mission.

Because at least with those, he can be confident that he and the boys would win no matter the challenge. But with you?

He had everything to lose.

Your hair was a total mess; glasses slightly crooked and you were in your pyjamas, a matching set of a purple tank top and shorts with stars and moons. The only thing you had covering you was a purple silk robe, drawing it closer to your chilly body as your eyes narrowed at Steven.

You should be mad at him, and you were. Still, despite everything, you hopped on to the first bus you saw and scrambled the rest of the way here as fast as you could.

But now that you were here...what in Khonshu's name were you going to do? You could scream at him with all the pain you haven't had the pleasure to release like you did on the phone, but you'd just be wasting your breath. Then again, he wasn't lying. He really is here. And it confused you more than anything.

And seeing him like this, looking so...sad. Well, it made you sad. Him miserably clenching onto a heart shaped chocolate box, fat globs of tears cascading down his cheeks as he gawked at you with his pretty doe brown eyes.

You raised your hand, and Steven shut his eyes as he braced himself for the slap he very much deserved--only to be met with your soft palm, wiping away his tears tenderly.

"Explain to me, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

The travel to Steven's apartment was spent in deafening silence, but it brought upon a strange sort of comfort. Unconsciously, you hugged Steven's black jacket that he had offered you earlier even closer to your much smaller frame. It soothed your nerves, being completely enveloped in his smell; fresh soap with a hint of musky cologne.

Once you reached his unit, you couldn't help but smile. It was just so...Steven. It was a bit messy, but a good kind of messy. You didn't really know how to describe it, but it warmed your heart especially when you saw a giant fish tank with only one goldfish.

"Cuppa tea?" Steven asked to which you shook your head, facing him fully.

"No. I'm a 'get over it' kinda girl so whatever your explanation is, I'd rather we just nip it in the bud." You huffed before you halted, biting your lip. "Oh, uh, sorry... Of course, if you wanna have tea, you can. It's your home, after all."

Steven laughed, his first real laugh that entire day. "Are you always this nice to blokes you should be mad at?"

"Only if they are really into Egyptology and have beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous curls." You rolled your eyes though you couldn't suppress your grin before you cleared your throat, getting a hold of your stupid giddy self. "Now, explain."

Steven's demeanour instantly shifted, serious now and quite uneasy. But he nodded and gestured towards the couch. You walked over and plopped down, Steven sitting next to you and keeping a respectful couple inches between the two of you.

He looked down at the ground, carefully considering his words before meeting your gaze solemnly. "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" You nodded, previously learning about it in Psychology class and researching about it due to personal interest. "That's...what I have. I'm an alter within a system, and there are two others--Marc Spector and Jake Lockley."

"Am I correct to assume that when you asked me out...it wasn't actually you?"

Steven blinked, rather startled that you were taking this so well. "Yes. Jake was the one who asked you out."

"Was he also the one who didn't show up for the date?"

"No, that would be Marc." He grumbled. "And listen, I'm truly sorry about him. He's a right twit. It may not have been me who didn't show up, but that absolutely doesn't excuse the hurt it caused you. I am so, so sorry, Y/N."

Your brows furrowed, mulling over this new revelation. But...you believed him, especially when it explained all those times you secretly caught Steven muttering incoherently to himself or staring at his reflection and quietly reacting to something. You were curious about more, of course, but Steven didn't have any reason to lie about such a serious matter. And if he was lying, there were plenty of other things he could say. But the way he acted, and just the look in his eyes--he knew the risks of opening up to you, but he did it anyway.

You clasped his hands in yours, sighing. "I know I look calm right now, but trust me, I'm freaking the fuck out." You chuckled, and Steven felt safe enough to join you. "But... I trust you, Steven. And I believe you. Tell me one thing, though. Are you...into me? Like, at all?"

"Of course I am!" He replied in a flash, making you both pause before erupting into easy laughter. "Why would you even have to ask that, love?"

"It's just... Well, if Jake was the one who asked me out, it made me wonder if you really did like me." You mumbled, looking away.

Steven gently grasped your chin, tipping your face back towards him. "I've liked you since the day we met, Y/N. In your pink skirt and the cute little pigtails you had." He smiled, eyes so amorous and gleaming with sincerity. "Truth is, I've wanted to ask you out since forever. I'm just not as...forward as Jake is."

"And that's fine. But hey, we gotta thank him 'cause Lord knows I'd just spiral into a panic attack if I ever made the first move." You chuckled. But it gradually died down as Steven continued to stare at you, and you never thought you would ever have someone look at you the way Steven did; as if you were precious treasure hidden within a sacred tomb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your body started moving of its own accord. You were leaning closer, closer, closer--a mere breath away from his lips before he piped up.

"I'm also Khonshu's Avatar!"

"Say what?"

"Um, well, you see--" He stammered, mentally slapping himself.

'Don't say anything, Steven.' Marc warned, and it took all of Marc's willpower not to seize control and actually slap Steven.

But it was too late now. Steven already said too much, but he wanted to be honest with you. Utterly so. And since you wanted to nip this in the bud, now was the best time more than anything.

"Erm... You've seen the news, yeah?" He didn't grant you the chance to respond as he rambled. "Masked vigilantes... Moon Knight and Mr. Knight? They're actually...Marc and I."

"Steven, this is--"

"I'll show you, Y/N. I'll summon the suit."

"Summon the soup? What is happening--"

Steven stood up, and a split second later there was a whirl of white. And sure enough, there was none other than one half of the mysterious heroes you've been seeing a lot on the news recently; his glowing white eyes locked with yours, crisp ivory suit and batons clutched tightly in his hands.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in--"

"Handsome..." You blurted out before you can restrain yourself.

"Huh?" Steven blushed underneath the mask, and you were the same as your cheeks tinted crimson. Then you rose from the couch, closing the gap between you two and removing his mask.

His curls stuck every which way and his eyes were as wide as the full moon, making you giggle. "You're so handsome, Steven. And yeah, this is a fucking lot to take in. To be honest, a part of me is still wondering if this is all just a dream." You reached up, caressing the side of his face sweetly and smiling. "But...thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

His batons dropped to the floor, trembling hands hesitantly settling on your hips. You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he looked down at you, tears once again glistening in his eyes. Happiness, relief, adoration--how can so many exhilarating emotions crash over him all at once?

"Can I be more honest?" He whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes. "I...want you to stay with me."

Your cheeks hurt from how impossibly wide your smile has stretched, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with yours.

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Steven with a V."

[fandoms--fluff]

Hello I just wanted to ask if you can do one where Hope has a little sister is another daughter of Hylie and Klaus is named Crystal Mikaelson, she is the light of Hope's eyes and she is the key for Hope to turn on her humanity crystal age is 6 months

The Little Key

Baby female Mikaelson reader x Hope Mikaelson

Warnings: swearing, thats all

A/n: I did change the oc name to just y/n, cause that's what I'm used to writing and the age is a bit bumped up to around almost a year old to fit better with the fic, but she's still female. I hope you like it 💗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josie bounces you in her arms with one of her hands on the back of your head while you're crying your eyes out. Your sobs and crying are silent, wanting your big sister and everyone can tell you miss her even if you can't speak coherently yet.

You remember the feeling of another woman but she's been gone a long time. Now it's only Hope, your big sister, you have that same feeling with.

Josie holds you close and stands up from the couch in the living room, trying to quiet and calm you down a bit. Lizzie, Kaleb, MG, Finch, and Cleo are the only other ones in the room. They're all standing or sitting, trying to come up with a plan to get Hope's humanity back.

They hear heels clicking on the hardwood floor, "Hmm, I can help you with that. Stop trying" Hope walks into the Library with her arms crossed.

She glances at you for a moment before quickly moving her vision over to everyone else standing up now. Cleo starts a spell on her, but Hope picks up on it straight away and knocks the witch out with an easy spell. The older witch falls back onto the couch, unconscious.

"Hope, what are you doing here?" Josie asks, hiding your face under her jean jacket so you don't see any other incidents that may come.

"Do I need a reason to come back to my old school?" Hope rhetorically says.

You let out a loud whine, tears subsiding, hearing your sister's voice and wanting to go to her. You manage to escape from under Josie's jacket and make a grabby hand toward Hope while your other hand is holding onto Josie's shirt collar.

"What about your baby sister? The old you would have never been this unthoughtful" Josie exclaims, tightening her grip as hard as she can without hurting you.

Hope laughs with a scoff mixed in, she says, "This is your big plan? Saying some tiny touching thing about my sister and then insulting me? Heh, you can do better".

She started to walk over to the brunette twin. Lizzie moves quickly and stands in front of you both.

"What? You really think I'd hurt my own sister and the girl I had the smallest crush on for a measly week?" Hope chuckles at the taller girl.

She raises her hands and snaps the heretic's neck effortlessly before she could answer. After, she casts an immobilization spell on everyone except you.

Vamping over, Hope takes you into her arms and leaves the school before the spell wares off.

All of your tears immediately subside and your breathing levels out as you cling to the tribid.

She walks into the abandoned Mikaelson mansion that your guys' family used to live in for around two years. She's been staying in the house since a week after she turned her humanity off.

Hope walks up the staircase after locking the door and enters the room which she's taken, which is Klaus', or used to be anyways.

She puts you down on the bed and starts pacing back and forth. A second later you raise your hands up, wanting to be back in your sister's arms.

"What the hell is wrong with you, why'd you take her. There was absolutely no reason to, ughh. No, no way am I turning the damn thing back on. I see what your doing" Hope rambles to herself and her mind trying to get her to flip it back on, ignoring your pleas to be back in her hold.

"Hhh-o,mmhh" you whine, not being able to pronounce it.

You keep trying over and over, not being able to get it right, and Hope paying no mind to your babbling.

She can already feel her switch flittering between off and on, but she pauses as soon as she hears the word that comes out of your mouth.

"Ho...Hop... Hope" you finally pronounce correctly and yell out to your sister.

"What'd you just say?" She walks over and finally picks you up from the made bed.

"...Hope," you say again.

She closes her eyes, trying to fight off her switch, but after some time it was no use. Opening them back up slowly, she looks down at you in her grasp, holding onto a lock of her wavy auburn hair.

"Hey y/n/n, I'm sorry. I'm here now sweetie" Hope holds your tiny frame against her tightly, not wanting to let go.

You lay your head on her collarbone with a hand still in her hair, content and happy being back with your big sister.

"You said your first word" she whispers into your hair and kisses your head.

[bluerthanvelvet444]

.・˚*✧.𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

(Jimmy Darling x fem!reader)

tags: enemies to lovers plot, smut!

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, brief mentions of death, slamming against the wall (?), fingering, oral (m!receaving).

summary: Two freaks who despise each other end up...well...finding out that the other wasn't so bad.

character count: 12k.

this was a request by @brightanshiny!<3

full fic under the cut ↓

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You walked steadily, the only sound you could perceive was the grass being crushed by your low heel pumps. The birds’ faint chirp rang in your ears, accompanied by your anxious breathing. You were walking in the dark both because your sunnies made everything cloudy and because you had no idea where your destination was.

“Where you goin’, beautiful?” was what all drivers asked while slowing their cars as they saw an objectively young woman alone in the middle of a desert land. They also all drove off after hearing your response. Why would such an adorable creature be led in a freakshow?

If only they knew. You kept wandering around, your hands clutching tightly to the handle of your bag, and your heart clinging onto the hope. And then, you felt like your prayers had been listened to once a car stopped and actually offered you a ride. You had nothing to lose, especially because they said they were going to the freakshow too. You hopped in the backseat of their car, adjusting your glasses in the awkward silence.

“So uhm…what brings you to the freakshow?” You cleared your throat after asking.

The couple chuckled and turned to you. Only then you realized that the woman had three breasts, and the man had, well…one heck of a bicep. A toothy smile made its way on your face, you had already made some friends.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Time passed while your eyes scanned the view from the window, and before you knew it, you had arrived. You were greeted by a giant entrance shaped as a wicked…devil? Whatever that thing was, it made you shiver. You wished good luck to the couple as they walked towards Elsa’s tent, you decided to prepare yourself before ‘auditioning’. You settled your bag onto the grass, and began searching for your cards, when suddenly a misshapen geek ran towards you with…a little flower?

“Flower!” She babbled with a crooked grin.

You, who had fallen onto the ground after that thing scared the hell out of you, quickly got up taking a few steps back.

“Pepper, c’mere.” A young man walked towards who you assumed was pepper.

He had brown locks falling onto his face, deep brown eyes gazing at you and your figure, and a boyish smile plastered on his face. He was wearing a simple white tank, and as your gaze traveled down, you noticed that his hands were…deformed.

“Excuse her, she’s just got a lil’ excited. S’not everyday a beautiful lady like ya comes around.” He winked.

“Oh…that’s okay. Thank you for the flower.” You smiled at Pepper, who got all giddy as you took her flower.

“A ride on the carousel’s one nickel, doll. Want me to show ya the way?” He kept checking you out.

“Oh uh…I’m not here for that.” You chuckled apologetically.

“Oh. Looking for another typa ride?” He flexed his arms and hands.

“What? N-no.” You felt the heat rising to your cheeks.

“I’m here to…join.” You added, almost bashfully.

“Join what? The carnival?” He raised an eyebrow as he peeked at your bag.

You nodded, which earned a scoff from him.

“Ya know ya actually have to be a freak to join? Or ya got a surprise under yer dress?” He chuckled.

“Uh no…I am a freak too, though.” You slid your sunglasses over your head, revealing your heterochromia. One of your eyes was light, the other was dark. His eyes widened a little at the sight, then he burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” You frowned, a wave of insecurity washing over you.

“Ya think yer a freak jus’ because ya got different colored eyes? That’s an insult to us, real freaks.” He spat.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” You narrowed your eyes as your annoyance grew.

“I don’t think ya got the right to call yerself a freak. Look at me, look at my hands, I could never be considered normal with these. But you? Ya could be a heck of a model. Yer quirk doesn’t make ya disgusting to look at. So you better leave, little girl, before you actually see what the real freaks are like.” He replied bitterly.

Suddenly you were a kid again, all the other normal children playing around you while you were sitting in the corner of the class eating your jam sandwich.

“My mom said she came from the devil’s womb…” Little Kimberly whispered.

“Really? My dad says she’s a witch…” Young Sebastian muttered.

And now, this lobster boy came up to you to tell you that you didn’t suffer enough to consider yourself an actual freak? How rude.

“You don’t know a single thing about me, I’ve been an outcast my whole life, I know for sure what I can call myself and I know even better that I belong here. I thought I wouldn’t get judged if I was among people like me. But apparently, I was wrong.” You raised your voice.

“You’ll never be like us. And what can ya even do? Sing? Dance?” He chuckled, smirking.

“I read tarots.” You crossed your arms.

“Oh well, good luck with that. Elsa doesn’t believe in that crap.” He spoke harshly before walking away.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You ended up joining the circus. Something that you said brought up memories in Elsa's mind, convincing her. You even had your own little stand where sometimes people would stop by. Some were suspicious, some were faithful. In the end, they all left your stand with a new set of hopes. The other freaks weren’t so bad, in fact, they welcomed you with open arms. Ethel, the bearded woman, was one of your favorites. She was always sweet with you, and you felt so…safe with her. You couldn’t quite understand how such a wonderful woman gave birth to such a rude creature. Jimmy, her son, was in fact her complete opposite. Always making fun of your profession, with that stupid grin that he loved to flash, especially to the ladies. This is why at her funeral you were sobbing your eyes out. She was like a mother to you, the accepting one that you never had. And if her weird death managed to hit you that badly, it was even worse for Jimmy. He was really close to his mother, so her death completely destroyed him, making him a drunk mess and an even more annoying bastard.

After the burial, you walked to your stand, organizing it for the next day. You were putting the cards away, when suddenly a voice behind you made you jump.

“Ya got a minute?” Jimmy spoke with a broken voice, leaning against the entrance.

He was soaking wet, so you assumed he stayed next to his mother’s grave in the rain. You had to admit, the sight made your heart ache. He looked so heartbroken, a miserable expression on his face, his deep brown eyes dull, visibly lost.

“O-of course…What do you need?” You frowned as he sat down in front of you, dismissing your help with a wave of his claws. He sniffled, pointing to your cards.

“Do these actually work?” He looked up at you, brows creased.

“Uh…I mean…technically it’s all based on universe belief-” You were interrupted by him.

“Do these fucking work?” He repeated, his voice rough and angry, although you could see a hint of desperation in his eyes. You didn’t know how to answer his question, so you simply nodded, hoping that was what he wanted to hear. You sat down and shuffled the cards.

“Pull three cards.” You spread the cards over the table.

He pulled three, then turned them to face the surface.

DEATH, THE DEVIL, JUDGEMENT.

His gaze hardened and he quickly stood up.

“Are ya messing with me?!” He slammed his claws on the table, some cards falling down.

“What? No! Why would I?” You raised your voice in defense.

“Yer doing this on purpose!” He growled, then turned around and punched the tent out of anger. He buried his face in his hands, and to your surprise, he started crying. You immediately hurried to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb in soothing circles.

“I-I swear…it’s all casual…I didn’t mean to-” You spoke, almost ashamed, before being cut off. He grabbed your shoulders, lifting you up and slamming your body against the tend. He held you up like that, his face a few inches away from yours, you could actually feel his breath on his face. He smelled like alcohol.

“Casual, huh? I come up to ya out of pure desperation, hoping that those little fairytales you tell to yer customers will at least distract me, to let there be light…and what do ya fucking show me? Death, judgement and the fucking devil?” He spoke cruelly, his grip on your shoulders tightening.

“Y-you’re drunk, Jimmy…please…” You breathed out, scared of what his next possible move could be.

“Yer so fucking annoying!” He grunted to your face, his gaze severe as it traveled down to your lips, where a sudden change of expression crept on his face. He took a deep breath.

“but so damn addicting...” He muttered under his breath, hurriedly smashing his lips against yours. His kiss was harsh, crude, driven by a primal instinct. You were confused, yes, and you were pretty sure he wasn’t completely lucid. Yet, you leaned into the kiss, your lips moving in sync against his. He hummed as he felt you reciprocate, and roughly grabbed the back of your thighs, pulling them up and sliding between them, so that your legs were wrapped around his torso, and his hips were pressing against yours. You yelped at the sudden change of position, your arms reaching to drape around his neck. Now that you were securely clinging onto him, he grabbed your waist, his face nuzzling in the crook of your neck.

“Fucking angel…whatcha do to me…” He mumbled while sliding his lips on your neck, making you shiver. He started kissing and sucking your skin until he left a red mark. You tried to bite back a groan.

“Lemme hear ya…” He sunk his teeth onto the skin of your neck, being careful not to draw blood. That caused an almost instant moan from you and you felt him smile while he trailed kisses down your chest, against the fabric of your dress. He groaned in frustration as the thin fabric represented a barrier between you two that he had to get rid of as soon as possible. He reached to the zipper on your back, brutally pulling it down along with your dress. His eyes traveled on your almost naked figure, causing a subtle blush on your cheeks. He buried his face between your breasts, one of his big hands unclasping your bra and groping your tits. His mouth worked wonders on your nipples, and pretty much all of the skin around. You couldn’t help but groan, especially when his claws made their way on your heat, sliding your panties aside. His fused fingers brushed a few times against your clit before immediately dipping in your slick entrance.

“Ohh…! f-fuck Jimmy…” You moaned, your hands reaching to grip his curls. He grinned and pumped his fingers steadily, increasing progressively the pace. Your moans kept growing louder and louder, as you felt that knot in your tummy tighten.

“Jus’ like that, doll…takin’ it so well…” He murmured in your ears, occasionally biting your earlobe. You felt your back slide against the tent wall, in sync with the rhythm of his fingers.

“S-shit…I’m gonna- ah!- cum…” You whined.

“Let go…let go f’me, sunshine…” He groaned, his tongue sliding down to tease your collarbone. With a few more pumps, you reached the edge, coming on his fingers. Your moans were so loud you were sure that everyone outside heard you.

“There ya go, doll…so good…” He smirked, letting you catch your breath. He looked at his fingers, wet with your release. He brought them to his mouth, sucking your cum off of them. The sight drove you crazy, so in return, you sank to your knees, your hands urgently working on the buttons of his pants. He let out a small gasp of surprise.

“Uh…whatcha doin’, angel?” He breathed out, almost shyly, as you pulled his pants along with his boxers down.

“Returning the favor..” You batted your lashes at him, innocently and naughtily at the same time.

“O-oh…alright…I’m not used to uh…usually girls are all over my fingers, they don’t really pay attention to my-” He cut himself off with a moan, caused by your lips suddenly wrapping around his tip. You were surprised by his size, he was average in length, although he was…girthy. You started sucking gently, slowly and teasingly.

“Ah…like that…” He groaned and tried to fight the urge of grabbing your head and fucking your face. You smiled as you tasted his pre-cum, finally deciding to take more of him in your mouth. Once you adjusted to his bigness, you started bobbing your head up and down.

“Oh! f-fuck…so fucking good…like that…atta girl…” His eyes shut down in pleasure, his mouth opening in an “o” form. He couldn’t resist anymore, he grasped the back of your head and started fucking your face at a faster pace. The impact was harsh, and it caused you to gag a little, your eyes watering.

“Sorry doll…ya jus’...feel so fucking good…” He moaned, bobbing your head up and down even faster, catching his orgasm. He groaned, releasing hot strings of cum in your mouth. He quickly pulled out, helping you up on your feet and watching you swallow with a proud grin. He helped you put on your clothes again, and picked you up like a princess, as if you weighed nothing. He pressed some kisses to the side of your face.

“Yer my light, dollface.” He smiled, all mushy.

“Let’s go get some rest in my caravan…I’ll get ya ice cream later, yea?” He chuckled.

You had never seen him happier.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

a/n: hiiii!!! ughhhh this took sooo long, I'm so full of exams!!! BTW, I tried to write a more interesting plot, bcs I know that Jimmy is very underrated and not many people read fics of him!! poor little lobster boy. Anyways, hope you like it!!❤️❤️

taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @marchsfreakshow @fear-is-truth @doll3tt33 @angeldollw @newwavesylviaplath @evpeters87 @dont-look-behind @brightanshiny

all rights reserved!!

[miraclewoozi]

VERSACE ON THE FLOOR. -l.jh

ooh, i love that dress but you won’t need it anymore –

Or, the time you and your homebody boyfriend* decide to just… not go to your dinner plans.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem reader. content; fluff, suggestive (MINORS DNI). established relationship. warnings; relatively warning free (y'all i didn't even swear???) but just in case -- a couple of dorky jokes, reader wears a dress, makeup and heels, making out, undressing. let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c; 2.4k (apparently i am in my shorter fic era? party.) note; if there's one thing i'm gonna do, no matter what day of the week it is, it's be disgustingly delusional about jihoon. get ur dentists on speedial, it's a tooth rotter (/j). note 2.0; i've had this one in the drafts for so long i had forgotten all about it! but then VOTF came on shuffle a few days ago (and i started thinking about light a flame woozi at the same time, which nearly fucking killed me), so. here we are. enjoy.<3

You don’t go out for dates very often. Not anymore, at least.

When you and Jihoon first got together, he took you out all the time. For dinners, to cocktail bars, to the movies, for walks down the beach, picnics by the river. It didn’t matter where you went as long as it put a smile on your face — all he ever wanted to do was make you feel special. No expense has ever been too great for his favourite girl, after all; he’s always loved to spoil you.

Now several years into your relationship, you’re a real pair of homebodies. Sure, he could take you out for a four course dinner at an expensive restaurant in the middle of the city, or reserve a table at a pretentious cocktail bar that plays slightly too loud music that’s always just to the left of either of your tastes. Then again… He could cook a nice meal for you to have at the apartment you share, where you can make your way through a bottle of bubbles without one of you needing to stay sober to drive home or else risk your lives in a sketchy cab. 

It’s something you’ve talked about several times, and on every occasion, it’s quite apparent that you’re both very happy with the way things are. If anything, it makes it all the more special when he tells you he needs you to keep your weekend free because he’s making plans, and he wants to whisk you away.

Like now, for instance. The hotel suite he’s booked is gorgeous and you’re perched on the edge of the plush bedding, bent over double so that you can properly fasten your shoes while he finishes getting ready in the bathroom. Now and again, you hear a grumble or a click of his tongue float through the ajar door; every time, you feel a smile play at your lips as you shake your head. He never changes. (You’re so glad.)

“Jihoon,” you call to him softly. You can practically see how he’ll be standing – facing the mirror, on his tiptoes to lean over the bathroom counter and get as close to his own reflection as he possibly can. Pouting as his fingers drag through his hair to try and fix the strands in place just a tiny bit better. “Don’t you dare come out here looking like Sonic the Hedgehog. You know the more you play with it, the more annoyed you’re going to get.”

A few seconds later, he emerges, an eyebrow raised in challenge, an amused grin tugging his lips out of their habitual frown. 

(And lo and behold — his hair looks absolutely fine.)

But the second he sees you, whatever witty comeback he was obviously very proud of dies on his lips, and you straighten up with only one of your shoes secured to your foot, the other just slipped on over your toes.

“Wow,” he says, in that soft, deep, quiet way that he does when you’ve really taken his breath away. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows; you see his brow crinkle and his eyes widen, as if he’s trying to see as much of you as he possibly can. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” you nod proudly, sitting back and smoothing your hands over the dress you’re wearing. “From our first anniversary.”

As his eyes move over you, taking in everything from the way the straps sit on your shoulders to the way the hem lays across your thigh, your own eyes move over him. The top three buttons of his shirt are still unfastened and his tie hangs either side, tucked beneath his collar but not knotted yet. His slacks have been cleanly pressed, a neat, crisp seam running down the front of both legs. Shoes shined to perfection. Expensive watch strapped around his wrist. 

He might just be the most handsome man in the entire world.

“I remember you saying you really liked it, so… I dug it out, special.” 

“You look incredible,” he says. It’s so gentle, so sincere, that you think your heart is about to burst clean out of your chest. Warmth trickles the length of your spine, and it isn’t exactly helped when you realise – only now as he starts to cross the room to get closer to you – that he hadn’t moved an inch since he surfaced from the bathroom almost a full ninety seconds ago.

He shrinks down so he’s rested on both of his knees in front of you, skilful hands moving to help with the shoe you hadn’t managed to lace up yet. every time his fingertips so much as brush against your skin, the electricity in his gentle touches shoots all the way from the point of contact up to your brain and leaves it fogged, impossible to make any sense through the thick clouds of intimacy and adoration. More-so as he smoothly lifts your leg a little and presses his lips once to the inside of your ankle, even foggier still as he trails kisses up the length of your calf towards your knee. 

“Jihoon,” you laugh breathlessly, laying a hand on his shoulder as you feel his tongue press lightly against your skin. He finally sits back on his heels, running his fingers up and down the backs of your legs; he’s successfully managed to hike your dress up a few inches now, too, and he keeps flitting his gaze between your face and your thighs. “We can’t – we’ll be late.”

“We have ages,” he frowns, shuffling closer and trying to bump your knees apart, but you keep your muscles engaged and he doesn’t pull at them that hard, so they don’t budge.

“We have to get there, too,” you remind him. He throws his head back and sighs dramatically. The neckline of his dress shirt seems to open a little more when he looks back at you, drawing your attention down the length of his neck to his bulging chest, and the muscular forearms that he crosses in front of it.

“And this is why we don’t go out.”

“What, because you’re horny all the damn time?” You tease. 

He gently swats at the top of your thigh before soothing it with another small kiss. 

“Because when you look this good, how am I supposed to want to go and eat a steak instead?” 

He grins up at you from the floor, quite clearly delighted with himself for his little gag. You, however, flop back onto the mattress and cover your face with your hands.

“That was so bad,” you chuckle. You’ve been trying for years to not melt to his very specific sense of humour, but it’s all been completely futile. Your reluctant laughs turn to sweet, breathy giggles by the time he lays both his arms across your legs and rests his chin on top of them. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him; he’s staring up at your face like he thinks he’ll never see anything as beautiful as you for the rest of his life. 

“Maybe… We don’t have to go out for dinner,” he suggests. “Maybe we can stay in tonight, too.”

“Horndog.” You tsk. But you’re not disappointed at the idea of staying in, either, regardless of whether your teasing implies otherwise. “I knew you’d say that.”

“No — really,” he swallows. You aren’t sure if you can feel his heart beating a little faster where his chest is pressed completely against your shins, or if you’re just imagining it. But the tips of his ears are going pink too, so you think it’s safe to trust your intuition on this one. “I mean-… we don’t have to go. I could-…”

He bites the inside of his cheek before he looks down, pressing his forehead against his arms and hiding his face completely.

“I could do it here.”

He says these words quietly. Mumbles them, really. You aren’t sure if you were meant to hear, or if he was just talking to himself. But either way, it has to be worth a shot to find out.

“What do you mean, Ji?”

One, two, three seconds pass. And… Nothing. 

“Hey.”

You bounce your thighs a little so he’s forced to look up at you, and you can see something swimming in his eyes. Something brewing. He sits back from you and pushes a hand through his hair; a few strands lose their stick to the rest of the main body and tumble down over his forehead. Exactly in the way he was trying to prevent. 

“I could just do it here.”

He says this louder. Clearer. With much more finality. You sit up properly, then, both your hands clasped together in your lap. 

“Do what here, baby?”

His eyes find yours and you sit there for a few moments, unwrapping each other's minds with nothing more than a look and a matching pair of gentle — but slightly concerned — smiles. 

He moves one hand down and slips it into the back left pocket of his slacks. You think you can feel the world around you start to slow. 

When he shifts a leg from beneath him so he’s on one knee before you and presents you with a glittering diamond ring, it stops altogether. 

“Jihoon,” you breathe. 

He glances between the ring and you, biting his bottom lip before he speaks. 

“I had it-… I had everything planned.” He laughs, looking away from your face as even more rising heat becomes evident on his own. “Down to the second, even. But just like you always do — just like the first time I saw you, and just like every time since… You threw me a curve ball and… Somehow, you’ve changed everything. But you made it so much better. 

“I think I was supposed to find you, y/n,” Jihoon says. “I don't know what’s up there, what’s in charge of when we meet the people we meet and why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with. but I know that they were really looking out for me the day you came into my life.” 

You can feel your eyes starting to sting at the corners and you will the tears away, desperate not to smudge the makeup you spent so long trying to perfect. You know he’d love you either way — mascara tear tracks and splotchy concealer and all — but… 

“I am so in love with you that sometimes, it really hurts. It hurts because I know that no one’s ever going to come close — about anyone in the world — to feeling the way I feel about you. I feel bad for everyone, a bit. Because you’re not-… you're not with them. You’re with me. But I wouldn’t want any of them to be with you, because-... and… and if you’ll have me, I want you to be with me forever.”

You don't know when you started slowly nodding along to his little monologue, but you definitely are. You’re not sure when you started holding your breath either, but that’s two for two. He looks up at you, expectantly, fluttering his eyelashes and stuttering out a long, deep breath. 

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

Some decisions, you’ve always thought, are made for you at a cosmic level. Your favourite colours. Your favourite foods. Hot and cold weather people. Loving or hating marmite. A predisposition to enjoying scary movies or being the kind of person who hides behind a pillow. 

This is another one of those. You don’t have to think twice about it — you just know. You know because a great unstoppable force managed to squeeze you together at the perfect moment in time; the ever-expanding universe around you has kept you and Jihoon side by side through everything it could possibly throw at you. 

“Yes.”

Of course you want to spend your forever with him. 

The word leaves your mouth in a whisper and everything flies back into motion. The first black droplet rolls down your cheek. His usually so steady hands fumble with yours to slide the ring over your finger. A perfect fit. You’re hurtling through space and time as he gets up off his knees and cups your cheeks, gently pulling you upright and crashing his lips against yours. You stumble into him slightly in your heels; his kiss is more a chaotic clatter of teeth and giddy laughter than perhaps the intense, romantic gesture he was aiming for, but it’s completely, utterly, unequivocally perfect.

Jihoon’s fancy dress shirt creases under your fingers as you ball it into your fists where the top buttons are spread open, pulling him as close as you can, laughter dying down as he loses himself in you and as you lose yourself in him, right back. He swallows all of your gasps and sighs, hands sliding down from your face to the sides of your neck, until he’s resting a palm on each of your shoulders. A single finger slips beneath one of the straps and he pulls it out of the way, down onto your arm, withdrawing from your mouth so that he can press a series of kisses down your cheek and to your jaw instead.

“Ji,” you murmur, tipping your head back and fumbling at the buttons running the length of his torso, trying and failing to get them open. He chuckles, his other hand coming to rest over yours to stop you. You lace your fingers together, feeling him squeeze. Your heart pounds.

“Let's take our time,” he whispers to you, thumb grazing over your collarbone. “Okay?”

All you can do is nod as he kisses lower, and lower, pressing his lips everywhere he can while he’s still standing. Your neck and shoulders feel ablaze, tickling with the heat of the burning stars his mouth paints across your skin. 

“Need-... Ji, you need to-... call… call the restaurant,” you stutter. “Gotta…. we need to cancel…”

The fleeting sting of his teeth against your throat interrupts you and you’re only aware of him reaching behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down when the material falls completely slack..

“In a minute,” he says, helping you walk backwards until your calves collide with the bed behind you once again. He eases you to lie down on the comforter and crawls on top of you, caging you in with both arms, taking hold of your left hand again.

He looks down at the ring on your finger, his entire face breaking into the most brilliant of smiles. Every inch, from the creases at the corners of his eyes to the paling stretch of his beautiful lips. 

“My future wife needs taking care of, first.”

– no you won’t need it no more, let’s just kiss ‘til we’re naked, baby.

hehe thank u sm for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this bc it was a bit special 2 me. likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all, as always, greatly appreciated.<3