#dan x phil smut

[sinninghowlter]

Danisnotadom

Ship: Phan Rating: E Contains: collaring, pre-established relationship, very light angst, degradation, namecalling, smut, cursing, heavy language, d/s undertones, daddy kink mentioned four (4) times, use of the word "slut" Words: 5746 Summary: Dan's not a dom. Everyone swears up and down that he is, insists he is domming his boyfriend and is too good to take it in the ass.

Phil's not a sub. Everyone thinks he is, everyone thinks his baby is in charge. What they don't know is his hardcore boyfriend is actually a princess. Read it below or on AO3

This fic was a brainchild of mine back in December 2022 and finally, here it is! It wouldn't exist if not for the cheering on of the Superstarkers groupchat on Discord and my writing friend @khalixascorner!! Thank you for believing in me and this fic with two strangers you've never heard of before me. A/N: this is unbeta'd and uses 2015 phandom with 2022 dan and phil. :)

 "Alright guys, Dan insists he's starving so I've gotta feed him before he eats me."

 "Not like that!" Dan shouts from the other room, "I just have been in the U.S. for so fucking long that all I want is familiar food goddammit!" 

 "You can't swear on my live streams, Dan!!" Phil shouts back. He begins scanning the chat, hoping that a slew of messages reading "OMG PHAN!!!!1!1!" and "DOMESTIC!!!!" doesn't follow. Instead of the expected messages, he starts seeing a few, albeit more explicit, replies in the chat: 'I bet he likes it that way', 'Dan probably eats him all the time', 'We all know Phil likes his daddy to eat it.' He hides the need to frown and roll his eyes behind a smile, answering an ask about what kind of plant the followers should get. "Um... I think you should get a cactus! They're always a good choice!" 

 "Phil! I'm starving!! Let's gooooooooOO!!!" Dan whines, now in the doorway. Phil looks up, taking in the younger's form leaning against the white wood. Dan smirks as Phil's eyebrows raised in challenge. 

 'omgggg look at the way he looks at Dan!!! OTP FOR LIFEEEEEEEE', 'PHAN DOMESTIC!!!!!' the chat reads, but neither of the boys are paying any attention to Phil's live stream. 

 "What are you thinking for food?" Phil asks, silently hoping for pizza. 

 "How's pizza?" Dan murmurs, and Phil can't help but smile affectionately at his boyfriend, "I really don't wanna cook."

 "Sounds good," Phil replies, trying to tune out the part of his head that hones in on the comments in the live stream about how he does anything Dan says. He's not a simp. He just likes to indulge his boyfriend after he's traversed half the world alone for the first time in 13 years. He wants Dan to feel loved, heard... safe. If that means that a handful of kids on the internet calls him #DanHowellsSlut, well that's on them. 

 "Text me what you want, and I will order so you can wrap up your stream!" Dan smiles, walking out of the living room and back into the office, watching the end of the stream.

 "Alright guys, I guess that means it's time for me to hop off here. For real this time. Danny boy gets fussy when he's not eating carbs." Phil chuckles at his own joke, saying bye to a few people in the crowd. "See you guys next week! Bye!" He signs off the live stream, falling back against the couch, and closing the lid of his MacBook with his foot. "Fuck..." he mumbles to no one in particular. Dan texts him, and he replies mindlessly, requesting the usual from Domino's. 

 "Daaaaan..." Phil calls, waiting for the man to reappear in the doorway.  

 "Yeah? You alright?" Dan pokes his head in, eyebrows pulled together in concern. They had just been texting, what was wrong that he felt like talking in person?

 "I... it's nothing." He shakes his head, deciding last minute not to bring it up to the other, "Want to watch a movie or something with our pizza?"

 "Sure. We should watch something old though, I don't really have the energy for something new."

 "How's Hunger Games? We both have seen that loads of times."

 "Perfect. Put it on then, I think the pizza is here." He rushes to the door, tipping the person and handing the boxes to Phil.  He collects the paper towels and glasses from the kitchen, sitting down on the turquoise couch next to his partner. "Lights on or off?"

 "How's lamplight?" Phil replies, distracted by the flatscreen across the room. He clicks on the movie, pushing his glasses up his nose as he grabs a slice of the pizza. Dan does the same, laying his legs across Phil's lap and watches the movie.

 After a few slices, Phil takes to scrolling Tumblr on his iPhone. He smiles at the screencaps from his liveshow, likes a couple of pieces of fanart of himself, and reblogs a couple of gifs for the gaming channel. 

Then it happens. 

 He hits a group of posts commenting on how whipped he is for Dan. How submissive he is, and how good he is for Dan. He can't help but scroll through the asks on the blog, reading about how he definitely almost called Dan "daddy" in a recent video. How he definitely wanted to kiss him at 12:23 in the newest gaming video... He sighs softly, turning back to the movie, just in time to see Katniss pick up her bow for the first time.

 Dan's fallen asleep by the time the credits roll. Phil can't help but smile at the man wrapped up in his pimp blanket and hugging the cloud pillow. He looks exhausted and a tiny part of his heart breaks for Dan. This is most likely the first good night's sleep he's had in weeks, and Phil can't bring himself to wake him. Carefully, he lifts Dan's socked feet off his thigh, sliding out from underneath him. Instead of turning on the next movie, he gathers the plates, cups, and paper towel roll in his arms, disappearing into the kitchen. Phil deposits the dishes in the sink, vowing to clean them tomorrow, and returns to the living room. He tiptoes past the younger man and cleans up the pizza and coke bottle, trying his hardest to avoid banging into the corner of the coffee table. Thankfully, he doesn't hit anything until he gets the pizza box into the fridge. He cringes, hoping Dan isn't awake. 

 "Alright, now to wake the baby..." he murmurs to himself, shutting off the light in the kitchen. He returns to the den and presses his lips to Dan's forehead. "Honey? We need to go to bed."      Dan crinkles his nose and groans, curling deeper into his ball of faux fur, "Nooooo... I wanna sleep here. 's cozy!" He hides his head under the blanket, attempting to fall back asleep. 

 "I know, Bear, but you'll be really sore if you don't go to bed. I love you, but I also know that you will complain all day about it." 

 "Gee, thanks, babe," Dan smirks, finally looking at his boyfriend. 

 "You know I'm right. Now, c'mon. You'll feel better." Phil reaches under the blanket, pulling Dan's hand until he finally obliges and stands up.

 Phil can't help but kiss his boyfriend's cheek. Somehow, even after thirteen years, he's the most handsome man he's ever met. Dan smirks sleepily, resting his head against Phil's shoulder as they stumble into the bedroom.

 He tries to sleep. Really, he does. Instead, though, his brain replays the posts, tweets, and messages haunting him for the last three weeks. They've gotten worse since Dan left for tour, it's like the posters have gotten bored and tried to stir up trouble. He presses his face to the pillow sighing deeply. Dan stirs in his sleep groaning softly. 

 "Whatever you're overthinking over there isn't worth it. It'll still be there in the morning. Go to sleep." The brunette murmurs, nuzzling into his side. They really do know each other inside and out. He nods and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. 

 "G'morning," Dan mumbles, pressing into his side, making his hardon known. It's almost a ritual for them. If the weekday ends in y, Dan or Phil will push the other for morning sex. It's a given, almost like eating cereal for breakfast. Before he can reciprocate, though, Dan is staring at him. "I love you but you look like a dead man walking. So how about I take care of you this time, sir." Dan sits up, pulling his shirt over his head. 

 "Baby, you don't have to... I'm fine. It's not a big deal." Phil replies, hands finding their place on his waist.

 "Okay. What's actually wrong? You never turn down sex." Dan furrows his brow, brown eyes locking onto Phil's as though he can read his mind if stares hard enough.

 "I just don't feel up to it right now. I'm sorry." Phil gently presses a kiss to Dan's forehead. "I promise it's not you, I just got in my head last night. It's not important."

 "I understand that. It's easy to do. Would you like pancakes or cereal for breakfast?" 

 "Pancakes, of course," Phil replies, thankful for the change in subject. Dan climbs off the bed, ignoring his lack of shirt. "I'll be right there, baby. Don't start without me!"

 "No promises! I might eat them before you get in here!" Dan calls from the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Phil pulls his glasses on his face, making the bed and buying himself time. Just to allow his brain a second of clarity before he's met with the feeling of panic when Tumblr throws another post in his face. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_

 He makes it two weeks before he breaks. The duo had gotten back into their usual routine, reveling in the break in the chaos. Their livestreams were returning to normal and the whole debacle was behind him. Or so he thought. 

 Tonight's livestream was a joint event. Both men deciding it would be the perfect Christmas present for their fans. They answered questions and it all went smoothly until he sees it. He feels Dan go tense against his arm and Phil knows he saw it too. 

 A single message.

 Nine words.

 "Shout out the "Phil Lester Is A Sub Groupchat"!"

 "I think we should get indian food tonight, don't you agree? I want that vegetarian bowl I get every time. It just sounds amazing!!" Dan tries, covering the awkward silence.

  He takes that moment, disguising it as listening to the older's response, to take stock of the situation. There's a sense of panic in Phil's eyes. One so small only Dan knows what it looks like. He sees something else mixed in too, something he can't quite place. It's as though exhaustion and anger mixed together and created this new thing. He subtly gives Phil a nudge, three bumps on his right hip: 'check your face.' They'd implemented it after Dan rolled his eyes at something in the chat back in 2013. They decided it was best to avoid any issues. Phil blinks a few times, smiling quickly. 

 "That actually does sound amazing. I really am craving it too..." Phil replies quickly, changing the subject to what games they've been playing recently.

Twenty or so minutes later, Phil interjects, "Dang it Dan, I can't stop thinking about indian food now. But I swear we always abandon these guys for food."

 "I'm starving, guys. Soz." Dan laughs, "We can continue this video game discussion on Thursday on my livestream! For now though, bye guys!"

 "Bye!!" Phil clicks the button to end the stream and his shoulders drop. 

 "What was that about? You looked upset that someone called you a sub earlier."

 "I am, okay? It's been haunting me for almost a month now. I'm weirded out by the fact that people get the vibe off you that you're a dom or the sub vibe off of me. What does it matter to them?! What we do in our bedroom when the lights are off is between us."

 "Or inside us." Dan jests, attempting to break the tension. It works, causing Phil to burst into laughter.

 "Jesus Christ, Dannnnn." Phil scolds still smiling. "But no, it's been messing with my head all month. That's why I pushed you off the other day. I was inside my head about the idea that the fans think that you're in charge and when you offered to take the lead it panicked me a little. I was worried they saw something I didn't, and they knew something I hadn't. Like a joke I wasn't a part of." He sighs, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. "I just don't like not knowing."

 "Are you not happy being a dom? Do you not want to anymore?" Dan asks, eyes locked on the rip in the denim on his thigh. There's panic in his voice, and it breaks Phil's heart

 Phil sighs, raising Dan's chin, "Trust me, sweetheart, I wouldn't trade it for the world. I fucking love being your dom." 

 Dan's cheeks tint pink, shivering slightly, "If it makes you feel any better, I have been haunted by "#Danisadom" the entire tour. For some reason, our fans are very observant about everything else, but this is one area that they're completely oblivious to. This is #Philtops2k15 all over again. At least then they had it right..." Dan laughs lightly, hoping Phil will join in. 

 "I remember that! And you're right, we made it through that just like we will this. Because you're my baby, Bear. Nothing is going to change that." Phil kisses Dan gently. 

 "And you're my sir. But I need you to tell me when you start getting in your head again. Please tell me, Phil. I don't want you hurt." Dan replies, voice low. He presses kisses to Phil's jaw. Before they can get too heated, he pulls away, "We have a meeting in thirty minutes."

 "Wha? Dan!" Phil drops his arms to his sides, following the boy with his eyes as he disappears down the hall.

 "Don't tell me you forgot! You set the appointment!" Before he can inquire further, his phone dings with a notification on their shared calendar: 'collar appointment'. Dan's voice calls from down the hall, a smirk evident in the tone, "the cab will be here in fifteen. Better hurry if you want to change." The black-haired boy sighs, willing his semi to soften.

 "Fucking hell." He murmurs, rising from the couch to collect his jacket and wallet. "Dan, we have to make sure no one sees us." 

 "They won't, Phil. We made sure to get an appointment super fucking late. I promise no one will see us."

 "I know, but I don't want this to get out. I'm not ashamed of being your dom but I don't want the rest of the world to be yours as well. Yknow? I just fear that if they somehow figure out how to manipulate you, then it will become an issue, or the parents will insist we are shoving it down their precious darlings' throats..."

 "Phil," Dan touches his hands to the older's shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "It will be okay, I promise! If it makes you feel better, we can frame it differently." he leads them towards the door, out to where the cab is waiting, "Yknow? If we get caught, we can say we were collaring you." He whispers the last part against the shell of Phil's ear, breath ghosting across his cheek. 

 "No!!!" Phil whisper-shouts, "I hate you so much!" The two laugh it off, nervousness forgotten. 

Almost...

 The feeling of unease resurges when they arrive at the shop. "Dan, it's just here." He mumbles, motioning at the doorway. The other man turns back, having walked past it completely.

 Neither of the guys knew this place existed, but they'd passed it millions of times. It's a small shop on the west end with blackened windows and a subtle navy tint to the stucco. It blends in where you wouldn't notice it if you didn't look for it. 

 He pulls open the door, and the words "OWNED" catch the streetlight, dark lettering glinting. 

 Phil takes a deep breath, leading Dan inside. 

 When they enter, Phil isn't sure what he was scared of. From inside, you can barely see the streets, and the knowledge that no one else can see inside calms his soul. 

 Dan's in his element immediately. From the first second, he's holding Phil's hand, pointing at different materials, gemstones, and buckles. "Look at this one!"

 "Welcome in, you must be Mr. Lester and Mr. Howell! Pleased to meet you! My name is Gerald Rogers, I will be doing your sizing and fitting today." Both men shake Gerald's hand, their nervousness subsiding. "You guys seem nervous, is this your first collar?"

 "It is." Phil begins, wrapping his arm around Dan's hips, "We've talked about it a lot, but I decided it was the perfect Christmas present."

 "Well, we will be sure to find one that suits your dynamic perfectly. To start, let's have a seat back here so I can get a feel for your dynamic." The two men nod, following Gerald to the heavy black desk. 

 "Alright, let's start simple and work to the heavier details." The guys nod, and Dan takes Phil's hand. A silent testament that he's there and they're safe. "What are we thinking for the budget?" Phil replies with their budget and how flexible it is. Gerald begins typing on his laptop, nodding. "Who's going to be collared today?" Dan raises his hand, blush tinting his cheek. 

 "He is."

 "Perfect. And can you guys describe your dynamic?"

 "How do you mean?" Phil asks. 

 "I mean, what titles do you use, how hard is your play, do you tend to get rougher than most?" Gerald raises his eyebrows, hands poised over the keyboard.

 "Well, the titles we use most for Dan here are 'baby, honey, sweetheart....' The soft stuff. And then for me--"

 "I use "Sir" more than anything. We do joke around with 'daddy' but I don't really want that included this time." Gerald nods, updating his notes. He smiles encouragingly, waiting for the boys to continue.

 "Are you wanting to have an all-the-time collar or just a play collar?"

 "We are definitely looking for just a play collar. Our fans wouldn't take kindly to Dan suddenly wearing a heavy collar." Phil laughs lightly. 

 "Fans?" Gerald asks, casually.

 "We're YouTubers. I presume you won't release to our fans what we're up to? Our relationship is kind of a personal secret they aren't aware of."

 "I promise, discretion is one of the main things I promise with my services."

 "Perfect," Dan states, hand squeezing Phil's.

 "And are you two rough with your play? I don't mean physically, I mean are you guys planning on attaching leashes, pulling on the collar, or leading by it?"

 "We were planning to try implementing it, does the collar hold up to that?"

 "Oh, easily. We can do a double-layered flat leather collar with reinforced D rings."

 "Perfect." Phil smiles.

 "Great, let's get you measured Dan!" He nods, nervousness in his eyes. 

 "It's gonna be okay, babe." Phil smiles, reassuringly. "I'm right here." Gerald raises the tape measure, and Dan nods. "Don't flinch, it's okay. I'm right here." 

 "Alright, I've got the measurements." Gerald smiles, writing the numbers on his computer, "I'm guessing you are someone who hates people touching their neck?" Dan nods, never breaking eye contact with his boyfriend, "You did great."

 "You really did, Dan." Phil praises, reveling in the way he minutely preens. 

 "Alright. what materials and colors were you thinking of doing this time?"

 "We had been discussing doing a double-layered vegan leather collar in black and white." 

 "Are you thinking 12 millimeters or more?"

 "Ah, definitely 12 millimeters... I think that's right. The site we were looking at said half an inch was ideal for a first hard-play collar." Dan looks at the measurement sheet in front of him, reading the numbers off internally. "I don't want anything too strong around my neck." 

 "Then that would probably be right around perfect... Let me get something drawn up for you. Wait here." Gerald walks into the back room, leaving the boys to their own devices.

 "I'm really happy we're finally doing this." Phil murmurs. 

 "I am too. I like my collar, but one from the pet shop doesn't work well for us. It'll be nice to have one made special and not for a dog."

 "Agreed. Did you want to go for a locking collar, baby?" 

 "I would be honored." Dan blushes, "But we can't lose the key or forget it's on."

 "Oh, I don't think that will be a problem for you two." Gerald interrupts, presenting his sketch. 

 The piece on the iPad in front of them is perfect. It looks like someone took the essence of Dan and created it. The thick black leather is sewn with white thread and the thin leather on top is sewn with black. There are three sets of eight rivets surrounding three D rings, and Dan can almost feel the black chains ghosting across his collarbones and back. "It's perfect..." He whispers, awestruck. 

 "I'm glad you think so! Is there anything you'd like to add or modify?"

 "Can we possibly add in a few gemstones? Like maybe black gems here and here?" Phil points between the D rings, smiling awkwardly. 

 "Like... this?" Gerald adds the gems, turning it back. "And were you two considering a locking or belt-style clasp?"

 "Locking. Can we get two sets of keys though?"

 "Absolutely, that is a default for these collections, just in case one set gets separated. I will make a note on your order though just to be sure." He types it in, "I will have your piece ready in about two weeks." He smiles and clears the approval, having both of the men sign the agreement before reading out their total.

 "That is perfect. Thank you so much." Phil smiles, handing Gerald his card. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_

 Back home, Dan can't keep his hands off of Phil. "What's up? You were trying to hold my hand in the cab, you've been glued to my side since we got home. Is something wrong? Are you having second thoughts about your collar?"

 "No! I mean, no. I'm nervous but I'm not regretting it." Dan blushes, leaning against the counter, watching Phil eat cereal from the box, "If anything, I am excited." I can't wait to have something that symbolizes how much you want me to be yours. It's an honor that you want to collar me, Phil. I mean, what did I do to deserve this?"

 "You existed, Dan. That's all that matters. You were deserving of it from the beginning, no one has noticed before me. I have wanted to collar you since 2010, but I didn't want to scare you off. Some people classify this as more important than a wedding ring. I mean, you are literally allowing me to put a lock around your neck. My love, you are the most worthy of anyone I have ever known or dated. I can't imagine anyone else would rather be mine than you. You're my world! I--" Before Phil can finish rambling Dan is pressing their mouths together. 

 "Fuck I have wanted to do that since we left Owned." He reconnects their lips and the quiet groan from Phil reverberates through him. He replies with the softest squeak, and most people would have missed it, but Phil catches it. 

 "If I had known that getting you fitted would have this effect on you, I'd have done it ages ago!"

 "Oh shut up you spoon." Dan blushes, wriggling away from the older. 

 "Never," Phil replies, smirking. Dan glares playfully, disappearing into the living room.    -_-_-_-_-_-_

 Dan has been dreading this. It's finally Tuesday and he hasn't even said hello before he sees it:

"Hi, Daddy." 

 Dan can't help but freeze in his tracks, slipping before he can school his expression. He glares at the message. He hopes no one sees the look, but the chat's speed says otherwise. He doesn't know why it affects him so much. Neither of them has used that title since 2010. But yet it still haunts him. 

 Because it's not him. 

 "Have you guys tried any new shows this week? Phil and I-- ope!! Phil and I!" He snaps his fingers and laughs, "We've been watching a new anime! I can't remember the name though!" He deflects the chat, ignoring the comments in chat asking about his sex life with Phil.

 "Da-an!" Phil calls from the hallway, walking in with a black cardboard box. 

 "Oh! Phil! I was just getting ready to call you!" 

 "You were?" He walks in, box still in hand, leaning down next to his partner. 

 "I was trying to tell these guys about that new anime we started! What was it called?"

 "Oh, it was an old one I watched when I was younger. Vampire Knight?" The chat explodes in reply, half of them asking about the show and the other asking about the box in his hand. 

 "It's fun. Definitely a teen drama though. which I think makes it funnier. Cuz we're two grown-ass men watching a romance anime made for teenage girls." The two talk a bit more about the show before Phil comes up with an excuse to leave. 

 "Alright, now. Where were we?" Dan asks, "I have the memory of a gnat I swear to gods... Oh! The new album! So..." His phone dings somewhere in the middle of the discussion and he wishes he'd put it on silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a text:

Sir-- 9:08: It's here. 9:09: On the counter in the kitchen, I won't unbox it without you.  

 He almost whimpers, excitement settling into his body. "Well, I think I need to head out and finish editing the new video for you guys! Hopefully, I can have it out for you in the next six months!" He laughs, waving to the camera, "Bye guys! Talk to you all next week!"

 He clicks end live, rushing out of the room. "Where is it?" He calls, words running together with excitement.

 "It's right here! I told you I had it! I even showed you the box!" Phil laughs, pushing the box closer to the younger. "I haven't opened it. Do you need a knife?" Dan nods, cutting the box open. 

 Inside the box, wrapped in red tissue paper is a satin pouch. Neither of the boys can do anything but gape at first, shocked that it's actually real and in their hands. Finally, Phil comes to his senses and lifts the satin out of the box, untying the ribbon. 

 "I-- it's real," Dan whispers when the leather piece has been revealed. The chains softly tink together, and the loop for the lock at the back waits expectantly. His hands shake gently as Phil raises the leather, eyes meeting Dan's.

 "It-- It's--"

 "Perfect." Dan finishes his thought, breath coming in short gasps. He touches his fingers to the D-rings, blinking slowly. 

 Phil can't help but smile at the awestruck look on Dan's face, "Wanna put it on now? I mean, we are done for the night. Might as well test and make sure it fits." The boy nods, nervously. 

 "Alright. How should we go about doing this? Should I get on my knees or..."

 "Just like we always do, bear. This is just another one of our collars. Hold still and I'll help you put it on." He turns around, back to Phil's chest, and digs in the box for the padlock. Dan grabs it, holding it in his hand, waiting for the feeling of the vegan leather on his throat. He hands the lock to Phil when he finally gets it into place, hearing the click when it's finally done. 

 "How does it look?" Dan asks, turning back to face Phil. The older doesn't reply, eyes wide and pupils blown. 

 "Holy fuck..." He whispers, causing Dan to blink rapidly.

 "That bad?" Dan asks, hands reaching for the band. He grows self-conscious, confusion evident in his expression. 

 "N-no... No. Quite the opposite, actually. You look amazing, Dan." Phil blushes slightly, "Could you imagine wearing this in a video? They'd die."

 "Because the one they thought was the dom is in a collar?"

 "No. Because this may actually be one of the top ten sexiest things I have ever seen you in." Dan looks down at his loose t-shirt and joggers, raising an eyebrow.

 "This? Phil, I wear this every day. They're literally my pajamas."

 "No, I mean this." Phil laces his fingers under the collar, gently pulling Dan against him. "This is the sexiest thing you've ever worn. Probably up there with that one time, you dressed as me for Dailybooth."

 "That was one of the first times you said you wanted to collar me." He blushes at the memory, remembering just how hoarse he was the next day. 

 "I know. And now look at you... All locked up and nowhere to go..." Phil's voice lowers, sending a shiver up Dan's spine. He presses their lips together, never letting go of the younger's collar. "What do you want to do, Daniel? Shall we break in this new toy?" Dan nods, mutely. "Alright. I want you on my bed ready in two minutes."

 "Yes, sir. The same stuff as always?" Phil nods, turning back to the box. He digs through the paper, finding the second set of keys. He takes stock of the situation, wondering if this is a new chapter in their BDSM journey. Sure, they've had collars before, but nothing like this.

 He thinks back to the time when Dan had asked for a stronger pair of cuffs. He remembers how he wondered then if this would be a new normal for them. 

 Before he can answer his question, Dan calls from the other room, "You comin' or what?" 

 Phil laughs breathily to himself, walking quickly down the hallway. "I'm comin', baby, don't get impatient on me or I'll make you wait."

 "Yes, sir." Dan murmurs. 

 Phil opens the door, breathlessly. Before him is his boyfriend of 13 years waiting expectantly, eyes trained forward and collar around his neck. He's taken off every thread of clothing, and the blush on his skin catches the streetlight out the window perfectly. 

 "Fuck you're going to kill me, Bear," Phil whispers unbuttoning his corgi shirt as he closes the door. 

 Phil approaches him, connecting their lips. Dan whines, hoping and praying Phil would let him do something, anything to get the friction he craves. Instead of indulging, Phil takes his hand, leads him to the bed, and pushes him back onto the colorful bedsheets. "What do you want?"

 "I want you!" He gasps in reply, brown eyes blown wide in desperation. "Please, I just want your cock." 

 "Aww, desperate already?" Phil growls dominantly, "Pathetic, aren't you." 

 Dan watches as Phil unzips his black jeans, waiting for the man to reveal what Dan's been waiting for, "C'moooooooon" 

 Phil glares, abandoning the buttons and instead sliding his fingers underneath the edge of the collar, pulling it up. "I know you're desperate, but you need to remember who's in charge here. I know our fans think it's you, but you and I both know the truth. We're going to try this again, who's in charge, Daniel?"

 Dan nods, "Y-you are, sir." 

 Phil preens at his reply, pushing his jeans off his legs. He grants himself a couple strokes before pulling Dan in closer. "Good boy. What do you want, bear?" Dan blinks, silently communicating with his boyfriend. Phil nods, tangling his fingers in Dan's curls.

 Dan blushes, licking Phil's tip. "Can you... Y'know..." He looks up at Phil, expectantly. 

 "Aww, want me to fuck your face?" Dan nods, parting his lips. Phil pushes his length into Dan's mouth, pausing briefly at the base, the feeling of his tongue too much to handle. "Fuck," He groans and resists the urge to jerk his hips. 

 Dan blushes, talking as best he can around the intrusion. Phil smirks and tangles his fingers in Dan's hair, pulling his head back to meet the base of his cock. 

 "That's a good boy, c'mon, take it all." Dan whimpers, suckling at the older's cock. "You're doing so good baby, I'm gonna cum though if we aren't careful..."

 Dan pulls back, wiping his mouth, "W-want you to fuck me... Please?" Dan whispers gaze downcast towards his knees. 

  Phil smirks in victory. His usually articulate boyfriend has been brought to his knees, begging for any attention the older will grant. Phil growls, lifting Dan's chin to meet his gaze. His lips are parted, breaths escaping in short pants. "I would love to do that, sweetheart," Phil replies hotly, "Let's get into it then." He scoots back on the bed, "Did you stretch earlier like I told you too?" 

 Dan nods, handing the older a well-used bottle of lube, "Mhm, but you might need to check."

 "If I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted me to finger you," Phil smirks, spreading lube over two fingers and pressing them to Dan's entrance. When they go in easily, he presses into Dan's prostate. 

 "I know noth-- Oh fuuuuck," Dan moans, pushing his hips backwards. Phil smirks, adding a third finger.

 "You know nothing? You're right. You're just a pretty slut. Made perfect for my dick." Phil pulls his fingers out, wiping the excess on his leg. He spreads more lube on his cock, pressing into the younger. "Beg for it."

 "Please?" Dan begs, head dropping. "I've been waiting for this all day, sir. Please..." 

 Phil pushes the tip in, and pauses. "I didn't tell you to stop." 

 Dan attempts to push his hips back, mewling. "Please, sir... Please please please..." He curls his nails into the sheets, curls falling across his face. 

 The older shakes his head affectionately, pushing in the rest of the way. "Taking my cock so well, bear. You're such a good little slut for me. Take it all." He tangles his fingers into the back of the collar, using it to gain leverage. "Fuck..." Phil moans, speeding up his thrusts. 

 Dan tangles his hands into the sheets, groaning loudly. "Please, Please, please... I'm so close please..."

 "Good." Phil's thrusts grow rougher, as he bites Dan's shoulder. "Don't cum until I tell you to." 

 The sound of their bodies colliding causes Dan to tremble. "Please... Please.... Sir... Lemme cum please!" 

 "Fuck, Dan... I'm so close... Ready?" he nods, desperately, "Okay... Cum for me. Right now, baby, I'm right behind you." Phil groans roughly, feeling Dan squeeze around him, pushing him over the edge. He reaches around, giving Dan's leaking cock a few strokes, helping him through his orgasm. "Good boy... You did so good." He whispers, letting go of the collar and pulling out of the younger. 

 "I love you so much, Dan." Phil whispers, pressing a kiss to Dan's nose. "You did so good."    "I love you too. Thank you." he replies, dazed.

 "For what?"

 "Loving me, and for collaring me." 

 "Of course. Just proof your mine forever baby bear." 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!! Likes and reblogs are much appreciated!!

[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?”

[hattoriscap]

fic rec saturday (but its friday) is back bc i Need to talk about the couple of pregnancy kink fics that writers have been truly blessing us with 💖🫃🏼💖

-little bird say it again by @bassband. omega x omega, complicated feelings, & a pregnancy ❣️ what more can i say. such a realistically written universe. vv interesting read 💞.

-the egg by @calvinahobbes. humanoid dragons, phil grows an egg and wants to lay it with dan. good god the universe was So well built. so fun & hot & full of emotions 🥚💞.

-hovering hovering by @bitchslapblastoids. possessive!dan loves phil so much he wants to put a baby into him 🤤. this was so incredibly hot & i lovedddd seeing this side of dan ❤️.

-decaf coffee by @shiwisins. phil wants a baby in him & dan entertains the idea 🌟. perfect mixture of smut & fluff. i think about this fic at least twice a day i love it soo much 💖.

[specialagentlokitty]

Who I write for/Rules;

This is a list of fandoms and characters I write for (some may be missing) and some rules, if you’re curious about a fandom or character please message and I’ll let you know if it’s someone I’ll write for or not! If you’re looking for prompts please search the tag Lokittys prompt list

THIS BLOG IS STRICTLY NO SMUT DO NOT REQUEST IT AS THE REQUEST WILL BE DELTED IMMEDIATELY!!

Please if you’re requesting use some manners, say please and thank don’t demand I write something from you

This blog is for all ages, do not be hostile towards any member of this blog as you will be told to remove yourself immediately and if you don’t I will remove you, hate will not be tolerated this is a safe space regardless of age, sexual orientation, gender/pronouns, disability and such

If you’re wondering about a request you have but you’re worried or confused if I’ll write it or not or you’re just curious please reach out through inbox or asks and I’ll let you know! I write both romantic and plutonic requests for a wide range of characters!

Some things I will NOT write include; teenage pregnancy, smut(or related themes), underage!reader x older characters (these will ALWAYS be plutonic either a parental or sibling relationship). If you’re wondering about anything else just message! 💜

Fate the winx saga

- Saul silva

- Farah Dowling

Avatar

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Criminal minds

- Hotch

- Rossi

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- Spencer

- Jj

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Castle

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Lucifer (Fox)

- Lucifer

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Greys anatomy

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Twilight

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Harry Potter

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Marvel

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BBC Merlin

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BBC Sherlock

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Black butler

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Supernatural

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The witcher

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Brooklyn nine nine

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The good doctor

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Friends

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Teen wolf

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Doctor who

- 9

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Lord of the rings/the hobbit

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My hero academia

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Demon slayer

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Tokyo ghoul

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Durarara!!

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Skyrim

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Ackley bridge

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The vampire diaries

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the watcher

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911

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Downton Abbey

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- Mrs Hughes (plutonic only)

Kingsmen

- Merlin

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Bones

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- Hodgins

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Buffy the vampire slayer

- Angel

- Giles

The walking dead

- Rick

- Daryl

- Negan

- Glenn

- Rosita

- Carol (plutonic only)

- Gabriel

- Aaron

[autistook]

‧*･༓☾ well hello there ‧͙⁺˚༓☾

《 finnish | 25 | she/her/they/them 》

○ the lord of the rings ○ the hobbit ○ the silmarillion ○ the war of the rohirrim ○ supernatural ○ doctor who ○ käärijä ○ joker out ○ gotham ○ detroit: become human ○ dechartgames ○ friends ○ how i met your mother ○ brooklyn 99 ○ the last of us ○ glee ○ the big bang theory ○ the office ○ dan and phil ○

《 Socials 》

○ youtube ○ tiktok ○ instagram ○ letterboxd

《 Personal 》

○ faves ○ asks

《 The Lord of the Rings 》

○ on this day ○ cast commentary ○ incorrect lotr

○ headcanons ○ lotr collages ○ icons ○ quotes

○ parallels ○ behind the scenes

● The Fellowship of the Ring ●

《 Fanfiction 》

○ DAISIES - merry brandybuck x reader

○ AFTERPARTY - merry brandybuck x oc smut

○ TASTE THE CAKE! - pippin took x reader fluff

○ BOTANICAL ATTACHMENT - oc female x oc female

icon by @gracefuldisasters

[miss-celestia13]

For Your Entertainment

Jake x MC Smut One Shot

Words: 5.7k

Halloween. The gang head to the Aurora for Phil’s Halloween party. While their friends get wasted and dance up a storm, Jake and Manon battle for dominance. You never truly lose when orgasms are handed out like party favours 🤭

Before I hunker down to panic write smut for a challenge, I thought I’d do some for these two nymphos! As usual, this can be read without knowing the main story these two are from. It’s just smut; anyone can read it and not get lost. It's another dual POV; the names are bolded when it changes!

~*~

Jake refused to believe Manon was wearing what his eyes were telling him she was wearing. She walked into the club like she owned the place. Black lycra hugged her curves like a second skin as she sauntered into the Aurora with Jessy and Lilly flanking her. Jessy wore cat whiskers, ears, and a tail. Lilly was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, but he hadn’t a clue what Manon was supposed to be other than a pain in his ass or a fresh attempt to give him blue balls. Thigh-high patent leather boots with heels so sharp and tall she could use them as a weapon covered Manon’s toned legs, and a thick leather choker like a collar decorated her throat, drawing his eye and sparking memories of his hands in its place. He knew that was her intention, but it didn’t dull the effect it had on him. He stood stock still, hand gripping his glass too tightly, gaze locked on the wicked woman currently making Jessy toss her head back and laugh.

They didn’t celebrate Halloween the year before; all felt it was too soon after their shared ordeal. It felt like tempting fate to don disguises and party mere weeks after people died. As if she sensed his attention, Manon’s venom eyes latched onto his, and he shook his head once, just barely. No one else noticed, but Manon saw everything when it came to him and never forgot it. She knew everything he said and didn’t say, all that he did and wished he could do before it left his lips. Able to read his mind, he often worried, and she would giggle, wink, and refuse to answer the question whenever he asked if she could. She didn’t say a word, only blew him a kiss before putting her back to him, and he tossed the contents of his glass down his throat. If she was on one of her taunting missions, he’d need more than whisky to get through this night.

A rough hand clapped him on the shoulder. He slid his masked eyes to Dan and smiled lightly, nodding hello as the other man ordered them new drinks. He leaned closer, focusing on the trio of women as they joined Hannah, Thomas, Cleo, and Richy at a table in the corner. Cleo hadn’t bothered with a costume, so he wasn’t the only one without an elaborate getup.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you with that one,” Dan joked, dressed as Batman, and his eyes twinkled as he pushed a glass full of amber liquid to Jake.

Jake gave a wry chuckle, grinning as he said, “Don’t I know it...”

“What’s she supposed to be? A dominatrix?”

“I have no idea. She lives to fuck with me and get under my skin. I just go with it now.” Jake laughed, knowing damn well he delighted in her games and schemes to drive him mad.

Dan looked him up and down, brows furrowing, and Jake knew what he’d asked before it left his bristled mouth.

“And you? I’m drawing a blank.”

Jake wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black dress pants, and shoes completed the look. The black satin mask around his eyes kept slipping. It was annoying, but he had no choice in his outfit that night. 

“Manon left it out... As I said, I just go with it. It’s easier and usually works out well for me.”

Dan snorted, nearly choking on his drink as Jake sipped at his and relished the slow burn as he swallowed it. 

Manon kept one eye on the bar and the other on her friends. Jake and Dan laughed together, it made her heart happy to see Jake enjoying himself. Something about the mask she’d picked for him really did it for her, and she planned to convince him to keep it on when they got home, and he took out his frustration with her scandalous outfit on her willing body. Her dress was so short that she couldn’t bend down and had to be very careful how she sat, or she’d give everyone a show. It was worth it for the dark look in Jake’s lapis eyes when he spied her. There was no scary element to her costume. She’d had more than enough of myths and legends coming to life and had chosen to provoke the life out of her man instead. She was already three tequilas and a fruity cocktail down, and her buzz warmed her through as Jessy brought another round to the table. It was easy to ignore the curious eyes of the other patrons enjoying Phil’s Halloween party as they whispered about her and her friends. 

Hannah, who came in a matching Barbie and Ken costume with Thomas, seemed more aware of it than everyone else, and Manon took to giving those nameless folk dagger-filled stares each time their gaze landed on Hannah. They were a novelty whenever they ventured into Duskwood and Manon had two fists full of middle fingers for every judgmental encounter with a stranger in the quaint, twisted little town. Alcohol flowed too freely, voices rising in pitch and volume as the music played louder and the lights went off. A few souls immediately ran to dance, and Manon didn’t object when Jessy grabbed her hand and hauled her up, tottering on her high heels as she followed the excitable redhead. The alcohol made them stumble as they danced, the music a physical thing it was so heavy, a pulse on loudspeaker that matched the pounding of her blood as it roared through her. 

The others soon joined them along with people they didn’t know, and Manon chuckled as Richy tripped over his feet, trying to keep up with Jessy. Jake observed from the bar, catching her eye every time she looked over at him and it was like a lightning strike when their eyes met. She and Dan engaged in a terrible imitation of a line dance as Cleo and Lilly spun circles around them. Giggling and shrieking, Hannah shook her head at the two women and Jessy hissed at her, causing Lilly to cackle. Despite the chaos around her, her attention snagged on a scantily clad woman sidling up to Jake at the bar. Wearing the guise of a sexy nurse, the raven-haired woman reached out and slid her hand down Jake’s arm as Manon arched a brow. Jake had his back to her, whirling the instant she touched him, and his smile faltered as he greeted the woman and discreetly stepped back. Not deterred, the other woman flicked her hair over her shoulder and encroached on his space again. Manon saw red but waited. Jake could handle himself, but her hands curled as the brunette wouldn’t take the hint, and something predatory inside her opened an eye at the ownership in the woman’s touch as she patted his arm again. 

“Calm down, Nonbon,” Dan said in her ear, and she prided herself on not jumping as she turned to him. He went on, “Hackerman has it handled.”

Turning back to the bar, Jake was indeed pushing the woman’s hands away as she went in for another tease. Manon bit down on the inside of her cheek, catching Phil coming up from the basement with a crate in hand, and an enticing idea popped into her mind as the woman attempting to flirt with Jake walked away with a scowl on her pretty face. Manon crowed internally as Jake’s gaze zoned in on hers, and he lifted his glass to her. She licked her lips, held eye contact for a beat too long, and tilted her head toward the entrance to the basement. Not waiting for his response, she strode for it, heartbeat rising with every step down to the basement door. She had no doubt he’d follow her.

A pull like an invisible thread tethered them to each other, going loose as she lost sight of him then taut as he neared. Her blood raced, veins lighting up as desire clouded her mind. Her breathing quickened, her burgundy painted lips tingled as her mind skipped ahead and she wouldn’t allow him to stop her this time, would take him for all he had to remind him he was hers. Reaching the bottom, the echo of Jake’s footsteps as he descended matched the flickering pulse in her throat, and her mouth watered as she shouldered the heavy door open and slipped inside. She quickly pulled her underwear down and clenched it in hand, standing with her back to the wall beside the door as Jake stopped outside and drew in a deep breath. Lust and discontent at the woman’s audacity were a potent blend, heating her skin and making her reckless as the door slowly inched open.

Jake entered the dim basement, holding his breath. He sensed her before she grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the door hard enough it shook in its frame. Red light gilded her sharp features as she wasted no time and kissed him with enough aggression he knew she’d seen every skin-crawling moment of the stranger’s advances. The thought brought forth a smirk, demanding and forceful; she breached his mouth and kissed the liquor right off his smiling lips. His trousers were too tight, cock rapidly hardening as she rubbed against him and chased his tongue with hers, his fingers playing with the hem of her dress. The hinges rattled as she shoved a knee between his legs, mouth bruising his as his cock gave a painful twitch, harder than he’d ever been as she ground down on his thigh. He took hold of her hips and attempted to back her up to a table he saw before she was on him, but she firmly pushed his shoulders again, and he rocked into the door as her hand slid down the front of his pants, stroking over him and sending what remained of his blood straight to his cock.

Her scent was sugar, and spice, heaven and hell all wrapped up in one heady fragrance and he wanted to thank that woman for making her respond so boldly. A woman on a mission, she didn’t let him breathe or touch her, whatever had gotten into her, this was about him and he wasn’t about to tell her to stop. He tried again, gripping her hips and bending at the knee to lift her, but she broke away, maroon lips puffed by his as she lay a possessive hand over his pounding heart.

“You’re with me, or did you forget that?” She murmured, voice husky as her sea-glass eyes burned hot enough to scald him.

His knees weakened at her sudden show of dominance, head shaking as sense fled and animalistic lust took its place. His cock took all his brains when it took his blood. There was nothing but white noise in his head and he couldn’t hear the music upstairs anymore.

“You’re impossible to forget.” He said reverently, cupping her face to capture her lips in another kiss, but she didn’t allow it. Shaking out of his hold, her mouth was on his neck, leaving a trail of small nipping bites, marking him, claiming him for all the world to see. Something was shoved into his pocket but he soon forgot all about it.

Feverish fingers flicked the button of his pants open, and the zipper was pulled down. She pushed the trousers down over his ass before her hand dove inside his boxers and wrapped around his cock, stroking firmly then gently. Just another way for her to drive him insane and prod at his restraint. He was seconds away from bending her over and fucking her hard, but she gave him a slow blink and dropped to her knees, mouth opening as she stared up at him through her lashes. His mind eddied out, heart bouncing off his ribs as she took him into her hot mouth, cheeks hollowing as he hit the back of her throat and cursed. His head thudded back against the door as he let out a moan; she stroked the base of his cock as she sucked, mouth and hand moving in tandem to work him to the edge as fast as she could.

Tongue swirling, toe-curling suction, long, deep drags of her sanguine lips along his rigid length, and teasingly gentle teeth making him tremble and sink his hands into her silver hair, torn between pulling her off to feel her tight cunt around his cock and fucking her face. She didn’t make it easy to choose, and he was curious to see how far she’d take it before her own desire ate away at her control. He panted, frantic as her hands moved to grip his ass, fingers digging in as she encouraged him to rock his hips into her face, mouth tightening as she took it and didn’t choke like he feared. Her eyes watered as she held his gaze and hollowed her cheeks again. The crown of his cock hit the back of her throat, and an odd wolfish noise came free of his chest as she relaxed to take more of him. She was going to kill him or leave him unable to function. Either way, he was fucked.

Release already shimmered and pooled low in his spine; everything she was doing worked too well, and when she swallowed around his cock, his eyes crossed, and he reflexively tugged her hair, earning a muffled moan from her. He wanted to finish inside her, see her splinter and fall apart before he did, but she wouldn’t allow it. He was merely an observer as she somehow took him even deeper, lips nearly as tight as her cunt, throat constricting and relaxing around him, nostrils flaring as she struggled to breathe, and it made a monster out of him. His head swam and short-circuited as she slowly began to bob over him, swallowing him down, a hand cupping and playing with his stones as he sobbed and shook helplessly. 

His vision narrowed, the world blurring as it whited out and black speckled the edges, gripping her head and rocking into her mouth so she took him impossibly deeper. Her defiant moan as he tried to push her away didn’t help matters, the sound so filthy and satisfying he wanted to record it as his cock jumped in her clever mouth and release swamped his system. She wouldn’t have it and tightened her lips so much he couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. It rolled down his spine in rippling waves of flame, igniting every nerve as his body bowed over her, knees turning to water as he came violently down her throat. She took it all. Drank him down, draining him to the dregs as he groaned and growled her name. All of him felt as if someone had flain his skin and he was too exposed, so sensitive he could hardly stand the soft sweep of her tongue as she cleaned his cock of every drop before she finally released him and rose to her feet.

Her pink tongue snaked out, licking at a stray drop of cum at the corner of her mouth, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk as she eyed his quaking form with eyes darker than a midnight sky. The hold she had on his heart and soul never wavered. He leaned weakly against the door, sure his legs would fail him if he moved away. His chest heaved, and sweat trickled down his neck as she finally spoke.

“The next time some woman puts her hands on you, Jake, remember this,” She purred and pushed him away from the door, leaving him staring at nothing as her clacking steps ascended the stairs. 

It took him longer than he’d ever admit to wrangle with his numb limbs and wait for his breathing to slow. There was no hope of calming himself down. He quickly tucked himself away, righting his trousers and smoothing shaky hands down his crumpled shirt. His mind still raced, spinning with all she’d done to him, and he did his best to act normal as he left the safety of the basement. A smoky chuckle slipped free as he followed her back to the bar and felt in his pocket to find she’d stuffed her underwear in it. She was an evil little thing. He stopped at the bar to order a double shot of something that burnt his throat as he threw it back and shuddered. Leaning heavily on the bar, Jake jumped as Jessy appeared at his elbow and demanded Phil make her something pretty. She looked him over, brows rising and head shaking. It was an expression that Jessy often wore when she was around him and Manon.

“You look like you lost a war with something that likes to bite,” The redhead said, cocking her head at his wrinkled clothes and kiss swollen mouth.

Jake chased his last shot with a vodka cola and laughed, “I lost a battle. The war hasn’t started yet,” He returned, eyes seeking Manon and catching her whispering to Richy as the man smiled and gestured toward Jessy. 

“I don’t think I want to know anything more, okay, Jake. You two have no shame. You’d make a fortune online. Let’s leave it at that!” She jested and thanked Phil when he handed her a bright pink drink with too many tiny umbrellas, a squiggly straw, and a sparkler. She was gone before Jake could summon a response. 

He watched her sit beside Richy and Manon, the latter smirking over at him as he noted the flush on her chest and the stiff way she held herself. He knew she would be soaked, utterly fired up, and primed to be fucked until she knew only his name. It wouldn’t take much, her emerald eyes smoldered and she couldn’t sit still, he could probably make her come just by talking to her. Still, he knew she would avoid him the rest of the night and drag out the anticipation until she couldn’t stand it. Beautiful but savage, she would string it out until she begged him to take over. But he couldn’t wait that long. She had a lesson to learn, and he would rejoice in teaching it as he sank his last drink and swiped the keys to Phil’s office from behind the bar when the man’s back was turned.

Manon was well aware she was playing a dangerous, risky game. But it was worth every second of nerve-straining anticipation as he prowled toward their table, a little ungraceful in his stride as he gave their friends a look that made them all clear off to the dancefloor. The power of bringing a man nearly twice her size to his knees with nothing but her mouth lay over her like a glowing shield as she watched his face harden. Manon grinned, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs to dull the burn between them as he braced his hands on the table and leaned until he loomed over her, masked eyes blown black with lust as they pinned her in place.

“Phil’s office. Five minutes.” He growled, and then he was gone while she blinked after his broad shoulders and bit back a whimper at the unyielding order.

He was a man of few words, but he knew how to wield every last one to fuck with her and make her a needy, whiny mess. She fucking loved it. Five minutes passed at a glacial speed. Every passing second was marked by her furious heartbeat and tapping fingers on the sticky tabletop. She staggered away from the table, glancing at her friends and Phil to ensure no one was paying attention as she escaped to meet Jake and pay the toll she owed for sucking the soul out of his body. His taste still lingered on her tongue, earthy and salty, and a tang of something she always associated with him. She’d been dying to know how he’d taste since they met. Jake always stopped her before he came, preferring to get on his knees for her, but his surprise worked to her advantage, and she finally made her selfish wish come true. The other woman was just the excuse she needed to make it happen, and she wanted him riled up and had hoped he would attack her the moment they were alone. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, and her filthy mind and slick cunt couldn’t wait.

Phil’s office was up a short set of stairs. The music thumped through the floor as she neared the door, blood roaring in her ears and cheeks heating as she knocked before letting herself in. The thud of her heels on the carpet seemed over loud as she crossed the threshold, but her focus went to the man who held her black heart in golden hands. Jake, seated behind Phil’s desk, arms folded, muscles straining, and ankle crossing his knee, his heated gaze moved over her body like a caress. She locked the door behind her and moved to stand before him. Laughter and joyful cries seeped into the room from below, but she only had ears for him.

“What game are you playing, Manon?” He husked, those singular eyes blazing and filling with smoke as she gave an indolent shrug.

“One I believe I’m winning.” She said to make his mouth flatten, one glorious brow arching as she shifted on her feet.

“You sure about that? I don’t have to touch you to know how wet you are right now.”

Fuck, her thighs were slippery as she clamped them together and replied, “Hmm... What are you going to do about it, Jake?”

He crooked a finger and said two clipped words she followed like a lost puppy, “Come here.”

Rounding the desk, he dropped his foot and widened his legs so she could stand between them. The chair had no arms, he studied her and swiped his thumb along his bottom lip. His other hand patted his knee as he gave another order.

“Show me.”

Catching on, she lifted her leg, balancing her booted foot on his knee and letting her skirt roll up to expose herself to his searching gaze. Hunger, endless and roasting, glazed his eyes as he saw the state she was in after her show in the basement. It always affected her to make him feel as unhinged as he made her feel on a daily basis. 

Jake breathed her in and groaned, eyes tracking the droplet of essence trickling down her inner thigh. She wobbled as he reached under her dress, taunting her folds with a fingertip as he cursed and his eyes darkened to navy.

“You should have let me take care of that earlier,” He crooned, filling her empty cunt with two long fingers, and she nearly fell on her ass in shock, but his free arm snaked out and grabbed hold of her.

He gave her two twists of his fingers before pulling free of her and silently urged her to drop her foot to the floor. She held herself very still as he took his time looking her over and committing her to memory. His mind worked away behind his eyes, and she knew he was calculating how much time they had before someone came looking and what would send her over the edge fastest. Her dirty mind supplied many scenarios, each one filthier than the last but she held her tongue. She knew he’d made his mind up when his mouth quirked into a sinful smirk. 

“Kiss me,” he demanded, and something inside her perked up at the authority in his tone. 

Taking her time, testing his patience to the limit, she moved to stand behind him, sliding her hands under his chin to jerk his head back and kiss him upside down. Inelegant and messy, it was worth the surprise in his eyes before hers shut, and she let him lead the way. His beard scratched her skin, adding to the sensation coursing through her as the sound of a zipper broke through the bass beat thumping through the floor. She didn’t have to look to know he was palming his cock, she had seen the sight so many times she could conjure it instantly, but it didn’t stop the wanton moan from escaping as her imagination sparked vivid and beautiful. Her empty cunt clenched around nothing at the alluring mental image, more wetness stickied her thighs, and her battle for control fell apart with the stroke of his tongue in her mouth. 

Sensing he’d won, she bit his smiling lips and whined, a hand falling between her legs to toy with her clit as he wouldn’t do it for her. He hissed, breaking away as she shivered and circled that bundle of nerves to take the edge off. He batted her hand away, ignoring her cry of irritation.

“That’s it, come here,” his voice went lethally low, “Straddle me. Take it all at once.”

Swallowing hard, Manon knew he was fighting dirty, had secretly known taking the reins from him would lead to this, and only just managed to smother her pleased smile as she came around the side of him. Swinging her leg over his thighs, she peeled her skintight dress up to her hips, and her hands collared his neck, mimicking the choker around hers as he swallowed thickly. She hovered over him, hips quivering as he ran the fat head of his cock through her drenched folds and lined up with her entrance. Doing as told, she took him to the hilt in one sinuous stretching slide, body going rigid as her resisting muscles burned, and she felt him knocked too deep to breathe through the sensation like a charge under her skin. His hands held her down as her cunt pulsed around him, forcing herself to loosen to accommodate him and gritting her teeth as he held eye contact through her struggle. 

“Move.” He commanded once she softened enough to roll her hips and whimper her impatience. 

Jake knew she expected him to take charge, and he would, but first, it was time she learned her lesson, and he was nothing if not a studious teacher. Her cunt clasped him so tightly he couldn’t form thoughts, a perfect fit that always had him half way to release the moment he was inside, but he let none of it show as she moved over him. Slowly at first, lifting in a slow drag and dropping down with a slight wriggle, her vicious eyes flamed as they held his in thrall. He shoved the selfish part of him aside as she bounced and picked up her pace, her mouth falling open as she whined. Her boots caught his eye as her hands flexed around his throat and sent a bolt of fire straight to his cock, like a strippers and high enough that a fall would break something, but he’d be damned if they didn’t turn his blood molten as she pushed up in a taut slippery slide. His nails dug into her hips as he took control, slamming her back down hard enough her teeth rattled, and she yelped in a delicious blend of shock, pain, and pleasure. 

He helped her ride him, glorying in the silken glide of her inner walls around his rock-hard cock, and every little spasm they made felt like heaven. Capturing her mouth, he poured all the love and desire he felt for her into the kiss and knew she understood by how her fingers dove through his hair and pulled. Her familiar spiced scent heightened the desire coursing through his bones. Their bodies had always spoken to each other in a silent language, a complex tongue neither could speak on their own, pushing and pulling, electricity zipping between them as they moved. She was soaking wet, utterly saturated, as he lifted her off him, turned her around, and bent her over the desk.

“Hold on, Sweetheart,” Was all the warning he gave her before he sank inside her taut heat, and she scrabbled to find purchase on the desk. Fucking her on Phil’s desk had been his primary motivation for bringing her here. He still remembered those days when Phil asked Manon out or flirted with her in front of him. Payback made it all the sweeter, and he slowed his pace to breathe through the urge to come as Manon keened and griped at him to fuck her. Her boldness and eagerness to share her body with him never lost its potency. He couldn’t put a value high enough on the trust she so readily handed him and never pushed it farther than he knew she could take. An undercurrent of respect and great affection ran between them through all aspects of their lives, but never so tangible as during these encounters. She was hell in a hand basket, a whirlwind of fire and fight, and it was fucking fantastic.

Her grip on the desk slipped and slid as he pounded into her, deliberately tensing her inner walls to drag a ragged moan out of his throat, and he rewarded her with a sharp tap on the ass, smoothing his hand over the hurt so she rolled back to meet his thrust. It didn’t matter what life threw at them. They always had this. He spread her legs wider, wanting to see it as he split her pretty cunt in two, and she glistened like diamonds as she made no effort to hide herself, shameless for him. Her cries turned desperate as his thrusts turned shallow and slow, dragging it out and relishing in how much she needed him. His ego preened as her hands curled around the edge of the desk, knuckles bleaching white as he snapped his hips viciously and chuckled darkly as she pleaded with him to do it again. 

Manon resolved to deep-throat him more often if this was the result. Even when she lost, she never really felt like she had. No, every drag of his cock inside her dripping cunt felt like a win. It was building so fast, fire spiraling down her torso to settle low in her belly, and every brutal plunge of his cock only stoked the flames of her ardor. A tremor ricocheted through her and a high-pitched keening tore from her throat as he slammed into her and gave a grunt so rough her skin prickled with gooseflesh. Her inner walls fluttered, tensing herself to hold him captive as she drowned in sensation. He pushed down on her lower back, deepening her arch until her chest was flat to the table, and the angle changed, steeper now, hitting that spot within her that made her cries turn crazed. 

Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooding from her as she clung to her sanity and vocally urged him on. He made her feel free, unleashed, and uninhibited in a way she never had before. Her usual need for total control dissolved when they were alone, and it made him all the more addictive, she was always chasing the high he could give her. It was all she could do to hold on as he fucked her, his grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with her clit, and his other hand bruised her hip. It didn’t take long for release to spark its warning. His growl when he felt it added gasoline to the fire, devouring her from the inside.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours. Don’t forget that.” He rasped, each word punctuated by another savage snap of his hips.

A whine of pure distress left her then, cunt tensing and relaxing as he fucked her to the edge. The desk groaned under her hands as she clutched it to keep from melting to the floor. Jake’s low laugh as she shook her head didn’t help her calm down. Too much to take for long, she sobbed in relief as her orgasm broke violent and all-consuming, shouts from below drowned out her breathless wail. Her cunt possessively gripped his cock, his ragged moan music to her ears as she flailed under him. Chemistry or biology, she didn’t care what it was between them as long as he kept fucking her like he hated her. She couldn’t breathe, so overwhelmed and unable to form sentences, she babbled as sumptuous heat licked through her. Her entire body quivered and went boneless, every ripple of release dulling the sharp edges of her mind as he pounded her harder to join her in bliss. 

It dragged her orgasm out until it was torture to withstand, and when he cried her name, a warning and win, burying himself so deep it forced a scream past her teeth. The filthy feel of him cumming inside her, her shimmering orgasm, and his hands gripping her hips in a fierce hold, made it the best Halloween she’d ever had. Her noise of contentment blended with his whispered praise and words of worship as he slipped free of her still-flickering cunt and turned her around. His lips were on hers, his tongue licking at hers, bristling and biting as he nipped at her bottom lip and possessed her mouth so completely she couldn’t tell where she ended, and he began. Gasping for breath and unsteady on her feet, their kiss turned rough and ravenous, his low groans making her blood sing as he made sure she knew he loved her. 

His care for her was the most compelling thing about him. He could fuck her like she was his worst enemy, ordering her around and taunting her until she begged, make her hurt, but he always made sure she felt safe and loved after. She melted into him, smiling into the kiss as he blindly tugged her dress over her ass and grabbed handfuls of it once she was covered. He slowed it down, taking his time to undo her and make her heart grow wings with every tender brush of his tongue. His hands ran up and down her spine, massaging gently as she sighed happily. They kissed until she was sure he could go again, but they had pushed their luck enough, and she could wait until they got home. 

They righted the room and themselves as best they could, but her overbright eyes and the sheen of sweat on her skin would give her away. Secret smiles were shared as they checked the office for anything that would point to them. Leaving together, Jake locked the door, and they descended the stairs, the music was a solid wall of sound as he went to the bar, and she went to the bathroom to clean up. When she returned to him, perched on a stool, Jake had a drink waiting for her, a sly smirk on his bearded mouth, and she didn’t hesitate to jump in his lap as they watched their friends enjoy themselves. Phil kept catching her eye, but she avoided him, wanting to giggle childishly at the thought of admitting what they’d done upstairs. 

Leaning her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hip with his thumb, she said, “I love you. I’ll win next time, though.” 

Jake’s laugh made her grin as he held her tighter and lowered his head to her ear. 

“We’ll see, Sweetheart. We’ll see. Love you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you for reading ❤️ I hope you enjoyed it 🥰 this will most likely be the last one shot for a while. I have my sequel to publish, a smutty challenge and a battle to win! Busy. But I’ll be back at some point. Thank you, have a lovely evening ❤️

If you enjoyed this, I have many more smutty JakexMC one shots on my Masterlist 🥰

[catboydan]

helloooo i am curious about "Hmmmm" since that's just such a vague doc title, what's it actually about? also going to ask about phoenix since it's at the top of the list and you said that's the stuff that's closest to done!

(in re: the wip game)

well the fun thing about Hmmm is that it's actually just straight up smut lmao. the premise is catboys dnp uni professor phil x about-to-graduate dan smut in phil's office. it's the shortest of the bunch cuz it's a one-shot, and is surprisingly the only one on the list to feature catboys.

phoenix is fully-fledged enough that I can give u most of a little blurb! it's got about 20k, not counting the outline rn.

After dying at sea, Dan is reincarnated as a phoenix, stuck eternally putting up with an existence he only wants to escape. He struggles to find meaning in his life and come to terms with his role among the people of [location name tbd], who can't help but deify him. And then, a mysterious man shows up: an Elf from the veiled Albion--whose presence itself signals danger. As Dan investigates, he learns the Elf harbours a kind heart and a dangerous secret. Threats begin to converge from every angle, and Dan has to decide who he is--who he wants to be, [etc] (blurb isn't finished yet lmao but it gives the gist)

The title is tentatively Dogwood and Cherry Trees! it's set in a very forgotten realms-esque fantasy setting, though the locations are sneakily actually real. PJ is there as a traveling merchant who stops by regularly, there's a fortune teller, unicorns, some silly scenes, lots of angst and some whump, and dan's eternal quest to eat tasty food. The meat of the narrative takes place over a few decades, as Phil ducks in and out of the area Dan lives, trying not to stay in one place for too long for Reasons, but risking it for, well, you know.

sneak peak below the cut ;)

"It's beautiful," Phil mused, almost absentmindedly. Dan looked over to see he held aloft a single leaf, still green, on the smaller side, and a little brown from the drought. He stared as if inspecting it closely.

"Hm?" Dan asked.

"It's just lovely. The tree, too." Phil continued rotating the leaf's stem slowly between his thumb and forefinger.

The air had shifted. Sometime in the last few minutes, the small hours of the night had arrived, the time for sentimentality, the time for truths. Dan swallowed.

He could—but no. One of them was keeping mysterious secrets, and it wasn’t Dan. It wasn’t Dan. It wasn’t.

Instead, Dan tilted his head up to regard the cherry tree. It looked just like all the other trees in the orchard. “It sure is a tree,” he joked after a moment.

Phil attempted to throw the leaf at him, but it fluttered against the air and landed next to Phil’s shoulder instead. “Stop it. You know what I mean.”

“Sure,” Dan agreed. “Nature is beautiful, and all that.”

Phil’s head lolled to the side to look at Dan. “You don’t get it?”

“No, I do,” Dan insisted. “It is pretty out here. But that doesn’t mean you’d catch me looking at a leaf like I want to kiss it,” he teased.

Surprisingly, Phil didn’t react, instead just turning back to look up at the sky through the sparse canopy. The silence felt awkward. Dan cursed himself. Why’d he have to always default to making stupid jokes? Couldn’t he lean into the [feeling in the air] and be serious for once?

But thankfully, Phil eventually replied. “I guess it’s different for me. It’s just, everything in the Kingdom is so different. It’s all curated, styled. Every tree or shrub or flower is picked out. But out here stuff just… grows. It just is.”

Dan gestured to the trees around them, growing in a small grid of straight-ish lines. “Phil, we’re in an orchard. It’s absolutely curated.” He’d done a lot of work curating it, in fact. “But,” he added before Phil could cut in, “I get what you mean. Out there.” He waved a hand towards the edge of the orchard, where the forest proper began.

“No, really, even here. Even the orchards in the Kingdom are pristine,” Phil said. “Not a blade of grass out of place.” He plucked the flower of a clover patch near him. “They’d never allow this to grow.” He paused. “I think you’d have to see it to really get it.”

Then Phil quieted for a while and continued to gaze at the sky above. Dan chose to stay quiet too, against his nature, hoping Phil might continue. He struggled to control his breathing, keeping it at a steady pace despite his heartbeat speeding up. Was he finally going to talk about the Albion?

Eventually, miraculously, Phil took a deep breath and began. “The buildings, the walkways, they’re made of cast stone. Moulded by a wizard to be perfectly shaped. The paths are lined with trees that are always in bloom, perfect grassy meadows, beautiful flowers. They get seeds from all over the world. Landscapers compete to make the prettiest and the rarest decorative plants. Leaves with weird colours, bigger and brighter flowers, making some of them tiny or maybe huge. Stuff like that.

“I heard we used to have a whole forest, but I don’t know how big it was. It’s not there anymore, not really. It’s like a big garden now. People go there and wander around and go on dates and mingle. It’s a destination, I guess. And caring for it is a full-time job, ‘cause it’d die without upkeep. I’ve seen it happen. Things can just—“ Phil made a poof motion with his hands, “—they can just crumble, once they’ve been changed. Like literally, into dust.

“But that’s normal in the Kingdom. Everything requires upkeep.” Phil shrugged. “And it really is pretty, definitely. But it’s so intentional. So of course it’s pretty; it’s supposed to be.

“But out here, everything just feels more real. [Loc name] is real. It just exists. No one carved it into existence. Anteios—the whole Albion, really—it’s nice, but it’s also just kind of boring.”

Dan absorbed every word. Phil hadn’t looked at him the whole time he’d talked, but Dan hadn’t been able to look away.

And as always, Dan felt like he understood Phil perfectly. “It’s not authentic,” he said.

Phil smiled gently towards the sky. “Yeah, exactly. It’s not authentic. Maybe that’s what everything here has. [Loc name] isn’t here for any particular reason, it’s just here. The people just look like themselves, not trying to perfect themselves with a glamour. The land, the people, that leaf, they’re all beautiful. I don’t think anything Albionian can ever be beautiful in the same way.”

As Dan gazed at Phil, and Phil gazed at the stars, Dan did not deny Phil’s claim aloud; but, heart racing, with the smallest, quietest voice hiding in the deepest part of his consciousness, Dan disagreed.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Domestic Fluff (2) Masterlist

2009, 2012, 2019, 2022 (ao3) - OliveTheHobbit

Summary: “Most people have like yearly photo books, we have this weird ass videos” - Daniel Howell, some bloopers from phil is not on fire 10.

Some of the memories they gathered along the way got fresh in their minds at the moment they decided to buy a photo album.

In celebration to Dan and Phil’s 10th anniversary.

adapt (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: this is the story of how dan grew to love neon lights

A Day in the Life of Dan and Phil in Quarantine! (ao3) - silentdescant

Summary: Phil posts a Day in the Life video of a typical day in quarantine.

a room full of my safest sounds (ao3) - snsk

Summary: day five: domestic fluff

A Sleepless Night With Phil (ao3) - Not_Dans_Secret_Account

Summary: A jet-lagged Sleepless Night With Phil

baby blue and bubblegum pink (ao3) - phantasticworks

Summary: Dan paints his nails. Phil wants to try it.

Basically I’m Gay (ao3) - ChainedKura

Summary: Dan is editing his coming out video when a deep sadness takes over his body. Lucky for him, he counts with a Phil Lester on his side that will do everything in his power to make his partner feel better.

blankets, coffees and afternoon naps (ao3) - zsunsetz

Summary: Blankets, coffee and afternoon naps have become the new normal.

Coming Clean and Kisses on Screen (ao3) - hygge

Summary: Dan and Phil are finally ready to make the news of their marriage and their new family public.

Dan and Phil and DOG (ao3) - nivi_chip

Summary: It’s Phil’s birthday, and Dan gets him a gift that’s long overdue

Dan and Phil Make 'Food Stew' - The Howlter Family Edition (ao3) - gerardopoly

Summary: Dan and Phil feature their son Dil in a special episode of their "baking" series. They both had thought it would be a great way to display their relationship as a family on film, and a way to change their content up a bit. However, the roles are switched around when the couple play the sous chefs, and their son, as the head chef. Come on down and learn to make the perfect 'food stew' on this special episode of cooking with Dan and Phil (+ Dil).

Doing Nothing Often Leads To The Very Best Of Something (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: based on this (x) and a lil imagine i wrote (x) and expanded on so thanks to the lovely anon who originally sent “that pic phil posted of dan for his bday i think where dan is making a funny face and theres a nearly empty wine bottle in the background hhhhh that makes my demon heart drop” and to the lovely anon who asked for more!

Home With A Heartbeat (ao3) - JenCollins, WordsAblaze

Summary: Uni’s hard, so sometimes Dan ends up missing lunch. This time he goes to Phil, who gives him not only worried looks, a meal, and cooking skills, but also a home.

kitchen hazards (ao3) - manchestereye (orphan_account)

Summary: dan and phil take cooking lessons, only for shit to hit the fan

Magical Healing Properties (ao3) - adorkablephil (kimberly_a)

Summary: Phil’s sick and wants his mum’s chicken soup

Night In (ao3) - antiadvil

Summary: Phil feels bad after a five second fight with his boyfriend. He is extra soft to make up for it.

security! (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan comes home to Phil after tour rehearsals. They cook, kiss and banter. And Dan reflects on the word "security".

the stupid sushi bubble bath fic (ao3) - itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)

Summary: dip and pip cuddle and eat sushi and take a bubble bath like the nerds they are.

Today Is For Us (ao3) - CaibrynM

Summary: Dan and Phil take a day for themselves in between the tour ending, planning for their premiere in Brazil and the upcoming Christmas Holidays. Lots of Fluff and a little smut.

Worth the Wait (ao3) - JudeAraya

Summary: It’s pretty hard to stay mad at Phil, even when he’s forgotten date night.

[phregnancy]

alé phregnancy there were no fics on ao3 for a whole day and the two that were just posted were bottom dans 😭 do you have any fic recs to help me get through this difficult time

i actually haven’t been reading a whole lot of smut lately if that’s what you’re after but i do have a handful of sfw recs!

fade into view - office work crush au, not complete but actively following and love the dynamics so far

nylon is for delicate work - forensic linguist x lawyer au, also not complete yet but i am obsessed

i split the apple down symmetrical lines + fall in love again and again - sweet oneshots about them taking care of each other by the same author

terrible headache: the tour by the lovely @antiadvil - great oneshot about phil getting a migraine on tour

[queerofcups]

ohhh SO curious about J & T!!! :)

hey tomato!

J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?

ooh some of my favorite tropes are sex pollen, curtainfic,mail-order brides, exes-to-lovers and, this isn't really a trope but any pairing that you look at and can name at least ten reasons why its a bad idea.

I've written exes-to-lovers, and started but never finished a mail-order bride fic. arguably all of my Dan and Phil fanfiction is curtainfic more or less. i feel like I'm never able to strike quite the right level of fucked-up but not non-con state that I personally like for sex pollen.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

There are several tropes that I don't like (most kidfic, coffee shop aus, most fluff fic) but I'll still read it if I trust the author enough?

And then there are crossovers. Specifically crossovers where its not just "take x characters and put them in y fandom" (which, I suppose is actually a Fandom Y!@AU) but "take x characters and put them in y fandom and have them interact with the stories and plots from y fandom". barf. i don't know what about it is so hateful and shlocky to me, but I don't like it! god I hate Harry Potter AUs so fucking much. Sorry to anyone reading who has written one of those. I don't hate you, just your choices lol (haha. I'm kidding...).

Also, I'm trying to read more femslash and I'm very suspicious of the huge prevalence of...women with dicks who are very clearly not written as trans women. Like I don't know if futanari can be classified as a trope so much as a genre? But that's very clearly what's happening and I find it very suspicious. Its giving misogyny in a bad Scooby-Doo mask. its giving: "Its not real sex if there's not a dick present, also I'm afraid of pussy, actually".

Ooh, also, again, not a trend per se, but smut that reads like it was written for a sex ed class, or some shit that came straight out of BDSM 101. Beloveds, I'm not gonna say no one needs a safe word for vanilla sex, but you better give me a plot reason for why they can just say "no".

[marceltheshellwithflipflopson]

20 questions for fic writers

thanks for the tag @becomethesun <3<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

11!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

allegedly 46,015, but 5,569 of those words were technically written by @freetobeyouandmichi-me in our shared au! (love ya)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

the last of us

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. cold is the water

2. buckets of rain / shelter from the storm

3. you love me so hard and i still can't sleep

4. matchbox

5. patron saints

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES when @toointojoelmiller said ao3 comments were better than drugs she was RIGHT! but fr they make me giddy every time, even if it's just a singular emoji or a bunch of exclamation points

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

maybe creature fear? just because it's so early days joel and ellie, so there's no warm and fuzzies to be had anywhere. wouldn't say it's angsty though

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i'm kind of incapable of writing a sad ending, so it's a three way tie between my fluffiest children (1) buckets of rain / shelter from the storm, (2) mountain high, valley low, river wide, and (3) fisherman hats and carpet stains

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not YET thank GOD

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do not

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i haven't but i have a prospect x tlou crossover in the earliest of early stages

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

kinda yes! michi wrote Roll for Halloween Hijacks for our modern au and was kind enough to name me as co-author

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i'm lame and most of my ships are just the ones that are already canon :/ but if i had to pick a wild card, i was oddly obsessed with peter parker/harley keener back in the marvel heyday

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i really don't want to speak this into existence, but literally any of my ideas for longfics

16. What are your writing strengths?

fluff, dialogue, authentic characters

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

underwriting, writing consistently, whump/angst

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i do not think i would be any good at this

19. First fandom you wrote for?

should i lay bare all the skeletons in my closet rn? on a tumblr that i deleted over a decade ago, i wrote a few random one-shots of fred weasley/reader, george weasley/reader, remus lupin/reader, sirius black/reader, (brace yourselves) dan howell/reader, and phil lester/reader ... what the fuck i even shipped phan so idk why i did this

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

this is a hard question but i think my home (far away). it challenged me and took me out of my comfort zone but at the same time it was some of the most fun i've ever had writing

no pressure tags! @lkay-09 @two-birds-alone-together @boopernatural (also sorry, you were probably already tagged bc of our braincell hivemind lol)

[utter-disarray]

i fear the fanfic writers writing about the amazing digital circus, even on ao3, are all children. and not like children as in 16-17 year olds, but children as in middle schoolers who just learned what smut is

the writing style is giving phannies writing dan x phil #emo #teenagers #british fanfic in 2013. its giving one direction your mom sold you to harry styles after he saw you reading a book at a concert. it’s giving bad boy x reader anime wattpad fics in 2015

these children are not seasoned writers and that is not their fault at all but god. very unfriendly reminder that it takes every new fandom like 5 years for the kids who are the most passionate about it, with the most amount of time to indulge in the content and make their own, to grow up enough to 1. become better at writing, drawing, etc. and 2. grow out of being weird and parasocial

time is a flat circle, the cycle repeats, we’ve been here before etc etc etc. i hope for nothing but the best for these kids. please god keep them away from all the gross shit online 🙏

[sapphicstumph]

Fic Comms

hello tumblr! i haven't posting on here much lately BUT i am trying to get back into writing and thought a good way to do so would be to open up fic commissions. these commissions will be on a pay what you can/donation basis and will vary in length based on what the request is. i've set up a ko-fi to take payment and to get requests and my ao3 is also linked, though there are only a couple pretty old fics on there so i'll probably post some wip or drabbles soon so people can have a bit of a better sampling of my writing style. i'll do pretty much any bandom ship as well as dan and phil and possibly go outside of these as well as long as i am familiar with the source material. i am also open to doing x reader fics. my one boundary right no is no smut since i am not the best at writing it and don't want anyone to pay for anything that i am not going to be happy with. if you have any further questions feel free to message me or put them in my ask box. :)

[allthebestcowboyshavedaddyissues]

how many works do you have on ao3?

41! there’s a couple i’m getting ready to go up though

what's your total ao3 wordcount?

223,077

what fandoms do you write for?

currently: fall out boy/bandom rpf, lost, smallville, supernatural (& rpf for that also)

top 5 fics by kudos

there’s actually two beds (supernatural rpf)

The California Effect (supernatural)

Superficial (supernatural)

After the Beep (supernatural)

love times five (smallville)

do you respond to comments?

usually all of them:)

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

damn this is like a competition ummmm…Bite or Semper Fidelis & Armageddon in Clay Motion or Doors, hard to say?

what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

pfftttt. Something Familiar, Something New & Dean Smith’s Guide to Happy Holidays (With Bloodplay)

do you get hate on fics?

once

do you write smut?

rarely but yea, prefer reading to writing in that area

craziest crossover?

Lost x The ‘Burbs from lostoween. Insanely awesome.

have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of!

have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

have you co-written a fic before?

@obsessivedaydreamer YES!

all time favorite ship?

GAH um peterick. long years of rpf brainrot but my first tumblr account was dedicated to dan and phil so!

what's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

those are fighting words because i SWEAR i will finish it but Superficial. it deserves more attention because i still find the concept great i just haven’t felt drawn to it since i actually posted it unfortunately

what are your writing strengths?

i think i tend to keep things in character, or i try my best to, anyway. i think endings should pack a punch or hold some weight so i try to make everything i write have an ending i’m proud of even if i don’t like the project much overall. i think my humor is pretty good! a bit over the top in crack fics but i like it that way depending on the vibe i’m going for!

what are your writing weaknesses?

smut always feels SO awkward even though everyone says its fine i just haven’t gotten over the hump yet LOL. sometimes i feel myself losing velocity midway through and i hate that because i love when EVERY part of a story is interesting. also, internal dialogue when writing in third person / multiple points of view.

thoughts on dialogue in another language?

haven’t done it yet. kind of dread ever doing it. i think it’s great though!

first fandom you wrote in?

😬😬😬 i think winx club possibly? i don’t really remember but i deleted my old dan/phil and harry potter works off ao3 in 2016 i think

favorite fic you've written?

can i talk about vent again. please. pretty please. i reread that one OFTEN because it blows my mind that i wrote it? it’s not fanfic-y and i love that about it (nothing wrong with that OBVIOUSLY i have no problem with ridiculous crack i just like how different it feels for me). semper fidelis remains a strong favorite because i love character studies & projecting 🩵 doors/ACM for lost because those made me feel like i was on fire when writing.

tagged by the lovely arizona but free/open tag for anyone who wants to do it!

[dramaphan]

whos gonna write a girl in prague x sam the surfer enemies to lovers fic / eventual threesome with amazingphil / slowburn

I'll allow the Phil smut as long as you include Dan standing outside the window in the rain

[demonqueenart]

Dan x Phil x Golden pig threesome smut, anyone? 👀

how have I not noticed this little threesome until now