#usually i don't shut up here but my mind is blank today

[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?”

[ageingfangirl2]

Cook For A Day! Luffy (OPLA)

Sanji gets sick and leaves y/n in charge of cooking duties. y/n is new to the crew and worries no one will like their cooking, unaware that Luffy will eat just about anything put in front of him. Luffy x Reader (Fluff)

Y/N

'y/n come here for a moment,' Sanji croaks, voice hoarse as you pass by his cabin and open the door.

Sanji knew it had to be you walking around the ship this early because no one else bothered to get up before sunrise, and since joining the crew only a month ago you were an early bird and liked to help Sanji in the kitchen because he also got up early.

'You sound awful Sanji, are you okay?' you ask, concerned.

Sanji coughs and you realise the cook is ill, 'I think I'm going to stay in bed today. Can you take over cooking duties for me?'

Your eyes widen at the request, 'Err, are you sure? I don't want to mess up your kitchen.'

Sanji tries to laugh but fails, 'You've watched me so I trust you. Now go get breakfast ready.'

You nod, 'Okay, but if it goes wrong I'm blaming you.'

'Shoo, now let me sleep...' Sanji mutters and yawns.

You quietly shut his door and take a deep breath. What if no one on the crew liked your cooking. They had such high expectations because Sanji was amazing. You wanted to be fully accepted so you couldn't mess things up.

Entering the kitchen your mind goes blank on what to cook. Do you play it safe and prepare something Sanji would make or experiment a little? You had a couple of hours before anyone else woke up so you had some time on your hands.

LUFFY

I was awoken by a very strange smell, it wasn't a bad smell, it just wasn't a smell I'd come across before. My stomach rumbled either way, and I knew Sanji had to be up cooking, with our new crew mate y/n helping him.

I sniff the air as I leave my quarters, the smell was coming from the kitchen and it smelt kind of spicy and warm. I passed by Sanji's room and hear snoring coming from the other side, so he was still asleep, which meant it had to be y/n in the kitchen.

y/n came from a town that I remembered having very nice food. A lot of spices and seasonings were used to flavour what could have easily been regular bland food.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen the smell of spices hit me full on, and y/n who was holding a pot yelps at my sudden appearance, but before the pot can hit the floor I stretch and catch it.

'You're up early captain,' y/n says nervously, avoiding eye contact and going back to cooking after I'd placed the pot back down.

My eyes widen seeing a lot of food on the counter in front of me, and my mouth watered merely looking at it, 'the smell woke me up, why is Sanji sleeping?'

y/n answers with their back turned to me, 'he's sick so asked me to cook. But as you can see I didn't know what to cook and now I feel like an idiot.'

I sit down and pull the nearest bowl towards me, it looks like regular porridge but has a slightly red colour, 'why did you cook so much?'

y/n's shoulders slump, 'because Sanji is an amazing cook and I want you guys to think I'm good too. I need to be useful.'

I dig into the porridge and see there was some kind of seasoning that made it both sweet and a little spicy, it would wake you up in the morning. Either way, it was delicious and I quickly finished the whole bowl and looked around the counter for my next meal.

'You're useful y/n,' I say between mouthfuls, 'people like you, you're very good at getting us out of trouble with your words. You're also good at fighting, and making delicious food.'

y/n spins around eyes wide, 'you like my cooking?'

I nod and pull a plate of cooked fish towards me, 'I like the spices and seasonings, I could eat this all day.'

y/n leans on the counter opposite me watching me stuff my face with a smile on their face. Usually by now, Sanji would have scolded me for eating while he was still cooking but y/n looked proud. y/n needed to try less hard to be liked because they were already accepted by the whole crew, but that would take time.

'I have a couple other dishes prepared if you'd like to try them, captain,' y/n suggests.

I continue to devour the plate in front of me and smirk, 'Keep them coming.'

This was the most talkative y/n had been the whole month. They were very easy to get along with and promised to bring any new dishes to me first. If y/n cooked more I might just get up earlier in the morning.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your phone rings, shaking you from your trance. You haven't moved since you locked the door and ran upstairs. You sit on the sofa, one leg hooked tightly over the other as you bite your cheek and twine your hands around your knee.

You pry your fingers apart and stand. Each step is shaky and unsure. A branch brushes the window and you flinch, turning to gape at the pane. You watch the leaves wave in the breeze. The phone quiets as it rolls to voicemail.

The lull is brief as it once more begins to chime and you rush to grab it from beside the radio. You answer in a quaver, barely able to get your words out.

"Hello?"

"Hi," a lilted accent flows through the line.

"Hello, Marguerite," you reply, "how are you?"

"Yes, uh, I would like to let you know that Henri will not be attending his lesson tonight."

"No? I hope everything is okay," you toy with the edge of the doily beneath the retro radio.

"Oui, very okay," she drones, "it is only an unexpected circumstance. You take care, mademoiselle."

"I wi–"

The line clicks before you can finish. You have a bad feeling. That's so odd. Another blank space in the ledger.

You shake your head and curl your fingers around the phone as you pace. You hope it's just a coincidence.

You're jittery and you just can't stay still. You can still hear the way his voice sunk low. His words jumble together but his timbre remains, haunting your mind.

Your phone pings and an email bubbles up. Someone has reviewed your posting. You open your inbox and click on the link.

'Paid for lessons. Turned away due to discrimination. DO NOT PAY THIS SCAMMER.'

There is no name, just 'anonymous.' Oh, this is why you hate the internet. It's too much drama.

You know it's him. What you don't expect is the next comment.

'Very disappointed to hear. I will be discontinuing my son's attendance at once.'

You feel breathless as you lean on the table and place the phone flat. You drag your finger down as a new comment appears.

'My son was unable to attend his lesson today as there was a strange man hanging around screaming. The teacher does not provide a kid-safe environment. Do not bring your children here.'

Caroline at least has the nerve to sign her name. You don't understand. They know you. They know they can trust you.

She saw this crazy man and her reaction is to blame you. Typical. It's just like college. Just like that time. The incident you don't think about.

You login and go to your settings. You close the posting, not wanting any more rancor. You don't know what you're going to do. Go to the bank and talk to someone about your savings. You held onto your inheritance for a reason, right?

You leave your phone on the table and stride through the archway to the music room. You graze your fingers over the ivory keys before shutting the lid. No music today. You couldn't play if you tried.

You wish your grandfather was here to tell you what to do. To say in his gentle tone that it'll be okay. But you don't think it will be.

🎹

It's midnight. The old hanging clock ticks on the wall as you lay in silence, the fan blowing over you in the night's damp warmth. Rain falls but not hard enough to take the thickness from the air, only stirring it further.

You keep a sheet across your body, pulled over your stomach as you stare at the ceiling. You can't sleep. Usually you fall asleep before ten but tonight, you just can't close your eyes.

The scratching of the branch on the window keeps you alert, every creak, every groan of the walk up has you on edge. The hum of the fridge, the drone of the pipes, all those familiar are suddenly frightful.

You exhale and twiddle your fingers against your stomach. You aren't going to sleep. You know it.

You sit up and rub your forehead. Camomile. That always helps. You remember how your grandfather had a cup each night. You kept a package around just for the memory.

You get up and tug the cotton gown away from your figure as it clings to your sweat. Your steps creak down the hallway and you emerge in the shadows of the music room, a darkness clustering beyond the stairs. An eerie tingle crawls up your arms.

You stop as you notice the curtains pushed to the very edge of the rod. You closed that window, you’re sure of it. Just like every night, you went over your routine.

Windows, door, everything locked up tight, except for the bedroom. You kept the pane halfway up, no more, no less. Just enough to let in the air.

You tiptoe over and look outside. You see the tree looming and hear the crickets. There's nothing, no one there.You pull down the frame and flip the latch.

You stay there for just a minute and watch the moonlight flicker through the foliage. It's getting to you. You're forgetting things. Important things.

You back away and go into the kitchen. As you enter, there's a click. You peer around, turning slowly in place. You flick on the light above, the bulb casting amber through the glass shade.

You see nothing but what you expect. The silver fridge, the brown counters, the pantry door, and the small square table with its for handbuilt chairs. You go to the stove and put the kettle onto the burner as you crank the knob.

You stand at the stove and wait. The anxiety winds inside your stomach as you pick at your nail and bite your cheeks. What can you do? You can hand out flyers? Maybe find a different place to post?

Ugh it's all such a mess and because of him. A stranger! You don't know him. Why does he care so much?

You hate to judge someone by their looks but you should've known from the start he was trouble. You did, you just didn't want to accept that. You didn't want to have a mean thought.

The kettle begins to shake and you watch the steam plume from the spout. You remove it to keep it from whistling and you take out a cup and packet of tea. The simple steps ease your addled nerves.

You pour the hot water over to steep the bag and retreat with your cup to the table. You sit and tap your fingers on the trim of the placemat. The old woven things fray along the edge, the embroidered berries fading into the grey.

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. Maybe you need a break. Dip into your nest egg and figure things out.

You prefer monotony but life doesn't go according to plan. That's the sole lesson you took from your grandfather's death. Nothing lasts forever.

This won't either, right?

🎹

You're awakened by a crash. You sit up and let out a gritty yelp. You roll out of bed, tangled in the sheets and off balance.

It's still dark out. You barely remember going back to bed. Your head is fuzzy and your lashes crusty from the depth of your slumber.

You let the sheet drape down to the floor as you stumble to the doorway. You notice the flowers on the floor, the vase in pieces in a puddle of water. The window is open again.

You rush over and shove down the window without a thought to the shards at your feet. You lock it and stagger away, narrowly missing the glass with your sole. You turn, squinting in the dark as you find your way back to the kitchen.

The pantry door is open. You swallow as you turn on the light again, bracing yourself for some villain to emerge. The glow reveals no monster waiting among the dry goods.

You go forward to slam the door shut. You lean on it and peek at the small clock that ticks above a vintage barometer. It's barely 2am.

Your heart pumps loudly as you go to the table where your empty cup still sits. You must've forgotten to take it to the sink. You pick it up and an unexpected weight lingers at the bottom.

You peer past the brim and see the item inside. The crumpled head of a poppy. It seems one of those left in the road in Steve's anger. But how did it get there?

Is this a dream? If it is, why can't you wake up.

[lovejosephquinn]

I feel like it's horny season, all the thirst on my dash is killing me and the Paris con, don't even get me started ☠️ I'm not sure if you have done something like this before, but may I request Mr. Quinn shamelessly railing you after the con in a hotel room, because you've been feeling insecure about all the girls he met? Or something along the lines. Please 👉👈

It's horny season all year round on tumblr, don't you know? 💀 Especially this year, the year of Quinn istg 😫

Thank you for your request @iliveforotps, I hope it's what you wanted and more x

UNDER 18'S DNI.

It had been a long day, you'd watched on from the side lines Joe interacting with hundreds of fans at the Paris con, 90% of them female and usually it wouldn't bother you, maybe that was because you'd never been there to see it properly. You knew in the darkest depths of your mind that Joe was yours and only yours. But you couldn't help but feel a tad jealous over the way he was innocently flirtatious with a handful of them. It was his job at the con to please the people that had paid money to meet him, you had to walk away sometimes just purely so you didn't yell out anything stupid; you often think out loud and that was a dangerous game in this particular situation.

You decided to text Joe, letting him know you'd gone back to the hotel room a little earlier rather than waiting for him to finish his panel because you were 'tired.' An absolute shit excuse.

Laying on the bed silently sobbing, unsure as to why you'd let today get the better of you, there was absolutely no reason to be behaving like this, but here you were.

You heard they key card swipe across the door and in came your boyfriend, mid yawn rubbing his eyes walking in and locking the door behind him, finding you curled up under the sheets, not a word spoken, your eyes shut pretending to be asleep so you didn't have to face telling him the truth so soon. Joe knew you like the back of his hand and could tell something was up straight away, it was unlike you to not want to be by his side so when he received the text and read it after the panel he instantly worried about you.

"Baby?" He cooed, slipping off his jacket and shoes and climbing into bed next to you. Joe rubbed back and fourth down your arm, leaning over you and planting a kiss on your cheek. You couldn't ignore him.

"Hi." you whispered, a blank look on your face.

"Why'd you run off? I missed you." Joe pouted his lips like a sad child, instantly giving you the puppy eyes you adored to see. You hid your smile, Joe's head tilting to one side taking a hold of you and pulling you into him as he enveloped you in his arms, cradling you like a baby.

"Long story." You sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest, the scent of your boyfriend calming you ever so slightly, his warm embrace was hard to refuse.

"How long is long?" He questioned.

"Not very. I just-"

"You just?" Joe interrupted, you leaned upward to meet his face with yours.

"I just got a bit jealous today, seeing the way you were with all the... girls, it was just a bit much."

Joe smiled sympathetically. "Oh my beautiful girl, don't be so silly, you know I'm yours." You should of seen it coming in the second his lips crashed onto yours, your mouths opening up to prolong the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding in, Joe letting go of you and laying you onto your back and caging you between himself and the mattress; the way his arms flexed as he held himself above you. You drank in his features, your boyfriend was so undeniably sexy you couldn't help but gawk.

"Let me show you." He uttered, before meeting your lips once more, grinding his hips down onto your thigh, the way they tilted open so he could straddle between them, pushing himself into you whilst his lips caressed yours fiercely. Biting down on your lip earning a messy whimper from your throat.

"Is that what you want, does my girl need some attention the way only I can give her?"

You nodded slowly, staring down at the way he licked his lips, savouring the taste of your saliva that had been left on his mouth.

Joe rid you of your clothes thick and fast before undressing himself, ushering the sheets away so you were completely bare before him and vice versa. "Mmm, nobody compares to you, you're so fucking hot Y/N."

You liked that line, it even put a smile back onto your face, without any warning, he grabbed a hold of your legs pulling you to the end of the bed, hoisting your feet back onto the edge and spreading your thighs apart to reveal what he craved most.

"It's been a hell of a day and all I've wanted is to eat this beautiful little cunt, can I?" He uttered, kneeling down on the carpet before you, his pupils dilated and clearly hungry for a taste.

"Mhmm. Show me who you belong to and who you love most like you said you would."

Joe wasted no time in using his hands to open up your slit, showing your aching clit and the entrance that made his cock throb hard below. "With pleasure." His face smashed against your cunt, tongue rapidly licking up and down like a starved animal, lips instantly meeting your clit and wrapping them around it, sucking harshly and nibbling slightly, you grabbed a hold of your tits, playing with your nipples as his darkened eyes looked up to you, you felt his mouth smirk into you, his tongue flickering over your bud thick and fast.

"Just like that." Your hands grabbed a hold of his hair, pushing him inward and bucking your hips up, giving him no room to breathe but just devour. His tongue stroked down your cunt, lapping circles around your entrance. "This sweet pussy needs tongue fucking I think." He gestured in a questioned tone.

"P-please."

"Please what, my love?"

"Fuck my hole with your tongue."

"Absolutely." Joe hummed, his muscle sticking itself straight inside you, flattening out and curling around all the ways you enjoyed, making you writhe onto the bed, you were unsure of where to put your hands, so you pushed them back and grabbed a hold of the pillow, your back arching as he vibrated it around inside of you. Reaching his thumb up to vigorously attack your clit, you were so god damn close by this point, your moans were bouncing off the walls of the hotel room, his name being squealed loudly with all you could muster. Then he stopped.

Standing up to lean over and flipping you over onto your stomach, Joe's devious smirk reappeared. "On all fours, my cock will take your cum." Joe spat onto his cock, lathering it with his fingers making him hiss. "You see what you do to me? If this isn't clear enough to let you know I'm yours I don't know what is."

"Still don't believe you, prove it." You egged him on further, ready for the fuck of your life, a growl erupted from his throat, as if he hadn't already proved it, you irritated him a little with your words and with that, he plunged his cock into your hole, giving you no room to adjust, just all of his length crashing through the tightness of your cunt. Your moans hit an all time high as he shamelessly railed into you, his fingers bruising your hips using you as a prop to fuck you harder. "I'm fucking yours, you slut, don't second guess it." Joe screeched, his head falling back and eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"And you're mine, all fucking mine." Joe took a hand off of your hip and crashed it down to your ass cheek, spanking you hard, your face falling into the mattress as he pushed your back down so it was only your ass at cock level. "Yeah take my fucking cock baby, oh my-"

Your moans echoed in unison, the way he fucked you as hard as he did had you both in panting messes, his cock throbbing inside of you almost ready to burst. You pushed yourself backwards, creating a motion of you fucking into him as he fucked into you.

"Keep doing that, I'm going to cum. Are you close pretty girl?"

"I-I-" You couldn't say another word as your walls tightly caged his cock, his foreskin feeling the benefit and his tip hitting the base of your cervix. "Yes Y/N, yes!" His hand spanked you one last time along with one last thrust and he was spent, his cum flooded inside of you and you milked him for every drop.

"D-did t-that h-help." He could hardly make a sentence, his lungs had practically given up from how good that felt.

"Tell me one more time." You giggled, Joe pulled out of you and threw himself down next to you, leaning onto his side and tickling your ribcage.

"That's what I thought." His soft, loving smile returned along with the sparkle in the eyes that you loved so much, sealing the deal as he took a hold of you tightly, planting a light kiss, the taste of you still lingering. He was indefinitely yours, but maybe you'd be a little insecure more often if that was the endgame.

[fandomwritingbit]

I don't know about you, but tests and all that scary stuff is coming around for me next week, and all year I've been having horrible little thoughts about William lately.

So get this, lets say you actually study for that type of stuff (i know i don't) and you just can't get the information to stick in your head!

✨Magically!✨ You or Will, idrc comes up with the bright idea on how to get it to stick in your head by sitting on his dick and reading or going over whatever you've gotta remember

i might've read this somewhere butttttt, i'm a needy little whore at 1 am lets goooo

Before I forget, I love your fics and I have never submitted one before so...! As usual, drink your water, eat some food, and remember to get rest! unlike some of us Lastly, don't forget to sexualize your favorite old man/woman/other

Hi, thanks for the request, this one was an absolute joy to recieve, I love all your little asides lol. Please feel free to send others!

Exams season is a killer and I really hope you get what you want out of it, just remember that tests and numbers and shit don't define you as a person Xx

That being said, whilst this may not be the most optimal way to study, its certainly the most enjoyable...

william afton x (gn)reader

A/N- Reader's between 18 and early 20s. William is a neighbour, for my plot convenience lmao.

You're sitting at the kitchen table to do some studying today, rather than barricaded in your room as usual. You'd read something online about a change of scenery being good for remembering stuff and because your parents were out it seemed a good opportunity.

With each passing minute, you dawned to the conclusion that that post was bollocks because it wasn't working.

You had your laptop open in front of you, surrounded by a frankly obnoxious amount of papers, trying to wrap your head around content for an exam tomorrow. But each time you wrote a line it was like your mind was rubbed blank, Men in Black style. It was so frustrating, and you knew you should have done it earlier but, good god, why was it so hard to remember anything?

So engrossed in feeling inadequate, you flip the laptop shut angrily, tilting your head back so it touched the chair in anguish. Defeated. It was as you did this that you clocked a figure in the kitchen doorway, making your body jerk up-right and turn round in one fluid moment.

Keep reading

"Mr Afton, how long hav- what are you doing here?" you blurt out, quick to try and compose yourself, you weren't physically or mentally ready for guests, especially ones you'd been casually hooking up with since you moved back home.

"Just dropping this off for your dad. I didn't want to interrupt cos you seem to be... trying not to cry?" 

He laughed as he said the last part, moving over towards you and helping himself to a chair. Pushing all your papers to the side without asking. "What's wrong then, been missing me?"

Usually you'd laugh at that but you just shrug at him, half angry at his expression and half at your situation. "You know, I could fucking cry." You do manage a laugh, but its shaky, "Because I'm going to fucking fail this fucking exam because I can't drill any of this shit through my fucking thick fucking skull." You rattle off quickly, each use of 'fucking' harsher than the last.

...

You hadn't really meant to let any of that out. But frustration had taken hold a bit too strongly there.

Afton just stared at you for a few seconds, his lips pressed into a hard line and you could tell he was trying not to laugh at you. You were a bit unsure how you'd react if he did.

After a few moments of silence you place your forehead in your hands and mutter 'sorry'.

"You're alright. Though you shouldn't be studying whilst you're upset, no wonder nothings going in."

"...If you tell me to calm down, I'll lose it." you say, head still in hands, laughing a bit at how much this was bothering you, it was an exam, a booklet of paper, what kind of melt would be this upset. Literally everyone else, you suppose. You take a deep breath.

"Right. Uh when's the test?" he asks you, half looking at a sheet of notes, his interest quickly peaked.

You laugh shortly. "9am."

"Then you've got... What, 20 hours? You've got time to calm down and revise." He put his hand on your shoulder, "You, sweetheart, need to relax."

You swat his hand away, laughing at his cockiness you could tell where this was going, "That's why you came over then? Heard dad's car door shut and your shoes were half-on I'll bet?"

He flashed you a smarmy grin, "You're not far wrong." You shake your head, messing about with this prick was the last thing you should be doing, but the first thing you needed.

"You know, if this type of revision isn't working for you... I heard that associating information with a sense can help you remember things."

You could hardly believe him, seeing you upset and still vying for what he came for. A risky move, Really. You suppose it took cojones, could have made you want to grab a hold of his, or squash them under your shoe.

"Oh yeah?" you ask sarcastically, "What are you suggesting?"

~

You're not sure how long it took for fresh marks to appear on your neck and your pants to be around your ankles, but you quickly find yourself sitting on his lap and letting his cock slip inside you.

As familiar as the low grunt from behind your ear was becoming, the feeling of him stretching you open always surprised you.

You raise your hips up and press back down again, moaning slightly, he let you slowly ride him for a few moments before, just as your rhythm increased, he grabbed your hips.

"Easy," his voice was thick, brushing against your neck, "You're supposed to be fucking studying."

You groan your protest, a hair away from booing him. "What is it you study again?" His question makes you laugh and you lean back against him with your back arching, causing him to grunt. He gripped your hips harder now forcing you still.

"Fuck 's sake. History."

He hummed in your ear, thinking for a minute, whilst your body throbbed around him desperate for some kind of stimulation. "And what's this on?" He could tell you were aching for something so he pushed you forwards, dragging you back, the angle allowing him to press so fucking deep.

"Come on, sweetheart."

"Civil war. Spanish."

Your gruff answer mirrored his growing frustrations.

"And uh... I don't- who won that?" The fact he couldn't move inside your tight hole was making him white-knuckled with restraint.

"-Nationalists."

With your one word answer that was enough studying for the both of you. He started to move your hips along him, letting your eager pace take over.

You knew that you were going to be up all night doing this now, but you didn't really mind.

[whumpsday]

Me and my hunting partner just got back from duty, and my partner is injured.

I make Kane close the wound. He doesn't get to lick it directly, though, he might get a mouthful of blood. While holding him with an iron grip in his hair, I make him spit in my hand, then rub it on the wound to close it.

Then we lock Kane back up and leave.

liked this one so much i wrote a whole 700 word thing about it. enjoy!

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist / Drabbles tag

content: vampire whumpee, starvation, begging, multiple whumpers, burns, magical healing, saliva, bloody injury described through the rose-tinted lens of a very hungry vampire

-

Kane always smelled the hunters coming before he saw them, but he usually heard them even before that. The sweet scent of human blood, flowing plentifully through their veins, hidden just under soft skin he would never get to break. In the beginning, he used to throw himself at the bars in a hunger-crazed frenzy, burning himself in the process. He'd learned enough self-control to avoid that, by now.

Today was different. He smelled blood first, before he even heard them. The scent was sharper, less muffled than when sealed behind human flesh, though distant enough for him not to fly into hysterics.

Someone was bleeding, and they were getting closer.

Kane picked himself up from where he sat huddled in the corner and placed himself near the door, kneeling respectfully. It was likely that they were just going to taunt him again, mock him for how he'd never receive food again by waving blood out of reach until he cried. But there was always a chance.

With time to prepare himself mentally, he dug his nails into his thighs and coached himself to stay sane. He wouldn't jump at the bars and burn himself, he wouldn't. He would kneel here, beg for food, and hope for the best.

He gritted his teeth as the hunters started making their way down the stairs, mouth watering at the tantalizing, unmistakable fragrance of fresh blood. He was so hungry. He would do anything for just a little bit.

The hunters hobbled down the stairs, one supporting the other. The injured hunter's jeans sported a slash in one leg, a shallow yet long gash running across it. The wound oozed blood, the finest ambrosia Kane could imagine. It glistened under fluorescent lights: a deep, rich, savory red, dripping from the hunter's thigh and saturating the fabric of his jeans. Its aroma permeated the room: it was everywhere, it was everything, he needed it more than he'd ever needed anything else in his entire life.

Kane pounced toward the source of it, his mind blank of anything other than the overpowering need for food, only to yelp and recoil back when his front lit up with pain- he'd leapt at the bars, again.

The uninjured hunter chuckled lightly. "Looks like the parasite thinks you're its new snack, eh, buddy?"

His hunting partner rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it before the guys try to make me go to the fuckin' ER. I don't want to deal with that shit."

After gently setting his peer on the floor in the hall outside Kane's cell, the uninjured hunter unlocked the door, quickly shutting it behind him as he entered. "Good news! You get to be useful today."

Kane fought to retain his rationality, whimpering as he looked up at the hunter. It took every ounce of effort he had in him not to pounce again, and he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to manage it, but the painful lines singed into his skin helped him stay grounded. "P-please. Please sir, I need it. Please?"

The hunter tangled his fingers in Kane's hair and gripped it tight, forcing his head still. "Tsk-tsk. You don't get blood, remember? Don't worry, you can still be useful." He held his other hand out, wearing a sturdy leather glove. "Spit."

Kane sobbed. "Please, please, I'll be so good, please let me lick the wound closed! I can help!" he cried.

The hunter rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't be able to prevent yourself from biting if you tried. Spit."

The worst part was Kane knew the hunter was right.

He had no trouble providing ample saliva to close the wound, his mouth watering excessively with the smell of food surrounding his starved body. The healing properties would wear off mere minutes after leaving him, but the injured hunter was right there. Kane wished it would wear off immediately, just so he'd have an excuse to get some blood in him. Even the smallest bit.

The hunter released his hair, mockingly patting him on the cheek. "Good leech."

Kane watched with ravenous, desperate eyes as the hunter applied vampire saliva to the wound, the delectable blood clotting to stop any excess from being lost.

The scent did not leave, even as the hunters returned upstairs. The injured hunter had spilled a small amount of blood in the hall without even noticing. Kane would do anything to have it. He would take any punishment if he could earn the opportunity to lick it up. He would die for it in a heartbeat. He would beg, but there was no one to beg to.

He amassed many more burns that night, fruitlessly throwing himself at the bars between sobs

-

taglist in reblogs!

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

I FIGURED OUT THE THING-

Anyways, may I request a Draken x skateboarder male reader? Specifically a fluff fic please!

I do hope you enjoy~!

Title: Drinks for Two

Characters: Draken x Skateboarder!m!Reader

Contains: fluff <3

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

"Yo! Kenny~!"

Rolling up to Draken, who was sitting on a park bench with his phone, you slowly looped around him, maintaining perfect balance on your skateboard despite your hands in your pockets as you faced him with a dopey grin. You had to turn forward to gently kick up for speed, but you kept the trick going. "Fancy seeing you here~"

"I texted you," Draken chuckled, sliding his phone away as he carefully watched your dizzying trick. "You even responded to it."

"Oohhh right!" You stopped your board, taking your phone out as if you genuinely forgot. "I did!"

With a huffed chuckle, Draken stood up, hands in his pockets as you stopped in front of him on your board. "So, ready to go?"

You stepped off your board, kicking it up into your hand as you confirmed. "All set!"

---

The coffee shop was bustling, but that didn't stop you two from getting your coffees and sitting outside in the spring weather. The two of you discussed different things, from Draken informing you of how Mikey has been, to you telling of a dream where your favorite fictional character stole your cup ramen while you weren't looking.

The two of you had been quite busy since your last date, with Draken helping Mikey with the gang and you focused on your college studies, you two had at least agreed to put time aside today to have a lunch date starting with coffee.

"So how are those studies?" Draken asked, sipping his slightly sweetend beverage.

After taking a sip of your drink, you groaned, sitting back in your seat. "I have an assignment due online in a couple days, but I swear that teacher didn't cover any of those questions in class! He gave us one formula to use, but the assignment has something else completely!"

Draken chuckled, looking over at you with a smile. "Can't you just search those questions? I heard there's websites that the teachers actually rip from."

It was like you were given the grace of God herself, sitting up faster than you slouched back. "You're kidding..."

"Nope. I've heard if you put the question into a search engine, usually the first two results or so should take you to a site where the whole assignment is. They should have the answers on them, and some should show the work so you should be able to copy from that if you really need to."

Dramtically, you placed your torso on the table arms extended as if you were bowing, careful to avoid your coffee. "I owe you my education." Draken couldn't help but rest a hand on his chin, propping himself up on his elbow as he gazed down at you with such admiration. When he didn't say anything, you slowly sat up, feeling a bit awkward from his gaze. "Wh-What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at this adorable, one brain cell having guy before me," he replied.

Feeling a blush creep up on your face, you furrowed your brows, hiding your face behind a sleeve as you gazed away. "Sh-Shut up. You don't mean that..."

"That you have one braincell?"

"That...I'm adorable." Let's be real, you never really minded his playfully teasing nicknames for you. It was whenever he complimented you that felt like a lie.

"Okay, then not adorable. But...you're so cool, so badass. I mean, look at you." At this point, you were fiddling with the hem of your beanie, eyes darting back and forth between him and at something nondescript in the distance. "You have this style that's just...wow. And your skating tricks? Down right incredible. How on earth did I get so lucky to snag someone as cool as you?"

This praise was just too much but...you weren't complaining either. You had to admit, that despite your feelings whenever he called you "adorable", you always felt this sense of pride when he complimented other aspects of you. Though this was almost like an overload but in a good way.

You tugged your beanie down in front of you, mostly to hide the red that was trying to spread on your face. "H-Hey! Isn't the sushi place opening soon?! W-We should get going s-so we can get a good seat."

Draken chuckled as he finished off his coffee, tossing it into the nearby trashcan from where he sat before standing and heading off. "Yeah, c'mon, you tomato."

"I-I'm not a tomato!" you argued, quickly following him before dropping your board to the ground and hopping on it, rolling past him with a shit eating grin that read "race ya!"

[s1ut4adamstanheight]

Write some dad bod adam

dude I'm sorry I'm seeing this so much later than when you asked im actually dumb but I gotchu xo ALSO kinda nsfw btw

Adam stanheight x reader (short)

It was a Sunday afternoon and I've just finished getting ready for the day, I woke up early to go to the gym with my boyfriend Adam but we both decided to blow it off and sleep till the afternoon. We wanted to go after realizing how chub we both gotten from the holidays - and honestly Adam has gained a bit of weight since the trap. Just stress eating and depression, nothing wrong with it, personally I love it but I just don't like how he got it, so I figured why not go out and get to the gym, we can be healthier people together. Usually we go a few times a week - until today - we stayed up late and considering how consistent we've been, we deserve a break.

I just finished making Adam and I some tea as I head back into the bedroom where Adam was still in bed.

"here you go lazy" I smile and hand him his mug, my eyes go to his shirtless chest making me smirk.

He groans and sits up "thanks sweetie", that nickname gives me butterflies every time.

I sit down infant of him on the bed and sip my tea.

"you know I feel kinda bad skipping the gym today, but sleeping in was totally worth it." Adam says before putting his mug down.

"oh dude totally." I nod.

He stretches his arms out and looks at me before grabbing the mug from my hand and placing it beside his on the bedside table.

"you know, we could still work out here." he runs his hands up my waist and to my neck where he pulls me in for a kiss.

I smile into the kiss and pull away looking at his sleepy dark eyes,

"yeah?" I say smiling, inches away from his hovering lips.

"uh huh.." he slowly kisses my cheek and moves his way down to my neck.

"Adam your gonna kiss away my makeup," My hands go up to his cheeks holding him and he kisses me neck and cheeks.

He looks back up at me smirking, "yeah yeah, you can fix it later, come'mere." He pulls my hips onto his lap then runs his hands down my thighs.

"ugh if you insist." jokingly I roll my eyes and kiss him.

His lips are the best thing to wake up to in the morning, my mind goes blank as he kisses me slowly and passionately, he bites me lip before going back In intensely.

I moan quietly while my hands travel down his stomach, I love hoe he's bigger than me, more overpowering and strong. He can easily move and throw me around and I love it.

Adam pulls away from the kiss to look at me.

"You always get me so riled up in the morning," he smiles and rests his head up against the wall behind him.

"oh I can tell," I smirk "I can feel it." I move my hips and feel him under me, teasing me with every move.

"I can help youuu" I say tilting my head while holding his cheeks.

"really?'' he says coming back to my face.

''what do you want to do?'' his hand hols my cheek and slowly moves his thumb over my pink lipglosses lips that Adam has now smudged, his thumb pulls my bottom lip down before kissing me again.

he smells like cologne and cigarettes, the perfect ingredients for sexy. His smells turns me on - making him so hard to resist, but his kisses distract me from taking this moment further.

"Adam your distracting me, don't you want help"

he smiles and kisses my cheek before looking at me.

"your letting me distract you, thought you were gonna help me work out" He says with a jokingly confused face.

"you can help me out in the shower, cmon."

"I already show-" Before I could finish he picks me up, carrying bridal style to the bathroom making me giggle.

"adaaaam!"

"you can be extra clean! I can help you wash" He says raising his eyebrows convincingly.

"oh shut up." he finally lets me down while I roll my eyes.

He closes the bathroom door then walks over to me.

Adam holds my waist bringing him to his chest, our lips close.

"you ready to workout?'' he asks before moving his hands under my shirt.

"uh huh." I smile and kiss him.

SORRY IF I LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER IM LAZY BUT IF U WANT MORE LET ME KNOW ILL TRY MY BEST.

AND SEND MORE REQUESTS IF ANYONE WANTS - I PROMISE TO ACTUALLY LOOK THIS TIME HA

[7ndipity]

Anchor

Taehyung x Reader

Summary: When it feels like everything is drifting away, Taehyung's there to help ground you.

Warnings: reader's dealing with a depressive episode, not proofread

A/N: I didn't mean to dissappear for nearly a week again, but I'm back now with comfort fluff because we all need it sometimes💜

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

There wasn't anything necessarily wrong, you were just having one of your "low days", as you'd come to refer to them. You could feel it setting in as soon as you'd gotten up that morning; your limbs heavier than usual and your mind in a fog that made everything feel far away, as if you were adrift in a sea of numbness.

Usually, you tried to just ride these moods out quietly on your own, but as the day turned into night, and your mind inhibited your ability to sleep, you inevitably found yourself messing around online to pass the time and distract yourself.

You didn't know how long you'd been scrolling when a notification popped up from one of the only people who could make you smile on days like this.

Tae: "Hey"

You: "Hey."

Tae: "Facetime?"

You: "Sure."

You'd barely pressed send before your phone began to buzz, Tae always too impatient to wait for your answer when he already knew the answer would be yes.

"Why are you still awake?" You asked as soon as you picked up, noting that it was nearly 3am.

"I should be asking you that." He responded, looking cozy as usual with his messy hair and oversized hoodie. "I hadn't heard from you today."

You hesitated, trying to find an appropriate response, if any existed.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah, sorry, things have just been kinda... eh." You said flatly.

He watched you for a moment, catching how your eyes shifted away even through the screen. He wasn't a stranger to your depressive moods, so it wasn't difficult to read between the lines. "Want me to come over?"

"What? No, why?"

"You're sad." He said.

"I'm not sad, I'm just..." You trailed off again, struggling to explain.

"I'm doing it anyway. See you in a bit." And with that, he hung up leaving you staring at a blank screen.

You had scrambled around, trying to straighten up you place and make yourself look vaguely presentable, before there was a knock at the door, which you opened revealing him, still in his sweats and carrying several bags.

"What's that?"

"You're upset, so I brought snacks." He explained, pulling out some of your favorites and taking a seat on the couch.

"Ttokbokki?" You asked surprised. "You don't like spicy food?"

"No, but you do." He smiled before smacking the cushion next to him. "Now sit."

The two of you ate and talked for a bit, avoiding whatever was bothering you. He knew that when you were ready to talk about it, you would, but your unusually quiet demeanor still bothered him, standing abruptly and turning to face you.

"Dance with me."

"What?" You looked up at him, dumbfounded.

"Dance with me." He repeated, extended his hand to you.

"Tae, you know I can't dance." You said.

"C'mon, please?" He begged, giving you his signature 'tete face.'

You sighed. Why could you never say no to him?

You placed your hand in his, and he quickly pulled you up and to him, spinning the two of you in slow, swaying circles as he hummed softly to supply a tempo to follow.

Rested your head against his shoulder, you let your eyes slip shut, feeling more present than you had all day, a few tears threatening to fall without your consent.

He glanced down at you when he felt the moisture land on his skin. "Hey." He stopped, dropping his hold in order to wipe your cheek. "What's going on?"

"You're just- thank you." You managed.

"For what?"

"Being here for me. Being you." You sniffed.

He gave you a small grin. "My pleasure."

You scoffed. "Sure."

"It is." He insisted.

"Sitting up at three am while I blubber into your shirt is your idea of a good time?" You questioned.

"If it makes you feel better, it is." He said, pulling you into a tight hug. "I don't care what for, or what time of day, anytime you need me, I'll be there, happily."

You sniffled, tucking your face back against his neck.

"Thank you." You whispered again, grateful that he was always there as your anchor, keeping you from drifting to far away from home.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

I WANNA TALK ABOUT UEA'S COSTUMES TODAY

Not all of them, actually, if you want a better breakdown about costumes and colors for Episode 7, I will guide you to @respectthepetty's post here.

What I want to talk about more specifically is the structure of the last three outfits Uea wears in Episode 7, and how I am interpreting them. Mostly cause I know what the like, fake sweater shirts are not a fan favorite and so I wanna read into it instead of just making it a fashion choice. Because this is the internet and I can do what I want.

SO ANWAY

Outfit One: Blue striped shirt, fake white sweater that ties in the front.

This is the outfit that Uea wears when he is originally intending to resign. Blue is King's color, and King is the one who originally told Uea he could resign. And King is heavy on Uea's mind right now between the stress of King's arranged match and their fight after Uea was assaulted by Krit. But as I said in my Uea and Red post, something I've noticed a lot when it comes to Uea is that he will usually wear white over top of a bright color. Why is this significant? Because white is a blank canvas, and because I see it as a way that Uea tries to hide his emotional state. He covers his colored shirts with white sweaters because the same way he hides his actual emotional state from everyone around him.

So I see the white here being an indication that Uea is trying to hide his feelings, and there is just something about the way the white sleeves look like they are hugging Uea that makes me feel like he is fully just wrapping a protective shroud around himself here. Blue is King, and King has consumed him, and Uea is trying to keep that consumption down by force.

Outfit Two: The white sweater with the yellow and black line around the collar

We know yellow has been used repeatedly throughout Bed Friend as a signifier for home for Uea. Unhappy in his family's home, he slapped yellow wherever he could at an attempt to fake happiness, or to hope for it. Now, this sweater does have the same gold, black, gold thin strip pattern along the waist, but for the length of time Uea wears this sweater, the full outfit is rarely seen.

And for me, this sweater is interesting because it places the color around the base of Uea's neck. It's not dissimilar to the fake sweater in Outfit One or the real sweater I'll talk about in Outfit Three. But Outfit One and Outfit Three are outfits I read as almost...hugging Uea. Outfit Two I read as suffocating him. I think that's cause Outfits One and Three have thicker lines, have actual sleeves that hang down in front, sleeves that arms would go in and therefore my brain associates them with hugging, as opposed to Outfit Two which has a thin line that is indicative more of a rope or a cord.

When I see this sweater, in the context of Uea entering his family home again, I see this sweater as indicating that he is being suffocated by the abuse of his family, and to trap this black line on his sweater between the gold, I'll take it one step further and say that he his also being suffocated by Krit and Krit's manipulation of Uea through his family.

The rest of the sweater is white, because Uea usually shuts himself down when he's with his family, as you can see perfectly illustrated in Episode 2, when he interacts with his mother in the hospital.

Where he is also wearing a white shirt with thin black lines (writing in that case)

This isn't really an outfit/costume thing but I did literally just think of it as I was typing this all up, that Uea finally erupts and talks back to his family. Which, I don't know about any of you all, but I am SO PROUD OF HIM FOR, and though he is still wearing the sweater because he is coming straight from this family meeting, he goes to Jade's apartment where is promptly wrapped in Jade's muddy red-orange sheets, allowing Uea to get some of his color back. And definitely covering the suffocating yellow and black band with Jade's yellow/orange oddity.

#bffls

Uea makes some decisions about how he is going to behave going forward and that leads us to...

Outfit Three: White shirt, blue and white striped sweater tied around his shoulders

We've swapped the color layering from Outfit One, and this time it feels like Uea has actually started moving past his initial emotional state/reactions, going back to a white base because he is finally finding the confidence he needs to take care of himself and stick it to the abusers in his life. Funny in this scene how there is still a lot of red coloring in front of him, and none behind him. But again, like the first outfit, and like I mentioned in the Outfit Two ramble, I feel like Uea is getting hugged here. Blue is King and Uea is sending a text message to King in this scene, and trying to put King behind him. And there King is, in the blue striped sweater, desperately clinging to Uea's back. Hugging him from behind, and moving in to the future with him, when Uea steps through that gate and in to the hotel (or, if you want to be #extra about it, whatever comes next). King is with Uea here because King will be with Uea always, because King loves Uea and Uea loves King, because King has, (until that #epiccringefail moment where King's jealousy and incomplete knowledge of Uea's trauma and undisclosed reciprocated feelings caused him to make improper assumptions and lash out) always been a comfort and a safe zone for Uea.

Also like, this is absolutely me reading so heavily in to this that it almost certainly cannot be intentional, but King has a propensity for hugging Uea from the back, and does favor Uea's left side when he is being affectionate and pressing kisses to Uea's back (because getting close to Uea's right side is triggering for Uea) and the way the jacket is resting a little bit crooked it literally feels like if you were to put King in that sweater his head would be resting on Uea's left shoulder, essentially blocking Uea's face from the camera. Literally like he does on the beach in Episode 5:

I pinkie promise this is to show the positioning parallel and not just a chance to flex this beautiful coloring.

Anyway, that's pretty much all the thoughts I had about this episode, so I guess I'd like to thank Slava's Snow Show for turning every loose hanging jacket in to a person in my mind for the rest of my life.

Would love to know what other people thought!!

[welcometotheinvertedworld]

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔸𝕣𝕖 𝕄𝕪 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪~

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟜

Walking down the wooden panels of the barracks outside, every officer was greeting the Lieutenant of Squad 5. The birds sang, and the peace of the Seireitei was tranquil. As a good morning here, an there kept passing on by to get to the Captains quarters.

"Captain? Are you ready yet?"

"Allllmost~ Come on in~"

"Yes, sir."

Blaring jazz filled the room, giving a sense of style and personality to the situation at hand. Sosuke walked in, accepting his Captain's orders and patiently waiting for a response.

"Your still dressed in your usual garb~ It's festival time, I told ya to dress to the nines, Sosuke."

"Captain Hirako, you're dressed as usually as well, sir."

"I don't have to dress up, I'm a Captain~"

Captain Hirako removed his gaze from the mirror in order to turn towards Sosuke. As he did so, Hirako ruffled his haori into place, with a blank expression of boredom forming on his face while Sosuke blabbed away.

"You're trying to make me be the only one that dresses up funny, but it won't work. In the first place, it's not a festival, it's a ceremony."

"I think any auspicious occasion is like a festival."

Sosuke frowned at the Captain's terrible sarcasm.

"You would be wrong."

"You're so....Picky, Eeeeeh~"

Shrugging to the side, the bedroom door to the right of Shinji slid open. (Y/n) came shuffling out, rubbing underneath her eyes.

"Oh good morning, (y/n)."

"Good morning, Lieutenant Aizen."

Stretching with one arm up and the other one resting behind her neck, she yawned while walking towards Shinji.

"Well, good morning Love~"

"Mmm, morning Shinji~"

"Do me a favor (y/n), an go and get ready for todays "festival"."

Shinji gave Sosuke a mischievous look, hoping to push his buttons. Not getting the reaction he so desperately wanted, though, Shinji glanced to the side with annoyance. All (y/n) was wearing was a white robe as she walked back into the bedroom to get ready. Shinji didn't really care what Sosuke thought about her staying over, considering he had seen her stay over many times.

"By the way, Captain. Would you mind if I ask, what type of music you are listening to today?"

Looking back at Aizen, Shinji cheerfully smiled, also ecstatic that he had asked.

"It's new music from the world of the living~. Pretty good, huh~"

"I wouldn't really know."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"Well, I think it's pretty great~"

(Y/n) walked out once again Shihakusho on and ready to go. Smiling at both the captain and the lieutenant, she playfully gestured at the topic.

"How so?"

"It's unpredictable, and jazz can be anything you want it to be. I feel like it just fills the soul with liveliness. "

"See, Sosuke, maybe you should learn a thing or two from (y/n). Might teach you to lighten up~"

Sosuke looked blankly at her and then back towards the captain.

"We better get going, or we'll be late."

𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈

We began to make our way to the Squad 1 barracks, walking next to Aizen, which made me quite nervous. His personality was so monotone that it was unsettling. I walked a little faster to be next to Shinji's side. He took notice of this and nudged his head over his shoulder, glaring at Sosuke. Aizen had a look of confusion, as if he'd ever do anything. We finally came to a stop at the humongous doors.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"HELLooooooooo! It's Captain Shinji Hirako of Squad 5! Can someone open up!"

....

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"There's nothing I hate more than having to visit the Squad 1 barracks, always trying to intimidate. The whole squad makes me so nervous."

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Funny. You certainly don't look like you're feeling nervous. Just because these ceremonies are a bore to you, please don't make such a fuss."

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Oh shut up! You can't even see my expression back there~"

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"It sure does make me nervous..."

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"What was that (y/n)?"

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"By the way, the doors open."

Sighing with annoyance from Sosuke's interruption of (y/n), he turned his attention to the door.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"I can see tha-, Ahhh!"

Hiyori came flying out the doors, foot first into Shinji's face. My eyes widened just as fast as my mouth did.

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"Shinji!"

Rolling all the way back behind the Zen gardens, Shinji smacked into the concrete wall so hard the stone ruptured. Hiyori gracefully landed into a crouching position after backflipping off the force of Shinji's face. Sosuke wasn't amused in the slightest as I remained quiet.

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Good to see you again, Shinji~. Nice to see that face of yours is as flat as ever~"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"HEeey! What's wrong with you Hiyori!"

I watched the blood run down from Shinji's nose. He tried to hide the damage. I assumed, trying not to worry me, but it seriously made my blood boil. My face turned red from anger. I looked down at Hiyori.

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"I'm not apologizing!"

She looked directly at Shinji and then towards me.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"I HAVEN'T ASKED YOU TO YET!"

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Good, so we're "all" in agreement that I have nothing to say sorry for."

Shinji looked towards me as he knew what I was about to do. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, "Don't you even think about it.." My impulses got the better of me, and I went for it."

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"You little bra!-"

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Uhhooo..."

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Say your sorry...Idiot. To both of em"

Sosuke's expression finally had some emotion to it as his mouth dropped from Love, knocking one out for the team by putting Hiyori in her place. I, on the other hand, was jealous that it wasn't me to have done the honors. Love looked sorry for her, more like disappointed.

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"You are hopeless..."

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"What's the big idea? Love! You can't just go pounding the head of a lieutenant from another squad!"

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Your captains not here, someone has to make sure your behaven.."

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Don't talk to me like I'm a kid! I'm under no obligation to apologize to a guy like that! Just look at that flat face! MAaaan~ It annoys me... And her royal highness over here can bite me!"

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"Excuse me!"

I backed up, taken by the nerve of this girl.

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Okay, I get it."

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Aaahhh! Hey, let me go! You big, ape!"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Gggrrrrh~ Ehhhhaaah!"

ℍ𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕣𝕚~

"Ooooooh! When I get my hands on you!"

Shinji came running over as fast as he could, stopping on the wooden platform and beginning to make faces at Hiyori. She was pushed forcefully away by Love, struggling to get free from his grasp. As for me, I tried to collect myself, and Aizen was just plan embarrassed to be associated with Captain Hirako.

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"How unbecoming of a Captain. Sir, I really don't think you should be making faces at other Squad members..."

As soon as Hiyori was out of sight, Shinji gathered himself, I rushed to his side to ask if he was alright. Before I could even get a word out, though, he patted my head gently

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Now, now, don't worry so much~" Hiyori's just not used... To us.... Maybe? She's always been like this."

Watching Shinji daydream, or think back on whether or not she'd always been this much of a pain, I could only deflate my posture...

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"Mh..."

That carefree look made its way to the Captains face, changing his mood pretty quickly and mine as well. He knew that it made me upset to see him get hurt, but he always reassured me that it never affected him too badly. We finally walked forward to the doors catching up with the others. It was silent until Shinji shattered it with words.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Is everyone here?"

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Just about."

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Squad 11 isn't here yet."

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"They left. Their captain does whatever he wants."

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Jeez, he may be a 10th generation Kenpachi, but what an irritating guy."

Shinji scratched the back of his head, furrowing his brows with irritation. He may mess around and not take things seriously all the time, but Captain Hirako took his duties as a captain to heart. That always came first, even if he broke a rule or few.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Why'd they ever promote a pig like him, to captain in the first place."

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Captain, please."

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Because they had no choice. For decades, whoever becomes captain of squad 12 becomes a Kenpachi, that's just their custom, I guess. If anyone's to blame for that, it's the previous Kenpachi who lost to em."

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Eeehhhh~ Your right~ It's such a pity I could cry."

Shinji stretched out both of his arms to the ceiling while saying those words as he grounded them. Another captain appeared.

?~

"Now, now!"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Mmmh~"

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"I don't approve of this criticism."

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖~

"Hello... You're early today, Shunsui."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Whata talkin' about, I'm usually the first one to arrive~"

𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕒~

"He sleeps late, but I kicked him out of his bed this morning."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"I wish you wouldn't speak so causally to the other captains like that..."

𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕒~

"Ah~ (y/n)!"

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"Hey, Lisa ~"

Lisa breaking out of her serious demeanor, ran towards me hugging me with such a loving embrace while spinning me around. When she came to a full circle, she placed both of her hands on my shoulders.

𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕒~

"It's been so long since we've last seen each other. Does Shinji keep you locked up all day in that room of his?"

Looking beyond me, she glared at Shinji.

(𝕐/𝕟)~

"No, no, I get out, I promise ~" I waved one hand in front of her, trying to keep her focus on me.

𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕒~

"Wait? Why are you here anyway? Isn't it only supposed to be captains and lieutenants?"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~ "Lisa~ It's none of your business so stop asking.."

(𝕐/𝕟)~ "I-its okay Shinji, really. Captain Yamamoto approved for me to be here today."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~ "Old man Yamamoto approved, ay? How'd you get away with that Shinji?"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Personal matters, and no it's not because she's my girlfriend~" "For awhile now Shinji's been telling me about how he truly feels about Sosuke, and he wants me to take over just in case. I guess you could say that I'm already his lieutenant, but it's pretty frowned upon within the Soul Society to have more then one lieutenant at a time..."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Very interesting~"

From the corner of my eye, I could see a man walking towards us, his whole self screamed white. Every time I saw captain Ukitake, it made me think of just white... like snow... or paper... We continued to walk as he joined in with us all.

𝕁ū𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣ō~

"Wait, where's Kirio? Don't tell me she's not coming today." 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Mh~, she's already started her new position."

𝕁ū𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣ō~ "What was her hurry? It's not like it's urgent or anything, she could have taken her time, you know?" 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~ "Oh boy~ I'll say." 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"But man, there's been such a turn over of captains lately, I mean seriously Rose just joined squad 3 two years ago."

Shinji's attitude about all the new changes made me feel sorry for him, it seemed as if he was irritated with the constant shift in captains. I don't really blame him, I know Shinji better than anybody else and his lax nature didn't adapt very well to chaos. "Or so he makes it seem..."

I looked to our left and speak of the devil there was Rose himself across the way. Caught in mid sneeze, I giggled at him, but my attention was locked back onto captain Hirako as he continued on with his topic.

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~ "And now squad 12 which makes me wonder if everything's gonna be alright..."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Don't worry about it. Change is inevitable in everything, you know?"

As I thought, Shinji was just worried... He may not seem like the type but he definitely always get in his own way, always thinking about every outcome to come.

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"We just have to deal with it. When you think about it the only ones that have been captains for over 100 years are myself, Jūshirō, and old man Yamamoto, right~"

𝕁ū𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣ō~ "I believe you're forgetting about captain Unohana."

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Oohooh, yeah, that's right! I might get scolded for forgetting my great senior. Now I'm scared~"

𝕌𝕟𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕒~

"What are you so scared of?"

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~ "We were just talking about how it's such a nice day outside, that its scary. That's all~ Right?" 𝕁ū𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣ō~ "Yeah~"

Light laughs faded. As the two captains tried to cover their tracks of what the real conversation was about towards captain Unohana. I was bunched up with the rest of the lieutenants at this time, watching this silly little situation unfold.

𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕒~

"Our captain is such a complete idiot sometimes.."

𝕌𝕟𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕒~

"Squad 3 had a retirement. Squad 12 had a promotion~ Unlike squad 10 they didn't have a death within the ranks. In that sense I'd say squad 12 has been lucky."

𝕁ū𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣ō and 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Yeah..."

The sound of everyone's footsteps stopped in the outdoor halls. Sosuke took the lead with his steps, not realizing that was a mistake.

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Promotion?" 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~ "Get back in rank, Sosuke!"

Shinji turned around defensively stepping up. He clearly didn't want Sosuke to know anything, he only allowed Aizen to know what he wanted him to know. That was smart, considering all the suspicions' Shinji has informed me about.

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Parden me, I couldn't help but over hear." 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Awe~ That's okay Sosuke, go ahead. What is it?" 𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Sorry to interrupt, but we lieutenants haven't been told anything. Was Captain Hikifune of squad 12 promoted? Because I was under the assumption she was retired." 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Yes?"

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~ "Then was she promoted from captain to.. Central 46? That would be quite an accomplishment. In fact, I've never heard of it happening before." 𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"Not Central 46...Instead she went to..."

Shunsui's posture shifted to the side, he glanced down and then towards Aizen slowly, with a sly smirk.

𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕚~

"The royal Guard~ Squad 0."

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Tha-The Royal Guard?"

The pupils in Aizen's eyes trembled, the look of shock I had only seen for a second time shined through his expression once again. Why...Why did he care so much? Why is he so shocked? When Shinji told me about it, it wasn't much of a surprise for me. Instead of shock I was happy for her. Why does he look so distressed?

?~

"What's this? Why are you all blocking the corridor?"

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Parden me, I didn't realize.."

The sea of lieutenants parted to ensure this happened, and while I was paying much attention to Aizen's actions it made me jump. I didn't know their names but an old man, and a young woman passed on by.

𝕌𝕟𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕒~

"Tell' em congratulations~" ?~

"If you have a congratulatory message, tell him in person captain Unohana~"

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~

"Say what? The newcomers that guy from squad 2?"

Everybody began to walk past Shinji, as for me I was still bunched up with all of the other lieutenants. I made my way and stopped right by captain Hiroko's side. As we had some distance away from the others, we walked together making small talk about the situation. We did drift away from the serious topics though, and ended up going on about music. We approached the main hall where all of the captains had their meetings. Everyone was scattered, talking amongst one another.

𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈

𝕂𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕚~

"The newbie is here, line up. The old man says to wait for him." We all lined up, one by one, two rows of captains. One line on the right, the other on the left, I'd like to think that'd it'd be awkward to just stand their staring dead on into the captain across from you...The lieutenants were right behind their captains, except for Hiyori, she was standing where her new captain is supposed to be.

"Pretty disrespectful if you ask me? But at least I don't have to deal with her."

The room became silent, everyone could hear the sound of echoing thumps getting closer and closer to the huge doors once everyone settled down. We all waited with anticipation, ready to see who this new captain would be. The silence took control over the room again, no thuds, just quietness. I could hear everyone breathing, tensions rising, egos boasting, and glaring observations. The door's cracked open, creaking, leaving a statement to everyone that they had arrived. My heart raced, I don't know how everyone else was feeling, but I didn't feel a very welcoming vibe coming off. Even Shinji was matching everyone else's aura. I felt so out of place, as if I wasn't cut out to be a lieutenant. My standards weren't like everyone else's here, I most likely looked as if I was scared shitless. I had to remember though, that I'm not a lieutenant, not yet anyways...

?~ "Huh?!?!" ?~ "Uuuhhhh~ Please don't tell me I'm the last one to get here?" 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~ "That's the guy? They chose him? He looks to easy going to be a captain."

𝕊ō𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Your right~"

?~

"I'm truly sorry I'm late. Let me just say...Hehe~ It's nice to meet you all."

𝑅𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒~

𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕚~ "That's the guy? They chose him? He looks to easy going to be a captain."

ℝ𝕠𝕤𝕖~

"It's not like you've got room to talk."

As I expected, Shinji was not impressed, neither was I to be honest. He seemed, strange, but who am I to judge. I feel out of place just as much as this new guy probably does. Not to mention Rose's comment. So yes, Shinji is laid back and goofy, but I let that fool me and didn't realize how serious he really could be until I started training with him. Its been two years now... and I know I've improved, but the better I get the more challenging he makes it. It's as if I don't even know what Shinji is fully capable of.. He incredibly smart too, not someone you should be taking lightly, if you truly know him.

?~

"Uuuuh...So? May I uh, please have permission to enter?"

?~

"Don't be a wimp!"

?~

"Huh?!"

?~

"You are now a captain of a squad. Stand tall and enter Kisuke."

𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Right?....."

?~

"Yes enter. And be quick about it!"

That voice sounded familiar, I couldn't put my finger on it until I saw who had walked in. it was old man Yamamoto, hitting Kisuke with the point of his wooden cane. Nudging him forward bit by bit, stumbling into the room clumsily.

𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Uhhha~"

Everyone was finally all here, and the ceremony was about to begin. The room was still tense, but a sternness overcame everyone once the old man had arrived. He'd probably scrolled everyone for acting like a bunch of little kids, pouting and making despicable faces at the new guy. It's a shame he didn't see it, would have been nice to see some people be put in their place.

𝕐𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕠~

"Let us begin, The instillation ceremony shall now proceed. I'm sure that the rest of you captains have heard by now, what has occurred. Seven days ago, squad 12 captain Kirio Hikifune, relinquished her position as captain, because she was promoted to the royal special task force. So as a result of this, a search began for a new squad captain to fill her vacant position. I sent out, a formal notice to the other captains. The following day, I received a recommendation from squad 2 captain Yoruichi Shihōin. Subsequently, the third seat from her squad was summoned. And so yesterday I, Genryūsai Yamamoto along with the 3 captains who where present. Conducted an examination to thoroughly evaluate this man's qualifications to become captain. And after a complete inquiry we found no short comings in his abilities or his character. Therefore I announce that the formal third seat of squad 2, Kisuke Urahara. Is here by promoted to the rank of captain of court guard squad 12."

𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕦𝕜𝕖~

"Hehehe...."

𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈

The event had ended, leaving me and Shinji to disperse from everyone that was in site. We were making our way back to his place, and this dead silence was bothering me. Ever sense that meeting Shinji hasn't said a word to me. I guess everyone seriously doesn't like the idea of this Kisuke Urahara guy being a captain...

"So… Whata think of this new captain?"

I jolted my head up. "Why does he always have to catch me in mid thought?"

"He.. um seems nice? A bit odd but I'm sure everything will turn out well. There's a reason he was chosen you know?"

"Fair enough."

"If I'm being honest….I wasn't really paying to much attention of him."

"Hm?"

"Did.. Didn't you think Sosuke was acting a bit strange? He usually isn't surprised, keeps to himself. He was very intrigued in the royal guard. Do you think he's trying to plot something, related to that topic?"

"Maybe… I'm unsure. I really don't want you to worry so much about it. I'll handle him, if it comes down to it."

"I guess…"

As we made it to the front door of his quarters, I all of a sudden felt a force pull me to the side, right and left shoulder in full swing. It was Shinji and the look of concern consumed his face. Our eyes met, and now my brows were furrowed, worried that maybe I did something wrong?

"Everything's gonna be just fine~ Let's just head inside and jam out to jazz~ Whata say?~"

I paused, the reassurance of knowing I wasn't in trouble was relieving. I must have looked so doe eyed, Shinji could probably tell I was having a hard time not thinking about it. He began to wave his hand in front of my face, wondering when I'd come back down to earth. I could see him, and hear him, but my brain had so many things to comprehend, even though I shouldn't be worrying. "I- I think I need to just head to bed. I promise I'll listen later..."

I removed Shinji's grasp from my shoulders and trudged my way into the bed room. As I passed him by I could see the look on his face turning. Slowly shutting the door, I barley acknowledged him and plummeted right onto the bed. Shinji did nothing wrong, I was just always tired of feeling this sense of dread loom over me whenever I was near lieutenant Aizen. Even before Shinji mentioned anything about him, I never could accept the over baring fake sincerity he displayed. "Sleeping this feeling away should help..."

𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒿𝒾'𝓈 𝓅.𝑜.𝓋~

"Mmh.." "Every time that idiot Sosuke's around, she always gets like this..."

I mumbled as I began to walk towards my desk. Talking quietly to myself about all of the paper work I needed to do.

"This is such a pain!" I gazed at the sea of papers, dreading the idea of where I'd even start. I looked toward the bedroom door and then back at the stacks on my desk. "I'd rather just go to sleep at this point... it is quite late~ And (y/n)..." Deeply inhaling and exhaling out a sigh, I decided that I was going to put this off a little bit longer. I walked to my bedroom, cracking the door open ever so slightly though didn't go unnoticed. "Shinji, can you just leave me alone. I'm not mad, it's just-" "I know~, but if I remember correctly this is "my" bed~" (Y/n)'s face scrunched in denial, tossing herself the other way to avoid my gaze. "You're so cute when you hate to admit that I'm right~"

"I never said you were wrong.." "That's a fair point. So am being forced to sleep on the couch then, huh?" "Don't you have work to do!?" "Why is she so snippy all of a sudden?"

The playfulness wasn't helping at all, Sosuke really did it this time, bending her all out of shape. The one good think about my girl is that she's gotta good sense of spiritual pressure, even when it's well hidden. She doesn't really have a choice though... she can't block it out and it seems to just take a massive toll on her... and she always get this way whenever he's ever been around... I signed, closing the door. I waited about five minutes and went back in, the sliding noise from the door was just never quiet enough... "Shinji-" 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝓅.𝑜.𝓋

All of a sudden I heard the door slide open once more, the warm light from the living room shinned through harassing me as it bounced off the wall , but then I heard the door gently shut, and within seconds it was back to being dark.

"I told him to just leave me be..."

"Shinji-"

Before I could even finish my sentence, I felt arms wrap around me, with his warm embrace catching me off guard. His chin rested on top of my head and his legs intertwined with mine. I refused to budge, I had nothing to even say, as my body submerged into his finally being able to relax and not think about a thing. But then he lifted me up on top of his chest to force me to turn and face him. Blush swallowed my cheeks as he motioned me back down to my side. "There we go~ Now I can see you doll~" I tried to hide away by nuzzling my way into his chest, it was no use though considering he tilted my head up to confront him. I closed my eyes and continued to shy away. "You really have to stop hiding from me, you know? Especially when you're upset. You know how much it hurts me..." "Mh..."

I looked away, sorrow and defeat filling within side my heart knowing he was right, and all I could do was accept the truth, not with words but just with comforting gestures back to him, I didn't understand why I was the way I was. Why I ran away from him, when all this time he's always been here for me. Even when I want to be alone to just wallow in agonizing thoughts he just can't stand to watch me put myself through that torture. "Thank you Shinji~'

"Let's just get some sleep."

He placed his right hand on top of my head making me jump, only a little bit this time. I've gotten use to not being so jumpy around Shinji all the time. I looked up and smiled as he kissed the top of my forehead.

"What about your work?" "It can wait, you'll always come first. Besides, I'll just do it tomorrow." "You said that last week....And it's do tomorrow" "Oh... Well shit....I'll just do it in the morning~" He tightened his hold on me as he wrapped us in blankets. Our uniforms were still on but it didn't really bother us much, even though it was just more fabric to fight through. I laid my head on his chest as he laid his hand on top of my head, pulling out the bands that held my hair in place in order to make it easier to play with. This was always my favorite part of the day, being able to wake up and sleep with him. Shinji twirling and caressing my hair as my fingers danced along his chest. Sometimes I'd play with his hair too, it was so long that I didn't even have to raise myself up to his level, which was nice and made it easier for me to go to sleep. Thinking about how happy he makes me, made my mind wonder away from the worry of today, the ceremony, Sosuke, and weather or not I belonged, if I was good enough to be a lieutenant. Before I knew it everything was fading as Shinji helped me to sleep~

Authors note~ This chapter is what would have happened if the reader existed in episode 206 and the beginning of 207. I do not own Bleach, all rights are reserved to them and their amazing work. I just want to go through the time line. As I said before this reality is going to be flipped upside down, and I meant what I meant. So I do apologize for the long wait, and the long chapter will hopefully make up for that.

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟝 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟

[mimisempai]

Practice makes perfect

Summary

Greg and Mycroft have had a row, and it's on his way to rescue Sherlock from his usual troubles that Greg realizes he was the one at fault. Will he be able to put things right?

Notes

Mystrade Monday  1.0  #39 - “I forgot I was a single parent.”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On AO3

934 words - Rating G

Greg sighed as he looked over the bars of the cell at John and Sherlock.

"I don't even dare ask what you did to get here. For a while I thought you'd calmed down and I'd almost forgotten..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Forgotten what, my dear Greg?"

Ignoring the mocking tone of the other man, Greg replied matter-of-factly, "I forgot that I was a single parent with two grown children who took up all my time.

"Very amusing, Detective!"

Sherlock approached the bars and added, "But I think you're wrong. For what I know, you are no longer single."

Greg lowered his eyes and his expression became sad. Seeing this, Sherlock couldn't help but provoke him, "What, is there trouble between you and my brother?"

"It's wonderful how invisible I feel. But it's true, who am I in the face of the important work of Mycroft Holmes?" 

Greg muttered from across the table where they were dining, tired of Mycroft's lack of response, obviously preoccupied with a delicate situation at work. But Greg's tolerance was at zero today as he had had a hell of a day himself and would have loved to share it with Mycroft, but Mycroft's blank expression prevented any discussion.

Mycroft replied, "Of course my work is important!  You've always known that, haven't you? But I'm still here, having dinner with you."

Greg chuckled darkly, "No, you're not."

Mycroft stood up and said coldly, "Well, if I'm not here, then you won't mind if I get back to work."

Shocked, Greg watched Mycroft walk away without reacting and was startled to hear the door slam shut.

"I mean, I get it. My brother must be really difficult to live with. In fact, I don't know how you've managed to live with him for so long."

Sherlock's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Greg reacted sharply to these words, "You have no idea how easy it is to live with him! You don't know your brother as well as you think you do. Mycroft is devoted to his work, but make sure I know he's devoted to me too, and besides, I-"

Greg stopped himself, it wasn't Sherlock he should be saying this to. It was Mycroft. The exhaustion and frustration of the moment had blinded him, and now that he could see clearly, he realized his mistake. The remorse that suddenly overcame him was unbearable, and without a thought for the two men imprisoned, he turned and almost ran out the door.

A few moments later, ignoring Anthea who tried to stop him and without knocking, he walked through the door of Mycroft's office.

Mycroft looked up and exclaimed as he stood up, "Greg, has something happened?"

Seeing his lover's reaction, Greg felt even more guilty and rushed over to him, shaking his head, "No, nothing, I just realized how stupid I was last night and I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said yesterday, I was so selfish. I only saw my own frustration without seeing that you were in no better shape than I was. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

In the rush to get his message across, he hadn't noticed the change in Mycroft's expression and realized that his lover was looking at him fondly as he replied, "Apology accepted. And I also apologize for leaving without a word. I should have stayed and we should have talked. I know I'm not always easy to live with and..."

He was interrupted by Greg, who put his finger to his lips, "I don't agree. I lived long enough with someone who wasn't easy to live with, without even mentioning my ex-wife, and I assure you that has nothing to do with it. You're exceptionally easy to live with, and I'm sorry I reacted the way I did."

"So we're good?" asked Mycroft quietly.

Greg laughed softly, "We're better than good."

Mycroft nodded and replied, "Then kiss me and let's forget about it. I've missed you, us, so much."

Mycroft barely had time to finish his sentence before Greg pressed his lips to his own. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, deepening the kiss. And every time one of them tried to pull away, the other one pressed against him to keep the kiss going. He didn't even know how much time had passed since the kiss had begun, but only when they both felt they couldn't go on without breathing did they part slowly, just long enough to catch their breath.

They were panting, mouth to mouth, their breath warm and their pulse quickening from the kiss they'd just shared. After a few seconds, Greg managed to say, "I'm so sorry, Mycroft," between gasps.

"I know. So do I. So let's leave it there," Mycroft replied gently, before holding Greg close and continuing, "Let's put that behind us and concentrate on what's to come. Tonight I'll be home early and so will you, we'll have the dinner we should have had, you'll tell me about your day and I'll tell you about mine."

"Blimey, Sherlock!"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, a little confused, "I have to admit that's not the reaction I was expecting. What does my brother..."

Greg interrupted, "I'll tell you tonight, I swear. Just know that he was the unwitting instrument of our reconciliation." He leaned forward, planted a last lingering kiss on Mycroft's lips and said softly, "See you tonight then."

Mycroft nodded and replied softly, "See you tonight," and followed Greg fondly with his eyes as he hurried out of his office.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

Mystrade Monday 1.0 : here

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Six, Part 2

"How bad are they?"

"I guess there not as bad. I still can ignore them mostly. It's not really any worse than when I'm alone. I guess they happen more, but are less intense?"

She wrote on her pad. She was quick. Her pen moved quickly. I tried to catch a glimpse at what she's writing. Of course, I knew I couldn't.

"They aren't that bad, really. Like I said, I can manage them. It's not debilitating anymore." I said, feeling awkward from the silence.

"But they're more frequent."

"Yeah, I guess. But it kind of makes sense. They're usually just short little thoughts about me being awkward or weird or antisocial. I catch myself being out there, and then I feel kind of ashamed by it. It's stupid, but I don't want to chase Addison away with me being messed up."

"Do you think you're going to chase her away?"

"Sometimes, yeah. But it's not a constant thought. She's really understanding when it comes to my head. Which is weird."

"Do you think with Addison being so welcoming to it, that we are making some progress here?"

"Sort of. I don't know. Maybe?"

"Ok. That's fine. It's okay to not be sure."

"I guess so."

"I think this Addison is having a really good effect on you. Even on an off day, you seem brighter." She used words like that to explain my moods. Brighter and darker. All about finding the balance within the shadows.

"I think it's a lot more than just Addison."

She looked up at me from her beneath her lashes as she wrote. "Well, let's talk about that. What else is going in your life?"

I stared at her as my mind went blank. Anything I could use as some made up reason. I couldn't think of one, no matter how much I tried.

"You should admit that this Addison is bringing out the best in you. She is."

"I don't want that to be the only reason I'm doing better. I don't want to put her up on some pedestal. I won't do that. I can't do that. Mostly because I'm scared of it. At the same time, I feel like I'm being brought back to life after being in the darkness for too long. I can't let myself believe that it's all because of one person. That's insane. I know that's insane." My words came quick and sharp. Her pen scribbled. The sound of the pen scratching the paper was loud.

"Is that really such a bad thing? One person can help change a person. It happens all the time. And it's obviously working for you. You're doing things again. You're going out in public, and not just content to sit alone on a bar stool."

I didn't say anything. Instead, I stared out of the window, not seeing anything. She was right. I hated to believe she was right. In fact, it irritated me. For the last few years of my life I made a promise to myself I'd never let another person in. I was perfectly okay with my isolation and solitude. I had made peace with the fact that I was going to finish my life alone. That might seem a bit depressing to most, but once you make peace with it, it's sort of liberating. It's a very strange sense of freedom.

"Chris? You've gone silent again."

I sighed loudly. I really didn't want to be here today.

"Because I have nothing to say," I said.

"Do you at least see what I mean?"

"Yeah, of course I do. I'd have to be blind not to. It's just...uncomfortable."

"That's because you've been shut down for the better part of three years. You've sunk into yourself and made a nice cozy home in your head. And now your being pulled out of that nest."

[jujywrites]

jealous kiss + victorian au

it's finally fucking DONE ohmy dfghfgjghj *collapses*

Prompt from this here list. HBD bestie~

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading

***

Spite

Whistling carelessly, Neil nods to Rob in the hallway as he passes by, then goes into their shared room. He sits down at his desk, retrieves a pen and paper, the whistling shifting to a hum.

Behind him, the door slams shut.

Oh, yes. Rob wanted to talk to him about something. Neil turns to sit on his chair backwards and says, "You seem a little testy."

Rob stands near the doorway, arms crossed, face impassive. "Would you care to explain who the hell you think you are?"

Funny how a cold voice makes someone seem (even) bigger. If Neil were a lesser person, he'd be intimidated. As it is, he just gets up and crosses his arms too. "I dunno, Bob. I wouldn't want to knock down your predetermined idea of who I am."

"For god's sake, drop your insufferable know-it-all attitude for one goddamn second." Rob, glaring now, steps forward— well, stomps, actually. "What are you doing with Eva and Roxanne?!"

Neil's genuinely confused. "What am I—" What is Rob talking about? Maybe... "Our free time overlapped today, so we took a walk together. That's not a crime now, is it? Roxie and Eva are birds of a feather nowadays, or haven't you noticed?"

"It's not simply today! Roxie has this look when she speaks to me about you, has for a week now. You're sweet on Eva all the damn time— don't start with me," Rob says when Neil tries to get a word in, "you two aren't nearly as subtle as you think you are— but then you send Roxie, I mean Roxanne, flowers? What the devil are you trying to pull, Watts?"

"Oh," Neil says. Then a smug slow grin as he realizes. "Oh. You aren't on your usual holier-than-thou tear. You're legitimately angry at me about this. Well," he scoffs and shrugs, arms raised, "it's not my fault you aren't clever enough to understand the intricacies of our relationship. Ironic, given you've been observing all three of us for as long as you have. Some might call that creepy."

He would have continued to pontificate except, in a viper-quick movement, Rob swoops forward and gets him pinned to the wall, arm barring his escape. Neil is abruptly and fully winded, a wheeze scraping from his throat.

"I'm not clever?" Staring Neil down point blank, Rob's fury is obvious. "Anyone with eyes can see you're leading them both on. You'll get your ego boost and then leave broken hearts in your wake."

Neil has a reply to that, but with Rob's arm pressing against his throat, he can't get words out. It's not like that.

"And when that happens, you... we'll all..." Rob shakes his head and holds Neil's gaze again. "You know as well as I do how often all our paths cross, so don't make me out to be some kind of stalker," Rob growls, pressing harder. "You little weasel."

Lava surges through Neil's veins. He blinks and he's on the floor, on top of Robert, sending blocked and unblocked punches to his face. "Son of a bitch. Say that to me again!!"

(Eva and Roxanne care for him, and each other, and he cares for them, how could Rob possibly think—)

How they got here flashes through Neil's mind in milliseconds during the euphoria of a landed hit, during the shock of Rob surging up and tackling him to the floor:

Hurt became anger became painful fury; he broke free of Rob's hold in a rush of strength and flatout bull-rushed him, Rob's surprise turning him into an easily moved object.

Hello, unstoppable force. Neil just stares, breathing hard. Anger is cooling into something else, something he can't name and isn't sure he wants.

Robert seems just as conflicted. There's nothing to read on his face and the fire in his eyes has dimmed, yet Neil feels the turmoil, can almost touch it like a length of rope between them.

But that isn't what he's touching. His hands are against Rob's shoulders with no tension to push him away, only resting. He feels vulnerable in a bottomless way. Only speaking can pull him back from the unnameable brink.

His words, his trusty weapons, have deserted him.

Rob leans closer, and Neil falls into the gap he closes between their lips.

He's both drowning and overwhelmed by oxygen, and he groans, hands twisting into Rob's jacket, his mouth opening to Rob's tongue.

This isn't supposed to happen. It's supposed to be wrong. But Neil's always been selective about rules.

That's his last coherent thought before movement and touch overtake him. Firstly, he can breathe again. "Oh, god—!"

Because Rob broke the kiss to put one hand on Neil's chest and the other down his pants, into his underwear.

A panting laugh escapes him. Had Rob thought he'd be stopped? His own erection is obvious and Neil has a feral need to return the favor, but he can't seem to move anything besides his hips against Rob's hand. "Ah, ah...!" One hand reaches out blindly and he groans, half in frustration, still unable to speak. He's so close already it's embarrassing. Rob's hand is hot and gentle and he needs to touch Rob back—

"It was going to be Roxie. I always thought that." Rob speaks so quietly that maybe it's to himself, even though he's looking at Neil with a different fire in his eyes now. "For so long, I've wanted... but then..." He sits back, kneels up, hands moving to his slacks.

Neil sits up almost fast enough to get dizzy, hands joining Rob's to pull his pants and boxes down. He reaches for Rob's dick, grasping, squeezing, and his own throbs when Rob shudders and grunts.

"Neil. You're just— you're so..."

He's pure instinct, and need. And what he needs, apparently, is for Rob to push him to the floor again and ruck up his shirt, because he doesn't fight back. What he needs is to get his own pants out of the way, and somehow he manages it in between touching Rob. Rob's hand settles below his clumsily stroking one, and his body presses against Neil's.

Then his hand gets around Neil's dick too, and it presses against Rob's.

The motion is too much. Neil gasps out a string of curses that alone would be plenty to get him the switch for the umpteenth time. "Oh, god, oh my god...!"

Someone's being pretty loud. Neil realizes it's him when Rob kisses him hard again, tongue searching.

He moans with abandon into Rob's mouth, feverishly rocking up against Rob's hand and dick and his own hand, over and over. Please, please, fuck—

His climax is so strong he might have screamed if not for his mouth against Rob's. He hears Rob gasping, a shivering moan, feels sticky warmth over his skin. He bucks repeatedly, maybe whimpering. He's never felt this good.

Then all at once the aftershocks shake him and Rob's mouth parts from his and Neil inhales like he half-drowned. But Rob stays over him, against him. Neil's free hand is gripping his shoulder so hard it takes several seconds for his fingers to loosen. For some reason, he doesn't move his hand.

They breathe together. Neil wonders why he doesn't want to leave his body.

"Ah, damn," Rob mutters presently. He sits up, dislodging Neil's hand, then stumbles to his feet and moves to his bedstand, whipping out a handkerchief from the drawer with one hand and attempting to pull his pants back on with the other.

Neil watches him move away and back to him. He's too soft, cleaning him and Neil up. "Guess you'll have to burn that," Neil says, putting the snark into his voice since he's too tired to smirk.

Rob grunts. He folds the used hankie into itself, then gets a clean one from the drawer, wraps it around the folded one, and stuffs the ball into the laundry bag in the corner.

Speaking is the key that allows Neil to move, too: getting off the floor, straightening his clothes. He straightens Rob's shirt while he's at it, distantly marveling at the lack of internal screaming; Rob gapes, mouth hanging.

He leans down fast to kiss him, but somehow Neil's prepared this time and meets him. No tongue, yet this kiss burns hotter than the others.

When it ends, Rob says, with absolutely no bite, "You're infuriating." Then he turns and walks for the door.

Something possess Neil to ask where he's going.

Rob looks back at him, hand on the doorknob. "I'm taking a walk."

Neil's left staring at the closed door, the image of Rob's back imprinted on him.

After a moment, he turns for his desk. He picks up the pen and paper from the floor and puts them back. He sits down, pulling the chair in, and takes hold of the pen.

In the end, he rests his head in his arms and staring at the wall, a hundred half-finished thoughts vying for attention.

[casspurrjoybell-25]

Cold as Ice - Chapter 20 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Wren Ridley

I was laying on my stomach, one arm underneath my pillow and still half asleep when Landon shook me awake.

I only cracked my eyes open slightly and saw his glaring face as he lay on his side against the wall.

The two of us barely fit in my bed but that didn't seem to matter until now.

"Get up," Landon said, shaking me again.

"You can't even let me sleep in after I took care of you last night?" I asked, glancing at him through sleepy eyes.

His glare stayed settled on me like he was trying to move me with his mind.

I wanted to kiss him and the thought made me feel queasy but now the thought was there and it wouldn't leave, not after almost kissing him last night, not while I was looking at him with his hair a mess and eyes narrowed that were still a little swollen from sleep.

I let my head rest on my hand, my elbow braced against the pillow holding my head up and I grinned at him.

"You wanted to kiss my stupid face last night," I reminded him, which I knew would only make him angry but I couldn't stop myself.

His glare hardened but instead of responding, or punching me in my stupid face, Landon climbed over me to get off the bed.

He threw one leg over my waist and we made the briefest eye contact before he moved the other one over and hopped off the bed.

"Lance, I don't get why you're angry, last night and today," I said, sitting up as he gathered his phone and keys I had laid out on my desk for him.

He whipped his head back at me with a frown, then let out a humorless laugh.

"You don't get why I'm angry?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm fucking angry because of you."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Me? I don't recall doing anything between last night and this morning to make you angry at me."

"You almost kissed me."

"With your permission."

"It doesn't matter," he shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

"You got into my head, made me want things I shouldn't want, that I can't want."

"And how exactly did I do that?"

I stood up from the bed and he stepped away from me.

"You just do," he said.

"And it ruins me."

"I thought you were getting better," I started.

"You know, with all the religious trauma."

"Shut the fuck up. You don't know anything about it. You don't understand."

"You're right. I really don't," I told him.

"But if you need to blame me to make yourself feel better, that's fine."

He didn't respond to that, just stared at me.

"However, I think we both know that it's not really me that has you feeling like this," I said.

His eyes left my face for a brief second.

I walked over to my dresser and picked up the clothes Landon had left the last time he was here and handed them over.

He ripped them out of my grasp and made his way to the door.

"And Lance," I said, causing him to pause just before he opened it.

"Next time you want to kiss me, you have to make the first move."

Landon didn't look back.

He opened the door and let it slam behind him as he left the room.

James walked in a few moments later, looking like he had been asleep for the past year.

"What did you do to Landon?" he asked, yawning and scratching the back of his head.

"I saw him when I was coming out of Stella's and he looked absolutely pissed."

I sat down at my desk, opening up my laptop to check my school email.

"Oh, he's just running late for class."

********

"Why is my latte so expensive?" I asked Anthony later on that morning when I made my way to the coffee shop.

"It's the annoying customer tax," he said with a blank look.

"What happened to the favorite customer discount?"

"The annoying customer has to pay the tax so that the favorite customer can get the discount," Anthony explained.

"And you gave someone else my discount?"

"Wren. You've never been given a discount."

I shrugged and paid for the latte and whatever else he put on my order.

Once I got my drink, I went to my usual spot and opened up my laptop.

I had a lot of work I needed to get done between the novel I was working on, my coursework and the research I was assisting one of my professors with.

Even with all that in front of me, I still kept looking toward the door every time it opened to see if Landon had walked in.

It was never him.

Not only was I letting that distract me from my work but my cell-phone was blowing up from a group chat my mother made with her, Dad, Fox and me.

Apparently Fox had games against Brown University and Providence College coming up in a few weeks and our parents wanted to make a weekend out of it and decided that had to be planned right now.

To: The Family Group Chat

[When is this?]

From: Wren Ridley

To: The Family Group Chat

[Thanksgiving weekend. Fox has games on that Friday and Saturday :) It will be fun.]

From: Mom

To: The Family Group Chat

[Sure it will.]

From: Wren Ridley

To: The Family Group Chat

[You are an ass.]

From: Fox Ridley

To: The Family Group Chat

[Okay.]

From: Wren Ridley

To: The Family Group Chat

[No fighting. We will have fun as a family <3]

From: Mom

At that point in the conversation, Dad just started sending random emojis because for some reason he was so fascinated by them.

He sent a fox and bird with hearts next to each of them.

I put my cell-phone facing down on the table and continued doing course-work.

I still glanced at the door every so often and cursed at myself for doing so but Landon never came.

[suzuberto]

Oh??? oh!!! I didn't expect to be tagged in one of these thingies, specially here!! Ty so much @uttermenace I really like these (as well as random tests. yes I wanna know what type of toast am I) Also I maybe miss them as they were usual on facebook years ago and a fun way to know and connect with ppl idk hdhd

tl;dr is a tag game, and I'll write context so it's long(?

for whoever who wants to answer it, consider yourself tagged! But will tag-- @jabko0 @adarhysenthe @laneybug2904 @mandricardosappreciationclub (you don't need to read it or do it if you don't want to, is oke! just wanted to boop you)

*Blank on bottom for you to copy & paste!

Last song listened to: orchestal song. will insert the link bc is a fcking long name these days I hear spotify playlists with "silly vibes", "punk rock", "celtic/folk" and "orchestal" (also "ambiental" like birds, water, etc), also as I try to concentrate in work that I will get distracted with lyrics, I tend to search instrumentals. also the vibes I search for depend on mood or needs so, yea

Favorite color: light blue probably, specially mixed with warm colors with red as top bc I'm that one of those red & blue mix fan but also pink/ orange/ yellow as sunrise... and maybe light and/or vivid colors in general, as spring! (I have been hiperfixating and jumping on a certain color all my life and it shows mostly on clothes and what things get my attention easier dhdh like not long ago was all light greens. But yeah I tend to like light and vivid colors)

Currently watching: The office USA version. Months ago I firstly rejected it bc I wasn't on the mood of that type of humor (playing with uncomfortable things and frustration) but after watching some recent and older movies and shows that I just knew by name to be well known I gave it a try and I'm having a really good time. also like to spam my friend that watched it before me while I watch it dhdh Ah and today I started watching spy x family. I haven't watched much anime in some months fgdgfd

Spicy/savory/sweet: totally a sweet tooth (specially pies, cookies, tea and infusions... aouughh) but I also like spicy sometimes when feel oke of my stomach. Yes I'm a bit worried to be restricted of sugars by docs so I try to eat and make stuff with no sugar but I still eat some sugary stuff and shdheh can't help it is part of me aaaAa

Relationship status: married mentally since years with my top 1 fictional husband Cú Chulainn from fate series single and aroace 🦐

Current obsession: oh boy I'm a fixation jumper and hoarder, let's see my most recent ones...

in job, trying a project of teaching basic english to adults I know. I needed to pause my art practices because of this fddsf

in games, cult of the lamb game and fanworks are making me very much happy. I'm on pause on playing Baldur's gate 3 but go on and off of it as I savor it since started playing on december and take a lot of fucking time in everything (and I'm playing on the easier mode JDHDU I'm already on act 3 tho, but with 156 hours on first run, yes hello) but I always enjoy fanworks bc ppl make very delicious food I also wanna share my Tav scribbles...

in others, time to time my gremlin mind still overthinks everything I do as money maker potentials and usernames/pen names and I can't make it shut up

also daydreaming of Cú cause my mind randomly made me dream with him on a couple of days ago fgfgd

---------------------- now the blank!

Tagged by: Last song listened to: Favorite color: Currently watching: Spicy/savory/sweet: Relationship status: Current obsession: Tagging:

And a snackie 🍬