#i’m crying . i’m crying over them at 11am

[hyunlore]

@v3n0mszn

mischievous puppy and his accomplice

[brandogenius]

HC - Cosy days with Julien and reader!

Please note: this is an 18+ blog and RPF! minors do not interact! this is my first post on here so i’m sorry if it’s not the best 😭 my requests are open and i’m hoping to be posting more over the weekend :)

- the days that julien’s free from work are one of the best days. it means sleeping in late with you, making breakfast together and getting to watch tv shows and sappy romantic movies until late in the night.

- julien’s 99.99% of the time is a big spoon. always wrapping her arms around you in a protective manner. either resting her head on your shoulder, pressed up against your back, or you curled into her chest. eithet way, she loves holding you.

- those rare days it might be a day where juliens come down with the flu / is sick and has to take some time off work- she’ll only be the little spoon when under the weather. knowing you’re there with her, she’ll just melt into your chest, holding onto you tightly and not letting go.

- sleeping in till late. i mean 12pm. having used to getting up early for tour, going to the studio, julien likes being able just lay in bed and admire you while you sleep.

- adding onto this ^ julien usually wakes up at 11am so she’ll just lay in silence twirling or playing with your hair while you sleep, head laying on her chest with the sun shining through the curtains.

- making breakfast together listening to the soft music on the radio

- juliens favourite thing to do is wrap her arms around you while you’re cooking and both of you just sway to the soft jazz music in the background

- some days you might go out to a local cafe for breakfast

- both of you arguing to pay for the others food, julien wins of course with a smug grin

- trips to the farmers market

- julien loves to buy flowers for you all the time. usually will buy them when you’re not looking

- always loves to have some soft music playing in the house at all times. whether it be her vinyls or cds.

- cuddling on the couch while she tells story’s of what happened in the studio the other day

- definitely sings you some of the unfinished / unreleased songs she’s working on at the moment

- if it’s summer / spring it means making picnics and going to the beach or to the park

- free days for julien is kinda one of those days where she’s like “i want to do everything in one day, i want to do this with you, that with you etc”

- just wants to relish in the free time she has with you, if it’s as simple as just cuddling on the couch all day or going for a walk through botanical gardens

- usually orders take out in the evening

- starting up netflix to rewatch the sappy romantic love movies you’ve totally not watched more than 5 times

- julien pretending to not be phased by the movie but you can see her getting more intrigued by the movie as it goes on

- “me crying?? no pfft absolutely not. it’s the lighting duh”

- baths together with candle light and a bathbomb

- taking turns in washing each others hair

[ghoststyles]

Fairway to Heaven - Part 6

WC: 8.8K

Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

_________________________________________________________________

Instead of hurt, betrayal or disgust, Briar feels heartbroken. Heartbroken Harry had to endure that. She moves closer, embracing him in a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he violently cries into her shoulder. She rubs circles on his back, letting him get out his upset and frustration. 

“You didn’t deserve that. At all,” Briar says softly. Harry nods, just thankful she’s not upset at him. It took him years of therapy to be able to openly speak about his situation. 

“Do you know his name?”

“Oliver,” Harry rasps. 

“That’s beautiful. I bet he looks so much like you. I bet he has your kind eyes. Your charm. Your ability to make anyone feel special. I bet he’s clumsy like you. And I bet he’d like to meet you, too,” Briar says slowly. 

Harry cries harder, the sobs wracking his body.

They sit there for over an hour before Harry finally calms down. He musters up the courage to look at her. His eyes are so puffy and red, and snot is dripping from his nose.

“I understand if you’re upset with me, and if you never want to see me again,” he sighs in defeat. 

“Harry, look at me,” Briar grabs his face and runs her thumb along his cheek. “I’m absolutely not mad. I wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone. I want to help you deal with this, whatever way you need to.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I think I want to sleep for a while.” 

“Of course, let’s go up.”

~

“Harry, baby. Wake up,” Briar whispers, gently waking Harry from his sleep. It’s well past 11AM. She called Niall to let him know Harry isn’t feeling well. 

Harry stirs, the memories of last night flooding his mind. He’s not even sure if he slept. Briar runs her finger nails along his back, gently soothing him.

“I called us both out of work today, so we’re going to spend it how you want to.”

Harry exhales. He can’t even think of the last time he took a day off. Or the last time he had a panic attack. The two probably coincide.

When Camille left him, he buried himself in work. He quickly rose to the top as an associate, eventually becoming a manager. Now that his predecessors are retiring, Harry sometimes works from 6AM until 8PM. Even on Christmas Day. 

He takes some labored deep breaths.

“Can we go get breakfast?” 

Briar scrunches her eyebrows, not expecting his answer.

“Of course. Take your time getting dressed.” 

Briar leaves the room, already having been up and dressed for hours. She tossed and turned wondering how anyone could treat him that way. Harry loves so strongly and so deeply. She already knows he’d be an incredible father, based on his love for Gus. But, she didn’t know him in his 20’s and 30’s. Maybe he wasn’t as mature as he his now.

Her heart broke again watching him sleep. He looked sad, even when unconscious.

Harry eventually comes downstairs, slowly and solemnly. He pets Gus, reveling in his fluff. He is truly their emotional support dog.

“C-can we go to this place to get a full English? You’ve had it before, right?”

“Yes, when I went to London in high school. Will you eat my beans?”

Harry laughs softly, “Yes, I’ll eat your beans.”

She guides him out to her car, knowing he’s probably not in a state to drive. She’s too nervous to drive his nice car. It’s a beautiful day, so she took the top of her jeep off. She can’t wait to see his hair flying in the wind.

They pull up to his requested breakfast spot. The parking lot is a little deserted. She is relieved, because if he needs to cry a little he can do so without judgement.

The waitress greets them with a chipper tone, but quickly adjusts based on their sad demeanor. Briar orders them both a coffee and full English breakfasts. 

They sit in silence for a while.

“I know I don’t know her, but, should you call your mom? Is this something you’d talk to her about?” 

“I did in the beginning; my sister, too. But then it just became a cycle of discussing the same thing over and over. So I just stopped bringing it up.”

Briar nods, knowing the feeling. After her dad died, she was enrolled in therapy. As a 6 year old, she didn’t have much else to talk about. 

“I saw a therapist for a while. I was a little unwilling to talk about any of my other issues, so after a while they just gave me a prescription and sent me on my way. I felt like I got kicked out.” 

Briar grabs his hand across the table, squeezing it. “That’s the tough part of it; they give you the tools and you’re supposed to just figure out how to use them. There were so many times I just wished my therapist had told me what to do and what to say.”

Harry hums. The food arrives a few minutes later. He gently breaks his egg yolk, “I’d really like you to meet my mum and sister.”

She smiles, “Aw, yes, I’d love to. It didn’t even cross my mind since you met mine so early on. Well, not my mom, I guess.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” He asks, happy to move onto a different topic.

Briar blows air out of her mouth as she tries to recall the last time she saw her mother. 

“Christmas, I guess.” 

“Can I meet her? Or do you just want to wait until it happens organically?” 

“No, no. I should call her soon, anyway. I’ll try and set something up,” Briar says, pushing her food around. She supposes they're both facing their demons head-on today. “Do you mind if my brothers come? They usually need to be coerced into seeing her.”

“Of course not. Whatever is most comfortable for you guys.” 

They eat in silence, only speaking up when the waitress returns to the table every so often.

“I send him birthday cards,” Harry says, staring at his hands.

Briar lifts her head, giving him a look to continue his thought.

“Every year around Christmas time. I’m not even really sure when his birthday is. I’ve never written a note, or anything. I just sign my name ‘Harry’. For all I know, she’s never even told him about me. Or even given him the cards.”

Briar’s sadness returns, evident in her facial expression. 

“H-have you tried contacting your mutual friend? The one that introduced you?”

“I did, years ago. Everything was kind of fresh at that point, and I definitely think he took sides. I’m pretty sure they’re together now. His parents own an art gallery and are involved in high-society over there,” he coughs. “I just look  like a schmuck in comparison. The craziest part of it all, I don’t know what I did to deserve no contact. I’m scared I’ll die never knowing.” 

Briar closes her eyes, willing herself not to cry, “Did you ever fly to France to try and find her? Or her family?” 

“I did. Once. I’d say about 6 months later. I drank whiskey the entire flight to Paris. I didn’t even have any luggage with me. I just marched off the plane and went to where I last knew she lived. I should’ve known her keeping her Paris apartment meant something.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Briar says softly. 

“I knocked on the door. She opened it so quickly. I think she was expecting someone else. Her jaw dropped, and she tried to close the door on me. I was able to get inside, but she started throwing bottles at me. Then she threatened to get a restraining order against me. She was really showing at that point, so I didn’t want it the police to get involved.” 

Briar is horrified the more he tells her. 

“I went home to my mum’s for a while. Then flew back to the US and just went back to work. I can’t say I’ve done anything substantial since then.” 

“Oh, stop. You renovated a gorgeous house. You started going back to Wynnewood. You’ve become your own boss,” Briar rattles off his accomplishments.

“I just thought I’d be married by now,” Harry chokes up a bit. She moves to his side of the table, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“I know this is ironic coming from a 23 year old; but, there’s no timeline on life, baby. You faced adversity and are moving on from it. That takes a lot of courage.” 

Harry chuckles, wiping away a stray tear. Briar is so emotionally intelligent for a 23 year old. 

They leave the café, opting to go back to Harry’s house. They grab books from his shelf and read them outside on his comfy lounge chair under the cabana, hoping the sunshine heals them both. Harry eventually dozes off, finally achieving deep sleep after a rocky 24 hours. 

Briar massages his head, twirling his curls in between her fingers. As much as she wants to comfort him, she can’t help her tendencies to meddle. 

She visits Niall’s Instagram, immediately checking his following list. She scrolls, closely examining every profile to find even a tiny breadcrumb that could lead her to Camille. Harry never said her last name, so she’ll have to pull out the big guns of internet stalking.

Nothing stands out tremendously; He doesn’t follow many people. Just a few OnlyFans models, golf companies and Barstool Sports. She spots a familiar name, Lydia…Where does she know that name from?

Briar’s thumb gives one last ditch effort scroll, when she lands on an account: @Fingermonkey

She clicks on it, and her heart immediately stops. Camille. The woman who made her boyfriend lose sight of who he was. The account is public, so she cautiously proceeds. 

She’s a striking woman; she can see why Harry fell for her. She exudes beauty and class. It’s almost palpable.

Briar shudders, unsure if she should continue. She’s on her page for selfish reasons; to see Harry’s son. Her curiosity gets the best of her. She scrolls some more, before stopping at a photo of a tiny hand. Briar bites her lip, staring back down at Harry.

“No going back,” she whispers to herself.

After another few scrolls, she finds what she’s looking for. It’s from around 5 years ago. Camille is holding a tiny boy with dark brown curls and green eyes, bright as day. They’re on the swings, bright smiles adorning their faces. 

Briar feels like she’s been sucker punched in the stomach. He’s a beautiful little boy. A boy Harry never even got the chance to love and help raise. She takes several deep breaths and scrolls back even further to 8 years prior. 

Another blow. The engagement photos.

Briar winces, zooming in. They seem to be taken in California, just as the sun is setting. Camille is holding Harry’s face as she kisses him, the ring being the main focal point. She reads the caption:

J'ai trouvé mon éternité.

I found my forever.

She clicks off Camille’s page, rolling her eyes. She clears the search history, knowing she’s been caught stalking in the past.

Briar has so many questions. 

Does she want Harry to find her? Why is Niall still following her? 

~

Briar is physically at Wynnewood, but mentally elsewhere. After her stalking session, Harry woke up feeling better, so they decided she should go home. As much as he loves her company, he always needs alone time to process things. She was happy to oblige, needing her own time to breathe.

Briar is taking inventory after her shift when she spots Niall on the practice green. A lump forms in her throat, but she knows she needs to confide in him. He smiles, waving her over. 

“Hey, Briar. I heard about the other day. I was up in the clubhouse already when everything went down. How’re you doing?” He asks, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m good, thanks for asking. Everything was taken care of, so I just needed some time to shake it off.” 

He nods, fiddling with his putter. Niall looks around, not really sure what else to say.

“Hey, Niall, can I ask you something?”

His eyes go wide, clearing his throat, “Listen, if it’s about Lydia and I…”

Finally, it clicks. Lydia from the party. Lydia who told her she’s also dating someone from the club. Briar gasps, “I, uh, what?” 

“Fuck.”

Briar crosses her arms in front of herself, “Um, I was just going to tell you that Harry told me about Camille, and about the baby.”

“Fuuuuck,” Niall scratches the back of his head. “Can you ignore what I said before?”

Briar laughs, “For now. We can talk about that later. I just wanted to see if you had other insight. It was obviously a very emotionally charged conversation.”

“Yeah. Are you off now? Do you want to go inside for a drink?”

She nods and waits for him to clean up his stuff. They walk back to the clubhouse in silence, so Briar grabs a table outside while Niall changes in the locker room. The club is empty enough, so she’s not worried about members seeing them together.

He sits down, sighing, “I-I don’t really know how to proceed. Do you just want to tell me what he’s told you?”

“Sure,” she says quietly. Briar begins filling him in about their dinner at Ashmont and Jonathan revealing more than Harry was willing to share. Her heart races as she shares more details.

“That’s tough, darling. I know he was going to tell you eventually. The situation absolutely wrecked him. It took years to feel like I had my friend back.” 

She nods, biting her lip, staring down at her shoes. Harry bought her a pair of lavender and white New Balances; her initials stitched in the tongue. 

“You’re a very rational person, even at your age,” he smiles, leaning to put his elbows on his knees. “So, I know you’ll both work through it. But, what are your feelings?”

Briar sucks in a breath. “I’m not angry, and I want to support him, of course. But, I can’t help but have this sinking feeling in my stomach. I did some Instagram stalking.”

“You found Camille on there?”

“Yeah, through your account,” she waits for Niall to look back up at her.

He meets her eyes, “I keep a distance. I don’t speak to her or our mutual friends from study abroad. But I like to keep tabs. He’s my mate and I want to protect him.” 

Briar nods, picking the skin at her cuticles. 

“He’s a cute kid, isn’t he?” Niall smiles. 

“Yeah, he is. Harry didn’t deserve that. At all,” she says, sitting back in her seat. “Should I meddle? Or just stay out of it?”

“I would hate to see this kid get any older without meeting his father. And, if you think you’ll be,” he trails off, smiling to himself. “Sticking around for a while, I think you have the influence on him to face it head on.”

“I hope I’ll be sticking around for a while,” she smiles.

~

Briar feels slightly better after talking to Niall. She has to remember to ask Harry if he knew about Lydia. 

Briar was in need of some cathartic release. If Harry was willing to face this obstacle, she’s willing to face hers. She sits in the driver’s seat of her Jeep and scrolls her list of contacts before landing on Catherine Barlowe. 

She dials, going through several cycles before finally being answered on the final ring. 

“Hi, Bri. How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m so good, honey. I’m so happy to hear from you. Dean and I are actually getting ready to move in a few weeks.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” Briar scrunches her eyebrows. That means her mom is selling the house she bought with her dad. The house she lived her first 9 years in before her mother’s addiction led to the 5 of them being placed with her aunt and uncle. 

“I thought your brother may have told you. We’re going to California, honey.”

“Who? I thought the last time we all saw you was at Christmas time? And why California?” 

“Jasper. He comes to see me. A lot more recently. The other boys only contact me when you do. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from Welles on his own,” Catherine sighs. “Dean is from California. He has young daughters, so we’re moving there to be closer to them. You remember? I told you about them.”

Tears begin welling in Briar’s eyes. Her mother, now 4 years sober and remarried gets to go play house with Dean’s young children. Instead of tending to her own.

“Yeah, I remember. There’s three of them, right? But they weren’t at the wedding,” Briar says quietly, remembering the rushed ceremony that took place the week after they finished their program together. Welles was furious, Jasper and Callum didn’t say a word, and Cormac cried the entire time. Patrick couldn’t bear to go. Meredith went in support of the siblings. 

“Yes, he didn’t have custody rights at the time. But, that’s all settled now. We’re so happy, Bri.”

“I’m glad, Mom. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to see if you’d be interested in going out to lunch soon. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend,” she rasps out.

“That sounds great, honey. Just text me the details. Talk soon.”

“Bye,” Briar chokes, throwing her phone into the passenger seat. She takes a few deep breaths to regulate her breathing. The tears continue to fall as she pulls out of the parking lot of Wynnewood. 

Her phone begins to buzz, seeing Harry’s contact photo pop up.

“Hi,” she says solemnly before placing the phone between her shoulder and ear. 

“Hi, Birdie. Are you okay?” He asks, sensing her tone.

“Yeah, yep, I’m good. What’s up?”

“Nothing, I figured you’re leaving Wynnewood. Was gonna see if you want to grab Gus and come over. I can make us dinner.”

“Um, I’m kind of tired. Think I’m just gonna go home, if that’s alright.”

“No, yeah, of course, love. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Bye.”

She hangs up, not even bothering to say bye. Briar knows she shouldn’t take it out on Harry, but she’s struggling to hold herself together. She hears a crack of thunder before feeling thick rain drops hit her face.

“Fuck!” 

Briar never put her Wrangler’s roof back on the other day. The droplets get more intense as she nears her apartment. Pulling into her spot, she frantically runs to her storage area to grab her roof parts. 

It’s down pouring now, but she charges forward with her parts, lining them against the car. Her biceps are burning trying to lift the piece on top of the car. Tears are starting to roll down her face, her hair beginning to stick to her neck.

Briar squeezes her eyes closed, defeated as she feels two arms wrap around her. She whips her head around, startled by her boyfriend. 

“What’s going on, love? Let me help,” Harry says, pulling her down from the step of her Jeep. She steps to the side under her apartment’s overhang, watching him effortlessly put the roof of her Jeep back together. He’s absolutely soaked, his gray sweatpants now a charcoal color. She watches the way his back muscles move under his white t-shirt. 

He fastens the parts from the inside of the car before grabbing her backpack in one hand, and her hand in the other. He guides her to her apartment while fumbling with her keys. Gus greets them at the door, unsure who to go to first. 

Harry sits Briar down on her ottoman before grabbing the fuzzy blanket from her sofa.

“What’s going on? I’m a little scared,” Harry says, his eyes full of concern. 

She takes a shaky breath before sobs take over her whole body. She folds in on herself, burrowing into the blanket.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she wails. Harry is stunned, unsure what she’s apologizing for.

“I should be supporting you and here I am getting so overwhelmed and then trying to deal with my own bullshit,” Briar cries. He places his hand gently on her back.

“Baby, I’m lost. Did something happen today?”

“I called my mom. She’s moving to California to raise her new husband’s kids,” Briar cries, snot pouring from her nose. “I should’ve fucking known. I don’t even know why I called.”

Harry can’t help but feel a little guilty. He mentioned it at their breakfast to get himself out of the hot seat. She took his bait. 

“And because I can’t stop meddling, I looked up Camille online,” she confesses. “I even talked to Niall about it all.” 

Harry freezes. He figured she would confide in Niall. But he didn’t think she’d look Camille up. He’s too afraid to ask what she found. 

Harry guides her to sit up. He grabs her cheeks with one hand and makes her face him, “Hey. Hey. I need you to breathe, Briar.”

Briar cries harder at his use of her name. She can feel herself start to hyperventilate. He wraps himself around her tight. He holds her until she stops shaking. Gus has brought them 5 of his toys to try and lighten the mood. 

“Gus, go to your bed,” Harry commands, voice deep. Briar flinches. 

She lifts her head, taking in a deep breath.

“I hurt my own feelings today. I went looking for information I shouldn’t’ve,” she admits quietly.

“I think we all do that sometimes. Which part do you want to talk about first?”

Briar loves how diplomatic Harry is. Even when they have their spats, he always makes her feel like an equal partner. She also loves when he completely dominates her in the bed right after.

“W-we can talk about my mom,” she says, assuming that’s the easier of the two. “Her husband has 3 young daughters. So, now my mom gets a do-over. Poof. Our family is just out of the picture.”

Harry sighs. His father did something similar after his parents divorced. It stung for years, and took time to mend. Now they’re very close. 

“That’s awful, Birdie. I’m so sorry. Are you going to see her before she leaves?”

She nods, wiping her nose on his chest, “Yeah, told her about you. Apparently my brother has been visiting her in secret. I’m so angry.”

He smiles lightly, “I’m happy to come along. Or not. Whichever makes you more comfortable. Don’t hold it against him. You all have to deal with things differently.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“Of course, baby. Now, do you want to tell me about the other situation?”

“Only if you want to. I crossed a line,” she starts to cry again.

She wraps her hand within his, squeezing tightly. Comfortable silence is usually never an issue for them, but the tension could be cut with a knife. 

“Well, social media is public information, baby. I could’ve done it years ago, but never did.”

“I saw him,” Briar blurts out. It was now or never.

Harry closes his eyes, feeling nauseous. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s gorgeous, Harry. Really,” she sniffles. “You shouldn’t give up. She’s wrong for what she did. And I want to help you fight for this.”

He can’t help but feel his heart swell with pride. His tough girl is ready to sit in the trenches with him. To fight the biggest demon holding him back from his happiness.

“I wrote a letter years ago,” Harry starts. “Let’s send it.”

Briar gasps, sitting up to face him, “I don’t want you to feel pressured by me.”

“I’m not. I’m not sure if this is too soon, but I already know I want to keep you around for a long, long time. This will help me get over my last hurdle.”

Briar cradles his face, kissing him gently.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

They huddle together.

Briar starts to snicker, “Did you have any idea that Niall and Lydia, the server from the club, are dating?”

Harry’s head shoots up, “Huh?” 

“Okay, good. I would’ve been pissed if you hid that from me."

“How’d you find out?”

Briar laughs, “I said, ‘Hey, Niall, can I ask you something?’ And he confessed immediately.” 

Harry throws his head back laughing.

~

Harry is in his study, silently reading his letter from years ago. His tears are falling onto the paper, dotting and blurring the ink. He was 32 when he wrote this. It sounds old, but he was a kid. It was hard to keep him at home. He had access to disposable income, so he used it to its fullest.

Camille lived a simple life, finding pleasure in gardening, reading and going to cafés. Her job always came first, which kept her busy traveling around the world. Harry was restless; always chasing the next big thing, and partying until his body physically shut down. 

It didn’t help that he was a touchy person. Even though Camille had his whole heart, he shamelessly flirted with other women. He let them hang on him at bars, on yachts, and anywhere he could get attention. People in their circle talk; leaving Harry in the hot seat more than once.

He’d be naïve to blame it on Camille’s attachment style. She was generally cold, not showing him much affection. But, nonetheless he pursued her, absolutely enamored by her beauty and grace. 

He was dumb enough to suggest an open relationship one time; about 6 years into the relationship. His needs in bed became too much for Camille. She didn’t understand his need to get off and dominate her. He slept at a hotel every night that week. She gave him an out, but he couldn’t take it. 

When Camille left, he started hooking up with women more regularly. His heart hurt so bad, but he was finally getting his physical needs met. None of them lasted, until Briar. 

Over the course of 8 years, his heart slowly healed. It’s not ideal that Briar is so much younger, and an employee of his country club. There’s a strange power dynamic there. He loved how flustered she got when he looked at her; she still does sometimes, but he can feel the difference. 

They bring encourage each other’s confidence. They drive each other to be a better version of themselves. They feed each other’s deepest desires; scratching every itch that had been culminating over several years. 

Harry begins rewriting the letter; changing the tone from blinding rage, to one of neutrality. He wishes her well. He hopes she’s healed.

From what? He’s not sure. He hopes she understands his point of view, and will consider letting Harry meet his child. He’d do anything at this point. 

He seals up the letter, addressing it to Camille. Not even sure she still lives at this address, he walks it out to his mailbox anyway, lifting the red flag to signal the post man. 

He feels weight lift from his chest that had been there since the day he met Camille.

~

Briar and Harry are sitting at a nice restaurant on the water. She sips gingerly at her mojito while they wait for her mother to arrive. Briar extended the invite to her brothers, but received radio silence from them all. 

She’s anxiously bouncing her leg, to which Harry firmly grasps her thigh as he locks his jaw. She inhales sharply, closing her eyes. After the emotional turmoil they’ve experienced over the last few weeks, their sex life has toned down immensely. She misses his hand around her neck and his dirty whispers. 

“Relax. I’m right here,” Harry whispers in her ear lowly.

Briar gasps when three of her brothers appear from the restaurant’s entryway. Jasper must’ve picked up Callum and Cormac from Patrick’s.

Briar stands to hug her older brothers, while Harry pulls Cormac in for a hug.

“Where’s Welles?”

“Not sure. I haven’t heard from him,” Callum says simply. 

She rolls her eyes. He’s 28, but he is the most immature out of all of them. 

They sit, easing into a conversation with Harry. She’s grateful she can entertain them while she’s somewhere else in her head. He reaches over to lock pinkies. 

Her mother walks in, looking stunning. That’s one thing that Briar has always been jealous of. It’s why her addiction flew under the radar for so long. She was always put together and exuding happiness. But in secret, she was struggling. 

Her strawberry blonde hair is longer than when she saw her last, loose waves falling over her shoulders. She’s in a floor length floral gown, a sweater over her shoulders to fight the chill of the restaurant. 

She spots them after speaking with the hostess, her smile lighting up the room. 

“Hi, my babies!”

Jasper stands to greet her, while her other brothers hold in a groan. She walks around the circular table to press a kiss to Briar’s head, before turning her attention to Harry.

“And who’s this? Don’t think I popped him out,” she laughs, waiting for Harry to stand up.

“Mom, seriously?” Briar grimaces. 

“Hi, I’m Harry. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Harry says smiling, pulling out the chair for her. 

“Pleasure is all mine, Harry. I’m Catherine. Isn’t my daughter incredible?”

Harry smiles, nodding. He can sense Briar’s discomfort. He assumes this praise is just for show. 

Her mother brings up every topic under the sun, effectively avoiding topics regarding Briar’s father, the move, and her new husband.

They eat, letting Cormac talk about school, Callum talk about grad school and his new girlfriend, and Jasper about his new job. Briar realizes she’s done a shit job at talking to her brothers lately. She doesn’t know any of this.

“Where’s Wellie, Briar? Didn’t you invite him?”

“I did. Didn’t hear from him.”

“It would’ve been nice for you to follow up with him,” Catherine snipes. “It’s not everyday I get to see all five of you.”

“Really? How about you? When was the last time you talked to him?” Briar crosses her arms at her mother.

“It doesn’t matter. This is family time,” Catherine raises her eyebrows, waiting for Briar to snap.

“You know all about that, don’t you mom? Just counting down the minutes until you can go play house with Dean’s kids in California.”

Callum and Cormac look between the two women, stunned. Jasper’s eyes widen.

“California?” Callum questions. “Mom, what is she talking about?”

Catherine looks around, “I thought Jasper would’ve filled you all in. I’m moving to California with Dean to be closer to his kids. They’re younger.”

Jasper looks down, pushing the vegetables around on his plate. Callum shakes his head, throwing his napkin on the table before storming off. Cormac starts to cry, to which Harry puts a hand on his back. 

“Mom, how can you leave?” Cormac asks, his lip quivering. 

“Baby, you’re all adults. You don’t need me anymore.”

“I’m only 17, Mom,” Cormac chokes. 

Briar has tears streaking down her face. Briar hasn’t needed her mother since she was 12 years old, hoping and praying for her to come back. Cormac barely knew her; only fantasizing what their relationship could’ve been. 

Harry pays the bill before suggesting Catherine leaves. She nods, standing to grab her purse. She silently looks each of her children in the eye before walking out of the restaurant. 

“I’m sorry, Bri. I thought she changed,” Jasper says solemnly. 

“It’s okay. You deserve to handle your relationship with her however you want.”

Harry and Briar walk out hand in hand after spending 20 minutes consoling her brothers. 

They climb into Harry’s car, silently staring ahead. Harry grabs her hand again.

“That was rough, pup. I’m sorry,” Harry says softly.

“Can we just go home? I miss you, Daddy.”

Harry clears his throat as his cock twitches.

“You have me, Birdie. Let’s go home.”

~

“Be rough with me,” Briar pleads from the bed. “I want it so bad.”

Harry chuckles as he pulls his belt from the loops on his pants. She’s completely bare, her wrists fastened to each corner of the bed. He opts to leave her feet out of the restraints, hoping he can toss her around a bit. 

“Daddy’s been taking it easy on his Birdie for the last couple weeks,” Harry says, trailing his knuckle along her rib cage. She keens, shivering from the light touch. “But don’t think I forgot about your stunt at Ashmont.”

Briar freezes, remembering their escapades. She taunted him, removing her panties in the stall, waiting for him to come after her. It’s a shame the night turned into a disaster soon after. She whines, not sure what else to do.

“Hm? Remember that, Birdie? Words,” he stares straight into her eyes.

“Yes, Daddy. I was naughty,” she bites her lip. 

He doesn’t like that. He shoves his middle and ring fingers into her mouth, choking her a little. “Leave that lip alone. I bite that.”

She purrs around his digits, goosebumps rising on her skin. He removes them from her mouth before sticking them at her core. He barely grazes her folds, seeing how she’ll react. She jerks around, slightly moving her pelvis to meet his hand. 

“Ah, ah. No. You’ll be taken care of how I decide.” 

She nods, swallowing thickly. She’s eating up everything he throws at her.

“Think I’m gonna take my time tonight,” Harry let’s out an exaggerated sigh. Briar whines, pushing her face into her shoulder. “Mm-mm. None of that.” 

Harry pushes Briar’s legs in the air, holding her ankles together, so the lips of her vagina are peaking out between her thighs. He growls at the sight.

“This little pussy is so used to getting what she wants. What does she want tonight, Birdie?”

“Your mouth, Daddy! Please!” Briar balls her fists, wiggling slightly.

Harry spits, watching the liquid drip down her thighs and cunt, “Nah, I’m good.”

Briar’s jaw locks in frustration. She watches as he walks to his closet grabbing her plug and vibrator. He generously applies lube to the plug, gently circling her ass. Briar closes her eyes, laying her head back. 

He gently pushes the plug in past the tight muscle, moving it in and out a little. 

“Oh my godddd,” Briar exhales. Her chest is rising and dropping fast. 

“I think tonight’s the night, baby.”

Briar whines, half out of horniness and the other out of nervousness. He flicks the vibrator on, pressing it firmly on her clit. She throws her head to the side. 

“Look at me. Don’t look over there,” Harry threatens, increasing the speed. 

She wills her eyes open, staring into his, her mouth opening slightly. The tension is building in her pelvis. She’s sure to come once he starts circling the vibrator on her clit; his signature move. Within seconds of him doing that, she’s crumbling. 

Harry shuts off the vibrator and adjusts her leg position so her legs are open wide, one resting on his shoulder.

“Wanna see your pretty face when I fuck your ass,” He says, peppering kisses on her face and neck.

“Please,” Briar whispers. 

Harry reaches between them and pulls the plug out and tosses it on the floor. He’ll clean it later. He extends his hand to rest in front of her face. 

“Spit.”

She spits on his fingertips, a line of spit connecting them to her lips. He lowers his hand to lightly touch her hole before inserting his middle finger. Briar groans, pulling on her restraints. He quickly inserts another, rocking them in and out of her gently. 

Harry’s cock is neglected, standing tall and proud, nearly touching the tip to his torso. Briar begins to panic, unsure if his girth will fit in there.

“Relax, baby. I got you. Do you remember your word?” He says, petting her cheek.

“Bogey,” she says softly. 

“Good girl,” he kisses her again. Harry has never withheld kisses, even in her worst punishments. “One more and then we’ll go for it, okay?”

“Mhm,” she nods, a single tear escaping her eye. She trusts her boyfriend with her entire being, but her heart rate is skyrocketing. 

The third digit enters her, eliciting a whine. Harry flexes his fingers, giving her a delicious stretch. A thick layer of sweat has formed behind her knees and on her forehead. 

Harry kisses her forehead, licking the saltiness from his lips, “All good, Birdie. Doing so well for me.”

After a few more minutes of stretching her out, Harry pulls his fingers out and lowers himself to be eye level with her ass. He licks a long stripe over the now open hole. Briar shivers, pulling on the restraints.

Harry rises from his spot on the bed to pull his underwear all the way off, his cock bobbing as he moves. He grips his length firmly, giving himself a few generous pumps. He kneels over her, undoing her right hand’s restraint. She looks at him curiously, but understands when he entwines their hands. 

He uses his right hand to line himself up at her delicate center. Briar sucks in a breath in anticipation. Harry presses the bulbous head of his dick in, groaning as he moves. His pace is painstaking, taking in every facial expression from the angel below him. 

“Such a good girl. Letting Daddy be the only one to fuck this little hole,” he pants, nostrils flaring. His forehead is starting to drip with sweat.

“Only you,” she whines as he pushes in little by little.

“Let me know if you need me to stop and take a break, lovie.”

She furiously shakes her head, still holding in a breath. Harry is finally working his way up to full thrusts.

“Breathe with me,” Harry pleads. “1,2,3, exhale.”

Briar feels high. That breath sent her senses all the way to her pussy.

“Daddy,” Briar breathes heavily. 

“What do you need, baby?”

“Fingers. I-In my pussy,” she cries. “Please.” 

“Okay, baby. I know y’empty in there,” he smiles down at her lovingly as he untangles their fingers so he can stick them inside. “So wet f’me.”

The sensations are too much once he starts petting her g-spot with his fingers.

“Coming, Daddy,” she babbles.

“Go ahead, Birdie. So fucking proud of you.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, letting out a cry of relief as she hits her wall. 

Harry chuckles at her babbling. She is fucked out to high heaven. He wants one more out of her before he comes. He alternates thrusting into her ass and fingering her pussy. He releases her other hand from the restraint. She’s too distracted, so her hand remains in the same spot.

“Rub your little clit, baby. One more f’me.”

“Ugggghnnnn,” Briar whines, drool coming out of her mouth. She circles her clit three more times before she’s clenching hard on his fingers and cock.

The squeeze of her ass pushes Harry into his own orgasm, a ringing forming in his ear. He gives two last lazy thrusts, emptying himself into her. He closes his eyes and hangs his head low before slowly pulling out.

Briar squawks, so he shushes her gently. Harry could come again at the sight in front of him. His come is leaking out of her ass hole, dripping onto the sheets below. He picks some up with his finger, smearing it on her pussy. She mewls, her head lolling to the side. 

“So fucking good for me. Gorgeous, baby.”

Harry takes a mental image before hustling to the bathroom. He starts the bath, making sure to throw some epsom salt and lavender oil in there. He wets a towel with warm water for Briar, and throws two towels into his towel warmer. 

He reenters the bedroom to find his girl curled up, her back to him. He runs his knuckles down her protruding spine. Harry gently dabs the towel along her labias and ass to clean up.

“Birdie, I ran us a bath. Gonna lift you,” Harry coos. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at him with moony eyes.

Harry lifts her from her armpits and knees, and swiftly carries her to the tub. Her eyes are shut, but she rests her head on his chest. He’s become a pro at maneuvering themselves into the tub.

Harry positions Briar at the front of the tub, before finding his seat at the back. He leans forward to pull her body to his chest. Harry closes his eyes and rolls his neck along the edge of the porcelain tub, listening to their uneven breaths.

He plays with Briar’s hair; twirling the long pieces between his fingers. She hasn’t said a word, but he knows she’s elsewhere right now. He moves his fingertips to her scalp, gently scratching around the nape of her neck, hoping she’ll come back to him soon.

“Mmmmm,” Briar hums, smiling to herself.

Harry smiles, increasing the pressure and speed like he’s petting Gus.

“Stop,” Briar whines, her hair now in her face.

“Sorry, Birdie. How do you feel?” 

“Good. Sleepy,” Briar yawns.

“Hungry? I can order us something,” Harry taps her sides.

“Can we have Caesar salads and Diet Cokes?” She cranes her neck to look back at him.

Harry laughs, “Sure, baby.”

“And french fries.”

“You got it,” Harry leans down and kisses her.

~

Briar is staying at Harry’s while he’s in the city for a few in-person meetings. It’s been nice; she does yoga outside in the mornings, takes Gus for walks around the picturesque neighborhood, and cooks using his expensive appliances.

🦊: Hi, Birdie.

🐥: Hi Daddy

🦊: Miss me yet? 

🐥: I like being able to lay sideways in your bed

🦊: You can do that when I’m there.

🐥: You’re too hard

🦊: How’d you know? Send me a picture.

🐥: It’s 10AM. Pay attention to your meeting

🦊: I’m not asking. 

Though Harry isn’t home, Briar still walks around his house scantily clad. An idea to terrorize her boyfriend pops into her head. Bolting up the stairs, Briar grabs her plug from Harry’s special area in his closet. She smirks to herself, feeling the cool metal in her hand. She walks outside, peering over Maureen’s fence to ensure no one will witness what she’s about to do.

She gathers spit in her mouth before lubricating the plug. She places one foot on the lounge chair for leverage, before nudging the plug past her entrance. Waddling around, she moves two lounge chairs to face one another. Propping her phone up on one, she shuffles to the other to get into position. She removes her sleep tank top and silk shorts, staring up into the sky to get some sun on her face.

She kneels, making sure to pop her ass out more. The phone is set to video so she can take screen shots of the poses she likes best. Or just send the whole damn video to him.

She makes sure to twist her body to fake some curves, looking over her shoulder and touching her hair. She fiddles with the plug, making her whine. 

Yup, she’s sending the video.

After a few minutes, she gets up from the lounge chair, being sure to flash the camera. She grabs the phone, scanning it over her body before blowing a kiss.

Delivered

Looking around again, she quickly throws her clothes back on, opting to leave the plug in for the day. Gus joins her outside, laying on the chair opposite hers. She has an urge to shut her phone off completely, just to push Harry’s buttons a little more.

Her quiet morning is interrupted by her ringtone blaring. She picks up without saying anything.

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“Who is this?” Briar is holding back laughter.

“I am in a meeting, little girl. You sent that video when all I told you to send was a photo.”

“So are you jerking yourself in the bathroom?”

“What a fucking mouth on you, huh? And yeah, your little video is causing a problem,” Harry grits.

Briar whines, “Don’t you wish it was my little hand, Daddy? Or my mouth?”

Harry slams his fist against the bathroom stall. His neck vein is protruding as he growls.

Briar is full on smiling to herself. She’s not particularly horny right now, but she’s happy to aid Harry with his issue. She can hear his panting increase before a clattering of the phone. 

“Harry?”

“Fuck, I dropped my phone,” he laughs incredulously.

“Oh my, well, maybe I should let you go,” Briar trails off.

“No, baby. Almost done. Just tell Daddy how much you love,” he groans. “Love him.”

“I love you, Daddy. So much. Come for me,” Briar says, leaning into her chair.

Harry releases into the toilet with a strangled moan. He prays to God the conference room walls are thick. He grabs a wad of toilet paper to wipe down his misfires before flushing.

“Thanks, Birdie. You’re in so much trouble when I’m home. Love you.”

“Okay, bye.”

She hangs up, shaking her head. She looks over her shoulder to see Maureen standing at the fence, watering her plants. Briar gives her a tight smile and wave, to which Maureen grimaces in response.

Briar lounges for a few hours before feeling intense boredom. She cleans a little bit, making sure to dust Harry’s various trinkets from his travels. She lightly wipes a ceramic elephant he got in Thailand, a Russian nesting doll from his time in St. Petersburg, and a clay shark from South Africa. While Harry has been all over the globe, the two share a desire to one day back back in South America. She hopes a llama trinket will one day sit on this shelf. 

It’s been a few weeks since the lunch with Briar’s mom and since Harry sent the letter to Camille. While she’s happy Harry is attempting to get to know his son, Briar can’t help but feel extreme anxiety. Why hasn’t Camille responded? 

The shrill sound of the doorbell and Gus’s subsequent bark breaks Briar’s train of thought. She can see a figure through the frosted glass of Harry’s front door, lingering at the table of snacks designated for delivery drivers. 

Briar can see the UPS logo on the man’s shirt, so she lets him pick his goodies before opening the door. She waved to him as he drives away, looking down at the package at her feet. She wonders if Harry sent her something for when he returns. 

Bending over, she’s surprised at the package’s weight. If it were new lingerie, it’d be light. She bends at the knees, inhaling when she lifts the package. Shooing Gus away, she manages to get the package to Harry’s long kitchen table. 

She’s wracking her brain what it could be. The entire package is wrapped in brown paper. She flips it over to see the label. Harry’s name written in cursive letters using a Sharpie. Her eyes are drawn to the left hand side; the sender.

C. Rowe 4 Rue Dupetit-Thouars Paris, France 75003

A lump forms in Briar’s throat. It’s been a few hours since she talked to Harry this morning. Her fingers start to dial his number.

“If you’re calling for a follow-up to this morning, I have to let you know that Niall is right next to me.”

She hears Niall groan in the background. When she doesn’t laugh or respond, Harry tries again. “Birdie?”

“Hi, I-I wanted to tell you that a package came f-for you,” Briar chokes out. 

Harry scrunches his eyebrows, “Okay, just leave it with the others. Anything else?”

He wants to be sweet with her, but she knows not to call about random things while he’s in meetings.

“I-it’s from Camille.”

Silence. Briar closes her eyes. 

Harry sighs, “I see. Okay, thanks for letting me know, pup. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. Are you going to be okay until then?”

“Y-yes, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous.” 

“It’s okay. This whole thing is a little odd. Just try to take your mind off it. Throw it in my office if you don’t feel like seeing it.” 

“Okay, I will. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Harry sighs. Niall looks over at him empathetically. 

“So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating one of the servers?”

Niall’s eyes go wide before rubbing his temples, “She told you?”

“What? Why wouldn’t she? She’s my girlfriend.” 

“We’re not dating. We hooked up once...twice.”

“Mhm,” Harry laughs. “Better nip that in the bud, then.”

Niall groans again just as their next meeting begins.

~

The anticipation is killing Briar. Harry is due home any minute, so she’s pacing between his kitchen and living room. Sitting on the sofa, sitting on the stool, sitting on the chair, standing by the window. She can’t keep still.

She joins Gus in his outburst of barking and running from window to window when they hear Harry’s car pull into the garage. She pokes her head into the garage to see Harry unloading his bags from the back.

She walks over to him, pressing her hands into his chest. 

“Hi, Birdie. Missed you,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

“Welcome home,” she smiles back at him.

She grabs the wheeled suitcase, lifting it over the threshold of the door. 

“Let me change and we can open it,” Harry says simply. Briar’s stomach drops.

“Okay.”

Briar corrals Gus to the sofa, the two of them perching in the corner seat. Harry changed into colorful sweatpants and a t-shirt that says ‘vote vote vote’. He grabbed the package from his office on his way back into the main living room. 

He places the package on the coffee table. The two of them stare at it silently. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to do this alone?”

“Mm, no, it’s okay. If there’s a letter, then I’ll read that on my own.”

Briar nods, waiting for him to open the box.

Harry peels the brown paper from the edges, tearing straight through his and Camille’s names.

He removes the paper in its entirety, examining the oversized shoe box before pulling the lid off. He places it off to the side while peering at the contents. From first glance, it looks like junk. 

He scrunches his eyebrows when he spots one of his old shirts. Did Camille really use this as an opportunity to send his shit back?

He moves the shirt to reveal a few envelopes, a baby rattle, a small pair of vans, a stuffed dog, and drawings. 

Harry opens one of the envelopes to find a stack of Polaroid pictures. He can feel his eyes start to sting. They’re in chronological order, showing his son grow from a tiny baby to an excited 7 year old. Briar has her head on his shoulder, silently viewing the photos. The birth photo has words scribbled in Sharpie at the bottom.

Oliver Styles Rowe  18-11-2016 3.3kgs | 53 cm

Harry is crying now. Briar rubs his back, trying to encourage him to keep going. 

He flips through the photo, feeling vomit bubble up his throat. This kid looks like a lot of fun. Fun that’s killing him to not have been a part of. Camille keeps him well travelled; there are photos from Tokyo, Australia and Mexico. 

Unlike most babies, Harry’s had his signature curls from the start. Briar gasps at the photos as they get closer to present day. Oliver is Harry’s twin. 

Oliver receives great marks in school; he’s pictured with several certificates and trophies. He even seems to be a footballer. 

Harry puts the stack on the coffee table, turning to face Briar. 

“Wow,” Harry says, wiping a tear from his eye.

“What’re you thinking?” 

“Just heartbroken all over again.” 

~

Harry went into his office to read the letter. He stops at his bar cart to pour himself some tequila.

It’s short, but gives Harry some closure. Over the last 8 years, Camille embraced motherhood by focusing less on work. She meditates, volunteers regularly, and is extremely involved at school activities.

She and Theo, their mutual friend from study abroad, have been together since she moved back. That sends a pang to Harry’s heart. They got married about 5 years ago, and have a little girl named Amélie. She only talks a little about Oliver, saying how much he reminds her of Harry. 

Camille apologizes, which Harry didn’t expect. She recognizes cutting him off from his son was wrong. She also left her contact information, followed by the last line. 

He would love to meet you. I think it’s time. 

C

Tears are fully falling on Harry’s cheeks as the heaviness of the last 8 years hits him. His son has Styles in his name. He smiles to himself, feeling the butterflies in his stomach. 

He shoves the letter in his desk drawer before wiping his eyes. He joins Briar and Gus back in the living room cozied up by the fire.

____________________________________________________________________

OHM YGOD. SOMEONE PLZ TALK TO ME AB BIRDIE AND HARRY I AM LIVINGGGGG

Taglist:

@daphnesutton​ @pandeebearstyles​ @anxiouswaterss​ @gem1712 @stylesfever​ @awesomenavy​ @crazygirlinthisworld​ @butdaddyilovehim-hs​ @luxiorchive​ @alchemxx @narry-heart 

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, really.

A/N: Woo! Some hints at who Jezebel really is, and just why Khonshu spared her and took her under his banner. Sorry this chapter is so short asfjldnlfn

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 10:

Guilt

When you woke up, tears were falling down your face. You sat up with a start, your eyes darting around to look and see, not your room with the plaster and carved stone walls of your bedroom overlooking the Nile; but the old, almost dingy drywall of your apartment in New York.

Wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, you looked around again, leaning over to click on the light at your bedside, expecting to see Khonshu sitting there, as he had taken to doing as of recent days.

But… he wasn’t there. Your apartment was empty, almost undisturbed. You had even been tucked into bed.

Did the old man do that?

You shook your head and swung your legs over the edge of your mattress, your hands shaking.

You took in a stuttering breath, your emotions in a tornado of confusion, sadness, and fear.

A sob came from you as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You were still feeling the grief of “your” brother and mother. You could still see Ahrenkhare’s body lying on that stone podium; you could still hear your mother’s cries of anguish echo in the peripheral of your hearing.

It was like you were living in a haunted house, the spirits of the dead entering your dreams to torment you.

You’d take back your vague nightmares of screaming and blood over the vividly detailed visions of Merit and the pain she suffered. Did that poor woman have no true peace in her life? Even the memories of her cousin and Annipe were tainted with some kind of sadness.

You sniffled, your eyes irritated from your crying fit; and you searched for your phone and snatched it up, tugging the charging cord free. It was 11AM, on the dot.

The first thing you did was Google shrinks. Sure, you’d probably be fucked because of your shit insurance not covering something. But, you needed help.

Something was better than nothing.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

“And you will not tell me what you know of this woman?” Khonshu huffed, leaning in suspiciously over Jezebel.

Jezebel sipped her tea, completely unbothered by his crowding of her personal space. Zephyr squawked curiously, hopping across the table to tilt his head up at Khonshu. Khonshu reached out and stroked the curious creature’s beak with his long body finger, earning a content sound reminiscent of a purr from him.

“I have told you what I know of her now.” She replies cryptically.

“You know what she is?” Khonshu said, sitting across from her, the chair groaning slightly beneath his weight.

“Yes.”

“Who she is?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“I will.”

He tilted his head to the side, staring at her silently for a moment, pondering her words. “When?”

“When you and she both remember.” Jezebel said, setting her cup down on the saucer.

“Jezebel, I do not like it when my followers lie to me.” Khonshu said slowly.

“I’m not lying.” She hums, a small smile forming on her lips. “I’m just telling the truth in a different manner. Like you tend to do.”

Khonshu leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a respectful huff. A loyal follower, Jezebel was one of the few mortals Khonshu had ever enjoyed such back-and-forth with. Sometimes it entertained him, with how she would turn his own logic against him.

If he knew the secrets of you, he wouldn’t make it easy for someone inquiring about them to be sussed out. He would leave crumbs, clues for them to figure out on their own. He was nothing if not methodical and cryptic.

“If you were anyone else, I would force you, you know.” Khonshu said, his jibe almost affectionate.

Jezebel giggled softly and reached out to pet Zephyr, the milky white crow warbling at her affectionately. “Yes, I know. But my humor is something you’ve always found amusing about me. Like she did.”

Khonshu bristled, his shoulders rolling uncomfortably as he spoke with a fondness only when Merit was mentioned;

“Yes... Your humor always put her at ease when I couldn’t. You were… good for her.”

“...Have you been to her tomb recently? Like when you were fighting Ammit in Egypt?” She hesitantly asked.

“No. Not in several months. Not since I sent Marc to hunt down Harrow.”

At the mention of that dreadful man’s name, Jezebel shuddered. She had been a member of Ammit’s cult, in fact she was the one that converted Harrow in the first place! And in an ironic twist of fate, she herself was brought beneath Khonshu’s sway, going into hiding, protecting herself with her magic from prying eyes, helping Yehya Badr perform his rites of justice on the unrighteous. And she was glad she did, she did not want to face Anubis again, this time as an evildoer herself. She hoped that her conversion would maybe ease the pains she caused when she was indoctrinated by Ammit’s tenets…

“You have nothing to fear. Anubis will remember you, Jezebel.” Khonshu said, knowing what she was thinking without even reading her thoughts. It wasn’t that she was easy to read, oh no. If she was, he would be able to tell what she was hiding from him was. No, it was the fact after knowing her for so long, he was simply… attuned to her. Like his high priests were, so long ago. But then again, Jezebel is the closest thing to a high priestess he had in the modern era.

“I know, but… I helped kill people, Khonshu.” Jezebel said softly, averting her gaze downward.

“Children.” She whispered, horror and sel-revulsion in her words; a thin film of bile tainting her tongue.

“Not by your own hand. You were manipulated.” Khonshu reminds her gently.

“But, I was still a part of it. That guilt will always remain with me.” She sighed, slumping in her seat.

“Yes, but acknowledging it, accepting it, is what will earn you your place in the afterlife once again. You will see your family again, Jezebel. This I swear.” He replied.

“...I hope so.” She says with a quirk of her lips, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“You will.”

Zephyr crowed loudly, his wings flapping excitedly as the front bell to the shop dinged. Jezebel looked over her shoulder and stood up, briefly gazing at Khonshu before giving a cordial bow of her head; proceeding through the beaded curtain to spot one of her “usual” customers. A young woman, a “white witch” as it were. She always came in because Jezebel was one of the scant few who sold true, un-mass-manufactured ingredients for spells and potions.

This young woman had magical skill, it’s true, but nothing as powerful as… you.

“Hello, dear. Come for the usual, I assume?” She hums sweetly, Zephyr fluttering and scuttling from shelf to shelf to the young woman until she could pet him.

“Yes, of course!” She replied, happily caressing Zephyr’s beak. She turned her attention back to Jezebel as the older woman began looking through the shelves behind the counter. “I heard you talking with someone, did I interrupt a reading?”

“No, no, dear. Just talking with an old friend.” She replies with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Jezebel almost drops the jar of cinnamon sticks when she hears the bead curtain jingle and clack together, her eyebrows raising high on her forehead as her gaze settles on the man that walked through.

His eyes were a hazel color, swirling with greens and browns that refused to stay still, almost looking like the most fertile fields down by the Nile. His skin a warm tan, his long salt-and-pepper hair falling in waves down almost to his shoulders in stark contrast to the milky white suit he wore.

He smiled politely, his beard curling around his lips as he nods at Jezebel, “I will return when I’ve figured out the puzzle you’ve given me, Jezebel.”

And she watches, slack-jawed, as he walks out of her store and onto the street, like a common civilian.

“You too… Khonshu.”

She hadn’t seen him take that form in… gods, it had been so long. So very, very long. Maybe this was a good sign? After all, this young woman saw him, too! He didn’t appear to just anyone like this. Something was going to happen–

“Oh.” The girl blinked, a soft whistle escaping her lips as Khonshu leaves the shop, disappearing into the crowds.

“That’s your friend?”

“I, ah–yes.” Jezebel coughs awkwardly, gathering the items she needed for the purchase.

“He’s… daaaamn.” She said, her teeth briefly catching her bottom lip.

“Is he single?”

Jezebel couldn’t help but laugh, feeling tears prickle at her eyes as Zephyr seemed to join in on her humor, too, croaking loudly.

“Ah… no, no dear.” She grins widely.

“He’s been… taken for quite some time. Even death couldn’t separate him from his love.”

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 11: Link

[miraclewoozi]

what if i passed out rn����

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?”

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

short and sweet chapter of bentley feeling out the wayne family dynamic

part twelve

❝ UNDEFEATED CHAMPION ❞

TUESDAY — 7:11AM

BENTLEY WOKE UP WHEN DAMIAN CLOSED HIS DOOR THE NEXT MORNING. The sunshine was dimly filtering through the curtains, turning his room a bright orange. 

“Get out of the way, Drake, you imbecile,”

“Piss off, brat. There’s room for more than one person in the hallway,”

“The sheer size of your idiocy proves otherwise,”

Bentley’s door opened a smidge. He flinched involuntarily before he saw Alfred (the cat) squeeze through the crack. Then — Damian, he assumed — closed it again without coming inside.

He blinked as the cat made a mrrow, trotting over to his bed and hopping up on the mattress. He was already purring.

The clock read 7:12am. Alfred climbed up on his legs and walked into his lap, rubbing his head on Bentley’s shirt. 

Damian just let his cat in there?

Bentley stroked Afred’s fur and realized that Damian had probably heard (or heard of) his inability to sleep. Maybe that’s why he let Alfred in.

Bentley took a moment to revel in the embarrassment of Damian listening to him cry that one night with Bruce, and then got up to change, leaving the cat to curl up on the comforter.

Over the next few minutes, he heard way more pairs of footsteps pad down the hall than he had since he got here. There was a distant exchange of ‘you were the one in my room?’  ‘Finders keepers, loser’ between voices Bentley didn’t recognize. Both of which were girls. There were only three girls in his father’s files, and one of them was basically an assassin. (How many assassins was he going to meet before this was over?)

He assumed they were all going down for breakfast. Seven-thirty seemed to be the time Alfred opted for on school days, and since Bentley slept through the last one, he decided he should probably show up today. Everyone else certainly was.

He quickly changed into a some jeans and a hoodie, petting Alfred a few more times before he opened the door and-

Ran right into someone.

“Oh! You must be Bentley!”

Was everyone going to say that when they met him?

He glanced up, locking eyes with a blonde girl he quickly recognized as Stephanie Brown, aka, Spoiler. Daughter of the supervillain Cluemaster who was defying her destiny. Her bright blonde hair was down in neat waves, blue eyes shining in a similar way to Dick’s. She had on a white top and purple yoga pants. “I’m Stephanie Brown, but you can call me Steph.”

“Hi,” Bentley stated, somewhat awkwardly. He shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and looked down at his shoes.

“Aren’t you just adorable. C’mon, I think Alfred made waffles!” She said excitedly, continuing down the hall toward the stairs. Bentley was afraid she might touch him, like ruffle his hair or pat his shoulder, but she didn’t, and he was grateful. 

He followed Stephanie down the stairs and into the dining room, which was, for lack of better words, bustling with life.

Instead of just Damian, Bruce, and Duke like it had been the first day, Bruce, Jason, Tim, Duke, Damian, a black-haired girl Bentley recognized as Cassandra Cain, and Dick were all piled around the table. Alfred was whizzing in and out, piling the table full of freshly cooked foods, and the room was alive with chatter. Stephanie made for an empty chair and Bentley, a little out of his element, idled in the doorway. He contemplated turning around and going back upstairs, pretending he’d never woken up in the first place, but Dick spotted him before he could.

“Hey, kiddo!”

All the eyes in the room flicked to him momentarily, and he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“Good morning, Bentley,” Bruce stated, reaching over and pulling out the chair next to him, the one Bentley always sat in. Tim was on the other side of it. “We’d love for you to join us, if you’re feeling up to it.”

The child kept his deep brown eyes glued to his tennis shoes as he padded across the room toward Bruce. Everyone reverted back to their previous conversations, not paying him much mind, and he was thankful for it.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce questioned softly. Bentley glanced around, relaxing when  he realized literally no one was looking at him anymore.

“Uh, good,” He replied, twisting his hands together in his lap. “…Weird.”

He immediately regretted saying that when Bruce raised his eyebrows. He half-expected a lecture about how admitting things was weak. Surely he should’ve known that by now, his father gave him that lecture all the time, why was he stupid enough to keep doing it? 

Bruce quickly proved his thought process wrong when he muttered: “Sick weird?”

“Huh? Oh… no,” Bentley shook his head. “It’s just different… here. And there’s a lot of people.”

“There are,” Bruce nodded, glancing around the table with a certain fondness in his eyes. “You don’t have to stay if it makes you uncomfortable, no one will be upset.”

Bentley’s father’s voice echoed in his head: I don’t care if you need to use the bathroom, or get hungry, or start dying — you’re staying right there until this is over.

Bentley looked around, just in time to see Jason swat Dick’s hand off his head with a quiet profanity, and catch the tail end of Damian’s rant about how he’s ‘superior to everyone in every conceivable way.’ Cassandra was perched precariously in her chair, she, Tim, and Duke listening to Steph speak more with her hands than her mouth. Someone at the table called Damian a brat but Bentley couldn’t tell who it was. Something about it all felt… more real than anything he’d experienced before.

“I… want to stay,” He replied after a moment. Bruce smiled lightly, his eyes glowing with something Bentley couldn’t quite place.

“Okay,”

“-I know two hundred and fifty-seven different ways to kill you, Todd,”

Bentley glanced back at the rest of the table.

“How are you liking the Manor so far?”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on him again, expecting him to speak. Steph was the one who’d asked — she was smiling softly at him.

“Uh, it’s… good,” Was all he could manage at the moment. “Better than before.”

A pang of sadness reverberated through his chest when he realized it really had been better than before. Better than living with his own father.

Cassandra shrugged. “Well, you’re certainly doing better than Tim, he puked all over Dick’s pants on his first night.”

Tim glared at her from his seat beside Bentley. “I had the flu.”

“You had bad aim,” Jason retorted from across the table.

“We were in the car and he was talking to me!”

“You could’ve looked away to vomit,” Jason continued.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Yet another glaringly obvious example of Drake’s incompetence.”

“Puking makes me incompetent?”

“This is hardly a conversation for the breakfast table,” Alfred added as he whizzed in and out. Everyone had started grabbing different foods from the dishes on the table and making their plates.

“It’s basically a Wayne rite-of-passage to barf on someone in at least your first few months. I think we all did,” Cassandra continued. “It’s usually Dick.”

“He’s very pukable,” Jason added.

Dick shrugged in his chair, stabbing some waffles on the tray in the center of the table and plopping them on his plate. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Don’t,”

Bentley sat quietly until Tim pulled the waffle tray over so he could reach it.

“I know we haven’t really met yet — I’m Tim,” He stated, smiling lightly. “I would’ve said hi earlier but, you know.”

“Yeah,” Bentley replied. Since it seemed like everyone else at the table had already gotten something, he stealthily stabbed a waffle and slid it onto his plate.

Now that he was sitting right next to Tim, he realized he looked really good to have just been rushed to the doctor last night. He was still kind of flushed, but other than that he looked completely normal.

Suspicious.

“And I’m Cass! Since we’re doing introductions,” Cassandra called from the other side of Tim, waving slightly. Bentley (sort of?) waved back.

“…Hi,”

The conversation died out as everyone ate, Alfred joining them at the table a little bit later. For most of the meal Bentley listened to Steph talk about some college friend or another. He was just glad no one was talking to him.

Before long, Alfred stated that it was nearly time to leave for school. And that set Tim’s internal alarm off, because he was, quote-on-quote, supposed to be gone already. Soon everyone was shuffling around and taking dishes into the kitchen and running upstairs to get stuff and Bentley was left in the dining room with Bruce while chaos ensued around the house. Which he didn’t mind.

“I have a few meetings today, but other than that I’m not going to be in my office much. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

Bentley creased his brow. Did he mean, like, go places? Because he hadn’t been many places. He hadn’t even been in a car all that much, if he really thought about it. Maybe three or four times a year he’d have to go to some big convention or other with his father, if the man didn’t opt for leaving him home alone, which he did more often than not. 

“I heard you’re a master at uno,” He stated, a small smile quirking up on his face. “I’m surprised you beat Damian as many times as you did. But you know who the real undefeated uno champion is?”

Bentley watched Bruce for a moment, half expecting him to say it was him, but he jerked a thumb toward the kitchen where Alfred was humming quietly.

“I think I can coerce him into a round or two if you want. But be warned, he gets pretty into it.”

Bentley smiled slightly, watching as Alfred briefly passed the door with a stack of plates in his hand. It did actually sound, you know, fun to play card games with Bruce and Alfred. 

“…Okay,”

Bruce smiled, rising from the table. “It’s top notch entertainment, if you ask me. I’ll go grab the cards.”

He disappeared from the dining room, and Bentley sighed softly, glancing down at the tabletop again.

He realized that a tiny part of him was starting to like the Wayne’s.

And then he realized he was starting to like the Wayne’s… a little more than he liked his father?

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld💛

—

tag list (ask in comments and I’ll add your @!)

@fleur-alise

[ask-missparker]

Are you ready for another adventure? | Marvel x OUAT Blurb 🎈

Pairing: Nikolai x Mia, Ethan x Liane, Cole x Jeremy, Rick x Luna etc

Established friendship: Joshua & Bella

Summary: Babies are born, chaos is inevitable, family is growing more than ever before, romance is in the air and well..Joshua can’t catch a break.

—

The next couple of hours were spent at the hospital with everyone. Screams, shouting, crying and throwing items.

Mainly from Cole and Liane—

Rick and Mia weren’t far behind due to extremely different circumstances, of course.

Ethan, Luna, Nikolai and Michelle wanted to have everyone shut up.

Rochelle got lucky as she was given the opportunity to just watch the kids are her house with Jeremy instead.

—

At 11am in the mist of the chaos the twins were born and Rick was healing, which reduced some of the chaos. It also helped that some of their friends and family members were asleep.

Nikolai was holding Darlene as he sat down next to his wife on the bed, he looked up at her with a smile. “You did amazing, love.” He whispered softly and kissed her forehead.

Mia weakly chuckled holding Margot carefully shifting her into her arms. She leaned into his touch and replied, “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Oh, love, I didn’t do anything, you did all the work.”

“Thanks, baby. Honestly between both experiences, I think this was a bit better.”

“Yeah, cause last time my brother was causing trouble and Joshua came early.”

The two chuckled nuzzling each other as they watched their daughters cooing asleep. They were gonna have another adventure as a couple now. The hospital fell silent in comfortable solitude as the machines were smoothly running and the only sounds were murmured from outside.

It was moments like this, the couple felt blessed and at ease for a while.

However the silence didn’t last long enough because half an hour later, in came Michelle carrying balloons and Cole yelling, “Where are my little angels?!”

“Shh!” Rick hushed him as Ethan wheeled the blonde man in.

“Oh shh yourself my nieces are born, Banner, now which baby am I holding first?”

Mia shook her head chuckling handing Margot over to Cole as Nikolai gave the other to Ethan, holding Darlene carefully. Both brothers were in awe. Cole refused to share Margot claiming dibs, meanwhile Rick, Michelle and Ethan admired little Darlene together.

“How are you feeling?” Rick asked looking at Mia and Nikolai smiling, “Both of you, I mean.”

The couple exchanged looks chuckled before responding, “Tired.”

“Um, where is Liane and Luna? I could’ve sworn they were both here hours ago.” Nikolai asked recalling how both girls was here earlier, as she was supporting hours, before nurse kicked Liane out for freaking out.

Before Ethan can answer the door was busted open with Liane and Luna carrying a bunch of plushies and blankets. Luna was holding a bag of plushies and outfits grinning excitedly.

“I’M HERE! WE’RE HERE! Did we miss it?!” Liane exclaimed out of breath, dramatically turning around frantically.

“Bitch, your gonna wake the babies!” Cole exclaimed whisper yell and looked down at Margot, “Don’t worry, angel, I’m the good uncle. Your auntie is just nuts.”

“I heard that!” Liane remarked and huffed, “Now, let me hold the baby.”

“Hands off she’s mine!”

Luna grinned, “We brought so much stuff and food for everyone! I even got myself some few plushies too.”

Rick opened his mouth to argue that they have millions of plushies at home, but then shook his head.

Mia chuckled tiredly and smiled, “I see you guys brought the whole store, huh?”

Luna nodded giggling, “Oh yeah! So many things to consider but I got mainly crocodile and bumblebee plushies.”

“Well, I just hope we have enough room for them in the car.” Nikolai added chuckling.”

Luna gasped and smirked, “Well if you don’t I can always bring them home with me.”

Rick’s eyes widen and shook his head, “Oh no you don’t!”

“Guys! Cole won’t let me hold the baby…” Liane replied pouting.

“You do realize there are two babies right?” Michelle responded chuckling pointing the other baby, as Rick was holding Darlene now.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot. I’m tired from running around the store…oops!”

“Also, Cole, let someone else hold the baby, please.”

Liane walked over taking Margot carefully from Rick’s arms and coo at the baby girl. Cole glared at Michelle’s response and scoffed, until Mia gave him a little nod as he released the baby from his arms handing her to Michelle.

“If you drop her I swear—” Cole started but was cut off.

Michelle roll her eyes rocking the baby with such ease and remarked, “Did you forget I am a mother of two children myself, dummy?”

————

Nikolai and Mia waited for others to get here later on to tell them the twins names.

Joshua was holding Darlene and Bella cooing at the baby girl when they heard the names. Rochelle, who was carrying Margot despite Cole’s annoyance, melted at the news.

“They’re beautiful names!” Rochelle says grinning as she tease. “Is there a chance that we have a middle name be after me?”

Liane smirked, “Obviously their middle names should be after mine and Luna, duh! We spent hours together shopping for them.”

Joshua chuckled rolling his eyes, “Shouldn’t mom and dad decide on that part?”

Bella agrees but she was too busy watching baby Darlene to remark on the matter.

Nikolai chuckled speaking for Mia and himself, when he said that the matter on middle names will be dealt with later on. Even though he had a pretty good idea on who to name their twins after.

Joshua full name was Joshua Christopher Morozov, having been inspired by the ‘J’ and ‘C’ in both Cole and Jeremy’s names.

“Oh any update of the chaos outside?” Ethan asked respectfully, as he remembered that before the insane shift in agenda, they were hunting down items for a magic potion and protection spells, knowing that it won’t be peaceful for long.

Michelle was eating a sandwich when she looked up, “Uhh shit I knew I forgot something!…we have to get on that. Family first and tracking later, I got Cassie on standby.”

“Uh should I be worried?” Mia asked resting her head on the pillow.

“No, of course not! It’s not like we got giants running around again or Loki causing chaos. Besides everyone is safe.” Michelle replied with a mouthful of PB&J sandwiches. “Just rest I got this!”

————

Later on, it was the afternoon and everyone was resting either in Mia’s hospital room or in the waiting area. Bella was texting on her cell phone and hearing her parents talking, George and Gia gushing over the babies and the others being overwhelmed by it all, honestly it was adorable to her. But she won’t admit it of course.

“What do you think babies dream about?” Joshua asked curiously as he smiled.

Jeremy grins as he remarked, “Bullfighting.”

“Laser-tag!” Nikolai responded smirked.

“Uh, I don’t even think that’s remotely true.” Mia replied confused yet assuming.

Cole was sitting beside her and smirked laughing at her inability to comprehend the jokes. They all laughed at the brunette finding it rather cute.

“I think Mia’s still hop up on the drugs from earlier.” Liane joked giggling.

When Bella least expected it, a certain blonde tapped her shoulder, as she turned around to see Alice. The two were still in a will they-won’t they stage of their relationship.

The young Latina began to rub off her smile and blush slightly, “Oh um, hey..”

Alice caught her smiled and smiled back, “Hey. I see you got two new cousins.”

“They’re cute or whatever..w-what are you doing here?” Bella asked, acting nonchalant and shrugging.

“I came to check up on you. After yesterday you kinda left me on read, saying you had to go somewhere.”

“Oh right..look, I’m sorry, with the spell breaking, my parents having been a bit all over the place and my memories coming back…”

“And when I kissed you—”

“Yeah that..it’s been a lot.”

Alice and Bella stood there awkwardly until Rochelle called Alice over to come hang out with them. Bella covered her face in embarrassment when the blonde left, she was better at solving cases and family drama than stupidity confessing her feelings to somebody. She thought with all the love in the air and new things going on, she could get the courage to do something about this.

She suddenly got an alert of her phone talking about magic alert and she smirked thinking that a walk in the woods would be good for her. She swiftly walked over to Joshua.

“Hey.” She greeted him softly.

He smiled looking at her, “What’s up?”

“How do you feel about going for a walk and grabbing some ice cream?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Seriously? Bella, you know whenever you go I follow, but ice cream?”

She shrugged, “What? Ice cream would be good for us. Besides your sisters will be here.”

“I’m a big brother I have to be responsible here.”

“Josh, I know, but before we know we will have more responsibilities on our plates and uh…relationships to worry about.”

“What about relationships?”

“Nothing! Let’s go get some food, come on. And a walk.”

————

Thankfully their parents and aunts let them go out to get some fresh air. As being stuck in a hospital for so long was tiring enough. So the friends were off to enjoy themselves.

It was probably Joshua’s ability to see past the surface but he could tell something was off with Bella after they went for ice cream. He knew ever seen they got back from New York and before that, she has been lighter but after the spell broke she been slightly more unbalanced.

They were in the other side of town, near the docks, cabins, warehouses and other buildings.

He knew he had to ask her, “Belladonna, you doing okay?”

“Never better.” She replied way too quickly, moments like this you can tell she’s Liane’s daughter 100%.

“Bella.”

“I’m fine! I’m just tired that’s all..”

“Then we should go back to the hospital and rest.”

She grab his arm, “No! I mean..not yet. It’s a lot, okay? We’re both in a good place, handling threats, solving problems, being with family and friends..”

“But..?” He replied, knowing her too well.

“…ugh, but what if it’s too much? We have it good..then we will fall back into being screwed up again…you can’t honestly not think about that, right?”

Joshua paused, knowing what she meant. Despite all the chaos, twists, turns and misfortunes—their lives are weird enough with evil people and tragedy coming along the way at times—they were finding themselves and becoming young adults soon. If anyone should have doubts, it’s him, but Josh decided to look towards the light and be a good man, even if it’s all insane in the world.

“I know what you mean. But hey you have me.” Joshua responded lightly, his voice filled with warmth and strength. “Now, what is there all about?”

“…Alice.” Bella mumbled.

“Oh…”

“Look, we’ll figure out. Now let’s go back to my house and then we can—what’s that?”

Bella noticed the direction he was looking towards and smirked remembering about the alert about magic being near theses parts. It’s one of the reasons she wanted to go outdoors, to check it out and store it for later. Without a second later, she dragged Joshua with her to the warehouse as the doors sway up suddenly and it realized a magical ball of energy that grew.

“Wait we gotta call for backup.” Joshua stated pulling Bella back securely.

“Until we see what it is.” She asked holding his hand and glanced at the energy, “Especially a way to close it.”

“Do you have any magic that could be helpful right now?”

“That I know of, no.”

“Exactly let’s go.”

Suddenly the ball of energy grew and turned into a portal of light, causing the two of them to fall back, being dragged towards it. The two screamed and shouted, as Joshua grabbed onto the poll and gripped Bella’s hand tightly.

“I got you.” He exclaimed as they both marched backwards trying to get to the door.

Just as they were almost there, the portal swung out in a gush of wind pulling them back. “I wanted an adventure, but not like this!” Bella shouted, before being sucked into the portal followed by Josh.

The two were sliding through the portal as Joshua yelled, “One of theses days I gotta stop chasing her..”

“Oh shut up!” Bella yelled back flying into the portal with them.

———

—————

I couldn’t resist! The chaos continued hehe

Let me know what you think

Tags: @ask-starrk @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @wizzzardofoz @thechoooooosenone @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @marvelsfavoriteuncle @elzabeth-stark @sci-fi-lexcon @jackiequick @blueboirick @gcthvile @aidanxsophxoxo @meiramel @trulysummersprivate @gaminggirlsstuff and etc

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- Birthday In Sydney

2012

Part 18

13th April 2012

“Happy birthday!” Emma shouts through the phone to me it’s 12:00am In London and 11am here in Sydney.

“Thank you Em” I say putting my hair up into a pony tail

“Have you had any presents yet?”

“I’ve got some presents dad brought with me but I haven’t opened them yet. I haven’t seen the boys yet. They did say they were going to take me out for lunch though”

“Have you spoken to Alex?”

“Yeah we ended the call just before you rang. Said he’s going to try and fly out when we’re in Canada” there’s a knock on my door. I pick up my phone and take it with me to my hotel room door

“Is that the boys?” Emma asks excitedly. I open it up

“Yes”

“Hi!!” Emma screams

“Hi Emma” Harry says smiling

“Ok I’ll let you go. Have a good day I’ll speak to you later”

“Speak to you later” I end the call and look at the boys in front of me

“Are you ready?”

“Let me grab my purse” I turn around to go and get my purse

“Ah ah ah lunch is on us, it’s your birthday after all” Niall says stopping me in my tracks

“You sure?”

“Of course we are. Now come on” Louis says taking my arm and pulling me out

“Hang on I need my key card” I laugh and shake my head. Quickly grabbing my purse anyway and my bag I head out of my room “so where are we going?”

“For lunch”

“Yeah but where?” I ask looking at Harry who’s not looking at me. We walk to the lift and get in

“You’ll find out” he replies.

We arrive at a place called Aria Restaurant Sydney. Looking at the menu I can tell it’s not going to be cheep

“Guys this is way to expensive”

“We can afford it” Niall replies

“No I know, but you really didn’t have to do this”

“Yes we did. It’s your 18th birthday and your stuck with us instead of your boyfriend, best friend and dad” Zayn says

“Oh speaking of” Harry hands me a gift bag “happy birthday YN. This is off all of us”

“You guys” I pout trying not to cry. I open up the bag and find a Louis Vuitton bag “I’m gonna cry thank you all so much”

“You’re welcome”

“Sydney how are we doing tonight?!” Louis yells into the microphone. The fans scream in response “today has been a special day for one person in particular” Louis walks over to me and places his arm around my shoulders “it’s the baby of the groups birthday. Today she’s finally 18. So you all know what that means, Niall bring out the shots”

“Oh god” I moan shaking my head as Niall brings over a tray of 6 shots

“Here ya go” Louis says taking a shot glass off the tray

“Thanks” I sarcastically say

“3, 2, 1” the boys all say and we all take the shots

“Ewww” i scrunch my face up

“We have one more surprise for you YN” Zayn says and out walks Alex holding a birthday cake

“Oh my god. How? I literally spoke to him this morning”

“We know” Harry smiles “now can you all help us sing happy birthday?” The fans all scream

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to YN happy birthday to you” I blow out the candles and give Alex a quick peck on the lips.

Once the show is over we all decide to go out to celebrate, not for to long as we still have a show tomorrow.

[prismuffin]

Hi, I hope your day/night is going well! I was wondering if you could do a mission impossible one-shot if Ethan Hunt and his troublemaker son? Like Ethan is taking a break from missions for a little while, so he thinks it’s time to finally connect with his kid, but his son just got out of school early from a fight or something. Idk, I’m not the best at wording, but I hope this is clear enough :)) love your works to death btw ❤️

A/n: YESS M:I REQUESTS ZJEHDHDJ- I hope you enjoy this fic man you guys have some awesome ideas also THANK YOU SO MUCH I’m glad you like my writinggg!! Sorry it took a minute it was the holidays-

"Talk to me."

Dad!Ethan Hunt x Son!Reader

( summary: Ethan decides to take a break from missions and come home only to find you coming home early from school with a black eye )

warning?: mentions of fighting/injury, tears/crying, readers either in middle school or high-school you pick!

!-!more under the cut!-!

It doesn't take a genius to know that Ethan Hunt of the IMF is an overworked man. Even he knows it, and though he loves his job and his team sometimes he can't help but wonder what effect his absence is having on his son. It's been something that's been crossing his minds in between missions even though there isn't much downtime between them. The team, *cough* Luther *cough* noticed that something was on his mind and asked him about it. Luther eventually told Brandt and Brandt got some down time for Ethan. Two weeks, that’s how long Ethan had off and though he’d usually hate any down time, this time he was just looking forward to reconnecting with his son.

Walking through the door of his house that he barely occupied, he set his bags down by the door and placed his jacket on the coat rack. It was around 11am on a Wednesday so he didn’t call out for you right away, he knew you’d be in school which was great for him since he wanted to surprise you. While walking into the living room he noticed a small mess on one of the couches and when he went to throw it away he noticed the dishes piled up. Sighing, he rolled up his sleeves, it was time for some domestic house work.

It was maybe an hour later and Ethan was almost done with cleaning up his house. He was fluffing up the couches throw pillows when the jingle of keys in the front door snapped him out of his tranquil space. His eyebrows creased as he wondered who could've been unlocking his door. It could be you but one glance at the clock had told him that you were supposed to be in school so it couldn't be. But while in his thoughts you revealed yourself, opening your door, you huffed and slammed it closed, your backpack dropping off of your shoulders as you slid to the ground with it. A sigh escaped you as you put your head in your arms, not even noticing your fathers presence until the creek of a floorboard had alerted you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the face of you father, someone you had lost hope on seeing practically ever again. He stood with his arms crossed, his eyebrows still furrowed as he looked at you on the ground before glancing to the clock, his tongue pushed his lips from inside his mouth as he chose his next words. "Half day?" You shot up, it was as if hearing his voice made it all real for you, he was really here in the flesh, it wasn't some sick prank your mind was playing on you. Part of you wanted to run over and hug him but another part of you didn't know how he'd react or even if he wanted you to. Your arms laid strictly at your sides and your eyes casted downwards as if not looking at him would pause the world and give you time to think. "No..." you responded to his earlier question. It was now that he realized the black eye that was beginning to form on your face along with some stray cuts and bruises littering your arms and fists. In his head he deduced all possibilities of what could have happened and it was exactly what he feared, being away from you for so long did have an effect on you.

He took a step closer which made your eyes shoot back to his face. His eyes switched to a concerned look as he just opened his arms to you, hoping you'd come to him. You glanced away for a second and cautiously took a step forward before practically tumbling into his arms. He caught you rather easily and his hug only tightened when he'd felt your shoulders bob up and down. He rubbed your back soothingly as a sob escaped your lips, it was easy to tell that you were crying even though you were desperately trying to cover it up. Part of you wondered if you could stay in this hug forever just so he wouldn't have to see your crying face.

"Talk to me."

You sniffled as you thought about what to even say to your father. You'd thought about a moment where you'd get to see him again and you always thought it'd be a hostage situation not him just randomly being home one day. "Come on y/n," Your father had pulled back from the hug as you reluctantly loosened your grip on him, though his hands were still on your shoulders. "Those bruises didn't come from nowhere, did someone hurt you? Are you being bullied? Were you jumped?" With every shake of the head a new suggestion would leave your fathers mouth and you eventually just cut him off. "I was...fighting...in school." You looked down and quickly wiped the tears from your eyes. "Fighting? Why were you being threatened-" "No! I just-" You shut your eyes tightly as you balled up your fist. "It's ok let's just calm down." Your father rubbed your shoulders to calm you from the short outburst. "Just take it from the top and tell me what happened."

You sniffled and slowly opened your eyes, your fists unbaling at the same speed. "There was...some kid at school who really gets on my nerves and he," you sighed, it was a little embarrassing to be admitting this but you know your father is the last person who would judge you. "he kept talking about you." "Me?" It'd slipped out before Ethan could catch himself but luckily you just nodded instead of clamming back up. "He kept teasing me about you not being around and he kept saying that you were some deadbeat that actually just left me alone and," you stammered out of anger as you searched around for nothing in particular. "I just couldn't take it anymore! But I couldn't say anything because it's true that you're never really here!" A frown etched its way into Ethans features as those words left your mouth, the tears that you'd wiped away had come back in full force. "So I just punched him, I didn't realize I did until he was swinging back and it just...went from there." You shrugged aggressively and tried not to blink so that more tears wouldn't come out.

"Y/n.." hearing your fathers voice saying your name so sad didn't really help you much and so the flood of tears released with a sob. "c'mere," your father pulled your shoulders in to initiate yet another hug, your head rested on him for support as you continued crying. "I'm sorry, I really am." Ethan's eyes glossed over, he had never intentionally meant to cause you this much sadness or pain. "I'm sorry that I'm never around, that I'm not here for you." His voice cracked and in turn you cried more, though now your sobs had turned silent. "I know I'm not the best father," he pulled back from the hug to look you in the eye, "but I at least want to be a good one." He nodded at the small smile that'd graced your face after he said that. "You're not a bad one.." you mumbled which caused him to chuckle, his tears spilling for a second. He wiped them away and sniffled, the two of you wore matching smiles and you put hands behind your back. "How about we go out for lunch?" Your dad suggested, "Just us two, Ethan and Y/n Hunt going out for lunch! Come on," He patted your back twice, "I'll even let you pick the place, sound good?" You nodded, content with where the heavy conversation left off. "Sounds great dad..."

----!----

I ADORED WRITING FOR ETHAN!!!

Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!

My requests are OPEN so feel free to request anything! Just make sure you check out my Request Info first!

Masterlist

[changingplumbob]

York Household: Chapter 9, Part 4

Time for a York family brunch!

The Yorks are Italian so if you see them using words that don't look like English it's Italian, or what google assures me is Italian. Caro/Cara: Dear Buongiorno: Good morning Piccolo: Little one Tesoro: Treasure Nonno: Grandfather Nonna: Grandmother Si: Yes Grazie: Thank you Per Favore: Please Buon Compleanno: Happy Birthday

Paris has been watching some kids TV in the apartment she shares with Deanna but, eventually getting bored, starts playing with an infant toy she found in Kelly’s toybox. Perks of being a childish sim.

Deanna: I’m done!

Paris: You are?

Deanna: Well 3 out of 4 lots of homework but I’m to tired to do more

Paris: You can always do it tomorrow

Deanna: And how about you? Can I do you tonight?

Paris: *coyly* If you want

Deanna: I do want

Aaron: Think we can woohoo without a kid barging in saying Kelly made them cry

Calista: I think the kids he hangs out with are tougher than that

After the pair are satisfied Calista cuddles up beside Aaron as he plays with her hair.

Calista: Por favore, can you be in good Nonno mode for brunch

Aaron: What do you mean

Calista: No telling Rilian he’s coddled or Alfred that he's the better twin. They’re speaking now, they can catch on

Aaron: *sighs* Rilian cries at the drop of a hat

Calista pinches Aaron.

Aaron: Fine, fine! I’ll try keep my annoyance to a minimum

At long last the whole house slumbers.

Devin: Buongiorno pa

Aaron: Cara, you’re here

Devin: Forget fashionable late I’d far rather be fashionably early

Deanna: Shh! They’re sleeping

Devin: Why is the lounge full of sleeping kids at almost 11am

Aaron: I think Kelly kept them up late with his spooky stories. We should probably get them up before brunch starts though

Devin: Yep. I don’t need any kid stealing all of ma’s omelettes

The family arrive for brunch and while Calista gets the last of Kelly’s guests on their way Aaron puts the toddlers in the high chairs.

Aaron: Here we have some omelettes cooked by your nonna, just for you

Alfred: For me

Devin: Si. Make sure you eat it before it gets cold

Alfred: No eat. Talk mama

Devin: Rilian, will you please eat

Rilian: It poison?

Calista: I don’t know what your cheeky Zio Kelly told you, but I would never give you poison. I promise, I made this with love and it tastes very good

Devin takes time to encourage Rilian to eat, he’s a picky eater, but eventually he starts to nibble on the omelette. His little face lights up and he begins to tuck in happily. Of course nonno Aaron is oblivious to this show of superior twin power as he’s over with the second generation of Yorks to eat.

Luna: How is the nectar garden going

Calista: We’re still waiting for the fruit to grow but-

Rilian: I DONE

Luna: *tuts* Rilian it is not good to interrupt. I am happy you finished your meal though

Alfred: This good nonna

Devin: What do we say

Alfred: Tank? Tank nonna

Calista: *smiles* at least he’s trying

Luna: We figure we’ll teach them grazie and danke after they know what thank you actually means

Aaron: How are you today Rilian? *looks at Calista deliberately*

Rilian: *smiles* I good good nonno. I eat up

Aaron: Oh? Molto bene

Rilian: *looks puzzled*

Devin: It’s Italian caro, you’ll learn in time

Rilian: Oh. Nonna can I out

Calista: Since you have finished eating sure

Joey: I see you also ate yours Alfred

Alfred: Yes Zio Joey *blows kiss*

Joey: aww, thanks piccolo

Freed from his chair Rilian toddles around and toddles right into Kelly.

Rilian: Zio Ke, Zio Ke! I eat up

Kelly: Did you now? How do you know it wasn’t poison

Rilian: *thinks* it taste good, mo bean (molto bene)

Kelly: That’s good news. You’ll have enough energy to survive then

Rilian: Huh

Kelly: See I was bitten last night and now I’m a MONSTER

Rilian: *jumps out of skin*

Rilian: *wailing*

Kelly: Shut up you’re fine

Rilian: *cries loudly* NONNO ZIO KE MEAN

Aaron: *sighs* Coming Rilian

Rilian: *sniffles and smiles at Kelly*

Kelly: Oh you little poop you're totally acting

Aaron: What’s going on over here then

Alfred: Up nonna up

Calista: Here I come. Uh oh, sounds like Rilian might be having some trouble

Alfred: I help, I snuggle

Calista: *hugging tightly* That’s right, you’re a snuggle bug aren’t you piccolo. All right, down we go

Alfred: I free, I free

…

Aaron: Kelly what did you do?

Kelly: He’s fine, he just smiled at me!

Rilian: *sniffles* Nonno Zio Ke scare *pouts*

Aaron: *sighs* You decided it was a good idea to scare a three year old?

Kelly: I said I was a monster and he overreacted

Aaron: Kelly he’s a toddler, of course monsters are scary

Rilian: *sniffles* Nonno I sad

Aaron: Don’t worry Rilian, we can find something fun. As for you Kelly, time out

Kelly: *sighs* nobody has a sense of humour in this family

Defeated he goes and sits. Alfred comes over and tries talking to him but like normal Kelly prefers to ignore his nephews. Meanwhile Aaron scoops Rilian up and plays with him until he’s calmed down properly.

So what do we reackon folks? I'm still not 100% certain what happened with Kelly and Rilian. Reminder to read the whole option before clicking (it's me, I only read half the sentence then realise I was too eager to click)

Previous ... Next

[centralperkchenford]

Chenford as parents gets called by the school cause Ava punched a boy who kissed her + teaching kids the value of consent 🥹

Chenford as parents gets called by the school cause Ava punched a boy who kissed her + teaching kids the value of consent 🥹

This one was fun as always. I LOVE writing Ava 🫶🏻

Ava and the no good kissing boy

Lucy gets the call from Ava’s school on a Friday. The only reason she know it’s a Friday is because twins preschool also called to tell her it was pizza day and she had a packed a lunch and they were very upset. So she’s already stressed out telling the twins teacher to order them both a lunch. And it’s only 11am.

She thinks it’s over with until her phone rings yet again. And it’s Ava’s school this time, she probably packed Ava and Daisy a lunch too.

“Hello?” She answers reading over a file.

“Mrs. Bradford? This is Mrs. Hopkins the principal at Wilshire Crest Elementary.

I’m calling about your daughter Ava.” She says and Lucy sits up straight and drops her pen.

“Is she okay?” Lucy asks and Mrs. Hopkins sighs over the phone. Lucy’s heart is beating fast now, and she’s about to ask if Ava is hurt or sick when the principal speaks again.

“Yes. She’s fine. She’s just in a little bit of trouble. Do you mind coming down to the school? I know you are busy.” Mrs. Hopkins says.

“Yes. I can be there. Does my husband need to come?” She asks and her eyes immediately dart around the bullpen for Tim. She is up out of her seat before the principal has answered, already heading to Tim’s office.

“That would be great if he could come.” Mrs. Hopkins says. “I just want to say, I want to work this out with Ava and you and your husband.”

Lucy barges into Tim’s office without knocking. He looks up from where he is sitting and tilts his head at her.

“We need to go to Ava’s school.” She tells him. And he’s out of his seat and grabbing his keys before she says another word. “She got in trouble.”

They are out of the station in a few minutes. “We are on our way.” Lucy tells the principal.

She hangs up and Tim looks at her. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He says but even he sounds nervous. Ava is eight now and for unfiltered and wild as she still is, she usually reigns it in at school. She’s very focused as her teachers tells them and she is not disruptive. This is the first call they have ever gotten from the school about her.

Tim pulls into the parking lot and Lucy can see he’s tense. “Baby you need to relax. Whatever happened Ava is upset and we don’t need her becoming more upset.” Lucy says. She slides her hand into his and squeezes it. Tim nods and she knows he’s nervous about whatever happened. And how’s he’s going to react.

They make into the office and Ava is sitting on a chair outside the principal’s office, her eyes puffy and red. She sees them and let’s put a cry turning away from them as her shoulders shake with sobs.

Lucy looks at Tim and they both head over to her. “Ava.” Lucy says. “Sweetheart what happened?”

Ava doesn’t answer but she does turn to look at them. “D-don’t ha-te m-me.” She hiccups. “I-I ju-st d-didn’t w-want..” She trails off as her shoulders shake some more. Lucy glances up at Tim in concern, who is looking at Ava intently.

“Oh baby. We could never hate you.” Lucy says running her fingers through her hair. “Whatever happened we are here to work out. Okay?”

Tim kneels down next to Lucy and gathers Ava in his arms she presses her face into his shoulder. “Aves what happened?” Tim asks gently. But before Ava could answer the principal’s door opens and Mrs. Hopkins steps out. She smiles at Ava, and the motions Tim and Lucy in.

“It will be just a minute okay Ava?” She tells their daughter kindly. Ava hiccups and nods and the buries her face into her arms. Lucy’s heart breaks as she walks away from her distressed daughter.

They sit down in front of Mrs. Hopkins’s next. And she smiles at them, “Like I told your wife on the phone. I want to work this out without getting Ava in too much trouble.” She says.

“What exactly did she do?” Tim asks. “She’s really upset.”

Mrs. Hopkins sighs and folds her hands on the desk. “A boy in her class kissed her and she punched him.” She explains. Tim’s mouth falls open and Lucy lays a hand on his arm.

“She punched him?” Lucy asks trying not to sound too proud. She didn’t really know what to say. Ava was never one to back down and she always was defending her siblings. And even Tim and Lucy at times.

“Yes. And we are calling in the boys parents next. He should not be kissing girls on the playground or anywhere. And while it’s great Ava stood up for herself we can’t have her punching anyone.” She says. “When she was brought in. She told the truth and then she saw the boys bloody nose and burst into tears. She’s very empathetic and caring. She didn’t mean to do it that hard.”

Lucy looks over at her husband whose mouth is twitching and she knows he’s feeling the same way she is: proud. Proud that their eight year old stood up for herself, even if someone got hurt. And showing empathy towards the boy and knowing what she did was wrong.

“So what’s going to happen?” Tim asks calmly.

Mrs. Hopkins smiles at them both. “Ava is in second grade and she clearly knows what she did was wrong. Normally this would be a suspension however Ava is a good girl and I don’t want her to think that boys can just do that. I do want her to learn other ways to stop it if it happens again but I never want her to stop standing up for herself.”

“Just in a less violent way?” Tim asks her and the principal nods.

“Exactly. She will have to stay in at recess for a week and help her teacher in the classroom.” She says and Lucy looks at Tim who nods. That was fair, considering Ava could have been suspended.

The principal gets up and opens the door. “Ava you can come in now.” She says gently. Their daughter comes in slowly, her head down and she was still sniffling. Her head was down and stood frozen to the spot.

“Come here Ava.” Says Tim quietly. Ava shuffles over to Tim, her head still down. She finally looks up at him.

“Don’t m-make me m-ove out.” She whimpers. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby, why would we—” Tim starts to say but Ava is sobbing again.

“L-Leo said y-you w-would m-ake m-me move out and yo-you wouldn’t l-ove me anymore.” Ava sobs and Tim looks up at Mrs. Hopkins who is frowning.

“Whose Leo?” Tim asks his voice steady but Lucy knows a damn is about to break.

“He’s the boy that she punched.” The principal says. “Ava, you didn’t tell me he said those things.”

Ava shoulders shake and she falls into Tim who pulls her up on his lap. “He told me when the TA was bringing me here. H-he whispered it.” She says. “I’m sorry. I like my bed. I don’t wanna move out.”

“Ava Rose.” Says Tim. “We would never make you move out. And we will always love you sweetheart. Always. You messed up and that will happen again but don’t ever think we don’t love you.” Lucy reaches over and rubs her back as Ava calms down.

“Okay.” She says. “I’m sorry.” Lucy looks up at Mrs. Hopkins who is back at her desk writing something down.

“I’m going to talk to Leo’s parents about what he said. That’s not okay.” Mrs. Hopkins says.

“Ava. I already told your parents your punishment. You have to stay in from recess and help your teacher.”

“I already said sorry to Leo.” Says Ava quietly. “I just didn’t like that he kissed me.” Lucy doesn’t like that a boy kissed her either without her consent. It actually made her angry that this little boy thought he could just do that.

Lucy looks at Mrs. Hopkins for confirmation and she nods. “She did. Her teacher told me and the TA that brought her in.” She says. Tim kisses the top of Ava’s head.

“Good job on apologizing Ava bear.” He says. “Did Leo apologize to you?”

Ava shakes her head. “No. He was crying too much at first and then he became angry.” She says. Tim nods and Lucy knows Mrs. Hopkins would handle it. Lucy stands up and Tim does too with Ava still attached to him and she didn’t seem to want to let go. But it was only noon.

“Honey. You have to go back to class okay?” Tim says gently peeling Ava off of him but she went right back to him wrapping herself around him. She hadn’t done this since the first day of kindergarten.

“No.” She cries. “I-I don’t want to go back to class where Leo is.”

“Ava, Leo is going to be in the office for the rest of the day. You don’t have to worry about him.” Mrs. Hopkins says gently. “Your friends are waiting for you. And we will deal with Leo in an appropriate manner. I promise.”

Ava still doesn’t let go of Tim but instead buries her face in his chest. “Daddy walk me to class.” She mumbles. “Please.” Lucy laughs as Tim peels her off and sets her down and takes her hand.

“Okay baby. I can do that.” Tim says. Lucy follows them out and watches as Ava pulls Tim and skips along down the hallway. Her bubbly girl slowly coming back to life. They finally make it to her classroom and Tim stops outside and gives her a big hug and kiss. And then Ava runs into Lucy’s arms.

“I love you mommy.” She says. Lucy kisses her and hugs her tightly before letting her go. “See you after school Ava.” Lucy says. Ava chews on her bottom lip and then smiles.

“By mom. Bye dad.” She says as she disappears into the classroom. Lucy peeks through and sees Ava sit by her best friend Peyton who says something that makes Ava giggle. Lucy turns around to Tim who just shakes his head.

They leave the school and slide into the truck. Lucy blows out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and then turns to her husband.

“I don’t know about you but I am fucking proud of Ava.” She says.

Tim let’s put a loud laugh. “Oh me too. I about lost it when she said what that little urchin said and did to her.”

Lucy laughs and puts a hand on his arm. “We need to talk to her though. Teach her about consent and how to say no without hurting someone.” Lucy says.

Tim nods in agreement reaching over for her hand. “We have a good kid.” He says. Lucy grins at him. Hell yea they did.

***

Later that night, Tim and Lucy sit all four kids down. Daisy turns to her sister a big grin on her face.

“Everyone heard about what you did sissy. Even in kindergarten!” Daisy says proudly. And Lucy tries not to laugh. “Good job!”

Lucy winces as Daisy gives her the thumbs up. She looks over at Tim who looks befuddled. “Look Ava.” He begins. “What you did was wrong. You can’t punch someone. But what that boy did was wrong too. He shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission or at all. You can say no and if they don’t stop push them away. And more importantly go tell an adult.” Tim says. “Do you understand that?”

Ava chews on her lips. “But what if no one is around and a boy keeps doing it.” She asks. Lucy blows out a breath. This was a tricky subject, something an 8 year old probably wouldn’t understand.

“Then you scream and yell and push and shove.” Tim says and he turns to Daisy, June and Levi. “No means no.”

Lucy’s watches her kids faces as they take in Tim’s words. “I know you guys may not understand this.” Lucy says. “But if someone tries to kiss you or hug you without your permission especially if you don’t know them. Say no.”

“And it goes the same with adults, if an adult touches you without permission you say no. And tell another adult and tell us. Always tell us.” Lucy says.

Ava chews on her lip some more and Lucy knows something is bothering her. “Ava bear what’s wrong?”

“Leo.. he-he has teased me before. He thinks I like him. But he has cooties.” Ava says. Lucy snorts to herself and then turns to her daughter.

“Baby, if he’s teasing you tell your teacher or the TA on the playground. You shouldn’t have to be teased by someone no matter who it is.” Lucy says.

Ava nods her head and then gets up and hugs Lucy. Her arms wrapping around her neck like she did when she was little.

“I love you mama.” She says. “I’m sorry for punching Leo.” Lucy hugs her tight and exchanges a look with Tim.

“Honey, even if what you did was wrong. Daddy and I are proud of you for standing up for yourself. Okay? I know it’s confusing but you did a good job standing up for yourself.” Lucy says. “You are a beautiful, brave, empathetic girl. Ava you make daddy and I proud every single day. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ava nods and then moves over to Tim. “Daddy?” Ava asks. Tim tucks some hair behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Can I take karate so I can kick ass?” She asks. Lucy bursts out laughing and Tim groans. Well they still had some things to work on.

[mylifeasaserver]

My day as it happened: Saturday Host

10AM: Show up at the restaurant, since both hostesses have quit they had nobody for either shift. There’s nobody here but servers, which suits me just fine. The rotation is already set up for me, and Manager Lite doesn’t work day shift. Glorious.

11AM: There’s a decent little rush happening. I have not been bitched at by a single server, though the GM asks me why I refused to clear tables on Monday. Because it was dead and servers can handle their shit when they have no tables. I tell her if it’s legitimately busy I’ll help them out, but as I’m not being paid any extra to do their job for them, if it’s slow they can just do it themselves. She wisely decides that her best course of action is to go away.

12PM: Discover that 6-top from Monday left a scathing review on a website feedback thing. Summed up: “Slow as fuck in the restaurant, cook screaming for somebody to get our food, yet our waitress couldn’t be bothered.” They do not mention their witty host. It’s actually pretty busy, so I clear some tables. I’m not supposed to use bus tubs for reasons beyond my comprehension but I do it anyway because fuck stupid rules.

1PM: The rush is over already, servers begin asking to be cut. Sorry can’t help you there. The angry cook arrives. He’s drinking what I can only assume to be his 7th energy drink of the day. He asks me if I’m serving tonight. I am not. “Fuck,” he says. 

2PM: GM has given me the list of cuts and tells me “to use my discretion” when making those cuts. Given that the restaurant is empty, I cut the entire list save for 3 servers (out of 11.) Servers are happy with me. A couple ask me to sign their side work off, but I decline. “Why not? You know the side work!” Because I’m a host today. The amazing disappearing dishwasher comes in.

3PM: Manager Lite arrives. I get a dirty look as she passes the podium. I cut another day shift server. The 2 remaining day shift servers are on a double, so they stay. Seat 2 tables. Manager Lite runs back to the podium to ask me why I skipped her in rotation. I didn’t. Manager Lite doesn’t like me very much. She’s heard I cleared tables for days when they got busy and now expects the same treatment tonight. Life is just full of disappointments.

4PM: The drama queen has arrived, having a heated conversation on her phone as she passes the podium. Something about “beating some ass” as though she wouldn’t start crying 11 seconds into a fight. Another table comes in and Manager Lite is sat. She runs back to the podium to ask why I sat her those people. Because you’re next in rotation, not my fault or problem that they’re clearly not tippers. Meanwhile the day time cooks leave and the shift supervisor arrives - already a few drinks deep. The amazing disappearing dishwasher leaves “to get something from his car.”

5PM: I seat 4 tables totaling 9 people - 1 each for the remaining day shift servers, 1 for Manager Lite, and 1 for the drama queen. Rotation! The drama queen never greets her table. When the guests come up to ask if they’re getting service, I move them to a day shift server’s section. I do not update rotation. 

5:25PM: The drama queen comes to question me on why she hasn’t been sat yet. My answer of “I did, but you never greeted them so now they’re [server’s] table.” sends her careening to the office. I seat another 2 tables, both in the day shifters sections. Manager Lite demands the next table. Since she’s next in rotation I just roll my eyes. 

5:30PM: An obviously drunk shift supervisor visits me to ask why I skipped the drama queen. Once I tell her that I sat her already but she couldn’t be bothered to greet them so I moved them to another section, she mumbles off to return to the office. 

5:40PM: The drama queen, looking like the younger sibling that just got the older one in trouble, comes up to ask me when she’s being sat next. I tell her where rotation is at.

6PM: 2 tables come in together. I seat Manager Lite and the drama queen. Both are now angry with me because they were sat after they ordered food. Good. Be mad.

6:30PM: The restaurant has scant few tables, so I cut the day shift people. Moments after I cut them, Manager Lite comes to the podium to tell me to cut the day shift people, quote, “So I can make some money.” She has yet to realize she works in the wrong restaurant for that.

7PM: The day shift servers are gone. 2 more tables come in and the drama queen tells me to let her know when she’s been sat so she can make some calls. I will not. I seat both servers.

7:15PM: The table I just sat walks out, never having been greeted or acknowledged. Because I’m a remorseless asshole, I decide to just stop seating the drama queen until she emerges from her makeshift lair in the break area. Tables come in at a manageable pace that even the most green of servers could handle alone with minimal help.

8:25PM: Manager Lite has 5 tables. Benevolently, I decide to run food. Hell, I even cleared a few tables. Not because it was particularly busy, but because I knew when the drama queen finds out that I didn’t go get her like she told me to she would lose her mind. If I help Manager Lite, she won’t go looking for the drama queen.

8:45PM: I seat 2 more tables. I have not seen the drama queen yet. Given that the other tables have paid and are slowly filtering out, I stop clearing and resetting. Manager Lite looks at the podium where I’m standing, decides it isn’t worth it, and goes back to her tables.

8:55PM: The drama queen finally emerges into the dining room to discover that several tables were sat, ate, and left without her being notified. She clocks out and leaves, not having a single table all shift long. She gives me the finger on the way out, crying the entire way. I smile and wave at her like the guy at the end of a Family Guy episode. I feel zero guilt.

9PM: Manager Lite decides that it is worth going to the podium to bother me after all. I’m then ordered to not only clean the dining room for her but also to help with side work and roll silverware. I decide that my shift is over. Had she asked like I was an equal (which I am) I might have helped because I know it sucks getting left like this...but she likes barking orders.

9:02PM: At the time clock I hear Manager Lite bitching at the cook, demanding he puts off doing his work to come around and do hers first. First he laughs at her and then tells her in no uncertain terms to fuck off. I clock out. 

As I leave I see the amazing disappearing dishwasher in his car, parked next to me. He’s asleep. I do not wake him. 

No idea if anybody came in after that since I ran out of there like my ass was on fire. 

I’m thinking my time here is nearly at an end. Complete and total shit show. -J

[109moons]

Here are my days.

5:30am: Lab comes to take blood. All of my bird veins are black, blue, mustard, indigo. If I am still sedated enough, I cry without realizing tears are rolling down my face. The exhaustion is too much to bother acknowledging crying.

7am: Shift change. My night nurse updates daytime of how low my oxygen is and to be careful with my blood pressure. She reminds them that I need plasma at an incredibly specific time to try to influence my INR numbers for the day. Adriana says goodbye for the morning and says she hopes she doesn’t see me later, but we both know I will still be here.

7:30am: Meds. Magnesium drip. Platelets. Potassium. Steroids. Anxiety medication. Muscle relaxers. Blood pressure medication. Nausea medication for the blood pressure medication. Iodine up the nose. Propanol shot down the hatch.

8:30am-ish: Breakfast. Eggs taste like plastic and I cannot have salt. My eyes are dry from my oxygen cannula blowing up in my face.

8:35am then every 15 minutes: Random person from respiratory pops their head in and encourages me to take deep breaths. I contemplate creative forms of murder. My liver hurts. I force myself to pee in a bed pan and act like my kidneys are not shriveled and my back feels like a vacuum trying to strain to urinate.

8:40am: I really do not want dialysis.

9am: Rounds. Pulmonary wants a chest tube. Respiratory wants me to “just breathe”. Hepatology is here and avoiding giving answers about my transplant. My Mom is crying. I am stoic. Nephrology gives themselves more gray hairs and stresses out over my kidneys. Cardiology says things about “shunts” and bubble tests.

I just think about inhaling and exhaling and how badly it hurts with one lung.

10am-ish: Internal medicine comes by and apologizes profusely for the disagreement between teams and why I have not been given a chest tube yet. I usually cry again here. This is the definition of being in between a rock and a hard place, but I’m circling the drain between these places.

11am: Probably lunch. Probably also gross. Probably fighting with my Mom and regretting asking for her support. I would rather be alone.

Twilight zone: This is usually the hours between doctors where I let my respiration get really low and rest. I sip on my protein shake. I nest with my squishmallows and blankets. I journal. I think about the man I truly loved and how when I die, if I die, I have to be sure to not take it to my grave how I feel. The bed feels warmer, pretending he’s here under my fall blankets and surrounded with flowers and creature comforts.

People visit after this usually. I laugh until I can’t because it hurts too badly. I feel self conscious in my pajamas with my dirty hair. I feel like I have to entertain, even though I don’t. I insist it does not make me tired, but it does - but it makes me happy.

5pm: Labs. Time to find another vein to stab. Usually a chest X-ray here too. It feels great laying on a hard board for an X-ray everyday on a ribcage that has been punctured five times in ten days. But please, I know your ribs hurt so bad. Meds. More diuretics. Have to pee every ten minutes. Hope visitors are not here, because I feel less than human peeing in a bed pan with friends here.

Somewhere through the rest of the night, my Mother will decide to remind me that I deserve to be dying. That I am ungrateful, or unappreciative, or I removed the joy from her life. I am humbled and reminded of how small I am. My nurse usually kicks her out then and brings me a cup of vanilla and chocolate ice cream, because who wants to pick?

I’ll slowly chew up my grisly dinner, take my sleeping medication, and get ready for my oxygen to plummet overnight. The bed is exploding with comforts and I know if I go in my sleep, I will be as soft as I was coming in to this world.

Then it will be September 25th, 2023, and I’ll do it all again.

[luminescentglow]

A little bit of everything

As someone who's moved country, made a found family and then moved back home, I can empathize with these two A LOT.

Currently crying, so cry with me.

Farewell to my favs, Ted and Rebecca 💜

Rebecca stared vacantly out the large panel windows of her office. It was a sunny morning in late August, the UK was in a record-high heatwave, the air con in the Greyhound facility had broken last Tuesday, but all she felt was cold. She wrapped her arms around herself as she mindlessly watched training on the field below her with tired and unseeing eyes. It was as if all the warmth in the world had been sapped from her as soon as he had left and she didn’t know why or what to do about it.

“Rebecca…”

The call of her name brought her back to the present moment, but she didn’t turn her head or utter a reply.

“Rebecca…” It was Higgins’ voice that carried over to her.

“Hmm?” She finally emitted but without any real interest.

“Are you able to attend the 11am appointment with the Milk sisters?”

Milk sisters, Milk sisters, Milk sisters. Something was supposed to be funny about them but she couldn’t remember what. She closed her eyes and suddenly saw flashes of she and him in the pub. Memories hit of her trying her hardest to be a hard-arse and him breaking her down with his silly little puns. It wasn’t funny, but she was cracking up, her stoic facade fading, because it was him and he was perfect.

“Rebecca?” She wanted to hush Higgins, to tell him she was busy making mounds of the memories she’d made back when she thought there’d be years yet to make many more. Instead, she stood in silence and chased wistful affection.

“I’m calling Keeley,” Higgins eventually muttered resignedly.

Resignedly. Resigned. Ted had resigned. Ted had left Richmond. Ted had left her.  

Read the rest on AO3

[whatever-lmaoo]

You have me crying at 11am at my job you wonderful human being 😭🩷🩷🩷🩷 Your comments on my Athlete Bucky fic have me just over the moon you absolute sweetheart 🤧❤️❤️ I need like a moment before I can respond to them because wow 🥹💕💕💕

I’m sending you like the biggest hug ever through the screen so I hope you feel it!!! 💖💖💖💖💖

(love, @elixirfromthestars ✨)

Take all the time you need🥹💗

I definitely felt it!!🙂‍↔️🤗🌸✨

[sizeableseashell]

Rekindling

2024/6/3

8:15pm 

I’m so excited to see you tomorrow it’s ridiculous. I know I’m not supposed to or even allowed to be excited to see you tomorrow but I am. 

I’m so happy. 

I’m so happy to see your face again. 

Inspired by this book on mythology I’ve been reading, I’m practicing seeing people as reflections as myself. It’s a way to feel connected rather than closed off. It’s made me feel a lot happier recently. (By recently I mean the last six hours) 

When I see your face I’m going to imagine it as a reflection as myself. 

If you’re closed off it’s because I was closed of. 

If you cry, it mirrors a hurt in my own. 

If you smile and pretend nothing is wrong, I’ll go along with the jest. 

You messaged me first- right? 

“Heya heya” you said.

That sounds like you- your soft, adorkable qualities. Parental. You’re going to be such a good dad.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. It’s not fair but I do. 

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. I want to see you a agin, I want you to be near to me.

-and you messaged me first and you’d didn’t have to. You suggested I come pick up that silly little hamster. 

You said: “Yeah tomorrow works, though I’ll be out of the house 11am-9pm so it’ll have to be either pretty early or pretty late”

Your could’ve easily said: “come by between 11-9pm. The door will be open. The cage and everything is just inside. Also your pyjamas and toothbrush and medication.” 

But you didn’t. 

You said “btw, they somehow managed to Houdini out there cage yesterday and I have no clue how. So that’s something to look out for”

And I said “I’ll be on high alert,  With a little salute emoji. 

And when you said “either pretty early or pretty late” that put me in a conundrum. I was sitting on the subway at the time, my earphones in, fingers in suspension over the keyboard. 

Early would be the diplomatic, professional, thing to do. 

“I’ll come early and pick up tofu quick” 

I could’ve said

“Is that alright?” 

But I didn’t. 

I sat there, staring at text… deliberating. 

Coming in early would be abiding by the rules of our verbal contract: “I don’t want you to contact me for quite sometime,” to a tee. 

Knowing you, you’d be eating breakfast and answering work messages. You would be in the sort of business mindset conducive to the sterility our new arrangement demands. 

Or, I could come at night. 9:30pm or something. 

Knowing you, you’d be unwinding. Maybe you’d be getting ready for bed. (I’m sure that’s easier now that you don’t have a girlfriend keeping you up until 2am.)

You could use that as a cop-out. “I have an early day tomorrow.”

No you don’t Elliot you work at 11am.

But I’d respect your space, or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d protest.

“Elliot, let’s just talk.”

“What do you want to say?” You’d spit, your face would be wearing the shell I saw the day I broke your heart. 

“I want to say sorry. You’re my best friend.” Emotion would be tugging at the corners of my lips and eyes, “I don’t want to loose you.”

“We can’t be friends right now.

And that would be final. 

And I’d drive off. 

But I wouldn’t mention my meds. So I could come back later and haunt you like a spectre. 

Unless of course you gave them to me with the hamster. In which case I’d very much be concerned that this is my final seeing of you even though you’re my best friend and I miss you and it’s wrong that I miss you because I broke up with you and even though all my friends and people who care about me are telling me to give it space and give it time and sort myself out, the fact of the matter is you told me to come over Elliot when you were around and you didn’t have to. 

But let’s say you didn’t use it as a cop-out

I’m getting sick of talking about this now. It’s giving middle school crush. It’s giving not real. 

But let’s say you didn’t use it as a cop-out, and I wouldn’t come inside because I can’t face your roommate, and so you’d bring the cage outside. 

And you’d walk away, as if to brush your hands of it- and I’d suggest we sit on the field and talk because really what else are we going to do at 9:30pm.

And I’d express how sorry I am and how much I miss you. And how I love you, and I do, and that I want to be with you. 

Or maybe I won’t. 

Maybe I’ll see your face, hard like a shell, and the stress will come flooding back to me. And I’ll feel gay in my body, and I’ll still want to date girls and only girls and not girls like a speed run to get back to you but didn’t you always tell me, Elliot, didn’t you always to tell me to take it moment by moment and day by day and that’s what my happily partnered friends told me as well and didn’t my other friend tell me that for her she’s not even sure if the gay is a gay thing or if it’s a surface level thing signalling something deeper underneath, like some fundamental discomfort of being partnered, or happy, or in love, or supported. Because I have abandonment wounds- and honestly fuck it. Fuck it all. In the kindest way possible.

Because I’m letting myself imagine it, because I don’t know if it will ever happen again. But I’m imaging we sit on the field and I put my hand on your hand, and you look at me, and I look at you, and the sun is still high even though it’s 9:45pm and I lean over and kiss you and you let me. 

I decided to knock the ball back into your court: “do you have a preference?” 

You didn’t respond immediately, so I did something that felt somewhat evil and self-serving at the time: I followed up with “the evening would probably work better for me so lmk” 

(Wasn’t this a bit that we had for a while? I’d suggest that trying to get my way is evil and you’d make fun of me for it?) 

And then you responded “Yeah evening is definitely better” 

And I said  “Okay, 9:30pm?”

And you said “Sounds good” 

And I sent a salute face and a thumbs up. The salute on it’s own being dry and ironic. 

I went to the bathroom, and when I came back I found the passion I began this article with had largely evaporated. Maybe that’s a good thing. 

Let it bleed out of me until I’m a corpse once more. 

I’ll be nervous and absent. 

I’ll fantasize about this super artsy dating profile that I’ll never get together. 

I’ll wash my hands of this and move on. 

What will I see when I see your face again. 

Will it be mousy. 

Will you have shaved your beard. I’m putting $20 down that you shaved your beard and got a moustache. If you have I’ll know it’s over. Or is it. It doesn’t matter. 

What will I see when I see your face again?

Will you give me your ring back? 

What will I see when I see your face again? 

I think a larger question in all of this is what will I see in myself? 

That’s what terrifies me. I could leave it there, but let’s dive in a little bit. 

I’m scared that I’ll see nothing and feel nothing. 

Back to black as Amy Winehouse once said. Numb numb numb. I hate the sound of that word. 

“I’m feeling numb right now.” 

Now you’re not. What you mean is “I’m feeling nothing” because “numb” is a feeling all on it’s own. It’s blocky and gooey and kind of fun really. That’s how it feels at the dentist. Numb is something I can chew on. 

Being “numb to feeling” is another matter entirely. Enunciate. Say what you mean. 

Or I could see your face and feel sorrow, unlikely. 

I could look at your face and be overcome by a wave of longing. This is what I’m secretly hoping for. 

I would love to feel something passionate. 

I would love to not feel scared. I think maybe me feeling “nothing” is perhaps a reaction to me feeling scared, and maybe I mistake my “feeling nothing” for me being exclusively homosexual. But perhaps what’s going on is: 

I see you. 

I feel scared (scared of love, scared of commitment, scared of not being able to reciprocate all the love you give to me.) 

Instead of feeling scared, articulating my feelings, I shut down and feel nothing. 

That’s interesting that’s an idea I’d like to express. Do you think that’s possible? Pi, do you think this could be what’s going on? Artificial intelligence can you validate my feelings puh-lease? 

Do you parents forgive me? Could your roommate forgive me? 

Can I tell you how deeply scared I am. How deeply and truly scared that I am. 

That perhaps, this need to flee is rooted in fear. 

I would like very much for that to be the case, because I would like very much for you to welcome me back inside your threshold and I would very much like to curl up inside your arms and feel small again. 

Why do I feel angry? Where is the anger coming from? That was another thing- in our relationship that I noticed a lot. Feelings of anger. 

You noticed that my “pet peeves” were times when your focus was turned away from me. You were so gracious about it to: “don’t take this as a criticism, but… It seems all the things that annoy you about me… when I don’t respond to your texts, when I’m at work. They are all moments when I’m not paying attention to you.” 

Maybe… if we were to get back together. I could articulate what I need more. 

“I enjoy when we spend time together, just you and me. Doing something face to face, like painting and drawing and playing chess.” Or “I feel scared that I won’t be able to love you the way you love me.” 

Could that be from childhood too, Pi? A fear that I’ll turn you away and refuse to embrace you the way I wasn’t embraced? 

Why was I angry? I was angry when you weren’t looking. Even though it’s unreasonable that you look all the time. 

Or maybe I should give it up and date girls. Maybe I should do both like you said. I don’t know. I don’t know. 

I wish there were easy answers I don’t know. 

I’d like to keep you as my side chick. Here when I want you, while I’m off doing something else. I don’t know. 

Maybe I should meditate. Find God. That’s a good idea. I need clarity and answers. Mediation helps with that.

Tomorrow,

I’d like for you to look at me earnestly and say: “I want us to get back together.” 

That would make it easy for me. “Okay.” I’d say. Brain off. 

I’d swear never to abandon you again. 

You’d still be angry with me though. You’d be distant, gruff. 

We’d be sitting on the field. The sun would be setting. Without looking at me, a cool 10 inches of grass between us, you’d say “so are you gonna come inside?”

And a huge wave of pleasure would overcome me. 

Finally! Sex without the messy need for reciprocity. You’d walk me in. Oh! Could you have one hand on the back of my neck like you’re gonna throw me in a cell? 

Your roommate would be locked away in his room, hearing the storm coming. 

You’d throw me on the bed and tear, I mean tear, my clothes off. 

Oh no. I’d think, I like that shirt.

It would be a nice shirt, one I got at a performance, one that has personal meaning. 

And you wouldn’t give a shit. 

You would bite my neck really really hard and rip off my shorts. You’d loop your arms under my armpits and grasp my back. You’d move in me- and I’d push you away- fighting- and you’d push back. You’d hold my cheeks between the palm of your hands- and I wouldn’t feel sad at all. 

I’d be ravenously attracted to you. You would grow in size and stature. You’d be someone you’re not. Your dick and pecs would be bigger. 

I’d reject that person. I want you. I want my friend. I want my friend that I cuddle and kiss and make out with sometimes. You like my masculine. You like me. I like you. I want my friend, I don’t want answers anymore I just want my friend. 

There- that’s it. That’s the end.