#marble monologues

[prestonmonterey]

camp here and there thoughts

considered spamming my friend, but instead ill put stuff here.

this is all my thoughts from as im listening to it, btw

sydney and jedidiah are quincent confirmed?!! (not clickbait)

i will literally eat up any character named rowan no questions asked

the first bit with the penguins reminds me of burrows end

one of my favorite silly weird things is time going past the numbers it should (reminds me of everything is fine. i think it was like, the first episode? digital clock goes from 2:59 to 2:60? super cool, love it)

"let us live to die another day" (will you live to see tomorrow or die another dayyy// once a spy always a spy.... sorry, sorry)

i love that theres emojis in the transscripts

i feel so bad for the vegans at camp

mentions of apocalypse? a character called rowan? (you know what time it is folks: obscure lyric references!!!! (my beautiful apocolypse, if i asked you to be mine, would our purposes align?) again, sorry. ill stop. no i wont.)

woo! sydney feelings hour!

i love syndey telling his tape recorder not to tell anyone about his hallucinations

ok random thing i just noticed the titles have like part of the one before them and part of the one after and thats just pretty cool

why is the sky always bad

sydney being very normal about death and jedidiah bein like 'no' is also very quincent

interesting the 'when you die you will rot' is a recurring thing

sydeys laugh is so cute i love himmm

ok so theres like a spider cabin, moth cabin, ladybug cabin and BATTLE CABIN?

children being bribed by sugar is one of the most realistic parts of this

ok but the distinction between reanimation and true necromancy is actually really cool

sydney as much as i love you why the heck did you say thick like that

(when youre a ghost recorder, no one knows your name, but they wont try to stop you if you arent playing the game)

'our bedroom' actually screaming

the voice acting is such yum

again, sydneys noncholance about death related things

omg gay?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

poor jedidiah is so pathetic and bbg

for the record i hate oposite day too

gasp: a navarro (makes sense shes a tyrant) (im refrencing gentlemens guide to love and murder? i think? i dont even know at this point)

i love that all of ep 5 is sydney being too extra and jedidiah being the most exasperated

ok so maybe the implication is that matthew isnt human, but also ppl can have extra color cones, but only afab ppl bc color cones are in the x chromosome (thats also why men are more likely to be color blind) so trans matthew hc now

sydney are your eyes ok??

justice for sydneys fancy soap

if someone does magic and hurts sydney i will cry

ok so now with confirmation that they use analog clocks i really wana know what they look like

also i was thinking about why the music from last ep reminded me of something v specific and i think its yokai watch?

"babe" ok theyve got to be gay right???

sydneys allergic to seeing goo? interesting

father time? a bastard? omg you know what time it is (hehehe time bastard)

sydney and jedidiah are so cute im actually going to die

aww i want lava cake w real lava :( (fun fact by strange definition water is technicaly a form of lava)

ok so the amount of wholesomeness makes me think something bad is going to happen

"theyre penny loafers :("

rowan rowan rowan rowan rowan rowan!!!

the audio design is so yummy idk if i said that already

(uhh i accidentaly skipped most of ep six so back to that)

(the elephant man is just dead ambrose and sydney is vincent if they werre better at communicating)

"worms arent people" uh, YES THEY ARE, rude.

jedidiah whatever your project is it cant be so important that you havent played chess with your bf in A COUPLE OF YEARS wtf

(ok now to regularly scheduled friendship goo)

sydney calling the camper different animals is one of my favorite things

why is the sky always fucked up

"scary things like...men" sir you are men (but also same i am so scared of men and also are men)

jeDIDiah lmao

"your husband" and sydney just goes with it

ok but why is sydney slowly giving more and more louis taopp vibes (plz dont be like him)

i love casual loredrops about chocolate shortages

"friends" sure.. sure.

ok... so sydney did know that jedidiah had pics of him in his office? bc they used to be on the corkboard/?????

poor bb sydney is sad that his husband isnt telling him things

"[Scoffs] Friend. As if we’re not… we’re not… [Sighs] we’re not." noo im gonna actually cry (i am- i was... i'm supposed to be the best/ref)

i wanna see sydneys haunted house and skeleton cat drawings :(

"Put the Silly Putty back. You don’t need more Silly Putty." (my friends @ me when i watch another musical) (myself @ me when i eat another one of rowans fandoms >:3)

"co-nurse" idk if hes actually the assistant or not but i think sydney calls him that bc control? bc he wants power

also jedidiah uses am and pm which is interesting bc i dont think sydney does

ok now i get why sydney doesnt like joshua

the trivia sections of fan wikis are my favorite thing on this planet. "it is unknown whether or not the color green exists"

btw they actually mention green eggs and ham in ep 1 so i think its at least a concept

i still hc trans matthew. no fan wiki can take that away from me >:(

juniper daddy issues confirmed??

"Well, we can — petition her!" (i will try to petition my father/ref sorry sorry sorry)

Wait, one more: Cunt.  (uuh, fucker /ref. will anyone even get that one? its filled my brain. i dont remember any quotes before or after... it's taopp. uh, the scene with louis and jason in the hallway or something)

we love sydney trauma dumping 2 mins into an ep

i wonder if he sometimes forgets hes broadcasting to a bunch of middle schoolers

i wonder if joshua knows that middle schoolers arent usually 14

i love that sydney doesnt know what oatmeal is

sydney: if only my husband would play 20 dimensional chess w me :(

"Lucille has a flamethrower. You have to listen to what she says." the only lesson ever

natsume def has parent issues

just remembered that the trees produce defensive slick

i want teethh flowers :(

"and I fear that the end is near." (the end is coming, the end is coming! /ref)

"as sweet, and patient, and motherly, and forgiving as she is" so... not at all?

i love the silly old timey music omg its so fun

gasp cannon date. thats crazy. someone better have a timeline theory bout this.

aww no teeth flowers? :(

im concerned about sorens stones

is the ticking clock new? it feels new

oh huneee :(

just remembered the notes in the description. thats lore, right? prolly im too lazy to check.

Word to the wise: you ever come across that statue, do not look her in the eyes. (the fact that it rhymes too) (someone should make a cover of a word to the wise but with this line) (please?)

matthew appreciation time

sydney mommy issues?

jesus heck how many cabins are there?

is that what the pebbles were for???? im still scared.

sydney's silly drum roll gives me life

im actually so in love with matthew

sacrificial rituals, yay!

D: can they just be gay and happy? please?

they better get happy >:(

the spooky is rly goodd tho

mommy issues: the episode?

again, we love sydney trauma time before minute 3 of the episode

mila is a theater kid confirmed?!

sydney it seems like theres alot to unpack about your mom...

i dont think i want to know what horn sap is

"It’s all very delightful, b-but quite strange" idk the way he says that line is so vincentcore

im v worried for marie ann

"Don’t worry — they aren’t real ants. But it is a real log! " honestly id rather eat ants than a whole tree

"bending over to whisper in my ear." sydney is a short king <3

ohh the centipedes

i love the contrast of ideas its super spooky.

 “I’ve just got to do better,”  (never let yourself rest, they can try to despise you, but not your success) (also ambrose vibes. idk, but like maybe jedidiah has a similar 'if im perfect then people will finally love me' thing goin on?)

 “Give me a hard time, okay? We both deserve that.” (more ambrose vibes)

i think hes looking for validation from lucille?

i like that the va's voice patterns makes it clear when hes talking quietly even though the audios still at the same volume

"I know I’ve constructed a few effigies in my time. " (effigies of the god appolo, dickweed /ref)

"There is a clear block of resin on my desk with a centipede inside. He wants to swap places with me. Lately, I am tempted to let him." spooky

(last couple eps had, like, news broadcasts at the beginning? idk if its been like that the whole time, but probably lore stuff.)

o no is it rock time? (also soren sounds like such a cartoon character i cannot get over it)

is mother of stones the reanimation lady from the death fields or whatever?

i love that the only actually vegan thing given to the vegans so far is assorted leaves

i have a feeling that normal day might not be normal...

idk why would worshiping a statue of stones to be reborn into a second life in the middle of the forest be illegal?

ohh its bc normal day i already forgot/

" Un-resurrect? Un… resurrect… Were we going to “surrect” the rabbit?" (i prefer 'mercy killing' /ref)

i want juniper and joshua rivals to lovers/rivals to friends content. just putting that out there.

sydney just kill the rabbit

ok the fact that sydney is worried about this death-related thing is really unsettling

aoisfeorgijefmoigjt4ri4tgoirjjitog this is so spooky i love it so much

sydney needs proper therapy

"I know I’m beating a dead horse, but the guy wants something from me, and he does something to me, and I don’t like that he just gets to be around no matter how much I protest!" (grace when max)

and it all comes back to control

poor baby boy

:(((((((((((((((((((((((

(poor boy, tormented /ref)

why he bri'ish

nevermind i dont want juniper content anymore

"jeddie, m'boy"

why does anyone like him

yes, yes rowan is handsome

himbo juniper, but i still hate him

"it’ll steal all your nutrients until you wither and die!" (its infectious, its deadly, its one to be feared /ref)

"I’ve always wanted to be killed by something that loved me." dont. dont say that sydney.

soren is the dark magic sugar daddy of camp. prove me wrong.

"Would a child really do that? Just come to Summer Camp and tell lies?" yes. they would.

song? song!!!!

if this isnt on the soundtrack imma be pissed

idk how to explain this, but salems voice is really sharp

i certainly dont want to know what ostrich cream is...

if this makes sydney bottle up his feeling and muck up his relationship with jedidiah more im not gonna be happy

(ok so i was just informed that its going to get worse and,, i dont know how to emotionally prepare myself.) (also its past 10:30 pm so bear with me if my thoughts get a lil incoherent. as if they ever were coherent)

cant remember if this happens with sydney too but theres static when jedidiah says the time. interesting

so sydneys smoke thing is unique to him??

we do love occupying characters with a physical task during conversations

ig marisol prioritizes efficiency and salem prioritizes the wellbeing of the kids

also salem dont badmouth sydnel like that

gay??

more confirmation that sydney needs therapy

im v glad marisols on sydneys side

jedidiah is bein kinda silly, marisols like 'he makes me uncomfy' and hes like 'just dont feel uncomfy'

if only sydney and jedidiah were as good at communication as the sapphics

love that sydney is like 'dont swear!!!!' but dumps all of his trauma on the kids

noo im sad :(

"It’s a laaaaaazy day today." <<<(me tomorrow after not sleeping all night)

nothing bad better happen on the speepy day >:(

"Men. Men sure are mysterious." mood

"I can’t describe how it feels to see a blue sky… almost… apocalyptic. " i love subverting expectations and turning something ordinary into something completely paranormal.

also vambrose moment (the apple)

o great thats where the canibalism comes in

eugh

i do not want

(and this is why salem is worried about you buddy. dont share stuff like that with kids.)

on the other hand kids arent, like innocent to this type of thing, really. i used to babysit my friends lil sister ( i think she was in 2nd or 3rd grade?) shed make lego skits about people murdering eachother, with like, a lot of detail too. and i dont think she was raised on particularly violent media. she played pokemon go on her parents phone or doodles in kids drawing apps. i think kids just kinda gravitate towards these kinds of things, especially if theyre told theyre not supposed to.

o no sydney being normal about the elephant man is not good

"You get hungry." hungy theme within his dreams?

"I like animals because they never forget to be scared: of starving, of getting eaten, of getting hurt or sick." also reaccuring thing from the bunny

and centipede thing. and ants. (im guessing bc its a dream it s lots of things relating to his current situation, especially thematically) (also i believe ants were brought up at some point when he said something along the lines of 'it felt like ants were eating my stomach lining'

the writing is so good its unfair

"I should never have forgotten to be scared." this is really interesting bc so far hes only been really scared by the elephant man.

"and none of the birds could speak English." ok i think its extremely disturbing to consider the fact that 'its a uniquely human thing to surpress pain' so the birds CAN talk but theyre still animals. they never forget to be scared and they never think to hide their discomfort.

also geez this episode is so dark compared to the others. it makes sense in universe, bc most of this is going on in sydneys head.

noo matthew was affected he better be ok after >:(

also appreciation for the slowing music, i didnt really register at first but thats definitely bc of the weird time happenings. and then the crank and it speeds up? super cool!

this series is so fun!!!

im a bit worried that jedidiahs 'extra special clock' may have something to do with his project? especially considering he has a lot of clocks around his office

more hungy, i think that bc he was hungy but didnt really realize it bc time weirdness, it seeped into his dreams somehow?

appreciation for sydney being able to eat garlic bread

also interesting thing, idk if its relevant in universe or just a writing thing, but no matter what happens with time it seems to always be resolved for sydney to know when 25:25 is.

oh fuck the canibalism is back

icky

i do not want

nope nope nope its getting worse

sorry im blood squeemish

more elephant man lore

kinda spooky. maybe his powers rely on electricity? or theres some greater creature hes afraid of that haas that effect

appreciation for the ending music of ep 16, and also just all the music in that ep.

hive? (the apothiosis is upon us?)

also really different music for the intro. idk if its like a genre or something related to hives, but its style really reminded me of queen b from nightmare time.

i want a waterslide to nowhere

i dont want a bri'ish man talkin bout 'beans on the cob' to be responsible for my safety, like, ever.

more sydney lore! poor bb sounds like he needs a hug. particularly from one Jedidiah A.A. Martin

i love the corporate bg music during harmlessmart its such a nice touch.

matthew matthew matthew matthew

fresh honeycomb sky.. hive theming?

this is exactly the shenanigans that middles schoolers get upto when theyre realeased into the woods

" So it has been, and so it will be; eternal in all directions in time." idk i just like this quote,

more ants

sports crystals = pokey?

bee tsunami

so he is co-nurse... when does jedidiah ever do his job? where is he?

noo sydney not the corner bread

comunicate!!! please!!!

"but he must love me, right?" :(((((((((((((((((

" — my journals." of course jedidiah only cares when it relates to his project. so quincycore, but if quincy didnt care about his bf.

D:

idk if i should keep watching this tonight. on one hand, if i keep watching i might cry bc sad, but if i stop i will definitely cry.

"He would always be the father, and I would always be the mother" (blitzstonecore)

"How he could love something so much… and forget to feed it." (he loves sydney, he just forgets to take care of him. in the way sydney needs, instead of the way jedidiah thinks he needs.)

a grey sky

reading wikis again, and the warriors thing is just such a mood, and idk if the creators understand dnd stats properly, or if he jus sucks that much at living, but negative stats are not possible. like players usually cant get below a 3. and -4 means he has like -7 con, so he has 1 hit points at first level, which is really pathetic. yes im going to nerd about this. (i think its super funny bc, like sure w a 19 for wisdom he probably wouldnt fail wis saves, but on the off chance that he did, viscious mockery, a bard cantrip, will knock him out no matter what, and if it rolls i think a 3 or 4 it completely kills him. he could be killed by a single insult.)

(ive been informed that this will make more sense once i finish it, and now im v scared)

(also prolly shouldnt be reading the wiki rn bc spoilers, but im doin it anyway.)

again, the stats are SO EXTREME. not as bad as sydney. he could feasibly weild a weapon (strenghth or dex if finesse i think) he has reasonable con which is good bc wizards have absolutely no health. idk whats up with his wisdom (ive heard it described as 'street smarts' and int as 'book smarts' but i think it kinda goes hand in hand with rizz for interactions, bc its used for like insight, which is kinda important to talk to people.) (thats actually something id say maybe doesnt work well with sydneys high wis. so far it seems like, while he is quite observant, hes not always super great at reading the room, or at least thats what ive gathered)

also idk about the charisma bc so far jedidiah seems a bit more put together in the persuasion/deception/intimidation area of things.

might eep now. that means its a great time for you to drink some water.

do it. stay hydrated. it mustve taken a ton of mental energy to get through this post, so you should take a break. get a glass of water, get a snack, take care of yourself. (sleep if its past midnight or if your name is rowan) then you can come back and finish reading this shitshow :]

ok its morning time to finish this (maybe)

restarted ep 16 bc i forgor

omg wait sydneys usin am and theres static

i love that theres a credit card stealing fish.

no sydney youre doing it again what did salem say

relation to sydneys worms?

"If he didn’t value these creatures when they were alive, why was he so affected by their deaths?" STOP NO IM ALREADY SAD I GET IT

and thats why sydney wont kill the centipede?

w h a t

spooky music

is the hive conected to the elephant man?

excuse me did he just call worms many legged creatures (ig like worms as in maggots and caterpillars and silkworms, not earthworms)

i love that theres always some counselors that dont get to participate in the camp meetings

sydneys impression of jedidiahs voice is so silly

"But I like endings; I like closure. That was the point of this whole exercise." more with sydney being more ok with death perhaps?

“Ha. Abandoning your child in a lake . . . . so that’s what motherhood means for you?” NO NO NO NO NO :(((

"But I am not my mother." so this is why hes so protective of the kids?

rowan hero?

this feels less like a hive and more like an egg

rowan hero!

bad smoke, different smoke?

hive queen

ye i was right, it egg

so they WERE gay at some point???

interesting that jedidiah doesnt mention the elephant man breaking into his office

he frames it as 'im worried about sydney' even though hes been ignoring sydneys concern until it affected himself

ye ye lucille gets it he only cares about himself and his project

hes emotionally attatched to sydney, but he doesnt take care of him, because he doesnt understand what it means to not be taken care of

sydney taught himself how to love, and he makes a conscious effort to try his best, but he prioritizes the kids because he doesnt want to be like his mom

ye ye lucille call out the lil guy

lucille has the same thoughts about the elephant man as jedidiah did before he tried to take the journals

noticed the clock ticking

ohh so spooky bad stuff in the journals?

jedidiahs trying to keep sydney safe, reminds me of the "it was cozy and safe, like a prison" thing

also lucille bein his mom explains why sydney and jedidiah are close?

jedidiah doesnt like death, maybe hes afraid of it. because its closure, like sydney said. bc he doesnt know how to care about something while its alive, so he settles for greiving when its gone.

also the ending 'do not anger it" is a repeat i think?

o no more tree stuff?

am again and static

at least today the vegans get somethig they can maybe eat?

so he is the assisstant nurse? confusion

buddy are you sure thats not a corpse

assuming the things jedidiahs getting shipped in are related to his project, hes making progress?

again with him prioritizes his project above sydney

also minor thing about the lunch b i feel like hes kinda underestimating sydneys intelligence (of course judging by the dnd stats its barely above average) and thats also v quincy of him

also i think he forgot to say the time, but theres static for dinner, prolly bc pm

interesting i dont remember when sydney switched. was it always like that? 19:04 PM implies a 19:04 AM, and thats a lotta hours

sydney appreciating nature

do you even like goo arts? arent you allergic to goo

ok really interesting that they bring this up bc sydney was just talking about how he and jedidiah had a bag of acorns that they took home? and they were fine

plant spooky

related to project?

:(

time static

:((((

his lil eep is v cute

not even chess. bro why do you even check on him if youre too tired to play chess

clock tic

physically safe.

D:

sad gay

more clocks tic

no you cant end the ep like that

sydneys still gone :(((((

juniper no one likes you dont laugh at your own jokes

oh but rowan honey is getting juniper to his job worth putting up with his horrible voice and personality

its extremely ironic that jedidiah is responsible for mediating counselor arguements when he doesnt comunicate with his own husband

"how do I explain to you that you need to care about other people?" DONT SAY THAt... it makes me sad...

"I worry about you sometimes, though, y’know?" heres a concrete difference between juniper and jedidiah: juniper actually makes the effort to care about rowans worry, even if he cant empathize with it. honestly i think this episode is included to show jedidiah through a different light, bc so far it seems like him and juniper are very similar.

they both rarely do their actual work, and have someone they care about who has a (maybe) irrational fear of something they cant understand

"You keep saying all this nice shit to him like it means anything and then consistently letting him down with your behavior." showing jedidiah recognises these traits in other people but not himself.

"Your actions are what matter to the people around you, not your words or your intentions or your thoughts or your fucking anything else but your actions, and your actions show Sydney loud and clear that you don’t give a shit about him." aaand he let it slip. he knows hes doing the same, maybe? some part of him gets that.

hopefully after this there will actualy be some kind of positive change?

not sure if this is important, as i havent been reading the other log thingies, but under minor insight into it repeats a bullet point

theory: the elephant man took sydney???

"I promise you kids I will attend dutifully to the nurse’s office in Sydney’s absence. Or, I’ll make sure someone is, at least." more jedidiah avoiding his actual job, similar to juniper

again sydney prioritizes knowledge above all else, maybe a similarity to jedidiah

"One by one, we all stay alive…" cant remember if this was like an endy thing but it sounds familiar.. either way super spooky

yvonne dyslexic not clickbait?

"Of course I can, it’s — plain English." ok interesting def a thing about either yvonne or jedidiah, bc like they dont see the notes the same???

"I wanted her to get angry. I wanted a fight. I wanted consequences. I… I wanted… it to matter." he wants closure. he wants people to care about him

"She was kind then. So was Jedidiah." :(

:(((((((((((((

"really hard to believe that he would just — get up and leave." jedidiahs frustrated by the thought that sydney might not care about him like he thought?

another mention of religion. yvonne also mentioned praying in the last ep, and a while ago sydney talked about jedidiah being a 'good christian boy' or something like that

nvm that was the beginning of the last ep

im very good at life as you can tell

sorry back to 22

this is so strange

nother mention of religion

"My heartbeat has synced up with the ceaseless ticking… " reminds me of a comment i saw relating jedidiahs clocks to his heartbeat? idk i dont remember

this is... really disturbing. i dont know why

"holy day". interesting

this feels manipulative

no no elephant man if you turn sydney against jedidiah i will be very angy

wait isnt this like cult tactics, like asking someone to meet up in a low stakes setting, love bombing, asking them to do something to prove their loyalty. (i vaguely remember this from some yt video i watched about cats)

"Show you a love you have never known." hes preying on sydneys desire to be wanted, to be cared about

this is so unsettling my god.

" Jedidiah’s search party " means lucille aproved it?

"I mean, y’know, live like you’re dying, right? " (exexprincecore)

"What do you mean “that’s one way to put it”? Yvonne, these are blank papers!" enchanted papers?????????

ok sydney dont lie to them'

"Um. Okay. Listen. Sydney… I don’t want to lose you." but he doesnt really care, still

:(

clock ticking

"the tree finds human happiness nauseating." huh.

D:

"violent criminal history in the state of arkansas" thats all i could catch from the news thingy at the start, for some reason its not on the ep transcripts :(,,, but didnt elijah say hes from arkansas??? is that anything?

theres still static with the time

theyre dead?? like straight up?? all of cabin widow spider?

oh ok theyre not fully dead

as, like, the only sane person who cares about the elephant man, i wonder what marisols reaction is?

sports field? what about the musically inclined crystals?

hhehehe forgot that soren sounds like a cartoon villain

he nya like cat

...does the project have some relation to necromancy????????

tap tap tap tap tap tap

so crackers and butter cookies count as bread???

" but without death, it will never live." (to show ya the horror of stayin alive) (sorry sorry sorry sorry)

"Not because we want to, but because we must." ^^^^

wait wait wait i think i remember the one by one thing. but it was "one by one we all survive" and then "one by one we all stay alive" or something lik e that, so its interesting that it changed.

"but I can’t believe any amount of money would convince her to completely ignore the safety of the kids." again thingy with prioritizing the kids

"Seems this strain of mold just turns us into zombies, like… interpersonally?" mood

hahahaha juniper already is like that so the mold didnt have any effect

hun he is definitely deliberately manipulating yp

ok so idk about any of endy bits so far but it keeps bringing up not angering it and they "youve angered it" and im guessing if anything it has something to do with elijah??? or the project?? maybe both idk

"It’s like you don’t even care about the kids here anymore." huh

and it all comes back to control.

"Jedidiah… [Sigh] this mediation session isn’t for you and me." they need to go to couples therapy

" [Whisper] I miss you. .... I’m such a fucking idiot. " :((((

can the gays just be happy? just for a little bit? can elijah go away? can everyone please for the love of god or whatever just be happy for one goddamed moment?

no am, still static

i dont think thats a river

also, 'rapids'? he said like a moment before it was still, which kinda means its just more lake, and the land partially seperating it is an island

"they’re hungry for a sense of intellectual superiority." i love that the creatures in and around camp are half spooky half completely mundane

ye for once i think junipers right its more like a moat

"For today’s breakfast we have an eel’s head stuck upon a 500-year-old sword and slathered with pea mush — a hometown delicacy suggested by Juniper. He says they call it “scrumpledydumps!”" (ugh. british people.)

hc sydneys proficient in animal handling

... he feels like a curse and not in control of his life :(

forgot about the macaronis

uhh wouldnt a bridge make the hunt like destroy cam

(the horse? the divorce? /ref)

"I can’t figure out what this poor fox eats." is this a reference to the fly thing? showing contrast bc sydney actually thinks to take care of it?

still no am or pm but theres static

:((((((((((((((((((

please let them be happy? (this is why i stil havent finished yellow jacket. i simply cannot handle characters being sad or the undeniable feeling that something terrible is going to happen)

"the tree also finds human fear nauseating." huh.

clocks. are we finally gonna learn more about the project/??

no more river

beeping

what the actual f u c k is going on

id let matthew poison me with arsenic

holy fucking shit

i love that sydney raises his voice when he does an imression of joshua

"You know, when I was a kid, a large portion of my daily diet consisted of complimentary condiment packets from the school cafeteria."...sydney are you okay?/?????

at this point the static is kind of comforting. the only thing consistent at camp other than sydneys trauma

more beeping

huh??? i swear hamsters have been mentioned before

ye ye ye

how does sydney know what hamsters eyes look like if theyve been extinct for millions of years????

" 2:01 AM" WHOA thats new.... is it bc of maintenence? perhaps?

still static

oh fuck no i forgor about the journals

more clocks

FUCK

(extra thing this kinda reminds me of holloweane a bit just bc of the like not being able to give info, of course ms holloway does WANT to, and does try to tell duke, but anyway)

(and now i gotta go do stuff. why did i agree to do stuff after that episode. damn. anyway. this is your reminder to take a break from my ramblings. get some water, stretch, focus your eyes on something that isnt a screen. and of course, if your name is rowan, you should sleep probably)

hi im back

birds. huh.

and a clock tickin, but it stopped before the click.

apple=jedidiah?

what about the second hand???

clocks have knowledge. sydney wants it.

this musics quite the jam

is petrfified wings a thing? it feels farmiliar

" 25-26-100 hour days." hwhat the hell

he wants to be a clock? he wants to be flexible?

is this the extra special clock that fucked up time in that one episode?

wheat feild? related to the death fields? i think sydney mentioned someones wheat allergy in that ep

this is v strange

something.. something train related happened to his dad?

is.. is the next event sydneys death? jedidiahs death?

thats why he doesnt like it? why hes scared of death?

knowledge. thats what they both seek.

FUCK NO elijah go away i dont like you >:(

of course, elijahs using him to get information. also HOW THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW ALL THIS (sydney please get away from that creepy stalker)

"hot tea with honey is good for sore throats." (goddamit emma now i gotta make a tea with honey /rref)

the weird audio thing in the background right after the episode title reminds me of my printer.

poor campers, no salt. nothing better happen to matthew >:(

at least sydney stopped spreading propoganda about the elephant man

oh also hes back to saying the time, am and pm, and our dear friend static

fuck

thats a lot of blood

w h a t

static please help me

what do they have against france

" it’s so funny to watch the fumes struggle to conjure anything worse than what I’ve actually been through." >:0

"[HE BUTCHERES THE PRONUNCIATION]" me too buddy, me too

did...did sydney get a clock?

o no are the penguins gonna come back

sydney are you okay???

all of this better be on the soundtrack

[HE BEGINS TO HYPERVENTILATE AND CRY.] (mee too budy, me too)

" Are you ready? Why did you lie?" w h a t

ok ok ok im definitely gonna finish this today bc if i dont ill stay up thinking about it anyway

more god, sin and death stuff. also mention of adam, possible relation to up and adam? (intro bit still sounds like a hyperventilating printer)

(this is so long i wonder if anyones actually made it this far. wait atcually the fandoms small so prolly.) (i bet rowans reading this. i bet hes not actually sleeping like i told him to, twice.)

NO ELIJAHS BACK (idk if anyone else is here but i am a member of the elijah hate club)

brought up the ceremony thing again. (still seems kinda cultish)

quiet beeps

louder beeps

this "stupid man" sounds a bit like jedidiah...

"He did not understand how to feed it" again the starving thing

or, is it elijah? idk im confused

also wtf is goin on w the accent

:(

so muse is definitely sydney, prophet is elijah, so yeah i think the architect is jedidiah

"I will be the one to crystalize the truth of your perfection" (uh oh is he gonna pull an ambrose)

kinda sounds like hes gonna set sydney on fire

FUCK SYDNEY YOU BETTER TELL JEDIDIAH (pls just make them be okay)

"…I’m going to start sleeping in the room with Jedidiah again." ok ok thats progress good.. maybe hes not so distrusting of jedidiah anymore??? at least hopefully itll help w his pain

silence.

(reading comments) i saw some ppl saying sydney died and got revived and that makes sense considerign the story but also WHAT THE FUCK

reason jedidiah wont tell him about the project? or why hes so intent on keeping him physically safe? (how much does he know about elijah, bc elijah seems to know a lot about him)

another mention of god in the news before the title

no more printer sounds? maybe i just wasnt payin attention

"Hey, what’s this co-nurse stuff? Aren’t you Sydney’s assistant?" joshua out here askin the real questions

idk whats goin on but somethng seems really off

clock

:(

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. that is no way to end an episode. again, this is why i cant finish yellow jacket. i do not like the sad.

idk if its just me but elijah sounded a bit different.

shit this is already episode 31.

trees

also um fuck what the hell is that title. the pyre??? sydneys just gonna go with it?! dude hes gonna set you on fire !!!

also side note taking a moment to appreciate the pacing of the series so far, the whole time its felt like just the right amount is happening, it never feels too rushed or boring. also the attention to detail and callbacks and references are amazing

oh fuck he mentioned the penguins. that means jedidiah will knwo he was looking for the journals

wow it s been a while since he talked about the sun or the moon, kinda nice to hear about the sky again. of course now im remembering jedidiah talking abotu the stars and im sad again.

the moon was in the sky all day? is that normal?

oh. she wants control. like how sydney talked to elijah. to prove he has control. to make a choice.

"was that being fed is not always the same as being nourished." back to the starving thing.

the clock is back

he misses jedidiah :(

still dont know whats goin on with the centipede

"I need to prove I’m worth something to you" (ambrosecore)

"My body is whole. My body is eaten.' spooky.

they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy they better get happy

:(

32!

glitchy walky talkies? i think thats that kind of beep. something something something RADIATOR? idk as someone whos bad at listening, i kinda wish they put the beginning bits in the transcript, but i guess thats bc mysteries???

static is back. aw, the moon has returned to her duty.

"Ahhhhh, to overthrow nature…" reminds me of the natural order thing joshua said during the camp revolt thing

also i was so right about elijah's culty stuff

communication? are they gonna be happy, maybe, at some point???

...i may have read spoilers in the wiki that they get together in 34, so i hope that means theyll be happy.

fuck fuck fuck fuck noo no non on no no elijah stay away

"Am I alone… ? " D:

glad he has a gun. that definitely cant backfire in any possible way...

fuck fuck fuck why is cabin dungbeetle like thhis

sound design is still so fuckin sick

jedidiah describing sydney: he's, uh, fuck, idk hes hot?

hes so pathetic /affectionate

OH FUCK ELIJAH KIDNAPPED HIM!!! TONIES WHY DIDNT YOU START WITH THAT WHAT THE HELL

no no no you can t end on cliffhangers like that (i say as if im not gonna watch the next one in like a minute) (i could never watch shows or podcasts as they come out i would actually die from the cliffhangers)

oh wait its not the end of the ep.

again sound design is immaculate

if sydney dies at the end of this series so will i, just putting that out there. (oh same with jedidiah)

YO OMG HES SO SMART i forgot about the reflection thing. what did he steal?? idk he took something that was like 'the only way i could seee my reflection' or something.. that makes so much sense.

by the way imma be at least a bit upset if we dont get any more rowan content before the end of the series.

(last ep)

FUCK you elijah i hope you BURN in HELL (sorry to any non elijah-haters, but also, not sorry bc hes bad)

"every day is a living fucking nightmare!" i mean this is just a thing thats said and not, like, unique to the show, but jedidiah does say something similar earlier on i think

the whole love vs want think kinda reminds me of linda, and like wiley bein like 'you dont want to be loved you want to be adored' (of course thats more framed as a villain thing so..)

FUCK WAIT THEY KNOW EACH OTHER???!!!!

"She keeps him like a prison." callback to the prison thing? the ''it felt comfy and safe, like a prison" i think it was something like that

so elijah is connected to the clocks somehow??

FUCK FUCK FUCK I FORGOT HE HAS THE JOURNAL

NO NO NO WHATS HE GOING TO DO

salamander man=elijah?

thats when he died???

second journal entry reminds me of, this is weird, but like dnd memes? and how magic kinda comes naturally to classes like sorcerers and bards, but wizards learn through study?

also im very confused by why the journal entries are so important, and why elijahs voice keeps changing. its really unsettling

so jedidiah was looking into magic to heal him?

"You turn it off and back on again." holy fuck

oh my god so thats why necromancy is such a reaccuring thing? and them being like , dw real necromancy isnt popular

the clock is also an interesting thing, idk what it means tho

aww the statics back :)

why is lucille like this

whats her goal in any of it

"This information… resists being known." (ms holloway vibes)

his, dad, died from that??

" Because I’m nothing without you, Sydney, I really am." (quincent vibes)

i find this switch really interesting bc up untill this moment sydneys always been the one, kind of, like, comfortable with death? and it makes sense now, i guess, because jedidiah was afraid of it, afraid that sydney might find out, and hed get hurt again

"But there’s something kind of sexy about that, though, right?" (a real stroke of luck, when the one man you can murder is one of the men you--- /ref) (sorrry sorry sorry this is a serious conversation ill try to be more normal)

awww gay (now for the happy? maybe? can they please be happy?) (sorry i said id be normal.. ill do that now < ---lying)

"Uhmm… [Sniff] hey, I, uh, haven’t seen you drink water, yet. I don’t think you’ve been drinking water — here. Drink. " (this is a reminder to all my friends who dont hydrate enough. do it. or you'll end up like sydney, nearly burned on a pyre by a weird russian guy in an elephant mask)

the gays? on their way to being happy? even just for a bit? not clickbait? (dw i know elijahs gonna come back and fuck everyone over in a lil bit. just let me have my moment)

"Also, he’s gone. For good." dude dont fucking jinx it!

"Seems the two of ‘em have gotten quite cozy. " (thats kinda gay dude)

i was so confused then i remembered that it was 20 dimentional chess

still kinda confused about the mirror thing

WAIT WHAT THE FUCK THATS THE END

NO NO NO NO NO NO

e32uojkbwqlrhugejbkqfdshoihuqjbkefrbejwkghioujeklfnwmdlskjaipuojlknm, gnwklejfponrdsjlaiojfwejb

im sad now D:

anyway, i am sincerely sorry that you had to read this hot mess. uh, rowan, if youre still here. go to sleep.

ok now im gonna go read fanfic and hope it can heal me from this emotional rollercoaster.

bye <3

[shitty-mh-aus]

au where everything is the same but they all talk like Sims

.

[algrenion]

me: im depressed and i have art block for drawing i guess i will try to write instead

the writing: bro this is just your own severe traumas portrayed through fictional characters you relate to & love at a distance

me:

[snowaftermidnight]

got off vc with some friends and instead of going to sleep like a normal person i decided to write a jam fic without any plan. at 2 am. um. enjoy lol

[spawksstuff]

The De Completionist Checklist Part 5

1955

Note on the dates: I will mostly be going by when a show/movie was shot rather than its release date. Variety Magazine will be given first priority.

My score: 11 / 17

Need To Find: Maitnee Theatre Beyond a Reasonable Doubt, Studio 57 Vacation With Pay, You Are There: (The First Major Use of Penicillin, The Rescue of the American Prisoners from Santo Tomas, Eli Whitney Invents the Cotton Gin, Grant and Lee at Appomattox)

Favorite Movie: Bamboo

Favorite TV Show: Science Fiction Theatre YORD and The Millionaire Iris Millar

Favorite Scene: When Ike Clanton addresses the reporter in You Are There. Eyeballing him up and down, smirking, menacing, laughing.

[lak3sinstilln3ss]

Me when I accidentally shared a bunch of slenderverse posts to my anon liminal space account:

[citizen-saint]

in the beautiful utopia that is my mind humanstuck sollux looks like alex kralie

[appelscruff]

My nine months old oven broke down (with my lasagne inside it) and took my fragile mental state along

[theskoomacat]

i liked the Hunger Games prequel overall. (Spoilers ahead.) I can't say I was too thrilled to watch Snow be a compicated gray character after how cartoonish everything is in the og series, but that's Susanne's prerogative ig. Like idk I'm not seeing the path from A to B, from the dutiful poor young man he was to the dictator he became - all because Lucy didn't trust him with a gun. Where did his empathy go? I'm sad he also lost some of his freakishness in the process, those shots of him looking at rats were a lot. I did enjoy the symbolism though, even if it was very heavy-handed.

I didn't like the first half of the film the most - the, again, cartoonish students, straught outta WW's Chocolate Fabric, except they fall into vats full of snakes instead of chocolate. I didn't like their take on the 50s aesthethic - it reminded me a lot of the Fantastic Beasts films where I didn't like it either. Blegh. I didn't like the Games themselves, even though the ways Snow helped Lucy were pretty fun. Dr Gaul was fantastic, of course. I wanted to call her the first evil scientist in the field of social studies, but then remembered the 70s psychologists... Her bloodied fit, too, mwah. Otherwise I didn't like how the film used female characters, and even if Lucy was great, we never got to scratch past her surface. I was SO ready to see her do a 180° turn on Snow after the Games - she's a performer, after all, - sad she didn't.

I think the best thing I got out of this film is the realization (based on pretty vague memories of the og films) that everything Katniss did were, unbeknownst to her, acts of horrendous psychological warfare on Snow, it's very funny. No surprise he got fixated on her (don't get me started on his fixation on his own's mother)

[miraclewoozi]

i. genuinely. do not have enough words to say how honestly giddy and overwhelmed and happy reading all this made me. thank you so so so so SO (x10^300) much??? i’ve read your review back, no lie, about 7 times just because it blew my mind that much😭 I’m gonna CRY thank you thank you thank you🫶

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?”

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[nymphbnny]

room 609

────── nanami kento

⤷ general.manager!nanami who can’t help but be seduced by your little receptionist fit and wit.

tw: age gap (20s ; 40s), kind of a slow burn to porn, masturbation (male), seductive touching,mating press, dirty talk, praise, doggy, slight riding, minor daddy kink, oral (fem) , fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, not read proof MDNI

pssst!! i missed you guys so much <3 i hope you enjoy this piece i’ve prepared for you. i’ll get to my inbox asks as soon as i can. love and kisses xoxo

“sir you booked your room b&b, which means your breakfast is included in the pricing of your room regardless if you have it or not. i can’t reimburse you.” you explained for the tenth time to the stubborn guest on the other side of the desk. you’ve already had a long day and were close to ending your shift until he came and disrupted your plans.

“is there a problem here?” he uttered, making both of your heads turn at him. nanami was standing by the reception, probably aware of the silly conflict thanks to the cameras he installed. it was a good thing that not only they showed him what was happening but he could also hear the entire discussion.

you looked down at your french nails, not saying a word as the client went out on his rant. haven’t you done that, you would’ve noticed how your superiors would casually gaze at you, unfazed by the ongoing monologue.

“how about that sir,” nanami spoke up, his eyes now fully fixated on the man. “let’s say i rented a room at your place, bed, and breakfast included, and you end up preparing one of the most exquisite breakfast only for me to reject your hospitality and ask you to pay me back that breakfast, disregarding all the care and effort you put to make me feel at home. how would that make you feel?”

silence. utter and complete awkward silence.

you were so stunned and yet nothing could match the man’s face. this was the first time you heard nanami use that tone, or even speak that much for that matter. you thought he was done until he proceeded: “you booked your room fully aware that you were paying for both the room and the breakfast. i hope there won’t be any further issues.” he adjusted the glasses on his face before stoically watching him pay his stay then check out. “hm if you can’t handle silly conflicts call me. i don’t need to be babysitting you 24/7.”

you couldn’t even reply or apologize as he turned around and left. it took you a minute to realize he undermined your skills and humiliated you. you clenched your teeth and furiously grabbed your bag. you were stomping so hard on the marble floor you were sure that the guests could hear you. “babysitting my ass,” you grunted.

you’ve been working as a receptionist for almost a year. you knew what you were doing but he always had to butt in and comment on everything you did. just to tick you. he clearly didn’t seem to care when your colleague answered a call in front of a guest and began cussing at her sister loudly. but you, whatever you'd do, there was always an aftermath about it with nanami. it wasn't like you were particularly fond of your job, it was only temporary.

you couldn’t say anything to him or complain to anyone about him since he was the general manager of the hotel but your patience was wearing thin and you were seriously considering quitting. nanami was an arrogant man. an attractive one, unfortunately. he could capture the attention of a room in seconds. always composed and well-groomed. god he smelled heavenly too. you could try to deny your tiny crush all you wanted but it was there. his praise meant a lot to you. when you first began working here, his compliments happened often, almost daily. whether it's how much of a 'fast learner you are', or how you're doing 'a good job'. you'd get high on them. having a general manager like nanami praise you was everything you needed to boost your self-esteem. however, the moment you got comfortable around him, throwing a few hand waves whenever you saw him passing by the lobby or even knocking on his door without calling his office first to check if he had time to see you, it was all gone and soon replaced with constant scolding.

you knew that nanami was a serious man. a workaholic. albeit he’d always find ways to slightly touch you, brush up against you, squeeze you into your desk to pass behind you with his hands on your hips to ‘grab some papers’ although he had copies. sometimes he’d even go as far as to reprimand you for unbuttoning the very first two buttons of your dress shirt, scolding you for showing a bad image of his hotel.

“so unprofessional,” he tutted. “this isn’t a brothel. you’re not supposed to seduce the guests.” he murmured as he fixed them for you. you were looking at him with doe eyes, your crush undeniable at that moment, your chest heavily moving as he was unbelievably close to you, his fingers lightly brushing your exposed skin. “i didn’t know that a few buttons could seduce someone.” you lowly replied, your tone lining with slyness and quip. nanami looked down at your chest one last time before humming, his phone ringing in his pocket.

nanami treatment for you was paradoxical. he got off teasing you. especially when you first came into his office to present yourself after your interview. you were wearing your black pencil skirt and loose tucked-in white shirt. as respectful as he was, he was still a man. he couldn't help his eyes that lingered on your exposed legs, up to your tight skirt and beautiful curves. he'd be lying if he didn't think about you spread on his desk, his cock buried inside you with his tie wrapped around your wrists, holding your tits together.

she is so receptive, he’d think. watching you work and obey. you were so obedient to his commands and wishes. made him wonder if you were receptive in bed too.

he saw you the next day going into the hr's office, nobara's, to receive your paycheck. his office wasn’t far and he always passed by each department to check if everything was intact. “thank you so much, oh also could i have tomorrow off?” you inquired as you got up, not sensing the presence of the tall blond man behind you.

“sure but i’d have to double check with mr- oh! there you are!” she shrieked as she saw nanami. you turned your head to catch him looking down at you. he was wearing a black shirt with black chinos. fuck me, you thought. if he didn’t call you out of your daze you’d probably have trailed too far down his body and gawked at his print.

“what do you need your off for? it’s the first of the month.” he deadpanned. truth be told it didn’t matter when you wanted to have your day off as long as your colleagues could cover your shift. moreover, he had no right to ask you why you needed your day off. it was personal and he was breaching your privacy.

“well, mr nanami,” a glimpse sparkled in his eyes at the pronunciation of his name. “i need to have a breath of fresh air. a change of environment.“ you said tilting your head a little to the side. you were holding the envelope between your fingers, waiting for his reply. “i guess if nabora granted you a day off then you should be good to go. have a nice day.”

nanami left to his office, nobara snickering behind you. you got pretty close with her throughout the year. you shared the same interests and often hung out together and tomorrow was going to be one of those days.

you’d go out to blow off some steam — get black-out drunk — and dance around like idiots. your team was amazing and you were so grateful nobara was so fun to be around. everyone was generally nice, well, almost everyone.

you’d go out every once a week. it was your thing. sometimes you’d go to each other's places and have a small gossip about some of your colleagues, sometimes you’d do both.

“god that was so nice,” nobara slurred out as you got to her apartment. your day off paid well. fresh salary got you pretty nails and a pretty meal before you went to the club and had a few shots. it was packed to the brim but you didn’t mind. it was a different atmosphere and you've been dying for some nightlife. you took off your short dress, and a few flashbacks of how you were grinding against the handsome man went through your mind.

if it weren’t for nobara pulling you away to do more shots, you’d probably have gone home with him. both of you were slurring your words, drunkenly spilling the hot gossip about every employee in the hotel.

“— and i told him that! he is just sooooo,” she trailed before proceeding, her hand on your thigh. “dumb!” she laughed, throwing her entire body back and collapsing on her bed. man, you loved work gossip. you were fully entertaining nobara, both of you in your silk pajamas.

you were slowly drifting away, your eyelids getting heavier until she dropped his name in the conversation, your body uncontrollably shooting up. “my my, don’t be so alarmed.” she snickered. “i thought you saw him at the club. i was calling you to come say hi but you were so busy grinding against that hot mess.” she nudged you with her elbow before falling back on her back.

pause. press pause now.

“nanami was there?” you could only mutter out. while you failed to spot him, he, on the other hand, most definitely saw you. your blood ran cold and you began overthinking. you knew he wasn’t your boss outside of your work environment, he couldn’t scold you. yet you kept on worrying.

“hey you good?” she asked worriedly, your face scrunching up. “god you act so weird every time i bring him up. almost as if you like him.” nobara giggled. your eyes widened. “i do not!” you almost yelled defensively.

she was quiet for a second, remembering your interactions with him. how he treated you differently than others. harsher and almost too controlling. as fun as nobara was, she was still one of the smartest people you ever worked with. she could smell it a mile away. you liked him.

“you’re drunk and making things up.” your voice softened up. “he’s so mean. i don’t get why he’s so harsh with me. and all the touching…” you trailed, the alcohol not helping you think clearly. you looked beside you to find nobara asleep, her snores gradually becoming stronger. you scoffed at your friend before grabbing your phone from your purse and rewatching the stories you posted.

you noticed a new name amongst your usual views, your brows furrowing in confusion.

nanamikento

nanami was on social media? and how did he find your account? you used a fake name. knowing you won't be hearing the end of it, you decided to sleep it off and gather all the energy you could need for tomorrow.

you didn't even have time to salute the night audit as the phone rang the second you stepped into the reception area. nanami. you internally sighed and mentally prepared yourself for what you might tell him as you made your way to his office. you knocked on his door and he lowly asked you to come in and have a seat on his leather couches. you take a seat in front of him and before he even has the chance to glance at you, your tongue lets loose. "mr. nanami i know you saw my Instagram stories last night however this is none of your concern and i don’t feel like i should be called in here to be scolded for doing something that isn’t hurtful to my work environment. i'm a highly professional and punctual employee and i strongly believe that i don't need to be hearing any more scolding coming from you."

while you felt empowered by your monologue, nanami didn't seem fazed at all. he glanced up at you when you started talking, not blinking once before deadpanning: "i frankly couldn't bother to care about what you do outside this hotel therefore your personal life is no bother to me. however what does bother me indeed," he said standing up before walking around his desk and towering over you, "is the way you just spoke to me."

god, he was so close you could feel his breath lingering on your lips. it was only natural for you to feel more embarrassed and humiliated about what happened. you gulped before looking up at him, your lips hesitant to move. "mr. nanami i apologize for my rude behavior. i sincerely do. i- i just, you always seem to want to scold me whatever i do and i thought that this time-"

"are you saying i have a poor sense of judgment and scold you because i want to?" his hands were now on each side of the couch, caging you in as he leaned further down. you leaned back, breath labored. he didn't look like it but he was enjoying every second.

she's so beautiful when she's all flustered and red. squeezing her thighs together and fiddling with her pretty nails from embarrassment and i haven't touched her yet. he didn't expect you to answer his question. he was just trying to get you all worked up.

he couldn't help but be mean to you. at first, you were just another e, employee to him. needy of his praise to rise through the ranks and become better and more efficient at their job. needing and thriving for motivational words to get the job done. but the more he spoke to you and watched you get warm around him, the less control he had over himself.

"mr. nanami i printed out all the vouchers you asked for and contacted the travel agency to confirm all the guests for tomorrow's wedding. oh, and i thought i'd ask room service to bring you your lunch here. i couldn't help but notice you didn't have time to sit with us at lunch today." you smiled at him, your hands interlocked as you stood in front of his desk. he grinned at you, grabbing the papers you gently put on his desk with your soft hands. "that's very kind of you y/n. i would've asked you to join me but as you can see i'm busy."

"oh yes, definitely mr. nanami i wouldn't want to bother you anyway. if you'll excuse me i need to go back to the lobby. goodbye." you turned on your heels and exited his office leaving him and his print that was clear as day.

"fhuck," he groaned as he stroked his throbbing cock, his hand leaning against his bathroom in a fist with his head down, eyes shut as he imagined you were sucking him instead. he'd always get worked up because of you. how small and innocent you looked. so kind, so mesmerizing. so fragile compared to him. "fucking hell y/n, mhm," his hand going faster, squeezing his swollen tip. "just like that pretty," he whimpered thinking about your lips wrapped around his tip kissing and teasing his slit before he came all over his hand. nanami breathed out, ashamed that a small interaction turned him into a raging teenage boy fucking his fist secretly in the bathroom. he knew he needed more, touch you, scold you, anything to get a reaction out of you.

"mr. nanami please don't fire me. you're right i poorly acted." your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he was glad it did or else you'd start by noticing the growing bulge in his dress pants.

he leaned back up and went back to his chair, discreetly fixing himself. "there's a group of guests coming at two in the afternoon, approximately sixty to seventy people. i need you to start working on the rooming list before they arrive to have a smooth check-in and make sure all the rooms are well cleaned." he fixed his glasses and looked at his laptop.

"but, wasn't the rooming list supposed to be done two weeks ago i don't understand." doing this on your own is suicide. it wasn't a small group. he's talking about sixty to seventy people. it's impossible.

"i called you hear for this reason. i need you to do it because unfortunately we just were recently notified due to lack of expertise and this group is going to stay over a few months, losing them would be idiotic." he muttered the last bit and kept on typing on his laptop. "you are dismissed. i trust you can get the work done."

your eyebrows arched up as your mind wondered if your ears were playing tricks on you or if he just said something nice. you decided to ignore it and go back to work. you had no time to waste and to your bad luck, today you were alone at the front desk.

"i’m actually so tired i cannot feel my fingers. i’ve been typing all day nonstop only to be rewarded with a small good job from nanami. like i literally cannot take his shit anymore, i told you what happened earlier in his office." you huffed. "i don’t understand why he acts this way with me! he’s so indifferent and i genuinely can't stand him." you dropped onto her bed lying back and looked up at the ceiling. she snickered and laughed next to you. she knows you're annoyed because of your silly crush. parts of you wanted him to be jealous of that guy you were rubbing yourself on. god knows he was.

"well," she paused as she sat next to you. "you’re gonna have to tolerate him tonight babes because we are seeing him outside of work. now before you start talking again," she exclaimed silencing you with a finger against your lips and making you pout. "we all had a tiring day today and we know we’re going to be quite busy and overwhelmed for the next few months to come so the owner decided to give some of us, well the hard workers, access to one of his private members' club to blow off some steam and award us for the general good job we’ve been doing. anyway, nanami is gonna be there so i want you to get over the crush you have on him and no don't deny it because the sooner we can get ready the better."

you glare at her. nobara was right but you were a stubborn person. "absolutely not". you interject as you stand up and throw your phone on the bed. "i am not going out to party with a man who constantly insults me. i refuse to go out with a man who looks down on me for no reason and have to pretend to enjoy my time tonight around him just so he doesn’t have any smart retort to say to me. i want to dress up however i want, i want to dance, i want to drink and I want to get black-out drunk and not have anyone reprimand me or scold me for my behavior and i’m not going to be able to do that if he’s going to be there." you put your hands on your waist and sighed when you caught nobara holding her laughter with pursed lips.

"nobara i can see that you’re going to burst." she starts laughing and falls back on her back. "oh man, i didn't know you cared about nanami kento that much. lord," she kept on laughing, her mouth wide open and arms holding her stomach. "girl fuck you." you blushed. "i'm not going and that's final." you rolled your eyes, and sat on her couch.

this was starting to become very frustrating.

"this place is amazing!" nobara yelled in your ear as you walked into the club. you ended up caving in. although you had your stand on the situation, you still wanted to see him. you wanted to look at him. you were curious to know if he dressed differently outside of work or if he acted differently. you were feeling pretty confident. you looked stunning. a black dress that wrapped beautifully around your body and matching black, red bottom heels.

his eyes landed on you the second you stepped through the door. he was sitting on one of the couches where the other invitees were, swirling his bourbon in his hand. once he noticed nobara spotting him, he stood up, downing his drink in one swing, and adjusted his clothes.

you locked eyes with him, your heart dropping instantly. he was wearing a black shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and casual pants that fit him just perfectly and tonight he wasn't wearing his glasses. he is so handsome, you thought to yourself. nobara walked up to him first, hugging him casually as if he wasn't her superior.

you, on the other hand, were too shy to do so as well. instead, you extended your hand, only for him to catch it and pull you to his chest, arm wrapping around your waist tightly while his other arm was wrapped around your shoulders to rest his hand on your head, keeping you in place. your heart was beating so fast you could hear it beat louder than the music around you.

you closed your eyes, taking into his smell as your arms unconsciously found their way around his back, the pads of your fingers lingering on the muscles. "you smell good," he whispered in your ear, your skin burning at his compliment. "you look stunning as well," he added before letting you go of his embrace, your heart sinking at the loss of his touch. "thank you, you look good yourself." you said, the tips of your ears red. you were going to explode.

and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, you saw him smile at you. a genuine ass smile. did he have too much to drink? you couldn't6 think about anything else to say as your hand was abruptly taken by nobara to drag you to the bar to do shots.

you glanced at him one last time before your view was hidden by the people in the crowd.

"i'm so fucking hammered!" nobara exclaimed while the others cheered with her, doing more shots. everyone looked so drunk. you didn't let yourself drink too much. you couldn't afford to be drunk and forget about what happened with nanami or worse, act like a drunk in front of him. that couldn't happen. you had to stay composed.

"let's dance! come on y/n show them!" nobara cheered while you shook your head, everyone else encouraging you. "come on we're all gonna dance." another coworker said.

you were dragged to the dancefloor and decided to just enjoy it. at the end of the day, you were here to blow off some steam and this is what you were about to do. you danced and swayed your hips to the music, laughing at nobara's weird dance moves. it's the first time you realize how ridiculous she looks drunk dancing.

hands on your waist made you jump, your hands over them, eager to get them off you. "it's me," nanami reassured you in your ear. you looked around only to find out that it was really him, hands on your waist, moving with you to the music, your back pressed firmly against him. your ass rubbed against him while you moved, only making him hold you tighter. "mr nanami, i don't think this is appropriate." you try to say, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea.

"they're all drunk," he turned you around, his hands dropping to your hips. "you don't mind dancing with a stranger but you do so with me?" he cocked his eyebrow, his face turning as he looked down at you.

part of you was giddy about it. so it did bother him.

"i thought you didn't care mr nanami-"

"kento." he deadpanned. "call me kento."

"kento..." you muttered, your eyes softening at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck only to drop them at his shoulders. you wanted to touch him all over.

"i lied. it enraged me. i felt jealous, i wanted to be the one to touch you like he did, better than he did." you felt dizzy. you were a smart girl though. it slowly started making sense to you. the bullying, the accidental touching. all of it.

"you want to touch me kento?" you reached to his ear to whisper, kissing his ear before tugging at his lobe. you dragged his hand down your ass, urging him to touch you. you could hear him hiss, his hand now gripping your ass. "hm." he hummed feeling the plump of your ass.

the music was so loud and everyone was acting promiscuously drunk around you. no one seemed to notice how gentle nanami’s touch was on you despite the atmosphere that would invite to a harsher and more sexual kind of touching. he was allowing his hand to go over your curves, giving himself permission to drag his fingers underneath the curve of your ass, up your hips and waist to finally caress your cleavage.

as much as he’s been dreaming about ripping off your clothes and taking you on his desk, he couldn’t bring himself to be rough with you.

you looked so beautiful so gentle. “kento?” your voice drove his eyes back to yours. “so gorgeous,” he put his hand on your cheek. “so soft,” your skin was on fire. you felt your goosebumps rise as his thumb worked his way to separate your lips.

“take me to your place.” your boldness taking him by surprise. you wrapped your hand around his bicep, pressing yourself further into him.

“i can’t, it’s not appropriate.” nanami coughed, still holding you against him, not truly convinced by his own statement.

you looked at the blond male with doe eyes, tilting your head. pushing yourself up on the tip of your toes you gave his neck a small kiss, feeling his body tense up as you did so. “please,” you begged against his skin. “please kento,” you kept on giving his skin kitten kisses, his fingers almost digging into your skin.

he looked down at your pleading eyes, then down to your cleavage that was pressing against him. “the things you do to me,”

“what things?” you whisper, your lips almost touching his. you were feeling a bit more courageous now that you’ve discovered that your crush was clearly reciprocated. “don’t you wanna show me?” you finger trailed down his chest to his pants before poking his print. he choked in some air, quickly having a sense of alert as he skimmed his surroundings, not wanting anybody to start any gossip.

“they’re all drunk nanami, it’s just you and me,” you reached out to his face, turning him so he could face you again.

without any second thought, he wrapped his big hand around yours and dragged you out of the crowded dance floor towards the exit. you couldn’t help but bite down on your smile, watching how his back muscles flexed as he made his way through the dancing bodies, carefully ever checking that you were still following him although he had your hand secured in his.

once you were outside, he asked the valet to bring up his car. his hand on your thigh the whole ride, giving you small caresses of reassurance. you couldn’t help but take notice of his tenderness, how handsome his looked while driving. you wondered if he looked that good being on top of you as well.

and he was.

“kento~” you whimpered, your legs resting on his shoulders as he bullied his fat cock inside you. you’d try to move around, get more, feel more.

“be my good girl and let daddy take care of you.” he rolled his hips into you, your warmth and wetness coating him. the nickname he had given himself already making you all wobbly.

you nodded, your eyebrows furrowed as he thrusted at an unbelievably slow aching pace, giving you long and deep stroke against your walls. “if only you knew,” he grunted, pulling back before pushing back in all that once, earning a small yelp from your beautifully parted lips. “how much i’ve been wanting to fold you like this.” nanami rested his forehead against yours, his lips capturing yours.

you moaned against his lips, your fingernails tracing shapes on his muscled back as he picked his pace up. nanami’s kisses were hungry, a real evidence of his earlier statement. he’s been wanting this for so long. “kento, you feel so good inside me,” you murmured through his lips, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him closer.

your words made him tremble, his hips slamming faster against your thighs. “i never want to get out, god i want to fill you up so badly,” he stated almost in a weak whimper. you rocked your hips with him, trying to meet him at each move. but he was unpredictable.

flipping you around and arching your back, getting a full view of your ass and swollen cunt. “so messy,” he dragged his finger across your folds making you shiver, before pushing his finger in. you moaned out, your hand reaching to hold onto the headboard.

he was having fun with you now, pushing his finger at first then adding another, before removing them both to rub on your abused clit only to stop before your climax to finger you again.

“kento please,” you whimpered trying to move yourself back and get some friction from his dick but he tutted, removing your hand away. “you’re my good girl remember? my good girl always does what she’s told isn’t that right?” he inquired, rubbing his swollen tip against your entrance.

you nodded against his scented pillow, submissively putting both hands behing your back, showing your surrender to him. “that’s it, such a good fucking girl,” he muttered, his length pushing against your folds again, this time a tad harsher accompanied with a spank on your cheeks. “so good darling, so good,”

his nicknames got you high. his praise got you high. your hips were thrown back, almost as if you were managing his thrusts. he let you, watching how you would roll your hips and guide yourself through your orgasm.

“kento…” you whimpered, tears filling your eyes as you creamed over his girth. “come for daddy sweetheart that’s it,” he encouraged you, wrapping his hand around you to toy with your clit, sending you over the edge.

“so messy,” he chuckled watching you lose control over him. nanami pulled out and before you could complain he was down on his knees and eating your cum that was leaking from your abused hole. “oh my god, fhuck yes daddy,” you rode his face, enjoying the feeling of his tongue scooping your cum, his hands firmly gripping your ass to pull your cheeks apart.

you felt yourself overstimulated, ready for another orgasm. he could feel it too by the way your thighs were jiggling.

using his middle and ring finger, nanami spread you again, curling them inside your walls to rub your spot. you were such a mess. creaming on his fingers and blabbering on his pillow.

“you’re so sensitive, i love it,” he smirked, giving your ass a small bite before licking off your cum from his fingers.

you felt his weight lie next to you, rolling your body over. “are you okay?” he carefully pushed the hair away from your face. you nodded with a smile. once you realized he was done it quickly faded.

“you haven’t came yet.” you held his arm. he chuckled. “but you did. plus you seem tired i don’t want to push myself.” he sheepishly said.

you shook your head refusing. “no,” you got up and straddled him, lining his dick to your entrance before fully sitting on him.

“holy fuck what are you doing?” nanami asked you, watching you wrap your arms around him. “gonna make you come inside me,” you sultry answered, to which he held your hips with his hands, guiding your bouncing body. his lips parted to the way your eyes rolled back. you looked so fucked out it was mesmerizing.

you tits bouncing up and down with the motions of your body followed by yelps of his name.

“come inside me daddy,” you mewled in his ear, holding onto his shoulders. you could feel him groan as he began to fuck himself up into you, soon unloading his balls inside you.

you felt dizzy to the feeling of his warm seed, grinding yourself on him to make sure to receive it all.

you rested your face in the crook of his neck before letting out a small laughter. “never thought you’d be such a dirty man mr. nanami,”

he only laughed in return. “and you haven’t even seen the beginning of it.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 16: Please Come Back To Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter sixteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 7.6K (You know you love it)

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing, Angst, Alot of Angst, Crying, Heartbreak, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Additional Warning: This chapter contains severe amounts of fluff and angst. Ben is SUPER OOC and really soft in this chapter, I will not apologize for that, but I will say you're welcome 😉 If you don't like either of those things, then probably shouldn't read this?

When you wake up you think you dreamed it all, but one look at your blotchy red face in the mirror of your bathroom, dried snot on your shirt, and your inability to find your phone means that it did happen.

Ben was back and you didn't know where to go from here.

Bits and pieces of the conversation explode in your head like fireworks and your grip on the bathroom sink tightens so much that the countertop cracks beneath your hands.

Shit.

You extract your fingers from the marble that crumbled like gravel in your iron grip and glance down at your watch. You’d been asleep for 7 hours, which meant that now it was 10 pm and you probably weren't going to sleep tonight.

As if you could after everything that just happened.

Honestly, you were surprised that you had been able to, but you figured it was just the exhaustion of everything that happened, the heartbreak, the shouting, the tears, the inability of you to let go of the past, and Ben's confession of love that you waited 80 years to hear. You had wondered in the past if he wanted to say it the night that you decided to come with him, if he really did care for you as much as you cared for him all these years. Now that you knew, you wish you didn't. You wish that you could let him go, let go of the things that happened all those years ago, and wish that you hadn't fallen for him and expected him to catch you.

You think about crawling back into bed and hugging your pillow until you fall asleep so you don’t have to think about Ben. You wince at the thought of his name.

He apologized, admitted that he loved me, said that what he did was wrong, said that he wouldn’t leave- The urge to cry lodges in the back of your throat. How do I have any tears left?

You think about how much you wanted to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms, but you knew that you shouldn't want to. Ben broke you. What he did weighed on your heart everyday, but you wanted to forgive him.

How can I still want him as much as I do? How can I want him to fix this even after he did everything he could to push me away?

The look in his eyes when he confessed his feelings to you flashes through your mind in black and white.

Ben admitted weakness, said that he was scared of all things. Ben wasn't afraid of anything.

Over 40 years of friendship meant that you knew every part of him, but the part you had seen in your apartment, him practically begging you to forgive him was not one that you were used to and was not one that you had ever seen.

It was unusual for him to look broken and vulnerable.

The closest you'd ever come to seeing it was on the nights back in Philadelphia when he tapped on your window, on nights when his father gave him a hard time and Ben needed a place to crash. When the look in his eyes made you want to pull him into your arms and never let him go, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he wasn't a disappointment. Because despite everything with Countess, Ben wasn't a disappointment to you.

Everything was easier when you were kids, when Ben would fall asleep beside you in your bed and when you woke up in his arms, you wished that he did it on purpose.

I guess he was trying to say that he did it on purpose. You sigh as you walk into your closet to find a soft t-shirt while avoiding the duffle bag that you threw inside the double doors before you collapsed onto the bed.

But even if he was sorry, how do I know he won’t just act like the boy I used to know and tomorrow pretend he doesn’t exist? It was so easy for him to do that, to say that I meant nothing to him, to act like he didn't care.

You think about the morning after your birthday, when he looked soft and happy in your bed and how quickly he shifted into the cold mask he wore as Soldier Boy. How easy it was for him to push you away and ignore you, act like you didn’t exist and cling to Countess at the premiere.

How do I know he won’t do that again? How can I trust him? How can I forget everything he did?

You think about the night you found him with Countess, think about the moments before at the premiere, when she made you believe that you were the ugly little girl who watched Ben prance around your birthday party with Missy Callahan. Your mind stutters on her name, remembering the last time you heard it in conversation on the night that you wished would never end.

"Don't be jealous of Missy Callahan. She's nothing compared to you. Never has been, never will be."

You hear Ben whisper it to you while your song played and remember that it made you feel like you were floating, made you feel understood and seen for the first time in your life. The memory of the night you spent together rises to the surface and you allow yourself to remember, remember how it felt to finally have him completely, how much it meant to you for him to be there with you, and how he made you feel special and loved.

Your jaw clenches as the image of him with Countess sours the memory of the perfect night you had together, as the memory of the words he shouted at you rip through the happy glow you had the morning after your birthday when you told him everything you'd always wanted to.

And then the memory of what he said to you a few hours ago rises.

"We made love. I understood that when I woke up the next morning and I was happy to be there with you. I knew that I loved you and I wanted to tell you, but I fucked it all up instead. I fucked Countess because I was scared of what loving you meant. But I'm ready now, I'm not scared anymore. I love you!"

Damn it why does it have to be like this. You clench your teeth together in anger and frustration. Why did he have to do this? Why did I have to love him? Why couldn't he have just stayed gone? Why did he have to come here-

"No. I love you and I'm not leaving!"

The words reverberate around in your skull, shaking through your body like an avalanche, shaking the foundation that you built to push him away. Because you didn't want to. You didn't want him to leave. You didn't want him to leave ever again. But you weren't sure if you could survive again if he did that again. If you opened your heart to him only to have him crush it under his heel all over again.

It was so long ago. 40 years. 40 years that he said he spent regretting what he said that night. We both said things that night.

Sometimes you wondered if Ben was as broken as you were after the fight. You think about how he looked when you went into your room and think about what he said.

Maybe he was.

Apart of you didn’t want to forgive him and didn’t believe that he really understood what he did to you. The other part wanted to leave your apartment and find him, ask him to stay, forgive him and let him back in to your heart.

More frustrated tears slip down your cheeks as you look for a pair of your soft sweatpants. When you walk out of your closet you think about going back to bed again, but you knew that sleep wouldn't come.

Maybe I should call Rosie. She'd be proud of me for not forgiving him, but probably would be mad that he came here. And I should probably tell her that I didn't have to go to Russia.

That thought gives you the strength to leave your bedroom, bare feet padding down the cool floors of the hallway back to your living room. The lights are all off, save from one single lamp on the coffee table next to the plush leather couch, the same one that you'd thrown Ben over when he grabbed your arm.

But when you cross from the hallway into the living room, you realize that you aren't alone.

Ben is sitting on the couch, leaning forward on his forearms, a blunt perched in his right hand where his arm rests against his knee, looking down at his feet. He looks up at you when you walk in, eyes piercing in the warm light of the lamp, familiar in a way that almost makes you start crying all over again.

"What are you still doing here? I thought I told you-" You begin to say, voice hoarse from crying, trying to summon up enough anger to push him away, but then your eyes shift to your kitchen counter.

A pretty glass vase of fresh cut lavender sits on the counter, the sharp clean smell floats through the air soothing the anger and frustration that you drew on to speak.

Despite your age and the way most considered them to be classic, you thought that over the years roses had become generic. But you loved lavender. It reminded you of the country home your family lived at over the summers when your mother declared that the smog in the city was too much and you all needed a holiday. She always seemed softer in the countryside, all the sharp edges of the city melting away. She didn’t snipe at your figure or your paint stained hands, if anything she gave you more freedom. You spent your summers outside in the garden staring up at the clouds missing Ben, painting and sketching, while the smell of the flowers enveloped your senses. You used to send letters to him and some sketches of flowers or small painted doodles after pressing fresh lavender into the envelopes so they would smell like it when they got to him. You wanted him to think of you whenever he smelled lavender.

He remembered how much I loved lavender?

Your eyes shift to the cigar box that lays open next to it, focusing on the slips of paper that seem to spill out over your countertop.

Are those-

You reach into the box and pull out the yellowed pages of letters delicately, eyes drifting across the paper, recognizing your handwriting, remembering the painstaking moments you spent writing them to Ben, hoping that he got them, and hoping that he missed you as much as you missed him. Underneath the ones from the summers are the ones that you sent him when he was at boarding school and then finally the faded pencil sketches and faded watercolor paintings you sent him. Each piece is folded and refolded as if someone continued to look at them over and over again.

Your fingers drift over a small doodle that you did of Ben and you sitting on a bench in Philadelphia, the one that captured you laughing at something Ben said.

It was so much easier then.

“You kept them?” You breathe while looking down at the pages.

Ben stands from the couch, putting out the blunt in one of the decorative glass ashtrays on your coffee table, watching you with the same expression in his eyes that he had when you were there earlier, when you told him to leave and not come back.

"Ben-" Tears begin to fall all over again as you meet his gaze.

"I hated those summers when you were gone. I used to sleep in your room and read the letters." He whispers. "It made me realize how much I needed you in my life. I never needed anyone before." His jaw clenches together as if the thought makes him angry.

“You asked me once why I didn’t stay at those schools. It’s because when I was at all those shitty boarding schools the only thing I could think about was getting back to you, coming back home.”

The word rings in the air between you and you suddenly understand what he is saying, remember what he said the day you were together at your first baseball game and you asked him why he didn't like staying at the boarding schools.

"I don't like being there. It's not home." He had said it so casually, but you remember being confused at his reply, but now you know.

He was saying that home was with you and it made your heart feel like it was ripping itself in half because you were still so angry with him but you didn’t want to be. Not when he was saying the very thing you’d known from the beginning. That being with him was home.

“Ben-“ You say, trying to strengthen your resolve, trying to summon the anger you’ve kept close to your heart for forty years.

"Every time I came to see you, tapped on your window I thought you would push me away, turn your back on me and you never did. And when all this supe shit happened I needed you with me too, that's why I asked you to come with me. Those years before and when we were on Payback, you put up with all my shit. Even when I did horrible things to other people, you stood by me. You know more about me than anyone else, have known me for longer than anyone else-" He takes a cautionary step forward.

Tears continue to fall from your eyes, sobs shaking your shoulders, but you can't speak.

"That night with you, felt different. Even before when we were at that restaurant it was different. I didn't want to leave. It was like nothing changed, like we were in your room again just talking, before all this, when we were still in Philadelphia. The only memories that I have from Philadelphia that are worth remembering are the moments I spent with you.  And when I asked if I could come back to your place I-" He sighs rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought you would say no, but you didn't. And then you told me that you had wanted me almost as much as I'd wanted you all those years, that you needed me. I always thought that it was only me that needed you."

"Ben I can't-" You voice breaks looking away from him.

Ben is close enough now that his fingers come under your chin to tilt your face up to his. “I shouldn’t have said what I said or did what I did. I didn’t want to need anyone. I thought that I had to push you away because loving you meant I was weak. But it’s not true. Loving you is the only good thing that I’ve ever done and loving you is the only thing that makes me strong.”

You close your eyes to avoid his gaze, you wanted to believe him, but you weren’t sure that you could.

"I've fucked a lot of women in my life y/n, I won't apologize for that. But I've only made love to one." His thumb brushes away another tear that falls from your eyes. "And when you told me that you wanted me to be your first, it did something to me. I wanted to be everything you needed. I didn't want just one night with you. I wanted all of them. When I woke up the next morning with you in my arms, I didn't want it to end. All those nights when I showed up at your apartment, I didn’t want to go home. I just wanted to stay with you because it was home. Even when we were kids, being with you in your room it was the only place that I felt like I belonged.”

Your hand can't help but come up between the two of you, resting solidly on his chest. Apart of you wants to push him away, but you can’t.

Ben is still touching your face, holding it up to his. Your bodies are so close together that you can feel the heat of his skin through the air between you. Another tear falls and Ben's thumb brushes it away. The smell of the lavender is intoxicating, broken up only by the familiar smell of Ben's aftershave and soap.

And somehow you find your voice. It shakes, but you hold his gaze. "I hated you for a long time. What you said broke me. I was broken so many years. I still am-“

“Sweetheart-“

“No.” You inhale sharply. “I want to believe you, but I don’t think you understand what you did. I want to believe that you’ve changed but this is exactly what happened that night on my birthday. Don’t you see? How can I believe you? How do I know that you won't pretend to be everything I want, pretend that you’re the boy I fell in love with and then the next morning you’ll push me away and act like he doesn’t exist-“ Tears leave warm trails down your cheeks.  "I’m not strong enough to go through that again.”

“I promise-“

“Ben you’ve promised in the past. And I-“ More tears come. “I’ve tried so hard to put it behind me. I want to believe that you’re still you but I don’t know if I can trust you again like I did.”

"Y/n." Ben looks deep into your eyes. "I didn't pretend that night. The only time I pretended not to care was in the morning and at the premiere-"

"And how do I know you won't do it again?" You sob. "When you think that it's too weak to admit that you care about me?"

"I do fucking care about you."

"You say that now."

"I love you."

"Ben I can't-"

"I said those things because I-" He sighs, shoulders tight in frustration and anger. "I thought that I needed to push you away, that I shouldn't care about anyone as much as I care about you. But I do.  I fucking care about you more than I've ever cared about anyone in my life. I didn’t want to need anyone but I do. I need you. That’s why I kept showing up in your life. That’s why I spent so many nights in your bed. I couldn’t survive the night alone and I needed you with me, even after we took the damn serum.”

“But-“

“That night when you told me that asshole, Howard proposed I knew that I couldn't lose you. I didn't want you to marry that fucker. I wanted you to be with me. He didn't know you the same way I did, he didn't understand you. He didn't deserve you. And the night we danced together I called you ‘my girl’ because I wanted you to be. I wanted you to be mine. Not because I wanted to piss him off. Because I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one, the only one.”

You drop your gaze to his chest, sobbing quietly to yourself. Ben tilts your head up towards his one more time, to look deeply into your eyes.  There's an unfamiliar vulnerability that stares back at you, the same one you saw when Ben would come to your bedroom and wait for you to ask him to stay because he thought you would push him away the way everyone else did.

"I promise that I will never do that to you again. I know it doesn't make what I did or what I said okay. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to fix it because I can't lose you. I’ve spent forty years away from you and I don’t want to spend anymore time away. I love you. And I hate that I fucking hurt you this much."

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, hear the raw emotion in his voice, but you’re still unsure.

“Please y/n I want to fix this." He says again.

“I know you do. But you can’t just show up 40 years later And expect to fix it in one night. I know it’s not your fault that you didn’t come sooner but, you hurt me-“

“I know I did-“ his eyes drop to your shoulders as the memory of how he grabbed you that night blankets his mind.

“No not like that. Ben you don’t understand. Sorry isn’t enough. And yes hearing you say all these things was nice but it’s not enough to make me forget everything that happened.”

“But-“

“No. Ben I loved you, more than I’d ever loved anyone I-“ You shake your head tears falling fast. “I lost pieces of myself to make you happy  to make sure that you had someone in your life that cared for you. I stayed for so long with you because it was all I thought I could do. And every time I thought I could leave to do something for myself you would do something to pull me back in like you had a fucking radar and knew oh if I do something that she wants I’ll get her to stay with me a little longer!”

“I knew you were unhappy! I was trying to make you happy! I wanted you to stay with me-“

“By manipulating me?”

“No it wasn’t because I wanted to manipulate you I-“ He exhales in frustration. “You told me that you wanted someone to come home to, someone who loved you, a family, I wanted to give you those things! I saw how you were looking at the other couples, I knew what you wanted. That’s why I held your hand at dinner, gave you the necklace, and that’s why I kissed you-“

“But then you pushed me away. You pushed me away when I needed you the most, when I finally said what I'd been trying to say for years.” Your voice shakes. “I can’t go to bed every night with you and wake up with the dread that you’re going to push me away again and say that I mean nothing. That you’ll be cold and unfeeling and- I can’t do that to myself again.”

“I promise I won’t-“

“I don’t know if I believe you. If I can after everything."

"Please just tell me what I can do to fix it."

"I don't know!" You shout running your fingers through your hair pulling back from him. Because you wanted him to fix it. You loved every bit of the words he said, the love he confessed to you. You loved the way he was looking at you, the way he wanted to make this up to you, but your heart wouldn't let go. It couldn't let go of the things he shouted at you, couldn't let go of the image of him and Countess, couldn't forget how happy you were to tell him you loved him and then he just acted like you were nothing. The words he said that night begin to circulate, bringing you deeper into the dark pit that threatened to swallow you whole, the pit that you'd fallen into when you thought he died.

"Ben I-" Your voice catches in your throat. "I wish that I knew what you could do to fix this. I want you to. I want to forget all of it. And I want to forgive you because I still fucking love you, but I can't do it in one day. I can’t -" And despite your better judgement you crumple against his chest, tears smearing against the front of his shirt, body shaking with sobs, and trying hard to not think how it feels the same as it always has to be pressed against him.

Ben's arms come up around you to wrap you in his embrace, tucking your head under his chin as he begins to drag his hand up and down your back in a soothing motion.

The gentleness of his touch makes you cry harder against him, hold on to him so tight that you think you'll break him in half, but he doesn't complain, he just stands there with you. It reminds you of when he came to hold you in the hotel room when your brother died, when he drove for hours to be there for you. Because despite everything that had happened between you, Ben was always there with you before that night with Countess.

You don’t know how long you standing there together, but finally Ben picks you up and carries you down the dark hallway to your bedroom and deposits you on the bed.

He waits a minute on the edge, standing as if he's unsure, brow scrunched up in frustration and anger.

"I didn't mean to hurt you this fucking much. And I don’t know how to-“ His jaw tenses and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut like he can't look at you. “I don’t know how to- fuck- I can’t lose you.” Ben grips his hair so tightly you think he’s going to pull it out.

“Ben.” You sigh and despite everything , you stand up from the bed to hug him, allowing him to press his head into your shoulder and hug you so tight it hurts.  It breaks something deeper in your chest because you can see how broken he is, how much he wants to fix this, and how much of him he was willing to let you see.

You didn't understand how he was being so open, how he was allowing himself to be like this after all the bullshit toxic masculinity he usually spouted and how he pushed away his feelings for so long. You wondered if after this he would push you away because you had seen him like this, or if he really did love you and that was why he was doing it.

“It’s okay.” You soothe, running your hands up and down his back. “It’s alright.”

But you’re not sure it is. 

"If you still want me to leave I will. I can sleep on the couch.” Ben whispers. The emotion that flashes in his eyes when he says it, breaks your heart. It's vulnerable and raw, so different that the mask Ben wore as Soldier Boy. “But please don’t make me go.”

"I don't want you to go." You whisper. “Even after everything. I want you here with me, it’s just hard.”

“I’m sorry-"

“I know you are Ben.” You both stand there for a minute and you weigh your options.

You think about making him go back out on the couch, making him sleep alone, but you don’t want that. You knew that you’d spend the whole night thinking about him. And as much as a part of you wanted to push him away, you couldn't. So you do the opposite.

You take his hand and gently entwine your fingers with his. Ben stares down at them for a moment confused, before you sit on the bed, scooting back and tugging softly, but he hesitates.

“Are you sure?” He asks in a whisper, gaze raising from your hands to catch your eye.

You nod once tugging his hand again and this time he follows you down into the mattress.

He slides in next to you beneath the covers, keeping your hands entwined between the two of you so that they are locked against his chest as you face one another on the bed, heads resting on different pillows, but close enough that you can feel his warm breath every time he exhales.

Ben's eyes search yours. “I tried to call after. I picked up the phone but every time I did I couldn’t-“  He sighs. "I was such a fucking pussy. I didn't know what to say. I should have just come over-"

"I wouldn't have let you in." You breathe. "I didn't want to see you, didn't want to see anyone. Stan Edgar tried to come talk to me and I broke his nose."

"Really?" Ben smiles.

"Yeah." You try to smile back, but you can't.

Ben raises his free hand to push back your hair and tuck it behind your ear, but his eyes drop to your shoulders tracing the imaginary bruises that he left behind all those years ago. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t mean to-“

You press your lips into a tight line. “I think that’s the only time I’ve ever been afraid of you.” You say in a whisper. You hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud, but it was true. You had been angry and heartbroken, but the fact that Ben had laid a hand on you, was prepared to hurt you had scared you. It was what solidified that the thought that boy you loved was gone.

But the look on his face breaks something inside you, pain and anguish flashing in his eyes.

"Ben-" You sigh, shifting forward closer to him, but he releases your hand and instead wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his chest, pressing his head into your shoulder. You know that he can't say what he's thinking right now, but he doesn't have to.

“I also remember doing something to you.” You say because you don't know what else to, you’re not used to seeing him look so broken.

“I deserved it.” He mumbles into your shirt.

“You didn’t deserve what I said about your dad-“

“I did. You were right.”

“Ben you’re not like him.”

“But I am. Everything I did to you, is something he would have done.” He mutters, pulling you tighter against him. “I don’t know how to fucking fix this.”

“This is helping a little bit.” You whisper against your better judgement, while you inhale his shampoo and lean further into his chest. It was weird to be here with him after all these years, after all the years you spent hating him. You didn't want to forgive him, you wanted to be angry but at the same time you wanted to believe him, you wanted to believe that the boy you fell in love with was still there.

And laying here with him holding you the way you always wanted him to, made you remember that boy.

“Yeah?” He breathes, raising his head from your shoulder.

“Mhmm.”

You lay there for a minute in his embrace and it's like he never left. It's the same as when you were kids and you laid in bed together. And finally you say. "As angry as I am, I still love you. You matter too much to me for me to let you go. I think that's why it hurts so much, because you're all I had Ben and I-"

"That's why I can't lose you. You're all I have and that’s enough. You are enough. You always have been and always will be.” Ben states his eyes are wide with his confession, the pain of what he did to you flashes through them. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. But I never could think of a way to say it.”

More tears spring from your eyes and you wonder when you’ll stop crying.

Ben leans his forehead against yours. His expression softens as he looks into your eyes, his touch gentle against your cheek. “But if you’ll let me, I’d like to show you how much I love you and how sorry I am.” The look in his eyes is softer than you’ve ever seen it, reminding you of how he looked on those early mornings still half asleep and reminding you of how he looked the morning after your birthday before he ran.

You know he means well, and you understand what he’s asking, why he’s asking. He’s trying to make it up to you the only way he knows how, but you can’t do it. It's too soon. Too much after everything that happened and too much considering you're still trying to come to terms with the fact that he's here and he's finally saying everything you ever wanted him to. Not to mention that you haven't completely forgiven him.

“Ben?"

“Yeah?”

“Can you just hold me tonight?” You breathe. You felt disgusting. You had snot and tears all over your face and your cheeks were bright red and splotchy from crying. “I’m not ready for that. Not after everything. I don't think I can-”

You watch disappointment flicker in his eyes but he recovers with a soft smile. "It's okay. We can take this slow, whatever you need."

Ben drops the hand that was against your cheek and wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his chest. You snuggle into his arms breathing in the familiar smell before bringing your arms up to wrap around the back of his neck in a tight hug.

“Did they hurt you?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

Ben’s arms tighten around you and you know that he must be remembering the past 40 years.

“What they did doesn’t matter.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you." You pull back to look into his eyes. "The others told me you were dead. I wouldn’t have left you there if I knew-“

“I know.” Ben leans his forehead against yours. “I would have come for you too.”

“I know.”

 “It means a lot to me that you were still willing to come get me after everything I fucking put you through.”

“That’s what love is.”

“No.” Ben whispers. “That’s you.”

“Ben-“

“I don’t deserve you. You’ve stood by me, put up with all my shit all these years and you never turned your back on me. What I did to you is unforgivable and yet you want me here with you-“

“Ben.” You sigh. “I know that I shouldn’t want you here and a part of me wants to push you away. I should make you leave, but I can’t. You’re my best friend and I love you. And that means that even though you’re the one who hurt me, you’re the only person that I want here, comforting me. As fucked up as that is, I don’t care. What you did was horrible, but I promise that I’m going to try my best to forgive you. It might take a long time, but I want to trust you again, because I love you and I never stopped.”

He frowns despite what you confessed. “You don’t regret-“

“I said a lot of things that night. And you did too." You push his hair back over his forehead. "And for the record, I don't think your father would care about making it up to someone else. We both know that he didn't care about anyone but himself. And even after everything that happened you're proving that you aren't him, right now, by being here with me."

He presses his lips together in a tight line. "Okay."

It’s quiet for a few moments as both of you stare at one another in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Have you really loved me since we were 8?” Ben whispers.

“Yeah. Since the study.” You're not sure if you should be embarrassed or not.

He smiles. “I was 10. It was the night of my mom's funeral. My dad was giving me some shit about something, but I couldn't stop thinking about you so I climbed up the tree outside your window. I wasn't going to ask you to come in, I was just going to sit on the ledge and watch you draw. I like watching you draw, it's like you're in your own little world and you forget about everything else. You always seem so happy." Ben smiles wider. "I like seeing you happy."

You remembered that night. You had a weird feeling that someone was watching you and when you looked out your window you had seen Ben sitting there. You had made a joke about him stalking you, but then invited him in. It was the first night that he had ever spent in your bed.

"And then when we woke up the next morning, you were laying there snoring-" Ben snorts.

"I do not snore." You smile with a sniffle

"You do. It's cute." Ben's smile turns softer. "And I didn't want to wake you up, because it meant that we'd have to move and I didn't want to ever move. Because moving meant that I would have to go back to my dad and I didn't want that. I just wanted to stay there with you."                                     

More tears pour from your eyes with his confession because again you can’t see Soldier Boy, you just see Ben, but you know it’ll take a long time until you’re completely healed.

“I didn’t want to say anything. I thought that if I did you would push me away and I didn’t have anyone else that mattered in my life. And you deserved better than me. I was always getting kicked out of boarding schools I was a fuck up. A disappointment.” Ben sighs, brushing away your tears again. “Even after we took the serum I was.  You deserved someone who was-“

“I didn’t think you were a fuck up, Ben. I’ve never thought that. I hate what your father said to you, what he did to you. I hate that he made you feel like you didn’t matter.”  You stroke your fingertips through his hair and Ben sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. “You are worth so much more than what he told you. You mean so much to me, more than anyone else ever. That’s why I never told you. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re everything to me.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I promise I’m never going to leave you again. I missed you so fucking much sweetheart.”

“I missed you too.” You continue to move your fingers through his hair. In the past you had avoided the urge to do so, but now you wanted to comfort him. Because as much as you wanted to forget the last forty years, you wondered what they had been like for him. You wanted him to tell you what they did to him.

“Feels nice.” He murmurs, arms tightening around your waist.

“Your hair’s a lot longer.” You can’t help but smile at his reaction.

“Didn’t have time to cut it.”

“So is your beard-“

“If you don’t like it I can shave it off-“

“No don’t.” You say it quickly and Ben opens one eye to smirk at you.

“Guess you like it.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ll keep it just for you Sweetheart.” He leans further into you. “You know I think you look pretty good too.”

You snort. “You don’t have to butter me up just because you feel bad. I’m wearing sweatpants, I haven't brushed my hair, and my face is all puffy-“

“You look beautiful.”

“Well-“

“Stop. You do.”

“Ben-“

This time Ben raises his hand to cup your chin. “Will you just let me compliment my girl?”

The nickname is familiar. You remember the last time he called you that, when you were dancing and he finally kissed you for the first time. “Do you really mean it this time?”

“I always meant it. You are mine and nothing else matters.” The look in his eyes is determined, as if he wants you to understand how much you mean to him.

“Does that mean that you're mine too?" Your voice is almost a whisper, frightened of his answer. Although he had apologized and said that he wanted to make it up to you, you were still afraid. Afraid that Ben couldn't do this.

"Y/n." Ben's expression is pained. "I promise I will never do that again. I will never hurt you like that ever. Believe me when I say that."

"I'm trying to."

“What can I do to fix it?” He asks again.

“I don’t know.”

And you don't. Because you understood that Ben was trying his hardest to make up for what happened, and yes you loved that he was like this now, but you were afraid, afraid that the next day you'd wake up and he'd be gone and Soldier Boy would be back.

Ben sighs. "I am yours and I don’t want to be anywhere else." His eyes are focused on you, determined, but filled with a softness that turns the beautiful emerald into a clover that reminds you of the soft grass at the park the day you painted him.

You weren’t used to him looking at you like that, like you were the only person in the world. It had only happened one other time, the morning after your birthday when you were more happy than you'd ever been in your entire life.

“Okay.” You whisper back because you don’t know what else to say. “Ben?”

“Mhmm?”

“What did they do to you?”

Ben’s body tenses. “It doesn’t matter now.”

"Please tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because you were there for forty years and I-“

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Just drop it.” Ben snaps, eyes blazing green.

You wait for a beat, watching the blaze of his eyes turn down to a simmer. “It’s okay to admit that the last forty years haven’t been easy. I won’t judge you for that or think less of you Ben. And if we’re going to do this, be in a relationship, you’re going to need to share things with me. It can’t be one sided-“

“It’s not going to be one sided, I just don’t want to talk about that.”

“Okay.” You sigh, settling back down next to him. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed. You knew that Ben kept his cards close to his chest, but you wanted him to be open with you about things like that.

The silence grows between you filled with unspoken things.

“They wanted to see if I could die, if they could make me fucking normal again.” Ben mutters into the top of your head. And then he tells you, tells you what happened that day in Nicaragua, tells you about the testing, about the nuclear bomb they put into his chest, about every single thing they did to him over the past forty years. With each revelation of the last forty years your arms tighten around his body in a hug, holding him to you while his words make anger surge in your chest like an uncontrollable fire.

How could they do that to him? How could they hurt him like that? And Payback? They were our teammates. How could they turn their back on Ben like that? Give him up so easily and not for any kind of money?

You think about what Countess confessed to you, when she said that she purposely drove you two apart.

They were right to. If they had tried any of that with me there, I would have ripped them all apart if they tried to take Ben away.

Your fingers fall into Ben’s hair, gently dragging back and forth at the base of his skull while he continues, trying to bring him some comfort.

“Ben I’m so sorry.” You say when he finishes.

“It’s okay-“

“It’s not. Nothing they did to you is okay.”

“I deserved it.”

His words make an ice cold chill travel down your spine. It was the second time that he had said something like that tonight.

“Ben.”

You lean back from him to look him in the eye, but he won’t meet your gaze. Your hands cup his cheeks, his scruff prickling against your palms as you bring his attention to you. He looks lost and it scares you. Ben never did that. He was always together, it was you that usually had that haunting look in your eyes, but you could see what they did to him reflected in the familiar green. He looked worn.

“You didn’t deserve what they did to you. No one deserves that. And yeah maybe you said some shit you shouldn’t have and maybe you did something bad, but I never want to hear you say that again. Do you understand me? Never say that again. You didn’t deserve that. And I promise you that you’re never going back. I will not let them take you again.”

Ben nods once and your hands slip from his cheeks to go around his neck once more to pull him into a tight hug.

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.” He mutters into the top of your head remembering what happened in Mid-town.

You had heard about it through Rosemary, who had several patients who had been hurt in the explosion, not to mention every news station seemed to have it on 24/7.

“I know. It’s okay. You just lost control. It happens to all of us.” You think about killing Countess. “It doesn’t make you a bad guy.”

“Hmm.”

It was weird for Ben to allow this, to allow you to hold him, but somewhere deep down you wondered if he always wanted you to, but he just never said and didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Weirder still was that he was holding you to him too, curling his arms around you and pulling you into his chest like you belonged there. And despite everything that happened, despite how angry you wanted to be, being here with him felt like you were coming home.

“You should sleep.” He whispers after a little while, as his hand trails down your spine, moving up and down in a soothing motion.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“If you want me to be.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I always want you here.” You breathe into his skin. “I lied when I said I never wanted to see you again.”

“Then I will be.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head that makes you cuddle further into him, tightening your arms were they wrap around his neck to pull him into you.

And you hope that one day it won't hurt, that one day you won't hear the words he yelled at you, and that one day you can believe and trust him again like you did.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

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[txttletale]

i tried reading chili and don't really get it? I read a bunch of dahl as a kid and got, I think, most of the references, but I don't find it good

it feels like a book mired in hatred, not in a bigoted way but just so absolutely misanthropic that it sucks all life out of what might be some okay jokes

respectfully what do the chili-likers see in this crap?

i don't know -- i think that if you read chili as 'misanthropic' it is because it is reflecting and critquing dahl's own misanthropy. similarly while i think there is some level of obvious vitriol and disdain for dahl, i don't know how you can come away from a work that puts so much effort into pastiching him and referencing every corner of his ouvre with nothing to say about it other than 'wow this author really hated dahl in an uncomplicated way'

what do i see in it? it's funny, of course. it's also sometimes effective horror, from the clams to the down rooms to the more existential abstract horror of having one fact. but it's also very interesting engagement with the original text that has interesting things to put forward about... intertextuality, about our relationship with artists and the art they make. from truncatism to the the marble maker monologue to the fakeout downer ending to the ridiculous 'challenge' at the end to the genie's conversation in the denouement, there's a really interesting tension here examining whether artists 'owe' people anything, and why they might feel that way if they don't.

tldr: seems like someone didn't get fudge revelated

[comatosebunny09]

tw: profanity, blood, torture, implied minor character death notes: up late again. i started thinking about a guard dog au again and spat this out.

“You still let that sick fuck control you!” Carlos spits. Voice gurgles, blood puddling in his throat. For someone on the edge of death, he sure likes to talk. “He’ll kill you when he no longer finds use for you, you stupid bitch!” 

You ignore his monologuing, more concerned with the speck of crimson flying from his mouth to stain your shirt collar. 

You fret over it, smearing the bloodstain with your thumb. Your brow ticks as you attempt to rub it clean. No dice. 

You really like this shirt.

Sucking your teeth, you twirl the tactical knife in your hand before driving it into Carlos’ thigh. He screams bloody murder. You wince; you’ve never known a man to cry like that. He’s not the one with blood on his favorite shirt. 

You pop up from your spot crouched before him. Wipe your hands on your thighs, heaving a sigh. You circle the chair Carlos is bound to, deceptively gentle as you clasp his shoulders once you're behind him. 

“I no longer have a use for you,” you whisper, squeezing his arms with a reassuring smile. You bend to ear level, Carlos’ blubbering simpering as your lips graze the shell of it. “But they might.” 

He follows your line of sight. You wordlessly signal to two brutish-looking men Sylus left at your disposal, framing the door.

You pat Carlos’ shoulder. “Good luck,” you say, stepping around him and between the hulking guards. You tell them to have fun, tossing your bloodied gloves over your shoulder on your way out. 

The steel door slams shut behind you. You straighten the lapels of your blazer. A muffled scream erupts from the room you just exited. They didn’t waste any time getting to work.

Carlos is in good hands, you think, exiting the warehouse. You throw your leg over your motorcycle seat after you turn it on, stuffing your helmet onto your head. You’ve got some debriefing to do. They can handle the rest.

—

The twin doorknobs are cold in your palms. 

You exhale as various masculine voices filter through the door leading to Sylus’ office. He’s in a meeting discussing things you can’t be bothered to follow. You don’t want to interrupt, yet the twins told you he wanted to see you immediately upon your return. 

You look down at your clothes. They’re bloodied and streaked red. Damn Carlos. Who knew someone could bleed so much? You can’t go in there like this. Not when you have a reputation to uphold. 

Shutting your eyes, you focus on controlling your breaths. Home in on a flicker of energy collecting in your solar plexus. You tap into it, a stream of it steadily bleeding out. It pulses through you, a cooling sensation wading over your skin. You don a glamor, a veil to hide your disheveled state until you can shower and change your clothes.

With a surge of confidence, you push through the heavy doors, a cool gust of wind kissing your molten skin. Six sets of eyes settle on you. The conversing peters to dull murmurs as you make your way to your boss, your heels clicking soundly over the marbled floors and a smile cresting over your lips. 

He’s sitting down at the head of the table. Tapping his temple in mock contemplation. He seems annoyed if the tense line of his shoulders is anything to go by. Maybe some good news will help lighten his load. You angle yourself to earshot, your torso brushing his shoulder. You get a whiff of the warm scent he carries. Try not to let it deter you from your mission. 

“It’s done,” you murmur. He smirks in your periphery, glancing at you with eyes the color of a wildfire. It’s a brief exchange, enough to warm you from the inside out. He dismisses you with a waggle of his fingers. 

You try to ignore how your heart swoops when you step back, a hand over your bosom as you bow tersely. You’re halfway to the door when he calls to you, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Make sure you clean up before your show this evening. Wouldn’t want to scare off our guests now, would we, darling?” 

You stiffen. Heat prickles your cheeks. Of course, he can see through your glamor. The aether core embedded in his eye allows him to do so. 

The businessmen sprinkled around the table exchange hushed words, unsure of what Sylus is on about. You look impeccably polished to them. You bow again, tamping down your bashfulness. You’re mortified. “Understood.”

You exit the room, mouth drawn into a rigid line. If no one else, you never want to look unkempt in front of your boss.   

[s-4pphics]

omg i need smut for ballerina reader x tattoo artist ellie

pleaseeeee

hi hon i didn't forget ab u trust me trust me

…. but hi guys🤭 since i finished sotp and this at literally the same time why not post both.... teeeheee

wc;cw: 1.9k😳, MDNI, ellie and reader r both freaks! nasty little harlots, these two are!!, kinda exhibitionism bc car windows, weed, shotgunning(failed), mentions of daddy kink and breeding and face sitting, readers a bimbo but we knew that we love u bae :3, more monologues, cocky ellie, dirty talk, spanking, mult. orgasms and squirting, slight dumbification, titty and pussy slapping mmm, das it

… i wrote this while high soooo if there’s a typo no there’s not! bye yall :p

when ballerina!reader and tattooist!ellie fuck for the first time the world damn near melts from the inside out. 

you had finally gotten into the passenger's seat of ellie’s busted up car after she wrapped up your brand-new tat. you asked her multiple times if she was going to kill you in some nearby forest after smoking you out, in which she replied with a sly maybe. it depends on how you act when it hits. her response shook you a bit: you had just scored the lead in the nutcracker and your costume was so pretty, you had to wear it at least once and then she could do whatever she wanted with you as long as she destroyed your guts beforehand! :) 

your little tote bag was near your feet on the floor as you hummed along to the rap song blasting through her speakers, lightly bobbing your head. ellie’s—large and veiny and tattooed—hand had been sitting on your upper thigh for the entire ride as she drove in a relaxed position, head resting against the back of her seat. you caught glimpses of her out of the corner of your eye whenever she licked or bit her lips. her small habits made your thighs squeeze together, before she silently pried them back open with her free hand to rest it there again. you wanted her to make you cum so bad you’d pay her extra for it—

“this your place?” she rasped out in shock as she parked in front of your dance academy dorms. damn, she thought. you weren’t kidding, you’re not a stripper. 

“uh huh! it’s even prettier inside! marble floors and everything, i love it here so much!” you said with an excited grin that made her smile lightly. such a cutie, she thought. 

“huh,” she hummed in acknowledgment. she reached over your lap to pop open her glove box to retrieve the little ziplock baggie filled with green buds and grinder before your eyes widened in shock. 

“oh are… um… are we smoking right here? like out in the open?” 

“mhm.” she replied blankly before she smirked. “what, is your headmaster gonna come out and give you a spanking or something?” 

you wanted her to spank you so bad—

“no! i’m just asking, i’ve never done it outside before!” 

“oh yeah? you never done it outside?” she replied silkily while she packed the spoon of the pipe. 

you shivered and she caught it and please fuck me right here! i don’t care who sees!—

“i never used one of those before, it’s pretty,” you nodded towards the packed bowl. 

“thank you,” she said simply. “lemme show you how to do it.” 

after some simple instructions that you haven't payed attention to because her hands were distracting you, you nodded absentmindedly. what the fuck was she talking about again—

“are you even listening?” she said with a raised eyebrow that had a fucking slit in it oh, ohhh you might die—

when you shook your head no, she snorted before she grabbed her lighter from your hand. 

“here. watch me.” 

you watched closely as she lit the crushed green buds in the bowl, finger over a little hole on the side of the pipe before she lit it and breathed in, exhaling the smoke in a circular little cloud in front of her mouth. she looked back at you with a little see? simple. 

she’s so fucking sexy and you’re probably dripping all over her leather seats—

“show me again?” you squeaked out. 

she only slightly nodded with a cunning grin as she looked at you before she repeated her previous actions and blew the smoke away from you, handing you the pipe again. you pushed it away from you gently. 

“you’re gonna make me smoke all this by myself?” 

“i want you to do it for me… like blow it… blow it in my mouth?” you said shyly. your mind was cloudy. 

she didn’t say anything, but you could see the pleasant surprise on her face, releasing a light chuckle before she lit the bowl, yet again!, inhaling the smoke and holding it before she gripped for your cheeks with her slightly calloused hand, pulling you so close that your noses were touching. your mouth dropped open on instinct, and slowly exhaled the smoke into your mouth. 

you could barely inhale due to the pounding in your head and your chest and your swollen fucking clit—

ellie hardly even cared about you wasting a rip that good. she slowly slipped her tongue into your already open mouth, making you whimper as you wrapped your lips around it, sucking it further into your mouth. she released a satisfied hum that rattled your throat. and speaking of your throat—

she released your cheeks, sliding her large hand down to wrap around it, squeezing the sides and gauging your reaction. you were about to call her daddy, holy fuck, you wanted her fuckin’ kids—

“c’mere.” and fuck, you jumped her bones so quick. 

you were finally in her lap and you immediately started grinding on her leg like a cat in heat. 

she hurriedly sat the pipe on her dashboard, her free hands quickly taken in yours, bringing them up to your tits as you felt her squeeze them, tossing your head back with a whine.

“yeah? feels fucking good?” 

“yeah, yesyesyes—“

you weren’t even high and you were so close to cumming, you couldn’t imagine how crazy you’d be going if you smoked properly. you’d probably be creaming all over her seats and windows by now. 

you grinded down harder on her, your clit bumping up against your lavender sweats and her jeans and toned leg and you couldn’t stop crying out and oh, you were gonna cum in your panties—

ellie must’ve sensed it because she dropped her hands from your tits to your hips, mindfully avoiding your freshly wrapped tattoo(she’s such a sweetie, isn’t she?), and pulled you down onto her leg as she lifted it up to press harder against your clit just right and you lost it. 

all that tension that built over the last two hours crashed into you as you threw your head allll the back and came inside your sheer little panties. you bounced on her thigh as she held your hips to help you grind out your high. ellie slowly licked up your exposed throat to your chin to your bottom lip before she shoved her tongue into your mouth in a messy, wet kiss. fuck, you were so in love already—

“take these off, baby, c’mon, wanna see,” she said dazed against your mouth, tugging down  the waistband of your bottoms. you clumsily rested your weight against her wheel as you leaned back, a loud honk! ringing through the dimly lit, empty lot. it made you both jump and laugh as she wrapped her arm around your back to move you away from it. she used the space between you to pull down your panties and sweats just enough to expose your sopping cunt. she looked like she wanted to tear you apart. she could rip you to shreds if she wanted you’d let her do anything to you—

she didn’t say anything as her thumb rubbed your clit, making you buck your hips up against her hang with a whine. 

she dipped two fingers down to your slit that was practically dripping all over her seats, and she hates herself for not bringing her dick with her because, fuuuuck, she would’ve slipped right in—

you felt her fingers push inside with little resistance, her car immediately being filled with both your groans and wet noises of your cunt. your walls squeezed the shit out of her fingers to pull them in closer.

you were a mess: at some point you’d removed your sweatshirt and tee, your tits out, and she was watching you play them, entranced, until you slipped a hand down to where she was inside you, grabbing her wrist to pull out and brought her slicked up fingers to your nipples, rubbing your wetness into your stiff peaks. ellie let out a quiet groan of shiiiit! before she slapped them both, bringing her head forward to suck the wetness from your tits, moaning at the taste of you.

she dropped her hand back down to slip her fingers inside your cunt again, wiggling them around until she pressed up against that one spot that made you see god—

“yeah? right there, baby? like that?” 

“ye—aaAhh, el, oh my fuckin’ god your gonna make me cum again!—“ 

“fuckin’ want it, nasty fucking slut, give it to me, wan’ it all over me.” 

your eyes were rolled into your skull, yes im your slut i’m your slut! being the only thing on your mind. your legs were trembling and you were so. fucking. wet. and you couldn’t fucking think about anything other than her her her—

“cum on my fingers so i can take you upstairs and stick my tongue inside you.” 

and you died. you’re dead now. you screamed her name out into the car as you squirted all over her arm and jeans and seats and you just kept fucking cumming and ellie swore that she was going to marry you one day!—

you finally started to come down after she slapped your pussy a couple times. your orgasm had felt like it lasted minutes and you almost plopped onto the car floor in exhaustion, but ellie caught you before you could, pulling you back to her chest to connect her mouth with yours in a heavy kiss. 

she grabbed your ass in both hands before bringing her hand down in a loud slap! as you moaned in her mouth, and it made her hit you again, harder. 

she allowed you to pull back to regain your composure before you said with a pout, “i have to be up at five tomorrow.” it was almost midnight. 

she laughed loudly before bringing your panties and pants back up around your waist before helping you put your shirt on before easing you back into the passenger's seat. you missed her warmth already. you grabbed your tote off the floor after carefully placing the discarded pipe and lighter into a small pocket with a soft c’mon before you opened the door to get out. ellie rolled the window down so she could respond. 

“wait. you want me to come inside?” 

“inside me? yeah.” 

she let out a choked laugh before she said, “you’re nasty as fuck, jesus christ.” 

“i sure am! now come sit on my face? my roomie’s sleeping so you might have to stick my panties in your mouth just in case!” you said with the brightest grin. “you can wake up me up for rehearsals with your tongue in my pussy, too, if you want!” 

oh my fucking god? ellie thought, her eyes glossing over with a hazy look on her face. yeah. i’m making her a fucking housewife.