#''new secret wip'' has come to light

[daisywords]

wip intro: The Long, Long Way to Kaminatra

An unlikely duo is conscripted to escort a princess with a target on her head to her coronation in a foreign city

hijinks ensue, the plot does some twists, etc. etc.

Adult/general, alt-world low-magic fantasy, light on the romance, heavy on the adventure and shenanigans

Featuring (from left to right):

Sahl: the weirdest human alive

Edrio: our tour guide through the narrative. Literally just some guy going through a really weird time

Zafiyah: the princess; more to her than meets the eye

First scene under the cut:

Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Dark

Edrio jerked awake to the clang of the cell door. He threw his hands up to shield his eyes from the blinding light, the shackles on his wrists sliding down his arms. 

So this was it then. They had come for him at last. He got to his feet, determined to at least die with dignity. He would face death, look it in the eyes. He squinted through the torchlight to make out the faces of the guards. There were two of them. Oddly, they supported another figure between them, a pathetic, wet rag doll of a person who dangled limply from their grasp. Without a glance at Edrio, the guards threw their cargo into the cell and slammed the door. 

Edrio nearly called after them, but stopped himself. If they weren’t here to escort him to his execution, he certainly wasn’t going to invite them to reconsider. As the guards disappeared around a corner, the last remnants of torchlight faded, and he was left completely in the dark. 

He edged away from the door, skirting the perimeter of the cramped cell to avoid stepping on the new inhabitant. He eased down the wall, pulling his knees in tight. There was no sound from the other side of the cell, not even of breathing. He held his own breath to be sure, but still, nothing. 

Maybe it was some kind of sadistic ritual, throwing a corpse in with a condemned man for his last night alive? To remind him that he, too, would soon be a corpse? As if he could forget. 

Well, if that was their game, he wouldn’t play it. He stretched out his legs, adjusting his chain to get as comfortable as he could. He couldn’t see the corpse, so he simply would not let it bother him. He would show no fear. When death was inevitable, fear was purposeless anyway. 

Edrio had nearly dozed off again when the corpse emitted a low groan. Oh. Not a corpse then. “Hello?” he whispered. 

There was no answer. 

“All you alright?” he volunteered out loud, voice cracking from lack of use. 

Silence from his guest. Edrio sighed and scooted over, feeling over rough stone floor until his hands found cloth. 

The stranger was wet through, but not dripping, as if they had gotten soaked several hours ago and hadn’t had the opportunity to dry. He patted the bundle of rags, finding the shape of a bony knee. He found his way up to the torso, feeling for any obvious wounds. The stranger groaned again. The voice sounded male, from what he could tell. 

Edrio felt his way up to the stranger’s neck, which seemed uninjured, and up to his head. Without warning, teeth snapped at his fingers. Edrio jerked back with a yell, his flailing hands rattling his chain. He brought his bitten fingers to his own mouth and tasted blood—the bite had broken the skin. 

“What was that for?” he snapped. The stranger only hissed and snapped his teeth. 

Edrio retreated, deciding that if the stranger was well enough to bite, he would probably survive the night. And he didn’t seem to be mortally wounded, from what Edrio could tell in total darkness. 

He sucked his bleeding fingers, wishing he had something to disinfect the wound. Not that it mattered. A beheading would do him in much faster than an infected bite. 

Unless they weren’t going to bother with a beheading. Maybe the stranger was rabid. 

“Do you understand Garalá?” he asked. 

Nothing. 

“Ursesh?” he tried. 

The stranger mumbled something faintly. 

“Do you speak Ursesh?” Edrio asked in his clumsy Ursesh. 

“Get away from me,” the stranger spat. That was a yes. 

“Can’t, I’m afraid,” Edrio replied, rattling his chain for emphasis. 

The stranger said nothing. A distant rattling rang from somewhere further down the hall. In the days Edrio had been here, he had become accustomed to the mystery prisoner who would stir up a racket whenever it seemed to strike his fancy, every few hours or so. One had to pass the time somehow. 

After the cacophony of rattling chains and echoing, monkey-like screeches had subsided, Edrio listened again for the stranger, but could hear nothing. It was eerie, knowing that someone else was there in the dark, but sensing only emptiness. He felt prickly, as if the stranger were watching him, even though he knew he would be equally blind. 

“What are you in for?” Edrio ventured. 

The stranger spewed a long stream of words in Ursesh, most of which Edrio was unfamiliar with, and all of which were clearly foul. 

Edrio sighed. Just his luck to receive a companion to break the utter monotony of his last days, only for him to be as close to a feral dog as it was possible for a human to be. He rested his head on his knees and tried to fall asleep. But for someone whom he could neither see nor hear, the stranger was awfully hard to ignore. 

[fir-fireweed]

Intro Post for my new WIP, “Cantata.” If you haven’t yet read my completed IF, “Viatica,” you can find it here on itch.

A low fantasy IF loosely based on the Italian Renaissance period, with a steampunk edge.

DEMO on Itch

SYNOPSIS

The story is set in Saleste, an empire with a long history of expansionism and colonization. It is a vast, wealthy empire, very much set in notions of classism and noble privilege. And its warmongering has only grown more brazen under the current regis (monarch). Saleste is currently at a stalemate with Tinebaille, a neighboring island nation the empire has repeatedly tried, and failed, to conquer.

Within the empire, technically citizens but not, are the Iredicci. The Iredicci are as much a religion as they are a race—less like priests and more like monks or shamans. The Iredicci can hear and feel the cordis, the harmonic pulse that connects all living things, and they connect to it through song. Iredicci have excellent hearing, but their defining feature is their voice—they have an echo to their voice, a resonance of two pitches at once. The regis asked the Iredicci elders to use their unique gift to help him conquer Tinebaille, but as a peaceful people, they refused.

A simple, nomadic people, the Iredicci were traditionally welcome in all corners of the Saleste Empire. But as steam technology progressed and the push for new resources grew, a prejudice developed against them. The regis spread propaganda against the Iredicci, painting them as an inferior, uncivilized people who leeched off the empire rather than aided it. Over the years they stopped being welcome. Eventually, their travel was restricted, and the Iredicci were forced to live in settlement camps.

You are one of the Iredicci, born into such a camp. The elders sing songs of past travels and wonders you have never seen. Ever the optimists, the elders tell you to take heart. To be thankful you are among friends and family. That things can’t possibly get any worse.

Until they do.

Historians and politicians would call it The Proelium, a righteous battle against the traitorous Iredicci. What it really was, was the systematic genocide of your people. In one night, soldiers attacked every settlement camp across the empire. No one was spared—not the elders, not the children, not your mother.

It was mere whim that you snuck out of camp that evening, a mischievous escapade with a friend that ironically saved your life. You are taken in by your friend’s family and kept safe. But with survivors being hunted and killed, you must conceal your identity. So, you pretend to be deaf and mute.

Journey through the empire of Saleste and beyond. Grow from a child into an adult. Make friends, lovers, allies, and enemies. How will they react when your secret comes to light? Will you abandon your song in favor of machine? Join the rebel forces against the tyrant regis? Will you heal the wounds of the realm and restore balance? Or plunge it further into chaos?

MAGIC

There is no magic in the traditional sense, but your people are attuned to the cordis, the harmonies of the earth. Your song brings rain to drought ridden areas, quiets thunderstorms, tames wildfires, and soothes hearts. You can also attune to a specific element, which corresponds to one of the senses:

Earth/Smell

Air/Sight

Fire/Touch

Water/Taste

FEATURES

Play as male, female or nonbinary—you’ll be able to choose your pronouns independent of your body type.

Customize your character’s appearance and personality.

Choose your attunement/proficiency with the cordis. This choice will heavily influence gameplay, affecting combat, weapon specialization, character interactions, and problem-solving situations. Choose wisely!

Create 2 character names: your birth name and an alias. The Iredicci have culturally unique names, so your birth name will be limited to a preset selection. But you will go by an alias of your own choosing for most of the story.

Develop your relationship with your adopted sister. Are you friends or rivals?

Romance! Or not. Romance 1 of 4 possible love interests, or choose the platonic route with the best of friends.

Save a wild animal from a hunter’s trap and gain a steadfast companion. Because fur baby.

THE MC

The game begins with you at age 7. When you are 12, your camp is slaughtered during The Proelium. With your voice and heightened hearing identifying you as Iredicci, you pretend to be deaf and mute in order to hide your heritage. The main game occurs 13 years after The Proelium, when you are 25.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Calliope Cato (she/her)

The inventor/artificer, Calliope can build and fix any machine. She is 2 years younger than you, petite, with gold eyes, rich brown skin and black hair in multiple braids. Her hair and clothes are adorned in rings, belts, and pins which double as tools. She carries a man’s cane sword with her everywhere, which she wields in a fight along with a hand crossbow. She’s curious, optimistic, excitable, and easily distracted by her many projects, but much of that is to keep her mind occupied. In quiet moments when she thinks no one is looking, you glimpse a profound sadness on her features.

Corinne Xenakis (she/her)

The leader of the rebels, Corinne works to overthrow the monarchy and aid the surviving Iredicci where possible. She is 6 years older than you. She is tall, with long, sandy brown hair usually worn in a messy bun or loosely braided bun, hazel eyes, and beige skin tanned by the sun. Quiet, serious and aloof, she feels a tremendous responsibility for those under her command. Corinne is a contradiction—she has the grace and manners of a noblewoman, yet fights with military precision that is uncommon for females of noble lineage. She is deadly when double wielding her flintlocks or axes. While not cold, she is not overly familiar or friendly with anyone, and very tight-lipped about her past. What does she guard so fiercely behind her armor?

Vicente Aloi (he/they)

The bastard prince, Vicente is calculating, ruthless and driven. They are the same age as you, and they, too, lost their mother the night of The Proelium, though under different circumstances. But while you were adopted into a loving family, he is the unwanted son of the regis, trained to be a lethal tool. He has long, midnight blue-black hair, icy blue eyes, and high defined cheekbones. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet… wings, perhaps? It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, though you’d never tell him for fear he’d take his rapier to your neck simply for looking. Will your plans align with his, or are you merely another pawn in his schemes?

Bayram Durmaz (he/him)

The son of the Aydem, the matriarchal leader of Tinebaille. Bayram is 4 years older than you. He has golden-honey skin, light brown eyes, and dark brown, tightly-curled hair that he usually wears back in a ponytail or half ponytail. He is tall and broad, muscular but not toned, with a rounded edge to his stomach and chest. A sprawling, colorful tattoo, the mosaic artwork of his people, covers the entirety of his back. He is boisterous, bold, and a shameless flirt. With his young sister bearing the weight of succession, he’s been free to explore the islands to his heart’s content, and is familiar with every bay, inlet, and harbor. He is equally skilled at wielding a spear, sailing a ship, and charming hearts.

CONTENT WARNING

This story is intended for mature audiences. Possibly triggering topics present in the story include blood, violence, death (including child death), trauma & PTSD, mature language, sexual content (optional), classism, sexism, bigotry, and the persecution of a fictional people. Be advised, you are also pretending to have a disability for at least half the story.

The music is intentionally loud in certain parts of the story. This is to mimic the noise and emotions that the MC is experiencing, as sound is an integral feature of your race. It may be uncomfortable for some readers, so please read with caution.

PINTEREST click here

[dustofthedailylife]

You were not supposed to hear that...yet

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham x (gn!) Reader

Summary: Alhaitham reveals a secret about the inner workings of his heart to his friends over a cup of wine and in between some banter. However, he did not expect it would go this wrong...

Tags: Fluff, crack, comfort, teasing, consumption of alcohol (by characters), the whole 4ggravate crew is here, friendly banter between friends, a small sprinkle of angst because reader is insecure (but it's unjustified)

A/N: Dust posting a new fic?! Not an April Fool's joke, despite the date! Finally felt inspired and well enough again to finish this fic that has been rotting in my WIPs forever. I hope you like it. And feel free to hit me up with asks and reblogs - it'd motivate me greatly after my long break 🥺

The usual friend group of Cyno, Kaveh, Tighnari, and him - Alhaitham, was sitting at the Tavern. A gathering like it happened almost every weekend at this point.

The wine bottle on the table had been emptied around two or three times already when Kaveh ordered a new one yet again. At this point, Alhaitham had actually lost count of how many glasses of wine he'd already had, too. But one thing was for certain, he could feel the alcohol in his system and the warm blood that was rushing to his cheeks. All things considered though, despite feeling a little tipsy from the intoxication, he was still able to think clearly.

"Let me guess I'm the one who will have to end up covering your bill again?" He took sarcastic a jab at Kaveh. 

The man in question just squinted his eyes and glared daggers at him before opening his mouth in an attempt to protest before it was quickly shot down by Tighnari's hand covering it.

Alhaitham leisurely leaned back in his chair smirking to himself, training his focus back onto the TCG cards in his hands and considering his next turn of action in the game he was playing against Cyno.

"What, am I just supposed to take it all the time and be quiet?!" Kaveh retorted, directed at Tighnari. The fox's ears were beginning to droop lower and lower as his expression became more and more deadpan.

"You all know as well as I do that if [Y/N] was here he wouldn't be acting like this. He would be on his best behavior and pay for the drinks without so much as complaining or being so cocky."

"By the way," Tighnari attempted to divert the attention away from Kaveh's ranting. "Where are they? Didn't you say they wanted to stop by the Tavern as well today, Alhaitham?"

Alhaitham played his round, throwing his card Cyno's way before looking up at Tighnari again.

"They mentioned it but I suppose something must've come up instead. I will ask tomorrow."

"Isn't it strange?" Kaveh addressed the others. "Whenever it involves [Y/N] he graciously offers himself up to talk to them and seek them out but whenever someone else is looking for him he is nowhere to be found."

"Maybe you just can't find me because I simply don't have anything to discuss with you." Alhaitham threw another jab at Kaveh with a smirk, which was promptly followed by a light punch against his bicep by the blonde architect.

"What? I constantly have to talk to you already when we're at ho-"

"SHHH! Don't say that out loud." Kaveh hissed, quickly covering Alhaitham's mouth in panic, since he didn’t want him to spell out that they were currently living together. “It's embarrassing enough that I currently have no other choice, no need to add to my misery.”

A witty quip was burning at the tip of Alhaitham's tongue after Kaveh's remark yet again, but he decided to swallow it. He didn't want to upset him too much, especially since he knew he'd had it rough lately. Even if it would've been said in jest, there was no need to add insult to injury. Instead, he simply resorted to taking another sip of his wine with a low chuckle and a glance in the blonde architect’s direction.

“Aaaaanyway…”, Tighnari cleared his throat, addressing Alhaitham once more. “What is it between [Y/N] and you anyway? You've become quite close haven't you?”

“That's an understatement.” Kaveh groaned, dropping his head on his folded arms on the table dramatically. “He can't stop talking about them. Day in and day out it’s [Y/N]-this, [Y/N]-that.”

“We started working on a project about six months ago. Things are progressing quite smoothly if I do say so myself. Certainly makes things easier if you're working with someone who is both hardworking and intelligent in every way. I’ve been lucky to have been assigned to the project with them.” Alhaitham answered Tighnari’s question rationally while ignoring Kaveh’s dramatic display.

“Here he goes again.” Kaveh huffed, directing his comment at Cyno and Tighnari. “Whenever he talks about them you hear nothing but praises.”

“If someone is doing a great job, is it not logical to give them the credit they deserve?” Alhaitham added matter of factly.

“No… I mean yes, but no. It's just not something I'd see you doing. It’s so out of character.” Kaveh huffed. “And before you say anything, yes, maybe I just don't know that side of you because I don't give you any reason to praise me. No need to add that, thank you.”

Kaveh poked his tongue out at Alhaitham before taking a big sip from his wine.

“Why, if you want to be praised you just need to say so, Kaveh. I think you're quite brilliant - your shortcomings aside.” He just had to add that last bit. Kaveh was just way too easy to tease. And what would this friend group be without the playful banter and jabs at each other?

Kaveh choked on the drink immediately and slammed his cup down onto the table with a loud clang. A fire burned behind his crimson eyes when he spoke next.

“This is exactly what I meant, thanks for proving my point!”

Kaveh looked at Cyno and Tighnari gesturing in the direction of Alhaitham with a move that said “Do you see what I mean now?”.

Tighnari just facepalmed and shook his head.

“And what is your point exactly?” Cyno inquired, playing a card from his hand.

“Did you not listen to what he said?” Kaveh gasped.

“Not really,” Cyno admitted honestly, his eyes trained back on the cards in his hands.

“It's the fact that he can praise others too, but never without also pointing out their faults in the same sentence. Did no one ever notice that? However, he never does that when it's [Y/N].” Kaveh explained.

“And?” Tighnari and Cyno replied in unison, looking puzzled as to where Kaveh wanted to go with this.

Kaveh put his head in his hand and groaned in frustration. “Sometimes you all make me feel like I am surrounded by idiots.”

Now everyone raised their eyebrows at him.

“You're all so clueless… anyway.” He sighed dramatically and accusingly pointed a finger at Alhaitham. “This guy. This admittedly handsome but blockheaded, know-it-all, stoic, annoying-”

“Get to the point.” Alhaitham chided, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine, fine." Kaveh spread his arms like he was holding a presentation and Alhaitham his canvas.

“This guy's right here, as alien as it may sound – has fallen in love.” 

“You're in love?!” Cyno exclaimed his eyes widening. “With who?!”

Tighnari rolled his eyes, knowing full well Cyno hadn't listed at all the past ten minutes because he had been so absorbed in his cards, and gently slapped the back of his head.

“[Y/N], of course!” The Forest Ranger exclaimed with a huff.

Cyno, now rubbing the back of his head just ushered a “Wait really?” while Kaveh and Tighnari just curiously began eyeing Alhaitham in the hope of seeing any type of confirmation on his face. However, it stayed as unreadable as ever.

He nonchalantly took another sip of wine from his cup while leisurely looking back and forth between the cards on the table and the ones in his hand before playing another turn as if this conversation just now hadn't happened.

“So!?” Kaveh asked, almost hysterically at this point. “Do you intend to enlighten us?”

Just how had he gotten into this situation now? Alhaitham suppressed a sigh before turning to Cyno: “Your turn. Two of your cards are down.”

“Archons!” Cyno cussed, immediately attempting to go back to study his cards but a fist slammed the table harshly, drawing all attention to it.

Tighnari flinched in shock and Cyno, too seemed to be pulled back to reality. Kaveh’s hand was trembling slightly, visibly agitated.

“Stop changing the subject, Alhaitham. The more you keep avoiding answering the question the more I think I am right in my assumptions.”

Alhaitham pinched the bridge of his nose beginning to truly feel a little stressed by Kaveh’s insistance. The man was truly too nosy for his good.

“Kaveh, just let it be if he doesn’t-” Tighnari began before being cut off by Alhaitham.

“And what if you are right? What then, Kaveh?”

Everyone at the table fell silent and everyone was staring at him with a mix of disbelief and shock.

He hadn't planned to reveal any of this yet, especially since he feared they would try to become his wingman. Which, admittedly, may be a nice gesture on paper but with them it could only end in disaster. Plus he would prefer to deal with his feelings alone first and think them through thoroughly, before talking about them with anyone. Besides, it should be you, if anyone, who should hear about them first - alas he was too deep into this now to weasel his way out.

“What?!” Kaveh’s mouth hung open in shock.

“So it is true then?” Cyno inquired, putting the card in his hand down on the table, now suddenly fully hooked on the tea that was being spilled.

“Hold on. Pause.” Kaveh sat upright, before quickly gazing over Alhaitham’s shoulder. “So you-”

“For Archon’s sake.” Alhaitham was beginning to get annoyed because he didn't know how much clearer he had to become for them to get it. “Yes - I’ve been in love with them. For a while now-”

“Alhaitham-” Kaveh tried to interject.

“No, don't interrupt me now, you pestered me about it for the past twenty minutes now you'll have to listen. I have never met anyone who is so hardworking, intelligent, and stunning in any way. Of course, I would be infatuated with a person like them. It would be hard not to fall for them.”

“Uhm Alhai–” Kaveh laughed awkwardly before being interrupted by Alhaitham’s ongoing monologue once more.

“At first I wasn't sure about it but I am now. I am thinking about them first thing in the morning and last thing when I go to sleep - unless you're hammering away on some project again that keeps me awake, Kaveh.”

Kaveh waved for him to shut up already but Alhaitham didn't let that bother him. If he wanted the full story with all the details - he'd get it. He hoped that would get this discussion out of the way once and for all.

“And guess what? They even remembered how I liked my coffee just after I told them once and gifted me a book that I had been trying to find for weeks. So yes, Kaveh. I love [Y/N]. There, does that suffice now, or?”

Kaveh let out a squeal as soon as Alhaitham had stopped speaking but upon further inspection of his expression, it hadn't been one of excitement but rather pure terror and awkwardness. 

“Alhaitham…” Cyno and Tighnari said in unison and he only then noticed as well how their gaze was trained on a spot behind him.

“What?” Alhaitham inquired, curling a brow up in confusion before all three men pointed their fingers at something behind him.

When he turned his head around to look at what they were trying to show him, he felt his heart drop to his stomach for the first time in ages.

To his utter shock, you were standing right behind him. Or rather, you were frozen in place, your hand still half lifted in greeting as if you had just been about to greet the lot of them. Your mouth was slightly open in shock still and your pupils were but the size of pinpricks and transfixed on Alhaitham.

And judging by your reaction you must've heard every last word he had said.

“I-I…” You started stammering, clearly confused about what you had just heard. “I uh-, I'll head back home.”

You abruptly turned around on your heel and marched straight out the Tavern door you had just come through as if someone was chasing you.

Alhaitham hadn't moved a muscle ever since he had spotted you standing behind him and he looked like he was frozen in place. Everyone at the table had fallen so silent, one would've been able to hear a needle drop.

Alhaitham's eyes were still fixed on the door you had left through. The little bell that chimed every time the Tavern door hit it on the way in or out was still dangling lightly from the impact. But the movement was dying down slowly but surely - just like Alhaitham, who felt like someone had dropped a boulder on his chest.

You were not supposed to hear that, yet.

“You uh…, Alhaitham you should probably follow them.” Tighnari was the first to speak again. He awkwardly scratched behind his ears. Cyno hummed in agreement while Kaveh just sat there with his mouth wide open.

Alhaitham exhaled in frustration, unable to properly place his emotions. But they were somewhere between unsettled, nervous, and discomforted.

When he got up it felt like someone had tied heavy iron blocks to his ankles that were weighing him down.

“Yeah, I guess I do,”  Alhaitham muttered before marching off.

When you stormed outside the Tavern the cool evening breeze gnawed at your skin and made goosebumps erupt all over. Although you weren't quite sure if it was the temperature or your emotional turmoil at play here.

There was no way Alhaitham had just said that and actually meant it. He wouldn't be the type of man to flat-out admit that he had feelings for anyone. Or would he? He had been talking to his closest friends after all.

You were questioning your sense of reality and thought you must've fabricated it all in your mind. Or maybe you misheard what he said and he was talking about something else entirely.

But no, he said your name, and the others looked panicked when you entered the tavern and approached the table.

As you rushed through the streets of Sumeru City the chilly wind kept whipping in your face. Not even you knew where you were going at this point. You simply went where your feet were carrying you.

But eventually, you realized you had run up the Akademiya and to the blue-green mosaic pavilion that glistened in the last rays of sunlight. The spot at which you and Alhaitham often spent your lunch break together. 

You sunk down on the bench exhaustedly and stared holes in the ground.

No way.

There was just no way.

Alhaitham. The man you had fallen for so hard that he had begun to occupy every waking thought you had. That man was supposed to have feelings for you and had just flat-out admitted it?

No, this simply had to be a dream. A bad joke. Or maybe even a bet between the group that they orchestrated to prank you.

You could feel your heart thumping in your head and it felt like your head was swimming. It was as if you had downed an entire bottle of wine by yourself, but you were as sober as one could be.

Yes, that had to be it. It was a bet between the boys over one too many cups of wine and they had all acted their parts out flawlessly.

You got up again walking to the railing, overlooking Sumeru city that shone majestically in the last remaining rays of sunshine that the day had to offer. Another gush of wind blew your way, making tears well up in your eyes. Although it may have also been your emotions who were to blame for that instead.

You inhaled deeply. Once. Twice. But nothing seemed to help calming the rapidly beating heart in your chest.

In your daze, you completely missed how someone had quietly come up to the pavilion as well.

Alhaitham leaned against the railing himself, looking over the city in silence, too. He was clearly ringing for words. Although you assumed the wrong reason for his struggle.

“Look,” you began, trying your hardest to suppress the tremble in your voice. “If you came here to apologize - please, spare me your words.”

He looked at you opening his mouth before closing it again right after with a silent nod. His cheeks were dusted in a light pink shade - you assumed it was caused by the alcohol he had downed at the tavern with the others.

“I hope that we can go back to normal tomorrow and just finish our project. I’d prefer if we kept our distance after that. I think it’s for the best” The words left your mouth at normal speed, but it felt like you had to force every single one out. They felt tenacious, like old chewing gum that you tried to pull out from in between your teeth.

“I understand.” He stated calmly before retraining his gaze back into the distance. 

You both kept standing next to each other in silence for a long while before you decided to confront him about it directly. You eventually decided it was for the best if you got things off your chest now so that you could get over him quickly. Ripping it off like a band-aid would hopefully give you the relief you so desperately craved right now.

“You know,” you began. “I don’t know who came up with the idea and I also don’t care, no need to tell me. But you guys should never do this to anyone again because you never know how much it might end up hurting someone else’s feelings.”

Alhaitham stood upright and turned to face you directly. He crossed his arms over his chest and slightly cocked his head like he always did when he was thinking about something you said.

After a momentary pause, he asked: “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you shouldn’t toy with someone’s feelings as a prank. It’s never actually funny for anyone but the people who orchestrate such a prank. No matter if the other person reciprocates the feelings or whether they believe the statement, they always end up being the one who is being ridiculed.” You explained as rationally as possible, which was a stark contrast to the tempest that was raging both inside of your heart and mind.

“Especially when the person hoped to hear those exact words for the longest time, too…” You added. It wasn't more than an utterance under your breath - so quietly it was barely audible. But Alhaitham heard nonetheless.

“But I meant everything I said.” He stated matter of factly, seemingly catching on to the fact that you must’ve assumed the wrong things about the whole situation.

“What?! Alhaitham, please, there is no need to add insult to injury. You had your fun now–”

“No.” He gently took your hands in his, exhaling heavily. “Archons, you weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

He rarely swore which made the impact of his words even stronger.

“I wanted to tell you face to face and was waiting for the right moment to do so. But, just know that every word you heard and everything I said back at the tavern was the truth. No bet or scheme made me say it. Not that anyone would be able to make me say these things in the first place.” He sighed once more, giving your hands an emphasizing squeeze. “I meant it.”

“You did?”

“Every word.”

You felt the blood rush to your face and immediately lowered your gaze in an attempt to hide your flusteredness.

“Had I known this would happen, I would’ve told you everything right from the start. I don’t like how this went now but–”, he moved his hands up to cup your face. His beautiful turquoise eyes trained on no one but you. 

“I’m absolutely certain I like you. You drive me crazy. And I love and hate how much you occupy every waking thought of mine because I can’t focus on anything when you’re around. And when you’re not, you’re still always on my mind. So please – be mine.”

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru

Here I go again starting something new when my drafts are full of WIPs...

Consider this Getou's 35th bday gift 💋

[fanart by: @polariae on X (#needhim) / cw: peeping]

Everyone has guilty pleasures—secret indulgences they hide from prying eyes, vices they pretend don’t exist.

But no matter how satisfying they may be, how deeply they scratch that internal itch, reality always comes crashing down. And when it does, it cuts deep, jagged shards of shame slicing through delusion.

The worst realizations come after you’ve sunk too far, waded too deep into depravity, so numb to your own self-indulgence that you can’t even recognize it for what it is. Like the old tale of the frog in boiling water—oblivious to its slow, inevitable demise.

And right now? Being awake before even the birds have stirred, wedged between your thick curtains and the wall, peering through the narrow slit with bated breath?

That’s your boiling water.

You lift your arm carefully, tapping your smartwatch. The dim glow illuminates the numbers.

4:55 AM.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Even the faintest intake of air feels like a risk, as if he might somehow sense your presence.

It’s happening.

Slowly, he stands from the black velvet club chair, folding his newspaper—the Times, maybe?—with meticulous precision before setting it on the bed. He stretches, arms lifting over his head, his body rolling fluidly as he shakes off the last remnants of sleep. A slow bounce on the balls of his feet. A lazy roll of his shoulders.

Then he moves toward the closet, flicking the light on.

You barely stifle a squeak.

Illuminated, his sleep-heavy eyes remain hooded, half-lidded with exhaustion. He crosses his arms over the hem of his faded gray sleep shirt and lifts it in one smooth motion. The fabric slides over his toned torso, revealing the defined cut of his V-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband. His flannel pants dip dangerously low on his hips.

Your mouth goes dry.

As he rifles through his wardrobe, his back muscles flex under the shifting light, honey-bronzed skin rippling as he moves. He pulls out a crisp, white button-up, holding it to the light. The subtle gleam of a barbell piercing peeks through his nipple.

You swallow—loudly.

The wet click of it makes you cringe in embarrassment, even though you’re entirely alone.

You sink down, sliding soundlessly against the wall until you’re curled into yourself, head in your hands.

I have got to get a grip.

𓂃۶ৎ

“You’ve got to get a grip.”

Across from you, Yu stares, wide-eyed and incredulous.

His big, brown eyes are filled with concern, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. He reaches across the table, placing a warm hand over your own, rubbing your knuckles in reassurance.

“I say this with the utmost love and care,” he begins, voice low and serious, “but you are genuinely starting to scare me.”

You tilt your head, amused despite yourself. Placing your other hand over his, you give him a saccharine smile.

“And I fear your love life is even scarier,” you quip, “considering you and Nanami are disgustingly smitten with each other but refuse to do anything about it.”

Yu groans, yanking his hand back as he slumps into his seat.

You’ve been working with Yu for five years now at a highly accredited education company, officially as tutors but often picking up shifts in the adjoining daycare. He’s been a constant source of fresh air in your life—unrelentingly optimistic, perpetually happy, and the only thing keeping you sane when bratty kids, back-talking teens, and overbearing parents strip away every ounce of your patience.

And for the past two years, a certain someone has been an added incentive to showing up.

Nanami Kento.

Tall, broad, devastatingly handsome. Blonde hair, sharp features, and an air of refined old money. He first enrolled his younger brother, Yuji, in tutoring classes two years ago, exasperated by the boy’s athletic prowess but academic struggles.

Nanami, ever the composed professional, is a bank analyst with little time to spare—especially for schoolwork. But despite his packed schedule, he always makes time to bring Yuji in himself. And, without fail, he always requests Yu as Yuji’s tutor.

Nanami never hovers, never interferes—but he stays. Every time. MacBook open, glasses perched low on his nose, working in the corner while his gaze flickers to Yuji…and, more often than not, lingers on Yu.

They’re not slick.

Yu, for all his confidence, is an absolute mess around Nanami. He stumbles over his words, turns an embarrassing shade of pink, and loses all train of thought. Meanwhile, Nanami remains perfectly composed—save for the occasional, barely-there smirk when Yu flusters himself into silence.

It’s infuriatingly adorable.

But despite their obvious mutual pining, neither of them has made a move. You’ve tried to nudge them along, but they’re both stubborn as hell. They have to get there on their own.

Maybe you should have a little chat with Yuji—

“Hey! Hey!”

Yu waves a hand wildly in front of your face, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I know that smirk! Stop scheming.” His expression darkens. “And focus—you wanted to talk about your situation, remember? I have, like, five minutes left on my break.”

Right.

You lean back, exhaling slowly. Recounting the sick, twisted ways you’ve gone from having a harmless crush on your thirty-five-year-old neighbor to full-on stalking him is…a lot.

So you clean up the details.

You leave out the part where you wake up at the crack of dawn just to watch him get dressed. Or how you happen to be outside every afternoon when his daughters get home from school, conveniently offering them sweets as if it’s just a coincidence.

Everyone has flaws. Yours just happen to feel entirely justified every time you’re blessed with the sight of Getou Suguru—all six feet of sculpted muscle, dressed in tailored suits and expensive watches, long hair pulled into a tight bun, sharp violet eyes glinting behind sleek glasses.

And if that wasn’t enough, the way he is with his daughters—that obliterates any remaining shred of reason.

On weekends, he’s outside your apartment complex in casual clothes, guiding them along the sidewalk on their little pink tricycles. He smiles at them, warm and genuine, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

He moved in a year ago.

And in eleven months, you’ve lost a lifetime’s worth of dignity and grace thirsting over the DILF next door.

Well—not next door, but close enough. Your balconies face each other.

You discovered this little fact a couple of weeks after he moved in.

It had been a casual meeting at first—one of those neighborly exchanges where introductions are made in passing. You were returning from work, tired but relieved to be home, and he had just finished enrolling his daughters in school. He had held the lobby door open for you, a simple courtesy, saving you from the trouble of buzzing yourself in.

You’d jogged a little to close the distance, not wanting to keep him waiting. As you passed through, you turned to thank him, fully prepared to run off—but he stopped you with a radiant smile.

“Hello, I haven’t had the pleasure of introducing myself yet.” He scratched the back of his neck, letting the door swing shut behind him. “We’re new to the building.”

Then, with a gesture toward the two girls at his side, he continued, “This one’s Nanako,”—the jumpy, golden-haired child practically vibrating with energy—“and this is Mimiko.” The brunette clung to his leg, wary but curious.

“They’re adorable,” you had told them warmly.

“Now, girls, what do we say to the nice lady?”

“Thank you, nice lady!” Nanako chirped.

Mimiko mumbled a soft, “Thanks.”

Getou chuckled, ruffling her hair before leaning down to press a kiss to her crown. “Don’t be shy, honey. It’s okay.”

Mimiko tightened her grip on his leg, holding onto him as though you might whisk her father away if she let go.

As he straightened, a sharp breeze carried the scent of musky sandalwood and lavender from him, teasing your senses in a way that felt almost intimate.

“They’re still a little frazzled from the move,” he admitted in a mock whisper, “Don’t tell, but some nights I’ve been sneaking them candy for dessert—except it’s just melatonin.”

You had giggled at his confession, and his lips had ticked upward at the sound.

“I’m Getou, by the way,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But if I’ll be seeing you often, feel free to call me Suguru—I’m not uptight.”

You’d introduced yourself, mentioning that you were native to the area and worked as a tutor, meaning you were well-versed in the local children’s events. As you spoke, he listened attentively, nodding along to every other word, his eye contact steady. You had to fight every intrusive thought about how distractingly attractive he was—how much you wanted to press your tongue to the line of his jaw, trace the length of his throat.

Not the time. Definitely not the time.

By the time numbers had been exchanged for “neighborly inquiries,” you’d realized you lived on the same floor.

“Well, would you look at that~” He had chuckled, amused by the coincidence.

You’d smiled, bid the girls farewell, and assured Getou he could reach out if he ever needed anything. But the moment you turned away—oh, God. You had to fight the urge to squeal, mouthing a silent oh my God to yourself as you hurried to your apartment, barely processing the fact that an incredibly sexy dad lived just a few doors down.

Then came the accidental discovery.

The first time you caught him dressing in front of his window had been pure chance.

You’d been up early—5 AM, thanks to your turn to let in the clean-up crew for your workplace’s monthly deep clean. Half-awake and desperate for coffee, you had shuffled into your kitchen, only to catch a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision.

And there he was.

Shirtless. Wet.

His long, damp hair fell in dark ribbons down his back, droplets clinging to his skin, catching the dim morning light. He was flipping through a newspaper, one hand resting on his chin, brow furrowed in thought. His serious expression made your brain short-circuit—sending it spiraling into dangerous territory.

A strict professor making you stay after class.

A mean dom forcing you into submission.

A strict boss calling you into his office, locking the door.

You had to physically shake the thoughts away, dragging your gaze back to your coffee like it was a lifeline.

Then he cracked his neck, flexed his fingers, and carefully laid a pair of black work pants across his bed, arranging his outfit with meticulous precision. That was when you realized—you had unintentionally learned his morning routine.

And you weren’t proud to admit that you had grown to love it.

Your favorite part? When he stood before the mirror, brushing out his hair.

He always looked so at peace during that ritual—like it was something grounding, something necessary. It was the last thing he did before spritzing on cologne and stepping out for the day.

Now, sitting across from Yu in the breakroom, you finally admit to your… situation.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Yu asks, frowning. “Or—God forbid��a wife?”

You wave him off. “No way. If he had a wife, she would’ve been mentioned. Even a girlfriend—I would’ve seen her by now.”

Yu cringes. “Right.”

He places both hands flat on the table, inhaling like he is about to deliver some sage wisdom. “You need to do what I do—just keep running into him, talk to him, wear him down until you two become close.”

You give him a look. “So I can be friend-zoned for a year? No, thanks.”

Yu turns up his nose. “So rude. Even when I try to help.” He pushes back his chair dramatically. “I’ll be on my way.”

He stomps off toward the door, only to pause, his bangs brushing against his lashes as he peeks back in.

“But text me later, okay?” he says with a smirk. “We’ll figure something out if we put our heads together.”

You huff a laugh. What a sweet guy. Even your obsessive behavior hasn’t scared him away.

The rest of your shift passes in a blur. You spend the final hour tutoring Sam—a regular who somehow always smells like cheese puffs and leaves everything he touches sticky. When his dad finally picks him up, you all but shove the sign-out sheet toward him, making a beeline for the bathroom to scrub your hands clean.

𓂃۶ৎ

A hot shower is calling your name as you skillfully back into your designated parking space, humming to yourself before stepping out of the car.

The moment your foot hits the pavement, the familiar sound of drunken laughter and hollering echoes through the garage. Of course. Your downstairs neighbors—wasted out of their minds. Again. On a Wednesday.

Rolling your eyes, you make your way toward the exit, only to find yourself in full view of the rowdy group perched on the hood of a sports car parked obnoxiously across multiple spaces. Among them is a guy you’ve seen before—arguing with his then-girlfriend at ungodly hours over god-knows-what. Spiky pink hair, gelled into stiff peaks, paired with a tight white tank top despite the night chill. You’ve never spoken to him, barely spared him a glance, but tonight, for whatever reason, he has something to prove.

“YO! HEY, YO!”

You ignore him, keeping your pace steady.

“Aye, I know you hear me! C’mere real quick!”

Your jaw tightens. You shoot him a glare but don’t stop, closing the distance to the door.

“Aww, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he drawls, clearly reveling in the attention of his friends. “That’s not very neighborly. I just gotta ask you a quick question.”

You exhale sharply, finally turning to face him and his little audience. “What the fuck do you want? You can ask from there.”

He scoffs, spitting onto the pavement. “Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.” He jerks his chin toward one of his friends. “My boy here thinks you look good, wanted to get them digits, but you ain’t even all that to be actin’ like this.”

A dry, humorless laugh escapes you as you prop a hand on your hip. “Funny, ‘cause from where I’m standing, you’re the one desperate for my attention. Screams ‘bitch’ to me—but go off.”

His friends snicker, their amusement only deepening his scowl. He swings his legs off the hood, standing up with an air of aggression. The moment he takes a step forward, your fingers slip into your bag, wrapping around the familiar cylinder of mace.

Six steps to the door.

His bloodshot eyes, the reek of weed clinging to his clothes—it sends your senses into high alert. If he lunges, you’ll spray him.

“Stuck-up bitch.”

A firm hand presses against the small of your back, guiding you away just as the tension peaks.

You startle, spinning with the mace raised—only to freeze when you find yourself looking up at Getou Suguru.

And he looks pissed.

Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a firm line, the sleeves of his button-up pushed to his elbows like he’s ready to handle this personally.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sukuna?” His voice is low, rough, demanding.

Your grip on the mace loosens as you exhale, the warmth of Getou’s hand steady on your back. You’re not helpless, but dealing with scum like Sukuna? That’s the last thing you want after a long day.

Sukuna’s posture falters for half a second before he scoffs. “Relax, man. Just wanted to talk. No need for the hero act.”

“I’m pretty sure she would’ve handled you herself,” Getou counters coolly. “But I figured I’d remind you that you’re one misdemeanor away from that assault and battery charge becoming a felony. So watch yourself.”

Sukuna’s arrogance wavers. His jaw tightens as he glances at Getou, weighing his options before choosing the safer one—retreating back to his car.

“If I catch you pulling this shit again,” Getou continues, “I’ll personally ensure you get a speedy trial—as is your constitutional right.”

The group piles into the car in tense silence. As the engine roars to life, Getou pulls his hand away from your back like he’s just realized it’s there.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to—” He sighs, shaking his head. “It just pissed me off seeing him try that with you. You don’t deserve that.”

He smiles, but there’s a quiet sadness to it, as if he’s seen too much of this before.

“I don’t think you know this,” he adds, voice softer, “but I run a non-profit for domestic violence survivors. We’ve helped house a few of Sukuna’s former partners. Got them legal support, protection. He’s—” His jaw clenches. “He’s worse than he looks.”

You take in the weight of his words. On one hand, you’re grateful for his work, knowing how important it is. On the other, the thought of Sukuna being a repeat offender makes your stomach turn.

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him, offering a small, genuine smile. “I appreciate you stepping in. Macing him would’ve ruined my whole night—pepper spray’s a bitch to wash out.”

That earns a quiet chuckle from Getou, the tension easing.

“Sure would’ve been a nuisance,” he agrees.

As you walk toward the building together, you steal a glance at him—at the way the moonlight catches in his hair, reflecting off a few stray gray strands. His jawline is sharp in the dim glow, the curve of his cheekbone accentuated in a way that makes your heart stutter. You watch as a calloused finger brushes his bangs back, tucking them behind his ear.

Ever the gentleman, he holds the door open for you and walks you all the way to your apartment. At your door, he rests a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Be safe,” he says. “And if you ever feel unsafe, don’t hesitate to reach out. Okay?”

You nod, feigning composure, but he sees right through it.

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Not good enough. Promise me.”

You huff, rolling your eyes before holding up a pinky. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he hooks his pinky around yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he lets go.

“Good girl.”

The praise haunts you for the rest of the night, looping in your head like a broken record. You spend hours lying awake, spamming Yu with frantic, half-incoherent texts detailing every second of what just happened.

𓂃۶ৎ

The following week, you don’t see him—not in the hall, not in passing. And though you tell yourself you’re being ridiculous, the lack of interaction leaves you feeling… disappointed. You want to text him, but without a real reason, it feels weird. You’re just his neighbor, after all—and at least a decade younger than him.

Still, you catch glimpses of him in the mornings. His routine never changes, but you do notice something new—he’s started drinking tea with his morning newspaper.

You wonder what sparked the change.

Then, on Friday night, your phone buzzes with a notification. A text.

Getou Suguru Hello. This is Suguru, your neighbor. Got any eggs?

You stare at the screen, blinking. That is… certainly an approach.

You: I do! Need me to bring a couple over? I don’t mind.

Getou Suguru: Oh, thank god. Would you? You’re a lifesaver.

You: Yeah, it’s just eggs. I’ll be right over!

You toss your phone onto the counter, glancing down at your loungewear—a silk two-piece pajama set, your favorite. Soft to the touch, effortlessly comfortable. Deciding it’s appropriate enough given the hour, you slip on your slippers, grab the carton of eggs, and head for his door.

Getou’s apartment has a personalized doormat at the entrance, The Getou Family scripted in bold cursive. Cute. You knock lightly, mindful of any sleeping children. A few moments later, footsteps approach, and the door swings open.

And it’s… not what you expect.

Getou stands there, hand on the knob, dressed in a sleek black turtleneck and chocolate-brown cargos—an effortlessly clean-cut look if not for the pink, frilly “Kiss the Cook” apron haphazardly tied around his waist. His long hair is braided loosely over his shoulder, stray strands falling over his forehead, and he looks utterly defeated—his entire body dusted in flour, even in his hair.

You giggle before you can stop yourself.

“Finding humor in my misery, are we?”

You barely manage to stifle your laughter behind your hand as he steps aside, ushering you in.

“Maybe just a little.” You poke at the apron first, smirking. “Well, don’t you look adorable?”

He swats your hand away with a playful huff, taking the eggs from you and leading the way into the kitchen—which is immediately visible. And immediately disastrous.

Flour streaks the counters. Sugar coats one side of the island. Three bowls, filled with dough in various colors, sit among a chaotic spread of every imaginable baking utensil. The only thing not in complete disarray is the rest of the apartment—modern, sleek black decor, perfectly organized, with a wall full of adorable photos of the girls over the years.

You whistle, taking it all in. “My god… what did you do?”

Getou sighs, brushing off flour from his sleeve in a half-hearted attempt to clean himself.

“My buddy Gojo had the girls today. Took them to a science museum, then dinner, and spoiled them, so naturally, they will be too hyped to care about me when they get home.” He gestures vaguely to the mess. “Thought I’d win them back over with homemade cookies since they love sweets. As you can see, I’m not exactly a natural.”

You move to the island, flipping an overturned bag of flour upright, salvaging whatever hasn’t already been sacrificed to the countertop.

“Clearly.”

Getou grabs an egg and cracks it over a bowl of light caramel-colored dough.

“Hey, I can’t be good at everything.”

You squint at his movements, catching the inconsistency in his technique. “Still cocky, huh?”

You peer into the bowl. This is definitely his third attempt at the dough.

“Instead of making another batch, maybe try tasting this one first? Are you even following a recipe?”

He taps sugar-dusted fingers against his chin. “Not exactly. I was going off memory. My mom used to make cookies for me when I was little, but… I may have mixed up a few ingredients.”

Before he can stop you, you dip a finger into the dough and bring it to your mouth.

“Don’t do that!” He wags a flour-covered finger at you, scandalized. “There’s raw egg in there—you’ll get salmonella.”

You grin, unfazed. “It’s just a little taste. And I can tell you’re missing vanilla. The sweetness is off, and it’ll help bind the flavors together.”

His violet eyes widen slightly before lighting up in realization. “Oh, right! Of course! Let me add some!”

Watching him scramble around the kitchen, searching for the vanilla like a deer learning to walk, is nothing short of endearing.

Together, you tweak the recipe—adding a little cinnamon, a sprinkle of nutmeg, some roughly chopped pecans. He lifts a mixing spoon to your lips, and you taste again.

This time? Sweet, only a hint of saltiness, and the nutty pecans bring a rich depth to the dough.

“It’s perfect,” you declare. “We can roll it out now.”

You hadn’t exactly planned for your Friday night to be overtaken by this bumbling, flour-dusted dad, but somehow, you don’t mind. You take turns rolling and flattening the dough before he slides the tray into the oven. Already, you’ve started cleaning—scooping up flour piles, bagging ingredients, restoring order to the battlefield.

“You don’t need to do that,” Getou protests, frowning. “You’ve done enough. Sit down.”

You comply halfway, still gathering loose flour into the bin. He pours you a glass of water and begins wiping down his own mess.

“Where’d you learn how to bake?”

“I wouldn’t call myself a baker,” you say, shrugging. “But working with kids, having treats around helps as a motivator. So I picked up a few simple recipes.”

He nods, impressed, running a damp rag over his flour-streaked shirt. His glasses have slipped down his nose, the lenses smudged from dirty hands.

“Suguru,” you say, deadpan, “go clean yourself up. I’ll finish here.”

He grimaces at the kitchen’s state, then exhales in surrender. “You’re a saint. I’d hate for the girls to see this mess when I’m always nagging them to keep their rooms spotless.” He presses a thumb to his brow. “Turns out, I’m quite the hypocrite.”

You methodically put the kitchen back in order, enjoying the gradual return to cleanliness. By the time Getou re-emerges, the only mess left is on his apron. His hair is pulled up in a loose bun, and he shoots you a wink.

“Right on time.”

As if on cue, the oven alarm dings. He pulls the tray out, setting it on the stove. The scent of buttery, warm sweetness fills the air. You inhale deeply, taking a seat at the barstool beside the counter.

Getou leans down, elbows propped against the surface, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, wouldn’t you say we make a per—”

“DADDY!!”

The door slams open, and Nanako barrels inside, launching herself at Getou’s waist.

“Daddy! Daddy! Guess what Satoru got us?!”

Laughing, he lifts her up, ruffling her hair as she clings to his neck. Gojo enters right behind, overloaded with shopping bags, white hair slightly tousled, Cartier shades barely hiding his mischievous blue eyes. Mimiko shuffles in, latched onto his pant leg.

Gojo smirks. “Took them on an all-you-can-grab shopping spree. Fun, right?” He inhales, pausing. “Mm, something smells good—wait. Suguru. Did you actually—” His gaze lands on you, and his smirk sharpens. “Well, well. Who’s this?”

You quickly stand, waving your hands. “Just a neighbor! Suguru needed eggs, and, well…” You gesture vaguely toward the cookies. “I took pity on his baking skills.”

Gojo snorts. “Little did you know, you probably just saved this entire building from being burned down.”

Getou shoves his shoulder. Gojo nearly drops a bag, grinning.

“Hey girls,” he calls, heading down the hall. “Make sure to thank your dad for wearing the special apron I got him! And don’t forget—no kiss, no cookie!”

Nanako gasps, eyes wide. “Oh! Before you go—you have to give Daddy a kiss too! Or no cookie!”

Mimiko nods solemnly. “No kiss, no cookie. Right, Daddy? Or were you lying?”

You laugh at Getou’s panicked expression.

With exaggerated effort, you stretch onto your toes, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“There. No lies.”

You grab your cookie and eggs, heading for the door. “Thanks for the treat! Have a good night, guys!”

As you step out, you catch one last glimpse—Getou, frozen, cheeks tinged pink, his jaw still faintly glossed from your kiss.

Munching on your cookie, you grin.

Bless those kids.

𓂃۶ৎ

The next morning, you wake up lazily, blissfully, embarrassingly late—somewhere around noon. A rare luxury. You stretch across your bed, basking in the slow start to the day before slipping into an easy, indulgent routine.

A long, hot shower.

A hearty, homemade brunch.

A carefully curated R&B playlist humming in the background.

You take your time with the little things—styling your hair, finally trying that shower steamer you’ve been saving, relishing a morning that’s just for you. It’s been a while since you’ve allowed yourself to unwind like this, especially since you’ve just started refraining from peeking in on the DILF next door.

Not that you’ve been thinking about him. Not at all.

The sun is bright today, the perfect excuse to go for a walk. Maybe you’ll drop by Yu’s place—figure out how your night will unfold from there. Something lively, hopefully.

Locking up, you head downstairs, offering nods to other tenants as you step outside. And then—

Giggling. Light, carefree, unmistakable.

You don’t even need to look to know who it is.

“Daddy, look! It’s the Cookie Lady!”

“Hi, Cookie Lady!”

You exhale, shaking your head. You vividly remember introducing yourself properly, but kids? Selective memory at its finest.

Sure enough, Nanako and Mimiko are on their pink tricycles, zooming across the pavement while Getou lingers nearby, guiding them like a watchful shadow.

You wave at the girls first, playing along. “Wow, you two are going so fast! Don’t run me over!”

They giggle, swerving dramatically around you as you pretend to stumble back. Behind them, Getou smiles—warm, effortless, like the sun overhead.

You move closer, eyes flicking over him instinctively.

Baggy denim. A beige sweater. A classic dad fit.

Only… the sweater’s losing a battle against the curve of his bicep, the fabric stretching just a little too tightly over muscle. And his arms—the shape of them, the way the fleece clings to his forearms—

You look away fast. Which is no reprieve because now you’re staring into his eyes—deep purple, sunlit flecks of magenta making them shimmer.

His lashes are obnoxiously thick. Prettier than yours, even with volumizing mascara.

Unfair.

“Any disasters for me to clean up today?” you tease, breaking eye contact.

His chuckle is low, warm, easy. His chest shakes lightly. “Not today. Yet. But can I keep you on call just in case?”

You shrug. “I’m around. And honestly? I could never say no to someone with such adorable little girls.”

Getou hums, eyes drifting toward his daughters, who are now engaged in a very serious race down the sidewalk—little hands swatting at each other as they try to throw the other off course.

“Adorable, yes. But don’t let them fool you.” He sighs. “They’re little devils in disguise.”

You laugh. “That’s just the age. They’re curious about everything. Had a kid at work raid my purse once during a session. Looked away for two seconds, and when I turned back, he was wearing a menstrual pad like a hat.”

Getou snorts. Catches himself. Coughs into his fist. “You’re lying.”

“I wish.”

His laughter fades into something softer. Thoughtful. His brows knit slightly.

“…I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but hearing stuff like that—feminine products, girl things—I get anxious. It’s hard, raising two girls alone.”

Your chest tightens at the look on his face. The quiet weight of it.

Without thinking, you reach for his hand.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I’ve worked with kids for years,” you say gently. “And I can spot a good parent a mile away. Even with our limited interactions, Suguru, you are one of the most doting fathers I’ve ever met.”

His fingers tighten around yours. Then his other hand clasps over the top, warm, grounding.

“I appreciate that,” he murmurs. “You’re pretty wise for your age.”

You scoff. “Of course. Women mature years faster than men. Be careful—your girls might surpass you before you know it.”

And then—

A piercing shriek cuts through the air.

“D-Daddy! T-The cat scratched me!”

Both of you snap to attention.

Mimiko is curled up on her bike, terrified, while Nanako sits on the pavement beside her toppled tricycle, clutching her arm. Across from her, a fat black cat hisses, back arched.

Getou is already moving. He scoops Nanako into his arms just as the cat lets out a low, guttural growl. You think you see it pounce, but it’s all a blur. You barely register Getou kicking at the ground near it before you swoop in, lifting Mimiko onto your hip and retreating toward the apartment.

By the time you make it inside, the girls’ tear-streaked faces are devastating.

Getou fumbles with his keys, cursing under his breath.

Nanako—the little mimic—parrots him perfectly.

“Shit, fuck!”

“Shi—crap!” he corrects quickly. “No, no, sweetie, Daddy said a bad word. I was just scared you were hurt.”

Inside, Getou heads straight to the bathroom, setting Nanako on the closed toilet lid while you settle Mimiko on the sink. He wets a rag, voice gentle, soothing.

“Can I see your arm, Nana?”

She nods, sniffling. Brave. Mimiko leans forward, eyes wide as she watches her sister.

Getou is careful. Tender hands. Steady voice. He dabs at the scratch, applies ointment, murmurs reassurances as Nanako flinches. A patient, loving father.

And God help you, but it makes him even more attractive.

Once the bandage is in place, Nanako puffs up proudly.

“See, Mimi? I’m too strong for that old cat!”

Getou lifts her up, but as he does, you notice—his sweater has a tear along the back. The fabric darker, wet.

Blood.

“Hey girls,” you say gently. “Why don’t you go play? I’ll help your dad clean up. You were both so brave.”

They perk up instantly, rushing out with another fit of giggles.

Getou starts to wave you off. “I’m fine, don’t—”

“Suguru,” you deadpan. “The cat sliced through your shirt. Let me clean it up.”

He sighs but relents, settling on the toilet lid.

“How do you keep ending up rescuing me?” he muses. “I thought we had a back-and-forth thing going on.”

You snort, swatting his arm before carefully lifting his shirt, rolling it up so he can hold it in place and inspect the scratch. It’s deep—deeper than you’d expect—so the cat must have been a stray with nails sharp enough to cut like that. Skimming your fingers over the wound, you feel Getou’s breath hitch. You murmur a quiet apology before rewetting the rag and dabbing at the injury to clean it properly.

You’ve seen Getou’s bare back more times than you’d like to admit, but up close like this? It’s a whole other story. And—selfishly—you envy the cat for being the one to leave marks on him instead of you.

His broad shoulders shift under your touch, deltoids flexing with every small wince. His spine curves smoothly, leading to two faint indentations at the small of his back. Back dimples.

You suppress the ridiculous urge to trace them with your fingers.

Instead, you focus on the task at hand—reapplying the ointment before resting your hands lightly on his shoulders.

“I think I’m done,” you say, voice steady despite the very unsteady state of your thoughts. “Your scratches are deeper, though, so I wouldn’t bandage them up just yet. They need to breathe so the skin can heal properly.”

Getou hums, the vibrations buzzing through your palms.

“In that case, I’ll just take this off.” He grips the fabric at the back of his collar, crossing his arms as he pulls the shirt over his head in one smooth motion—something you’ve seen him do a million times before.

But somehow, this time feels entirely different.

And suddenly, you’re questioning whether today is the best day of your life—or the worst, because temptation is sitting right in front of you, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.

You poke lightly at the scratch, half out of curiosity, half as an excuse to let your eyes wander. A few scars, pink and raised, wrap around from his ribs. A couple of small, cute moles sit just below his nape.

“—tter.”

You blink. Wait. He was talking?

“Hm?”

Getou chuckles, low and amused. “I said, poking at it like that isn’t gonna help.” His lips curve into something teasing. “Be a sweetheart and kiss it better for me?”

His deep voice lilts, gentle but dripping in lazy, playful seduction.

Heat floods through you instantly.

But you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.

Steeling yourself, you swallow down the butterflies flapping violently in your chest and school your expression into something cool, composed.

“I don’t think that’s how healing works,” you muse, smoothing your fingers over his warm shoulder. “But if you insist…”

You lean in, lips parting as you move closer—so close that you can feel his warmth against your mouth. But just as you’re about to press the kiss to his skin, you pause. Then, with deliberate slowness, you pull back, kiss your own palm, and press it firmly against his wound instead.

“I think that’s the best I can do, Suguru,” you say, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t want to get antibiotics all over my lips.”

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard, before huffing out a laugh.

“Clever.”

Then, before you can react, he shifts—adjusting his position so that you’re kneeling between his legs. His arms rest lazily over his thighs, dark eyes watching you with soft amusement.

He pouts.

Pouts.

Which, despite being a fully grown man, still looks unreasonably cute on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Guess we’ll have to make do,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Right here is also acceptable.”

He puckers his lips dramatically, raising a brow, but he doesn’t move closer. Just waits. Daring you.

So that’s how he wants to play it.

Your hands slide up to rest lightly on his knees, and you lean in—slow, deliberate. Your noses brush, and you let your breath fan against his lips, lingering.

“I’ll make it all better,” you murmur.

Then, finally, you press your lips to his—soft, warm, deliberate.

His lips are plush, moving against yours in a slow, languid rhythm. One of his hands lifts to cup your cheek, thumb grazing your jaw, keeping you there just a moment longer before you pull back.

But he doesn’t let go.

“It still hurts,” he says, voice lower, gaze heavier. “Try again.”

You let out a breathless laugh but comply, leaning in again. This time, he meets you halfway, mouth parting slightly as his tongue just barely brushes against your bottom lip. You sigh into him, fingers instinctively threading into his hair—his stupidly soft, midnight-black hair. The loose bun falls apart easily, strands tumbling over his shoulders.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are dark, half-lidded, hungry.

“Again,” he breathes.

But just as he leans in to kiss you—

“Why are you kissing Daddy?”

The two of you jolt apart like you’d been electrocuted.

Your head whips to the side, heart lurching.

Nanako stands in the doorway, arms crossed, staring point-blank at the two of you with the unimpressed authority of a child who has just caught an adult doing something stupid.

Mimiko peeks out from behind her, brows furrowed in confusion.

Getou fumbles for an excuse, visibly panicking, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kiss the Cook?”

Nanako squints. “But Daddy, there’s no cookies.”

𓂃۶ৎ [Tentative taglist: @mentallyillcore]

[girlsdads]

tagged by @annebd for WIP wednesday friday... instead of a WIP snippet have something that i don't really know what else to do with but i didn't hate so :-)

Max’s phone lights up with Daniel’s name while he’s sitting in hospitality the morning of race day. It’s face-up on the arm of the sofa—Max watches as it catches the eye of Lawson next to him. Possessiveness rises like bile in his throat. He snatches the phone as quickly as he can, cradles it to his chest like that would erase the letters of Daniel’s name from Lawson’s memory.

“Whatever, mate,” Lawson quips, rolling his eyes. Like anyone was talking to him, anyway. Like Max gives a fuck if he’s here or not. Like they’re mates, and he’s not someone Max is contractually obligated to be cordial to.

“Clean up your crumbs, when you are finished,” Max says as he stands, sweeping his gaze pointedly over the spray of chocolate chip muffin debris covering Lawson’s lap and the sofa cushion beside him. He doesn’t wait for Lawson’s response before stalking from the room. He thinks about the stacks of keto-friendly protein bars going stale back in his motorhome and hates Lawson that much more.

Max waits until he’s closed the motorhome door behind him to open Daniel’s text.

It’s stupid, he knows, to want to do this in private. Everyone knows he talks to Daniel still, probably no one would think it strange or pathetic for Max to be texting him now. Daniel had said—Max had known he wouldn’t be here, this weekend, or any weekend. Max understands, in his own way, despite how bereft he always feels, during.

But. It is a race day and Daniel is texting him. Daniel hasn’t texted on a race weekend since, well—since. He had facetimed the day after Brazil, relaxed and happy and congratulating Max from New York. They keep a running conversation during off weeks, Daniel sending picture after picture of himself with arms around his friends, some Max knows, some he doesn’t. Max saves the photos to a hidden folder on his phone, crops them all so it’s only Daniel. Sometimes it leaves him missing an arm, or two, but he can’t stand to see Daniel with all these people who aren’t Max. In turn, Max sends him videos of the cats, memes he hopes will make Daniel laugh, updates on the funny-looking bird that has been building a nest on Max’s balcony.

(That’s my—what’s the little animal friend that witches have—my familiar, Maximus! I sent him to watch over you, obviously. Be nice to him.) That message had gone into the secret folder, too.

Race weekends are radio silence. Max has come to terms with that, knows it isn’t personal, that it’s an open wound Daniel is nursing. So for Daniel to reach out, today of all days, Max can’t help the stab of yearning in his belly. It could be an important day, for Max, maybe Daniel decided—maybe he’s said he’s hopped a plane, he’s driving out from LA, he’ll be here before the chequered flag—

Max couldn’t bear it if anyone else were around, if that’s not what Daniel’s message says. Even alone, he feels like a hermit crab that’s outgrown its shell, hope leaving him soft-bellied and vulnerable.

He swipes open his and Daniel’s message chain.

Daniel’s not coming to Vegas. At least, that’s not what he’s texted.

The text is a picture. Max’s eyes are drawn immediately to Daniel, though he’s only in about one quarter of the frame. If he was trying to take a selfie, he did not do such a good job--it's mostly a shot of the dusty-red ground, Daniel's beautiful face peeking in from the top corner. He’s wearing his dirt biking clothes, sweat darkening the pits of his long sleeves where his arm is lifted to make a thumbs-up. His pinky still doesn't quite fold in next to the rest of his fingers. Max wants to kiss the careful bend of his knuckle.

It's a few long moments before Max even registers what's etched into the earth behind Daniel. It is very obvious, then, why Daniel is sending this now. There in the California dirt, Daniel has used a stick or maybe even one of his long, lovely fingers to write 3 + 1 = 4. A wobbly heart is drawn around the whole thing.

Max is infinitely grateful for the lack of prying eyes as he sinks slowly to the floor. He draws his knees up to his chest and cradles the phone in cupped hands, as if the message will be sucked back into the ether if he grips too tightly. He lightly taps to full-screen the image, zooms in on Daniel's face. The soft, almost awkward smile is the same one Max has only ever seen directed at him. He knows this, because he's spent years cataloguing Daniel's interactions with others, longing and longing. Daniel never makes that face at anyone else.

Max's phone buzzes as another text comes through. Daniel's hands reaching through the wire to squeeze Max's heart until it leaks out between his fingers.

Always cheering for you, Max. Give 'em hell for me.

[matcha-binz]

Muse. (teaser)

The newly arrived painting captures your attention as the archivist of the local museum. But, as you investigate further, you discover a secret that no one was supposed to know. Panicking, you run from the scene in a daze, trying to hide what you have witnessed. Before you could even realize, you were stopped from your trance by a suspicious individual. To your horror, it was none other than the secret himself. the muse of the oil painting stood right before you, looking into your eyes with a gaze too human.

Genre . Suspense, fantasy, romance, fluff

pairing . Prince!beomgyu x museum worker!reader

wc . N/A

note . Erm… oops. I’ve been gone for a while now… tehe. Anyways I’m back with this wip. Idk when it will be released, probably at the start of September, hopefully !

As your hands trace the intricate, gold framing of the painting, your eyes cant help but wander back to his deep, honey hued ones. This one is different.

The brush strokes that combine together to make his eyelids, the thin lashes that look as if they were painted each individually, and the deep, oak colored hair that rest around the golden crown adorning the head. And his lips, so carefully painted the exact shade of the pink carnations that he held. His attire is something a tad too simple for a prince to wear — a plain ruffled tunic, fading to a light beige — a popular clothing choice from this time, you observe.

It’s hard to imagine someone to be this beautiful. But at the same time, this oil painting seems to be waiting for the moment to just come to life. The furrowing of your brows do not go unnoticed by Taehyun, as he observes your reaction from the doorway.

“It took some time for it to arrive here-“ a graceful smile paints his face. “… I’m glad you like it” he chuckles, his laugh echoing off the dim lighted walls at your speechless form.

It takes a good second for you to snap out of your awe struck trance, stuttering a flustered respond for your coworker, who only smiles as you do so. “L-like it…? Taehyun, I’m like- “ you sigh. “I… I can’t believe this.. “

with an airy laugh — that was more of a half gasp — you turn over your shoulder to look into his eyes. “This can’t be… is this… the original copy?”

your eyes widen as he slowly nods his head. Your teeth nip on your lower lip as you struggle to keep in your excitement, the hand that rested on the gold frame of the painting jitters and twitch as you tuck it back in your cardigan pocket, and the smile that etched onto your face, you knew that it wasn’t coming off anytime soon.

“Well, I’ll trust this relic to you then” he states, shooting you a farewell smile and shutting the wooden door behind him. As he leaves you in the room, the sun has completely set behind the horizon and leaves darkness scattered in the sky. the clock strikes 8.

With one last glance at the painting, taking in all of its beauty, you take a step back, letting out a small yelp nearly tripping over a pile of old books that was probably left by taehyun as well. Lovely. A sigh leaves your lips as you crouch to take pick them up, blowing away the dust as you walk towards your desk that sits facing the wall.

“All right, then. Let’s get you in the system…” you idly mutter to yourself as you turn on the computer, the soft sound of the whirring fills the room, reminding you of just how old this computer is. As you quickly punch in the pin, you take note of saving up for a new desktop, this old one takes too long to load, to your dismay.

You right click onto the program to record the the addition to the museum gallery. Most of the gallery consists of old relics from important time periods to relics and art from before technology existed. You have always found these works to be exceptionally beautiful, the timelessness of these objects made by the talented artists are not to be forgotten by those who truly appreciate art.

Same goes for this painting, you think as you enter the description and the room it shall be placed in. But as the cursor hovers over the ‘name’ section, you hum as you try to rack your brain for the name of this piece.

“Hm… What was your name again..?” You say, to no one in particular as you glance back at the painting that stood still in the middle of the room, the dim lighting shining off the gold frame. Your brow raises as you tilt your head. Did you move it to the center before? The memory doesn’t appear immediately, but you deduce that you probably did.

And with a shrug, you turn back to the glowing screen, letting out a theatrical sigh.

”You may address me as prince Choi, ”

-

[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?”

[gffa]

All right, so maybe I went haring off to another fandom for awhile, but I will never fully let go of my STAR WARS fic reading roots because there's just so much incredible fic here and I have such intense feelings about these characters, like how can I possibly truly leave when this fandom knows how to scratch my id just right or make me cry over fictional characters or hyena laugh because you people are very funny? There's just so much fic that is so good that of course I keep coming back! Especially when it comes to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, there are just so many incredible people making incredible fics for them that feed right back into my love for their twisty, turny, complicated, beautiful, awful relationship. So here's a bunch of Obikin fic because the fandom is amazing and you should go love them as much as I love them, since you can hopefully completely sate yourself on a bunch of fantastic fic to read! Or idk send yourself into a grief coma because sometimes fic writers are almost as mean as canon was, but in the best way, the way that really hits you in the feelings place. Or idk idk just gorge on all the porn because DANG Obikin fandom brings the porn! WHAT KIND OF FIC YOU’LL FIND HERE:

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE

CANON-COMPLIANT (-ISH, WHATEVER) AT LEAST UP UNTIL THE GALAXY GOES PEAR-SHAPED

FUCK THE NOISE OUT OF ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S HEAD

DARTH ASSHOLE CAT SHOULD BE GRABBED BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK AND SCOLDED BACK TO THE LIGHT

FUCK YOU, CANON, THINGS GO A LITTLE NICER IN THIS UNIVERSE

WORLD IS HARD AND COLD, OBIKIN FLUFF IS SOFT AND WARM

MODERN AUS CAN BE FUN AND CHARMING AS HELL AND A GREAT CHANCE TO MAP CANON DYNAMICS ONTO A WORLD WHERE THEY CAN HAVE A HAPPIER LIFE, IT’S A WIN ALL THE WAY AROUND

WHAT DID CANON EVER DO BUT BREAK OUR HEARTS ANYWAY? TIME TO TELL CANON TO FUCK OFF AND WRITE AN AU

TIME TO CRY ABOUT SOME FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE: ✦ Neutron star collision by thedunesea, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 121k wip     In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker's miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. ✦ Together in Slumber by ibex_ascendant, obi-wan/anakin, 2.4k wip     Several months after his last confrontation with Darth Vader, Obi-Wan finds himself trapped in a vivid and mysterious mindscape. And he isn't there alone. ✦ Satellite Mind by intermundia, septemberist, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 19.3k     Some doors, once opened, can never be closed, and some secrets, once learned, can never be forgotten. or, Five times Obi-Wan heard Anakin’s thoughts, and one time Anakin heard Obi-Wan’s. ✦ Slow Learner by Is0lde, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 12.6k     Four times Anakin tried to fit Obi-Wan's big dick inside him and one time he managed it. or; the evolution of their sexual relationship. ✦ Redolent of you by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, dom/sub, 31.3k wip     This act of espionage is going to require some class A play at antiquated alpha and omega dynamics, only problem is Anakin has never submitted in his life and it's certainly not within his nature,or so Obi-Wan thinks. ✦ Heal Me, My Darling by wasureneba, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, 12.4k     Anakin gets sick. Obi-Wan takes care of him. For two weeks. Alone. This would be easier if Anakin wasn't quite so gone for Obi-Wan. Or if this didn't involve a daily stab in the shebs. ✦ For He, too, is King by MayMeows, obi-wan/anakin & padme, NSFW, historical au, 7.7k     “I am here to present myself to the man who now calls himself King of my people.” Obi-Wan would be impressed as Anakin’s title as God-King, born from the divine himself, often struck people with awe, terrifying or glorifying, but Queen Amidala’s voice is as strong as her shoulders are squared. ✦ How to Save a Galactic Republic Without Really Trying by Sharp_Tongue, obi-wan/anakin & mace & yoda & quinlan & palpatine, nsfw, time travel, 23.9k     After defeating Vader on a barren, nameless moon, Obi-Wan had let go of the past. But the past hadn’t let go of him. ✦ (feel like i die) ‘til i feel your touch by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin & yoda & mace & ahsoka, 15.5k     OR; Obi-Wan gets himself cursed and makes it everyone’s, but mainly Anakin’s, problem.

CANON-COMPLIANT (-ISH, WHATEVER) AT LEAST UP UNTIL THE GALAXY GOES PEAR-SHAPED AND/OR DIVERGES: ✦ Yellow Surprise by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 11.1k     When Anakin is distant with him during a simple negotiation mission Obi-Wan jumps to the wrong conclusion, luckily for him Anakin isn't willing to let him go so easily. ✦ A Good Epithet by Artemis_Unbound, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 8.2k     Obi-Wan should have been happy. He had fulfilled Qui-Gon’s final wish. He had trained Anakin, he had spent ten years teaching the boy and watching him grow, he had cared for him and scolded him and coddled him by turns. He had, for better or worse, been Anakin Skywalker’s Master. ✦ hold on to this lullaby by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin & rex, 1k     “Anakin,” Kenobi says with a hint of a reprimand in his voice. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Skywalker staggers further into the room, and a faint blush spreads across his cheeks. He rolls his eyes but it doesn’t do anything to mitigate the color high on his face and the effect it has on his features: a pleased expression flashing clear as ion fire. Having made his way to one of the chairs, he drops down onto it with the elegance of a Hutt. ✦ Any Other World by mysticmjolnir, obi-wan/anakin & vader & leia & reva, NSFW, dimension hopping, 24.2k wip     Anakin has been looking for his Master for a very long time. Finally, on Mapuzo, he finds him. ✦ sea to a desert by maragny, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 3.1k     An interlude and an aftermath; or: how to love someone you seem to have spent half your life loving. ✦ spirit meets the bone by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, time travel, dom/sub, 2k     Or, the Force keeps sending Anakin forward in time from the Clone Wars. ✦ Azúcar, Sudor by Delzi, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, spanking/discipline, 18.6k wip     Anakin can't stand Obi-Wan's new disciplinary tactic, but he absolutely loves it. ✦ Too Hot by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.8k     Too Hot: A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, that player loses. The winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser. ✦ dream a little dream of me by answersinahauntedclub, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 10.3k     Anakin’s eyes snapped open. Oh no. Oh no. Anakin slumped back into the bed, staring down at himself in horror. Anakin Skywalker had just had a wet dream about Obi-Wan Kenobi. [or—you think you have problems? try having wet dreams of your friend-slash-former-master and then trying to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.] ✦ sea to a desert by maragny, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 3.1k     An interlude and an aftermath; or: how to love someone you seem to have spent half your life loving.

FUCK THE NOISE OUT OF ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S HEAD: ✦ Strings Pulled Taut by preromantics, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.8k     (AKA Anakin gets a bunch of gunk in his hair, Obi-Wan has been hyper-fixated, and it all bursts like a bubble.) ✦ dark red by wesnenski, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k     He feels Obi-Wan before he sees him: a ripple in the Force, a glow of warmth in the darkness. When he appears from the shadows like a bleary-eyed spectre, Anakin can only look up at him, nostrils flared, lip quivering. Here is his Master, tired and gaunt but solid and present and real. ✦ Take Care of Yourself, I Wish I Could by Kefalion, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 7k     While Obi-Wan and Anakin are alone on a planet during a mission, Anakin goes into a presentation heat. One Obi-Wan will not help him through no matter how much they'd both want it. Not that they know that want is mutual. ✦ Fever by dirkygoodness, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, cat boy!anakin, 3.5k     Obi-Wan wakes up to a cuddly (Ny)Anakin and is met with something he isn't expecting. He's going to have to deal with it though. And enjoy himself as he does. ✦ sink into the dunes by stardies, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 9k     [A collection of small Obikin drabbles. Each chapter will have its own one shot.] 01. sfw, anakin’s separation anxiety. 02. first time nsfw. 03. obikin zine piece, sith!obi-wan, jedi!anakin, handjobs. ✦ a necessary respite by Anonymous, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.6k     to be fair, all of this is obiwan’s fault. even though his master is calmly sorting through reports the faint buzz of arousal in the back of both of their heads is majorly coming from him, anakin just can’t help but react to it. ✦ the lean and hungry type by tideswept, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 4.5k     And so is Anakin, really, for being excited about this rather than angry. He wets his lower lip, striving to cohere his thoughts into something that isn’t appallingly horny, when Master speaks. “I’m not in rut,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t spring that on you.” “I mean,” Anakin pauses. “You could.” ✦ when people show you who they are, believe them by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, spanking, dom/sub, 3k     Anakin has a meeting with the Chancellor. Obi-Wan convinces him to take a slow morning instead. ✦ needs must by silianrail, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, dual sex!anakin, 1.7k     Anakin must be the neediest omega in the entire temple, if not on the entire planet. But if Anakin is needy, what does that make Obi-Wan, who, after all, bends to so many of his padawan’s desires? ✦ Use Me by kittimau, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.5k     Anakin knows what Obi-Wan needs, even if he won't say it.

✦ Insatiable by TheSopherfly, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.8k     Obi-Wan meets Anakin’s eyes with a rueful smile. “You wanted it fast, yes?” “Yes.” Even without their responsibilities looming, Anakin would’ve wanted it like this; quick and dirty, like they just can’t help themselves. “Yeah. Fast is perfect.” “Good,” Obi-Wan says, punctuating the word with a single thrust. “Because I don’t think I’ll last long.” Or; With the twins still asleep, Anakin and Obi-Wan steal some time for themselves. ✦ Hazy Shade of Winter by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.7k     Obi-Wan runs hot; Anakin most definitely does not. Thankfully Obi-Wan is there to warm Anakin up when things get unusually cold in the Jedi Temple. ✦ The Love You Want by passeridae, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, potential dub con-esque (read the tags), 6.8k     They've returned to their rooms after sparring, flushed and laughing and close enough that the very air feels heated between them. Once the door has closed, Obi-Wan turns to Anakin, smiling, takes Anakin's jaw in the cup of his hand and kisses him like the first blush of spring. "You'll be good for me, won't you?" he murmurs, and Anakin does nothing more than dreamily nod because he knows just what to do when he's slipped under like this. Knows his job is to be obedient and pliant and good. ✦ Handle Me With Care by greeneyes_blondequiffs, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 5.3k     Obi Wan wants Anakin but he knows he shouldn't. He also knows that there is no way he could ever act on it - or so he thought. ✦ tear me apart by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, 2.4k     Obi-Wan uses Anakin in the Council Chamber ✦ A Lesson in Listening by GayCheerios, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, toys, 4.4k     “Anakin,” Obi-Wan says simply. Anakin feels chills run down his spine. That tone means everything except simplicity. “Bedroom.” His husband commands. ✦ Keeping Company by Gwendolyn (storiesofchaos), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 11.1k     "So, will you? Will you help me through my heat? Please, I want you to fuck me, Master, I need it." Anakin doesn't care that he's begging already, but he's getting even wetter between his legs and he can't help it. Obi-Wan doesn't seem to mind anyway, because he groans and drags his fingers up into Anakin's hair and tugs slightly, making Anakin gasp. "Force, yes, I'll give you what you need, Anakin." ✦ king unmaker by unbitten, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, transmasc!anakin, royalty au, 4.4k     How to get your King to stop playing hooky from his appointments to make trips to the brothel? Scold him. Stare disapprovingly. Fuck him yourself.

DARTH ASSHOLE CAT SHOULD BE GRABBED BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK AND SCOLDED BACK TO THE LIGHT: ✦ Reunion by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/darth vader, ~1k     Some sweetness to help with the absolute agony of Obi-Wan lol ✦ The Jedi Child by RowenaNie, obi-wan/darth vader & luke & leia & cast, NSFW, pregnant!anakin, 48.1k     “The emperor has put my replacement inside of me,” Vader said. ✦ Hand in Unlovable Hand by Rachello344, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 2.8k     Post Kenobi Part VI: Instead of leaving Vader for dead, Obi-Wan finds himself unable to abandon his dear friend again and so takes him with him. How can Obi-Wan Kenobi live without the other half of himself? Whatever it takes, he will drag Anakin back to himself, kicking and screaming. ✦ dreamscape melodies by egeria, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 2.9k     "The layers you Jedi wear are ridiculous," Vader grumbled. Obi-Wan let out a huff. "We're in a dream, are we not? Can we not just will our clothes off?" -- or: Vader is in heat and Obi-Wan is in his dream. It's still complicated. ✦ to restrain the darkness by treescape, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, some dom/sub, 2k     Or, Vader wants Obi-Wan to tie him up. ✦ dreams of old by treescape, obi-wan/darth vader, nsfw, 4.1k wip     Obi-Wan surrenders to Vader on Jabiim in exchange for everyone else's freedom.

FUCK YOU, CANON, THINGS GO A LITTLE NICER IN THIS UNIVERSE: ✦ afterimages by shatou, obi-wan/anakin, 1.3k     Mustafar is nothing but a bad dream. ✦ Sticky by Delziae, obi-wan/anakin & padme & ahsoka & rex & cast, NSFW, omegaverse, 25.9k     [Or: In which Anakin is too horny to handle and Obi-wan has a bit less control than he originally thought.] ✦ That Never Wrote To Me by Artemis_Unbound, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, omegaverse, 5.3k     After the Rako Hardeen mission, everyone Obi-Wan loves has turned away from him. It’s been months since he’s even seen Anakin, but their bond had been closed off for years. Knowing that Anakin would never want him the way Obi-Wan wanted Anakin had been painful enough, but at least he still had their friendship. And now even that’s gone, and the cold has settled into his bones. Acute Isolation Syndrome is so rare that Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize the symptoms. Doesn’t even realize that he’s dying. ✦ dream a little dream of me by answersinahauntedclub, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & padme, 10.3k     [or—you think you have problems? try having wet dreams of your friend-slash-former-master and then trying to figure out what that’s supposed to mean.] ✦ Stargazing by thegingerwrites, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 21k     Anakin and Obi-Wan have become too well-known on the Holonet to take on undercover assignments anymore. But desperate times call for desperate measures and the Council asks them to make contact with a Separatist defector at a gala hosted on Mandalore. At least the event is a masquerade. ✦ praise you by RagnarLothcat, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 17.9k     An act of insubordination, a crash landing and a trek through the forests of an uncharted planet bring Anakin and Obi-Wan to a very hospitable village. Sure they think Anakin is a god, but really, what's wrong with wanting to be appreciated? ✦ terribly inconvenient and incredibly terrific by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, omegaverse, 24.8k     Obi-Wan has the sheer nerve to imply that Anakin is ill-suited for a mission he himself is going on, which means that Anakin will stop at nothing to prove his old master wrong. After all, Anakin can do anything Obi-Wan can do, thank you very much. Even if maybe, just this one time, Obi-Wan is right. This mission relies on the one area of Anakin's life he's never spent much time or effort thinking about: his omega designation and Obi-Wan's alpha one. But there's no way that Anakin is going to back down now. What will Obi-Wan do? Go to the planet with another, non-Anakin omega? Don't make him laugh. He's Obi-Wan's partner. And Obi-Wan is his alpha. Alpha master. Same thing. ✦ and when you look at me, the weight of how i feel is heavy on me by brahe, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & mace & depa & qui-gon & rex & cast, 37.9k     “Jus’ like a sun,” Anakin murmurs, and Obi-Wan has to strain to hear it, almost misses it. He stills. “Beautiful shining sun,” Anakin continues, and presses his face further into the pool of robes. His voice is slow and sleepy, and Obi-Wan realizes he can tell Anakin is about to drop off into sleep. He blinks, lifting his head to stare down at him in something between awe and shock. That seems to be the standard operating procedure when it comes to Anakin, he thinks, a little wry, a little wondrous.

WORLD IS HARD AND COLD, OBIKIN FLUFF IS SOFT AND WARM: ✦ a vacationer's guide to being unexpectedly married by treescape, obi-wan/anakin & cast, 7.8k     “A vacation, you need,” Master Yoda had insisted firmly beneath their incredulous stares when they’d first received their instructions. “On a beach, perhaps, hmmm?” ✦ The Lonely Mollusk by temple_mistress, obi-wan/anakin & luke & leia, nsfw, 2k     Obi-Wan was incredibly horny, Anakin was, Force-bless him, more than ready to oblige, and the children were miraculously still sleeping. ✦ looking for trouble by orphan_account, obi-wan/anakin (mentioned obi-wan/anakin/padme), spanking, 1.7k     Anakin gets in a fight. Obi-Wan cleans him up and spanks him.

MODERN AUS CAN BE FUN AND CHARMING AS HELL AND A GREAT CHANCE TO MAP CANON DYNAMICS ONTO A WORLD WHERE THEY CAN HAVE A HAPPIER LIFE, IT’S A WIN ALL THE WAY AROUND: ✦ (I just) died in your arms tonight by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, modern au, 2.5k wip     Where Obi-Wan is still a master of politics and Anakin still fixes spaceships and they’re still irrevocably obsessed with one another. ✦ Win Condition by passeridae, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, F1 au, 4.3k     Anakin has just won his first race of his F1 career and Obi-Wan, his longtime trainer and partner, knows just what his boy should get as a reward. (His dick. The reward is his dick.) ✦ Hooked on You by whohatessand, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, 5.2k     With his wife's approaching senatorial election, Anakin Skywalker tries desperately to be the perfect husband she needs. Little does Padmé know, her husband has been sleeping with her campaign manager, Obi-Wan Kenobi, for quite a while now. ✦ we’re swimming with the sharks (until we drown) by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin, modern au, fake married, 5.8k wip     He looks up and meets Anakin’s eyes. A thoughtful expression passes over his face. “Married people are paid significantly more,” he says then, slowly, looking at Anakin like he’s trying to solve a riddle. Anakin stares, dumbstruck. “Huh.” ✦ Would You Like Cream With That? by ranianke, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, professor obi-wan, 2.1k     Obi-Wan was a good teacher. His students learned the content, he got flattering reviews (even when you ignored the chili pepper Rate My Professors reviews that he could not seem to get taken down), and he generally liked teaching. Good professors did not sleep with their students. ✦ Pride & Preparation by secretsolarsystem, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, school au, 5.6k     “You’re beautiful,” Anakin praised, making Obi-Wan blush. “And nervous.” Obi-Wan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course I’m nervous.” “You shouldn’t be,” Anakin said easily, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s lips. “I love you, and this is going to be really fun.” ✦ swear each night to let him go by vorpalstars, obi-wan/anakin & padme & ahsoka, NSFW, modern au, professor!obi-wan, 10.3k wip     Anakin develops an unfortunate amount of lust for his literature teacher ✦ Seven Minutes in Anakin by Saratutti, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, dom/sub, 1.9k     Fully enamored doesn't even begin to describe Anakin’s captivation with the gorgeous professor he has stumbled into dating this Christmas season. ✦ The Melody Wakes the Heart by edgeofn1ght, obi-wan/anakin, modern au, 3.5k     However, it's practically love at first sight when Obi-Wan passes a new busker working the alley he passes through every day going to and from work. ✦ Pick-up Games by SingManyFaces, obi-wan/anakin, modern au, 1.1k     Ben’s quiet afternoon is ruined by a basketball player who needs some medical attention. He doesn’t mind too much. ✦ Prompted - Chapter 22: Brakebills by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 10.2k     Anakin Skywalker was not a typical student of Brakebills University for Magical Pedagogy.

WHAT DID CANON EVER DO BUT BREAK OUR HEARTS ANYWAY? TIME TO TELL CANON TO FUCK OFF AND WRITE AN AU: ✦ death by any other name by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & qui-gon, vampire au, 11.5k     While on a mission during his years as a Padawan, Obi-Wan escapes the tight hold of death transformed into something not quite human. In the years following, he isn’t always so lucky. ✦ Till Human Voices Wake Us by RagnarLothcat, obi-wan/anakin, mer!anakin, 2.7k     It’s late summer when Obi-Wan first notices a flash of gold between the waves. ✦ Goodbye by Ripki, obi-wan/anakin & qui-gon, nsfw, 1.2k     Anakin has no wish to leave Obi-Wan, not when they have just been reunited. Luckily for him, Obi-Wan is good at making their goodbye very memorable. ✦ tender like a bruise by stardies, obi-wan/anakin & cast, omegaverse, 6.8k wip     In a stroke of desperation, Obi-wan mates Anakin Skywalker by force on the fiery planet of Mustafar to stop his Fall and save his life. Taken back to Coruscant and imprisoned, Anakin feels the senate's pressure for justice, and Obi-wan, his mate and former mentor is determined to give him another chance. ✦ canaries underground by TheGoodDoctor, obi-wan/padme & references to anakin/padme & obi-wan/anakin & obi-wan/anakin/padme, NSFW, padme lives, 10k     There are good days, and bad days. This is a good one. ✦ use my body to break your fall by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & padme & ahsoka & mace & yoda & palpatine & cast, NSFW, Not a Jedi!Anakin, Sith!Obi-Wan, 63.5k     Obi-Wan Kenobi is too good at being a Sith Lord general of the Separatist army. The Jedi Council approaches Anakin with an offer he can't refuse. These things are, actually, related.

TIME TO CRY ABOUT SOME FICTIONAL CHARACTERS: ✦ you can't just leave me by amadwinter, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, omegaverse, 1.6k     Anakin swears he’s above his Omega instincts, but when he’s sparring with his Alpha master one day, some wires get crossed that leave him unable to distinguish friend from foe. A primal fear consumes him, and no amount of Jedi training will shake the feeling he needs to escape. He needs to protect himself from the dangerous Alpha circling around him, searching for any sign of weakness. When backed into a corner, an Omega’s last line of defense is their bite. After all, an Alpha would never hurt their mate… ✦ A Little Early, A Little Late by greeneyes_blondequiffs, obi-wan/anakin, omegaverse, pregnant!anakin, 7.4k     Anakin finds out he's pregnant. The problem is that his mating ceremony isn't for another four months. ✦ Sweet Surprise by greeneyes_blondequiffs, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, omegaverse, pregnant!anakin, 12.3k     Obi Wan and Anakin are forced to land on an unfamiliar planet. Anakin is perplexed by everyone's obvious interest in him, unsure what could be causing it. That is, until he receives some unexpected news. The problem is, Anakin's not quite sure he believes it. The other problem is what Obi Wan might think when he finds out. ✦ That Never Wrote To Me by Artemis_Unbound, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & vokara, NSFW, omegaverse, pregnant!anakin, 5.3k     After the Rako Hardeen mission, everyone Obi-Wan loves has turned away from him. It’s been months since he’s even seen Anakin, but their bond had been closed off for years. Knowing that Anakin would never want him the way Obi-Wan wanted Anakin had been painful enough, but at least he still had their friendship. And now even that’s gone, and the cold has settled into his bones. Acute Isolation Syndrome is so rare that Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize the symptoms. Doesn’t even realize that he’s dying.

[lilydalexf]

hello! I'm new to following you on Tumblr, but I followed your content from Golgle, I wanted to know if by any chance you knew of any fanfic in which Scully recovered her memories of the abduction, I've been wanting to read one like that for a while, but I can't find it, thanks!

Welcome, and thank you for the ask! Here are some good fics where Scully remembers something about her season 2 abduction. Enjoy!

12 Rites of Passage: Regression by Anne Haynes Part 9 of the 12 Rites of Passage series: Mulder and Scully seek a missing woman and discover frightening truths about their pasts. (Sequel to the series: 12 Degrees of Separation.)

Anamorphosis by Megan Reilly Assigned to find a horrifying serial murderer, Agent Scully discovers things about herself and her past that she never suspected.

Comfortably Numb by Paige Caldwell There is no pain...you are receding...a distant ship...smoke on the horizon...you are coming through in waves...Your lips move but I can't hear what you say...I have become comfortably numb...

The Cry of the Truth by A.I. Irving As their love affair unfolds, Scully reveals to Mulder a painful secret relating to her abduction. Mulder's reaction tests their bond and eventually leads Scully to discover a few truths about herself.

Dance Without Sleeping by wonderland (@amplifyme) Scully learns to live with her cancer and take back control of her life. Meanwhile, Mulder works on fulfilling a wish list. (Fic in the same universe: Into Each Other Sinking.)

grief by ms_starlight71 Scully goes in for a routine pap smear sometime post-cancer arc and has a panic attack/flashback related to her abduction.

i'm still in love with who i wish you were by comeherebooch “You were abducted, Scully,” Mulder said, sensing her confusion, “do you remember anything?” Post Requiem.

Ingénue by Punk (@punkm) Mulder and Scully investigate the circumstances surrounding a fifteen-year-old girl's multiple disappearances.

locking out the ghosts by skuls (@ghostbustermelanieking) Post-Emily arc, an emotionally vulnerable Scully breaks off the incredibly new relationship she and Mulder have recently been engaged in. As the season moves forward, how do they cope with this new development in their relationship, and how do the stressful situations their job puts them in affect this?

Malleus Maleficarum by Pellinor A stranger with a tempting offer promises hope in Mulder's time of need. Refusal could cost him and Scully their lives, but could the price of acceptance be greater still?

Movie Night by @nowwhateinstein “Talk about spooky,” he says as the movie fades to black and the credits begin to roll. She laughs and gives a small shake of her head. “That word,” she says. “It means something different to me now.”

Revanche by Ryo Sen Revanche - (noun) political policy designed to recover lost territory or status

Skin by Annie Sewell-Jennings In a world where Mulder and Scully have never met, fate intervenes and brings two worlds colliding in the city of Charleston, as a vicious murderer reigns and a storm approaches.

Right Hand Return by orphan_account An alternative universe in which Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

Time Can Heal by PostApocolypticAlien (@scullysexual) Mulder realises that his quest for the truth costs too much (WIP)

Truthseekers by Leyla Harrison (No summary provided)

until it heals by actualchangeling (@actual-changeling) Nightmares cannot be fought with logic or light, there is no way of expelling them from her brain, not a single moment of peace to catch her breath. Scully knows one thing that always helps, though. Or rather—someone. When she finds herself lost and drowning, she calls the one person in the world whom she trusts to keep her safe. She calls Mulder.

The Way by KMNAHILL and MD1016 Scully becomes mysteriously ill. Mulder, Melissa, and Tao help to heal her. / On assignment in Chicago, Scully’s illness progresses. / An assignment in Oregon turns out to be more than first expected. Humorous antics from the Lone Gunmen. / Samantha returns and isn’t what Mulder had expected.

White Light by aka_Jake While investigating a young woman's claim of alien abduction, Mulder and Scully are led on a cross-country chase of intrigue and murder. As they search for answers, Scully's own abduction memories resurface.

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 1

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader summary: you're eighteen when you find yourself pregnant after Mat leaves for hockey. nearly eight years later, Mat finds out about your daughter and you have to deal with the consequences of not telling him about her.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy & not really edited word count: 1.3k authors note p1: don't mind me starting a new series when i have four other wips on the go :):) i love kid fics and this idea was stuck in my head so i wrote & decided to give it a go and post it. if this does well and you guys are interested, i'll do more. authors note p2: so notes about the series: i gave the readers daughter a name because i hate writing y/d/n lol of course you can change it in your head to something else if you want :) also the last name johnson is just there so i could have a full name but we all know she'll be a barzal also thank u @multifandombabes for giving me the push to post this!! happy reading & let me know what you guys think!

masterpost

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. You did your best to avoid places you knew he would be when he was home, going to visit your grandparents or other family. Anywhere that would give you the opportunity to not be seen by him, because then you’d have to explain your brown haired, green eyed, seven year old. 

You weren’t proud of your choice to keep Nora a secret from Mat but you did what you thought was right when you were eighteen, sitting on the floor of your best friend’s bathroom four weeks after you had said goodbye to Mat and staring at three positive pregnancy tests. He had just left for hockey and you didn’t want to be what held him back and as time went on, it got harder to pick up the phone so a few months after Nora was born, you erased Mathew Barzal from your life. You deleted the photos, phone numbers, social media, with the only reminder being the little girl.

And it worked fine. Until now.

Nora usually didn’t come grocery shopping with you because you always ended up taking three times as long as you normally would. Except, your sitter fell through and your mom couldn’t watch her so you had to bring her along. Which is totally fine until you run into Mat. Who has a girl with him. 

So yeah, everything was fine until now.

It’s kind of comical the way his panicked eyes dart between the three of the girls standing around him. A quick glance at Nora confirms that she’s two seconds away from saying something to Mat which will not go well since the kid has zero filter.

“Hey, you’re that hockey player mama and grandma watch on TV!” she exclaims and you want to melt straight through the floor when Mat looks at you with one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah?” he asks, kneeling down so he’s at her level.

“Yeah,” she confirms, and then loudly whispers: “I’m not supposed to watch ‘cause some games are past my bedtime but sometimes I’ll sneak out.” 

He offers his hand and smiles. “Well, it’s nice to meet you…” he trails off, clearly hoping she’ll offer her name. You hope she just says her first name instead of announcing her full name which she tends to do lately.

“Nora,” she tells him, shaking his hand and then to your unsurprised horror, she proudly tells him her full name. “Nora Nadia Johnson.” 

He keeps the smile on his face but stiffens and gently drops her hand. 

“Cool name,” he says, still smiling but you can see the tension in his shoulders. 

“Thanks! My first name means light and my middle name-”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because you grab her hand, abandon your shopping cart and high tail it out of the store. She grumbles while trying to keep up with your pace and eventually you just pick her up and carry her to the car.

“What did we say about talking to strangers?” you ask while buckling her seatbelt, ignoring her annoyed sighs. 

“He wasn’t a stranger, you watch him on the TV all the time.”

“Have you ever met him?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and she mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“No,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and giving you a look that is so Mathew that you could laugh.

“Well then, he’s a stranger.” 

You leave it at that because she starts talking about the summer camp she’s starting next week. You’re only half listening, trying to get over the shock of seeing Mat and knowing he realizes that he probably has a kid you never told him about. If you were in his shoes, you would be angry so you are expecting him to show up on your doorstep later that evening but he doesn’t. Part of you wonders if the reason he doesn’t come is because of that girl he had with him but you figure if he really wanted answers, he would come regardless. 

What you’re not expecting, is a text from his sister Liana. You still see his family from time to time out in public but after you essentially ghosted Mat, they didn’t really want anything to do with you. When everybody found out you were pregnant, you lied and said it wasn’t Mat’s which nobody really believed but they couldn’t prove it and you’d used your mothers maiden name as Nora’s last name so there were no ties. You were surprised that his family didn’t tell him anyways, but you thought that perhaps they didn’t for the same reason you didn’t.

To give Mat no reason to stay here and instead, pursue his dreams and go play in the NHL. 

So a text from his sister is unexpected. 

Liana: hey, are you free for lunch tmw?

You almost delete it at first and pretend she never messaged you, but you know that there’s no going back now that Mat saw Nora. He’s not stupid. He probably went home and asked his parents about her. So you text her back a reluctant yes and agree on a spot to meet up the next day.

Nora goes to your moms house because you’re unsure if it will just be Liana who shows up, or if anyone else does. You meet up at a Starbucks and aside from the initial tension, it melts almost immediately and the two of you go back to the big sister/little sister relationship you had when you and Mat were dating. Except now, she’s all grown up.

After some catching up, the conversation turns to the reason she asked to see you. She hesitates, picking at her nails - a nervous tick you know she does - before sighing. 

“Look, everybody kind of turned their head with ‘The Nora Situation’ because it was clearly what you wanted, and it was probably what was best for Mat,” she says. “But he knows now, and he’s got questions that we can’t and won’t answer. Dad had to talk him down last night and his girlfriend went back to New York this morning.”

You wince at that, not liking that the reason his girlfriend left is because of Nora but Liana must notice because she shrugs, taking a sip of her drink.

“Honestly, she wasn’t very nice. I’m not broken up over it and Mat didn’t seem to be either.” 

Okay, that is interesting. 

“Anyway,” she continues, “this is Mat’s new number.” She slides a small piece of paper across the table and you gingerly take it. “I know you didn’t want to tell him, and I understand but he knows. So give him a chance, okay?”

You manage a nod and let her leave with the final word. All you want to do is take Nora and leave, to get as far away as you can but something inside you stops you from doing it because maybe Liana is right, and you should give Mat a choice. After all, you were the one who decided to take it away from him in the beginning. 

So later that night, after Nora is asleep, you curl up on your couch with the piece of paper and stare at it for a good fifteen minutes. Regardless of whether or not you text him, you will have to deal with this and you’d rather it be on your terms. You reluctantly type his new number in your phone and hesitate, trying to think of what to even say. This isn’t a conversation you were expecting to have with him. You type and delete a dozen messages before deciding on something simple.

To Mathew: Hey, I guess we should talk.

You take a deep breath, and hit send.

[sitp-recs]

hello! do you know drarry fics where draco goes to prison for part of the fic or is just gettingout of prison? thank you so much1 you are a superstar

Hi anon! I do know a couple of prison fics, listed below. You might also enjoy this list with fics in which Harry takes Draco in. Happy readings!

Litany by thistle_verse (M, 7k)

With the wizarding world on lockdown due to a magic-draining pandemic, Harry is stuck in Grimmauld Place, bored and alone—until the ghost of Draco Malfoy shows up to haunt him.

Death Dreams by @writcraft (E, 9.5k)

Draco likes to keep things casual, or at least he did before Harry Potter barged back into his life.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

Draco supposes he should be grateful. The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices.

One Thousand Bars by @lqtraintracks (E, 19k)

And I will hold on hope / And I won't let you choke / On the noose around your neck / And I'll find strength in pain / And I will change my ways / I'll know my name as it's called again

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars by Writcraft (M, 26k)

After the final battle nothing is quite as Harry expected. Death Eaters remain unaccounted for, Malfoy is in prison and there is something rotten in Azkaban. Banned from assisting the Aurors, Harry keeps himself busy with regular visits to Malfoy and works to bring light to the darkness of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

At Evening's End by manixzen (E, 31k)

When the dementors are removed from Azkaban, a compromise has to be made for the prison to remain secure and wizard-kind to feel safe. Harry and Ron find themselves assigned to a rotation as guards during their first year as Junior Aurors as a part of the new system. Harry finds his values challenged in the harsh environment, but an unexpected friendship may carry him through this difficult year.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils.

The World Starts Here by @bafflinghaze (T, 63k)

Three years in Azkaban is more than enough time for Draco to be certain that he doesn’t want to be like his parents. And the moment he gets out, Draco will make his own mark on the world and he’d do it single-handedly if necessary.

The Azkaban Letters by @romaine2424 (E, WIP)

Harry and Draco’s lives are headed in two different directions. One is destined for death or glory, while the other is going to Azkaban. Harry needs answers, and he goes to visit his Slytherin nemesis while being held for trial. The meetings in a barren, white cell changes Harry’s life. He learns the beginnings of his rich family history that had been denied him. And that there's much more to fight for than just ridding the world of Voldemort. HBP compliant.

[mango-yoyo]

you have really good taste in fanfics in the tag game so was wondering if you would mind sharing so more of your favourites?

oh my god YES

i would love to thank you for asking <3

because i have no self control, i'm going to restrict myself to 3 5 10

1. the condominium community committee by @jusst-you-race . it's funny, it's light-hearted, and it has all the good feels. honestly it's the chat fic of chat fics, where the grid all lives in the same apartment building and have different lives, but are still super close! if you're feeling a bit down or if you want something fun, this is a great fic to read! status: WIP. word count: 28K+

2. crash landers by @janinaduszejko . carcar omegaverse my beloved, where oscar is an alpha and carlos is (secret) omega. a little bit angsty, a lot bit smutty, and overall delightful. it hurts a little bit, but it feels so good, and there's a happy ending! status: completed. word count: 57K+

3. i’m going back to 505 (if it’s a seven hour flight or a forty five minute drive) by julodinae_sunsets. another omegaverse (my weakness) but this time it's maxiel, where daniel is an alpha and tries to court max by accident, but stops himself because OBVIOUSLY max is an beta and doesn't want that. well. he's wrong. but second chances exist for a reason. it's really enjoyable so far, and it's made me grin stupidly way too many times, so. it's a win! status: WIP. word count: 19K+

4. Don't Want Your Sympathy (Just Your Company) by @1425fivefive . landoscar, where oscar is outed via blurry photos of him kissing another guy at the club. to get his mind off it, lando offers to have him stay at his place for the summer. a very cute teammates to friends to lovers, with a little bit of hurt but a lot of comfort. and smut. also, logan is best friend goals, honestly, and the little pockets of humor make you laugh when you least expect it. status: completed. word count: 64K+

5. Sunlight by @onboardsorasora . an absolutely delightful magical realism au (my other weakness) with a dewis pairing. they're one of the authors that got me into the pairing in the first place! people are touched by the elements in varying degrees. some people aren't touched, while others are touched by rare elements (like sunlight). daniel doesn't think he's touched by any. it's whumpy and a bit angsty but so, so sweet. honestly a lot of fluff too, with a sweet ending. status: completed. word count: 10K+

6. Loud and Clear by @oscatmeowstri . race engineer oscar with driver lando au, landoascar. it was wonderful. the formatting was so cool, and their relationship developed really well, from colleagues(?) to friends to occasional kissing buddies to lovers. some angst, but it's resolved pretty quickly, and there are lot of fluffy moments. status: WIP. word count: 48K+

7. cheap wedding (sticky pretenses) by @wormeo-and-juliette . i know i've mentioned the strollonso work by her before, but this is also so, so good. honestly, all her works have got me in a chokehold. it's lesteban, with a marriage of convenience (that eventual turns into love!). lance shows up in rural France, meets esteban, decides they're both lonely, and proposes marriage. absolutely delightful, and there's even the public coming-out which had me squealing. status: completed. word count: 12K+

8. champagne problems by @brocedesmadhouse . it's a love story to brocedes, and it's beautiful, heart-wrenching, and utterly amazing. toto gets replaced with a new team principal — who happens to be nico rosberg. it's set during the 2024 season, and it made me both cry and laugh — sometimes at the same time. absolutely wonderful. status: completed. word count: 60K+

9. empty streets, it's only you and me now by @the-ships-to-rule-them-all . intriguing and sweet, it's an exploration of Jewish folklore and golems, with sweet, sweet strollonso. lance has a golem, who happens to be incredibly protective of fernando. lance also happens to be in love with fernando. it's very cute and has the perfect plot-to-smut ratio. status: completed. word count: 5K+

10. k19tog (knit 19 together) by @nobrakesdown . really sweet and lovely, it's set in the 2022 season with seblance teammates. lance is a knitter, and seb convinces lance to teach him — and eventually, the rest of the grid. really heartwarming, and it has serious grid-as-family vibes that had me smiling like an idiot when I read it. also got me interested in the fiber arts, and it's really cool! status: completed. word count: 7K+

there are so many more fics that i could rec, but the sake of this post (and my need to study) i will limit it to just 10. please let me know how you like these recs, and feel free to rec for more (and if there are any particular pairings you're looking for)! this was a lot of fun, thanks for asking!

[kalegreeneyes]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love!

1. Burning and Buried With the Rest of It - slowburn friends to enemies to lovers wolfstar, platonic moonwater

Remus Lupin's friends have always known him to be a happy, healthy person. That's why it comes as a complete shock when he returns to school different; a mere shell of the person he once was. All of his light seems to have been replaced by bitter anger and desperate sadness, and none of his friends know why.

2. Once Again We Must Bleed New - post prank, black brothers angst with a bittersweet ending

After Sirius Black reveals his boyfriend's biggest secret to their sworn enemy, he loses everything. Isolated, hopeless, and swallowed by guilt and self loathing, Sirius finds himself completely unprepared for a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson gone wrong.

3. Coming Out on Top - wolfstar smut pwp, minors do NOT read

Remus and Sirius have hated each other ever since they met in the elevator on Remus's first day of work. When that very same elevator breaks down and traps them together two years later, they have nowhere to go, and nothing to do except address the tension.

4. On a Pillow of Blue Bonnets - WIP, slowburn enemies(ish) to lovers wolfstar, background rosekiller, dorlene, and jegulus

Sirius Black is spinning out of control and all of his friends are terribly worried about him. After announcing his departure from the acting career forced on him since birth by his parents, and getting caught in a compromising position by paparazzi, Sirius starts coming apart at the seams. His best friends and estranged brother all decide to send him away to their uni friend's ranch in Montana to "get away for a while". Remus Lupin says yes to doing a huge favour for an old friend, but he has no idea what he's getting himself into- or how much it's going to change his life.

5. The Facility - james centric, jegulus, prologue to a WIP i haven't posted yet :)

It's been a long while since James Potter was kidnapped. He knows it's been longer than six months, but anything beyond that is a mystery. It's also irrelevant, because James Potter is ready to escape.

TYSM @ecstarry for the tag <333333

np tags esp if u have already done it: @just--vi @lilacfiresoul @marzst4rz @emlovessid @mothbart @angel-daydreams @pressedink @spacexcowgirl @maladaptivewriting and anyone else who wants to do it!!

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Thank you for tagging me @run-for-chamo-miles @emeryhall @artsyunderstudy @roomwithanopenfire @j-nipper-95 @best--dress @noblecorgi @prettygoododds @ileadacharmedlife @nausikaaa @rimeswithpurple @forabeatofadrum @monbons! It’s amazing to see the creative out put of this fandom this year!

I have written a lot less this year than in the past. When I first started writing in late 2021 I published roughly 80k words in 4 months, followed by 120k in 2022 and 83k in 2023. This year clocked in at only 46k. Despite the downward trend, I still wrote some stuff. Here’s a list:

🛼 Keep the Skates On - Explicit - 4k

Self indulgent roller skating fic for Erotic Grope Fest that I say is just a blowjob on wheels but in reality has some good backstory built in via flashbacks of their meet cute.

This story was also immortalized via art by the crazy talented Rimeswithpurple. Even just the shot of Baz’s skates and Simon’s shoes is so cinematic and big brained it still blows my mind.

💦Swimple Times, Swimple Pleasures - Mature - 2.5k

Baz and Simon rent a backyard pool for an hour while in Nebraska and sexy times ensue. Hopefully no one is watching…

This was a gift fic meant to immortalized an interesting yet lovely afternoon with friends in Omaha at SSCONE. Good times.

⏱️Back and Back and Back - Mature - 21k (WIP)

My time travel, canon divergent AU in which Baz is visited throughout his childhood by a Dragon Man he comes to find is an older version of his Watford roommate and nemesis.

My poor abandoned WIP. What can I say? It’s fully plotted via outline but I just lost steam writing this one. The school year took over in the fall and it just seemed unwieldy to come back to. But I love this story and playing with what might change in canon with this twist and what could have stubbornly stayed the same. I’m a completionist in many ways so there’s a good chance I’ll come back to this but without anything like a fest deadline lighting a fire under me it may be a while.

🕺The Wedding Planner - Teen - 6k

Baz, the wedding planner for a high profile wedding, gets roped into standing in for the bride in a dance lesson with the groom. The only problem is the frustratingly handsome groom and him have a past…

This fic was written in collaboration with Rimeswithpurple for CORB. Arianna killed it with the art, and it was such a joy to bring words to her idea. This story is a 40k fic disguised in a smaller package. I used a lot of flashbacks to build out the backstory (a similar strategy that I used in Keep the Skates On) which was wonderfully helpful because without it, I doubt I would have been able to write either fic. I think I was really feeling incapable of writing plotty stuff after temporarily shelving Back and Back and Back, and for both of these fics I found I could not write from the beginning because I didn’t want to do the slog through the set up. What ultimately worked for both was opening a new doc, starting the story in the middle, and filling in backstory as I went where necessary. This worked wonders, especially when I was crunched for time or feeling uninspired. I wrote the parts I wanted to write, which helped me get invested, and then the other bits followed easily. I’m such a linear writer that I never thought this strategy would work for me (starting with the scene I wanted to write) but! Cheat code! Start there and still write straight through! Amazing!

🎁 From the Heart - Teen - 12k

Watford, truce era, canon divergent story in which Simon finds Baz’s list of gift ideas for his Secret Santa assignment and freaks out when he realizes it’s for him. Baz? Trying to be thoughtful toward Simon? Cute gift giving crises soon follows.

This was a gift for @bookishbroadwayandblind for the Carry On discord server’s Secret Snowflake Exchange. This was so fun to write. Just fluffy, cute, pining with very low angst and a satisfying get together. Come for the silly premise, stay for the feeeeelings.

It’s nice to see these all stacked up because even though I wrote a lot less this year, AO3 still says I had 3k hits, 391 kudos, 109 comment threads, 77 bookmarks and 42 work subscriptions in 2024. That ain’t nothing! Thank you to everyone who engaged with these stories ✌🏻

Other notable fandom highlights:

-Meeting up with friends in Omaha for SSCONE!

-More meet ups for the Slow Dance release in LA!

-Mod’ing the Carry On Reverse Bang and Secret Snowflake Exchange!

-Tons of beta reading, which I really love doing <3

-Sooo much lovely fic and art was digested. My tbr is still so long but I suppose that’s not a bad problem to have.

Playing my tiny violin for a moment because sometimes we gotta keep it real and share the struggles:

-This was the first year I struggled with keeping up with people’s tumblr tags and posts and I feel a little sad when the notifs pile up and I haven’t responded. Sorry fam!

-Similarly, my AO3 inbox is full of comments I haven’t responded to which also bums me out. I kept it at zero for 3 years (I never delete, I either respond or mark responses as read) and my damn WIP has made me feel incapable of responding to nice comments because I’ve left it languishing. I love our comment culture in this fandom and I would like to get around to responding at some point.

-While organizing and helping to facilitate CORB can be really fun, there were a lot of behind the scenes challenges this year, some of which are still buzzing around my head.

Looking ahead to 2025

As many have said in their own posts, the community and friendships are the best parts of fandom and I hope to continue to cultivate those in 2025. That’s my main goal. Keep these relationships and keep vibing with y’all. I’m sure I’ll still be reading fic and ogling fanart. I’d like to get back to doing more fic rec posts and organizing them in some way. Maybe I’ll finish my WIP. Hopefully I’ll reply to all those lovely comments in my inbox. I might help mod some other fests. CORB is in need of new mods. I’ll organize a way to either get myself some help or possibly pass the torch if there’s interest in it running again.

Tagging some friends if you’d like to share anything about your year @cutestkilla @bookish-bogwitch @shrekgogurt @facewithoutheart @skeedelvee

@thewholelemon @iamamythologicalcreature @orange-peony @leithillustration @whogaveyoupermission

@mooncello @fiend-for-culture @aristocratic-otter @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog

@talentpiper11 @alexalexinii @laura-art77 @whatevertheweather @bookishbroadwayandblind

[dramioneasks]

Christmas Fics (2024) (Part 6):

Wrapping Chaos by Mirabella29 - E, WIP - Draco Malfoy is a fucking arse. A magical delivery error causes all the gifts ordered by Draco and Hermione to be sent in the wrong place. To her great misfortune, her erotic potion books and sex toys land in Malfoy’s hands, who takes great pleasure in mocking her. Bloody Hell, if she could bury herself alive right now, she would.

All I Want For Christmas is (To Defeat) You by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger built a surprising bond with one of her professors when she returned to Hogwarts for her eighth year. But when she wants to surprise that professor with the perfect Christmas present, a certain someone gets in her way.

We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet by Anonymous - M, one-shot - To avoid suspension after an incident involving a student, Draco Malfoy is forced to spends his holidays at Hogwarts, babysitting the students who are holding over. The only thing that could make this worse is Hermione Granger.

Pansy's Matchmaking Services: A Christmas Miracle by Slytherinked - E, WIP - Pansy has spent the year collecting wants and wishes. Now, it's time for her to produce a Christmas miracle. Maybe then all her friends will stop whining. - “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” she hissed, and his blood ran cold, “get your shit together and stop acting like a petulant three year old. Do as you are told!”

Chaotic christmas by lemidox - M, 17 chapters - Hermione is in a slump, it’s Christmas. She’s single, having atrocious luck and just wants to get in the spirit of things. (Un)luckily she has Theo and Ginny, ready to drag her kicking and screaming into the holiday cheer. Santa fighting dragons, a snowball fight, dreadful gingerbread houses, copious amounts of fire whiskey, slytherin’s plottting and secrets that come to light in this chaotic Christmas special. And let us not forget, hilarity and fluff that leads to smut... eventually 😈

No Space of Regret by New_Ponyo - M, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is engaged to marry Astoria Greengrass on New Year's Eve in less than two weeks. As the wedding night approaches, Draco finds himself more of a wreck than he thought possible. He wakes up in his study with a throbbing headache, the beginning of a black eye, and the ghost of Fred Weasley throwing pistachios at his face. Fred and Draco visit Christmas’s present, past, and future, piecing together what connects them beyond the veil. This is a spin on A Christmas Carol, Dramione style.

Home Truths by Anonymous - M, one-shot - “You know every year I think these things couldn’t possibly get more heinous and every year I am proved wrong.” A silver flask was offered to her but she tipped her champagne glass in lieu of a rejection. “Champaign is for celebrating, unless—did I miss an article in the prophet, have you and Weasley finally split up then?” Malfoy mocked, taking far to much delight in the hypothetical misery. She rolled her eyes at him and huffed in indignation “You’re such a fucking asshole.” “I never claimed to be otherwise but at least I’m an honest asshole.

Mistletoe, Mayhem and... Malfoy by Calliope_dreaming - G, one-shot - When an enchanted mistletoe traps Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger together at a Ministry Christmas gala, completing its whimsical tasks is the only way to break free. As they bicker through decorating trees and dodging exploding desserts, old prejudices give way to unexpected truths. Can they uncover the magic of connection under the mistletoe, or will the evening end with more sparks than they bargained for?

So this is Christmas; War is Over by kiyoshikiyoshi - not rated, WIP - “How did you find me” She demanded savagely. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to be in a cabin and die in the forest after all this is over” He looked at her rather more intently now. For a moment, Hermione froze. These were passing events, deviations from the war that she was trying to forget. After the war, Hermione Granger retreats to an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere. Somehow, Draco Malfoy finds her. In the stillness of winter, they learn to live life as it was once again.

I Just Want a Heist for Christmas by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Congratulations, you are invited to the first annual Hogwarts Christmas Heist! The Goal: Steal the Portrait of Snape

mine by Anonymous - E, one-shot - “You’ll behave for me, won’t you baby?” Draco played with her curls, before roughly grabbing her neck and forcing her attention on him. He stared at her, his eyes darkening in mere seconds as he waited for an answer from his little girl. “Answer me.” “I’ll behave.” Hermione whimpered. “Do you promise me?” He commanded, his grip on her curls tightening.

Gift-Wrapped by swift_knight - E, WIP - Hermione Granger-Malfoy is a good girl, but her plans for her husband's Christmas present—all tied up with a pretty red bow—might cause her name to end up on the naughty list.

Do You Hear What I Hear by Yeuxverts - E, one-shot - Unspeakables Granger and Malfoy have to spend Christmas Eve in a non-magical tent in Scotland, huddling for warmth. Despite her earlier assertion about compliments, whatever classification of her that was about to leave his mouth was likely to be unflattering. She attempted a deflection via academic nitpick. “Malfoy, I’m trying to sleep, but on the subject, you know you can’t have a species that’s just one person. How would I propagate?” “Granger.” He rolled to face her as though now she had his full attention. “It sounds like you just asked me to tell you how to fuck yourself.”

Hagrid's Special Eggnog by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Pansy, on principle, does not do unity.

[reinekes-fox]

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Grey Swan I - Birds of a Rose

The Divine Flock. Some call them crazy, some even dangerous. Some even say the cult is hiding dark secrets. But, in all your life you have yet to find one. After all you should know should there be any dark secrets: you are a member after all! A member, not only of the Divine Flock, but also of the Avis Academy, the best school the cult has. Your life is quiet and follows a strict routine, at least until two Strays from the outside, the normal, world are allowed in the normally so closed off grounds and as a newly appointed Wing it is your job to keep an eye on one of them. With their arrival some of those dark secrets may finally come to light…

You ARE not playing as a BIRD!!!

New demo https://cogdemos.ink/go/3761

Old demo https://dashingdon.com/go/13119

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Dark Academia.

Moniker for MC: Wing MC.

Genderselectable MC: cis male or female, trans male or female. However due to growing up in a cult, MC wont know that trans is a thing/what it means, this is something MC can learn about. The same goes for sexual orientation: play as gay, bi, straight, aroace or ace, but be prepared for consequences.

Pick your level of devotion: be a devout follower of the teachings of the Divine Flock, reject it partly or wholly, or simply not care. All of it will have consequences.

Choose one of various school clubs, your volery, and get an unique storyline. Ranging from dance to school security, to managing your social media page.

Important people: Your flock, a group of younger pupils you were responsible for before the Strays arrived. You may not be their Wing on paper anymore, but you still hold a special place in their heart! They do miss you and are looking forward giving you a present on your birthday!

Your volery: whichever volery you joined, you are going to met pupils that are just as enthusiastic about your chosen interest as you are! Some more than others.

Your parents. It’s another question if the relationship between you is good, but important it surely is!

ROs: Fuchsia King

Chase Watson

Wing Droznik Juschka

Astor Rapace

-only for Owls: Wing Astoria Rapace

-only for Peacocks: Marter

-only for Swans: Elrond/Estelle Falkenflug

-Vampire route: Sebastian Voss

-AMAB Raven RO: Marcel Rabenschlag

-Heron RO: Amelia Fern

Grey Swan II - Hawks and Doves

Unless otherwise stated you are playing as a normal human! Two legs, two arms, internal organs, hopefully a brain too. We will see how much of this organ stays intact after state propaganda, will we?

Someone once said that you were the most happiest youth in the world after the Great Heartbeat, that had shattered the old world. Earlier you would have agreed in a heartbeat, wearing the light green uniform of your state youth organisation. But now? When war has come to Avistrions shores and news reels show only destruction ?

Choose your gender, way of thinking and stance while growing up in a religious dictatorship on the giant island Avistrion. Be a devout follower of the Divine Flock, the only thing that survived the earthquake that devastated the earth. Or be the Vulture, trying to rip it to shreds, while wearing the badge of youth leadership… where will you be when war strikes your so closed off country? Which side will you be on when it ends? Will you even survive long enough to see the outcome?

Moniker for MC: Fugol MC.

ROs

Agon Falkenflug Adler/Weihe Habichtklau

Johanna/Nikola Arra

Grey Swan III - Wisteria Birds

Wisteria Birds (fantasy, drama, angst)! Currently on pause.

You are beautiful, trained in art and music. You are deadly, trained in the unique weapons that no one except you can use. You are dying. Kept alive by the very same thing that keeps you save from others abusing their power over you… You have no rights. But you can do whatever you want, even kill, without having to fear any consequences. You are the most pleasant death that anyone can wish for. You are an artwork. And all you are supposed to be is look pretty, show of your owners wealth. But oh, you could become so much more…

You play as a highly specialised trained entertainer… an Artwork, expensive companion to the rich and noble ones in Aklant, a country with rigid rules and unspoken laws, strict class divide and obsessed with anything that shows how rich they are… or at least let them appear rich. Artworks themselves are outside of this all, freed from all those social chains, but not seen as human… maybe its time to change that? Or leave the status quo as it is, up to you!

Moniker for MC: Artwork MC.

ROs:

Fauconniers, your potential buyers:

Chevalier Armand Sanson Alexandre Desrosier Others, you may work together with one or more of them? “Mouette” Sanglant du Verdier

You have been a Hound, the human companion of a vampire, for years.

Until you find yourself among the undead and masterless after a night where everything went wrong… leaving you with no other choice but to move back in with your parents.

ROs (will expand)

Theo Grimm

Agent Rosa Caleb

Marian Viorel

Citadel of dancing birds

Ghibli inspired! Mainly Howls moving castle.

You play someone from our world who ends up in another world! Since this is an aspect I greatly enjoyed in the book and was really sad they didnt include in the movie, there will be chances of jumping between the worlds (and of course becoming a magician too!).

ROs, some are locked into specific magic combinations:

Opera Job and changing into Animals: Santu Cajarin

Changing into Animals: Rosalind Eagledancer