#mills you’ve done it again

[smileysuh]

Love Plug

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k

🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕

Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.

Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.

There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.

You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica. 

Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?

John: define out. Who is this

Unknown number: shit

Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times

Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n

John: I remember you

John: how much do you need?

Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?

John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour

Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.

When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.

“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”

You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate. 

“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”

You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.

You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…

You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.

When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.

John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.” 

You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.

“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.

“Hmm?” 

“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”

“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”

John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.

“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.

“Is that a rosé?”

You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”

“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.

John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”

“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”

“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”

“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.

“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”

“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”

“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.

John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”

“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”

“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion. 

Is he asking you out? 

Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”

“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”

You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”

The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.

“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.

“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”

You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”

“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”

So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.

John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.

“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.

“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”

You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.

The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.

“It’s going,” she sighs.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”

“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”

“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”

“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.

“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”

With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.

The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.

“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”

You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”

Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”

“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”

“After I got over how annoying you are.”

John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”

You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail. 

“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.

You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”

“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.

“How about you? He’s a regular?”

“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”

You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-

Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.

“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”

You consider what she’s just said.

“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”

“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”

“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”

Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”

“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”

“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”

“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”

The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies. 

“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”

“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”

“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.

“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.” 

You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.

“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.

Hyuna scoffs loudly.

“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”

“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.

“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”

“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.

You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”

“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.

“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”

You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”

“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”

“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.

“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”

“Deal.”

John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”

You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”

Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.

It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.

“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.

“What sort of movie?” you ask.

“Anything you want.”

“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”

“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”

“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”

“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”

You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.

“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.

John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”

John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.

“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.

“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”

“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. 

“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.

“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.” 

“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.

“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” you assure him.

“You guys up to anything fun?”

“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend. 

“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently. 

Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car. 

“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”

You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.

You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”

“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.

You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten. 

John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.

You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-

The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.

“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.

“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”

“Bad guy,” you scoff. 

“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”

“You’re a softie.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you insist.

“Yeah? And how do you figure?”

You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”

You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”

“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”

You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.

Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious. 

“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”

“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”

God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?

“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.

Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.” 

“Do you wanna try it?”

The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. 

Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”

He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze. 

You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.

You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing. 

“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.

This time, he’s kissing you like he means it. 

Like he needs it.

His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer. 

He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure. 

Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.

You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.

“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”

“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.

This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.

You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.

“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”

Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.

Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.

He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed. 

His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him. 

You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.

Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.” 

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”

“I’m mostly sober.”

“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”

“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”

“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.

“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?” 

Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.

You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.

“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.

“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”

You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”

“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.

“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked. 

He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.

You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock. 

He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum. 

He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”

“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”

There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.

As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.

“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit. 

You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.

Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.

You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.

It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-

God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.

You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.

You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.

You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”

You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-

“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.

You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless. 

Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him. 

“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.

“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.

Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”

“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.

“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”

“What if I want you now?”

“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”

“What if I want you to wreck me?”

Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”

You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.” 

The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.

“You know what you said earlier?”

He lets out a humming sound.

“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”

“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”

“Next time?” You cock a brow.

“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”

“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”

“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”

“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”

“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.

In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”

“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”

“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision. 

“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”

“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“Should I grab a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”

He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”

“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”

“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own. 

You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.

Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”

“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”

He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.

“More.” 

Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.

You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.

Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Can I-”

“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”

Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.

You’ll never be the same after this.

No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.

Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.

It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”

“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.

With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again. 

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”

Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”

Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Me!”

“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”

“Me!” 

“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

“I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”

All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.

You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life. 

Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.

As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.

He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”

“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt. 

Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”

When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him. 

You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.

“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”

“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”

“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”

You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit

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🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked. 

Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.

If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.

No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him

You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.

Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.

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[miraclewoozi]

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

Variety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when he sees you again. 

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” he questions. 

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

“Oh. Right.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guessed you could,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

“Mm. You can tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself. 

“See you around, y/n.”

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can hazard a guess at your predicament. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How… have you been?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except the obvious. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?” 

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

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

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

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten. 

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

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

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

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

jihoon: fine. you’re right. 

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

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

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

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

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao 

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

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

soonyoung: because we told them????? 

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

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

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

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

At least he’s admitted it now. 

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

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

—————

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

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

All this before he even gets to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

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

Slim, he decides. But not zero. 

There’s hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

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

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

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

y/n: hey :)

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

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

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

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

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

jh: apparently yes, you can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Any. Fucking. Minute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm, says you.” 

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

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

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

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

So, you do.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I want to.”

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important enough,” he sighs. 

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

Seungcheol.

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

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

“Take all the time you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#woozi smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #??? how do i tag anything lmao #running away now it's nearly 2am lmao BYE #j writes. #*

[hier--soir]

high strung

abby anderson x f!reader

pairing: abby anderson x personal trainer wlf f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: abby has seemed distracted in your sessions as of late. when you discover why, you help to ease some of her tension. warnings/tags: some tight little workout shorts, abby "i'm not gay" anderson has her first experience with a woman, r insert is a trainer but has zero physical descriptions, massage, gay panic, smut, fingering & oral [abby receiving], reference to masturbation [reader], brief mention of other wlf characters from tlou2, brief owen slander lol sorry. word count: 3.5k masterlist a/n: considering abby isn't explicitly queer in tlou2, i wanted to write a short n sharp little bisexual awakening for her. bit of a quick build up but idc i don't know anything about the gym and wanted to get to the gay sex lol, hope you enjoy!

She’s wearing these tight little shorts. Pale blue. So thin they’re almost sheer where they wrap around the bulkiest points of her thighs.  

You don’t look, don’t let your eyes roam over the reedy material, don’t glance down when she bends her knees and drops into a squat. Don’t don’t don’t. Don’t even look when she lays out on the bench, flat on her back, and those shorts bunch and pinch in the crevice where her legs meet her hips. No, you’re well-versed in this now. Adept at not looking.

“Show me ten,” you tap the bar once.

Abby grips the barbell. The skin of her knuckles turns a piercing white as her fingers flex and tighten around the metal. Ninety pounds on either end, and yet she lifts it off the rack with a practiced sort of ease. You feel a familiar rush of pride as she moves effortlessly through the first few reps, her breathing calm—relaxed. Your hands hover, useless, in the air over the bar. Ready to step in if you’re needed, but knowing that you won’t be.

The gym at the base is usually crowded. Sweat covered surfaces, muscle tanks in every conceivable direction, and plenty of shirtless assholes that think they own the place. But this morning you hit the jackpot, arriving early in the morning when there’s only a few others milling around.

“That’s it,” you mutter. “Good, good, give me another one.”

You notice it slowly. The same way it happened last week, and the week before that. The gradual progression; a tilting, wavering, descent into mistakes, into heavy breathing, into distraction. From behind her head, you watch her knees raise a little, feet arched until she’s balanced on her tip-toes, the muscles in her thighs straining.

Her fingers loosen a little around the bar. Grip faltering, failing. A muscle in her forearm flexes and spasms beneath the skin.

“Hey,” you warn, hands darting forward to rest on the metal. “Come on, we’re not even halfway done.”  

Abby doesn’t offer up a response. Doesn’t meet your eyes. She simply huffs out a breath of exertion and presses the bar upward again. Beads of sweat glisten along her forehead, snatching at wisps of loose blonde hair and pinning them to pale skin.

“Good,” you commend, fingers hovering featherlight. But then it happens again. Her face twitches, lips pursing, and she grunts. A low, frustrated sound.

“Abby,” you sigh. She allows you to grip the bar, and together you lift it back into the groove on the rack. “Are you hungover again?”

“No,” she scowls. She sits up and wipes a reddened hand across her face. There’s a patch of sweat on the back of her shirt, and the darkened material clings to her spine.

“Then what’s the problem?” you arch an eyebrow. When she doesn’t turn to look at you, you walk around to stand directly in front of her. “Manny keeping you up at night? Burnt out? What?”  

“No,” she repeats, and this time you think you catch a flash of irritation. Something angry, something heated, rolling beneath the surface of her skin, begging to be expelled.

And you’ve seen the way she can lash out. Seen how people cower and shrink beneath her steely gaze when she’s mad. Quickly, easily, you decide you’d rather not spend your morning getting chewed out for being nosy.

“Listen,” you say. “Why don’t we call it for the day? We ca—”

“I’m fine,” Abby asserts firmly. But the hard set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders hints otherwise.

You watch her snatch a water bottle off the ground and tilt it against her mouth. Watch the way she drinks in long, hurried gulps. Watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows. Watch a dribble of water snake down her chin, her neck. Don’t.

You look away.

“You’re distracted,” you retort with an eyeroll. “If you hurt yourself in here Isaac will have my ass.”

She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. A broad hand pushes the hair back off her face, mussing it behind her ears, and then she meets your eye.

“I’m just…” she trails off and glances away. Clears her throat a little. “I’m feeling a little tense, okay? Everyday I’m either in here, or Isaac has me out scouting some fucking Scar hot spot, and I’m exhausted, and my legs are fucking killing me.”

You feel your face soften, mouth tilting down into a sympathetic frown.

“I get it,” you nod. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know I push you pretty hard in here—”

“It’s not—” Abby shakes her head again. “You’re not the problem.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment the two of you rest in a wary silence. Listen to the sounds of people working out around you; muted grunts of exertion, the spouted praise from spotters standing close by. You notice the way she flinches when someone racks a weight a little too aggressively – a little too loud.

“Let’s go in the back,” you suggest easily, already turning away. “We’ll do some physio; I’ll help with the knots in your legs.”

It’s a simple routine once you get her onto the massage table. Tucked away in a back room, door closed, her shoes off, you can set to work without so much distraction.

You start with her calves. Using the palms of your hands, the pads of your thumbs, you rub against the tightly coiled muscles there. Working out any knots that you find, any hidden strains. Moving slowly, purposefully, working your way up until you hit her thighs. And that’s where the tension becomes evident.

It seems like Abby is in pain as you dig your thumbs into her outer thigh. Her face is all screwed up, eyes closed as soft little grunts slip from her mouth. When you find a particularly tight knot and press she spits a low curse, eyes clamping shut and face turning to the side.

“You doin’ okay?” you check in, eyebrows furrowed as you watch the way she squirms and wriggles around on the table – as if she’s shying away from your touch. As if it’s too much for her. “I’m really not pressing that hard, Abby.”

“It’s good,” she chokes out. “Keep going.”

You continue with a sigh, crackling your knuckles before using both hands to work at the muscle in her upper thigh.

“Jesus,” you sigh. Your palm rolls over her quadricep, working to release the built-up rigidity there. “You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” Abby grits out, voice hoarse and stilted as it sneaks its way out past her teeth. It’s like she’s holding her breath, the way sharp exhales rush from her nose every few seconds.

“It’s fine,” you assure her. Your fingers press against her knee, and you push it up towards her chest until her thigh is pressed against her stomach. Stretch out the muscles there, let her feel the pull, the burn as her knots loosen. “Do you need—oh.”

Because you look down and the words get caught in your throat. Musing caught like a mouse in a trap, your mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. And you were always so good at not looking, never looking. But now… you’re almost glad you looked. Because there’s a damp splotch on the front of her shorts, shades darker than the rest of the fabric. Right in the crevice between her thighs, where the inseam of those tight fucking shorts rests against her mound.

It must be sweat, you think. It has to be. But when you look at her face you notice how flushed she is. See the blotches of deep red that stain the skin on her neck, her cheeks, and you know it’s not sweat. She’s wet.

Your hands freeze in place, keeping her leg pinned to her chest.

Abby says your name quietly, and there’s something urgent in it – a panicked tone to her voice that makes your stomach tighten.

“Is this why you’ve been so distracted?” you ask. Your mouth is dry, lips chapped as you look between her face and that spot between her thighs. Back and forth, over and over. Your fingers tense against her thigh, and the skin there is so soft. “You’re…”

“I’m not,” she rushes, face almost entirely pink now.

“It’s okay,” you soothe quietly, thumb starting up a slow movement against her flesh. Soft, small circles. And you know you must look calm – but on the inside there’s a hot, wet feeling lashing out against the inside of your stomach. “Is that because of me? S’that why you’ve been so distracted in our sessions lately?”

Abby turns her face, tucking her chin into her shoulder in attempt to hide her blush. You lower her leg back onto the massage bed. “I don—I don’t know why I’m…”

“Abby,” you laugh softly. Your palm is flat against her thigh now, fingers twitching – itching to explore. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not…” she grimaces.

“Not what?” you hum, and you’re playing with the hem of her shorts now. Curling around the thin fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. “Do you… will you let me help?”  

Her eyes widen at the suggestion, and you feel the way her thighs tense beneath your touch. Pressing together, almost squirming at the thought of it. When she doesn’t respond, doesn’t say no, your fingers creep higher. They tuck around the waistband of her shorts and tug once, testing the waters. Again, she says nothing. Those heady blue eyes stare at your face, pink lips parting as her breathing grows heavier.

“Abby?” you urge.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and it sounds almost like a question.

Her eyes turn glassy as she watches you, and then her hips cant ever so slightly upward on the bed. An invitation.

Smiling, you peel the material of her shorts down slowly, but you don’t look. Not yet, not even as you drop the material onto the ground. Don’t look even when there’s so much white in your vision. A field of creamy skin, begging to be seen. Your thighs press together, skin hot, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you notice that she’s sweating again.

“I’m not gay,” Abby says then. So quiet, so cautious.

Your smile only grows, and you nod. Kind. Understanding. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it.” And you do.

You’ve been in her shoes before; confused, unsure. Young and always wondering why you felt so on edge around the pretty girls in those tight uniforms they liked to wear around the base. Always pretending you didn’t think about the way their clothes moulded against their chests, their thighs, as you lay in bed at night, hand stuffed inside your underwear. Never admitting to yourself that you wanted to see underneath – to see their skin; touch it, taste it.

“I get it,” you repeat, hand stilling at her hip. “But I need to hear you say you want it.”

You ruck up her shirt. Just a little, just so it rests above the dip of her belly button, and you can see the rolling hills of her abdomen. You admire the muscles there, the way they rise and fall with each laboured breath. Abs that lead to a hardened v-shape which only encourages wandering eyes to look down down down.

Her skin is pale, and you can see the elaborate network of blue veins that spread out beneath it like spiderwebs. Lifelines, pulsing with desire. For you.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you offer, and she nods slowly, seemingly grateful for the assurance. “I’ll help you out… just have a little taste, okay?”

“Fuck,” she mutters, head tilting back against the bed. “Fuck, I didn’t realise you were—I want you to—yes.”

Finally, you look down at her underwear—heather grey with a tiny hole near the band and a dark wet patch on the front—and ask breathlessly, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t know,” she exhales. “A few months maybe.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” you tsk under your breathe, shaking your head a little. You can see a soft thatch of curls peeking out the side of her underwear. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“When did you?” she asks.

“Last week.”

“With who?”

“Lyla,” you admit. Your hand is on her stomach now, tracing the indents of her muscles. Fingering every freckle painted across her skin, feeling the way her belly expands with every shuddering breath. “We’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t the first time.”

“Lyla?” Abby scoffs, eyes darting down to watch your fingers. “From the infirmary? Lyla’s not gay.”

“Sure,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “And neither are you, right?”

That shuts her up quick.

You climb onto the table slowly, careful not to jostle her legs too much. But they splay easily, spreading open for you to fit between. Murmuring gratefully, you look up to see her watching you.

“You do this with everyone you train?” she asks, voice breaking when your index finger snags against the band of her underwear. “Work them to the bone and then…”

“And then?” you smirk, eyebrows raised.

“And then fuck them?” she gasps. Her hands are tense by her sides, fingers curled around the edge of the table.

You bare your teeth at her and shake your head, slowly lowering until your lips meet the skin at her hip.

“Not all of them,” you breathe against her skin, marvelling at the way her frame trembles beneath you.

Unwilling to waste another second, you lick a stripe up the front of her underwear. Taste cotton and sweat and slick. Your touch is painfully light. So gentle that you wonder if she even felt it. But then she gasps – a sharp, breathy sound that has molten heat pooling between your own thighs, and you smile. Gotcha. Her legs lock up on either side of you.

“Relax,” you whisper, and settle a hand on her thigh. Rub slowly there, pressing your fingers in gently to release the strain in her muscles. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop if you don’t want this.” 

“Please,” Abby says quietly. More desperate than you’ve ever heard her sound. “Do it, please.”

“I will,” you tell her. Smile reassuringly and squeeze her thigh.

When you finally get your mouth on her, no more barriers between your tongue and the wet cut of her cunt, you’re a little mean about it. You tease her clit. Tickle your tongue around it, underneath it, never quite touching, just showing that you know exactly where it is, exactly where she wants to be touched. You use your fingers to spread her open, pressing back her folds until you can see the full spread of her; pink and glistening for you.

The taste of her is salty and heady and soon enough you can’t help swiping the flat of your tongue against her clit, and revelling in the stuttered moan that swells out of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs. “Keep doing that.”

You roll your tongue against it in circles, side-to-side, changing up the rhythm whenever you fear she might have gotten used to the feeling. Spell out your name with the tip of your tongue, and then hers. Spell out words in your own language, one that you’re fluent in and want so desperately to teach her. Like this, your tongue on her clit, is a religion, and you’re a modest missionary sent to spread the gospel.

She makes the most gorgeous sounds. High pitched, breathy moans that burst out of her and have you wishing you could touch yourself. Just slip your fingers past the band of your panties, to where you know you'd be dripping-- No. Not yet, not now. This is about her, you remind yourself.

When you take her between your lips and suck, she cries out. A hoarse, rasping shout of your name that only makes you suck harder.

“Oh my god,” Abby mumbles, voice awed, surprised. “Oh—oh fuck, oh my god.”

Lowering your tongue, you press it against her weeping hole. Taste the slick that pools there, waiting for you to drink it down, and feel a moment of sympathy for her. You wonder if Owen ever touched her like this. If he ever made her feel this good. And as the muscles in her thighs tighten and one of her hands falls against the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair, you know he didn’t. 

“I think I’m gonna—” she gasps, hips bucking against your face. You can feel her slick on your chin, your cheeks, your nose. You lick her clit again in slow, firm circles. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

You press a finger inside of her, slowly stretching out her tight hole. Give her something to bear down on when she comes. And when she does come, it’s intense. Her fingers tighten in your hair, winding around the strands and tugging as she presses your face harder against her pussy. Your nose presses into the light curls on her mound and you groan, inhaling her sweet, musky scent.

“Fuuuck,” she gasps, the word catching in her throat. You open your eyes and watch the way her abdomen tightens, every muscle in her body going taut. Watch the way her eyes clamp shut, mouth hanging open as she gasps and moans and mumbles beneath her breath. “Fuck, don’t stop. Your tongue, oh my god don’t—please don’t stop.”

So you don’t stop. Abby’s still riding out the final ebbs of her orgasm when you push another finger inside of her. Her body jolts against the table, shaking and trembling beneath your hands and mouth. And then, tongue still moving gently, you curl your fingers inside of her. Press the tips of your middle and ring finger against that soft, spongy part deep inside and grin when she moans your name. You think it might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard – your name on her lips.

“You like that?” you mumble against her, the corners of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” she moans, hips bucking against your face. “God, yes.”

“Taste so fucking good,” you sigh, flattening your tongue to lick a broad stripe up her cunt. You can taste her come everywhere. Coating your chin, your lips, the inside of your nostrils. You groan, tongue moving faster against her clit now, desperate to see it happen again. She twitches into the table, and one of her hands falls to your shoulder. Blunt nails dig into the skin there, hot and piercing as she grinds against your mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck,” she cries out when you add a third finger. You moan, eyes rolling back at the way her walls stretch around you. So fucking tight.

Your fingers dig into her thigh. Silently pleading with her; tell me, tell me, tell me.

“So good,” Abby mumbles. “So—shit—so full, m’so full. Ohhh.”  

There’s something hot pooling at the base of your spine. Want – curling against your insides, begging to be satiated.

You murmur that desire into her cunt. Inaudible; the words lost in the mess of her, in the quick glide of your tongue between her folds.

“What?” she gasps.

“Say my name,” you repeat, louder, pleading.

And she does – she’s perfect when she comes for you again. Strong back arching off the table, thighs tensing around your body as she chants your name. Her hands are strong, fingers no doubt leaving bruises where she grips your skin tight, holding your mouth against her pussy as she convulses.

She doesn’t let you pull away for a minute, maybe two. Holding your head between her legs as she grounds herself, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You swear you even feel her stroke the skin at the nape of your neck. Twist the hair there around her finger and tug gently. But then she’s letting you go – strong hands falling back to clasp against her lower stomach, and you’re stumbling off the table.

You hand her those shorts—those tiny fucking shorts—and smile. Can see the way uneasiness flits across her features as she drags them back up her legs, sparing a wary glance towards the door. Probably wondering if anyone heard her; if they heard the way she cried and moaned and gasped your name as she came undone against your face.

“It’s fine,” you reassure, only half-lying. “We weren’t that loud.”

But you can tell by the way she nods that she doesn’t quite believe you. That she’s still confused, still unsure, still wondering what this all means.

So you squeeze her shoulder, thumb pressing into the dip below her collarbone, and promise – “No one has to know.”

thank you for reading! x

maybe ill write another part to this where abby realises she wants to return the favour... idk we'll see

#middle finger and ring finger supremacy idgaf #my writing #fic: high strung #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson smut #abby anderson wlw fanfiction #abby anderson fic

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Coffee Breath | Quinn Hughes x Fem Reader

Summary: Quinn and Y/N go to Starbucks and Target after Team practice, and they prep for the Hughes Brawl that is being played in 4 hours.

Warnings: language, and only one kiss (it’s a peck)

A:N- I hate this sm but I needed to post smth 🫶

All i know is that you talk to much

You’ve got those big blue eyes

Drive me crazy, make me fantasize

‘Bout you baby

After team practice before the next game, Quinn and I leave the rink and we pick up some coffee. Quinn is wearing a letter this year on his jersey so, he has to take his body seriously now. All he does is workout. I’ve been dragging him to get coffee with me, just like it was in the past.

“You wnat your Gingerbread Oatmilk Chai?” Quinn says as he looks into my eyes. All I see is his light blue eyes, almost as if they were grey.

I look to his right eye, and to his left, then down to his lips, I love him. He sees my trick, and he grabs my thigh, as he moves his fingers into my warm special place.

He’s such a cunt.

“Yeah, the chai is perfect. And could I get a Gouda sandwich- the one I like.” I say as we pull into the Starbucks drive through. He turns his head as he pulls his blue hood off his head.

Said you can’t trust me

I said it’s fine.

I’m wearing the perfect outfit. Black leggings, pink sports bra, and of course Quinn’s hoodie. My shoes, are also his, they’re wayy too big, but they’re just crocs. Quinn, in the drivers seat wearing a blue hoodie, black sweatpants, and his grey slides. We’re matching. I love him.

“Mobile order for Maya Ray.” Quinn says as he looks at me with a smirk. Maya- which isn’t my name, and Ray- is also not my name nor his name. We use fake names, out of our safety, and for fun. He pulls up to the second window and he grabs the Iced Chai and swings his arm to me, and he also grabs the sandwich I asked him to get me.

“Don’t get crumbs in my car. I’ll kill you.” Quinn snaps out at me.

What an actual cunt.

“Cuntasaurus.” I say underneath my breath. I grab the drink and the sandwich and place the chai into my lap. I unwrapped my sandwich and started to bite in.

“Do you have change?” Quinn asks. Weird. He payed online, he doesn’t need more money- unless he’s going to leave a tip. Then I thought that he could already leave a tip online.

“Why.” I say in response, only after I remembered to answer his question. I was lost into thought that I literally forgot to respond.

“So I can leave a tip, I forgot to tip online.” sure. I think to myself, I know he’s lying, he’s a freaking millionaire, he should have at least $10 freaking dollars on him.

“Yep.” I say and grab my phone case. I pull the $20 out and hand it to the lady, only because I know if I gifted it to Quinn, that money wouldn’t make it to the tip jar.

“I could have done that.” Quinn says snapping at me… again.

“Well obviously not.” I say as I open the middle console that splits our seats apart. I pull out $100 dollars and shove it in his face.

a side eye is all I get in response from him.

“Shocker. You know where my money is.” Quinn says after we turn into the parking lot of a target about 10 minutes later.

he’s literally the sassiest man I’ve ever fucking met. He’s… so, teenage boy. Literal brain rot. We need to pick up some groceries so I made a list of things that I needed. Of course I made a list of things that again only I need.

“So, why did you need to stop at Target?” Quinn says as he finds the farthest fucking parking spot there is. God, he better carry me back out here. I look into his blue eyes again, he literally drives me crazy, I can smell his cologne, and that makes me insane.

He smells like flowers, but in a masculine way. It’s hard to describe, he’s just so beautiful. It’s just a normal day for us, but it’s THE Hughes brawl. New Jersey Devils vs Canucks in Vancouver.

I’m excited, but no matter what I’m going to be proud, I’ve known Luke for the longest of times, and even before I met Luke and Wuinn I was friends with Jack.

“You coming?” Quinn says as he opens my door and grabs my left ass cheek. Let’s just say his love language is physical touch, he’s really touchy, clingy and childish, but so am I.

“Yep. Also Quinner-” I say before he freaking cuts me off.

“I know. you always make your own list. Never something that I would need, it’s always oh, what do I need? And oh, I ran out on shampoo, better get ME some.” Quinn says as he mocks me. He’s such an ass. But an ass taht I love.

Again as he swipes his right arm under my butt, he grabs my back with his left arm, and he tips over to the left as he swoops me into his arms and over his shoulder. Quinn pulls my leggings over my red lacy thong that I’m wearing under.

“I hate when you do that.” Quinn states as he closes my door and locks the car. He grabs my hand and we walk to the the doors of the store.

“Do what?” I say in actual confusion.

“You tease me, then you follow up with that with oh, I’m too tired and sorry I’m not in the mood.”

Quinn seems really upset, which is why I love to do it. I pull my hoodie down over my butt and I get an cloud of Quinn. I love him. I really do.

I’m hit with this wave of horny desperation.

“Hey, give me a kiss. Please!!” I say as I stop him and we stand in the middle of the parking lot. I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. I look deep into his eyes in pleading guilt.

“I know what you’re doing.” He says, he’s convinced that I’ll do the thing.

“Omg, just kiss me.” I say. But he won’t. So I grab his hand, and pull him back to the car, and I grab his keys form his pocket and unlock the doors.

“Please. Quinn I’m ready. Right now.” And I pull him into the backseat.

I pull at his silver chain that I bought him, its charm is a heart, and the back of the heart is a photo of us. When we were like 16.

“Please. Don’t. Not right now.” Quinn says as he pushes up agisnt me. I feel him getting hard. There’s truly a tent being built in his sweatpants.

“We have like 4 hours until the next game. We have time.” I say as I look into his neck ready to make a move. I can feel his pulse penetrating from his artery.

“No.” Quinn’s consistent with his answer. And I respect it. So I climb into the passenger seat and I forget about the target trip in general. And he climbs back into the drivers seat as well. And he pulls my cheek towards him. And he leans in for a kiss.

Taste like coffee.

#jocelynscrazyideas #umich hockey #hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #umich #vancouver canucks #🍇🍇🍇

[whalesforhands]

shirtless neighbours and exercise (kaizen stroll!)

The first time you meet your neighbours outside the house, you could swear you had to rewire every neuron in your brain in hopes of it ever working again.

“Oho? Gummmiii, look who’s here!” Perched atop the broad shoulders of his snowy-haired father figure, was one of the few resident toddlers of this neighbourhood.

You would’ve been quite glad to see him, really! Such an adorable, sweet little boy with just as charming siblings with endearing traits… And not to mention the total eye candies their parents were.

“Good muscl— Morning!” Your eyes can’t seem to stop trailing down the naked upper half of his body as you sweat, nearly choking on your words and already screaming internally, praying neither of them heard your slip-up as your hand grips the grocery bag ever tighter, face starting to grow hot with embarrassment and shame.

Jeez, stop being so goddamn hor—

“(name).” He purrs back your name in a blissful greeting, smile growing on his face and words rolling off his tongue so sweetly that it almost makes your knees buckle, your eyes stuck on watching his hand going up to his head to push back some sweaty strands of white as you try to avert your eyes for politeness sake. “Out for groceries so early?”

Oh— The slight pant in his sentences evidence of a good workout, the cute kid perched atop his shoulders, his shirtless self just looking so, so hot—! Respond normally, like a normal person, just your average, run-of-the-mill reply…!

However, you don’t think your brain is even going to be able to process anything anymore. Not after this, definitely. You remember seeing stark white, radiant blue and a curious head of spiky black as your senses start to go into overdrive.

Buff, sweaty arms that rippled with power and strength. Slicked back white hair from the obviously tough work-out. A droplet of sweat rolling down a really nice, really defined abdomen that put even the washboards at home to shame, prominent V-lines leading down, down, down…!

You have to snap yourself out of it, stop being such a pervert—!

“Uhm,” He has to bite back a chuckle at the way you’ve just been staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, your face just so cute when admiring him. “Ya okay?” He obviously knows he looks good just from your blatant staring of his body and embarrassed face, the way you’ve just been unable to do nothing but blabber nonsense for the next solid few seconds.

(You’re stroking his ego, despite the strange reception.)

“Ahaha…” Your eyes blink rapidly as you almost stumble forward from forcing yourself back into reality, eyes hurriedly flicking upwards to meet with Megumi’s blue. “Y-yeah! Fine! Just great! Never been bice—Better!” You cough into your fist to clear your throat as well as fight the urge to bury yourself into the ground below you.

“How… About you both?” Good. Perfect. Perfectly normal reply. Good answer! Non-NEET like at all!

A wide grin and a veiny, muscled arm bending to show a thumbs-up as you gulp nervously. “Just got done with some workouts! Doc says Gumi here— Ow, ow! Gumi, I told ya to stop tuggin’ at my hair to get my attention!” A whining of complaint as the shirtless man pats at his son’s leg. “Daddy spent real long tryna get it pretty today!”

Another decisive tug in retaliation.

“What a mean kid I raised…!” He sniffles in mock pain when there’s another pull, patting the leg over his collarbone to signal his defeat as he shifts his weight. “Ow, ow! Okay, okay! I get it, you want your pretty sensei right?”

Ahh… Men who love their kids are so hot… Did he just call you—

“Mn.” Megumi nods his head, black hair swaying with the shift of his cute, chubby face and extending his arms out towards you from his position perched atop the tall, broad shoulders as you continue to try not to implode at the sight of his very shirtless, very sweaty father who was smiling so innocently as he starts to slowly step closer towards you.

Oh… No…

“Sorry honey,” He’s staring up at the little boy as he stands close enough before you, whiffs of strawberry and pine mixed with his sweat starting to invade your nose. “Do you mind helping me to calm him down a little? He gets really fussy, ‘specially on weekends when he can’t see yo—“

Don’t think about it, don’t think about how sexy he looks right now— don’t think about it don’t think don’t think don’t think don’t think—

You feel a warm trail of liquid drip from your nose, catching sight of a matching pair of worried blue eyes, both widened considerably as Gojo’s grin starts to fade, a hand reaching out to cup your chin with Megumi’s face looking as if he was about to cry.

“Oh— Fuck.”

——

It seems that the second time you’re invited to this estate, is to treat a nosebleed of all things…

“Too much to handle, huh?” He’s being gentle as he dabs at your bloody nose, having princess-carried you all the way back to his apartment in a fit of worry, insisting that he’ll take care of you to, ‘fix his mistake’.

(You weren’t sure if he was complimenting himself or not.)

Nonetheless, you’re still experiencing embarrassment you’ve yet to be able to live down for at least the rest of your life. Maybe it’s better to just go into hiding, become a NEET who plays Jujutsu Kaisen all day, max out that INT stat on your character, buy another gift card to top up on more Cursed Points to roll that new clothing gacha—

Ah, who are you kidding? You’d rather just die in a ditch somewhere right now as the Gojo Satoru, father to many of your beloved children, extremely tall, and stupidly charming hunk of a man dabbing blood and snot out of your nose because you lost control of your mind after seeing him sweaty and shirtless.

This is definitely some sort of loser path you would’ve accidentally stumbled into if you were in a dating sim visual novel! Ahh… Whatever god is up there, please don’t be so cruel to you anymore…!

Maybe that was how you ended up on his sofa, one of his kids in your lap and him right next to you, settled comfortably on his sofa as a kiddy anime plays, simply living through the motions. It’s not like you haven’t tried asking to leave.

Your mouth is open as Megumi spoons another scoop of pudding into your mouth, sat comfortably upon your lap as he watches you intently to make sure you’re eating every bite well.

He’s scrutinizing your every movement, blue eyes practically drilling in on your mouth as you start to sweat out of nervousness, making it a point to exaggerate your chewing actions well to sate him.

“Does Daddy get any bites, Gumi?” Said man’s arm rested upon the back of the sofa, brushing against your back and almost looking like it was wrapped around your shoulders. Almost.

(At least he’s got a shirt on…)

“No.” A curt, straight-to-the-point and outright rejection, another spoonful getting carefully pushed up towards your lips as he uses the entirety of his smaller body to shield the precious pudding away from that hungry monster.

“You,” He points the spoon almost menacingly towards the much too big man, blue eyes narrowing behind spiky strands that obscure his face. “Eat too much.”

“Ahhh! So mean!” Said little boy was now being lifted out of your lap, much larger hands lifting him up by his underarms and out of reach from you as he’s held up to the light.

“Even Daddy gets hurt if you don’t feed him! What if I starve to death?!” He’s pouting up at his literal child, the toddler giving him a blank stare despite the vulnerable, adorable position he’s been put in. Even with his puppy-print themed socks hanging midair, the seriousness in his eyes reflecting it all.

“Then di—“

“Is it heavy, Nanako? Papa can carry it—“ The door to the Gojo-Geto estate opens with a chime, waddling twin making her way in, a tin of cocoa mix in her hands as she settles it upon the genkan floor.

“I got it, Papa!” She flexes her arm, patting the soft flesh there. “Nanako’s strong!” She’s gonna be just like her parents, afterall! No time for slacking when it could be used for muscle building!

“Daddy! Gumi! Papa and I are backkkkk!”

She starts to kick off her green sneakers, excited to be able to watch that new anime she’s been waiting for all week, humming as she hears the reusable grocery bags being placed down behind her, eyes catching sight of an unfamiliar pair of shoes.

(And a very familiar scent lingering about.)

No way…! Today, too?! It’s with a squeal that she takes off, shoes flying off and onto the carpeted genkan, leaving a confused Suguru in its wake.

“Nanako! Be careful!”

She bursts into the room with glimmering eyes, grin stretching wide across her cheeks as she practically lunges towards you.

“(NAME)-SENSEI!” You catch her midair, meeting her halfway as you feel her practically throw you back against the couch with her weight, her entire body a force to be reckoned with as you try to hide your gasp of pain at how much her exhilarating acceleration had caused the much too painful impact.

And soon, you had Megumi plopped onto you as well once he had forced his way out of a certain someone’s hold, crawling towards you as a defeated Gojo Satoru played ‘dead’ on the couch, having been defeated by his very own son.

“(name)-senseiiiiiiii~,” She’s whining into your lap, blonde strands rubbing against the fabric of your clothing and her face buried into your chest, squeezing in next to Megumi as they both look up at you with shiny, begging eyes. “Since you’re already hereeee!”

“Stay for dinner again!”

masterlist (this fic is part of my kaizen daycare! series)

Notes:

Due to the new transfer of Itadori Yuuji and Kugisaki Nobara, Megumi has been eating a lot more snacks than usual. His doctor has advised him to take more walks. This has ended up with Gojo Satoru bringing him along when he goes for a jog.

Just like her Daddy, Nanako has developed an oddly strong sense of smell.

Tsumiki takes ballet lessons whilst Mimiko goes for a plushie making seminars for toddlers on weekends.

Once, Megumi offered his Daddy a bite of his pizza bun. He experienced the betrayal of Gojo Satoru’s ‘one bite’ trick.

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, sensei.” It’s Geto Suguru that’s leaning against the doorframe, cocoa tin tucked under his arm as grocery bags decorate his fingers. “I would appreciate your expertise in cooking again.”

“I second it!” Gojo Satoru is already up and about, foregoing the ‘playing dead’ farce to be a part of this conversation.

“Daddy, Gumi said you’re a liar and a cheat for not playing all the way through!”

“E-eh? I can’t even revive myself momentarily to reply?!”

#kdc au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader

[am-i-interrupting]

How about Vox trying to befriend one of Alastor’s close friends, to know Alastor’s secrets and weaknesses. Months later Vox falls in love and forgets about the plan. Then Alastor reveals the secret plan to make Vox look bad. Your choice if you want it to be a sad or happy ending.

Vox was tired of losing. He was done. That is when the brilliant idea came to him. Find Alastor’s weakness but how?

He saw Alastor enter a tailor’s shop, right in front of one of his store displays and he saw you.

He recognized you from his casual spying on Alastor. The two of you were together more than Alastor was around most people.

Vox tore his claw down one of his suit jackets and brought it to you.

He wasn’t shocked your recognized him.

“Get out.” “What a show of hospitality! But regardless, I don’t think I will. I require some assistance.” “Isn’t one of you Vs a fashion designer? Ask them for help.”

Vox had to squash down the offense at the phrase “one of you Vs” and even more so that you didn’t know Velvette’s name.

It took a lot of convincing and you only did it to get him out of your store.

You returned the wrong suit. You did it on purpose. It was bright red instead of his cool blue.

He returned again and again and you continued to give him the wrong jacket suit.

Over time the hostility turned to playful teasing.

“Oh, back so soon? It’s only been a week? Did you miss me that much?” “Oh, but of course.” “Predictable, men as self absorbed as you are so easy to rope in. Make them feel special and then they just won’t leave you alone.” “Maybe I’d leave you alone if you’d give me my jacket.” “What jacket?”

One day Vox walks in and sees you bent down at the skirt of some demon’s dress, with a needle between your lips.

The demon saw him and called your name several times but you were too absorbed in your work. A trait he found admirable. It wasn’t until they hit your shoulder and you stabbed yourself that your focus was broken.

“Ow! Shit! Mare, what the fuck?!” “The TV demon.”

You looked over your shoulder. He quickly replaced his soft(-ish) expression with a smirk and a wave.

“You can wait,” and he did.

It wasn’t long after that day he asked you out for dinner.

The dinner was a lot more upscale than you were used to and he could tell you felt out of place. With a seat in the back and some carefully placed words he got you to relax.

Afterwards, he walked you back to your shop because you refused to let him walk you home. He placed a kiss to your hand and didn’t walk away until you were inside.

Dates became somewhat common between the two of you. Both of you only able to clear your schedules once or twice a month for it to happen but it was something to expect.

He learned from his mistake the first time and made sure to make things more mundane.

On the second date, he brought you flowers.

On the third date, he insisted you try some of his food and brought the fork to your lips, only letting it down when you took the bite.

On the fourth date, he took you dancing and managed a kiss at the end.

On the sixth date, he tripped into a pile of blood so you took his suit to properly wash it. He had it back the next day.

On the seventh, he walked you home.

On the eighth, he told you he loved you.

Alastor came to you to commission a suit for an upcoming event.

The two of you were talking about everything and nothing as you were prone to do when he casually mentioned:

“I’ve heard rumors about you, my dear. They’ve got me worried.” “Oh? And what is the rumor mill saying about me that’s so worrisome, hm?”

You were sure it was going to be something silly. Alastor had pulled this number before because yes, he was one to follow the gossip train but he never got aboard. He never believed something until he had reason to.

“They’ve been saying you’ve been getting close to a certain picture box.”

You felt your heart stop. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, quite the rumor, indeed! Now, I know you’d never be so thoughtless as to do such a thing but still, one worries nonetheless.” “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, Alastor.” “Ah, but I do. Especially since it reminded me of something I overheard some months ago, why— No! It’d have been over a year ago actually. To think, the gall of the man to say his plans right in front of the radio.” “What?” “Let me see, I do believe I have it stored somewhere, just for my own amusement.”

A moment later Vox’s voice sounded through Alastor’s microphone, “It’s easy. Just go in and try to get some information out of them. That’s it. You’re a master manipulator. It’ll be easy and if they put up a fight? Well, you’re an overlord. It’ll be fine. Okay? Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

A few days passed since then when Vox came back to the tailor shop. He was befuddled to see a sign.

Closed Until Further Notice

He came back several days later to a new sign.

For Sale

He got worried. He started looking for you but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find you.

Sold

Four and a half months passed until he got an answer. There was an overlord meeting after the extermination.

Alastor strolled out of it with Rosie beside him.

Vox didn’t pay much attention to Rosie. He paid as much attention to her as he did other overlords with the occasional sight of her when he was spying on Alastor but he noticed Rosie’s smile seemed tense. He caught her glares at him.

“Ah, Vox, my dear man! What a stunning suit you’ve got on today. No match for my own but I had a very good friend make it for me. Wonderful craftsmanship, don’t you think?” “What did you do?” “What did I do? Oh, no, no, no. What did you do?”

The knowing smile and glimmer in Alastor’s eye made it clear he knew something, something that Vox should know too.

It took a minute for Vox to remember, to remember the day he met you and all the things he’d said as well as the fact that your shop wasn’t just in front of a television but a radio too.

A fight broke out. It was big and catastrophic and took hours to finish. But in the end, Vox won or Alastor decided that he was bored. It was always hard to tell.

Rosie came up to Vox at the end of it.

He’d never spoken to her outside of a business setting but that strained smile and those looks were well deserved, he realized.

“I try to keep out of yours and Alastor’s feud but you just had to go too far, didn’t you? You know, they never told Alastor about ya but they did tell me. I feel so foolish to have told ‘em to go after you.”

She shook her head and reached into her bag. She pulled out a folded blue suit jacket and handed it to him.

“Where are—“ “You don’t get to ask that, Vox.”

He unfolded the jacket, uncaring that his blood covered hands stained it. It was mended so why did he wish it was torn?

#vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader

[ladykailitha]

Staking My Claim Part 5

We are almost done just one more after this one! I thought about posting this on Tuesday to give the first chapter of the second book of Boy With a Bat some love.

But with this one literally two chapters away from being finished it didn't seem fair to postpone this one.

Here we have Nurse Jeff and sweet Eddie.

Pt 1| Pt 2|Pt 3| Pt 4|

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Once they other three were gone Jeff turned to Steve and Eddie.

“Right the real reason I’m here is because I’m going to make you two don’t jump each other before Steve is well enough.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other and blushed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jeff said, crossing his arms and leaning back on one foot.

“Eddie go get us some lunch and I’ll make sure Stevie here isn’t going to throw up again.”

Eddie nodded and grabbed his keys. He gave Steve a kiss on the cheek and dashed off, leaving Steve alone with Jeff.

Jeff turned on the light in the kitchen to better see Steve’s face. He held Steve’s chin and turned his head gently to the light and away from it.

“Your dilation is a little slow,” he said. “That’s not good.”

Steve nodded. “I’ve had concussions before. It feels a bit like that. The dizziness, the nausea, the pounding in my head.”

Jeff nodded. “I think I still have some anti-nausea medication and if I don’t, we can try some Pepto, okay?”

Steve nodded. “I wouldn’t have done anything,” he said softly.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“With Eddie,” he whispered. “Not before we got back to Hawkins, anyway.”

“Oh?”

Steve nodded again. “I’m bit too romantic for my own good. And having the chance I might ruin our first time with puking is the last thing I’d want.”

“First time?” Jeff asked over his shoulder as he went to the bathroom.

“I meant it when I licked him, he’s mine now.”

Jeff chuckled.

He came back out holding two bottles. “Looks like I have two kinds of anti-nausea meds. One is very heavy duty, so we’ll try the other one first. We don’t want to mix something heavier if the knock out drug is still in your system.”

Steve nodded.

“In fact,” Jeff muttered. “I should call my mom.”

He set the two bottles on the counter next to Steve and went to the phone.

After a brief conversation Jeff picked up the heavier medication. “She actually recommended the tougher meds to counter whatever was given to you. She even wants you to stop by on your way home so she can look you over.”

Steve blushed. “She doesn’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow and Steve ducked his head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. My sister is a lot like you, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“She’s the oldest,” Jeff murmured, “so she was brought up that she had to take care of everyone else and couldn’t ask for help.”

“Oh.”

Jeff rubbed the top of his head. “Look, man. I get it, I really, really do. If your parents are as half the shit the rumor mill makes them out to be, you’ve been abandoned and neglected all your life. Somehow, someway you became the defacto older brother to the weirdest group of latchkey kids I’ve ever seen and you think you have to do everything for them because you didn’t get to have that. But thinking like that will only wear you down and out.”

“It’s hard,” Steve admitted. “They’ve been through so much.”

Jeff let out a sigh. “I get that too. You and those kids have been through some heavy ass shit. I also get that you think that because you’re the oldest you can’t tell them what you’re feeling because you don’t want to burden them.”

“You’re Robin and Nancy’s age,” Steve said quietly.

Jeff frowned, not quiet understanding the comment. Then it dawned on him. “Eddie isn’t.”

Steve’s head shot up. “What?”

“I know it’s hard to remember because he graduated with me and the other guys,” Jeff said. “But Eddie is older then you. He was supposed to graduate in ‘84.”

Steve blinked. “Oh. Yeah.”

“So lean on him,” Jeff said. “Yeah, you’re attracted to him. And you definitely want to fuck. But let him in emotionally, too. I think you’ll find he’s as a great a listener as he is a talker.”

Steve blushed.

Just then the door swung open to reveal Eddie with a large bag of McDonald’s.

“I didn’t know what you would like,” Eddie said with a grin, “so I got a little of everything I could think of.”

Steve smiled. “I’m sure I’ll find something I like then.”

They all dug in and polished off most the bag of fast food.

“Seriously,” Steve said, “why does greasy food always the best hangover cure?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know. It defies all logic. You would think it would be stuff that was easy on your stomach like toast and rice would be better, but nope!”

Steve took Eddie’s hand. “Thanks for taking care of me. I appreciate it.”

Eddie blushed to his roots. “You don’t need to thank me. I just did what the next person would have done.”

Jeff snorted. “Bullshit. You went above and beyond and you know it. There is no shame in accepting his thanks. You did good, man.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face to hide his embarrassment. “You’re welcome, Stevie.”

“I think you should go lay back down,” Jeff suggested to Steve. “We’ll be here if you need us.”

Steve nodded and wandered back to Eddie’s room. He closed the door and laid down, sure that he wouldn’t sleep as he had already slept a lot. But it appeared he needed it more than he thought as he drifted back to dreamland.

***

Part 6

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @lololol-1234 @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @live-the-fangirl-life @hellfireone @lublix @breealtair @croatoan-like-its-hot @f0xxyb0xxes @jamieweasley13 @r0binscript @confuseddisastertm @sleepdeprivedflower @thedragonsaunt @dissociatingdemon @dragonmama76

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #corroded coffin

[apomaro-mellow]

Demon!Eddie 2

Some police brutality in this chapter.

"I’m a cop.”

“Yup.”

“And you’re my perp?”

“You caught me in the middle of a drug deal and I resisted arrest.”

Steve looked at all the people milling about, going on with their business but sure to soon notice the two dudes who suddenly popped up.

“Eddie, I can’t impersonate a cop!”, Steve whispered in a hiss.

Eddie held up his cuffed hands and snapped his fingers, and suddenly everyone in the room froze. “You can if you’re playing pretend. Which is what we’re doing.”

Steve looked in awe. “So none of these people are real? Is this your demon magic?”

“Oh they’re real people. Looks like we’re in...”, Eddie bent over to look at someone’s desk. “Fort Wayne, Indiana. Everyone here is an actual person out there in the real world. But in here? They’re like dolls.” And just because he could, Eddie hopped onto the desk to fart in one of the frozen cops’ faces. He jumped off and went back to Steve’s side.

“So it’s like playing pretend with dolls...”, Steve said, catching on.

“Exactly! If this is the life you want, I shall use my powers of persuasion to get you in the position to succeed. If not, we move on to the next job.”

Steve touched the badge on his chest. Having a bit of power felt kind of nice. “Alright. What’re you in for again? Selling drugs?”

“And resisting arrest. Can’t forget that part. Which reminds me.” Eddie covered his face like he was playing peekaboo. When he uncovered it, he had a black eye and a bleeding nose.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all movie magic. Gotta make it believable.”

Then he snapped his fingers again and people were unfrozen and some guy was shouting at them.

“Harrington! Quit your mincin’ and get him in the room!”

Steve grabbed Eddie by the elbow and followed the sound of whoever was shouting at him. They came to a man in his 40′s, thick mustache and a mean expression, waiting in a room with a table and two chairs. Steve let go of Eddie once they were in the room but before Eddie could take a seat, the other cop pushed him down into the chair, then took a seat across from him.

“Looks like you had a number done to you already. So why don’t you make it easy on yourself, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, your guy really laid into me”, Eddie grinned and gave Steve a look.

Steve blinked, not knowing what he meant until he looked down at his knuckles and saw some blood there. He...he had done that to Eddie?

“So tell us who you get your stuff from and we can let you be on your merry way.”

“Actually, I think the head trauma jumbled my memory”, Eddie said. “I just don’t remember anything.”

The officer gave Steve a look, like he was supposed to be doing something other than standing there but Steve didn’t know what. With a roll of his eyes, the man stood, muttering to himself. “Jesus Christ, gotta do everything around here.”

He got behind Eddie and slammed his head onto the table, then kept him pinned there.

“Hey!”, Steve shouted.

“Hey, what?”, the other cop glared at him. “I know it’s your first week but show some balls. You gotta show ‘em you mean business.”

“You’ve got nothin’“, Eddie ground out from where he was pressed onto the table. “Your guy only thinks he saw me dealing, I’m clean.”

“We’ll see about that.” He gave Eddie a harsh shove, knocking him and the chair over before turning to Steve. “I’m going to evidence. Keep and eye on him.”

When they were alone in the room, Steve went over to Eddie and helped him up.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That Stevie boy, was the system at work. I guarantee you he’s going to get some drugs to plant on me.”

“What? For real? Well fuck that.” Steve found a set of keys on him and unlocked Eddie’s cuffs.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting you the hell outta here.”

“But what if I am just a no-good, dirty, rotten drug dealer?”, Eddie batted his lashes.

“So you sell things people want? Doesn’t mean you deserve all this”, Steve gestured mostly to his face.

Eddie gave his face a wipe and the black eye and bloody nose was gone. “Illusion. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, still. We’re getting out of here.” Steve opened the door and started leading Eddie out.

“Harrington! Where is he!?”

“Hey why’s that guy not in cuffs?!”, another officer shouted.

“Run!”, Steve said, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and pulling him along until they got outside. Steve bolted to one of the cruisers and got in, starting it up. Eddie was hanging halfway out the window, giving two middle fingers as he peeled out of the lot.

Steve had no idea where he was going other than away from here. “What did I just do?”

“You just aided a criminal’s escape aaaaaand-” Eddie looked through the rearview mirror for the tell-tale lights. “Started a police chase.” He drummed his thighs. “I think it’s safe to say this career isn’t for you.”

“Would it really be like that? Just beating on people for no reason?”

“Even if you’re not the one doing it, your co-workers will be. And they’ll expect you to keep your mouth shut about it. And also not use an assigned vehicle as a getaway car.”

“Okay. Okay so I don’t wanna be a cop.” Steve had a pretty juvenile idea of what that entailed anyway. Hadn’t really considered it as a viable career since being a kid and playing in his yard. “What’s next?”

“Pull up here”, Eddie pointed to a small parking lot. 

Steve parked and when he blinked his eyes he saw he was in blue scrubs now. There was a sign in front of him that said Pet Hospital.

“Alright. I get it. We’re going down the whole list so I’m a vet no-” He turned and saw that where Eddie had been sitting was now a rottweiler. Steve’s lips turned into a thin line. He saw a collar and reached over to read it. Of course it said ‘Eddie’.

-----------------------------------

Okay, so he was a bit mean with the cop scenario. But Eddie didn’t rescue this guy from rich assholes just for him to get a job like that. If he wanted a job where he helped people he should be actually helping people. Eddie let Steve leash him up and then once they were inside, he led the way to where Steve’s office would have been.

Using his mouth, he snatched the leash from Steve’s hand and curled up in the bed set up in the corner.

Steve put his hands on his hips as he looked down at him. “You are the weirdest demon I’ve ever met.”

Eddie’s ears perked up at that. “You’ve met other demons?”

“Holy-! You can talk!?”

“I can fetch too~”

“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

“No law that says I can’t. And even if there was, I know how you are about the law.”

Steve was about to reply when someone called out his name and said his appointment was here. Steve spent the morning, examining cats and dogs mostly, all who had pretty standard illnesses and ailments that he suddenly knew the remedies for.

When he got a break, he went back into his office and sat at his desk. Eddie got up and sat at his feet, then put his head in his lap, looking at him expectantly. Steve knew this was dog body language asking for pets but had to remind himself this was in fact a demon that had eagerly licked up his blood before.

He stroked the top of Eddie’s head anyway.

“So?”

“Sooo animals are cute. And it’s nice to actually help people who need it.”

“And what about when you can’t help?”

Steve bit his lip while staring at the wall that had a calendar with some fluffy bunnies on it. More than once someone thought their pet was dying. Fortunately it wasn’t that serious, but what about when it was?

“I don’t like giving people bad news”, Steve said. And he couldn’t think of anything more devastating them telling a person someone they loved was dying.

“So being a vet’s not for you. Or a people doctor for that matter”, Eddie said, shrugging as well as a rottweiler could.

They went through another door together and Steve felt his scrubs get switched out for cargo shorts. He looked over at Eddie and saw that he was dressed the same, his hair tied back and under a wide-brimmed at.

“You really like playing dress up, huh?”

“It’s fun to pretend. And don’t act like you’re not enjoying it. Not a lot of dudes can pull off cargo shorts”, Eddie said, looking Steve up and down.

Steve couldn’t tell if he was serious or putting on airs but either way he couldn’t meet Eddie’s gaze. “So, uh, where are we now?”

“At the Smithsonian Zoo in DC!”, Eddie gestured broadly with his arms....to the employee breakroom.

“Your reveals are getting less grand. And what? You didn’t wanna be a monkey?”

“Oh I can be anything you want. But now seemed like a good time go a break.” Eddie sat in one of the chairs and propped his feet onto the table. “What’re you in the mood for?” He snapped his fingers. “Burgers? Chinese? Leftover casserole?” As he listed them, they appeared with a snap of his fingers.

“I’m in the mood for my food not to taste like feet.” Steve slapped Eddie’s legs off the table and grabbed the burger that had appeared first. While he ate, he did take some time to soak everything in. It was still so unbelievable that he was basically playing around on a holodeck but what was even more unbelievable was Eddie, a practical stranger, indulging him.

“So you like own my soul now, right? That’s why you’re doing all of this?”

Eddie looked up from his own meal, having gone with the container of orange chicken. “You mean the deal?”

Steve nodded and then Eddie got a sheepish look on his face.

“Haa, well, funny thing about that, um, you already gave me something.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “When?”

“Uuh, remember last night?” Eddie was avoiding his gaze at first before holding up his hand, showing his palm. “Your blood. I took that and the deal was sealed.”

“What? Just my blood? Just like that? I thought demons ate souls or whatever.”

“We don’t eat them they’re just like the big bucks when it comes to making deals.”

Steve raised a brow. “And blood is like...?”

Eddie’s lips pursed as he searched for the proper analogy. “Nickels and dimes?”

“So I gave you chump change for all this?”

“Prrrretty much.”

“Sounds like you got cheated.”

“Hey, I’m flexible”, Eddie said, leaning in to the table. “If you wanted to slip a few drops my way, I wouldn’t complain.”

“....Okay.”

Eddie choked on his food and hacked it up in a cough. “Pardon?”

“I said okay”, Steve repeated.

“Steve, you don’t...you don’t owe me anything.”

“Then think of it as a tip. I had this part time job once and it made me realize how shitty my parents were to never tip. Just let me know when you get like, thirsty or whatever.”

Eddie looked at the veins on the back of Steve’s hand as he held the burger. He could track it up his forearm, then spent longer than was polite looking at his neck, then at his face and realized Steve was waiting for a reply. 

“Yeah, for sure, roger that. Hey! We can’t keep those critters waiting forever, let’s get a move on!”

He had to get them to the next moment, to the next scene, change the subject. If he thought too long about it he started to have dangerous ideas. Whatever path Steve chose, it would always lead to the same thing - leaving him. Eddie could have fun and enjoy this little dalliance. But he knew he would be in trouble if it ever became anything more than that.

So he donned his jester’s hat/tour guide cap as he led Steve into the Bird House.

Part 4

Yall didn’t really think I was gonna let Steve become a cop did ya?

Tag Team

@michael-the-angelo @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @lololol-1234 @chaoticvictorianspirit @giopandaonice @marklee-blackmore @blackpanzy @kacatshi 

@stevesbipanic @goodolefashionedloverboi @panicatthediaz @gregre369 @littlewildflowerkitten @starryeyedpoet17 @sugartin @envyadams-vs-me @crying-trashcan @abbiecadabi-blog

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #3 parts in and i think i know where im going with this now #so huzzah!

[slafkovskys]

𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 ❈ 𝔥𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔰 𝔵 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩

summary: in which it all comes crashing down

word count: 2.2k

warning(s): angst, language

↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝ ↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝ ↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝ ↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝↜ ↝ ↜ ↝↜ ↝↜

she runs because it’s easier than facing the reality of the situation.

she’s supposed to be on a plane with her friends, sipping champagne and giggling over stupid gossip for six hours until they touch down in cabo. she’s supposed to be spending the last spring break of her college career partying and not thinking about her future. she’s supposed to be one too many margaritas deep, giggling over the cute boys her friends were talking about hooking up with because they would never have to see them again. she’s supposed to be having fun.

instead, she’s sitting on the dock, sock-covered feet hovering over water that was damn near frozen, the exact opposite of the mexican beaches and warm waves she was supposed to be pushing through right now.

no, she’s trapped in the tail end of a michigan winter, wondering what her own boys would think of her as soon as she broke the news to them. did she even reserve the right to call them hers anymore? the thought had plagued her from the second she had found out.

she had isolated herself at the lake house, cutting off all communication from the outside world. well, except for the neighbor’s golden retriever who had very excitedly trotted over and licked at her palm on the walk that she had forced herself to take earlier in the day. she even mustered up a little grin for him which she swore that he returned. if she never saw that dog again, if these were her last days in this neighborhood, she would remember that phantom smile.

her phone had been off since she had arrived the morning before. it was the easiest thing, she figured, disappearing and not having to explain anything to anybody for a few more days while she tried to figure out if there was anything to explain. she knew people would notice.

her parents absolutely would when she didn’t send any pictures from her trip.

the three boys who immediately filed for a leave of absence from their respective teams once yasmin had called them, letting them know she had gone off the grid and not even her roommate knew where she had gone, absolutely did. of course, she wasn’t aware that their sudden departure had made league headlines and the rumor mill was swirling with thoughts of what could have caused all three hughes brothers to leave at the same time.

truthfully, she wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of a car coming down the driveway. she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the boys heard of what she had done and sent someone to come and look for her when their messages continued to go unanswered. she is surprised, though, to see jack come tearing through the back door, freezing on the patio before shouting, “she’s out here!”

her eyes go wide as he makes his way down the hill towards her, luke and quinn hot on his trail. she blinks slowly, “you- you’ve got a game right now.”

“and you tell your friends that you’ve changed your mind about the trip you’ve all had planned since last year, go missing, and stop answering your phone,” quinn scoffs, “sorry that we prioritized.”

“you- you gotta go. i didn’t mean for all of you to come here,” she mumbles, avoiding their eyes. the gazes that they were sending weren’t harsh or judgemental, only concerned. she swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed her hair away from her face, “i just wanted to be alone for a few days, i promise.”

“you’re lying,” luke says and her stomach sinks. she shakes her head and he narrows his eyes at her, “look at us when you say that nothing is wrong, then.”

“nothing is wrong-”

“that’s the fire pit,” he cuts her off and her shoulders slump, defeated.

“angel, please,” jack takes a step towards her, face falling as she takes a step away from him in response, “can you tell us what we did wrong so that we can fix it?”

she sighs, “you didn’t do anything wrong. it was me. i messed up.”

“how did you-” quinn stops when he sees her shiver. he quickly shrugs off his jacket and is relieved when he lets her wrap it around her body. the wrinkles in his forehead deepen when he feels how cold her skin was and he places a tentative hand on her arm, “how long have you been out here?”

“i don’t know what time it is,” she admits and he makes a face of realization because part of the reason they had raced to this spot was because her phone had been off for over twenty-four hours. she traces part of the dock that was missing a small piece of its wood with her foot, “i saw the sunset and then i kind of just got lost in my thoughts, i guess?”

“jesus-”

“you need to come inside before you get sick,” quinn ushers her up the dock and she allows herself to be tucked into his side. she hears the sound of the grass crunching behind them and she knows that the other two are close behind as he pulls her through the sliding doors. she sighs as the warmth of the house envelops her, tightening quinn’s coat around her body. “shit, we don’t have any food here-”

“i picked up a few things before i got here yesterday. didn’t want to leave,” she admits, taking a seat on the sofa. “you can make yourselves something if you’re hungry-”

“we’re not worried about us, angel. we’re worried about you. you were outside for hours in the cold without a jacket,” jack sighs, “luke, go find something warm for her-”

“i’m pregnant.”

the only sound in the room was the ridiculous clock everyone had begged jack not to buy, the kind that tick-tocked back and forth every single second. she counts 127 ticks before she even hears someone breathe, 18 ticks before someone clears their throat, and 32 more before someone laughs. she keeps her eyes on that clock.

“april fools isn’t for three more weeks, angel,” she can hear luke rubbing his hands on his pants, “seriously, what’s going on?”

“she’s not lying,” jack mutters, “when she lies, she scrunches her nose and can’t stop playing with her fingers. sure she’s not looking at us, but she’s not fucking lying.”

“angel?” quinn calls gently from beside her.

“look in my bag, there’s five of them,” pregnancy tests, she doesn’t have to say the words for them to already know what she means. she hears someone going through her bag and the sound of plastic rubbing against each other, “surprise.”

jack takes them from luke, then offers them to quinn who shakes his head only staring at the five tests that each reflect a single word. quinn clears his throat, “this is- this is why you wanted to come here?”

she sniffs, “i just wanted time to figure it out without having to explain it to anyone.”

“and did you? figure it out, i mean.”

“i cried yesterday and pretty much all of today. i mean, i’m twenty-two. i’m about to graduate from college. i don’t have any plans for after graduation lined up because i don’t know where i’m going to live because…” she trails off. the because of us doesn’t need to be uttered to be understood. for the last three years, she’d had a low-maintenance, on-campus job and an easy-to-work-around school schedule that made jetting from new jersey to vancouver to michigan almost too easy. little thought had been put into what would happen when she had neither of those things to rely on anymore. she pulls the coat tighter around her body once again, “not to mention there’s absolutely no way of knowing whose it is.”

“what do you mean?” her head snaps to jack who attempts to reword, “okay, like, i know what you mean, but how can you know that?”

“the last time that i got my period was right before all-star weekend, the last time i was with all of you within, like, four days. that was, what? six weeks ago? if i haven’t gotten my period since then and i’ve slept with all of you then and all of you after,” she frowns, “there’s no way that i can say, ‘hey jack, this is absolutely, 100% your baby that i’m carrying right now. what do you want to do about it?’”

“what do you want to do about it?” quinn questions.

she turns her attention back to the clock, “i haven’t had time to think. i know that we all talked about our future and what that might look like, but not here. not now. we talked about so many years down the line when we can all be in the same place and have some kind of stability. that’s just not realistic right now.”

“i’m- i won’t lie to you and say that i expected this,” quinn admits, “i feel like you all look to me to have answers for everything, but i don’t for this. i want you to know, though, that whatever you want to do, whatever decision you want to make, i want to be there with you. i support you.”

“me too, but,” jack says and she and quinn both turn to look at the middle hughes, “do we really have to know?”

“what are you asking, jack?”

“i guess what i'm trying to say is, why would we have to find out whose it is?” he clarifies with a shrug of his shoulders, “realistically, we all knew that this would happen at some point, right? and it’s not like we haven’t talked about it before and now she’s- we have a baby. there’s not a single thing inside of me right now that’s going ‘well, what if it isn’t mine?’ my girlfriend, someone that i know that i want to spend the rest of my life with, is pregnant and she’s scared. the only thing that i’m thinking about is protecting her, protecting them. let them know they’re loved and supported right now.”

“i feel the same way,” quinn (who was a few months shy of 28, the leader of a playoff-bound team for the third year in a row now, and had allowed the whispers and wonderings of when he would ever settle down chase after him like a shadow for just as many years) contributes, followed by a lighthearted chuckle, “and i’m not getting any younger. sure there are things that we would have to work out if that’s the route that we decide to take, but i’m here. we’re here, angel.”

it was at that moment that all eyes drifted to the youngest hughes, who ever since he had pulled the tests from her bag, hadn’t let his eyes leave them as if willing them to change. once he notices the silence that had swept over the room, his eyes flick up to find all of the attention on him. he parts his lips, “i-”

“luke?” she whispers, voice shaky. she swallows the lump in her throat, “how do you feel?”

it wasn’t the first time in the nearly three years that they had been doing this that she had asked him that question, but this was the time that held the most weight. she can see the wheels turning in his head, obviously trying to find the right words before he opens his mouth again, “i don’t think that i’m ready for a kid.”

her shoulders fall and she hears someone, she can’t decipher if it was quinn or jack, take a sharp breath from beside her.

“like, this was just supposed to be for fun. we haven’t seriously talked about any of this-”

“fun?” quinn narrows his eyes, “we’ve been ring shopping, luke, all three of us! we had an entire conversation over the break about her changing her name when that time came. that was your fucking idea if i remember correctly-”

“i was drinking!” he insists, rubbing a hand over his face, “this- i’m not ready for any of this.”

“okay,” she stares at the boy to whom she had first uttered the words ‘i love you,’ the one to whom she had given all of herself first, and nods her head, “if that’s what you want.”

“y/n-” and he hadn’t called her by her real name in years.

“leave,” she says, watching as his face changes to one of disbelief and her eyes narrow, “i’m not going to beg you to stay if you don’t want to be here. you want out? i’m giving you the out. please go.”

and she watches as he pushes himself out of the chair and walks out of the door. it doesn’t feel real until she hears a car door slam and the sound of gravel turning under the weight of wheels, headlights retreating from the window as he leaves her, leaves them behind.

and then, just like that, there were three.

the aftermath

#hughes bros x angel #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes imagine #luke hughes imagine #jack hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #my work

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

In the Background - Chapter 4.5

Summary: You’ve been dating Natasha in secret since her early days in SHIELD, and you’ve been in the background of all her missions since.

Word Count: 5047

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: canon events (violence/death), occassional swearing.

A/N: I'll be focusing on a couple of other WIPs now this is done but then it's back to work on Chapter 5; feel free to send comments/questions about the series and I'll answer any I can 😌

Series Masterlist

Previous Part

—:::——::-————>◇<—————::——:::—

If only the Avengers didn't cause so much destruction, your life would be so much easier. You'd been staring at the screen for hours now, tracing leads, conducting damage assessments, and handling the repair efforts as best you could, so when Natasha called and you answered within the first ring? You'll blame that on your dull work life, definitely not just your eagerness to speak with the assassin.

It was only after answering the call that you thought to check the time - 10pm, just as you would usually begin to wind down for the night. You smiled, for someone who lived such a turbulent life, Natasha managed to maintain a remarkable consistency; she always tried to call at that time, no matter where she was in the world, to keep you company with late night talks and to wish a goodnight.

As soon as she greeted you tonight though, you knew you were in for something different.

“Y/L/N.”

“Romanoff.” It was a warning, of course, a system you'd agreed upon to protect your secret if others were around. Sure enough, when her camera flicked on, you were greeted to the sight of the Avengers milling around her.

“We have company,” she told you somewhat redundantly, as you were shown the visitors sitting around the Barton family's kitchen table, with Nick Fury standing at the head of it all.

“Evening, Director,” you said.

“Did you know too?” Tony scoffed, “he’s got both of you?”

“Just Maria,” Fury corrected, “but why put in the effort to hide it from Y/L/N?”

“Does anyone actually know my first name?”

“No.”

“We’ve got a lead on Ultron.”

“You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” the man scoffed, almost in disbelief that you'd asked such a question. “Hill’s helping me out, and I'm bringing Banner back too. As for you… Steve, Clint, and Natasha are off to Seoul. You wanna help your old team?” Fury smirked with an eyebrow raised; he knew your answer before you could give it, so you played into it by pausing and humming as if considering your options.

“I suppose I can help out,” you said at last, earning an eye roll from Natasha in the background, “I'm sure they really need me.”

Natasha came to the forefront of the image again and grabbed her phone back. “That's enough of that,” she said; you raised your eyebrows and smirked at her tone. You saw Clint react the same, though he tried to hide it.

“Go to bed, Y/N. We'll call in when we need you.” She hung up before you could comment on her use of your first name.

—:::——::-————>◇<—————::——:::—

“We have to be careful. If Ultron is here, he's not gonna like that we're here too. So stay hidden, stay vigilant, and I'll be right back.”

The suit cams were deactivated for this mission – something about Ultron picking up on the transmission frequencies, you weren't sure; all you did know is that it made your job harder. 

“Two minutes; stay close.” You assumed that they'd dropped Steve off.

Despite your statements the night before, you really weren't needed on the mission: Steve took mission lead, Natasha controlled tracking, and Clint flew the jet with no hesitations, all you were there for was backup, lest something go wrong.

Perhaps you thought too hard about that last point, jinxing the team with your belief that it would all run smoothly, but the plan collapsed almost instantly. Steve didn't direct his message to your group specifically, but looped you all into his conversation with Dr Cho.

Ultron knew they were there, he'd injured Cho, he had two superpowered twenty-somethings on his team, and he'd created a weapon beyond capabilities, something indestructible. Or, at least, he was in the process of making it; you still had a chance to stop its creation… silver linings.

“I've called for medical,” you said. That left Steve free to focus on the fight at hand, taking instruction from Natasha and Clint on where to find the metal man.

Clint, the eye in the sky, lived up to his codename by spotting it first: “There. It's a truck from the lab.” Steve clambered up and across the roads without hesitation, before a blast to the truck door almost blew him into moving traffic – at least it confirmed that Ultron could be found inside.

“Well, he's definitely unhappy. I'm going to try to keep him that way.”

“You're not a match for him, Cap.”

“Thanks, Barton.”

With Steve in the fray, you had to take command once again; your position away from the fight gave you the best overview with which to form a plan, and access to all angles of sight.

You only saw one way forward: “Natasha, you need to get into the fight. Steve can't get the cradle like this, so make the most of the distraction he's providing.

“Never thought I'd see you giving me orders.”

You didn't need cameras to picture the smirk on her face, you just knew it was there in the same way you knew that, despite her talk back, she would be following your instructions.

“A real role swap, I know,” you deadpanned, “now get on your bike.”

Was it essential for Natasha to ship her motorbike with her to every destination? No. Had you questioned her on it countless times? Yes. Did it occasionally come in useful? Unfortunately yes, but that was an answer that you would never admit to her face.

“We've got a window!” Clint took over, flying low to the ground so that Natasha could disembark, “Four, three…give ‘em hell.”

From then on, you could only do so much to keep track of all the agents, so Clint took charge of directions, watching from above to keep Natasha on the right track, while you monitored the truck's ever changing location. The roles eventually aligned as Natasha came up alongside the truck, throwing Steve's shield up to restore his upper hand in the fight.

Ultron could fight a battle on two fronts though; after being knocked down by Cap, he pulled a chunk of tarmac out of the road to keep Natasha away. 

“Since when could he do that?” you asked into the comms.

Natasha was tenacious, a fact Ultron soon found out, and a clump of dirt didn't deter her. She neared the vehicle again, just for the enemy's robotic lackeys to fire at her this time.

“Clint, can you draw out the guards?” she suggested.

“Let's find out.”

Firing at the robotic man did just that, and soon the Quinjet weaved through the sky, trying to shake off various bodies on Ultron, which left Natasha free for her retrieval.

“Natasha, the Ultrons are on you now,” you warned. They hadn't seemed to see her in the truck, but latched onto the sides.

“Okay, the package is airborne,” came Clint's next comment, as the robots carried the truck away from reach. That didn't matter though, as Natasha was still inside and by the sounds of it, knew just what to do. You'd lost sight of them, so focused your attention on Steve's fight with the main Ultron body…or at least, as much as you could see.

The train cameras were non-operational and soon enough, the whole train was too.

“I lost him; he's headed your way,” Steve yelled. With the fight in the air, he couldn't follow, but he also had bigger problems: a runaway train, with the driver hit and the controls fried.

“The train's at the end of the line, I can't stop it from here.”

“Nat!”

“There are no controls; I need to get civilians out of the way.”

“Cap, you seen Nat?”

“If you have the package, get it to Stark! Go!” Steve said, momentarily distracted as he answered Clint's request.

“Clint, what's happened to Nat?” you shouted, quickly leaving Steve to his own problem – this was a higher priority to you.

“Do you have eyes on Nat?”

“Go!”

You scan everything you can get your hands on, desperate for a sight of your girlfriend; but they had been too high up, too far to be covered in any camera footage. She may as well have disappeared.

“Clint,” you said urgently, cutting Steve out of the communications for the moment, “what happened to Natasha?”

“Ultron got her. I don't know, she was with the cradle and then he flew past and she's not there.”

“She didn't fall, so he's got her.”

“I can't look for her here.”

“I know. Just get back.”

“I'm sorry. We'll find her, Y/N”

“We better. And I don't care if he's vibranium, I'm gonna kill Ultron with my own two hands next time we see him.”

The train sat stationary and steaming by the time your focus returned to it. Steve stood out among the crowd, and you realised he had the Maximoff twins by his side.

“The press will be on the scene any minute. I've sent ambulances and Damage Control. Steve, Stark has a jet at Incheon, get there and get back ASAP,” you mumbled the instructions to him then hung up, once again leaving him to fend for himself.

You threw your headset down with a scream, and stormed to where the other Avengers had settled. 

Anger rarely got the best of you after missions were over, but that's because even after the worst incidents, Natasha would be there to keep you sane, and talk it through. Now she was gone, and you had no leads to getting her back.

“Where's Fury?” you demanded, seeing only Bruce and Tony in the room.

“Off on his own little mission, he picked Maria up and left. Do you know what it is? Because that man is always-”

“Natasha is missing.” You don't care that you interrupted Tony, and you don't care that there's probably better ways to break the news. Ultron had killed and hurt and targeted people the Avengers were close to; finding Natasha was urgent.

Bruce broke out of the stupor first. “What?”

“Natasha is missing. And if anyone could find her, it would be Fury, but since he's missing-”

“I'll set up nets, have one of my AIs tracking the internet for any signs of her. If she's out there, we'll find her.”

You nodded, and relaxed your body temporarily when you realised how stressed you looked. “I'm gonna keep looking,” you mumbled, “Clint's on his way back with the body Ultron was building – find a way to dismantle it safely when he arrives.”

Neither man spoke as you vacated the room and headed to the floor below. After SHIELD fell, the room has been converted into storage for some of their old tech, ranging from their founding in the 40s up until the internet age took prominence. There was nothing you could find on the internet that Stark's tech couldn't do faster, so you resorted to old fashioned methods: radio waves, faint signals, and contacting agents across the globe. One way or another, Natasha would be found.

Ultron was different to any enemy you'd faced before, he had no fixed body, he couldn't die, and he had more knowledge than even an espionage agent ever could. But his sentience, the humanity he tried to destroy… you noticed that, and that would be his downfall; Ultron theoretically could have been unstoppable, but he was a show-off, he craved attention, and because of that, he didn't always make the most logical moves. He hadn't dismantled JARVIS, he'd made a mess of the system and bragged about it; he'd killed Strucker and sent a message, even if that was the clue to finding him. If he'd killed Natasha, or hurt her in any way, he'd be boasting of it for attention – so you knew she was alive, and that hope kept you searching. The best spy alive was still alive, and she'd find a way to send you a signal.

—:::——::-————>◇<—————::——:::—

“I've never seen Y/N as stressed as this, nor you.”

You'd seen Clint's return and gone upstairs to greet him; you knew he would be as stressed as you in the situation. But when the conversation you found was focused on you and Natasha, you felt the sudden urge to hide and listen in.

“Y/N and Nat were recruited at the same time, to the same cohort. They’ve been friends for 7 years, longer than I've even been working with Natasha, so what can you expect? Natasha's been through a lot; a lot of injuries, scares, and dangerous missions, but nothing like this. We've always had tabs on her.”

“Guess now you know how Widow felt about you back in 2012.”

“Not the time Tony.”

“Anything on Nat?” Bruce asked Tony, having the sense to change the conversation somewhat.

“I haven't heard, but she's alive or else Ultron would be rubbing our faces in it.”

Clint then changed the topic completely, returning attention to the cradle he'd brought in.

“We're going to need to access the program, break it down from within.”

“Any chance Natasha might leave you a message, outside the internet? Old-school spy stuff?”

You thought Tony was just trying to make Clint feel useful while he and Bruce worked, and you appreciated his efforts. It also meant you had to rush back downstairs and continue to fiddle around as if you hadn't just been eavesdropping.

The archer hurried down the stairs. You saw him pause at the sight of you, before he approached more slowly.

“I am sorry, I know it's not your fault,” you began, though you didn't dare look up at him, “are you doing okay? She's your best friend too.”

“She was right there. Maybe I could've…”

“Neither of us could have done anything. She was falling through the air; that's not territory we can help in.”

“We'll find her though,” Clint repeated. You knew it was to convince himself. You nodded, then returned to your work – this time with an old friend by your side.

Minutes later, static buzzed through the radio, with vibrations echoing on the screen. You looked at each other, open mouthed, then hurried to take notes.

“Morse?”

Clint nodded, then smirked as he held the headset to his ear. He listened and typed quickly, pulling up a satellite image of a Sokovian castle.

“Coordinates. God she's smart. Come on, let's go tell them.”

Clint called to you, but your attention had diverted. You caught his eye then looked back up at the glass ceiling, pointing overhead to where one of the Maximoff twins stood, an unplugged cord in his hand.

Clint growled and grabbed his gun to shoot up and shatter the glass on which Pietro stood, causing the twin to come clattering down. The spy wasted no time in pinning him down. “What? You didn't see that coming?”

The broken glass made the blasts, punches, and threats from above even more audible. You pulled Pietro to his feet but held him back, nodding for Clint to leave the two of you and try to break it up.

You watched the scene unfold and get more and more aggressive. Pietro struggled in your hold when he saw Bruce grab his sister, and you were tempted to let him loose until she freed herself and sent the scientist flying backwards. Once the cradle was activated, and the red body of Ultron's creation flew out of it and into Thor, you saw no point holding the speedster back.

“Go check on your sister,” you muttered, and slowly ran after the blur into the common room.

The creation – the synthesoid – had calmed down by your arrival, and the team reached an uneasy truce to keep him, knowing there was no other hope to stop Ultron.

“Three minutes,” Steve eventually announced, “get what you need.”

You stood still for a moment. While the others dispersed to their lockers and equipment, you had no similar place to go – you weren't called in for last minute missions like the main Avengers were, so everything you needed, you kept in your room. You wouldn't have time for that on this mission, so you decided Natasha's locker would have to do.

“Come on,” you called to the twins who, like you, had been standing around without much direction. “Tony's undershirts might fit you,” you said to Pietro, sizing him up as you unlocked the cubicle, “and use Nat’s clothes if your sister needs.” The sister in question – Wanda – drifted behind the two of you; her focus not on you, but on the conversation happening between Thor and the synthesoid outside.

You grabbed the clothes and weapons you needed from Natasha’s locker, then left the twins to it.

“Ultron knows we're coming,” Steve told the team on the jet, forming the plan before you get there, “odds are, we'll be riding into heavy fire. And that's what we signed up for, but the people of Sokovia, they didn't. So our priority is getting them out. All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that's not going to happen today, but we can do our best to protect them, and we can get the job done.”

Tony would be the one to fight Ultron head on, Thor to investigate the robots plans, and Bruce to rescue Natasha. You tried to step in and volunteer yourself, but Clint held you back, subtly shaking his head.

“Bruce can get her out,” he whispered to you, “you'll do a better job getting civilians out than him, and it'll keep your secret a secret.”

You grumbled, but agreed, and eventually conceded to his case. So when the jet landed and Thor and Bruce headed toward the fortress the Avengers had fought so hard to infiltrate just a week before, you turned and ran the other way, into the main city of Novi Grad.

No work you did could be as effective as the twins; the pair evacuated buildings in mere minutes and knew their hometown well enough to know exactly which places to target. Meanwhile, you hurried the streets with Clint, helping anyone struggling with the evacuation process.

Almost everyone had vacated their homes, most on their way to Sokovia’s neighbouring villages, when Ultron's plan truly started. The ground rumbled, and the streets and buildings soon began to ascent into the sky. Orderly evacuation descended into chaos as civilians clamoured to jump down to solid ground while they still could – a window that only lasted seconds before the remaining civilians, and all the Avengers, became stranded on the floating rock.

“Bruce, did you find Natasha?” you heard Clint shout. Steve and Tony debated their changing plans in your ear, so if Bruce ever gave a reply, you didn't hear it.

Regardless, your attention couldn't linger on it for long, as a floating island wasn't enough for Ultron, he had to send hundreds of his identical lackeys into the fray as well. 

“The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed, walk it off.”

A mission was a mission, and you took to it well – even if you couldn't get the civilians to safety, you could protect them where they were. They began to congregate, and you moved with them, shooting, stabbing, and kicking the decoys whenever they got near, while herding the civilians towards shelter. It wasn't the most effective, but you were no superhero.

That remained your role, even as a certain redhead on the field caught your attention.

“Natasha!” you yelled.

She looked over and grinned when she saw you – a smile that was soon wiped off her face when an Ultron rocketed into you. You tussled with it, but it was Natasha who eventually pulled it off of you, shooting it in the head before you decapitated it for good measure.

She smiled again, then offered a hand to pull you to your feet.

“Why weren't you answering your comms, hmm? I was worried about you! I didn't know if Bruce got you out okay!”

“Oh, I don't know, baby, maybe because a psychotic robot took me captive and took away my means of communication?”

“Not those ones, Bruce's spare set! He was meant to give them to you.”

A robot came to end your reunion, but Natasha had it dead in seconds. “He didn't, but I pushed him into the crater so I can't really blame him-”

“You did what? Natasha you know you can't be doing that.”

“He wanted to run and I needed to get to you,” she smirked, with all the confidence of someone who knew they'd gotten away with it. “What else is a girl supposed to do?”

You sighed, then took her hand. “Just put this in. I had a spare set too.”

“We are not clear! We are very not clear!” Steve's voice echoed as she put it in, proving that it did in fact work.

“Now go be a hero,” you nodded, “I've got this.”

She squeezed your hand tightly before she ran to what used to be the bridge, where Steve and Thor had set up their operations.

You watched her go while completing your own job of keeping the civilians safe. The robots had dispersed, but you were still fighting a few when, minutes later, Nick Fury appeared on the comms. 

“Glad you like the view, Romanoff. It's about to get better.”

Even from where you stood in the city, the helicarrier dominated the skyline and filled you with hope.

“Let's load ‘em up,” Steve commanded, and you didn't have to be told twice.

You beckoned to the crowd of people you had been protecting, and the stragglers who slowly emerged from their own hiding places as the hope of safety, and led them towards the ship. Natasha was by your side again, allowing you to direct the civilians without taking on several robots alone at once.

Countless ferries to the helicarrier later, and streams of civilians still emerged from the maze of crumbling apartment blocks. Ultron wouldn't let the team have that one victory, and Thor soon warned the heroes about an incoming attack on the vibranium core – an attack which would decimate the Earth and its population.

“Rhodey, get the rest of the people on board that carrier. Avengers, time to work for a living.”

Natasha grabbed your wrist as you signalled for more civilians to board the ferries, “are you coming?”

“Someone needs to stay and help them here,” you said with a shake of your head, “and Rhodey is dealing with enough in the sky. This is your mission, my love, so go finish it.”

She leant in, seemingly before she realised you were still surrounded by people, after which she veered to the side and pulled you into a tight hug instead.

“I'll see you afterwards, okay? Come back to me this time.”

“I promise.”

Then, once again, you stood and watched as Natasha ran into the fight. Screams and yells from the people surrounding you soon snapped you back to the present and you jumped onto duty. You called out to the civilians in your limited Sokovian, directing them in huddles from the cover of the police station onto the ferries, until they were in the ex-SHIELD team's capable hands.

“They're trying to leave the city,” Thor noticed, and sure enough, several silver bodies flew overhead, aiming to escape the Avengers' assault.

“I'm on it,” came Rhodey’s response, as he left you alone with the Sokovian authorities to protect the civilians boarding the ships. The civilian numbers were dwindling, as most had boarded already, and only the last stragglers were still arriving. Zips of blue occasionally crossed your sight, as Pietro scoured the city for any last boarders and deposited them by your side.

He eventually slowed down enough to talk, just as Clint and Natasha raced into the Square – where they had time to find and hijack a car, you'd never know.

“That's everyone,” Pietro panted, anyone not on the boats is here.

You nodded, looking around the square again. “We're almost done loading, you can probably-” you began, but rapid gunfire turned both of your heads like a shot.

“Natasha!” you yelled. The artillery had been aimed directly at her and the Hulk. The creature roared at the jet, bullets bouncing off of his skin, while Natasha was nowhere to be seen. As you ran towards her, it was only when you got close that you saw her body on the ground.

The world blurred around you as your only goal was to sprint forward, but even that failed. The Hulk picked her up, her body cradled gently in his arms, then leapt. 

You turned back; he had jumped towards the helicarrier, but another sight caught your eye. A few bodies lay strewn in the street, victims of Ultron's final push, but Steve and Clint knelt still beside one of them. You traipsed back, seeing no point in rushing when the day had already taken so much. 

Agents and guards rushed off the boats, running all around you to collect the bodies of their friends and colleagues. You continued forward. Steve looked up and met your eye, and you finally noticed the limp body in his arms. Clint returned the child to his mother, and Steve brought the final body – Pietro's – on board. You sat with the Captain in silence as the boat began to ascend.

“He was supposed to get Wanda,” you said at last, the realisation hitting you that she was still in the floating city. “Has anyone got Wanda?”

There was no time for anyone to respond because, just as your ship docked, the whole city began to fall.

“Thor, on my mark,” Tony said, and you watched as the city began to crumble into pieces.

Steve put his hand on your shoulder, bearing a defeated look as he guided you into the main body of the helicarrier. Your mood was sour, but the sight that greeted you inside finally began to change it for the better.

“Natasha!” you breathed, running forward as a grin spread across her face. You grabbed her and held her at an arm's length to assess her for injuries, but found nothing severe. “You're okay? You're alright?”

“I’m alright. I promised you I'd come back to you just fine.”

“Well that was before-”

“The Vision has got Wanda,” Steve interrupted, “I'm going to go up and tell her about… you know, but are we agreed on bringing her back with us?”

“She's got powers that she'll need training to control, I doubt the government will let her do anything else but come with us.”

“Don't bring that part up just yet though,” you added, “she's dealing with enough.”

He nodded, then left the two of you alone again. “So, The Vision…is that the red guy?” Natasha asked quickly. The two of you began to walk towards the control boards.

“Oh yeah! I suppose you were never properly introduced. Thor had a ‘vision’, and it was powerful enough to make him take Tony's side.”

“Wow, Asgardian visions must be something else.”

“You're telling me.”

“Y/L/N!” Fury called. You and Natasha stopped in your tracks to look over at him; he raised an eyebrow and impatiently beckoned you closer. 

“I need a word with Y/N. Alone.” The Director warned when Natasha followed you over, “we have your big green friend on call, see if you can get through to him while we talk.”

Natasha’s first reaction was to check with you, but you met her eye and nodded, giving her the reassurance that you could deal with Fury alone.

You watched alongside Fury as your girlfriend rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, before the man finally turned to you with a glint in his eye.

“I have some news for you, if you're interested in hearing it-”

—:::——::-————>◇<—————::——:::—

“Your suit’s not on properly.”

“What? Yes it is, I can dress myself just fine, Nat.”

“Your belt is supposed to be tucked into your left belt loop, not the right.”

You looked down and, sure enough, your belt was wrapped anti-clockwise around your waist instead of clockwise. You then looked back up at your girlfriend, a tired look of disbelief on your face that that was the detail she decided to pick up on.

“Literally no-one is gonna notice that.”

“I did.”

“You're a special case.”

“Awww, you think I'm special,” she cooed sarcastically, before deftly undoing a redoing your belt. “There. You're all set.”

“Who'd have thought this is where we'd be 7 years ago, huh?”

You stepped out of your room, Natasha following right behind you, and headed toward the giant halls of the new Avengers Facility.

“I definitely didn't, you were shit when we met.”

“I'd argue but I always admitted that was true. And now here we both are, leading teams while we're still in our 20s… except, oh wait, oh you're old, I forgot.”

“You're so funny,” Natasha deadpanned, giving a sarcastic grin in response to your smug look.

“Fury wants to meet me here,” she then said, stopping you both at the intersection between your destination and a dead-end viewing platform. She took your hands in hers and traced your knuckles with her thumbs, “I am proud of you, you know that? You've achieved so much, and you're going to do brilliantly today. Good luck, my love.”

“Good luck to you too, baby.” You learnt in, kissing her quickly before you drifted apart, spitting towards your opposite destinations. “No pressure,” you called after her, “but the future of Earth's defence is in your hands!”

She flipped you off, while you turned and continued to walk down the endless maze of corridors until you bumped into Steve.

“Morning, Captain,”

“Y/N. Are you off to training?”

“Sure am.”

“I still don't suppose I can convince you to join me and Nat?”

You shook your head apologetically. “A team of superheroes and superpowers isn't really where I should be. The cameras and publicity and media scrutiny, it's not for me. But I've got my place and I've got my new recruits to train, so when you need us, we'll be there to support you in the background of it all.”

—:::——::-————>◇<—————::——:::—

Series Taglist: @fairychev @catswag22 @sapphosclosefriend @romanoffsgal @taliiiaasteria @saraaahsstuff @blacklightsposts @automaticdinosaurtaco @dyslexic-dreamer

General Taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #ikan in the background #ikan writes #marvel #mcu

[vanfleeter]

Coffee Cup Apologies

Characters: Jake x Fem!reader Warnings: 18+. Angst. Anger. Language. Heated argument. Yelling. Alcohol consumption. Jealousy. Embarrassment. Tears. Apologies. Smut. Allusions to sex. Fluff. Kissing. Happiness. Author's Note: I probably missed some grammar mistakes, my apologies. Also if I missed something on the warnings list, please let me know so I can add it!

Valentines Masterlist

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Jake for a few weeks since the horrible goodbye a few weeks ago before the band departed for Europe. What was supposed to be a happy goodbye full of hugs ended with a sour argument over failed confessions. He tried to confess to you his feelings but instead jealousy overpowered when he saw you with another guy. A guy who you kept claiming was just a friend but he refused to believe you. So instead of an intimate, private moment that he hoped to have with you, it turned into a very public conversation.

“Where’s Y/N at?” Jake asks as he pours himself a drink. “I was really hoping to see her before we left.”

“I told you she’s coming,” Josh says as he pops the cork on another bottle of champagne. “She’s running late though. Got out of work later than she planned, but I promise you she’s coming.”

“When she does, can you let me know? I really want to talk to her.”

“Are you finally going to tell her?”

Jake nods his head, his cheeks flushing red and his chest running warm. “I know now wouldn’t be a great time, considering we’re leaving tomorrow for a month-long tour in Europe but I know it can’t wait.”

Josh smiles and lays his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you for finally doing it. You’ve been pining after her for nearly a year and if I’m being honest, it’s painful to watch.”

“Shut the fuck up..” Jake says as he playfully shoves Josh to the side. He chuckles and shakes his head. “There have been multiple instances where I’ve wanted to tell her but I couldn’t.. I chickened out every time.”

“Well tonight is not the night,” Josh says. “I believe you’ll be just fine. This isn’t like being on stage in front of thousands of people.. This is just Y/N.”

–

Thirty minutes drag by and Jake has downed four glasses of champagne. Normally this wouldn’t be affecting him but tonight he’s feeling it all. The nerves and the alcohol mixing in his bloodstream make him a little tipsy.

Josh appears again in the kitchen. “Y/N just got here.”

“Perfect..” Jake responds as he grabs another empty glass and fills it with champagne.

“But wait, Jake, you gotta know something before you go out-”

“Josh, please. I’ve been swimming in alcohol and my nervous system all night.” He says as he steps around Josh. “If I don’t do this now, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Yeah but Jake, she didn’t–” But Jake is already slipping out of the kitchen. “--come alone..” Josh sighs and finishes off his drink.

Maneuvering through the milling people in the hallway, he spots Y/N talking with Sam. But she isn’t alone. He stops midway through the hall, his shoulders dropping as he lowers the two drinks to his sides. She’s introducing a guy to Sam. He’s not close enough so he can’t hear but his eyesight works.

The mystery man she brought has his hand resting on her hip as he shakes Sam’s hand. Sam’s smile looks forced, almost as if he feels awkward.

Not as awkward as Jake though.

Already feeling stupid, Jake retreats back through the crowd and into the kitchen. He sets the glasses on the counter and leans against the granite top on the palms of his hands.

Did he wait too long?

Maybe he should’ve just done it sooner. Even if he did make a fool of himself.

He sure feels like one now.

Reaching across the counter, he swipes the bottle of whiskey and takes a long drink from it. His body tenses with the bottle still pressed to his lips when he hears her voice.

“Look I know I’m late, but don’t start the real party without me.”

He pulls the bottle away from his lips, unable to turn around to face her. She steps to the side to stand next to him and pulls the bottle from his hand.

“I’ve been looking for you.” She says as she takes a drink herself.

“Mmm, well you found me.” He takes the bottle back and takes another drink. “I see you brought someone with you.”

“Yeah! Mark!”

“Mark.. Yeah I know who he is..” He seethes. “Why’d you bring him?”

Her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Umm.. Josh said to bring friends along and Mark and I were working late on a project so I invited him to come with me.. Are you okay with that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Jake.. He’s just a friend.”

“Mmhmm, right.. Because friends put their hands on your hips..”

“Jake, what’s gotten into you?”

“Lots and lots of alcohol baby..” He says before taking another drink of the whiskey. “Better get back to your man, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

“He is not my man, Jacob. I told you that he’s just a friend.”

“And like I said, friends don’t hold your hips like that.”

“You do.” She retorts as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Yeah well I’m different,” He says, jabbing his index finger into his chest.

“Oh so, he can’t touch me like that but you can? What gives you that right?”

“Because I’m in love with you!” He shouts, not knowing the music lulled in between songs.

He looks around, noticing that the whole fucking house just heard him confess his feelings for her. Josh steps out from the sea of people, his eyes glancing back and forth between him and Y/N.

“Oh no..” He mutters.

Jake sets the whiskey bottle on the counter top, his cheeks fully flushed. The heat of the embarrassment that he currently feels wells up in his eyes.

“Jake.. I..” She starts to say.

He steps away from the counter and straightens himself out. “I should go..” He starts to make his way through the crowd of people once more and throws on his shades.

“Jake, wait!” He hears calling behind him. She grabs hold of his arm. “Can we go somewhere in private to talk about this?”

“No..”

“Jake..”

“I said no..” He rips his arm out from her grip. “Just go back to Mark.. I’m sure his daddy’s money will be enough for you..”

“Jacob.. Stop it. You’re being rude.”

“Rude? Me?” He scoffs. “Says the woman who brought another man to my party!”

“For clarification, this party is for the band, not just you.”

“Well,” Jake scoffs again. “For clarification, the band is mine. Therefore this party is mine too! And he,” He jabs a finger in Mark’s direction. “can leave..”

“Jacob, knock it off.”

“No, I don’t fucking want him here! I want him out of my house!”

“Fine, but he leaves, so do I!”

“Fine with me,” Jake says as he swings his arms in the air. “Let him take you home so he can fuck you.”

Now it’s her turn to feel embarrassed. He sees the tears fill her eyes as she glances around at all the eyes still watching them as if this were a drama show.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” She says in a low voice. “But you, Jacob, have stooped so fucking low.” She pushes back him and out the open front door with Mark hot on her heels.

Jake’s eyes land on Josh who only stares at him in disbelief. Turning in his heels, he storms upstairs and locks himself in his office.

–

You tried calling him before their plane left Nashville, bound for their layover in New York before the twelve or so hours flights to Paris. Anything to try to fix this thing–whatever it was that transpired the night before, but instead of answering your call, he ignored it and put his phone on airplane mode before shoving it into his bag.

Over the course of the next three weeks, you tried texting him at the hours you assumed he’d be awake, yet received no answer. Even your texts went unanswered.

You knew he was actively on his phone, seeing him posting random videos on his stories of Parisian architecture. Part of you was angry that he’d post videos, something he rarely does, instead of texting you back at the very least.

You wanted to work this out with him, regardless of what part of the world he was currently in.

—

Jake

—

He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. Pulling it out of his pocket, he sees a text from Y/N. The fifth one this week. Once she’s texted him, it’s almost like clockwork and he knows exactly when she’ll pop up again.

Opening the text thread, he sees all of the messages she’s sent that he’s never responded to, including today’s text.

“Is that her again?” Josh whispers beside him as they stand in front of a painting. Jake nods his head and puts his phone away. “Why don’t you at least talk to her?”

“No..”

“And why not? Afraid your ego might get bruised?”

Jake rolls his eyes and pulls his sunglasses from where they hang on his shirt and he places them over his eyes. “I’m going outside..”

Stepping out into the fresh air, he looks around the area. He wants to talk to her but at the same time, he doesn’t. He knows saying that he’s sorry won’t be enough.

Walking around the little block, not straying too far from the others, he glances up at the buildings around him. He knows she’d love it here. So he pulls out his phone and takes a video of the building in front of him. He has no clue what it is but he finds the styling of it incredible and he knows she will too.

Posting it to his story with a song attached to it, one he knows she’ll recognize, he closes his phone and goes back to rejoin the others.

It wasn’t until a couple days after the band arrived back home in Nashville that he finally got off his high horse.

—

You were tucked inside a booth at your favorite coffee shop one weekday morning, sipping on the remaining bit of your coffee. The bells chimed indicating a new person’s arrival but you paid no mind to it while you flipped a page in your book.

A presence loomed over you a few minutes later. A single coffee cup is placed in front of you. You look at it and find the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on the side of it. Your heart sinks. Your eyes are unmoving, not willing to look up at the person who’s standing there.

Another cup is placed down in front of you. ‘I was a jerk’.

At least he admits it.

You force yourself to look up. Jake stands there, a solemn look on his face. For once he isn’t wearing his sunglasses indoors, so you can see how his eyes really look. Sorrowful and gloomy.

Putting your book down, you motion for him to sit down. He slides into the booth across from you with a third cup of coffee. You point to it, expecting him to have something written on it. He shakes his head as he gives you a half smile. He pulls the cup closer to him, keeping his fingers intertwined tightly around it.

“I really am sorry..” He finally speaks. “I should’ve controlled myself better than I did.. I embarrassed you…and myself..” He swallows before continuing. “I also understand after that whole incident that you don’t want to continue being friends, especially after how I treated you the last few weeks. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to be friends with myself either if I were in your shoes, so–”

“Jake,” You finally speak up, and cut him off. “I never want to stop being friends with you.” You say as you straighten up.

Jake solemnly shakes his head, his eyes casting down to the cup still being clutched within his hands. “I’m sorry.. I know I should’ve.. I just guess all of the jealousy clouded my own judgment that all I cared about was how I felt.”

“Jake.. Can we… Can we start over?” You say, casting your eyes down to the table top.

He reaches a hand over and places it on yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Of course we can..”

You lift your eyes and he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile and he chuckles.

“So what’s on that cup?” You ask, changing the subject back to the cup that he still clutches in his other hand.

“Oh uh..” He clears his throat. “It’s n-nothing..” He stammers as he pulls the cup closer to his chest.

You arch an eyebrow. You wave your hand in his direction for him to hand over the cup and he vigorously shakes his head.

“Jake..”

“Y/N..”

“What’d you write?”

“I said nothing..”

“Jacob..”

“Y/N..”

“Come on, Jake..” You laugh. “Is it bad?”

He shakes his head. “No..”

“Then let me see it. Please?” He chews on the inside of his cheek. Still he shakes his head and draws the cup closer to his chest. “Don’t make me guess.”

“Hmm, maybe I want you too.”

“Jacob..”

“Tell you what? We play a little game.” He says as he reaches for a napkin and the pen you were using to annotate inside your book. He draws out the hangman set up on the napkin with a certain number of dashes.

_ _ _   _   _ _ _ _   _ _ _   _ _   _   _ _ _ _?

You look up at him in confusion. “What?”

He arches an eyebrow and smirks. “Start guessing..”

“Is there an A?”

He puts on a thinking face before nodding his head and scribbling down the letters in the correct spots.

_a_   _   _a_ _   _ _ _   _ _   a   _a_ _?

“Oh this is going to take a while..” You sigh.

He chuckles and leans on the table. “Just keep guessing.”

A few more minutes pass and so far you’ve gotten a few words.

Can I  _a_ _   _ o _   on a  _ a_ _?

“Can I blank blank on a blank…” You mutter. “Can I fuck you on a table?”

Jake’s eyes grow wide and he smacks his palm to his face. “That is clearly an A,” He laughs. “Not a U. Also, ‘table’ has five words, not four.”

You giggle. “So clearly you’re asking me if you can do something..”

“Gee, we’re getting somewhere.”

“Is that fourth word supposed to be you?”

Jake nods his head and fills it in. “Keep going.”

You look over the sentence again and try to fill in the rest of the blanks.

Can I  _a_ _  you on a  _a_ _?

Then it pieces together in your head and you look up at him. “Can I see that?” You ask, reaching out for the pen. He hands it over and you write in the remaining letters.

Can I take you on a date?

You raise an eyebrow at him and he nods his head. “Mmm..” You hum as you jot three small dashes of your own and slide it back to him with the pen.

_ _ _ 

He smiles and fills in the blanks.

Yes

He looks at you for approval and you nod your head. He chuckles and reaches for the cup. Turning it around, he faces his writing to you. Your jaw falls open as you see three words written on the sleeve.

‘I love you’

Such a coy little man.

“You are so slick.” You say giggling.

“Well, I didn’t want to make it easy on you.” He says.

You lean across the table, just inches from his face. “I love you too.”

“Really?” He questions as his eyes flicker from your eyes down to your lips. “You do?”

You nod your head. “I do.”

You lean in a little further and brush your lips against his. “Someday though, you can fuck me on a table.” You whisper quietly so only he can hear you. You gently kiss him before sliding back down into the booth. His cheeks are flustered and he is fidgeting with the pen.

“Yeah.. Someday.”

______________________________________________________________

tag list:

@watchingover-hypegirl @losfacedevil @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold @jaketlove @mackalah @lexii-nv-c @em-gvf01 @katiegvf @joshkiszkaenthusiast @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasmommy @objectsinspvce @gvfmarge @heckingfrick @bluemeadows77 @laneygvf @sacredmachine @gvfpal @killerqueengvf @jaketlover @jordinlkiszka @alwaysonthemend @hellowgoodbye @anythingforjtk @hi-hi-hello11 @anthemofgvf @gretasfallingsky @songbirds-sweet @wildbluesorbit @klarxtr @stardustsecret @sunandthemoontwinflames @everyglowinthetwilightknows @sinsofstardust @sparrowofthedawnsworld @josh-iamyour-mama @dannys-dream

Want to be added? Just let me know! 😊

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #gvf #jake kiszka angst #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka x reader #jake gvf #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #valentines

[fairyofshampgyu]

nia nia nia how are u ~~?

hehe so like;; gyu who can’t hide his bulge for his life, and just is now shameless about it <3 king of being unsubtle about wanting to fuck, so, so handsy n is such a brat to try n get some ><

mille mille hii hi !

so true beomgyu would so be like that 😭 what a brat 🙄

Just imagine you're trying to study really hard and beomgyu just comes in, rests his head on your shoulder to see what you're looking at on your laptop screen and he's like "whacha doingg?" and you say studying and he asks how long you're going to be and you're like "bro I still got so much left to do" and then he just pouts at you, saying he wants to hang out (he actually wants you to fuck him but he's not gonna say that), he eventually gives up trying to persuade you to stop studying because you're too persistent so he sighs and just lays down on the bed watching something on his phone.

But it's been so long (in actuality it hasn't, beomgyu is just dramatic and has no perception of time) and he's getting restless now and he's so turned on by you just studying ?? I'm telling you beomgyu is probably the most horniest out of all the txt members and so by now he's not even gonna try and hide the fact that he wants to fuck and that his dick is hard and he goes up to you again, sitting near you and being very handsy and touchy and like kissing your neck in a not very innocent way.

“beomgyu, i need to study”

and he puts on his best puppy eyes bc he’s good at acting and getting what he wants and he’s like “I want youu ☹️”

“But-”

“Please y/n 🥺☹️”

And you are trying you’re hardest to resist, you really are but he’s always so good at persuading you—“No I can’t.”

And he literally makes a ‘hhmmp ☹️😒’ noise and he’s like “…Fine then I’ll just do it myself🥱🤷‍♂️😏” bc he knows that will get you to do what he wants and rile you up. At First, you don’t stop him even though you’re literally fighting every urge in your body to do so.

And he gets a little annoyed his plan isn’t working and starts whining your name and purposefully moaning so loud and pretty. And you’ve finally had enough, getting up to put him in his place and fucking the absolute brattiness out of him and you won’t be done until he’s a fully crying weepy mess underneath you 🥰🥰

#beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader #txt smut #sub!idol #sub!beomgyu #txt scenarios #sub beomgyu #choi beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts

[jarofstyles]

Stay Right Here- the first meeting

The first meeting between omega maid Y/N and alpha prince Harry!

Enjoy my lovebugs.

Check out our Patreon!

Hellooo. Here is alpha prince Harry’s experience first seeing Y/N 🤭 enjoy!

—

It was a cold day when Harry first saw her.

Arriving back from his journey, the palace was buzzing with people and a celebratory dinner was being hosted in his honor. People milling about preparing for the dinner, decorating with winter florals and garlands, Harry felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders drop. He was home.

When the time came for dinner, Harry was ready for a night of drinking, full bellies, good music, and wonderful company.

What he hadn’t been ready for? A beautiful little omega maid who brought out the finest bottle of wine.

The dining room was made up and decorated to the finest degree, the most precious dinnerware set out, people sprawled across the rooms at different tables. His was filled with the highest class. His father, mother, sister and a few of his cousins, aunts and uncles. The highest ranking and the ones meant to carry the lines. He was supposed to be paying attention to the story his uncle had been saying but there was a scent that caught his attention. It was hard to pinpoint with so many in the room, but it was driving him mad.

It was only when he felt it get closer, the scent strong as he found the source standing beside the table with her head bowed that he realized it was her. That scent that made his cock swell and his teeth clench, the thing that had been distracting him most of the night, was standing right in front of him with a bottle of wine to pour. Only the finest bottle, too, which meant she was in good standing with the staff. They wouldn’t send a bad maid to pour the wine to the highest people.

Harry’s body ached. It burned as he watched her with a sharp glare as she moved around the table, filling glasses with a curtsey each time. It was when she got to him that it changed. It had to- Harry wanted to see more.

“Give me your eyes.” He commanded quiet yet tersely., anticipation riding in him as he watched her tense. She shook a little bit as she raised her face to him. seeing the fear unsettled him. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

He realized his error, knowing most royals wouldn’t speak to her unless there was a problem or she was in trouble. His demeanor gentler than before, he tried again. “There is no harm to you. I just wish to see them.” His tone softened for her.

Her beauty was far better than anything he had seen in all of his trips. How she wasn’t one of them, a noble, at least the wife of a nobleman or woman? He had no clue. She took his breath. Stole it from his lungs. Beauty surrounded this omegalike an aura, crystalline visions popping into his head as he observed her. The curve of her lips was something he had seen painted in the most priceless pieces of art, her lashes long and soft. Harry felt displeasure rise when he saw the unease under her gaze, but he could see the interest in it as well. That soothed the beast.

“What is your name?” He questioned, ignoring people around them looking at him for speaking with staff. It was very unusual but he didn’t really care for the normalities at the moment.

“Y/N, your highness.” She peeped, the soft voice wrestling and wiggling under his skin. He wanted to hear more. His hands clenched around the chair again as he tried to reign himself him, his stare seeming to beam through the woman. Her hand still shook as she waited for him to address her again.

“Y/N.” Tasting the name on his lips, he decided it was his new favorite flavor. Until he could taste those curved lips or the honey between her thighs. “Thank you. You’ve done excellent tonight.” He thanked her. “You may go.”

Letting her walk away was something he felt against his inner nature. The alpha in him was thrashing at the idea of her walking further from him but he composed himself, returning to his conversation without addressing why and how he did that.

The entire night he could smell her. His eyes tracked her as she walked across the room, eyes avoiding his even though he knew she was well aware of his stare. She had to feel it. She was polite and graceful, curtseying and pouring the wine, carrying trays. It seemed wrong to him. In his mind, she was someone to be treasured. A beauty, a smell like that? She would be sat at this table in his lap. Like the other omegas did, curled happily into their alphas. His more primal mind couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t just grab her and do the same. It was a scent match, at least on his end. That’s how it should be done.

If he wasn’t a royal, maybe he would. He wasn’t so out of his mind yet to do so, but he hatched a plan that night. One that would definitely raise waves.

-

“I want a chambermaid.” He spoke to his father, sitting across from his desk. The day after the ball to welcome him back, he sat with his finger stroking over the stubble that had grown that night.

“I thought you didn’t. For your privacy?” His father raised a brow, placing the paper in his hands down on the wood. “I suppose you can. It is your right. I can look and see who is available, set you up with a skilled-“

“I want Y/N.” It was rare he interrupted his father. But he didn’t want just anyone. Just any maid. He wanted the one that had made him go mad the night before, chasing her scent every time she walked around the room and unable to look anywhere but her when she entered the room. “The one who served us wine last night. She was very polite. I wasn’t aware we did more hires when I was gone.”

The king looked over at him with an unreadable gaze, clasping his hands together. “I see.” He let the words sit for a moment. “She’s very pretty, too, Harry.” His brows turned, looking over his son. “I know you know of your duties. Your honor. I don’t mind that you have a chambermaid you have affection for so long as you know it is not something you can keep. If she is willing to change her positon for you in the kitchens… I will see to it.” He paused, looking over his son. “I know you are a mean of honor and will not make this woman do anything she is not willing to do. But be mindful. Be aware. Omegas are delicate creature emotionally. Lay out your bearings and conditions if you move in that direction. I will not have a scandal. Am I clear?”

The king was no fool. He knew exactly why. After seeing him speak and stare at the omega all night, he wasn’t surprised that Harry was interested. The woman caused a commotion with others as well, despite her knowledge.

“Yes, Father.”

If only they knew.

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles #harry blurb #blurb #harry one shot #blurbs #harry styles blurbs #harry smut blurb #concept #alpha harry #alpha Harry styles #prince harry styles #royal harry styles #abo #omgea reader #harry styles x reader #abo verse #Harry styles abo

[thetriumphantpanda]

Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter 2)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller. 

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 3K

Warnings / Descriptions of grief and depression, soft!Joel (He needs his own warning I swear), slow burn but nothing else

Authors Note / I AM SO OVERWHELMED FOR THE LOVE FOR CHAPTER ONE. I'm so glad you guys have enjoyed it so far. This fic is incredibly personal to me. I've not lost a husband or a boyfriend (apart from a typical breakup) but over the recent years I've lost several family members so grief is close to me. I hope you enjoy chapter two - if you like it then comments, reblogs and asks are always helpful - thanks as always for your support of my writing.

Main Masterlist / Series Masterlist

The sun is only starting to colour the sky when you wake that morning. It’s already warm in your bedroom, sheets pushed to one side and that’s when you realise why you’ve woken. Leg draped over the mound of sheets, hand resting on the empty side of the bed, head rested on the pillow that isn’t yours. Because it feels like him. You roll over onto your back and drape your arm over your eyes, letting the pressure bring you back to the real world. 

Once you were sure your breathing was somewhere close to normal, you push yourself off the bed and pad down the hallway to the bathroom. You turn on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up before you step under the spray. There’s something about this routine that helps ground you too. Counting the steps in your mind, ticking them off the to-do list. Shampoo hair. Done. Condition ends. Done. Scrub skin. Done. Brush teeth. Done.

By the time you’re setting the coffee to filter, you’ve already made it to sunrise, and you haven’t cried. It’s not healthy, and you know it, but this little competition with yourself helps, seeing how far you can make it through the day without thoughts so deep you have to pack yourself back to bed to try again tomorrow. 

Sitting on the bench on the front porch, it’s still quiet. The only people milling about the street were the people heading out on patrol, swapping with those who were coming back. No-one paid you much mind, sitting by yourself, mug cradled in your hands, which was the way you preferred it. You sat there, watching the sky changing colour as the sun rose in earnest, until you could see Maria in the distance, walking towards you. You gave her a small wave, taking your mug inside before grabbing what you needed. Ration cards. Yes. Keys. Yes. Shopping bag. Yes. 

“Good morning, honey.” She greets, kiss pressed to your cheek and arms pulling you into a hug. 

You wish her a good morning whilst you wrap your arms around her. She’d been your strength this past year. Never pushing you more than she thought you could take, always there when you needed her shoulder to cry on. She’d fed you for the first few months when you couldn’t bear to cook yourself. She truly was the best friend you’d ever had. 

You fell into a comfortable silence as you made your way to the market hall. At one point, you wouldn’t have let go of Maria’s arm, but now, you were happy to walk alongside her, hands shoved into the pockets of your jeans. They were small steps, but steps in the right direction none-the-less. 

Halfway to the market hall, you could see Joel walking towards you from the other direction. Gun slung over his shoulder, he looks as though he’s just coming back from patrol. 

“Good mornin’, ladies,” He greets, “Going anywhere nice?” 

“Just to the market,” Maria replies, “Good patrol?” 

“Uneventful, so I guess you could say so,” He turns to you now, “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to come by and sort that table out for you, I’m off tomorrow, how about I swing by then?” 

You smile and nod, “Of course, whenever is good for you.” 

He bids you both goodbye, he’d been up all night patrolling the walls and was ready to collapse, and when you began walking again, you could feel Maria’s eyes on you and the slight smirk on her mouth. It wasn’t until you were picking up a bowl of tomatoes that she decided to press the subject. 

“Joel making himself at home then?” 

“He just fixed one of my steps is all,” You replied, refusing to meet her eyes, “And then I asked him to build the table and chairs I wanted, and he agreed.” 

She pursed her lips and nodded, but the smirk was still across her lips, “I know what you’re thinking!” You exclaim, moving to walk down the aisle from her, she jogs to catch up, “It’s nothing Maria, and it’s shameful of you to suggest otherwise, it’s barely been a year.” 

“I’m sorry,” She speaks softly, taking hold of your arm, “That was wrong of me, what I really meant was that it’s nice that you’re getting back out there, making friends, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” 

“No, I’m sorry for snapping,” You sigh, raking a hand through your hair. 

Maria presses a hand to your shoulder in comfort, “Let’s finish up here and get you home.” 

You nod and spend the rest of your time in the market in silence. You pick up more fresh strawberries, along with the rest of your essentials. Maria helps you drop everything in your kitchen when you return and gives you another strong hug, “I’m sorry honey, about earlier, I didn’t mean for it to sound like I was assuming anything.” 

“It’s honestly fine Maria,” You reassured, putting the flour and honey you’d bought in one of your cupboards, “I’m trying,” You sighed, “Just trying to get back to living, and he was nice to me, I’m not interested in anything else but it sure would be nice to have another friend.” 

She nods in understanding, “You know, for the longest time I hated him,” She speaks quietly, “When I met Tommy, the stories he told me, the things they’d both done to get to where they were, I thought he was a terrible person, but the more time I’ve spent with him, I know deep down he has a good heart, I think he might be good for you,” She says, “As a friend, of course.” She adds finally. 

She leaves you then and suddenly it feels empty in your home. It always does. There is no sound of warm laughter, no sound of another pair of boots on the wooden floor. It’s the quiet that really tightens your chest these days. You look to the stairs; it would be so easy to climb them and collapse into bed right now. Ignore your feelings for a while. Maybe fall into a dreamless sleep and just try again tomorrow. Your feet are almost carrying you before you stop yourself. Not today, you think. It’s not going to get the better of you today. Your eyes fall to the fresh box of strawberries on your counter and you’re moving before you realise what you’re doing. 

An hour later, there’s a fresh strawberry pie cooling on the side. It was a frivolous use of your flour and butter ration, but the smell of the pastry reminds you of your mother. She always had some kind of fresh pie cooling on the side when you came home from school. Always served it with ice cream after dinner. Mark was always pragmatic with rations; he would have never let you use your feeble allowance on such a thing. You’d always used the flour for bread, butter was saved for making sandwiches, or spreading on the last slices on the weekend when you toasted it as a treat. 

Looking at the pie, you know you should feel silly, but you don’t. You feel proud of yourself. You can almost hear Mark’s voice in your head, he’d call you a silly girl, but he wouldn’t mean it. He’d chastise you for wasting your resources, but with a smile on his face. And then he would gladly take the slice you offered him. He’d kiss you with sugary lips and wipe the flour from your cheeks. Doing something he wouldn’t approve of was good, surely? Moving on, in a tiny step, to making your own life. 

There’s a feeling of guilt beneath you though, looking at the pie. You can’t bring yourself to cut a slice. Can’t bring yourself to feel the joy of the fruit in your mouth. How silly to think that one simple thing could fix you. You shake your head and leave it cooling on the side, curling into the couch, reading the same page of the same book you’ve had on the coffee table for months. 

*

Joel knocks on your door at 11am the next morning. He’s alone again, toolbox in hand, letting you know that he’s given Ellie to Maria and Tommy for the day, something about teaching her to ride horses. You lead him through the house and out back, leaving him to set himself up for the day. 

You make two cups of coffee, remembering he likes his black. You add a splash of milk to yours. The milk is so fresh from the cows on the farm that you must scoop a layer of cream off the top. You would normally scoop it off and eat it straight from the spoon, but there’s too much today, so you scoop it into a small glass, taking the mugs to the back porch where Joel is measuring up the wood. You set his mug down on the porch railing, taking your own in your hands as you sit down on the floor, back against the wall just to the left of the back door. 

The sun is shining again, warming your arms. You lean your head back and close your eyes, taking in slow, deep breaths. 

“You’re not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?” 

You open your eyes and look at him without moving your head, “Depends how exciting your conversation is going to be today.” You tease. 

He smiles and turns his attention back to sawing a piece of wood to size, “What did you do before all this?” 

You scoff a little, “I was about to start my second year at college, seems like a huge waste of fucking time now, the inheritance money wasted on half a degree.” 

“Well, that money would still be pretty useless now anyway,” He shrugs, “What did you study?” 

You have to hand it to him, he’s not wrong, “Drama,” You laugh, “Thought I was going to be a big star, already had that Oscars acceptance speech written up here.” You tap one of your temples. 

“Who were you going to thank?” 

“My parents mainly, although they were already both gone by the time I’d started studying, all the usuals, my agent, the academy, everyone who ever told me I couldn’t do it.” 

He chuckles, “You definitely had it all figured out.” 

A comfortable silence falls between you as you finish up your coffee. The wood of the decking is hard on your back and you shift uncomfortably, moaning a little in pain when you sit further to one side than the other, your lower back aching slightly, “You know you don’t have to sit out here with me if it’s uncomfortable right?” 

“I know,” You respond simply, “It’s just nice to have company.” 

“You don’t have other friends here?” He asks, hammering some nails into a piece of wood. 

You shake your head, “I guess I did when we first came here, but Mark was always the more likeable of us, people gravitated towards him and I guess when you spend a year wallowing in your own self-pity, people get pretty tired of telling you the same things over and over again in the hopes you’ll snap out of it.” 

He nods, “When I lost Sarah, I remember the overwhelming feeling of pointlessness,” He’s not looking at you as he’s speaking, focusing his attention on what you think is becoming a chair, “She’d been my whole life for so long that I just didn’t know what the point was without here, especially in this new world,” You hum in agreement, “And the fact that the healing is never linear, you know?” You hum again, “It’s been twenty years and I still have days where it’s overwhelming, but they become few and far between – I’ll never forget her, but remembering her gets easier, and I bet it will for you as well.” 

You lean your head back against the siding of your house, “You sound just like my therapist,” You point out, “She keeps telling me that I need to find something new to keep living for, but how do I do that was he was the only family I ever really had?” 

Joel stops for a moment, picking up his mug of coffee to drain it, “Family is a strange old thing,” He finally speaks, “Sure, Tommy is my brother, but Maria? Ellie? I found them; you’ve just got to find your new family.” 

“You’re a very wise man, Joel Miller.” 

“I think I’ve just lived a longer life, sweet pea.” 

The rest of the day continues in much the same way. Snippets of conversation, moments of silence, at one point you get up to water the plants as the midday sun makes way for the dip in temperature for the early afternoon. Joel is a fast but competent worker and as the sun is beginning to set, you have four new chairs dotted around the decking. 

“You wanna test them out?” He asked, dropping the last of his tools into the box. 

You nod, walking the one that’s closest to you, before gingerly setting yourself down on it as if it might collapse under you, “Come on, I’m a professional, have some faith in me.” Joel murmurs as he watches you slowly lower yourself onto it. 

He’s right, it doesn’t collapse. The way he’s built them mean there’s a slight slant to the backrest, meaning you can lean your head back and fully relax when you sit. You can’t deny that he’s done a fantastic job. 

“These are great Joel, thank you,” You say, standing back up, “Sit down, I’ve got something to say thank you.” 

You disappear into the kitchen as Joel lowers himself onto one of the chairs. He can’t deny he’s done a good job either, maybe he’ll have to make something similar for him and Ellie. He’s already trying to figure out where he might find the wood for his own project when you’re back on the decking with two plates in your hand. 

“Is that pie?” He asks as you hand him a plate. 

“It is indeed,” You confirm, sitting in the chair next to him with your own plate, “I made it yesterday in an attempt to avoid going to bed at 12pm, you’re lucky that there was cream on the milk too.” You smile, pointing a finger to the sliver of cream you’d divided onto each slice. 

“I can’t remember the last time I had anything like this,” He muses, sliding his fork through the end of his slice before eating it, “Jesus Christ, that’s good.” 

You chuckle, doing the same to your slice. You had to admit it was pretty good for a rudimentary baking job, the fruit was sweet and you’d managed to make the pastry pretty well too, “I actually can’t remember the last time I had anything like this either,” You take another bite, “I was thinking yesterday as I was making it that Mark would have been cross that I’d used our butter and flour ration to make pastry.” 

“I bet once he tried it though he would have forgiven you,” Joel replies, “No-one can be mad for long when it tastes this good.” 

You smile to yourself and spend the rest of the time it takes to eat in silence. You sit for a while before Joel’s hand comes into view, he gently takes the plate from your hand and stands, “I better go and get Ellie, she’s probably driving Tommy and Maria up the wall with questions,” He chuckles, “Let me wash these first though.” 

You follow him through to the kitchen and cut another slice of pie whilst he rinses the dishes, “Take this for Ellie,” You implore as he’s stood in your kitchen with his toolbox about to leave, “I bet she’s never had something like this.” 

He takes the plate gratefully in his other hand, “Listen, I don’t want to step over a line, but I was wonderin’ if you maybe wanted to join me for a drink sometime?”

Almost immediately there’s a sense of panic rising in your throat as you imagine what he’s asking for in your mind. If he’s asking you to The Tipsy Bison, you can already feel the eyes boring into you and the whispers from everyone else. If he’s asking you to go to his place for a drink does that mean he’s asking you on a date? You wring your hands together in front of you and you can tell he can sense your internal battle. 

“Just as a friend,” He reassures, “I hope you don’t mind but Tommy told me you don’t really like goin’ anywhere anymore, and well, I just don’t think it’s right, for you to feel like you have to stay here all the time, I promise I won’t let anythin’ bad happen to you, sweet pea.” 

You think back to the conversation with your therapist from last week. She’d ask you what you’d done to challenge yourself recently and you had nothing to offer her. She’s suggested that you really did need to try to start ‘reintegrating’ yourself back into the community, or there would come a time where you simply couldn’t. She’d challenged you to try going to the market on your own one day without Maria, or to go for a walk through the town on your own, just one thing before you met her next that would push you out of your comfort zone and make you realise that you could do it. 

“Okay,” You agree, “But if something bad does happen, you’re taking the blame, alright?” 

“If I had a free hand, I would cross my heart,” He smiles, “How about tomorrow night?” 

Tomorrow night. Not quite enough time to convince yourself it was a bad idea and hide yourself away. The sooner you went, the sooner it would be over, so you nod in agreement. Joel arranges to drop by at six and pick you up and then he was gone, and your house yet again felt as empty as always. It was getting dark outside, an acceptable time to call it a night and crawl into bed.  

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#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x f!reader #GOY #Pedro Pascal #Joel Miller Pedro Pascal #The Last Of Us fic #The Last Of Us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

You Spin Me Right Around- E.M.

I know I'm already in the middle of a friends to lovers fic but I'm just so thirsty for it so here's another one.

You and Eddie play spin the bottle.

Masterlist

TW- Cursing, innuendo, drinking, smoking (lmk if I missed anything!)

Pairings- Eddie X Reader

Word Count- 2,248

(Gif not mine, credit to owner!)

Eddie didn’t want to go to the party with you. He thought it would be lame, and it probably would be, but what else is there to do on a Friday night in the middle of butt fuck nowhere Indiana? You’ve gotta take what entertainment you get.  

Of course, Eddie suggested you hang out at his place and roll up a couple fat joints, but you had an antsy “need to get out of the house” feeling that had you pleading to go to Steve’s party. You had heard about it from a couple girls in math class earlier that day. “Come on, Eds! We’ll have a good time! You know Steve’s parents always have good booze!” Finally, after giving your best puppy dog eyes, lip stuck out to boot, he relented. You wiggled with glee and hugged your best friend tight, going off to your bedroom to find something cute to wear while he sat and watched reruns of “I Love Lucy” on the television.  

When you came down the stairs in a black halter top and daisy dukes, your makeup and hair done to perfection, Eddie felt his heart—and his pants—stir. He had come to the conclusion that he was absolutely obsessed with you about .051 seconds after he first laid eyes on you, and what luck he had that you had taken interest in him, adopting him as your new best friend on the first day of his third senior year. You pulled him up from the couch, not even noticing his eyes wandering a little too far south to be friendly, and dragged him out of the house to your beat-up Ford to drive over to Steve’s party. 

When you pull up, the house is crawling with drunk teens and twenty somethings. Eddie fidgets with his rings anxiously as you pull him by the hand into the house, all smiles. Sure, Eddie and Steve are buddies now, sharing coparenting duties to the kids, but it’s not like the rest of the town really likes him. He’s still the Freak. You never seemed to remember that little detail. Probably because you never saw him that way. Why would others not see the amazing, talented, kind, funny person you did?  

You go to hug Nancy and Robin as you see them, letting go of Eddie’s hand to do so. His eyes drift around the room, trying to find someone to talk to in case you go off into your own little world without him, but after a few moments, he feels your soft fingers closing around his again, and he turns his head to see you back at his side. “You don’t wanna hang out with your friends?” He asks. Your brow knits together, making a face. 

“You’re my best friend. I brought you here so we could have fun together,” His heart melts a little as you give him that million-watt smile you’re so famous for before squeezing his hand and leading him to the kitchen to get some drinks. You see Steve there, and the three of you have a chat over a cup of hooch, then another. Eddie tries to take it easy on the drinks, seeing your cheeks flush with warmth as the alcohol starts to take effect. Eddie knows how much of a lightweight you are, and so he always makes a deal with himself to stay coherent enough to take care of you if you need it. Of course, you don’t mean to ever go overboard at parties. It’s just that once you start feeling good, you want to keep feeling good. And he just wants to make sure you stay safe, that’s all.  

Eddie starts feeling antsy with all of the people milling around the house. He can feel the stares of disgust on the back of his head, and while he never shows it, sometimes it feels like spiders crawling all over him. He leans down as you laugh at one of Steve’s jokes to murmur in your ear, “I’m gonna go outside. Need to take a smoke break,” He lets go of your hand, and you throw a fuzzy “’Kay!” Over your shoulder as he walks toward the back door. 

Of course, the backyard isn’t quiet either. It’s crawling with people in their underwear, dripping wet from jumping in the pool. There are couples making out on the lawn chairs, pressed up against trees, or laying down in the grass, and Eddie rolls his eyes as he tries to find a somewhat secluded spot to light up his joint. When he does, he takes a long, slow drag, letting the dank smoke fill his lungs before he blows it out, sputtering a cough upon feeling the burn. Of course, Eddie brought extra in case he runs into anyone looking to score. It’s part of the reason he agreed to come. So, as he smokes, he gets a few people coming up to buy some pre-rolls, and he makes a good $25 just standing there. As he’s about to flick the remainder of the joint away, he sees you bounding outside, calling for him. 

“Eddie! Eddie, where are you?” He waves his arms above his head as you scan your eyes across the backyard until you see him. 

“Over here, sweets!” You beam brightly as you make your way to him, watching where you step so you don’t slip into the pool. You notice the short remnant of the joint and make a joyful noise. 

“Can I hit that before you put it out?” He smiles as he hands it to you, noticing you’re much tipsier now than when he left you in the kitchen. You take a long drag, then a short one, your fingers no doubt getting warm as the cherry nears the very end of the paper, before dropping it and squishing it under your shoe. “Hey,” you say, catching Eddie’s attention again. “Some of us are gonna play spin the bottle. You want in?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him playfully. 

“I don’t know, Y/N...” Eddie begins, his hand going to wipe some sweat off the back of his neck in the humid summer air. “I don’t think I’d wanna kiss any of the people here.” When you give that pout again, he knows he’s done for. 

“Not even me?” You pucker your lips and make kissy sounds at him before laughing, and while his brain is shouting, You’re the exception! I’d kiss you anytime, anywhere... He simply rolls his eyes with a lazy smile.  

“Alright, alright. I’ll play. Lead the way, beautiful,” He offers his hand to you, and you take it, leading him back into the house and to the living room, where a smallish circle of people has formed on the floor.  

“Hey, guys!” Steve greets you, his eyes glassy. “Come on in and let’s get this party started!” People scooch over to accommodate you and Eddie, and you sit cross-legged on the plush carpet. You look over to Nancy, who sits on the couch with an amused smile on her face, sipping from her beer bottle. 

“Aw, Nance, are you not gonna play?” She shakes her head enthusiastically, giving a scoff. 

“God, no. This smells like disaster to me. I’m fine spectating.” You make a noise of feigned annoyance before turning back to the circle, your hand still holding Eddie’s. He’s used to the feeling of your hand in his after all these months of being so close, but sometimes he gets a jolt of realization that yours isn’t his hand to hold. And these realizations usually come when he’s high and stuck in his own thoughts, like now. He shakes it off, though, just wanting to see you have fun.  

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Steve offers himself up to the empty beer bottle as he leans forward to spin it. Around and around it goes until it rolls to a stop, the neck pointing toward a girl from Eddie’s geography class. Midge, maybe? He doesn’t make a habit of remembering names that aren’t important to him, like Eddie Van Halen, John Bon Jovi, Y/N L/N... 

The kiss is brief, everyone whooping and laughing as “maybe Midge” blushes, reaching forward toward the bottle for her turn. It goes on like this for a while, until sometime the bottleneck points toward you. Eddie’s suddenly paying very close attention. While he knows you’ve had boyfriends before, he’s never seen you kiss anyone. The thought makes him intolerably jealous, but also a bit curious. He watches quietly as you let go of his hand to lean across the circle, toward some guy Eddie doesn’t think either of you even know. The guy lets his hand cup your face as you come closer, and you give him a drunken, flirtatious smile as your lips meet his. It quickly becomes Eddie’s worst nightmare as he sees it isn’t just a peck. It’s open mouthed and hot. He can see your tongue go to caress the guy’s, and everyone’s cheering as you finally part, laughing as you sit back on your heels. A couple of other guys even slap the guy you kissed on his back, celebrating his luck in being awarded the privilege to kiss you. 

Now, it’s your turn to spin the bottle, which means Eddie will have to go through that torture of watching you kiss someone again. He almost closes his eyes as the bottle slows to a stop, but before he does, he sees the open top to the bottle pointed directly at him.  

Suddenly, his eyes go wide as saucers, mouth quirking down a bit in shock as he whips his head to look at you. You wear a similar look, secretly not believing that what you had been wishing for the entire time the bottle spun was actually happening. You look at Eddie, who you think looks almost displeased at the thought of kissing you, and so you lean forward to mutter to him, “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want...” Your eyes flick downward, trying to hide your disappointment. Unfortunately, though, the drunkenness and the light high buzzing through your body don’t do you any favors. Of course, though, Eddie would never let you down. 

“No, no! I- I want to,” Your eyes lift back to his face, hope filling your chest cavity. He’s shocked that he had the sudden burst of courage to say the words, but how could he not when you looked so sad? 

“You do?” You ask, heart quickening in your chest. Eddie nods, his hand coming to meet your cheek. You press your face into his palm, relishing in the warm, rough touch of his hand.  

“Of course, I do.” A small smile forms on his lips, your eyes searching his for any doubt.  

Once you’re satisfied, your lashes flutter sweetly. “Well, what are you waiting for, then?” You breathe. Eddie lets out a breathy laugh as you start leaning toward him, eyes fluttering closed as your lips meet. It’s like the world fades away as he explores this new feeling. Your plush lips feel like heaven against his, and he can’t help but bring his hand to your waist as he opens the kiss, his tongue seeking yours. Your hands find the lapel of his vest and you pull him even closer, tilting your head to the side so you can get better access to his mouth.  

“Fucking, finally,” You hear Nancy from her spot on the couch. It makes you smile, as you were thinking the exact same thing.  

When you part, the room shouts for you and Eddie, whooping and cheering like it was the best kiss they’ve ever seen. “I take it you guys are out, now?” Steve laughs. Eddie’s eyes are still glued on your lips, already missing the feeling of them as his eyes darken with more than a few thoughts on how much he’d rather have you anywhere but here right now.  

“Yeah, we’re out,” Eddie practically hoists you off the ground as you laugh, clinging to his arm as you make your way out of the party, the sounds of cheers following you onto the lawn. Eddie presses you up against the door of your car, and you let out a gasp, feeling his fingers brush a few hairs from your face. 

“What do you wanna do now?” You breathe. Eddie doesn’t say anything, just dips his head down to yours, his hand tilting your face up as he captures you in another breathtaking kiss. Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer, mouths moving together like two puzzle pieces finding their way to their perfect match. It takes a moment for you to open your eyes as he pulls away gently, wanting to remember every single sensation. 

“I wanna take you home and do that until we fall asleep. Sound good to you?” Eddie murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. You bite your lip, nodding as a smile blossoms on your face. 

“Yeah, yeah... That sounds like a good plan.” You laugh together for a moment before you kiss again, shorter and sweeter this time than the last two. Eddie opens the passenger door for you, and you hand him your key as he walks around to the driver’s side. He tears out of the driveway, speeding down street after street, his hand in yours. There’s no way he’s ever gonna let you kiss anyone else ever again. 

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader fluff #friends to lovers #eddie the freak munson #eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 46

You and Joel find out the Fireflies' plan for Ellie. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-45 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 5.3K

Your whole body hurt. It reminded you of when you got thrown from your neighbor’s horse and broke your arm when you were a child. Everything was sore and raw and everything felt ever so slightly wrong. Like something central to you was misaligned. 

“Take it easy,” there was a man’s voice, one you didn’t recognize. You ignored him, shooting up and looking around. He kept his distance, his hands up in front of him. He kept his voice low, gentle. “You’re OK, not going to hurt you…” 

“Where…” you looked around. 

“You’re at a hospital in Salt Lake City,” he said, hands still up. “With the Fireflies. We found you a few hours ago. Sorry for the cold welcome but I don’t think they were expecting you to actually show up…” 

Your head spun a bit as you shifted. You were on a gurney, the room dim. 

“Joel?” You asked. “Ellie? Are they…” 

“They’re fine,” he said, lowering his hands slowly. “Joel is still out but he should be fine, we’re getting things prepped for Ellie right now so we can start our work.” 

You nodded and rubbed your temples. 

“Looks like you’ve been through the mill,” he smiled a little and sat next to you. 

“Yeah, just a bit,” you laughed a little. “It’s a hell scape out there…” 

“Marlene said that you were a doctor?” He asked, looking you over. “That you’d been doing research in Boston about a possible cure?” 

“Well, not a cure,” you said, looking around the room again and spotting your bag in a corner. You slid down from the gurney and went to get it, needing to hold onto the wall for a moment to keep from falling over. But you got the bag and went back to the gurney, setting the bag on top of it. You dug all the way to the bottom, finding your piles of notes. “But a treatment. Something that can be administered immediately after a bite that will slow the progression of cordyceps. If you can amputate the effected area or surgically remove the cordyceps from the tissue, it never reaches the brain and takes over. It’s not perfect and I haven’t done any kind of live trials but it could mean that a bite is no longer a death sentence…” 

“This is incredible,” he was flipping through pages of your work, skimming over it. “Just imagine, with the information we can get from Ellie combined with your research…” 

“I take it you’re a doctor then?” You asked, putting your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. 

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry,” he shook his head and smiled before holding his hand out. “I’m Dr. Jerry Anderson, I’ve been leading the Fireflies’ research into finding a cure. Marlene mentioned you to me when she made it out here. She’d hoped you’d show up at some point but gave up hope about a month back. She was pretty upset, said she thought your work showed a lot of promise…” 

“Well glad to know someone missed something about me,” you said wryly. He laughed a little. “So I guess we’ll be working together then? Or I can at least give you my notes, I know our plan isn’t to stay here forever but I obviously want to help…” 

“Of course, of course,” he nodded, going back to your notes. “We are talking about the single most important medical achievement of mankind here, I’d hope you’d want to be involved!” 

You laughed once and nodded, looking over his arm at your work. 

“I just don’t want to put too much strain on Joel and Ellie,” you said. “They’ve been through a lot. Especially her. There’s a place we want to make it back to, settle for a while. She deserves that, all she’s known is the QZ, she deserves better than that…” 

His jaw clenched for a moment before he spoke again. 

“I have a daughter, not much older than Ellie,” he said, looking down at you. “I’d do anything to make life better for her. But it’s… hard. Knowing that they’re going through something awful, especially when it isn’t their fault.” 

“It really is,” you sighed. “That girl went through so much just to get here. More than any one person should ever go through… Of course a cure is important, it’s the most important thing we could do and I know she wants to do whatever she can for it but I want her to have a chance to be a kid. That’s important, too. Maybe not to the whole world but it’s important.” 

“At least you can know that, whatever happens, it was done to save everyone,” he said. “It’s worth some sacrifice if it saves everyone.” 

There was a knock at the door and a nurse leaned her head in. 

“Doctor?” She said. “We’re about ready for you…” 

“Thanks,” he smiled tightly at her before turning back to you, handing you your notes. “We can talk more later, see if we can find the best applications for your research with what I think we have in Ellie…” 

“Are you running tests on her?” You frowned. “Can I see her?” 

“Not the best time,” he said. “We’re trying to keep the environment contained at the moment. We can talk later…” 

“I’d really like to see her though,” you cut him off. “She’s got to be scared, she’s never been in a place like this and…” 

“Just…” he paused. “Just think about what all we’re going to be able to do with what we’re making here. How many people we’re going to save. We’ll talk in a bit, OK?” 

“But…” You protested, trying to follow him, but he stepped around a large, armed man on his way out and the man pressed you back into the room. You stepped back from him on instinct, his tall, broad body blocking you from getting to the door. He had a rifle in his hands. You swallowed, looking up at him. “I just have a few questions…” 

You went to duck around him but he cut you off. 

“Dr. Anderson wants you to stay here,” he said gruffly. “So you stay here.” 

You frowned. 

“Are you holding me prisoner?” You asked. 

“No,” he said. “Just keeping you here for now.” 

“Sounds an awful lot like holding me prisoner,” you said. The man shrugged, blocking your way to the door. “I’m not going to cause any trouble, I just want…” 

“You can stay put for a bit while the doc does his work,” he replied. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“OK so if I can’t see Ellie can I at least see Joel?” You planted yourself in front of him, your arms crossed. “The man I came in with, just take me to see him. I just want to make sure he’s alright…” 

“You stay. Put.” The man said, voice sharp. You stared him down for another moment before you went to look out the window. Not that you were seriously considering jumping out of it if you were low to the ground but it was tempting. 

Something about this whole situation had set you on edge. Your chest was tight, your stomach in knots. Something felt wrong. You didn’t trust it. You weren’t sure what you didn’t trust yet - if it was Dr. Anderson, if it was being away from Joel and Ellie, if it was just the whole situation in general - but you didn’t trust something. The feeling of something being out of alignment grew more insistent.  

You were pacing, one arm across your stomach with the other propped against it, hand to your mouth, when you heard two sharp pops. The sound made you jump, like gunshots did in the QZ. You frowned and looked toward the man at the door. 

“Did you…” you began but he cut you off. 

“Quiet,” he snapped, looking through the window in the door to your room. His radio crackled to life. 

“Shots fired!” 

“What’s going on?” You asked, eyes wide. 

“Probably fuckin’ raiders,” he said, his grip tightening on his gun. “Stay…” 

“I need to get to Ellie and Joel,” you said quickly, trying to push your way past him but he shoved you back. “Please, I need to get to them, Dr. Anderson said Joel was unconscious and Ellie…” 

“Leave it!” He snapped over his shoulder. “If you get yourself fuckin’ killed you’re of no use to anyone so let me handle it…” 

“Joel was still unconscious!” You tried to run past him but he grabbed you and threw you back into the gurney, sharp pain radiating out from your ribs. You had started crying but you knew it because of the blow. “Please, they’re just going to kill him he won’t even have a chance!” 

There were more gunshots and he glared at you as you pulled yourself to your feet. 

“I was told to keep you in this room and keep you alive,” he snapped, turning the gun on you and pointing it at your thigh. “I will fuckin’ shoot you if you don’t calm down and stay put!” 

More gunshots. They sounded closer now. 

“Please,” you begged again, trying to make yourself stop crying. “I’m sure they got Ellie out but…” 

“The fuck you think you’re gonna do?” He snapped. His eyes were wide, scared. “You’re not gonna last two minutes out there if we’re overrun by fuckin’ raiders! So get out of sight and shut the fuck up before you get us both killed…” 

There were a few more loud pops, so loud that they made you flinch. Some of them must have made it to your level. The man glared at you and jerked his head toward the corner of the room that was against the same wall as the door, where you’d be harder to see if someone just glanced inside. You obeyed, watching him closely. The man clenched his jaw for a moment and went to the holster at his belt and pulled out a pistol. He handed it to you. 

“It’s a full clip,” he said quietly. “If you need it.” 

You just nodded and aimed the gun at the ground, pressing yourself back against the wall. You wiped your eyes and breathed deep. You had to focus. Had to be ready to defend yourself, you couldn’t help Joel and Ellie if you were dead. 

The man was watching through the pane of glass in the door as you tried to calm yourself down. Your thoughts were like a drumbeat, get to Joel get to Joel get to Joel. You had to reach him, had to save him, you and Ellie needed him. It was desperate and gnawing and grasping and you had to get to him. 

The man tensed for a second. 

“Stay put,” he breathed, opening the door slowly, moving almost silently. You closed your eyes for a moment and got ready to move, to try to find Joel, when there were two almost deafening pops. So loud you knew they had to be right outside your door. You jumped and tightened your grip on your pistol, raising it, getting ready to shoot the next person through the door if they were a raider. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, so hard you were certain that someone standing outside would hear it. 

The door opened slowly and you aimed your weapon for a second before you dropped it. 

“Joel!” 

***

You weren’t next to Joel when he woke up. 

It felt like you should have been, though. 

In fairness, it always felt like you should be next to him when he woke up. That had been one of the nice things about traveling with you the last few months, waking up and having you within arm’s reach. He’d started every goddamn day of his life from the time he first touched you feeling disoriented if you weren’t there when he woke up. He’d reach for you, searching, like there was a part of him that was missing. It happened when he thought you were dead, in the glorious few seconds every day where he forgot about the outbreak and didn’t know that you and Sarah were gone. It happened in the QZ, even when Tess was there because she wasn’t you. It happened on the nights on the road where you had second watch and he woke up while you were out of sight and there was the thrill of fear, a spark of wrongness at you being somewhere else. 

But he needed to find you now. Something had happened, he could feel that in his body. He needed to find you and Ellie and make sure everything was OK. 

“You actually fucking did it.” 

The voice was familiar, it took him a second to place it, for his eyes to focus. 

“I thought you were long dead…” 

“Marlene?” He sat up and saw her in the doorway of a hospital room. 

“You are the last person on the planet I’d want to be in debt to,” she hook her head, her small smile dark. “It couldn’t have been Tess who made it this far with them, had to be you?” 

“I’d have it be the other way if I could,” he said, looking around. “Where are they?” 

“They’re fine,” she said. “Doc is awake and has met with our doctor. She’s a little banged up but fine. Ellie doesn’t have a scratch, was mostly worried about the two of you…” 

“Can I see her?” Joel asked, still blinking some disorientation out of his head. 

“How’d you do it?” Marlene asked, ignoring his question. “How’d you make it this far? I had a whole fucking team of guys whose whole job was keeping me alive. We had equipment - trucks, guns - and I still barely made it here. And then there’s you three…” 

“They were determined,” Joel replied. “Did a lot to make it this far…” 

“They’d be dead without you,” she cut him off. “Before you even made it out of Boston, they’d have been dead. Ellie’s a kid, Doc wouldn’t hurt a fly even if it meant saving her own damn life…” 

“I need to see them,” Joel’s chest was tight. He didn’t like this. Something was off, wrong. 

“You can’t,” Marlene said, her voice calm and even. “I’m sorry, Joel.” 

“The fuck you mean I can’t?” He got to his feet. An armed man at Marlene’s side started moving for him but she put an arm out, stopping him. “I need to see them right now, Marlene!” 

“I mean,” she said, still calm. “Doc is getting up to speed on what our doctor’s been doing and Ellie is getting ready for surgery.” 

Joel leaned back against the gurney. You already working made sense, he knew you wanted to get in and get out of here quickly but Ellie…

“Surgery?” He frowned. “You said she was fine, not a scratch, why’s she need surgery? I thought you just needed her blood and shit, to run tests, if she’s fine why’s she need surgery?” 

“Our doctor thinks Ellie has had cordyceps with her since birth,” Marlene said. “They produce a kind of chemical messenger…” 

“So get it from her fuckin’ blood,” Joel snapped. 

“He needs the cordyceps that have grown inside her,” she said. “With them he’s going to produce that chemical messenger, one that makes normal cordyceps recognize Ellie as one of their own, and we can give it to everyone. It’s a cure, Joel. It’s a fucking cure.” 

It was like his brain was a scratched CD for a moment, stuck on one thing she said. 

“Cordyceps grows inside the brain,” he looked at Marlene.

He had to be missing something. That couldn’t be right. Marlene might be an asshole but she wouldn’t murder a child. She wouldn’t hurt Ellie. 

“It does,” she nodded. 

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you…” 

“She doesn’t know,” Marlene said. “She’s not afraid, she’ll be unconscious so she won’t feel any pain…” 

Joel’s head spun. It couldn’t be right. They couldn’t want to take her, not like that, not… 

“No,” he snapped, pushing himself off the gurney and going for Marlene. “No, you take me to her! You take me to her right now!” 

She didn’t stop her guard from intervening that time, the butt of his gun slamming into Joel’s stomach, a second blow hitting his head, sending him to the ground. 

“Can’t do that, Joel.” 

“You really think she’s gonna help you if you kill her?” He asked. “Think she’ll do a damn thing to make that cure happen if it comes at the cost of Ellie’s life? You’re not gonna have shit…” 

“Doc won’t let Ellie die in vain,” Marlene said. “She’ll do it. She’ll make sure it works.” 

“Please,” he panted. “Please…” 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” she said quietly. “I truly am, you have no idea how sorry I am.” 

“Then don’t fuckin’ do it!” He said, getting to his feet. “You can’t…” 

“I’ve known her her whole life,” she said. “I was there when she was born, I was there when her mother died after I promised I would protect her daughter. But there is no other choice here, Joel. This is what it takes to get the world back. I have no other choice.” 

He was back in 2003. It was dark, chaotic. He had to get to his daughter and he had to get to you. He had to protect you both, he had to, there was no other option. He had no other choice. 

He looked up at Marlene. 

“I do.” 

She sighed. 

“Get him out of here,” she said to her guard. “Out of town. He acts up, shoot him.” She pulled a knife - Ellie’s knife - and handed it to them. “Give him that.” 

“What about Doc?” He asked. “What about…” 

“Thought you hated her,” she said. “So don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of her. We need what’s in her head, remember? She’ll be safe with us.” 

She left the room ahead of Joel, before the men shoved him forward. She paused and looked back at him. 

“I am sorry, Joel,” she said. “Take care of yourself.” 

They pushed him toward the stairwell and he let them. It was like an out of body experience, like he wasn’t in control. The need to get to Ellie and get to you had taken over. Nothing else mattered, nothing. Not his body or mind, not the lives of the people in this hospital, not hope for humanity, none of it. Get to his daughter, get to you. 

“Keep goin’,” the voice behind him was sharp. Joel had forgotten he was there. He obeyed, going for the stairs. He paused, at a sign indicating the floors. He needed to go up. The men with Joel shoved him down. He let them. 

He needed a gun. The Fireflies weren’t going to just let either of you go. He was going to have to take you from them. He was OK with that. It was worth it. It was worth a whole hell of a lot more than that. 

He stopped on a landing. He didn’t have time to keep going along with them. He had to do this now, he had to get to his daughter and get to you now. 

“The fuck did I say?” The man snapped, shoving Joel into the wall. “Keep. Goin’.” 

He shoved him again and Joel moved fast, whipping around and ripping the gun from his hands. He shot the first man and shoved the other back onto the stairs. The man’s hands went up. 

“Where’s the girl?” Joel asked. He didn’t recognize his own voice. 

“Fuck you,” he spat. 

“I don’t have time for this.” 

Joel shot him, too. He didn’t feel anything when he did it, not the pain he once felt when killing another human being, not relief at taking action, not the push of adrenaline. He was beyond that now, outside what feeling could touch. 

He moved on. 

Up the stairs, next floor, where he heard people moving. He had to make sure there was no one who could interfere, no one who could stop him, not this time. He was not going to let them take you from him. Not you, not his daughter. 

He took another gun and a clip from someone who was dead. They were dead because Joel had killed him. The fact barely registered. The fact that he’d killed at least a dozen people so far barely registered. 

He moved to the next floor. 

The Fireflies were shooting at him but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d only care if they killed him before he could get to his daughter and get to you. As long as he got you both out, they could have him. Get to her, get to you. 

Next floor. 

It was quieter there. He tried to think of how many Fireflies would be here and how many he’d already killed. The last few minutes were a fog. Two dozen dead, at least, he thought. Probably more. There may not be any more left to stop him. 

There were gunshots from the side of him, shattering a pane of glass near his head. Joel turned and shot, dropping the man. Joel went over to him, the man writhing on the ground, gasping for breath. He went to shoot the man again but the gun didn’t fire. Out of ammo. He pulled out the knife - Ellie’s knife - and slit his throat before taking the man’s gun and ammunition. 

Joel looked up. There was a door, one the man was close enough to that he might have been protecting it. It could be you or Ellie. 

He opened it, slowly. 

“Joel!” 

You were against him in a second and he could suddenly feel again, everything becoming bright and harsh. Everything except for you, your warm, soft body holding him to the earth. He could smell your hair and your skin and feel your heart beat against his chest as you clung to him. 

“You’re alive,” you buried your face in his chest and his arms went around you. It was instinctual. “Joel, there are raiders, in the hospital…” 

“No raiders,” he released you and you stepped back from him, frowning up at him. “We have to get Ellie.” 

“What?” You frowned. “I don’t… haven’t you heard the shooting? There’s…” 

“We need to get Ellie,” he said. “Do you know where she is?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “No, they just said they were taking her for tests, they wouldn’t let me see her yet. I’m sure they got her out of here when the shooting started… Joel, what do you mean there aren’t raiders? Who’s…” 

“They’re not running tests,” he said, getting a better grip on his gun. “We have to get her.” 

“What?” Your eyes searched his and he saw himself reflected in you for a moment. The shell he’d become if he failed this time. He saw the brief moment of horror and then understanding, he saw that you knew. He cut you off before you had the chance to ask.

“She’s in surgery,” he said. “They need to take the cordyceps from her, they…” 

“That would kill her,” you stepped back from him, your eyes wide. “Joel, that would kill her, that…” 

“Marlene said she didn’t have another choice,” he said. “We do. We have to get our girl, Baby, we have to get her…” 

You picked up a gun from the ground and put it low in front of you. 

“She’ll probably be in pediatrics,” you said, looking up at Joel. “She’s small, they’re going to want to use the tools that are there. They’ll stick to the surgical wing, no reason to reinvent the wheel and take the procedure anywhere else…” 

Joel nodded once. 

“Stay behind me,” he said. 

He led you past the man he’d killed just outside your door, the linoleum slick with his blood. There was a twinge of something almost like pity in Joel now, seeing the man’s body. He pressed on. Down past the faded and dirty murals of animals, past the body of another man he’d killed to get this far. 

“There,” you nodded down a hall. “It’ll probably be there…” 

Joel wordlessly led the way, peering into rooms until he saw her, through a window in a door. Her small, fragile body on the table, nurses standing next to her, a man in a scrub cap with a scalpel. He opened the door, gun raised. 

“Unhook her,” he said, his voice deadly calm. The women jumped. The man stared at him. 

“Dr. Anderson,” you said softly. “You can’t do this. Please. This will kill her…” 

“It’s the cure,” he looked at you, his eyes darting back to Joel before settling on you. “It’s worth the sacrifice, it’s for all of humanity, it’s…” 

“Unhook her,” Joel said again, stepping closer. “Now.” 

“I’m sorry,” the man said, holding the scalpel up. “I’m sorry, but you can’t take her.” 

Joel aimed for his head, his finger going for the trigger, but you jumped in front of him, your gun held low. 

“Baby,” he said sharply. “Move.” 

“No,” you said. “No, you can’t kill him, you don’t have to kill him. He has a daughter, Joel. He’s a father, just like you. Imagine what would have happened to Sarah if you died. Imagine what would happen to Ellie. You don’t have to kill him…” 

He reached out to sweep you out of the way but you turned before he could get to you, shooting the man in the leg with a small cry. The doctor screamed, dropping the scalpel and collapsing to the ground. Joel lowered his gun. Your eyes were wide, pleading. 

“Get Ellie,” you said. “Joel…” 

He turned the gun on the nurses as you put your pistol in the waistband of your jeans, starting to put a tourniquet around the doctor’s leg. 

“Unhook her,” he said, gun up again. The nurses scrambled to obey this time, pulling a face mask from her and an IV from her arm. She started bleeding where the needle had been and he nodded at it. “Make that stop. Quick.” 

They quickly taped a patch of gauze over the hole in her arm and stepped back again. Joel kept his eyes on them as he slung the strap of his gun over his shoulder and lifted Ellie’s small body, gently, into his arms. 

“You’re OK Baby Girl,” he said quietly. Her head lolled to his shoulder. He could feel her breathing. “You’re OK.” 

You got up from the ground beside the doctor, kicking the scalpel across the room and drawing your gun again. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking around as you backed toward Joel. “I’m sorry it had to be this way but you can’t… We can’t… I’m sorry.” 

You stuck close to Joel as he went for an elevator which, mercifully, still worked. You pushed the button labeled garage. 

“I hope they have trucks,” you said, your grip on the gun tight. 

“Should have let me kill him,” he said. 

You shook your head. 

“I’ll kill to keep you and her safe but I’m not killing if I don’t have to,” you said, your voice firm. “We didn’t have to kill him, he wasn’t armed, there’s nothing he could really do…” 

“He was going to kill her.” 

You took a deep breath. 

“I know,” you said. “I know.” 

The elevator chimed and you went into the garage first, your gun up, ready to shoot. For half a moment, Joel thought it was over. That he could take a car and be done, that there was no one down here and that the worst was over. 

But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. 

“You can’t protect her forever, Joel,” Marlene said. You both turned to face her, her gun up as she prowled closer. “Not in a world like this one. It’s impossible. No one is safe here, that’s the point.” 

“It’s not your choice to make,” he said, holding Ellie’s limp body closer. 

“It’s not yours either,” she said, gun still raised. “It’s hers.” 

“She’s 14 years old, Marlene,” you put yourself between her and Joel, your gun up. He resisted the urge to put you behind him, holding tightly to Ellie. Keeping her safe, that’s what mattered. “It can’t be up to her, she doesn’t understand…” 

“She’s a smart girl, Doc,” she cut you off. “This is what she’d want and you know it.” 

“She’s a child!” Your grip tightened on your gun. “She’s too young to decide something like this! So we’re deciding for her…” 

“She’s going to get torn apart,” Marlene was ignoring you now, looking over you to him. “Or kidnapped by raiders, shot by some asshole. Is that what you want for her, Joel? Do you think that she’ll forgive you if she finds out that you cursed her to live in this world? With these risks?” 

“Rather her be alive to hate me,” he said, looking down at Ellie, his watch reflecting the florescent light of the parking garage in a broken, fractured pattern onto a nearby concrete post. “Don’t care about the rest.” 

“Let us go, Marlene,” you said, backing up toward Joel. “I don’t want to kill you…” 

“We both know you’re not the dangerous one,” Marlene looked at you. “Just put the gun down, we can discuss this. We both know you’re not a killer.” 

You planted your feet.

“For them I am.” 

Marlene realized what was happening half a second before you pulled the trigger and fired just before you did. Time slowed and Joel watched, helpless, as the bullet hit you. He was helpless, just like that night in Texas. He couldn’t do anything but watch you hurt. You stumbled back and fell, keeping your gun clutched in your hand. 

“Go!” You yelled at him, sitting up on your elbow, raising the gun and pointing it at Marlene again. He realized she was on the ground, too, her gun dropped where she’d been standing. “Get Ellie to one of the cars. I’ll be fine, get Ellie to a car…” 

You were panting for breath now and he ran to obey, finding one of the SUVs that the Fireflies were charging a battery on and setting Ellie gently in the back seat. He made sure she was still breathing before going back for you. 

Marlene was struggling to breathe, trying to get back to her gun. Joel met your eyes for a moment and you gave him a nod, letting your weapon fall as you hissed in pain. He picked up Marlene’s gun, standing over her. 

“Please,” she panted, her hands clutched over her stomach where you’d shot her. “Please, don’t do this…” 

“Can’t leave you alive,” he said. “You’d just come after them. You’d just kill them. Can’t let you live.” 

He shot her in the head and her body went limp. He tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants and knelt beside you, one hand going to cup your cheek, the other around your ribs, holding you up. 

“You’re OK Baby,” he said quickly. “You’re OK, it’s going to be OK…” 

“It’s not bad,” you winced, nodding down at your leg. He adjusted your shirt. There was an entrance wound on the side of your thigh. “It missed the vital stuff and it went clean through, just need to stop the bleeding…” 

“You did good, Baby,” he kissed your forehead. “You did so good.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” you said. 

He lifted you gently into his arms and put you in the passenger seat of the SUV before he unhooked the battery, closed the hood and left the hospital behind.

A/N: Alright folks, this is it. We've got three chapters of this left to go.

I know, I know, I can't believe it either! I hope you enjoyed Joel losing his mind a bit in this chapter and that you'll enjoy what the future holds for our little trio.

Right now, I'm planning to publish again on Tuesday, 7/18; Thursday, 7/20, and close out the series on Friday, 7/21.

I'm going to close the taglist for now since we're so close to the end of this and it's been a bit shoddy anyway (Tumblr just does NOT let me tag some folks and I don't know why!) But thank you to everyone who has shared and commented and liked and followed this story. It sincerely means the world.

Thank you for being here! Love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel@drewharrisonwriter@flugazi @pedropascalsbbg@taoyuji@starstruckmusiciansartghost@splendsay@bigboiseason123@jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10@sloanexx@ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings@arizonadaydreamer@mumma-moonchild@blackroseguzzi@candypeaches16@kittenlittle24@wrappedinfiction@oatmeaiboy@pedritosdarling@winchestergypsy90@imnotdatboii @lalalalemonade11 @maknimuk1@mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes@pedrosaidsheispunk@commanderawkward@n7cje@elliesgirlll@tsunamistorm123@spookyxsam@leeeesahhh @anoverwhelmingdin @untamedheart81 @pedropascalfan221 @pedr0swh0r3 @pedrobae@fifia-writes@fatima-marisa @acf2023 @1soff@encephalitiskat @ashleymsnodgrass @karlinspace

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender