#But so was the battery light and I kept checking the battery and it was Fine

[wedding-shemp]

Local woman drives her 1998 Corolla for 2000 miles without changing the oil. You'll never believe what happens next!

[cxffecoupx]

realizing that they're in love with you

seventeen × gn reader fluff, svt being soft for s/o, comfort warnings: mentions of food, alcohol word count: 1.4k author's notes: my first ever requested article. to the anon who sent me this, i love you so much and thank you so so much for sending it in, i hope you like it, and i'm so sorry it took so much time, my brain was smoked for a bit😭 but i absolutely loved writing it. i had to read similar stuff by other svt writers (mainly @emocheol how seventeen realized you were ‘the one’ and @suhnshinehaos the soft italicized 'oh' moment) to get into it. please do check them out too, i love it!!

➼ choi seungcheol

seungcheol had come home late in the evening, tired and exhausted. work was rough, the boys were chaotic, and all he wanted now was some peace and quiet. the moment he sees you at home, however, all his stress just melts away. you're just there, smiling at him, asking about his day, but he already feels so much better. and when you stay up all night, sitting with him and helping him work through his troubles, that's when it hits him. he wants you by his side as his support, forever.

➼ yoon jeonghan

you both were out for dinner with your friends. two hours and 3 glasses of beer in, the chatter had cooled down into private conversations. you were talking to one of your colleagues when you notice jeonghan zoning out in the middle of the gathering. realising he's run out of his social battery, you say your goodbyes and stand up, and drag a drowsy han back to your car. it's not until the next morning that jeonghan understands everything and smiles to himself. a person who deciphers him state of mind? maybe you were his best match after all.

➼ hong jisoo

jisoo had gone to his hometown for some two weeks to spend with his mom. he was so excited for it he didnt even notice how much you hated him leaving you. he had been quite busy during his vacation, meeting friends, spending time with mom, but something kept troubling his mind. something he had no answer for. even the voice calls and facetimes didnt help. then he returns and sees your face among all other blurred people and smiles. he never wants to stay away from you, he realises.

➼ moon junhui

between work and practice, jun hadnt really noticed his birthday approaching. coming home after work one day, a familiar scent welcomes him. he goes to the kitchen to find a pot of simmering hotpot broth and its ingredients sliced and kept aside. with the emotions flooding in with every whiff, he doesnt notice you hugging him from the back while singing a 'happy birthday' softly, and turning him around to kiss a gentle kiss on his forehead. he has no words to say; he only embraces you tight and cries on your shoulder as the members, who had arrived a little after him on your request, watch. he doesnt say anything, his eyes conveying that he's grateful for everything you've done

➼ kwon soonyoung

if you ask his friends, kwon soonyoung was a very weird person. he says he's an introvert (well, his MBTI said that), but he's as extroverted as they get. he pretends to be a tiger most of the times and his behaviour is VERY unpredictable. everyone thought he'd be difficult to tolerate or balance out. but then you came along. now they've got two very weird people to deal with. they had talked to soonyoung how he'd met his match, but he never thought more of it, until he sees you with his friends and sees something of himself in the way you are with them. he'd finally found someone who'd match his weird.

➼ jeon wonwoo

wonwoo's camera roll was full. which only meant one thing: time to save all the pics to his laptop. he inserts the sd card into the computer and opens the file. his face instantly lights up. you had always been shy in front of camera lens. meeting wonwoo was one of the best moments of your life, but it still took time for you to adjust to his captures. that didn't stop him from considering you his muse, the one he's love to click again and again and again. seeing you smiling in the pictures he took warmed his heart. you could be camera shy, but he only ever loved capturing you.

➼ lee jihoon

jihoon is a workaholic through and through. he wouldnt think twice about missing food and sleep if its to get his work done. you'd often complained about him working saturdays too. imagine the surprise his team had when he called in to announce a day off. like, what caused the mighty lee jihoon to take a day off on a saturday?? the answer was at his home, lying between his arms, a sleepy you that had cuddled your way into his arms in the early morning hours. he'd fallen in love watching you be so comfortable with him. you'd convinced him to stay home once in a while.

➼ lee seokmin

company celebrations usually always ended with fireworks. and usually, you watched it with everyone else in the hall. but this time, seokmin arranged for the keys of the roof for you two to have a better and private view of the sparklers. you sneak in with him, giggling and tripping over your own feet in the dark as you reach the roof to see the spectacular show. you walk ahead, mind blown by how much more beautiful it looked from up here. but seokmin had his eyes locked on something else. you. he'd rather admire you than watch the fireworks.

➼ kim mingyu

food was mingyu's love language. he absolutely LOVED cooking food and feeding it to his loved ones. but since after he met you, he realised he especially loved cooking for you. he loved cooking your comfort food for you. he cooked your mom's recipes when he felt that you missed home a little too much. he loved to listen to your comments when he experimented with the ingredients. it's during one such preparation when it dawned on him. he'd love to make food for you for a very long time.

➼ xu minghao

you'd always been mesmerised hearing hao speak chinese. he doesnt use it very much; pretty much only when he's calling his family or sometimes when speaking with junhui, who's also from china. to say chinese was becoming second to him wouldnt be false because he's using so much korean in his daily life. one day, while walking around the house, he hits his toe on the couch and lets out a sharp curse in his mother tongue. you gasp and say "oh my! hao just cursed," and hao quickly turns his head towards you. it's not what you said, it was how you said it that surprised him. you had responded to him in chinese?? you explain to him how you started taking small classes in learning chinese so that he could converse comfortably with you too. you even asked him to help you. hao swore once again, but in his head. someone was ready to go to such lengths for him? he's truly fallen in love with you.

➼ boo seungkwan

seungkwan had begged for you to stay overnight. it was difficult of course, because you both were tired from work. but when he pulls the ultimate puppy eyes, you couldn't really refuse. you went through an elaborate routine of doing skincare and bathing as a way of relaxing, and watching sappy sitcoms until you both fell asleep to the white noise of the tv. seungkwan woke up first, but his breath hitched seeing you asleep next to him. apart from the little snores and a string of drool from the corner of you mouth, you looked so adorable, snuggled in next to him; so tiny, and so so cute. he stayed there, watching you, silently wishing he could see you like this every morning.

➼ chwe hansol

everyone says hansol has a weird sense of humour. it's not that he doesn't make good jokes, it's just that no one reacts in the way he wishes. so when he goes, "why did the bicycle take a nap? because it was two-tiered" and you end up crying of laughter among the dead silence of his friends, he feels a blush creep up his cheeks. someone who laughs at his corny jokes? that has to be the soulmate he never believed in.

➼ lee chan

chan cannot deny that he loves smiling. laughing. chuckling. he loves to be filled with happiness at all times. whether it's through his own jokes, or his friends' crazy antics, he wishes to be happy most of the time. that's how he realises one day that being with you makes him smile automatically. there is absolutely no specific reason. seeing you, talking to you, listening to you talk about anything and everything. no matter what you do, you always manage to bring a smile to his face. he doesnt really understand it though, how it happens. but one thing's for sure. he wishes to remain happy with you always.

[toovaeloe]

bus stop 𝝑𝝔 “If I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

suguru geto x genderneutral reader

no curse au

You’ve used the “I have a boyfriend” excuse and you may have just manifested one. Or a gorgeous man, at the very least

☁️🚏☁️

This was the worst, you think. Had to be punishment for something you did in a past life.

For starters, you were late for work. Was it your fault for staying up so late, giggling and doom-scrolling through mounds of mind numbing media? Yeah, maybe…

Let’s blame it on the weather. Your alarm didn’t wake you up after you silenced it. The neighbor’s dog wouldn’t stop barking through the night. But it’s not like you could tell your boss any off that.

So that’s why you raced out the door, haphazardly juggling your belongings in your arms. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Something else you couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Did you have everything? Probably; no time to check now. Only to find when you stomped on the brake and turned the key in the ignition…your car wouldn’t start.

Sputter…sputter…and then nothing.

Great.

There’s your late-to-work-excuse.

Maybe you shouldn’t have ignored the “maintenance needed” symbols that have been lighting up your dash like they want their own holiday. To be fair, time and money just weren’t things that came in abundance.

In any case, as you were sitting in that local garage enduring the mechanic babbling on about vehicle expertise junk you just couldn’t begin to understand, zoning out and nodding every few minutes with a halfhearted “hmm,” so it at least looked like you were absorbing information…you made note to at least revisit the idea of changing your smoke alarm’s batteries before it decided to turn on you, too.

But that was last week.

7-9 business days.

That’s how long until your car would be up and running again. Apparently, according to the mechanic, you were lucky it was even that. Apparently. Which meant you needed some other means of transportation to and from work and such.

Lucky you had the local bus service, right?

WRONG.

They were always late, but you still felt the need to get to the stops on time, lest you have a repeat of 5 days ago. (You showed up only 2 minutes late and were left behind at the store. Had to wait for an hour for your friend to get off her shift and come pick you up.) You highly doubted it, but what with the way the world was shitting on you right now, it wasn’t out of the question. And the city’s money obviously wasn’t going towards public transportation— they could qualify as garbage trucks if they really needed them with how trashed they were. Mystery sticky patches on the seat, gum underneath. The inconsolable children whining their heads off. That was kind of cute at first, but now it made you want to throw yourself out the window. The whole thing was just the experience that you could expect from a free public transportation system.

And why was it so rainy this month??? Ugh.

But what could you do but make do with what you had? Complaining definitely wasn’t making your shoes any less waterlogged. Be grateful, or some shit like that.

That evening, however, as you were waiting twenty minutes past the time the bus was supposed to arrive at the stop after an exhausting work day…you were just so fed up with everything. With the puddle water soaking through your shoes, with the way you had to stand because the benches were damp…with this rando-guy who had walked up next to you that you were half sure kept looking at you. To say the least, it only served to annoy you in your already sour mood.

You were willing to just ignore it. Until he stepped closer.

“Hey I’m uh…I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you around.”

Oooohh boy.

“Yeah, yeah, it is you. I’ been taking the bus sometimes. Usually I’m riding my motorcycle but uh, not today.”

Did you ask?

“Thought I’d drop by.”

The public bus stop. (???)

“What’s yer name, toots?”

Yeah no. Go back to the 1950’s and maybe that’d work there. You’d rather lick the mystery sticky shit off the bus seat. You could pick up a date 10x better without opposable thumbs.

All of the above is what you would’ve liked to say. Alas, you were tired. You didn’t want trouble that would take more energy than it was worth. So before he could go any further, you just coined the foolproof line.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Lie. You didn’t, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And if that didn’t make him lose interest, then he must really be a pathetic asswipe.

Sadly, he was. In terms of getting the hint to shut up, the guy looked barely deterred; offended even, as he prattled on.

“Well why were you acting so into me then, huh?” You definitely didn’t. You don’t even know this dude.

“I wasn’t even going for you.” He definitely was.

“You’re—“ X, Y, and Z. Just because his game is trifling?? You felt a headache coming on. And maybe a bout of anxiety. People are crazy, and the last thing you wanted was for this needless situation to escalate into something dangerous.

The entire mess was occurring just as Suguru was making the commute to work on the same street. But he found himself slowing nearly to a stop when he caught sight of you.

How could a person look so exhausted; hair extra frizzy, floccose from the humid rain, clothes soaked, droplets of the downpour dribbling onto your cheeks and blinked away from your lashes…and still so breathtaking? Or perhaps that was part of your beauty in this moment. You looked every bit done with the day, but who knew when- if— he’d ever see you again? He’d be stupid, a fool to not at least try to strike up a conversation with you. He’d be…

…Probably like that idiot.

A sulky moue twisted at his expression as he witnessed the disgraceful way this loser was fumbling. Oh dear. His approach lacked so much grace, so much respect…it was really just distasteful. You didn’t deserve that. And frankly, he didn’t think he deserved to watch you be treated like that when he knew he could do so much better.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!”

A merry sounding tone directed your way had your head sharply whipping to the source. A tall dark haired man you’ve never seen before; layered in a gray colored quarter zip and dark slacks, you think. His approach was casual and relaxed, a subtly jovial yet inherently guileful grin tugging at his lips. He even waved to you like an old friend. His entire facade was so convincing you considered for a moment if you had known him from somewhere and simply forgotten.

No, you really wouldn’t have forgotten a face like that. Eyes like those. A presence so contrasting of itself and yet so cohesive in its own way, if you had to try and describe it. Just a damn beautiful man. With eyebrows that were beginning to crease on his forehead.

Ooh, you were staring.

More than that, he was giving you a pointed look that you didn’t notice while drooling over the poor guy. Unfortunately for you, slo-mo’s only happened in movies, and in reality you just looked like an ogling dork. But you didn’t have time to dwell on your embarrassment when he was quite obviously urging you to play along with this illusion he was creating.

And so you did.

“Oh- hi! No worries,” You insisted in an awkward attempt to adapt to this new charade.

“‘Hasn’t been that long,” though your reaction to his presence wasn’t as well-articulated, it was convincing enough.

The other dude looked to be at least somewhat suspicious, and might’ve spoken on it if wasn’t for Geto’s scrutinizing gaze and a simple raise of his brow.

“Can I help you?” And just for good measure, he’d wrap his arm around you, sliding his hand into your coat pocket as if he’s done it a million times before to pull you closer against him. Whatever glare this ravenette man was glowering down the length of his nose at this guy with must’ve been scarring, because he murmured some half-assed excuse before scampering away.

You idly wondered how’d he get wherever he was going without the bus.

Or maybe you’d have more time to think about it if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting, acutely aware of the unworldly attractive man’s hand resting just over your hip.

“Sorry,” Geto spoke after a few beats, languidly retracting his arm from your coat and back to his side. “You looked like you were about to burst a blood vessel entertaining him. I hope I didn’t overstep. Y’know, with your boyfriend and all.” He had to have overheard you earlier.

But the way he spoke made it sound as if he doubted that fact, glancing to either side of you as if to say That is nowhere in sight..? without being so overtly rude. Or maybe he just wasn’t all that apologetic.

“That-! Yeah,” You pepped with a nervous pitter of laughter, “yeah…it’s not a problem, thanks.”

Your hand gravitated to the zipper of your jacket, absentmindedly fiddling with it as you frantically thought up an at least half decent explanation. One that wouldn’t make you sound more clumsy than you already felt.

“He’s not real, so he won’t mind.”

Yeah, real smooth. What was that you said; about being able to pick up a date without opposable thumbs? You’d need at least ten pairs of hands.

But Suguru didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widened into something toothy and almost boyish, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that added an innocent charm to his otherwise elegant features. He found it endearing.

“Perfect,” His response was coupled with a discreet chuckle.

“Don’t feel obligated,” He’d continue as he reached to the side of you. So close to brushing your shoulder, it made your breath hitch. Though truly he was reaching around you, sharply tearing a flier from the side of the bus stop and pulling a pen from one of his pockets. If you were paying more attention you’d have noticed the glint of impish amusement in his umber eyes that led one to believe that action was more deliberate than he let on.

Still, he’d make quick work of jotting down a phone number and the address of a nice restaurant he’s been meaning to try with Satoru— but plans change. “but I’d like to take you out. I was on my way over to ask you, anyhow.”

He offered the page to you; his handwriting as sumptuous and calligraphic as you would’ve expected his penmanship to be; in the margins of some tacky ad for a lawn mowing service. As you went to accept the paper, however, he rescinded it from reach. All whilst drawing closer so that his piercing dark amber eyes held your gaze with an unwavering intensity. The kind that made your stomach do flips and stole your breath away.

“And for the record,” He spoke quietly but poised; a conspiratorial whisper for only you, him, and the rain to witness. “if I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

There wasn’t time to react; he was already slipping the page into your pocket, withdrawing to a comfortable proximity all the while waving you off and wishing you well with a kind smile, disappearing someplace else.

You didn’t even catch his name.

At least your bus was here.

a/n: I had something to say but I totally forgot 😭

OH but I did add an upcoming section to my masterlist so you can see my works in the works if you’d like! 🤍 always open to ideas too

Dear god I crave geto with that loose low bun that’s barely a bun kind of hairstyle. Ykwim???

ty for reading 🤍🤍🤍 love you have a lovely lovely day or night

edit: OMG THATS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY. I kept accidentally writing bust stop instead of bus stop as I wrote this. So, sorry if you bust

☁️☁️☁️

[sinsandsweetness]

CAMERA SHY

(Rick & Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content. extremely filthy smut. not even joking srsly. lots of sex, filming it, unprotected p in v, oral (r!giving), cream pies, fingering, so many pet names it’s kind of sickening, dirty talk, one use of ‘daddy’ cause I just couldn’t help myself, two cocks at once, light choking, cowgirl, little bit of ass play, and spitting. think that’s it <3

notes- thank you guys for all the love on ‘birthday boy’! I’m so glad that so many of you enjoyed it. I thought I’d do a sequel/part 2 for it, where the boys film your alone time. It does occur directly following, but It can be read independently if you want! 3.1K word count.

Please let me know what you think! xoxo

Daryl made his way over to the dresser, no shirt on, just some pyjama pants slung low on his hips. His back still glistening, with water droplets trailing down his muscles. All taut and tan. The sight alone made you shift positions. Moving to your knees so you could squeeze your legs together. How on earth were you still horny?

He ruffled around the drawers contents and pulled out a video camera. A hand held silver one with a flip screen. One of those ones that people would film their home movies on. Christmas mornings and dance parties. Road trips and first steps. Though you’re pretty sure you guys weren’t the only ones using it for something a little less tasteful.

You couldn’t help but look over at Rick while Daryl played around with the thing. Turning it on and checking the battery. Getting it all ready for the movie you were about to make. Rick was biting his smile back. Trying to suppress his excitement about the situation.

They’d talked about this before. How they wanted something for when they had to be away from you. For longer supply runs that left them both a little hot and bothered. Missing you, waiting patiently for them back at home. Thinking about you touching yourself in their clothes. In their bed. Moaning their names and missing them just as much. And it’s not like phones were a thing anymore. You couldn’t call or sext. They just had to wait til they got back to deal with it. To deal with you.

If you were honest, the thought of them filming it, was a little nerve racking. But you wanted your boys to be happy. To always have a part of you available for their needs.

So there you were, sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed, both men standing in front of you, smelling like Irish Spring and laundry detergent. Looking down at you with two sets of the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. Ricks hand was on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your lip and sneaking it’s way between your teeth. Your eyes were on Daryl, tilting the lens down at you. The little red light intimidating you with its glow. You shifted a little, thighs squeezing together even more, with both your hands shoved in between them.

“What are you squirming for, baby? You gettin’ all shy on us now?” Rick asked, with a teasing tone. Your gaze shifted between them. Swallowing hard. Yes. You nodded a little.

“You’re gonna do great, sweetheart. Just do what you always do. You’re always so good for us,” Daryl’s own hand was making its way to the back of your head, fingers finding their way into your hair.

Their praise helped a little. At least gave you the courage to reach for their waistbands, pulling each of them down. You grabbed them both in your hands, already rock hard in your grip. Both of them kept smiling down at you, giving you a little nod to keep going. “Go on,” they motioned in unison.

So you did. You licked at Daryl’s shaft, getting him all wet with your tongue before moving over to Rick, and repeating the same process. Feeling their grips tighten on your hair and the hitch in their breaths was all you needed to step it up a notch. Being sure to look right at the camera, you wrapped your lips around Daryl’s cock and started to move your head back and forth. Sucking him off all sloppy and messy. Just the way he likes it. Blushing hard but forcing yourself to step out of your comfort zone. This was for them.

You could feel a pearl of Rick’s precum drip onto your hand as you jacked him off, so you decided to swap. A string of spit from Daryl’s tip was still connected to your lips as you started on Rick. Keeping your hand on the other man, being sure to give them equal attention. You never wanted one of them to feel left out. Not that they ever did. They both knew how much you worshipped them.

You kept swapping back and forth. Gagging every so often when one of them would push a little too hard on the back of your head. Spit started running down your chin, and little sounds escaped the back of your throat. The whole situation created a pool of wetness in your panties. Surely soaking through the fabric.

Rick took you by the hair, pulling you off of him with a ‘pop’.

“Feels real good, baby. You look so pretty with your mouth wrapped around us.” He started, thumb rubbing all lovingly against your cheek bone. “But I think we’d like to get these panties off and give the camera a good look at some of your other pretty parts.” Rick playfully shoved your shoulder. So you dropped back onto the cool comforter. Knees coming up and crossing your ankles in anticipation, waiting for whatever plans the two were silently deciding on.

“So fucking wet, Daryl. Look at her.” Rick said, hands parting your legs so they could settle in between them. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at their words. Their amused little laughs.

“Soaking right through, isn’t she? Sucking us off turn you on, sweetie? Is that it?”

“Uhuh. So much.” You nodded, propping yourself up onto your elbows. Both men on the mattress in front of you were making themselves comfy. Hands started trailing up your legs and playing with your boy shorts. Tracing the wet spot as your hips bucked. You were just so ready for them. Cunt still puffy and aroused, and even a little sore from your first round. But so, so ready for another.

Daryl made sure to capture Ricks fingers, tracing the wet spot of the cotton, and rubbing circles against your clit. Over your underwear, teasing, poking and prodding. Pulling them to the side when you whimpered a little, and his index finger glided through your slick with ease.

“Always so wet for us. Such a pretty pussy. So fucking pretty.” Rick praised, mesmerized at your swollen cunt. Practically throbbing for their attention. You lifted your hips as Daryl dragged your panties down. Throwing them off to one side of the room. They spread your legs so wide that your muscles hurt. Inner thighs stretched out and knees hooked around either man. Pulling them closer to you and eachother. Not that they minded.

They played with your pussy for a while. Getting you all sorts of worked up. Both of their fingers inside of you, stretching you out and making you groan. Clutching at the comforter below. Rick spat right on your clit, and you just about came right then and there. Unbelievable turned on by their focus. They slowly worked away at you, curling their fingers inside you and rubbing at your sensitive nub with their thumbs, definitely showing off a little for the camera. Taking everything just a a little slower than normal. So that they would have the most footage possible. Capturing your moans and whimpers and the way you moved against them. Desperate for more.

“Please I just- I-” your hips bucked further on to their fingers, and you could see the little look they gave each other. All mischievous and lustful. “What is it sweetie? You wanna cum? Is that it?”

You nodded eagerly. But with your confession, both men’s hands withdrew. Causing the quietest whimper to leave your mouth.

“Ugh,”

“Don’t complain. We just want you to cum on our dicks, that’s all. Isn’t that something you want, princess?”

It was more than ok. In fact it was preferred.

“Wanna cum on your cock, please.” You whined, pulling at Rick’s tee shirt

He groaned. He didn’t mean to. It’s just what your words could do to him.

“You will, sweetheart. I promise.”

You did. And it would have been a lot sooner if it weren’t for the damn camera in Daryl’s hands.

They had you get on top of Rick, straddling him as he sat up against the head board. Daryl started getting creative with his angles, with the camera behind you as he played with your ass, all while you rode Rick’s cock. Bouncing up and down as you held onto his shoulders. Pressed nice and close to his chest. His hands trailed up your shirt, peeling it off so he could grope your breasts, pinching your nipples nice and hard. Eventually his fingers wrapped themselves around your throat and squeezed gently on the sides.

He was stimulating every part of you that he could think of. His tongue was in your mouth the whole time. You stayed moaning against his lips and grinding down against him. Desperately trying to achieve more friction against your clit. It was driving you both wild.

Daryl stayed filming the whole thing. His own hand grabbing at your ass, thumb prodding at your other hole. Threatening to split you open once again. You were shocked he wasn’t touching himself. That he wasn’t getting his own dick wet. That he could actually keep the camera focused, even with the sight in front of him. The pure temptation to join in must have been killing him. Leaking precum all over his plaid pyjamas. That thought made your hips stutter. Along with the fact you’d be riding for what felt like ever. Your legs were starting to wear out. Muscles becoming all heavy and forcing you to switch from a bounce to a grind. Rick noticed you tiring out and decided to start fucking you from below. Hands moving to grip your ass cheeks and help you bounce. An actual cry left your mouth and you both knew you were close.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, I’m- Rick I-” you babbled against wet lips. Trying to hold off as long as possible, but he just kept hitting that damn spot. The spot that made you physically convulse around him. When Daryl’s dick pressed against your ass and you felt his hand squeeze your waist, that was it. You snapped like a rubber band. Cumming all over Ricks lap, your head fell back against Daryl’s chest as your rode out your high. Your body starting to twitch from the intensity of the orgasm. A very shaky sigh left your mouth as you all stopped to a halt.

“Feel good?” Daryl asked, lips brushing your ear, camera over your shoulder and pointed at Rick. The grainy screen was displaying his pretty face, lips parted and wet. Eyes focused on you. The lens moved down to show your hands. The ones still gripping Rick shoulders, tight enough to leave marks. He smiled when he noticed.

“So good. You make me feel so good, daddy. Both of you. Both my-” you were catching your breath. Rambling in your post orgasmic daze and drunkenness. But they weren’t done. And you knew that before you even came. They wouldn’t be done for a while. Even with your pussy practically raw and begging for an ice pack. You should have been begging for a break, yet somehow you were still dripping with need.

“One more, baby, then we’ll get you some rest okay?” Daryl asked all sweet, hand trailing under your shirt to squeeze at your breast.

“Want you both...” You whimpered. Rick’s cock still stuffed inside you. Filling you up and making your walls twitch. Yeah, you weren’t done.

You tried to get up. Figuring that they’d want you in another position. Something to switch it up. But when you pushed on Rick’s chest and tried to lift, they held you down, keeping you on his lap.

“What are you tryna do?” Rick smirked at you, wrapping his hands around your ass and moving your body for you. Grinding yourself against him again. The sound of your wetness squelching and making you blush.

“Was gonna move, I thought-”

“I’m really enjoying this view. Aren’t you?” Rick said, leaning in for another kiss. He always loved eye contact. Loved seeing your expressions and feeling your moans while you kissed.

“Mhm.” You agreed against his mouth. There was really no sense arguing. Even though you’re quads were on fire and you could barely lift yourself off of him to continue riding.

Daryl moved to place the camera on the bedside table. So that the three of you were in the frame. When he came back behind you, hands on your hips as he started kissing down your neck, your shoulders and the top of your spine. All while Ricks hands rocked you against him, fucking into you nice and slow.

“You gonna let us fuck your tight little ass again sweetie? Or do you want to get that pretty pussy all stretched out?” Daryl asked.

You turned to try and look at him. A little shocked at the suggestion. There was no way that would fit. Right?

They both chuckled at your reaction. Daryl’s thumbs already pushing themselves in to your asshole. Stretching out the tight muscle.

“We can do that?” You asked. Never even having considered it. But it was definitely intriguing.

“We can. Might hurt a little though,” Daryl warned you, catching your lips as his fingers moved down even further. Using your excess wetness to push his index in your pussy. Still stuffed full of Rick. You gasped as he hooked his finger upward. Even Rick made a little sound. Surprised by his own dick being touched and your walls stretching even further.

“Wanna try…” you sighed. Trying your hardest to relax your muscles. To allow them to actually ruin you. Split you in half on both of their cocks. You couldn’t imagine a better pain.

“Ok baby, we’ll give it a try. Just tell us if you wanna stop, ok?”

“Go real slow Daryl. Let her get used to it.” Rick told the man.

“Let her get used to it. Or you?”

“Both. Seriously, just go slow. Don’t wanna break her.” You could feel Daryl suppressing a quiet laugh against your skin. Two fingers now moving inside of you, getting you ready for his cock.

“Alright, come down a little,” he retracted his touch and pulled you by your hips. Both you and Rick shifting downward so he could lay back. His head pressed against the pillow. He stayed inside of you as you leaned forward, opening yourself up for the man behind you. Kissing the side of Ricks mouth and up to his earlobe. Knowing exactly how much he loved that.

Daryl spat on your hole. Moving foreword and pressing his tip against you. Pushing ever so slowly as the two of them stretched you out.

It hurt. But you expected that.

“Breath, sweet girl. Gotta breath, ok?” Rick told you, hands wrapping around your ribs nice and tight, holding you up since your legs were completely useless. Daryl’s hands were on your hips. Pulling you down onto the two of you until he managed to actually fit himself inside. All of him. Him and Rick. Inside of you, together. It was hard to even believe. But you were so stretched out, there was no denying that it was possible.

“Oh god,” you mumbled at the realization. At the feeling of being so fucking full.

“Oh god.” Rick repeated with a grunt. It was even better then last round, you realized. At least for them. Having the added pressure of another cock, rubbing up against them both. That extra friction affecting you all.

“You two all good?” Daryl tried to confirm, his breaths a little laboured as well.

“Yes!” You squeaked, realizing that Daryl had started to move. Thrusting slowly into you.

“Y-Yes. “ Ricks eyes were rolled back. The two of you breathing hard. And the sight of him in so much pleasure made your walls tighten. Earning another groan from them both.

“Keep going. Keep fucking me, please.” You asked them politely. Your wetness was running down your inner thigh.

So they fucked you. Rick from below, and Daryl from behind. Completely abusing your pretty little hole.

Rick was in heaven. You could tell by his eyes. All glossed over with his lips parted, breathing impressively slow. He was trying to focus on not cumming so quick. Daryl’s hands gripped your hips real tight. Snapping his own right against your ass. Nails leaving little crescent moons in your skin. Whispering little praises in your ear.

“So fucking tight for us. Such a good girl, always taking us so well. Doing so well, baby. So, so, good.”

You’d never taken them both. Not like this. And having them both together, was intense. Hitting every single spot inside of you. Ones you didn’t even know about. Ones that made you cry out and call their names.

“Still ok, baby?” Daryl asked, becoming just a little concerned by the sounds pouring out of you.

“Gonna cum, Dare, gonna- oh, oh.” You could feel a tear slip onto your cheek. Wet and salty when it hit your lips. The pressure and the buildup catching up to you. Hurting so fucking good. Your core was all hot and tight and your head became fuzzy.

“Don’t stop,” you whined, burying yourself into Rick’s shoulder as your orgasm rippled through you. A burst of heat running down your thighs and up your stomach. Waves of pleasure pulsed through your core.

The two of them moaned your name and a couple other profanities. Honestly, you didn’t hear. A little too hazy to pay close attention. They each came inside of you. Their seed physically flooded out of you when Daryl finally pulled out. Very slowly and carefully, so it wouldn’t hurt you too bad. And Rick too. So gentle and caring. Both boys Immediately getting you to lay down between them. Your pussy was fucking aching. But you didn’t mind too much. They kissed you lots. All over. Asking you a million times if you were ok. If it was too much. If they wore you out too badly.

“Gonna have to give you some time to recover, huh?” Rick asked, coming back from the kitchen. An ice cold glass of water in his hand.

“You’re sure we didn’t hurt you too bad?” Daryl added. Rick picked a towel off the hook on the back of the door. Bringing them both over for you.

“I liked it.” You responded. Not fully answering their questions. You would definitely need a few days. At the bare minimum. Your cunt was swollen, and you could feel it. Rick handed you the water and you drank up. The coolness coating your throat. Gulping a few sips down and passing the rest to Daryl beside you.

“Gotta get you all cleaned up,” Rick started with the towel in between your legs, wiping up the pearly mixture that had coated your thighs.

“Again…” you joked, smiling up at him.

“Bath? Shower? Just the towel? What do you want?” He smiled back.

“Mmmm… bubble bath,” you bit your lip.

“Bubble bath?” Daryl asked from beside you, smoothing some of your hair down. Trying to tame the unruly mess.

“Mhm,”

“Only if we can watch.”

“You can film it for all I care,” you turned to catch his lips. Grinning against your mouth.

They sat down on the vanity stools and watched as you laid your head against the tub. Both of them smiling down at your cuteness. Soapy suds hiding your body under the water. Only the tops of your breasts threatening to breach the surface. The hot water and lavender bubble bath doing wonders for your sore muscles. You were sure they’d give you a massage after, if you asked all nicely.

Despite the undeniable toll on your body, you’d relive the night again in a heart beat. Having them split you open all over their cocks was always ideal. But seeing Rick’s face as you got double stuffed, was the cherry on top. Shuddering beneath you and cumming with an actual moan. Accompanied by Daryl’s stuttering hips and grunts of his own. Each of you fucking eachother into a mess of pure ecstasy.

Thank fucking god they got it all on camera.

taglist: @rickswh0r3 , @elnyrae

[ comments and reblogs are always appreciated ]

[cinaerii]

MR. TELEPHONE MAN — sim jy. x fem!reader

✧ syn : in which, your boyfriend jake calls you late at night, but you don’t answer. he then jumps to multiple conclusions.

✧ cws : a few kisses, mild profanities. typos & grammatical errors.

on your line though, a last minute notice about the power outage shutting down for a while as they try to figure the problems about the electricity that were issued by many residents.

you panicked as you checked your battery percentage on your phone going lower, it was supposedly the time to be calling jake and telling him about your day and random miscellaneous events.

as soon as jake finished showering and drying his hair to avoid making puddles on the floor, he immediately jumped on his bed and scrolled through his contacts to find yours, clicking the call button.

now it’s unusual for him that you’re not picking his call up right away. he thinks that maybe you’re just dealing with something right now, so he waited patiently for your reply.

but it’s already been 10 minutes since he started calling. jake starts to fidget with his phone, spinning it around as he continues to wait for your callback. his patience was worning out each passing minute.

‘what if she’s not home yet?’

‘what if she’s calling someone else?’

‘what if she got into an accident?’

“nooo, jake don’t think that. get yourself together.” he finished, his eyes glowering at his phone. before he could make a decision to find out what you were up to, another what if statement appeared in his mind.

‘what if she’s ignoring me, playing games without me, watching or listening to music without me?’

by now, he didn’t know why he was suddenly outside of his apartment building and heading towards yours which was only a few blocks away. his walk wasn’t exactly normal, he was practically stomping slightly.

it’s rare to spot a sulky sim jaeyun.

your house was dark, all of the lights were off so what kept you from being able to see a bit was your lit candle that you were able to find. leading your phone to finally die because of using the flashlight feature for too long.

you were constantly cautious for anything that might happen without you knowing. whilst you were wearing a cardigan, there was little to no warmth you could feel, the goosebumps crawling on your skin quickly.

an abrupt knock interrupted your tense figure from negative thoughts coming into your mind. not just a knock, multiple knocks in a pattern to which you recognized as your boyfriend.

you ran to your front door, the prettiest man standing right infront of you. “jake? what the hell are you doing here?” you opened the door wide enough for him to come inside.

“a power outage?” he ignored your question, as he looked around your apartment, being only lit by a single candle.

“so you weren’t doing anything without me?” he added.

“sim jaeyun.” you snapped, wanting an explanation from his unexpected visit.

“sorry, love. i just thought something happened, so i got worried and.. yeah.” he confessed with a hint of guilt.

you reluctantly nodded at him but asked again, “and?” he tilted his head low, mumbling things that you could not hear.

as much as you wanted him to speak louder, you decide not to request him to repeat what he said. instead you took a step closer towards him, closing the gap between the two of you.

“you can do better than that.” you commented on the volume of his voice which was quieter than his usual normal tone.

taking a deep breath, “i was looking forward to our call the whole day, it was all i could think about. and then you didn’t answer right away like you usually do, so even if a few minutes have passed, i was already getting impatient—“

he blabbered on until he was cut off by a pair of lips over his for a second. he blinked once, twice, and thrice. you let out a chuckle when you saw his face being shock over a single peck on the lips.

though that didn’t last long, jake made sure that you would be the one who was shocked now. “are you calling that a kiss?” there’s your boyfriend back into his senses.

the apartment was dimmed, but the two were igniting their own lights in the room, beating the small candle that was put on the kitchen counter.

— end. thank you for reading!

written by; @cinaerri ⋆ do not steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

special tags.

@ikeubi

[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?”

[wingedhallows]

women shouldn't curse; sirius black

pairing: marauders (sirius black; platonic - flirty) x reader | 1k words prompt: "women shouldn't curse" "get fucked" authors note: hi, i hope u like this :)

navigation

The smoke filled your lungs, a satisfied sigh sounded from your lips. James extended his hand and demanded the bottle in your hand without a word.

You gave it to him and leant your back on the railing of the balcony. The night air caressed your cheek, a shiver made its way down your spine.

“Who was the red head you buttered up earlier?” James asked, Sirius had to chuckle. It was no secret that the young Gryffindor was adored by many, men or women.

He didn’t take up on many offers though. Sirius blew some smoke from his own cigarette and gave James a smirk. “Morrigan.” He answered. Remus had to roll his eyes, taking another sip from his drink.

“She’s been at it since last year.” Remus added, leaning back against the wall.

Lily made her way to the four of you, Marlene right behind her. You held your pack of cigarettes for the blonde girl, who took one with a small smile on her lips.

“You got another one?” She asked, her hands fumbling with Sirius’ lighter. You hummed, of course she would take notice of your newest tattoo.

“Sirius made it.” You answered. “I tatted him as well.” Marlene chuckled and took a closer look.

“God, if I had the guts to be like you.” She spoke with a smirk on her lips.

Sirius and you were very much alike, long hair, piercings, tattoos and the nonchalant demeanor. James liked to label the two of you as long lost twins. 

James, Remus and Sirius were immersed in a conversation about their next big prank, Lily and Marlene had a lot to say about their plans for the summer break, occasionally asking you questions about potential places you could visit, places to check out and what else you should be doing while you all were still so young.

You didn’t pay much attention, the day was long and your social battery was slowly but surely running out. 

“Hi there.” A boy who had placed himself next to you with a beer in hand caught your attention.

He was short, about the same height as Peter. His red hair covered his eyebrows and slightly brushed over his eyes, his teeth sat crooked in his mouth and his stained Beatles shirt didn’t do him much justice either.

“Hello.” You answered, desperate to have this conversation end right now. He didn’t think the same apparently, because he kept talking.

“It’s rare to see Slytherins attend Gryffindor parties, let alone a dashing one as you.” The compliment was fine, it wasn’t something to sweep you off your feet but it was okay. You weren’t smitten though, not even in the slightest.

“I’ve seen you around the common room the past few years and thought to myself that I’d like to take my chance with you.” Your eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit as you registered another failed attempt of flirting.

You didn’t look at him, you were turned to your friends, a clear sign for a normal person but apparently not for this guy.

“My name is Barnaby, I’m a year under you.” He said, his hand suddenly on your elbow. You let your arm fall and decided to end this as fast as possible. This was getting ridiculous.

“Listen Barnaby, I’m not really-”Hello there, who’s that?” Sirius was by your side, his hand swiftly taking his lighter out of your hand to light his next cigarette.

“Hi, my name’s Barnaby.” He tried, his eyes glowing with hatred. He didn’t like Sirius butting in on his god awful attempt of flirting with you, you thanked Sirius internally.

“We were actually talking-”Remus wants to know when the deadline for herbology is.” Sirius interrupted the tosspot. You smirked at Sirius who brushed his hand through his dark locks, his piercings glistening in the dim light.

“The fucking project’s not due till friday.” You answered, blowing some smoke for good measure. Barnaby decided to butt in again.

“Women shouldn’t curse.”

He said, loud and clear. You blinked once, twice. Sirius eyebrows raised as he looked the slime ball up and down.

“What?” Sirius asked, as his eyes narrowed and he took another drag from his cigarette.

“Women shouldn’t use such crass language, it’s unbecoming.” He tried with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sirius took a step forward, to which Barnaby took a step back, immediately intimidated.

“What a bullshit statement is that?” The tosspot took a swig from his beer and looked at you once more before he spoke.

“It’s unbecoming, it’s a shame to hear such language from a woman this pretty.” Sirius was furious by now, his jaw tightened and eyebrows raised in a daring manner.

“You know what’s unbecoming? A bloody idiot like you, looking like this, thinking you could even have a chance with a woman like Y/N. Wake up dude, not a single woman on this planet would dare lay a finger on a cunt like you.”

Barnaby was baffled, his mouth slightly open. You sprung into action and put your hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He took a step back and gave you a curt nod.

“Barnaby, dearest, I don’t think that you should ever speak your opinions on what women should or shouldn’t say. It’s unbecoming to be hit on by a boy who looks like he hasn’t showered once in his lifetime. I’m honestly insulted that you think this could’ve worked, like please get out of my face.”

You turned around, ready to leave this idiot behind with Sirius in hand.Before he walked away, you turned around again. Sirius' hand was warm in yours as you once again faced the bloody git.

“Ah, one more thing. Get fucked.”

Barnaby turned around and left you both behind with fast steps. Sirius squeezed your hand with a chuckle.

“Well done, dove. I’m proud.”

You had to chuckle as you threw your long done cigarette off the balcony.

[outermaybanks]

just a kiss - part iii - jj x bi!reader x kie

part one ☆ part two

a/n: the much-awaited part 3. i can't even promise this is the last thing ill write for this, bc im so in love with this throuple. warnings for smut 18+ CW!! smut, unprotected sex (pull out gang), p-in-v, fingering, oral both f and m receiving but mostly f, cumeating, threesome... i think that covers it? if im missing something lmk

You didn’t know how to get ready, Kie had texted you to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind, but she wanted to keep the actual date a surprise. You settled for something cute, but still casual enough, and waited, but you were surprised when your phone dinged with a text from JJ.

Maybank: im here Maybank: ur dad seems really happy to see me is he mad i called off yesterday

You felt a wave of excitement clash with a wave of anxiety. You quickly grabbed your bag and went downstairs. You and your dad lived above his shop, which made keeping secrets from him extremely difficult. You walked through the garage, finding JJ standing with your dad looking into a car with a flashlight. “Dad, it’s JJ’s day off,” you said as you walked over. JJ turned when he heard your voice, a smile creeping onto his lips. “I just wanted to show him the engine on this baby… so where you two going?” You and JJ exchanged looks, he looked nervous to say the wrong thing, which left you with a very important decision to make. And you quickly made your choice.

“Actually, JJ and Kie are taking me on a date,” you tell him, and JJ’s head snapped to look at your father. “Kie, now that’s… that’s JJ’s girlfriend who you like very much, right?” your dad teased, a knowing smile turning the corners of his lips up. JJ’s head snapped back to you, this time with a smirk. “That’s the one. C’mon, JJ, before he ropes you into checking out the Mustang he’s never driven,” you say, trying to lead JJ away. “It’s a 1967, she’s a beaut, and I’m real close to fixin’ her up!” your dad called, JJ almost turned back around, but you kept pushing him forward.

Once you were out of the garage, you saw JJ’s bike parked in the gravel. “C’mere,” JJ said softly. You looked up at him just before he put his helmet on you. “I, uh, I liked that you told the dad the truth…” he added as he fastened the strap beneath your chin. “Well, if this date is successful, he’d find out eventually,” you explain. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he hired you with the intention of marrying me off to you, so…”

JJ chuckled before swinging his leg over his bike. “Hold on tight, cupcake.”

You were grateful for the helmet, it hid your blush as you climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

JJ took you back to the Chateau, only it looked different. You had heard rumors that there was a hot tub, but you had never seen it for yourself before now. And the big tree in the back year was covered in fairy lights, while Kie sat beside a bonfire; she quickly stood when she heard the rev of JJ’s bike. 

JJ helped you off his bike and you two walked over to join Kie, who was struggling to hold back a smile. “Hey… I hope it’s not too much, I wanted it to look nice,” Kie said, vaguely gesturing to the scene behind her. “It’s beautiful… John B doesn’t mind that we’re using his house for our date?” you asked. “Nah, he’s cool with it. Him and Sarah are staying at a hotel over on Figure Eight for the night,” JJ answered. You started to look around, mesmorized by the twinkling of the fairy lights, and your heart swelled knowing Kie and JJ did all this just to make it nice for you.

Kie had made you dinner, a family recipe she claimed. “I just figured you were probably tired of pizza,” she said bashfully when you complimented the taste. The three of you ate together, JJ told you the story of how he and Kie met, then you told Kie about JJ’s first day working for your dad, how he fumbled a battery change because he had never worked on that type of car before. “Y’know, she told her dad she was coming on a date with us,” JJ mentioned. Kie’s eyes widened, her eyes were smiling despite the fact that she was chewing. “You did?” she asked after she swallowed. “Yeah… he’s pretty chill, and I figured… there’s a good chance he’ll be seeing both of you around.” Something about that made Kie blush.

After dinner, JJ was strumming mindlessly on his guitar while you and Kie made s’mores for dessert. “Do you like ‘em golden brown or burnt?” Kie asked, offering to cook yours for you. “Cremated.” Kie’s face scrunched up in disgust as she let out a laugh. You didn’t mind the teasing, you just thought she looked so pretty. Then it occurred to you, this was a date, you didn’t have to hold back. You tucked a piece of hair behind her ear so you could get a better look at her face, then place that hand on her thigh. Her skin felt warm from the fire, at least that’s what you told yourself.

Kie had a proud smile on her face, but her attention stayed on the task at hand: making you a s’more.

Sometime while your attention was on Kie roasting a marshmallow, JJ moved over to sit closer to the two of you, and now you sat between them shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t listen to Kie, burnt is best,” JJ said, making you smile. “You only think that because you’re incapable of not burning a marshmallow,” Kie shot back, just as she brought the on-fire marshmallow up to her lips to blow out, before sticking it right back in the fire, turned slightly. 

You felt JJ put his arm around you and you turned your head to look up at him, smiling. His eyes moved between yours, before flickering down to your lips. You thought he looked so beautiful in the light of the fire and twinkling lights.

When Kie finished making your s’more she handed it to you with a smile, a smile that made you feel warm inside. You thanked her before biting it; she had made it perfect. “Oh, hold on,” JJ said, causing you to turn to look at him with wide, unknowing eyes. He held your chin still before licking the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, you had a little something there.”

His eyes once again moved between yours before suddenly he was leaning in again, pressing his lips to yours. “JJ!” Kie scolded. “We said we’d take it slow.”

JJ pulled away, licking his bottom lip. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. We don’t want to rush things with you.”

You turned back to look at Kie, her eyes were wide with worry, worry that JJ had already scared you off.

“What if… What if I don’t want to take it slow?” you asked, taking Kie by surprise. She looked past you to JJ. “Then I’d say,” JJ spoke up, stealing your attention once again. “It’s the perfect time to get in the hot tub.”

You looked back to Kie, to see what she thought. She looked between you and JJ, then without a word she lifted her shirt over her head. You turned back to JJ, and he was now standing, lifting his shirt over his head, so you followed their lead. 

JJ quickly got in first, but Kie waited for you, then held her hand out for you to take as you both got in together. The jets felt good on your back, but Kie’s touch felt better as she trailed her hand up your arm. “Can I kiss you?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself. The question made Kie smile before she scooted even closer to you, her hand now resting on your shoulder. You brought your hand up to her cheek, pulling her closer before pressing your lips to hers. 

The kiss very quickly became hungry, but then suddenly Kie pulled away, and before you could even process it, she leaned over to press her lips to JJ. You had noticed their physical intimacy had slowed since all of this started, all the way back in June, but you had to admit now that you you weren’t forcing yourself to look away, you found it hot to watch, and wondered if they felt the same way.

When Kie and JJ pulled away, his eyes, dark and clouded, fell to you next. You felt like you were under a spell as you moved towards him, both his hands coming to cup your cheeks and pull your face towards hims before he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands found his shoulders before sliding down his chest. His lips moved down to kiss your neck, and Kie took advantage of your available lips.

Your whole body was starting to burn from within, and being in the hot tub was becoming too much. “Wanna go… inside?” you mumbled between kisses. Kie pulled away, and so did JJ, and suddenly you were worried you had said the wrong thing. Kie’s eyes were searching yours, but you didn’t know for what. Then JJ stood up, shaking his hair like a wet dog, before holding both his hands out. You took one, while Kie took the other, and the three of you got out slowly, only to practically race each other inside. 

The second the bedroom door was closed, someone’s lips were on yours, but you didn’t see whose, and you didn’t really care. “JJ!” Kie’s voice scolded before your kiss ended. “Sorry, he’s always like that. Eager.” “I don’t mind…” you answered honestly, and Kie smiled, before sitting on the bed. “Have you ever done it before?” Kie asked as JJ sat beside her. “Sex? Yeah, I’ve had sex.” “A threesome,” JJ corrected. “Oh! Uh… no actually, have you?” 

A proud smile came over JJ’s face. “Well, I don’t mean to brag, but-” “I haven’t either,” Kie quickly interjected. “And I’ve never been with a woman before, so… I’m sorry if I’m bad at it,” she giggled a little, but you could tell she was genuinely insecure. You wanted to make her feel better.

“Well, I’ve been with women before. And I’ve been told I’m a good teacher,” you say softly. Kie’s eyes moved up and down your figure before she nodded. You sat down on the other side of her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before lurching forward to press your lips to hers. Her hands moved to rest against your thigh, but they froze there, even as the kiss deepened.

“You can touch me,” you whispered between kisses, then looked to JJ, whose eyes were focused on where you and Kie were connecting. “You can too,” you added before kissing down to Kie’s neck. She let out a soft moan, a sound you never wanted to stop hearing. Kie’s hands hesitantly moved, first sliding up to hold your waist, then to cup your breasts over your bra. To encourage her, you left out a soft sound of approval, and let your hands move down to her thighs, sliding them up slowly. 

You felt the weight on the bed shift and dip, and you quickly turned to see JJ sitting on the other side of you. “Don’t let me distract you, baby, keep going,” he said softly. It was all so hot, you had never felt this hungry for touch. As if he could read your mind, JJ’s hand landed on your thigh, and you felt his lips on your shoulder as he watched you mark up his girlfriend, your girlfriend? That was still kind of unclear. 

You let your fingers ghost over Kie’s panties, then softly rubbed her through them, you could feel how wet she was when you pushed down, and fuck it turned you on. You felt JJ’s finger slide over the back of your bra strap, so you spare him another look to give him a nod, telling him he could take it off, and he did, helping you slide the straps down your arm. When Kie saw this, she reached behind her back to take off her own bra.

“Can you lay back for me, sweetheart?” you practically cooed in Kie’s ear, and she eagerly nodded, scooting back a bit before laying down, and immediately you straddled her lap, your lips returned to her neck, but this time you kissed down her chest before licking the bud of her nipple, then taking it into your mouth while your hand palmed her other breast. 

The sounds that fell from her were heavenly, little whines of pleasure, wordlessly begging for more. You kissed further down her stomach, until you reached the hem of her panties. “Can I take these off?” you asked, slightly out of breath from your own excitement.

Kie nodded fervently, “Yes, please. Need you there.”

Who were you to deny her when she asked so nicely? You slowly peeled them down, guiding them down her legs until they hit the floor. You felt her move and looked up to see JJ now stood beside her, as she started pulling his boxers down. You had looked up just in time to watch his hard cock spring free, and the sight of Kie taking him into her mouth made your mouth water. 

You bit your lip, watching the scene in front of you, before pushing Kie’s thighs apart to kiss up them. Right before you reached her core, you looked up through your eyelashes and found JJ’s eyes on you, so you kept your eyes on his as your tongue slid through Kie’s folds. Even with a dick in her mouth, the moan she let out was loud, which made JJ let out a groan as he fought to keep his eyes open and on you.

You let your tongue move up and down a few times before sliding it into her tight hole, and her head fell back, her hand coming up to stroke JJ’s dick while she regained her composure. “Fuck, that feels so good…” Kie said softly, giving your ego a stroke. 

You wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked, very slightly moving your head, and you slid one finger, then a second into her. You stared in amazement at where your fingers disappeared, and how she clenched around you, and you were jealous for just a moment of JJ for having a dick. 

“She making you feel good, mamas?” JJ asked softly, running a hand through Kie’s hair. Your eyes moved to look at her as she nodded, only capable of making soft moans. “We should be making her feel good, too, don’t you think?” Again Kie just nodded. JJ looked back at you with a smirk, before he moved, disappearing from your sight which allowed you to give your full attention to Kie.

That is until you felt his lips on your shoulder, and slowly move down your back. “Whaddya say, sweet girl? Can I have a taste?” JJ asked. You didn’t want to stop what you were doing, so you looked up to Kie and nodded. “She says yes,” Kie answered for you. You felt JJ’s big hands hold the back of your thighs, just before you felt him move your panties aside, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance, pulling a moan from you that sent vibrations straight to Kie’s core. It felt like a fucked up version of the telephone game. 

“God, you’re so fucking wet, y/n,” JJ grunted, as his hand came down on your ass with a slap, his fingers kneeding the flesh. “Got this turned on just from eating our girlfriend out?”

Oh. You thought. I guess it’s not unclear. 

JJ’s tongue slid into your pussy as he tried to lap up the juices of your arousal, then his tongue moved to doing circles around your clit, then to flicking the bud with his tongue before his lips wrapped around it.

Fuck he was good at that. But you couldn’t let him distract you, not when you could feel how close Kie was. You starting pumping your fingers faster, then slowly added a third finger, switching back to using your tongue on her clit. 

“Close, close, fuck!” Kie panted out. You couldn’t help but think she looked angelic with her hair all messy on the pillow, her lidded eyes still so big and eager with a slight pout on her lips. Hearing those words spurred you on, your tongue laying flat to curl up to lap up her juices, but then you felt JJ’s hands grip your hips tighter as he pulled you back to his mouth, vying for your attention. 

With your free hand you reached up to massage her breast, your fingers gently pinching and playing with her nipple, before her hand came down to tangle in your hair, her thighs trying to squeeze together as her breathing picked up, signalling her orgasm.

You slowed your movement, but didn’t stop as she came down from her high, her chest rising and falling with her quick breaths. “Come here, y/n,” Kie breathed out as she slowly sat up. You sat up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion by what she meant, but you obeyed nonetheless. 

Kie’s hands cupped your cheeks as she pressed a kiss to your lips, and it dawned on you that that was the first time she kissed you. “Jayj, you too,” Kie said between kisses. You felt the part of the bed beside you dip down, just before Kie pulled back. You looked over to JJ, and without thinking, leaned over and pulled him down to kiss you. 

JJ’s hands immediately found something to hold onto, one on the back of your head to keep you against him, and the other on your thigh, his thumb making small circles, inching closer and closer to your core. 

“JJ’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” Kie asked, and hearing it took you by surprise so you pulled away, but JJ’s lips kissed down your jaw to your neck. Once you processed the words, and thought about it for a moment, you nodded, and she smiled, going in for another quick kiss. When you two pulled away, she guided you to lay back against her, your head leaning against her shoulder.

JJ’s hand slid down your stomach to your underwear, and after you gave him the nod of approval, he pulled them down. JJ used his thumb to spread you open and get a good look, which would have made you feel bashful if Kie wasn’t currently playing with your hard nipples. Her breath hitting your ear was turning you on, which was something new for you.

JJ slid his fingers through your folds, collecting the juices before coating his dick with them. When JJ leaned down, he first pressed a kiss to Kie’s lips, then yours as his hands opened your legs for him. You felt him line up at your entrance, before slowly his tip slid into you, making you gasp.

You weren’t a virgin by any means, but you had been honest when you told Kie and Sarah you had mostly dated girls, it had been a while since you had been with a man.

“JJ’s kinda big, he’s gotta go slow, baby,” Kie whispered in your ear as she continued palming your breasts. 

Kinda was an understatement, JJ had at least two inches on the guys you’d been with previously. 

“She can take it, baby, I know she can,” JJ praised, slowly sliding in more. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, princess, you feel so good.”

Hearing JJ’s praises spurred you on, you wanted to make him proud. “Please, J, more, I can take it,”

JJ smirked, “See, Kie, told ya.”

Your head fell back on her shoulder as you started to feel the stretch. “You’re doing so good, baby,” Kie’s soft voice encouraged you, and you felt her press a kiss to the side of your head. God, if threesomes always felt this good, you’d never turn one down again.

That’s when it really hit you: this wasn’t just a threesome, this was your first time with your new girlfriend, and your new boyfriend.

When JJ finally bottomed out, you let out a soft whine, turning your head and puckering your lips. The sight made Kie smile before she kissed you, one of her hands cupping her cheek while the other slid down your body to play with your sensitive bud. 

You couldn’t stop the moans from falling from your lips as JJ started moving his hips, starting off slow but picking up speed. 

“You look so fucking hot right now, y/n,” Kie mumbled against your skin, her lips moving to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Both of you look so fucking hot- fuck I could cum now,” JJ panted his hand sliding up your body to give your breasts attention since Kie was preoccupied with your clit. 

You had only had one previous sexual partner able to get you to climax, and even when you were by yourself, it took at least half an hour to get there, but this, this was an entirely new sensation, one that was getting you closer and closer after only just starting.

“Fuck, you gonna cum on my cock? I can feel ya squeezin’ the shit outta me,” JJ said softly, his southern accent coming out thicker. 

“I wanna see you cum on his dick,” Kie whispered in your ear, and it was what sent you over the edge, a high pitched whine leaving your lips as your body went limp in Kie’s arms.

“Shit- Fuck!” JJ exclaimed before you felt him pull out, fisting his cock until his cum shot out on your chest. Your mind was still hazy from your orgasm, but you felt a sense of pride in knowing you made him cum. “I’m sorry- I didn’t have time- to ask where- to cum,” JJ pant outed between breaths. 

“‘S okay,” you mumbled.

“I think she liked it, Jayj,” Kie spoke up, before leaning forward to wipe your chest with her finger, licking the cum clean off. “You want a taste?” 

You didn’t even think, just nodded, and Kie wiped the rest off your chest before sliding her finger past your lips. You hollowed your cheeks and kept your eyes on hers while you sucked it clean.

“Fuuuuuck,” JJ breathed out, running a hand through his hair. The second Kie’s finger retracted from your mouth, JJ turned your chin to make you look at him before he pressed his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

“You took him so well, baby, made us proud,” Kie praised, leaning over to kiss your neck. God you swore you could’ve melted right then and there. 

“I’m so fucking glad we played truth or dare,” JJ said after you two pulled away, making you giggle.

“Think John B’s gonna be mad we fucked in his bed?” you asked. “Considering I told him we were using the chateau for a movie night, we could just wash the sheets and not say anything,” JJ replied. “Yeah they don’t need to know where we fucked, just that y/n’s our girlfriend now,” Kie added, and the words fell so easily for her, the simple action made your heart swell.

JJ could be grateful that he suggested the game of truth or dare, but you were grateful you told your dad to hire him.

©ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²⁰²⁴

[gretavangroupie]

Exposure

Word count: 11.3k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Stripping, Photo Exhibitionism, Touching, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Oh! Didn't see you there! Happy February! Welcome to the very first installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy this first story in the set of four. We can't wait to share the rest with you! See you real soon!

You pull your jacket snug against your chest, your camera bag hanging heavy on your shoulder as you make the trek up to the front door of the house. You can hear music coming from the basement already, likely the bands warming up before the show starts. You sneak through the front door, breezing through the mostly empty house in search of the basement. Following the noise, you walk down the stairs and into a small swarm of people all bustling and busy trying to get things set up before the show. How you got roped into shooting a basement show on Valentine's day of all days is beyond you, although it’s not like you have anything better to do.

Your eyes search around for any sign of your friends but you know they’re probably either running late, which is not shocking, or busy unloading their gear outside. You typically never shoot events like this- well, this small, but a favor for your best friend was long overdue. You stand at a small table loading the film into your camera, her one begging request of her set being captured on film, about to be fulfilled. You look around for any other photographers but you see no one, and it’s then that you realize just how small of a gig this really is. 

You did your best to blend in tonight, donning the industry standard of black, but realizing now that it almost wouldn’t have mattered what you wore. You kept it simple with a black long sleeve shirt, and a pair of black leather pants, adding a heeled boot to give yourself a little extra height behind the lens. 

You grab an extra roll of film and shove it into your pants pocket before placing your camera bag beneath the stage for safe keeping. People are quickly starting to fill the small basement, and you’re thankful for this weeks’ cold snap, knowing that this basement would be sweltering otherwise. You pull your phone from your pocket checking for any signs of life from your friends, laughing as you see a ‘we’re running late’ text. Shaking your head you put your phone back in your pocket and start to check your settings, adjusting to the lowlight of the room.

The basement is fully packed at this point, the first band stepping on to the stage and starting things off with a blaring guitar intro. The lights dim even further, causing you to adjust your settings again, and you wonder if you need to grab your flash attachment. You feel a tap on your shoulder, a rush of nerves in your chest as you spin around to see who it could be. 

“Are you shooting film?” A pair of dark brown eyes asks, a look of genuine curiosity painted across the irises. 

You smile and hold up your camera, “Yeah, I am! How did you know?” 

A smile sweeps across his face, his long dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, but partially obscured under a red beanie. His cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold outside, the alcohol in his system, or the weight of his cable knit sweater. “I’m a bit of a hobbyist. Specifically film. I recognized your camera.”

“You did? This thing is pretty old.” you say, pulling your hair from beneath your camera strap. 

“Yeah, I have the same one. Mines the silver version though.” he says, leaning in closely so that you can hear him over the loud music. 

You look up at him, and nod, leaning back in towards him as you respond. “Oh really? Does yours have the battery door issue?”

His hand lays softly against your shoulder as he leans in closer, ready to respond but your attention is ripped away as you see your friends in your peripheral. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, my friends just walked in and they are actually supposed to go on next.” you say holding up your camera to show your purpose of being here in the first place. 

“You’re fine, go ahead.” he smiles, pulling away from you and taking a sip from his seltzer. 

You send him a soft smile, taking a final look at him before turning to meet your friends. As you walk up to meet them you can’t help but to look over to where you were just standing, finding the mystery man gone. You scan the room as your friends talk at you, looking for any sight of him, but you’re snapped back to the present as they are called up to the stage. 

With a hug from your best friend and a kiss on the cheek she darts up the small stairs with a smile. “Wish us luck! And make sure you get my good side!”  

You make your way towards the front of the stage, checking your settings one more time as the band starts to play. Admittedly, they sound a lot better than they did the last time you saw them perform, and the crowd behind you really seems to be into them. You even notice a few people wearing their merch and wonder when that happened. Had you really been that absent?

You duck down as you work your way across the front of the stage, snapping photos of your friends as they play their hearts out. You quietly apologize to the people you block with your camera, taking a quick glance behind you with each step you take. About two songs into their set you’ve made your way to the opposite side of the stage, looking behind you only to catch a glance of your mystery guy, standing against the wall with his drink. 

You try to pretend you didn’t see him, but it’s no use as you trip over an electrical cord and make a complete spectacle of yourself in the process. However, when you don't collide with the concrete of the basement floor and instead are met with a pair of warm steady hands, you feel a sigh of relief hoping that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see you trip after all. Turning to face your hero, you’re met with none other than your hobbyist.

A grin spreads across his face as he helps you to stand, one hand in his, and the other firmly planted on your camera. 

“Falling for me so soon? At least tell me your name first…” he jokes, letting go of you as you steady yourself on your feet. 

“Y/N…And thanks, I– guess they ran out of Gaff tape and I found the only cord not taped down.” you laugh. 

He smiles and shakes his head in faux disgust, “Rule number one, always carry an extra roll in your gig box for the ladies. I’m Sam, by the way.” 

“Well, Sam, thank you for not letting me fall in front of all of these people.” you laugh. 

“Oh, I was actually saving the camera… Precious vintage...” he winks, pursing his lips together. 

“Oh, of course. Yeah.” you stammer, suddenly feeling ridiculous. 

As if he can sense your distress he places a hand on your arm, “Wait no, I was kidding. Of course I was saving you. Let me– Can I get you a drink?” he asks, trying for a peace offering. 

“I think I’m kinda out of hands…” you laugh, snapping a photo as you focus through the viewfinder. 

“I’m not…” he counters, “Whad’ya want? I’ll grab it for you…”

You lick over your lips, deciding maybe a drink assistant wouldn’t be too bad. You turn over your shoulder as he leans close letting you talk into his ear. “A seltzer, I don’t care what flavor, surprise me.”

He gives you an understanding nod and turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd.

You watch your friends start to close up their set and you compose another set of photos you think will be the shots of the night. 

“A drink for the lady…” he says, as he holds a drink up in front of the lens. You lower your camera and spin around to grab it from him, watching him crack the lid open before he hands it to you. 

“Prickly pear, huh…” you pause, taking a sip of the fizzy drink. “Did you know that was my favorite or just a lucky guess?”

“Well, I figured… you have great taste in cameras…” he trails off, taking the drink back from you so you can continue to shoot. 

You feel him lean into your shoulder, his warm breath on your neck. “The red light really does nothing for photos, does it…” he laughs. 

“No, and I’m half convinced that’s why they do it.” you retort. 

“Oh, it definitely is. Trust me. That and it looks badass.” he laughs, stepping back again. 

As the set ends you watch your friends leave the stage, ready to drink and party with the rest of you. The room quiets to a dull roar as the next band starts to take the stage, ready to set up their equipment. You lower your camera around your neck, letting it hang freely as you turn back to Sam. 

“You get the shot?” he asks, sipping the same Prickly Pear Topo Chico. 

“I think so, looks like I’ve got…” you pause, checking your dial. “Two left on this roll. Should probably change over before the next act. Here, smile.” you say, holding the viewfinder to your eye. 

He blushes a little, holding both of the drinks in his hands and giving you wide open mouth smile. 

You capture those last two images and hear the winder start to spin. “That’ll do it!” you say, dropping your camera around your neck and pulling the extra black film cartridge from your pocket. 

“Oh here, let me help you. You have your drink…” he offers, holding out your can. 

“No! You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine, I’ve got it. Just need to find a table or something so I can–”

“I know I don’t have to, I just– want to. I wanna help.” he says, his eyes sweet and genuine. 

You think about it for a second, and consider that you really don’t have anything to lose. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

“Okay, sure, I’ll hold your drink now.” you smile.  

His eyes are focused as he works to remove the used film, replacing it with the new roll as quickly and efficiently as he can, making sure not to expose the roll. He clips the door shut and makes sure it's secure before placing the camera strap back over your head, pulling your hair out from beneath the straps as gently as possible. 

“There. Perfect.” he says, a warm smile on his lips. 

“Thanks Sam.” you answer, offering his drink back to him. 

“You can call me Sammy. All my friends do.” he says, accepting the wet can. 

“Oh, are we friends now?” you ask playfully, all the while thinking that you might want to be a little more than that. 

“I’d like to think so. Or– I hope so. I think you’re cute, film camera girl.”

“Do you?” you murmur, holding the can to your lips. 

As if feeling a little shy, he ducks his head a little and licks his lips, “I do.”

Before you can reciprocate his sentiment the third band starts, and somehow they are even louder than your friend's band previously. The drums are blaring loud and you can tell they need their mics turned down about three notches. You take a few photos, figuring you can never have too much in your portfolio, but after a few shots and the crowd becoming a little too rowdy, you quickly decide you are done ‘working’ for the night. You lower your camera down and spin to talk to Sam, but you find he’s gone.

Your eyes scan the crowd for him, but again, you see no trace of the cream colored sweater or his red beanie in the sea of people. You do, however, spot your best friend off in the corner of the room being hit on by someone you know to be exactly her type. You lock eyes with her, raising a brow and she just smiles at you as she continues to talk to the tall dark haired man. 

Letting her have her time with him, you make your way back to the stage to grab your camera bag. You head up the stairs, grabbing a new drink from the bar area and again searching for any signs of him. You mingle with a few strangers, making pointless small talk about work and the latest gossip before excusing yourself to the bathroom to pee. As you wash your hands you sigh at the missed connection with such a thoughtful and good looking guy, but chalk it up to being Valentine’s Day and not wanting to fall into that stereotype. 

With your new friend gone, you decide to seek out some of your old ones. With your gear bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards the thick crowd in the main living room. As you make your way through, your neck cranes around the bodies in your way, searching for a familiar face. Looking out the back window, you see your friends near their band’s van. You push open the squeaky screen door and are greeted with a harsh gust of freezing cold wind. You retract, and before you can regain your senses, you hear someone calling your name from a little ways away. 

When you get your eyes open, Sam is standing against the side of the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’s giving you a sweet, closed lipped smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel a few butterflies in your stomach as you take in his sweet face, relieved that he’s happy to see you hasn’t disappeared like you thought. You approach him with a sweet smile, holding on to your bag strap with both hands while your main camera hangs around your neck.

“It’s cold as fuck out here.” You say honestly, suppressing a grin. He nods, taking another inhale off the cigarette between his fingers, his smile making it a little difficult. “I thought you left.” you add while he exhales the smoke away from your face.

“What, without you?” He says with a quirked brow and a playful smolder. You laugh, stunned silent by his charisma. He realizes and laughs it off, reaching towards you. “You need a hand taking that stuff to your car?” He asks, dropping his cigarette onto the lawn and stepping on it. He offers you a hand and you willingly offer up your bag, even though you really don’t need to. 

“I didn’t really feel the need to get any more photos of the third band. I didn’t think the headache was worth it.” You say, a little tongue in cheek as you walk. Sam laughs loudly once, like it slipped out, then shakes his head looking at the ground in front of him. 

“I was trying not to be too judgmental but, yeesh. They’re really something, aren’t they?” You laugh and pop open your trunk and he sees inside as he puts your bag in.

“You have a Pentax too?” He asks, seeing the other bag you left in the trunk.

“I do. I have a couple lenses for it, I use it when I shoot… bigger stuff.” You say, not trying to sound braggy. 

“That sucker is heavy though. You must be jacked if you’re holding it up for an entire show.” He jokes, reaching for your bicep and squeezing twice. You flex a little, giving him a wink before you break character and laugh with him. You pull your camera from around your neck and slip it into its case.

“No but, I uh, I have a couple lenses too. I have a pretty big collection… It’s actually getting a bit out of hand at this point. If you ever want to borrow anything...” He mentons, helping you close the trunk. When he reaches up, his sweater rides up a bit and reveals that he’s got a white shoestring laced through the loops of his pants like a belt.

“I’d love to check it out,” you say honestly, rubbing your arms to try and warm up. The wind is brutal but the conversation is worth freezing for.

“This may be a bit forward… but the weather sucks, this music sucks… We could go have a drink at my place and I could show you?” He offers, shrugging a little bit. 

“Well…” you start, looking over at the van on the other side of the yard. Your friend seems to be deep in conversation with the guy who was helping her load up, so you’re sure she won’t miss you if you slip away. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” 

“Two things, though. One, we have to take your car, since my friend was my ride. Two, I’m driving, because you’ve had a few.” He says, giving you a boyish smile and holding out his hands so you can put the keys in them. You eye him with playful suspicion for a moment, but then figure you’ve got nothing to lose. 

“Fine.” You flick open your car key and offer it to him between two fingers with a grin. 

As he gets in, you can’t help but micromanage his actions with your car as you buckle your seatbelt. “The emergency brake is down by your left foot, and just ignore the light on the dash.” 

“I guess I should have told you that I have, indeed, driven a car before. I’m qualified.” He says, starting it and adjusting the mirrors. He’s a good bit taller than you, so he cranks the rearview upwards quite a bit. You roll your eyes at his comment, letting the radio play quietly rather than anything from your phone for fear of judgment. 

“There aren’t any street lights on these back roads. You should put the high beams on.” You comment, looking over at him for a moment, taking in his side profile. He cracks a wry smirk and flourishes his hand, turning them on.

“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, not looking away from the road. You snicker softly.

“When I want to be.” 

Before he can say anything in response, his phone starts to buzz in the center console. He reaches for it, swiping quickly across the screen to answer the call from a contact named Danny.

“Daniel!” He shouts, putting the phone on speaker. Without hesitation, you take it from him so he can use both of his hands and drive. He doesn’t object as the voice from the other end of the phone pipes up.

“Where’d you get off to?” 

“Uh, I left. Are you good to get home?” Sam answers, flipping the brights off when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road. He puts them back on once the coast is clear.

“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?”

You huff a laugh and look over to Sam shaking your head. Is this really how guys talk on the phone?

“Daniel, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell…” he jokes, sending you a wink.

“Right, are you going to that event tomorrow?”

“I had forgotten about it until this very second, but yeah. I said I would. Are you?” Sam says, and you pick up a bit of an accent. There’s a long A in forgotten where the second O should go. You smile softly as you watch the road and listen to them talk. 

“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Daniel says, and you can hear him getting into his car on the other end of the line. 

“Fuck. Alright, get home safe.” Sam says, sighing. They end the call and you’re more than tempted to ask him the meaning of all that, but he’s pulling into his driveway and the nerves start to take over, shutting you up. “Sorry about that,” he says, parking your car in his driveway next to his own. 

“Do you live by yourself?” You ask, getting out of the passenger seat. The wind is still strong and it chills you to the bone. Sam sees and picks up his pace as he leads you to the front door.

“Yeah, it’s just me.” he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts his key in the door. It’s warmly lit inside his house once he steps inside and flips on the lights. There’s an array of musical instruments scattered about as soon as you enter, amps and drums and guitars either hanging on the wall or resting against each other. You raise your brows, looking over at him.

“You’re a musician, too?” You ask as he puts your keys on the cabinet near the front door. There are sliding doors across the front that are opened just slightly to reveal a substantial vinyl collection. 

“I have many hobbies.” 

You smile as you follow him through the house, looking around at the art covering his walls. It smells like incense and it’s warm- a little warmer than you would keep your house, but it’s cozy. 

“I keep everything in here,” he starts, flipping on the lightswitch in one of the bedrooms. It’s furnished with a daybed, like a guest bedroom, but the opposite wall has a desk and shelving full of cameras, cases, lenses, accessories, attachments galore. You raise your brows, surprised, but mostly impressed.

It’s a solid half hour that you spend going item by item, gently looking over everything he’s collected, from vintage to like-new, functioning and under repair. He makes a point to tell you where he got each one, the quirks and intricacies of them all. 

“That one’s really my favorite for portraits,” he says as you look over a lightweight film camera with a noisy lens, clicks filling the room. “She’s got a way about her that makes everyone look good, you know?” You nod, looking it over, peeking through the viewfinder.

“I dunno, I might be a lost cause.” You say, a little self deprecating. He sucks his teeth at you in playful disappointment.

“I just mean that, you know, as photographers, there aren’t many photos of us. I don’t think I’d know how to pose myself for a portrait.” 

“Well, you don’t pose yourself, silly.” He says, looking up at you, not lifting his head and moving only his eyes. There’s a little smirk on his lips. “We should try it.”

You give him a suspicious look, laughing nervously. 

“I look like a mess from the wind and… I’m hardly wearing any makeup..” You say, starting to rattle off excuses as your cheeks heat up.

“So? You look perfect. I don’t want to take… fuckin’ headshots. I want to capture you. This version of you, the pretty photographer that I’ve spent my evening with.” 

The two of you lock eyes for a moment, his honeyed irises so warm and kind and sweet that you probably can’t say no to him if your life depended on it.

“Okay.” 

That’s how you end up in his sunroom, sitting patiently on his couch as he gets set up, sipping a glass of wine. The room is full of plants and you brush your hand against the burnt orange velvet upholstery of his couch underneath you. You watch him move around the room, pushing the ottoman out of the way, adjusting the throw pillows on the opposite end. He reaches behind his head and pulls his thick sweater off, his shirt riding up to show that little shoestring belt and this time, a light dusting of hair above the waistband of his pants. He tosses aside the sweater, leaving him in a white t-shirt. You swallow a gulp of your wine, feeling a little warm.

“I like how you said, ‘as photographers,’ like you looped me in there with you,” he muses. “You’re a professional. I don’t belong in the ranks with you.” He says, grinning as he uses an app on his phone to mess with the lighting from the lamp in the room. It’s a hazy, warm light when he’s done, absolutely flattering to the eye, so you can only imagine how it’s going to look when he captures you.

“If you take pictures, and you enjoy it, you’re a photographer. I don’t think it’s fair to gate keep art of any kind, or… something that brings people joy, you know?” You say, watching as he grabs a cream colored, cable knit throw reminiscent of his sweater and drapes it behind you. 

“That makes sense. Not all photographers are as humble as you, though.” He says, looking down at the camera and making some adjustments. He holds it up and looks at you, then he pulls it away. He looks again, then he hums like he’s thinking about something.

“This black shirt is kind of one-dimensional. I feel like it’s swallowing you up, you know? I feel like there's too much contrast with the colors in the room.” 

You sip your wine and think for a moment, looking around. He’s probably right. 

“What do you think about green?” you ask, leaning forward, placing the wine glass on the table in front of you. 

“Do you have another– oh…” he starts, but is effectively silenced when you start to pull your shirt over your head. Underneath, you’re in a sage green longline bralette, the band of lace under your chest covering a good two inches of your waist. It’s not too revealing and from the shoulders up, it probably looks like a shirt. You shake out your hair and look up at him, tossing your shirt aside.

“Does that look better?” You ask, smirking at his reaction, pretending to be all business. He looks at you through the viewfinder and you hear him clear his throat.

“Much better. Yep. Uh huh.” he says, hiding his face behind the camera, but you know he’s looking at you. “Sit up for me?” 

You adjust the way you’re sitting, sitting up straighter. He lets the camera hang around his neck as he approaches you, reaching out to gently position you. He puts your hand in your lap, then gently pushes some hair behind your shoulder. The other side, he wraps around his finger once, making sure it lays in a flattering way. He looks at you, not scrutinizing you, but deciding what he wants to do with you. His touch makes you feel like you’re on fire, his hands warm and so gentle, his motions purposeful and confident despite the delicate way he handles you.

He crouches down in front of you, holding the camera to his eye, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You suddenly feel exposed in front of the lens, and it must be evident on your face as he moves his finger from the shutter release and lowers the camera from his eye. “You feel nervous.” he states with the nod of his head. 

You shrug ever so slightly, finally feeling the nerves your clients tend to feel. You try to shake it off, but Sam, ever perceptive, pulls the camera from around his neck and sits it next to you on the couch. He pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him in the same state of undress as you are. “There. Even?” he asks with a cheeky smile. 

You smile and nod, doing your best not to stare at the small smattering of a happy trail at the top of his pants. You bite your lips together before looking back into the lens, hearing the shutter click and the film wind. He brings his hand up to your chin, tilting your face to the side with the gentle touch of his index finger. He pulls it back quickly, returning to the shutter button and snapping another photo. He hums from his place behind the lens, standing quickly and scanning the room for something. 

His heavy footfall pads across the room, snatching something from his piano bench before returning to his place on the floor in front of you. In his hands is a multicolored jewel tone pashmina, soft and worn, and clearly a staple in his wardrobe. 

“Can we try this?” he asks, holding it up against your skin. 

“Let me see…” you answer, grabbing it and draping it over your chest. With your torso completely covered you reach beneath it, pulling the green bralette over your head as he watches you with wide eyes. You toss it to the floor next to him, and reposition the fabric to just cover your chest as you lean back into the couch. 

He swallows nervously as he stretches up towards the couch, adjusting the fabric how he sees fit. Your stomach shows beneath the edge of colorful fabric, the curve of your breast just peeking from the top. 

“I– I think this is gonna be a good shot.” he says, looking at you through the lens. “Lean your head back a little more, and turn it to the side, just a touch.” 

You follow his instruction, knowing the angles of this shot have to be incredible from his place on the floor. 

“Perfect, I just…Didn’t want any shadows on your throat…” he whispers from behind the camera. You hear the shutter click, and a murmur of ‘fuck’ leave his lips. 

You stay where you are as he lowers the camera, his breathing picking up a little bit as he tries to remain calm. “Your skin is so…pretty…” he breathes, letting his eyes sweep over you. 

Your eyes connect with his, and in an act of insanity you pull away the pashmina, letting it pool at your side. His eyes can’t help but to flick down to your chest, his jaw dropping slightly before he notices and looks back up at your eyes. 

“We don’t have to–”

“Do you not want to?” you ask, settling back onto the couch. 

“No, I very much do.” he answers a little too quickly. 

“So go ahead. Capture me.”

He takes a deep breath, holding the camera to his eye and lowering it back down. He grabs your hand and places it gingerly over your chest, letting your fingers rest just over your nipple. He brings the camera back to his eye, and takes the photo. “Fuck you’re gorgeous.”

Your cheeks blush and you hear the shutter click again. 

“Sorry, but I think that's the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” he says. 

You smile and shake your head, letting your hand trail to the button of your pants. You slide the button through the loop and pull the long zipper, until just the smallest glimpse of your thong is visible. 

You watch him swallow nervously again, focusing the camera on your hand as it lays across your stomach. As he captures the photo, you watch him try to recenter himself, knowing that he is probably just as turned on by this as you are, if not more. 

“Take them off…” you suggest, watching his eyes flick up to yours. 

“You sure?” he asks again, making sure you’re still comfortable. 

“Very. If you are, I mean.” 

“Lay across the couch. On your stomach.” he instructs, moving himself to sit on the edge of the chaise to your left. You position yourself against the plush couch, propping yourself up on your elbows, as you look back at him sitting behind you. 

“Yeah, just like that. Stay there. Look at me, beautiful.” he says, growing more confident. 

He leans forward, swiping your hair over your shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the curve of your back. And just as your eyes connect with the lens, he presses the button. 

“Perfect.” he breathes, lowering the camera again. He stands from his place behind you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, pulling them gently down your hips until they rest at the apex of your ass. Your thong is fully visible now, only the floral lace resting against your hips. 

He moves back and you feel the couch dip as he kneels behind you, straightening the seam of the pants to rest perfectly in the center, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You feel the goosebumps rise, and you hear the shutter, smiling as you know he’s caught the moment. 

“Are you always this responsive to touch…” he asks, sliding your pants further down over your ass, pulling each leg free until the leather fabric is in a pile on the floor. 

“No. Only when it’s really good…” you answer. 

“Lift your hips up for me, rest on your knees a little, and arch your back.” he says, kneeling on the edge of the couch. His hand slides down your back to assist you, and slides back up, stopping at the hem of your panties. Two fingers hook into the fabric, pulling it down just slightly as you hear the camera shutter. 

You can feel your arousal between your legs, not too far from where his fingers linger, but he releases your panties, sliding them back into place and letting his hand drift over the curve of your ass. He stands up in front of you, and you drop back down, stretching fully across the couch. You lay your head on your hands as you look up at him, watching him crouch down in front of you. He pulls a few pieces of hair over your shoulder, and moves your arm further up to reveal the swell of your breast as it presses against his couch cushion. 

“Pop your hips up just a touch...” he breathes, holding the camera to his eye. “Look at me, baby.”

You bat your eyes as you look at him, seeing the photo in the reflection of the lens as he takes it. 

His chest is heaving as he pulls the camera away, crawling towards you on his knees as he dusts his fingers over your spine. “You make an incredible muse…”

“A good photographer knows that seeing isn’t enough. You have to feel it.” you answer, melting into the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“I think I feel it too much…”

He slides his hand down your arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to a sitting position. He reaches for your wine glass, turning back to you and placing it into your hand. You bring it to your lips, but as you tip the glass a stream of red wine trickles down the stem, dripping rapidly onto your stomach. 

His eyes flick to yours, then down to the small streak of red against your skin, leaning his head forward and letting his warm tongue lap at the spilled alcohol. 

Your eyes close on their own, a breath leaving your lips at the feeling of his lips on your body. He pulls back from you, waiting for your eyes to open, and as they meet you can see he’s asking for permission to continue. 

You open your legs allowing him to move closer, and he takes that as his consent to move between them. He pulls the camera from around his neck, placing it gently on the couch next to you, before grabbing your wine glass and placing it on the coffee table behind him. 

His hands slide up your thighs, his eyes examining every inch of your skin until he meets the edge of your panties. His eyes meet yours and you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on your skin again. 

He hooks his fingers through the fabric and pulls them over your hips, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He takes in a deep breath, lowering his face to your heat, but never breaking the eye contact he has with you. You let a hand slide through his silky waves, silently telling him you wanted this, and he obliges, pressing a kiss to your groin. 

You feel his tongue swipe up through your center, long and slow, hot and soft against you. You fist his hair at the contact, a hum leaving his lips as they vibrate against your clit. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hook his arms beneath your legs, pulling you down the couch to meet his mouth. His tongue works at your clit, flicking back and forth as wet sounds fill the air in the room. His cheeks are flushed as his wet lips suction around you, his brown eyes fluttering closed with every pointed lick. 

You can hardly tear your gaze away from him, your chest heaving as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Your hand reaches out to grip into the cushion, instead landing on the body of the camera next to you. It feels cold against your hand, and as you look at him you realize you might feel it a little too much, too. 

Grasping it in your hand you pull the viewfinder to your eye, positioning him in the frame as he continues to work you towards your orgasm. As his eyes flick up to you, he's met with the camera lens, hesitating momentarily before pulling an elastic from his wrist. He doesn’t cease his actions as he pulls his hair into a messy bun, resting low on the back of his neck. He places his soft hands on the insides of your thighs, looking up into the lens with his blissed out eyes, ready for you to capture the scene below you. 

Hearing the shutter, he grips into you harder, sucking your clit into his mouth with more force, desperate to get you there. His fingers brush your entrance, and with a carefully timed swipe of his tongue he presses them forward until his thumb replaces his tongue applying pressure to your clit. His fingers work inside of you until your legs start to shake with desperation. He replaces his thumb with his lips once more, the warm, wet sensation inching you closer and closer. 

You take a few more shots, hoping to capture the way his dark lashes kiss his cheeks, and the way his nose brushes against you so delicately. Knowing the most vulnerable shots are usually the best. 

He ruts his hips into the couch, desperate for some relief and the groan that leaves his chest is all it takes to push you to the edge. You drop the camera to your side, pulling his face to your body as your orgasm rocks through you. A pathetic sounding whine leaves your lips as his mouth slows, he pulls his fingers from you as gently as possible. 

You’re left a panting mess as you ride the waves of your high, but as you open your eyes and see him licking his fingers, you reach for the camera once more, capturing the act forever on film.

He stands, offering you his hand with a smirk. You can’t help but to notice that his fingers are still pruny and soft as you place your hand in his, letting him pull your shaky body from his couch. He bends over and snatches the camera from the couch cushion before pulling you down the hallway towards his bedroom. 

As you step over the threshold into his bedroom, you’re met with the dark walls and rich earth toned bedding. He drops your hand, and checks his film, before setting the camera on the edge of his bed. He grabs your hand again, and pulls you into him, snaking his other hand around your waist and pulling you close to his body. His eyes search yours before his lips crash to yours, a heady mix of cigarettes, red wine, and you. 

Your tongue tangles with his as his hands grip into your hips, his hardness pressing against your bare stomach. You pull away, locking your eyes on his as you fall to your knees in front of him. You slide your hands up his thighs until you reach the thin white shoelace at his waist, pulling the tip until it unknots itself and slides to the floor. You feel him reach for the camera, letting it hang around his neck once more as he watches you.

You unbutton his pants, feeling the brush of his length against your hand. You work quickly to pull the pants and boxers to the floor, letting him step out of them as you take in the sight of him bare in front of you. You lean forward to kiss at the smattering of hair at his happy trail but you’re quickly stopped before your lips ever make it there.

He grabs your chin in his hand, placing his thumb over your swollen pink lips, pulling the plump flesh down to expose your bottom teeth as the camera snaps the image above you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can think of nothing but the feeling of your mouth around him. 

Unable to wait any longer you grab him in your fist, stroking him a few times back and forth as his eyes study your movements. You wet your lips in preparation for him, letting your tongue dart out to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his cock. 

He pulls the camera to his eye again, “Stay like that. Just like that baby. Look up at me.”

He rests the tip of his cock in your open mouth, snapping a few shots as he leaks onto your tongue, before tossing the camera to the bed. “Fuck, are you sure you’ve never done this before? You look so fucking gorgeous.”

You smile around him, closing your lips and humming in response. You let your tongue slide up his length, taking him as far back as you can the first few times before working into a steady rhythm. Your eyes are locked on his, a look of awe and desperation written into his features. 

His hand finds grip in your hair, moving with you as you work him, gentle whines falling from his lips as you swirl over his tip with each upward stroke. 

Swallowing around him he sucks in a harsh breath, letting you slide back up before repeating the action. You tense around him as you gag, your eyes blinking away tears wanting to continue. Your eyes roll back as you taste the saltiness on your tongue knowing he is nearing his release.

He pulls away from you, cupping your face in his big warm hands, his thumbs swiping away errant tears.  

“I– You’re– Get on the bed for me, sweetness. Wanna ruin that pretty cunt before I cum.”

You look up at him, swallowing thickly, a little shocked by the side of himself he just showed you. You take his hand with a grin as he offers it to you, standing and hopping up onto his bed, laying yourself back on his pillows. He follows you, leaning over to reach for the camera on the nightstand before doing so. He leaves it on the pillow next to your head, focusing all of his attention on you for the time being. 

He’s tender for a moment, leaning down to kiss you briefly before he situates himself between your thighs. He kneels above you, looking down at the sight before him. He traces a gentle line down your sternum, then back up, dragging lightly against the expanse of your clavicle, then back down once more. His eyes seem to roam over every inch of you while you wait patiently for things to advance.

“You…” he starts, a breathy laugh leaving his throat, like he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “So gorgeous.” 

“You’re sweet.” you respond, parting your thighs a bit more for him. He hasn’t stopped his feather light touches just yet though.

“Is that how you like it?” he asks, catching you a little off guard. Your eyes flick up to his and you can’t help the way you squirm a little at his directness.

“I…” you start, but he promptly silences you with a pinch to your nipple, pulling a wanton moan from the depths of your chest.

“Ahh. There she is.” He says, smiling. He lets go and leans down to give it a kiss. “Just trying to get a read on you.”

He palms your breast as he pushes back up, unable to take his eyes off of you. You watch the wheels turning in his head as he squeezes firmly, his eyes cutting to the camera next to your head. 

He picks it back up, adjusting it with lightning speed. He looks through the viewfinder once before reaching for your tit again, your nipple slipping between his long fingers. He snaps a photo, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration while the aperture adjusts, the settings on auto now to save time. 

“That artistic part of your brain just doesn’t turn off, huh?” you ask, reaching up to run a hand down his stomach, your patience running out.

“Blessing and a curse.” he mumbles, reaching forward into his nightstand. As he’s leaning over you, you can’t help but take a moment to place a few wet, searing kisses to his jaw and throat. You know they’re appreciated when he bucks his hips against you, his dick dragging against the inside of your thigh.

He sits back up, tearing the foil of the condom with little difficulty and flipping it over once or twice to check which way is right. He eventually distinguishes top from bottom and starts to slide it on, looking down in concentration. 

After he’s done, he leans down towards you, placing hungry, wet kisses wherever he can find purchase. He reaches between your bodies, taking himself in his palm and brushing the head of his cock through your folds. 

“Wait…” you say, and he rests his head on your chest for a moment, looking up at you with patient eyes. 

“Yes, sweetness?” he says, pulling back, unsure if you’re about to call the whole thing off. You take a deep breath, reaching down to touch him gently. 

“Can we take this off?” You murmur, your hand waiting to pull it off the moment he gives you the green light. 

“God, yeah,” he says enthusiastically, a little chuckle leaving him as you haphazardly pull the condom off of him and toss it by the wayside. “Absolutely. Fuck. I want to…” He trails off, like he’s about to say something else, but once you slip the tip of him inside of you, he can’t get a word out. 

He pushes in about halfway, stopping to settle and watch your reaction. You gaze up at him, reaching up to play with one of your nipples. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before pulling out a little before he pushes all the way in, slowly. 

“Oh… oh my god,” you manage to get out, unable to help the way the words scratch their way out of your throat. Sam’s eyes are glued to your center, watching himself enter you. 

“Everything about you…” he says, taking a trembling breath, “...is fucking picture perfect.” 

You smile at the compliment and watch his face for a moment, the way his dark lashes move quickly with his blinking eyes trying to process everything at once. He starts to move slowly, the drag of him making your breath hitch. 

He fucks into you slowly, deeply, your head swimming at the sensation. It’s good, but it’s not quite enough, and you can’t help but speak up. 

“Sammy…” you begin, calling him by his nickname, like he asked, affectionately. “Harder. Please.”

He snaps his hips into you in response, giving you a dirty smirk from above.

“You’re a backseat driver in the sack, too?” he quips, moving back on his heels a little to change the angle and give himself more range of motion.

“Shut up and fuck me. How’s that?” you bite, grinning up at him. Before you can even prepare yourself, he snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head in just one of his big hands, your slender wrists slotted between his lengthy fingers.

He looks like he’s about to snap back at you, but then his eyes narrow a little. He reaches for the camera again, holding it against the side of his body to flip the switch and open the aperture. He lifts it to his eye and snaps a picture of his hand pinning your wrists together, the strap of the camera falling a little bit into the frame.

Once he’s done, he drops the camera again and braces himself with his free hand, picking up an almost brutal pace. You can’t complain, because it’s what you asked for, and god did he deliver. The sound of skin on skin, his body meeting yours, rhythmically bounces off the walls of his bedroom. You cry out at the feeling of him, reeling at the sensation of him so deep inside you. Warmth starts to build in your stomach, your head getting dizzy.

“Are you getting close?” he asks in your ear, slightly breathless. You whine in the affirmative, spreading your legs further as if you need him even deeper. He lets go of your hands, sitting up a little straighter but still thrusting into you hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your eyes start to flutter closed, your back arching, and you feel his hips stutter slightly as he moves a bit on top of you. 

There’s some clicking and you know what he’s about to do, but you can’t be bothered to change a single thing about what you’re doing. You reach for your chest, holding your tits steady as he pushes you towards the edge, waiting for the moment. 

“Gonna cum…” you warn, your brows knitting together. 

“Come on, beautiful. I’m ready.” he coos as it hits you, your lips parting, your head tilting back as you gasp for breath. You don’t register when the shutter sounds, but you feel the camera hit the pillow again and Sam’s got both of his hands on your waist, so you know he must have gotten the shot. 

He slows his pace, allowing you to catch your breath and come back down to earth. His hand slides up to your throat, running his thumb over your lips in the same manner he did earlier, but this time instead of letting him tug at your lip you suck his thumb into your mouth.  

“Fuck…” he curses under his breath, pulling his hand back and slowly pulling out of you. “Turn over for me.” 

You blink up at him, a little bashful, your eyes darting to the camera, then back to his. You try to suppress a grin and give him a little shake of your head.

“Do you trust me?” 

Feeling a little giddy, you roll over, pulling your hair over your shoulder before propping yourself up on your knees. You keep your face in his pillow, your eyes watching the camera laying near you as he presses inside you, the position allowing him somehow deeper.

His hands find your hips and as he starts to move, the grip tightens, pulling little hiss from between your teeth. You’re glad he doesn’t hear because you’d hate it if he stopped. 

“Gotta be careful…” he mumbles, his voice strained. “Feels a little too good.” 

You hum, a little laugh leaving you. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, and definitely different from anyone you’ve ever slept with. His playfulness mixed with the dominance that peeks out on occasion is a potent combination you can’t seem to get enough of.

He uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, his pace slower, but the feeling of him nudging at your cervix with every stroke makes up for the change in speed. He rubs a hand over the curve of your ass as he slows down and releases his grip.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful.” 

The camera disappears and you push up on your forearms, suddenly shy and nervous and feeling like a shot of that isn’t quite as artistic as the rest of your photos. You look at him over your shoulder, a little suspicious.

“No, no no. Your back, your hair on the pillow,” he reassures you, a warm hand on your back. You giggle a little, laying back down. He splays your hair across the pillow, then taps your arm. “Move this up under you.” You do as he says, one arm and hand under you, the other hand above you, fisted in the sheets. His hand drags slowly up your back before he speaks again. “Arch a little more. Like you were before. Yeah, perfect.” 

Click.

It lands on the bed, then he starts to move again. He groans, a bit louder than he has been, and you know he’s hanging on by a thread.

“Are you… Are you on birth control?” He asks, his voice slightly boyish in this moment. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“What, you don’t want to knock me up on Valentine’s day?” you joke, and he freezes. You wonder if you said the wrong thing for a moment, but then he speaks softly.

“I’m confident you won’t like my answer, sweetness.” 

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, and when you do, you can’t stop the words that fall from your lips. 

“Try me.” 

He pushes himself deeper into you, so much so he leans over and braces himself on his palm next to your face. He’s closer now when he speaks, his breath hot on your shoulder. 

“I’d love nothing more than to knock you up on Valentine’s day.” 

Holy shit.

“So no plans in November, then?” you quip, grinning as the weight of him pushes you into his pillow. 

“Mm, nothing too big, just a world tour.” he responds, thrusting a few more times. “Super flexible.” he grits out. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, feeling him start to twitch inside you.

“The answer is yes, by the way. About the birth control.” 

“....It’d be cooler if you weren’t, but alright.” he jokes, his voice straining as his hips start to falter. You can hear him breathing through clenched teeth as his grip on you tightens. You tighten around him, arching your back just a touch more and as you drop your head between your arms, you see his hand frantically reaching for the camera one last time. 

You can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, his hand sliding up to your shoulder to pull you back to meet him. “There you go, baby. Keep squeezing just like that. I’m right there.” he says, and you can tell by the lilt in his voice he is waiting for you. 

You rock back, your bodies slamming together with a lewd smack, the sound itself just enough to tip you over the edge. You feel the rush wash over you as he pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist as his hips continue to move. He lets out a small grunt with each forceful spurt inside you, and you feel a wave of euphoria sweep over you as you realize he wasn’t joking after all. 

“Fuck…” he whines, pulling out of you. You can hear him adjusting the lens of the camera and you’re so caught up in your own bliss you couldn’t care less that he is documenting his work. You feel him rest his hand on your ass, palming your cheek to the side for a better view as he leaks down the inside of your thigh. 

The camera clicks, and just as you start to lower yourself down, you feel his fingers swipe up through the warmth dripping down your leg, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to look at him, his eyes completely fixed on you as he slides his cum covered fingers inside of you. 

“Just for good measure, huh beautiful?”

You hear the shutter click a few times, a few indiscernible mumbles of praise from his lips, and finally the thud of the camera as it lands next to you on the sheets. He pulls his fingers from you, tapping your ass softly as an indication that you’re good to relax.

The mattress shifts as Sam gets out of bed, his footsteps heading towards the bathroom. The light shines for a moment accompanied by the sound of running water as you wait patiently. He’s back soon after with a warm, wet washcloth, and he gently parts your thighs to start cleaning the mess he made.

It’s quiet as he tends to you, his breathing slowing down as he does. Once he’s done, he slips into bed behind you, pulling your back to his chest.

“So… what are you gonna do with those pictures?” you ask, the smile on your face audible as you speak. 

“Well, get them developed, I guess. But aside from myself and the poor person at the film lab, nobody will ever see them. Cross my heart.” 

“And me,” you remind him.

“Yes, yes. And you, sweetness.” Silence hangs over the two of you for a moment before he speaks again. 

“Will you stay?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. You wrap your arms overtop of his where he’s holding you tight, nodding.

“I don’t think you could force me out of this bed.” 

–

You’re woken by the warmth of sunshine on your face. Blinking and trying to remember where you are, you refamiliarize yourself with Sam’s bedroom in the daylight. Your eyes clear and focus on the camera sitting on the nightstand. 

Sam is in a deep sleep, snoring softly with his mouth open, a few strands of his hair stuck to his face. You can’t help but smile at the sight before slipping out of bed and quietly sneaking through his house to collect your clothes strewn about.

You peek into his bedroom once you’ve gathered all of your belongings and he’s still out cold, only his feet poking out from beneath the sheets. Your eyes are pulled to the camera again, and then an idea forms. You tiptoe inside and carefully grab it, doing your best to remain quiet. 

Needing darkness, you head for the bathroom and wind the film. You duck into his other bedroom on the way and grab an empty film canister. Hoping it’s quiet enough to not wake him, you close the bathroom door behind you and wait a moment before taking the roll out and putting it in the black container. 

Once you’re done, you retrieve your keys from the cabinet by the door and grab an old receipt he must have just pulled out of his pockets when he was putting his keys in their usual spot. There’s a pencil on the music stand of the nearby piano, so you snatch it and leave him a little note. You write out your phone number, draw a little heart, and put the camera over the corner so you know he’ll find it. You silently sneak out the door and lock it from the inside behind you.

The drive back to your home proved to be shorter than anticipated, the light of day giving you a better sense of your location. You glanced over to the rolls of film laying in your passenger seat, taking mental stock on how many bottles of developer and Blix you had sitting on your shelf. It was times like these you were grateful for your little makeshift film lab, knowing that Sam said he would probably send these rolls off somewhere, and that some poor guy would have to see every lewd act appear right before his eyes. 

You snatched the rolls from your seat and grabbed your camera bags from your trunk before making your way inside to your warm house. Feeling grimey, you ran yourself through a quick shower, eager to see what was waiting for you on these rolls of film. 

Stepping into your lab you place the film rolls on the table, grabbing your Patterson canister, your chemicals, and your scissors to start the process. You trim the leads on the film rolls, smiling as you see your roll next to Sam’s. With the leads trimmed, you flip the light switch in your completely blacked out guest room, leaving you in total darkness as you pry the bottoms off of the rolls of film. 

You load the long slippery strips of film into the plastic spools, screwing the lid back onto your canister before flipping your lights back on. You grab your chemicals and make your way to the kitchen, running the faucet to heat the water bath. It’s been a while since you’d done this yourself, but the process was ingrained into your memory, and you were careful to not miss a single step. You drop your bottles of Developer and Blix into the water bath, grabbing your thermometer from your junk drawer. 

Your phone buzzes on the counter as you wait for the temperature to rise, your heart pounding as you see a new number flash across the screen. You make your way back to your lab, grabbing the canister off the table as your chemicals reach temperature. You carefully pour the developer into the canister, agitating it every few seconds while you read the message on your phone.

Unknown:

9:12am: Off so soon? And with my film? Should have known I’d never see those beauties. 😏

Your timer goes off letting you know it’s time to move on to the next step, so you set your phone down, ready to pour the developer out of the canister. Satisfied with yourself for not making a mess, you pour in the Blix, leaning away from the fumes as they waft through the air. You do your duty, agitating the chemical as directed, waiting the allotted time until it's ready to pour out. 

You debate answering him right away, trying to leave just a touch of mystery in the air. You decide that you’ll wait until the film is done, teasing him with a photo for his eyes only. 

You rinse your film with water to rid it of the chemicals, knowing there’s only a few more steps until you can see just how talented of a photographer Sam really is. You pour in your stabilizer, letting it sit for a minute, biting your lips together as you suppress the urge to text him back immediately. 

With a deep breath you pour out the stabilizer, and unscrew the lid, ready to see if the evidence of your night came out in the wash. With shaky hands you pull the film strips from the spools, seeing 36 clear images appearing on the transparent roll of sepia film. A huff of laughter leaves your chest, seeing the negative image of your body in the tiny rectangles. 

You suck your teeth as you hang the rolls of film to dry, knowing that in about an hour or so they will be ready to scan into your computer. 

—

It seems like it’s taking longer than usual for the film to dry, at least it feels that way as you check for the hundredth time. An hour and some change later you’re dashing back to your computer with the film, scanning it into Lightroom to start inverting the images. 

Your breath is stolen straight from your lungs as you see the first image. Your cheeks flame red at the sight of yourself, spread below Sam. You continue to click through the negatives, completely shocked at how good his composition is. You knew he was a hobbyist, but you start to wonder if maybe he missed his calling. You swallow harshly as you continue to look through them, but then you realize just how beautiful the photos actually are. You almost feel bad that you stole them away from him. 

You work through each image, inverting the colors until they appear as they really are. You note the vintage look on the film and check the empty roll for the date. You smile as you read ‘86, knowing he shelled out a good amount of cash for that roll, and he decided to use it on you. The film comes out warm and grainy from the low light, but you feel that it adds to the photos, and you can’t think of a better turnout. 

Your eyes catch on one photo, and after inverting the colors your suspicion is answered. The long finger shaped outlines on your hips were forever cemented in time. The memory of his grip burned into your mind. His body is connected to yours, and you can almost remember the feeling of him inside you as you look at the photo. You feel a rush wash over you, and you grab your phone tapping a few buttons on the screen until the camera opens. You bring it to the screen and snap the photo before attaching it to a text.

You

10:47am: *Attachment*

10:47am: I had something… pressing…to tend to. 😉

You snicker at your comment, hoping he will get the joke as you add his contact to your phone. You bite your bottom lip in concentration as you continue to work on the images, fixing the coloring and resizing them to the appropriate proportions. 

As you reach the beginning of his roll, you start to see images of daily life, with people you don’t know, but are clearly happy to be having their photo taken by Sam. Bright smiles and warm moments captured by his keen eye. 

Sammy

10:53am: Wow, um…

You

10:54am: I think they turned out pretty good, what do you think?

10:54am: *Attachment*

You attach another image of yourself draped across his couch, his pashmina spread across your body, the light hitting your throat exactly how he planned. 

Sammy

10:55am: You’re so gorgeous, I don’t even know what else to say if I’m honest. I have to see the rest.

10:56am: Do you…Need help? I normally send my film off to be developed but it would be cool to watch. 

As you click to the next image you sit in shock, trying to place the face next to Sam’s on his couch. You drop your phone to the table in front of you, trying to focus. You’re going positively crazy running through faces in your mind until it hits you. You take in the features and realize the man sitting next to Sam is the guy your friend was flirting with all night. Your heart starts to race as you make the connection. Is that the friend he left last night? Did she go home with him?

You blow out a deep breath and finish up the last photo of Sam and another long haired man, drinking foamy beers in what looks to be a foreign country. You smile at the bubbly mustaches on their lips and grab your phone to reply to his message. 

You

11:02am: You’re a really great photographer, Sam. These shots are really, really good. All of them. 

11:03am: If you really want to see the process you’re more than welcome to, kind of makes you feel like a mad scientist haha. I don’t have much going on at the moment, probably going to work on this next roll if you want to join. 

Sammy

11:05am: What are you up to tonight? I have a work event I have to go to, but I’ll probably dip out early, especially if I have a good reason. 😉

You

11:06am: I have to shoot a show tonight, but I’m free after that…

Sammy

11:06am: So…

You

11:07am: Bring your film and a bottle of red. I just might have a few rolls we can use while we wait. 😏

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[bloodlustngore]

Stop Sneaking!

Vanessa Shelly (Afton) x reader

(I apologise for this being rather short, I’m trying to get into writing things & since my hyper fixation for fnaf is back after watching the movie, I had to add Vanessa to the list of characters I will write for)

Summary: Vanessa finds it funny to sneak up on her partner in the basement.

Word count: 600

One of the breakers needed turning back on, it seemed one of the animatronics found it funny to switch it off, I had mentioned to Vanessa over the radio that I was going to check it out and leave the area I was meant to patrol first thing. Vanessa didn't seem to mind, other than her words 'please be careful' her and I knew what was going on around here...and so did she, so we were usually careful.

I made my way to the ground floor where the breaker for this certain area would be located. "God, I hate being down here" I sighed, my flashlight kept tripping out and it was the most annoying thing, because down here only had red lights and those weren't very helpful nor were those lights very bright.

I flinched at the sound of something falling over, I knew what happened here, I knew what was going on. But the place still gave me the creeps. I wished I convinced Vanessa to come with me right now. That and the fact that literally anything could pop up any moment and scare me which I wasn't going to be prepared for. It reached three a.m and usually these things happen.

"Don't run out now!" I sighed, tapping my flashlight trying to make it stay on for a bit longer. Why did I get a flash light that I had to charge instead of the battery pack one that Vanessa had? Because I like to make things harder for myself. I felt like there was someone behind me, but I didn't want to turn around and find out who.

"Gotcha!" A familiar voice shouted, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and I almost could've screamed but instead I jumped...it was Vanessa, I sighed and she laughed. "Fucking hell Ness! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"

Vanessa was still laughing, she let go of my waist, trying to calm herself down. "Its not fucking funny! Could've given me a heart attack!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, babe. You're still alive. Its fun to sneak up on you." Vanessa added as she calmed down a bit from her fit of laughter. I stood there with my arms folded, giving her a glare. "Don't glare at me" Vanessa threatened.

"I'll do what I want" I shrugged.

"We'll see about that." Vanessa smirked. I had gotten flustered a bit from her words. Vanessa reached over from me and switched the breaker on, it sparked a slight bit but still worked as the light on it went green. "There that should do it. C'mon we gotta sort out this 'problem'" Vanessa added. She held her hand out to me, she knew that the basement of this place always creeped me out no matter how long I'd been here. I took her hand and tried to shake my flashlight on again but the battery had completely died.

"Fuck." I rolled my eyes.

"Flashlight is out."

Vanessa chuckled "guess you're sticking with me then Y/n. When we're done we're going to a store to get you a better flashlight" My girlfriend added. I groaned because all I wanted to do was go home and sleep after all of this. "Too bad. We’re sleeping. And I'm getting my revenge later."

"You know I'm not easily scared" Vanessa added. She stopped in her tracks, letting go of my hand. She turned to look at me. "I will get'cha" I added.

"You could try" Vanessa smirked. She paused a moment and then kissed my cheek. "But it won't work."

"We gotta get back to work, come on."

Oh I will try and I'll succeed, eventually.

[oldguardleatherdog]

The Night Before the Tribute In Light September 10, 2003

I.

One month ago today, this long-forgotten photo suddenly popped up in the photo app on my laptop. I took this photo with my Sanyo clamshell phone on September 10, 2003, 21 years ago tonight, from Hudson River Park in Manhattan.

Don't ask me how it survived all these years or where it's been stored all this time or how in the world it could have found its way to me from the long-dead storage servers of a long-defunct cell phone carrier. We're in the penumbra of The Anniversary, and time is out of joint.

I had been back in New York for about a month (after getting violently run out of the place I was staying by a fellow who is now one of my closest friends), homeless and living in that roach-infested HIV crack-house shelter at 96th and Broadway that I describe in "The One Decent Thing I Ever Did" (it’s archived on this blog), and you can imagine my state of head and spirit at this moment, the night before the 2nd anniversary of the terror attacks on the World Trade Center that drove me from my home in Lower Manhattan, four blocks east of the site.

I was sitting on a bench in Hudson River Park on the West Side of Manhattan, somewhere near Houston Street, maybe ten or fifteen blocks north of World Trade. I hadn't noticed these beams of light as I walked, and I think they might have just been activated while I was sitting there. As I recall, it was a full moon in Virgo, and I was positioned just right to snap this shot. I had *no* idea what this was all about, as I recall, but I thought the image was so striking and affecting that I wanted to capture it.

As it turns out, this was the tech run-through for the first September 11th installation of the “Tribute In Light”. Here’s Google’s AI summary of this remarkable memorial:

So there I was, just two years after the blast, stunned by this sudden, mysterious apparition rising from just south of what was still a giant, messy hole in the ground. I was still not fully myself at that time and would not regain my full memory or sense of who I was until the following January (therein lies a tale!), and as I recall I was just numbly stunned, not knowing what to make of it.

As I write, I’m getting the physical sense memory of that moment: the dog in me (my medulla oblongata speaking) feels his hackles rise, it’s not what I expect to see filling the hole in the sky, is it another attack? Do I bark at it, sound an alarm, run towards it, away from it, why is there light there, is this some unholy ruse, another trick being played on me from that big smoky hole where nothing but poison has spilled out for the longest time?

My phone rang. It was a fellow that I had met and hung out with in San Francisco while I was stranded there, and I was stunned to hear from him, especially at that moment. “Hi Dave… well, right now I’m on the riverfront looking at the damnedest thing… [I just wanted to make sure you were ok] hey, thanks for checking in… yeah, take care bud.” I closed the phone and started walking south along the riverfront, toward the light beams.

When I got there, I saw the massive banks of klieg lights assembled in their arrays, a strange and unfamiliar (unwelcome) echo of the shapes and the placement and the footprints of the place I loved so well.

The faces of the artists who surrounded the lights were intense, focused, sober. I still didn’t quite know what was going on, but there was profound reverence in the air, on those faces, at that place, as the beams of pure white light soared upwards, past the point of naked-eye discernment, unending, likely petering out tens of thousands of feet off that spoiled piece of ground, perhaps piercing the ionosphere, did they get clearance from the Federal Aviation Administration for this? Are pilots being disoriented by these columns at 45,000 feet? Do they touch the feet of God?

II.

And I kept walking south, my back to the light,

Down to the oldest part of the civilized island,

Past the Battery, the bronze bull, the buttonwood tree,

The Port of New York dead ahead,

The Staten Island Ferry terminal, ramshackle, ancient,

Entry restricted by terror tape and armed sentinels

No two uniforms alike, a panoply of enforcement,

Heavy weapons at the ready, so jarring in my neighborhood,

And the working dogs with the keen snouts, the trained muzzles,

Jumping up to paw at the brown bag in the soldier’s hand

Is that peanut butter? Apple? Hunk of cheese?

Let’s play! You’ve been so serious, so worried,

You smell sad and scared, are you lost? Let’s play!

Even Cerberus needs break time, belly rubs, treats!

For the first time in weeks, I smile to myself

As I round past the ferry, those strange lights at my back.

Hope I can sneak past the turnstile downstairs,

I won’t have to hike back up three hundred blocks

To that awful low place. Did you know roaches bite?

They shit on you too. Try to sleep, fully dressed,

Watch cap pulled low on my head, long sleeved shirt

Buttoned up to the collar, heavy pants tucked in boots,

Gloves on my hands, one more night without food

Half-bag of speed takes my mind off the pain

Sleep comes in fits if at all. – On the train

Dreading the stop: ninety-sixth street and Broadway.

Tomorrow, this city will jack itself off

In performative weeping and gnashing and cursing

Oh, how we loved them! I snort in derision,

You didn’t lose nothin', you pieces of shit!

Let the dead bury the dead. Beams of light

Don’t feed this refugee reeking of ashes -

What, do I smell bad? So sorry to stink up

The place where you’ve laid out the feast for your friends

Who still have their jobs, their high homes in the towers

Behind the glass doors where your larders are stocked

With the food that you bought with your government money

That flooded your midtown Manhattan apartment

With all the new clothes, electronics, the sausages

Fresh from Enrico’s, Zabar’s, D’agostino’s,

Bought with the Victim’s Fund money you stole

When you filed your claim. “OMG, it was awful!

“I couldn’t get up to the fifty-fourth floor,

“I had to find shelter on Upper Park Avenue.

“Power was out. I was homeless that night!

“So glad that my friend who was shopping in Gramercy

“Gave me the number to call for my claim

“September 11th was horrid! I told them

“I couldn’t go home for two nights! Oh, thank God

“The claim got approved with a wink and a nod

“And no one’s the wiser – I’ve never been south

“Of the Plaza Hotel! That all happened on Wall Street,

“Who goes down there? Jesus Christ, are you kidding?

“That’s four miles away! Christopher, are you coming

“Or what? Reservations at Nobu won’t wait

“For you or for me, so quit primping!”

The pain

In my stomach, relentless. My gorge won’t stop heaving.

Am I gonna make it? Damn, *ouch!* What the fuck…

The tooth that I hoped would hold out just gave way,

Fuck me. Another huge hole in my grille.

When I made six figures and lived in a high-rise,

Fuck buddies laughing on Saturday night,

Nobody told me that one hundred minutes

And two hijacked jet planes would make such a difference.

No one will laugh with me now – my best friends

Are yelling and angry, how dare I show up

Sweaty and toothless, a walking reminder

Of September tenth. No, I’m not gonna feed you.

III.

Now, twenty years later, they’ve retooled their memory:

“Animal! Damn, dog! We’ve missed you, you know,

“Wow, you’re alive! You look fabulous! Listen,

“I never gave up on you. Give a call

“When you come to the City. I want you to meet

“My beautiful husband – he remembers you too!”

IV.

Twin beams of light where the Towers were anchored,

Okay, not exactly precisely those spots,

But who’s gonna criticize? Look and recall

How majestic they were. Yeah, the new One World Trade

Is cool, I suppose – no one mentions the absence

Of Two World Trade Center. Insurance, you know.

Not enough money or civic ambition,

And Bloomberg discouraged it. Why add a target?

“Don’t you think sixty or seventy stories

“Are more than enough? Hell, let’s just get it done.

“The sooner we finish construction, the better.”

V.

*There will never be lumens of adequate volume

Sufficient to seal that hole in the sky,

But the hole in my heart I will finish, I tell you.

Walk with me as I go forward. Tomorrow

I’m back in the studio. Tonight, we can play!

You smell like apples and – damn, is that chocolate?

(our light beams shine upward forever)

"Good boy!"

Animal J. Smith San Francisco, California September 10, 2024

[lokisprettygirl]

My Love is mine, All mine (18+) (CEO! Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Summary: You dive down the memory lane and think about how you first met the love of your life, your husband, Daemon.

Warning: 18+, smut, mention of rape, insecurities.

Note : This will probably be the most boring thing i have ever written..you are warned. Expect 3-5 parts (or I don't really know yet 😂)

“Ugggh i don't want to be here” Shelly mumbled next to you so you gave her a side eye, she never wanted to be there. There were a couple of guys demonstrating a product targeted towards women, a decorative ring designed for women that could potentially save their life while they were out clubbing or about doing anything literally,

At first look, the ring looked like any other ring, adorned with jewels and glimmering in the light. Although upon closer inspection you could see that it had a hidden compartment under the fake diamond stud.

Inside the compartment was a red button, a single press of which would send an emergency alert to the local authorities as well as several emergency contacts on your phone, not just that but it also shared the precise location on a live moving map.

There was a group of women watching the presentation take place so you took Shelly as you were really intrigued by the product and as well as the guy giving the demonstration.

His name was Daemon, Daemon Targaryen, he was the tallest guy you had ever laid your eyes on, 6’3 to be astute, he had bronde hair- a mix of brown and blonde, and the most intense eyes you had ever witnessed, he was charming and charismatic and it wasn't like you to get attracted so quickly so even you were surprised by your own behaviour that day.

“Sooooo ummm no offense but how does it work? Is it battery operated?” A girl asked him so he picked up the ring and walked towards her,

“Don't worry I won't pop the question to you” he joked and it made everyone laugh including you. He showed her the 2.0 mm charging point inside the ring so she nodded her head..

“But what if the creeps out there recognise the ring?” Another girl asked him so he went back to the table and picked up another ring from the box..

“They won't..every purchase comes with a fresh design.. see for yourself” he gave her the ring so she checked it out and gave it back to him with a nod of approval.

The longer he talked about it though the more people started to leave, people were not interested in buying the ring even though it seemed like something everyone should own, they kept leaving until it was just you and Shelly. That's when Shelly mumbled something in your ear and ran off as well.

You watched Daemon sighing, there was a defeated look on his face that you noticed immediately but since you were still there he didn't stop the pitch. As you raised your hand up he gave you a smile.

The kind of smile that you knew would only bring you trouble..

“How long it stays active after charging..what is the duration?’ you asked him so he looked at another guy with him that you came to know later was his cousin Aemond.

“We are working on it..it stays for 10 hours for now but we are definitely trying to make the duration longer without comprising the size of it”

“10 hours? That's good enough to find someone if they're in trouble or missing” He gave you a smirky smile as you said that. “So are you selling them?” You asked him and you could tell he was excited by the prospect of leaving this place with at least one sale.

“Of Course..it's 10 euros only” he told you so you pulled out your wallet from the purse.

“Cool I'll take three..one for me..for my friend and my mom”

“Great” he clapped his hand together in excitement before he spoke again “We've also developed an app that will allow you to sync the ring with your phone. Once the connection has been established, it will not be interrupted even if your phone gets misplaced or powered off.” he informed you so you nodded.

“All this for 10 euros though? That's..very affordable..do you even make any profit?” you asked him a genuine though a bit intrusive question so he smiled politely.

“That's not a priority at the moment..goal is to give every woman a chance to be safe” he said in big words that you could have interpreted as a marketing gimmick but when you had learned the reason behind why he had invented this thing, you had realized his words were not empty that day.

He made you walk with him towards the station and Aemond excused himself as he wanted to get a drink, it was a warm day in Birmingham that day.

Once he was done cutting the receipt , you grabbed the rings and wished him good luck with the startup but as you were about to walk past him you heard him calling your name again and your heart skipped a beat.

“Yes?” You turned around to look at him so he hesitated for a moment before he stepped towards you,

“Ummm apologies if this sounds inappropriate but how old are you?” you gave him a smile as he said that. You'd pass out if he was intending to ask you out on a date.

“Just short 21” his face fell down as you said that so you crossed your arms..

“Ohhh” he let out a sigh, there was a look of disappointment plastered all over his features.

“Why did you ask? ” You couldn't help but let out a nervous giggle so he gave you a tight lipped smile.

“I .. nevermind.. thanks for buying our product..call us if you face any difficulties..stay safe yeah??”

You felt disheartened as he said that as for once in your life you were really hoping a man would ask you out, for once you found yourself being more into a man then he was into you.

Later on you had learned that the only reason he didn't ask you out that day was because he thought you were too young for him, he was twenty eight at the time and he didn't want to come across as a predator and a creep by dating a young girl in college. That went against everything he stood for.

But perhaps it was meant to be with you two because..Eight years later you were sitting in a restaurant waiting for him to get there so you could celebrate your four year wedding anniversary and he was late, as he always was at times but you understood that, he was a busy man.

What started as a small, humble operation was now a multimillion-euro company, all thanks to the vision and determination he had shown to make the world a safer place for women.

“God I'm sorry sweetheart” his voice made you snap out of your thoughts so you got up and hugged him tightly, the expensive cologne on the side of his neck comforted you immediately,

“It's okay..I just got here” you mumbled softly so he puckered his lips and shook his head.

“Liar”

He kissed you and made you sit back down again, at times like this he felt like a complete arse, sure he was doing this for both of you but he often felt as if he was making you feel neglected on occasions when he should have been with you, especially after everything you had done for him.

You were there for him when he had nothing in his name, when he was that eccentric bloke that went to women's colleges, workplaces and schools to sell a ring that nobody believed in at first..he had seen the worst of the life with you and in those moments he had decided that he was going to give you the best this world could offer you, he doused you in lavish gifts and fancy lifestyle, foreign trips and what not but deep down he knew all you needed from him was him. Just him.

After dinner and a few drinks as you both reached home you already had your hands on each other, that was one thing that never changed in your relationship with him, he was as passionate with you as he was the first night he had taken you like that, with his success and fame came several temptations on his way and you were not the most secure person, the older you got the more insecure you became of your looks, especially because of how he was desired so greatly by women younger than you but he made you feel as if you'd always be the only woman he'd desire in this way.

“Gods i have missed you babylove” he whispered in your ear before he trailed his lips down to your neck, he was on a work trip for a week and had just returned yesterday so the feeling was definitely mutual.

You loosened his tie while he unzipped your dress and picked you up to sit you down on the dresser, your fingers quickly worked the buttons of his shirt while his lips latched onto your neck.

“You're lovely you know that right? I don't think I told you how stunning you looked today”

You smiled sheepishly as he cupped your cheeks and kissed you while he murmured sweet honey into your ears.

“You did…twice actually” he smiled before he slipped your underwear down your legs, at times like this he couldn't really contain himself. Especially when he was away from you for days, the urge to get back to you and fuck you senseless would always eat him up. He had met you for the first time when you were just twenty one, and he always remembered you because you believed in his invention, you bought that ring that day and that memory was seared in his heart.

But you were too young for him, too innocent, so he didn't make his move that day. However the fate wasn't allowing him to move on from that encounter so it kept bringing you back to him until he had given into this feeling.

Next morning you woke up feeling tired but relaxed at the same time as he had completely worn you out. Nights like this were really affirming for you for several different reasons. He had already left for work, you grabbed your phone and called him but it went straight to voicemail so you put the phone down and sighed. Since you had your day off and had nothing much to do today you decided to call Shelly and your other friends to go for a brunch date.

Daemon was tired too that day and all he wanted to do was get back home early for once and surprise you since it was your day off. However he stepped into a silent house and an empty bedroom so he sighed and laid down on the bed with his business suit still on his body. He had organized the annual office party tomorrow so he knew he wouldn't get any peace moving forward.

He pulled out his phone to see if there was a text from you but there was nothing and he didn't want to disturb you if you were out shopping so he put it down and closed his eyes, it didn't take him long to drift into sleep.

As you returned home, you found Daemon passed out on the bed. Despite his exhausted state, he still managed to look adorable with his mouth open, that was one of his endearing qualities. You removed your heels, climbed onto the bed, and gently tucked his hair behind his ears. The sudden touch caused him to shift and wake up

“Hey theree” you mumbled softly as you climbed on top of him so he rubbed his eyes and gave you a smile.

“One day I come home early and you're not here to kiss me first thing” he feigned a hurt look so you gave him a pout..

“Sorry i didn't tell you, I was out for a brunch with Shelly”

"That's okay darling, I was jesting" Daemon said as he caressed your cheek with his fingers "How was your brunch?”

"Good, it's been long since we met so we had a couple of drinks" you said as you slowly undid his tie, you didn't understand how he was able to sleep like this.

“Sounds fun..” his smile dropped so you caressed his cheek with your thumb to bring his eyes back to you.

“What Is it? Work stuff?” you asked him softly.

“Mmmm ..I just..it's not that, i came home today and you weren't here and I just..felt sooo lonely..I'm not whining I'm just..is that how you feel when I'm not here for you?” He asked you softly so you leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Start with the truth and then you can sweeten it up to preserve my fragile ego” you chuckled as he said that

“I miss you of course.. would i want you to come back home like a normal guy once the work hour ends? Of Course i would but you're not a normal guy, you were born to do something great with your life and I'm here to support you all the way to the end..”

His eyes teared up as you said that so he flipped you around and laid you underneath him, you took his jacket off as he kissed your neck,

“I couldn't have done any of this without you”

“That's not true..you were doing this even before you met me..you would have done this with or without me–” he placed his thumb on your lips before you could go down this road,

“No you don't understand..you don't quite understand what you mean to me..” he mumbled tenderly as he kissed you over and over again, his lips barely brushed over yours as he kept mumbling between each kiss.

“Mmmm I think you made it clear when you made me your missus”

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he quickly rode your dress up and entered you swiftly,

“I love you.. and I'm sorry for being so absent –”

“It's okay..as long as you come back home, as long as you're mine and mine alone..it's all okay”

The next day at the office party you got all dolled up and hung around his arm throughout the evening. The party was the same as every year, he went all out to show his appreciation for the people who worked for TargSecure. People loved him, there was no questioning that, especially the women, he was extra attentive to their needs, they got higher pay and better leave days, their safety was the first priority for the company as Daemon wouldn't have it otherwise.

You saw Aemond and his wife Emma there so you spent your time with her while Daemon was busy with the employees, everything was the same as the past years.

However, there was this one little problem, one so insignificant and probably a figment of your imagination. And that small problem was your husband's young hot new secretary Sheena Mulaney that you knew was upto no good.

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️👀👀

Taglist

@anukulee @erebus-et-eigengrau @daenny-t @123forgottherest @mcufan72

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Bus cuddles with iii pretty please

Your wish is my command 🫡

Running low

People already called III bossy and at times a little well big grumpy. Tonight however was topping all the charts. Three almost back-to-back concerts were taking a toll on everyone at this point. But when you add a missing guitar. Issues with the sound check and a pretty mediocre crowd at the last stop it all bundled into an absolute disaster.

The only thing keeping III in check was the fact that you were supposed to be waiting for him in the tour bus. Being an understanding boyfriend he had tried to convince you to not come because he knew that your job and studies kept your plate full. But the moment you sent him a screenshot of your tickets he felt as if someone had rolled a stone off his chest.

But the new problem was that the post-show wrap-up was taking way too long and III was convinced that not even his mask could hide the scowl on his face. “Can you frown any harder, lad? I feel like there will be permanent lines in the mask”, II snickered, knowing full well that he was playing with fire. “Fuck you”, III grunted, flipping his friend off. His leg bouncing even faster now. It felt as if someone was taking a piss at him with all of this. “Leave him be”, IV muttered and III knew that he could trust him to have his back. “He’s being a needy baby for his misses”, both II and IV fell into fits of giggles like stupid fucking school girls, only making III flip them off in the process.

So there was no surprise that it was III who took off towards the bus first. And in that moment he genuinely couldn’t give another flying fuck about his bandmates making all sorts of noises from behind him. He felt as if his battery was on the last couple percents and he was running around like a lunatic searching for the charger. Only the dim light had made III slow down slightly.

Something deep in his gut was telling him that you had fallen asleep while waiting for him. And he wouldn’t blame you considering the connected flights you had to take because this had been such a last-minute thing.

III carefully opened the little side room he usually occupied to find you curled up on your side. His shirt on your body. A light smile instantly flashed across his face as he reached for his mask before tugging his hoodie over his head as well. Thanking his brain that he took the extra time all the hold-ups caused to shower back in the arena.

Carefully to not disturb you too much III climbed behind you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. Inhaling that familiar smell of you. The smell of home. His muscles instantly relaxed as he wrapped his long arms around your middle, pulling you tightly against his chest.

You grunted slightly, turning to face him, “Hey, rockstar”, you mumbled sleepily and III couldn’t help but lean in brushing his lips against yours, “Hi, baby”, he mused. You turned in his arms, frowning slightly at the worn-out expression on his face, “Is everything alright?”, your fingers brushed over his cheek and III instantly leaned into the touch. “The usual”, he grunted and you knew that he would talk about it when he was ready. Pushing him to speak would only make him cave into himself further. “I suggest cuddles”, you mumbled in return, “Big spoon or little spoon?”, looking up at him, you brush some of his wild post-shower hair away from his eyes. “Big”, III muttered, “Need to koala climb you”. You let out a chuckle, knowing that as much as he refused to admit it he was a sucker for cuddling deep down and moments when he leaned into it were always precious. So you didn’t waste any time, turning to your side, letting III once again warp you up in his warm embrace.

[rambunctioustoons]

The celestial bot thrumming so intently, convinced anymore strain he'd pop a metal joint. Eyes fixated down to the shaking movements of his palms.

Today had been a terrible day, but nothing out of the ordinary. Fussy kids eating up the time needed for the other kids. Sun stretched out further than his fingertips could reach and wrangle the troublemakers out of harm's way in time. All it takes is one booming shrill of a voice advocating for chaos for all hell to break loose.

Every attempt to heed the storm and aid him met with a snappy strained pleasantry. He's got this, he's made for this! You've only got one fleshy squishy body, don't push it now. Some kid puts a little too much strain on his wrist joint, that's just show biz! And these crazy kids demand an encore!

Every attempt so far in the early evening air to talk to him met with a question about your well being. A comment about that funny thing you were both there to witness but not actually all that funny! How many minutes he had left before Moon would take the reins, and did you really really wanna spend the next half hour talking about how he feels? Silly, feeble, kind friend. He's just fine.

But he's not. Sure if there had been a way to see Moon flickering in those bright vacant eyes, you'd be giving each other the look.

No more chores left to do, none that he'd let you do anyway. Too high strung. Things snatched from your hands as he forcibly twists fate on the limits of his abilities. Trembling himself apart.

Little you could do to evade the inevitable parts & service visit if he kept pushing like this, so you've hatched a plan.

“Laundry-”

“Done and done! Done twice!”

“Folded sheets-”

“Pristine and crisply folded. Would you really need to check that?”

“Books-”

“All put away and alphabetical like they should be!”

You grin. “... Fairy lights?”

“Put away insideee theee closeet-....” Words dragged out in a dwindling song-songy tune, his faceplate whipping around to face you. “-why are you asking that? They're out of season, Friend.”

“I'll put ‘em to good use then!” You chirp, hands placed on your hips. “Closet?”

Sun squints skeptically. “Yes. Closet.” Eyes fixated on you, suspiciously. You ignore this, of course. Waltzing your way over to the Daycare storage closet. Gathering up the supplies in your arms. Awkwardly leaning down in the naptime nook as you pass by, nabbing a book at random. Using your foot to toss a few throw pillows atop of the pile.

Sun squints at you. “Whateeeever it is you think you're doing, just know, it won't. Work!”

“I’m taking a reading break, don't care what you do. ” You chime. An offended gasp piping up behind you. You duck into one of the corners on the ground level of the play structure. Tying the flat sheet to the gridded bars inside the small space. Weaving the corded battery powered lights inside, flicking them on. Flickering flimsy bulbs of light, shimmering a yellow hue on the play structure bars still visible. It wasn't perfect, but. Cozy enough to hopefully lure a creature right into the trap.

All you had to do was wait. Plopping yourself down in the makeshift blanket fort. Carefully cracking open the book, nesting the hardcover against your thighs. Not actually reading the words of course. Too focused on the shuffling outside the play place, jiggly footsteps alluding playing a game of who cracks first, and you intend to win.

Every fiber of your being trying not to beam with a grin, when Sun eventually ducks his head into the space, craned down to observe the hurried fruits of labour.

“There's still a lot to do, y’know.” He says. Tone wobbly, uncertain.

“I know,” You say, turning the page. “And there's even more to do tomorrow.”

“Sooooo,” He drags on, one hand gripping the caged siding. “We should keep going.”

“Sure.” You hum. “Five minutes.”

A disgruntled sound reverberates from your friend. Shoot. He's on to you. All or nothing now. You cheekily pat the remaining space on your legs. Worth a try, but not at all expecting him to take you up on it. A gesture of sincerity of course, glancing up at him. Pulling you into his lap aplenty times in moments of distress, or sorrow. Or to impishly move you aside because whatever you had been doing, was taking much too long.

Difficult as always to follow his eye line. Making a guess his gaze is fixated on your torso. Hands folding to his chest, restlessly squeezing his intertwined palms. Faceplate trained slightly down, you recognize this. A conversation you're not part of, and very little business pondering on. Turning back to the book, rolling your shoulders.

Sun, careful and hesitantly steps into the space with you. Kneeling down in front of you, paying him little mind. He's exhausted sure, but one wrong jeering word from your mouth and he'll scamper right back out away from you. Quiet whirring and rhythmic tapping atop of one bell. Words a blurry haze along the page to read at all, terribly distracted by the striped pants lingering above the peripheral. Sure if he made any sudden movements, you'd equally skitter out of the play structure too.

Sun reaches hesitantly for the book. Index and thumb pinching the pages on either side of the hardcover book. You let him, smiling up at him gently. He never really indulged in much book reading, much more of a collaborative storyteller. Eagerly adopting any silly, outlandish detail a guest would pipe up with during play time.

Pulled from your musing as he closes the book, setting it aside.

Careful movements as he closes the space between the two of you. Contorting himself down with much less graceful ease than you'd ever seen, and flops right in your lap. Faceplate pressed flat against your tummy, gangly arms quick to encircle your torso. Slumping his weight down as he lets out a shaky faux breath. Full heartedly admitting defeat, solidified as he speaks up.

“Today was bad.” Words lightly muffled, for effect of course. His speaker box didn't reside in the mouth rested against you.

“It was.” You affirm gently. Resting your arms along the backs of his shoulders, met with a small twitch underneath you. His arms squeezing you tighter after a good few moments.

“How much longer?” He inquires hesitantly, tilting his head up to see you.

“Lost count.” You tease softly.

His rays twirl once, in place of an eye roll. Plopping his face to rest back against you once more.

“Five more minutes then.”

“Five more it is.”

[bowieandqueen11]

Dylan Lenivy With A Protective S/O Would Include...

Request: Dylan from the quarry with an s/o who’s like really strong. Like wrestle bears strong (or in the quarry case wrestle werewolves strong) and is very protective. Like i mean picking Dylan up and running or taking hits for him.

I genuinely love Dylan so much time to work through my writer's block for him bby!! :)

Warning: Strong language, mentions of blood/ injury, mentions of guns and werewolf attacks!

(I do not own the Quarry or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @moafleco.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Dylan Lenivy: darling boy, absolute light of my life!! I full on expected to come into this game and have Max be my favourite because I loved Skyler Gisondo in Booksmart and Night at the Museum 3 but Dylan really side swept my ass here and stole my heart I've got to be honest.

You can bet your ass during the whole Werewolf Attack night at Hackett's Quarry, Dylan will use whatever battery is left on his phone sending you cheesy texts just to check in and make sure you're okay. Be ready for your phone to ding about a thousand times a minute, until Kaitlyn finally cracks and shoves it, still vibrating, into one of the cubbies in the nurse's office.

'Hey sweet... baby-heart! Wait that sounds weird let me start again. Hellooo there sweetheart!❤️🥰 just wanted to make sure ❓that you’re still alive! 💘😖 and not ripped apart! 🤞❌ anyway love you please don’t get eaten by a swarm of bears!! 🐻😘'

Ryan had the joy of reading that one over his shoulder in the radio shack, and the groan he emitted was so loud they both ended up having to pitch over each other and duck under the table because it drew Caleb back up onto the roof.

The poor guy keeps peering out between the slats of the radio shack window like a scared meerkat popping up from behind towering rocks, thinking he can see you float past in a mist of lucent white, weaving through the treeline. He keeps pacing back and forth, back and forth sweating buckets because he's so terrified, and so ashamed that he's cowering in here while you may be in danger out there. Even Ryan's awkward offer to let Dylan borrow his earphones for a while: to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest in the corner and just breathe for a minute while Ryan kept watch, was met with an uncharacteristic sharp intake of breath and manic shake of the head.

So when you come bursting through the rickety door: drenched from head to toe in Nick's metallic reeking blood and propping Chris Hackett's shotgun in your arms, neither of the two men know what to do. But when a crash of lightning makes the full moon glowing behind your head shudder, making the pulsating umbra shrouding your head seem all the more monstrous, Dylan suddenly does.

The man starts screaming in a key that only dogs had a chance of hearing.

When he finally realises that it's you and not - you know - the 'Hag of Hackett's Quarry', and he's spent enough time bent over with his hands resting on his knees trying to catch his breath, the nervous butterflies in the pit of his stomach suddenly turn into somersaults. You came back for him. You came to save him. You care for him that much: love him that much, that you were willing to risk your own life just to try and save his.

Even though he's known you since you were seven years old: even though the two of you had met all those years ago during your first week at this very same camp, catching each other's eyes and waving as he bundled up to Chris' office with a brand new tape player he had restored in his arms, and you helped one of the younger girls pull her luggage out from the back of her parent's van, the true extent of how much he could fucking love someone hits him like air freshener to the face.

Even though the two of you used to sneak out of your bunks and meet up at midnight in the Shady Glade, bumping down beside each other on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you. 

Even though his heart had flipped over there and then: greedily gorging and festering in his chest, even though he had spent years stifling the feeling until he learnt that he was lucky enough to have it returned, it still shocked him to realise you didn't see him as a waste of space. As a spent joke.

And then his hand gets bit, and everything changes. It must have looked at least a little bit funny when it happened, considering there was not a chance in hell you were about to let any mystical creature drag off your poor boyfriend. As soon as Dylan got swung up to the roof: screaming and begging for you and Ryan to get him down, you jumped onto the desk and latched yourself on Dylan's back like koala bear. Your legs are quick to wrap around his waist until your heels kick up onto the slats, your arms wrapping around his waist until you manage to reach past and grab onto thick handfuls of warm... oozing fur.

With a swift punch to the snout, the two of you fall unceremoniously to the floor in a resounding crash. You managed to cover most of Dylan's moans during your fall by cradling him into your stomach, taking most of the brunt of the force. The poor guy for a moment just curls up on top of you in a state of wide-eyed shock, the side of his cheek heavy as he smooshed it against the side of your jaw. It's almost domestic: almost sweet, as he tugs his legs up between your knees and hides his eyes by turning his head into the curve of your neck. It's the same manner in which he wakes up every morning, hiding himself by nestling himself into you every time the sunrise comes falling through the dusty cracks of the Quarry's alpine blinds and makes him jolt awake.

This time, though. This time is far worse. Because then he starts laughing: a hoarse, shaking, unnerving noise that seems to seep through your throat and make you choke on your tongue. You do your best to grab onto his biceps as he starts shaking, his hands beginning to ball into your shirt as the reality of what's just happened to him settles in.

This man has seen enough horror movies in his life. If he's going to die, he wants to do it lying here in your arms.

Before he knew what was happening, he's being lifted up into your arms bridle style and rushed out towards the pool house. The whole way there, despite the agonising pain he's in, he keeps pressing his lips into your collar bone and giggling like a school boy caught head over heels by his crush. Even when your hands finally slip off from underneath his knees and you gently perch him on the edge of a sink, he's still cradling the side of his head on his neck and looking down at you as if you hung every star in that unbridled sky. It doesn't matter if you're trying to use a cloth to clear some of the blood from underneath his eyebags, or using some bandage Abi found in one of the pool lockers, this man is too busy trying to spend every second he has left as him enraptured by you. That means you have to work with him biting his bottom lip and smiling wonkily as he dodges the cloth and instead grabs onto your fingers, pulling them to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles one by one languidly. He looks so soft - so goddamn soft as he nudges his cheek against your intertwined hands, letting them rest against the side of his face.

He gets really fidgety, and it's then that you suddenly understand he's asking for a reassurance kiss: for the knowledge that you're not going to leave him. He’ll never say it outright, because deep down he’s too embarrassed and touch starved to admit it, but you can always tell. He has so many give away signs: he starts looking down at the floor, taps his feet against the tiles and fidgets his hips back against the porcelain, plays with his fingers by threading them through each other until you lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, and then he just beams with pure, unbridled happiness.

'You're so beautiful, you know that?' Even with the tendrils beginning to twist up his forearm, even half delirious with the stress of what had been happening that night, even thinking he's about to die he's still thinking of you. Worried about you. Desperate for you to know, that it's always been you. That it's all you.

'Dylan... I love you too, but if you keep putting yourself in danger to save everyone else I'm going to kick you into Lake Septimus ass first, okay?'

'Look, I've never met the guy, and although I'm sure he's lovely you're the only person I want to fall ass first onto', he replies, trying his best to hide how his eyes were starting to burn: how his eyes were beginning to crinkle with the effort of stopping his face contorting in pain by cupping your cheeks with his large palms and pressing a lingering, needy kiss against the side of your mouth.

'Ew. Gross, guys.' You turn your head to raise an amused eyebrow at Kaitlyn, but she only shakes her head and turns her attention back to the knitting gash on Nick's leg.

He seems to spend half of the time hiding behind your back! Like, you can just feel the slight tremble as his slender fingers touch your shoulder, and then the growing shadow against the lodge chimney as he jolts behind you. He's trying his best, bless his heart, even though the way he tucks the jut of his chin into your shoulder blade and grabs onto your biceps restricts you from shooting off Caleb when he comes clambering up the stairs towards the two of you.

But also even though he knows you're super bad ass he is 100% ready to launch himself, full-body starfish jump, in harm's way at the first sign of danger. Such as when Emma comes jumping out of the minivan, and Dylan straight away launches you away from him and nearly bearhugs her to the stony ground. Thankfully, you manage to tear off a branch from one of the encircling pine trees and strike the werewolf off Dylan; a near home run hit had her scrambling off into the woodland again as fast as her four legs could carry her. For a moment, your boyfriend just lounges against the dirt, shaky breath only interrupted by the sound of his wincing as he begins to flick pebbles off the deep scratches lining his elbow. Then, before you can even blink, he comes scrambling on his hands and knees towards you like a prowling predator, before melting into you. His arms are quick to lock behind your hamstrings; Dylan doesn't even bother to get up off his knees, he just shoves his head into your bellybutton and refuses to move until he can feel your fingers card through his scalp.

'Oh my god!', he finally starts, once you begin to unlatch his rusted fingers from around his legs by pulling at them one by one. 'I can't believe you never told me!'

'Told you what?'

'That you're secretly the sports coach! I knew Jacob was too much of a butthead - I just knew he was too busy playing hookup to look after the kids. That's the real tea from this summer.'

For real though - it doesn't matter where you are: turn around and Dylan's on your heels like your own personal walking, talking, screeching shadow. You have a bet with Kaitlin on whether he's managed to build a teleporting machine during his free time in the radio shack, because you could be down scouting the kitchen and he could be up looking at the weird family pictures in the lodge's attic, but at the first sound of any kind of howl he's there. You barely have time to duck down behind the counter before your boyfriend has made you jump out of your skin; he's standing right by the freezer (how tf did he manage to get all the way there without you hearing him??), completely out of breath and holding a cast iron skillet in his hands like a baseball bat.

'What?', he shrugs down at you with a tired smirk, putting his free hand on his hip and wiggling them a little. 'My mom always told me that it's better to be prepared than to catch anything unexpected. And I'm not letting you get bit too.'

'I'm... not quite sure that's what she meant. But thanks, sweetie.'

The nickname has his face burning a deep-set roseate for the next thirty minutes.

And then the two of you meet Laura, and this man's world just turns upside down. You turn down her offer to join her in trying to find Chris Hackett and end all of this for good, but from where Dylan was sitting on the bench next to the rattling window, he missed out on your reasoning why. He missed out on how you'd admitted that your sole focus: your one care now was to make sure that Dylan was safe. That you cared about him more than anything, and Mr. H could go to hell as far as you're concerned. You had to make sure Dylan survived the night.

Dylan's eyebrows crumpled when you came, cross armed, to unsteadily take a seat next to him again. He was too nervous to ask what the two of you had agreed, so he just fiddled with his thumbs and let the idea that he was holding you back darken his thoughts.

That he was a hinderance. That he was an annoyance.

He doesn't know what else to do, so as the two of you head out to the Hackett scrapyard in search of a new rotor arm, he takes up every silent moment by cracking wise. It starts to worry you - the way he can barely touch you. How he holds his hands in near claws against the meat of his biceps: how he barely lets his leg brush against yours before he jolts away again as if electrified. He even seems anxious when you reach out and grip onto his hand, his hold limp and loose as he lets it sway uneasily in the growing gap between your bodies.

He's just so afraid that if he lets go now, you'll be letting go of him forever. So he doesn't want to hold on at all. He feels it will be easier this way: kinder to you, to feel as if he's just drifting off with the breeze, a fond memory of long summers spent at some strange, long forgotten Quarry.

But you know him far too well not to register the full-blown panic behind his eyes as he dares to take a glance over at you. So please, shove this guy up against the nearest trunk of a tree, hold him up by shoving your knee in-between the seams of his thighs, and kiss him silly until all he can do is saunter off with a dopey smile and a brain so far up in the clouds all he can do is laugh rather than string together a sentence!!!

Literally I feel like this would heal him. Give this poor bby the love he's so desperately craving.

Straight up hefting him over your shoulder and carrying him away from Caleb in the scrapyard. The confused look on Kaitlyn's face as her head slowly turns to follow the set of you sprinting past with a screaming Dylan folded over your back like a snapped ruler is mfcking hilarious I'm not going to lie.

You refuse to leave him in the crane. Not even when he's gouging into the balls of your shoulders, crying and yelling and begging you to leave. To run. To get the hell away from him while you still can. Between his tormented yelps, you do your best to grab onto his face despite how forcefully his body's contorting. Despite how his fingernails are starting to cut into your skin and send blood blooming out in wispy tendrils across your shirt. You just place your thumbs up against the darkness obscuring the sides of his eyes and try to keep Dylan looking at you. To try and make him understand, to try and make sure the last thing he saw before he turned was you not leaving him. Not Ever.

[writingjourney]

Papa(i cant decide what number 1-4) : angry at his lover, because she avoids him..

Reader in her bedroom: p-please love...kill me i have a fever

https://themidult.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/painting-woman-ill-sick-fluey-unwell2-800x500.jpg

(sorry for the link im too shy to send this ask as me, but i think its kinda funny)

ghosting | papa x gn!reader

I could not decide on a Papa either, so I kept it as neutral as possible and (I hope) you can all imagine the Papa of your choice :) and anon, you need not be shy, I am so grateful for your ask <3

summary: your papa thinks you're avoiding him but once he finally finds you, he realises that he got it all wrong.

content: 2.5k words, sick care, some suggestive remarks, fluff mostly

masterlist – Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Papa scoffs into his afternoon coffee, nearly spilling the hot liquid all over his papal robes. Still nothing. He’s staring at his phone, the screen cracked from when it slipped out of his pocket while he fucked you on his desk two days ago. And yet he can clearly make out the two blue hooks indicating that you’ve read his message from this morning.

What he also sees is that there is still no reply. Your silence, your absence, the uncertainty – it drives him mad. He is so used to having your undivided attention, seeing your name pop up on his screen with a frequency that keeps him from getting any work done as of late. Not your name, though, no. He saved you under “amore mio” a long time ago. Not that you’re aware of it just yet, but his feelings for you have long since surpassed mere lust and friendliness.

His mind constantly wanders to you. Knowing your schedule by heart, it is easy to imagine what you’re doing, what may have you so distracted. Right now, you should be helping in the gardens, sweaty and panting from the exertions in the warm afternoon sun. He knows how pretty you look like that, even more so when you’re sprawled out underneath him as he gets lost in the soft curves of your body. He yearns to lick the salty sweat off your heaving chest, to hear your whimpers as his lips leave not a single inch of your skin untouched.

Alas, he is stuck in his office, brooding over paperwork.

He’s trying hard to concentrate on the words in front of him, not to stare at his screen all day like a depraved, starving man. Impatient, he even set the phone to vibrate but despite knowing he’d get a notification if you texted him, he taps the screen every two minutes to check. Just to make sure he doesn’t miss it. 

Oh how he’s longing for even the most delicate touch, a simple kiss on his cheek as you tell him to take it easy today, your hand squeezing his across the table. You used to do that, visit him in his office at least two times a day. Not always innocent. Actually, very rarely innocent. He can almost hear the echo of you screaming his name for half the abbey to hear. And yet, you have not been anywhere near these four desecrated walls in almost two days. Not since the last time you were intimate with him.

Why won’t you reply? A flash of doubt and a pang of anger. Could you be getting tired of him? Did he come on too strong? If that were the case, you should tell him. He’s a busy man, you of all people know that, and yet here you are practically ghosting him, as the younger Siblings call it. By now it’s almost dinner time, you must have had a chance to at least type in a yes or no. Papa knows if he can’t see you tonight he is going to lose his mind. He needs the confirmation or he’ll be nervous and distracted for the rest of his day.

Generous as he is, Papa gives you another hour, finishing up the dreadful paperwork before he has a quick dinner of reheated pasta from the day prior. It tastes like nothing to him and the emptiness of his quarters only adds to his foul mood. His eyes are still trained on his phone, the battery still half full, unused with the lack of texting. The only time his screen lights up this evening it’s to remind him that his screen time has gone up by eighty percent over the past week. It seems like that’s an issue you’re solving for him right now.

Papa knows he cannot go another night without seeing you. He needs to confront you, ask if you really lost interest or if you just need more space. Whatever it is, having clarity will be easier to bear than silence.

Entering the dorms is always risky business. People gossip, someone is going to see where he’s knocking, and while everyone knows the two of you are… something, he’s not keen on everyone speculating about why you’re suddenly on cooldown.

But when he knocks, nothing happens. He repeats the motion, rapping his knuckles against the wood three times, louder now. Nothing. He hears music, some sort of electronic beats, the tunes wafting over from another dorm room. A party, surely. Yours however remains eerily quiet. In a last attempt to find out if you’re even home, he tries the door.

It is unlocked, so you must be home. For a moment he considers leaving again but then a painful thought hits him: If you’re home, not opening up… it means you’re avoiding him. Clearly. 

What crime did he commit to deserve your ignorance? His anger propels him to enter, despite knowing he’s invading your privacy. But he cannot go back to his quarters without confronting you, not when he’s already in such pain. He’s feeling the anticipatory grief over losing you and it’s all because he let his guard down way too fast, leaning into your kindness, your loving nature. He always had a feeling that this was too good to be true, that despite thinking this time would be different, he’d end up in pain. Everyone just wants the sex, the fun, not the commitment that being with a Papa, maybe even loving a Papa, meant.

Fiddling with the doorknob, he feels awful for even thinking these things. You never gave him reason to doubt you, but it is just so easy to slip back into his old insecurities. Certain that he’s just seeing ghosts, Papa pushes the door open silently.

Upon entering the small antechamber that leads to your bedroom, he hears you moaning. He hears the rustling of sheets, the mattress creaking. A loud fuck.

Papa stops dead in his tracks, nearly toppling over as a wave of nausea hits him. For a second, his worst fears and his deepest insecurities melt into one big gooey ball of panic. He wants to be sure that what you have is special, but you never openly decided to be exclusive, that you wouldn’t see other people. He’s been meaning to ask, to tell you how he feels… too late, it seems.

But no. He soldiers on. If anyone else dares to touch you, they will receive all of his demonic, unholy wrath. He has a whole company of ghouls who would love to get a taste of human flesh again, if need be. Papa opens the door to your bedroom, anxious but driven, ready to face whatever lies behind. And he does find you in bed like he expected, only… you’re alone.

You don’t even look up. Are you sleeping? The room is stuffy, curtains closed and all he hears is your whimpering.

“Hello?” he asks quietly, his heart hammering in his chest.

“P-papa?” 

Your voice is barely audible. His anger turns into concern as he hurries to your side, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Immediately you reach for his hand in an attempt to squeeze, but it seems like you’re too weak to clench your muscles.

“Kill me, Papa. Release me from this torment,” you whine. “Please.”

“Tesoro, what is going on?”

You groan in reply, a sound only made more horrifying by the soreness of your throat. You sound like a dying animal and if he’s honest, you kind of smell like one too. He wonders how long you’ve been in this position.

“I am dying,” you whisper.

“What happened? Are you injured?”

He’s scanning your body but most of it is covered. Before he can pull away the duvet, you try to squeeze his hand yet again, this time with more vigor.

“S-sick,” you choke out. “The flu.”

“The flu?”

Papa ignores the bad conscience that’s settling in his mind and gives into his worry. He jumps up, opening the curtains and the window to let in some fresh air. You hiss like you’ve been burned, despite the sun already setting. Disregarding your complaints, Papa finds a thermometer and pain killers on your bedside table.

“We need to check if you have a fever, tesorino, can you open your pretty mouth for me?”

You giggle at his words. “I’m too sick for that, Papa.”

“You clearly have a fever if you think I’m going to laugh about this right now,” he states, removing his gloves and throwing them aside. His scowl is not in earnest, he’s not annoyed, of course, but he needs you to know your health is paramount.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whisper but you let him slot the thermometer between your lips anyway.

“I am dramatic? Who’s been locked inside their room like they have the plague without replying to my texts?” 

Papa presses the backs of his hands to your hot cheeks, acting like a mom who doesn’t trust the thermometer. You’re burning up, worrying him even more. Your skin is ashen, hair tousled, and he can see you shaking slightly.

At his words, your brow furrows. “I texted back,” you say, words muffled by the device in your mouth.

“You did not, amore. I have been wondering what I did to upset you so,” Papa admits. “I thought you were avoiding me. Ghosting me, as they say.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and as soon as Papa pulls out the thermometer, forehead scrunching up as he reads the 38.9°C, you start babbling.

“I was not, Papa. I would never. I was so sad I could not see you.” You swallow, groaning as the pain in your scratchy throat hits you. “Can you check my phone? I dropped it.”

Papa finds it under your bed. He lets you unlock it and you’re right, you did reply, only you never hit sent. I am sick in bed, Papa. I miss you too, but I would not want you to catch the flu. ♥︎

“I would never avoid you on you purpose,” you whisper, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

He bends down to kiss your feverish forehead, feeling the heat against his lips. “I know that now, amore, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I ever thought such a thing.”

“Amore?” you ask, grinning through a thick layer of haze. “That’s new, Papa.”

He can practically feel his cheeks turning rosy under his paint. “You know I like you, gioia mia, that is not new.”

“But amore is not just liking, right? It’s–”

“You have a fever, dolce. I need you to take the ibuprofen. Where do you keep your glasses?”

You pout at his interruption and with one last look at your puckered lips, he jumps up, avoiding not only your question but also the intense urge to kiss you. You’re in no condition to have a deep conversation right now. He searches the cupboards in your tiny kitchenette until he finds a glass he can fill with water. By the looks of it, you have not eaten all day, it’s far too clean.

“I don’t know if I can swallow,” you whine upon his return.

“We both know you’re very good at swallowing, amore. Open up.”

You frown without any real intensity and it’s an adorable sight, even in your messy, unkempt state. “I thought we weren’t joking about this.”

“It is allowed when I do it,” Papa says, practically shoving the pill into your mouth. “Drink, amore. You need liquids.”

You manage to swallow and the water feels like honey but only for a moment before the pain returns and your throat protests wildly. Even so, your mind still clings to his words.

“Papa,” you whine, reaching for his hand as soon as he’s set down the glass.

His mismatched eyes flicker to yours, still worried. “Yes?”

“You never answered.”

“We should talk about this tomorrow, sì? When you feel better.” At your sad expression he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “I will go find some soup for you now, some other medication.”

“But I don’t want you to leave.”

“I will come back, dolce, you don’t make that pretty head worry too much, eh?” 

You whimper dramatically. “But what if I am dead by then?”

Papa sighs but it’s followed by deep chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. “You win, amore, I will text one of the ghouls.”

As soon as the text is sent, Papa closes the window again and starts to undress. From your position on the bed you’re watching him like a hawk, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your mouth to hide your grin. He can’t help but find it endearing and suddenly he feels even worse for assuming the worst today. Once he’s in his briefs and undershirt, he crawls into bed behind you, pulling you close. You’re a little sweaty, not exactly smelling fresh, but he doesn’t mind. Feeling your warmth, having you tucked against him, it’s all he really needs. 

And as his heart does a flip, racing thanks to your proximity, he gently cups your cheek. “Do you think you can give me a kiss, amore?”

“But you’ll get sick,” you whisper, the protest dying as soon as he tilts your chin up.

His lips graze yours, softly pressing in more and more until you melt against him. Even your lips are warmer than usual and he keeps it chaste, breaking away to look into your eyes again.

“Papas don’t get sick, eh?” He gives a tender kiss to your forehead, gently running his fingers through your hair before they settle on your back. “Now, you wanted an answer.”

Your look is pleading and it’s like your shining eyes are trying to lure the words right out of him. He wonders how he ever worried you may not feel the same when it’s written all over your face. His nerves start showing then, fidgety fingers drawing tiny patterns on your back, and he can feel your hands pressing into his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” he finally says. “You are my amore, my love. Tieni il mio cuore in mano. Please, I want to ask you to be mine.”

“I love you, too.” A big grin spreads out on your face. You lean in to kiss him again, softly moving your lips against his, and you stay impossibly close as you whisper. “And I am yours, forever, if you are mine.”

Papa smiles against your mouth and for a moment he forgets that you’re sick and kisses you harder. When he breaks away, you’re breathless, coughing softly, but he can tell by the happy look on your face that it was worth it.

“I am yours, amore,” he says. “I am yours forever, if Satan allows me.”

You settle against his solid chest, warm cheek pressed to the skin just above the neckline of his shirt. After today, your Papa vows to take better care of you, to trust you fully and cast any doubts aside as soon as they arise. And so he wraps his arms around you even tighter, whispering soft praises  into your hair until you’re finally asleep again, the only sound in the room your soft and even breathing.

non vedo l’ora di baciarti – I can’t wait to kiss you

tieni il mio cuore in mano – you hold my heart in your hand