#so i had to make them fit equally
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Helluva Boss - So This Is Christmas (War Is Over)
#reuploaded due to a rendering issue#it's basically a tribute to season 2#also merry christmas#or happy holidays#my amvs#amv#helluva boss#helluva boss amv#blitzø#stolas goetia#helluva millie#moxxie#helluva loona#fizzarolli#barbie helluva boss#if it's a bit weird#thats because each episode has 16 seconds of the song#so i had to make them fit equally#i did my best!!#btw#watch out for the immortal snail
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Btw just want to be clear that Time and Time Again is set to, and will if I don't pause, conclude in May 2025!
Webtoon didn't want to renew or give me any extra episodes so I'm trying to work with what I have. I'm sorry it's ending sooner than I'd like, it's been difficult to come to terms with and challenging to condense my plans.
You deserve a solid conclusion, and I've spent months writing to try and reach that. If there's anything you'd really like to see before it ends, do let me know in case I can (and want to) fit it in.
I'd rather not work with them again, and I hope I won't have to! But coming off of years being overworked and underpaid does not make that easy, to say the least...
I'm doing my best, and I hope you like what I have coming up.
#years of being overworked. underpaid. and literally manipulated and gaslit lmfao#it does not feel good to beg to be treated equally. and then told to be satisfied with less than that#it has been repeatedly demoralizing and insulting#and im not doing it again#i would rather nanny again (most exhausting job ive ever had) than work with them again#but. i would rather not!#I'd rather continue to make comics#but to do it full time i would need like 500 patrons on the $5 tier minimum...#which is SO MANY PEOPLE and incomprehensible to me#ive already proven to myself i can live on 25k a year but obviously its tight (i live in socal)#this. is not what this post is about#it's so hard for me not to complain about them#i feel bad for my current patrons i only share stuff on discord as of right now#well i do the merch packages but like#it's mostly just my discord#just dont have the time or energy to manage my patreon#cause idk if yall know but patreons site is TERRIBLE from the creator side???#it takes like 5 minutes to upload a single post it's ridiculous#so i cant manage it rn. I've thought about hiring someone to help me with it but i cant afford any help#anyways ultimately this is informing people its gonna end#and is turning into a vent around all of the stress surrounding that#like i literally had to take a couple months to just be sad its gonna end and come to terms with that#its hard! it's hard feeling so tossed aside and having your stories controlled even in part by someone else#anyways yeah#i havent finished writing the last arc yet#so theres space for me to fit stuff if theres something people really want#so id like to get in what i could if i can!#text post#sorry i always turn any thoughts about comics into vents about webtoon#theyre so ass man..... it's fine. im gone in may...
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"[Elizabeth Woodville] was the only member of [Crown Prince Edward of Westminster's] original 1471 council not already on the kingâs council and her name headed the list of those appointed as administrators in Wales during Edwardâs minority. [She remained on the council after it was expanded in 1473 and granted significant new governing and judicial powers]."
"In 1478 Prince Richard [of Shrewsbury] married the Mowbray heiress. Like his elder brother he had a chancellor, seal, household and council to manage his estates. His council, like that of Prince Edward, comprised the queen [Elizabeth Woodville] and a group of magnates and bishops, few of whom were Woodville supporters [...] It was Elizabeth who mattered, for Richard resided with her and Rivers treated his affairs as their own."
-J.L. Laynesmith, The Last Medieval Queens: English Queenship 1445-1503 / Michael Hicks, Richard III and his Rivals: Magnates and their Motives in the Wars of the Roses
#goodđđť for đđť her#historicwomendaily#elizabeth woodville#15th century#english history#princes in the tower#my post#Reminder that these sort of additional official positions in governance were very unusual (unprecedented) for late medieval English queens#Elizabeth's formal appointment in royal councils (+ authority over her sons) should not be ignored or downplayed in the slightest bit#It should instead be considered one of the most defining aspects of her queenship that spanned over a decade and lasted right till the end#& should also be highlighted as one of the most vital topics of discussion when it comes to broader queenly power in late medieval England#I think it also says a lot about Elizabeth's relationship to Edward IV and the regard he seems to have had for her capabilities#'The only member of the original 1471 council not already on the kingâs council' that speaks VOLUMES. Once again: good for her.#It's also really frustrating how some historians (Katherine J. Lewis; AJ Pollard; Laynesmith etc) have incredibly lopsided perspectives on#Elizabeth that fundamentally *do not work* when you remember these actual facts and what they reveal about her power and influence#I'm also still baffled at Lynda Pidgeon's claim that 'Elizabeth's influence with Edward IV was less than with family members who were#part of the king's council or that of her son Edward prince of Wales'. Like???????#First of all - we *already know* that Elizabeth had the most personal influence with Edward and was the one he trusted the most#The case in 1480 & his own will in 1475 (where he referred to her as the one 'in whom we most singularly place our trust') make both clear#Second of all - ELIZABETH WAS LITERALLY ON HER SONS' COUNCILS HERSELF. HER NAME HEADED THE GODDAMN LIST. How have you missed this????????#It's actually bizarre because it completely ignores the fact that 1) Late medieval queens *weren't* generally given positions like this?#If we accept Pidgeon's (false) interpretation we have to claim that NONE of them were influential at all#Which I'm pretty sure nobody agrees with? So why have I seen people agreeing with Pidgeon's FALSE take on Elizabeth based on that lmfao?#2) Elizabeth WAS in fact given such positions. She genuinely was given unusual authority and was an Exception⢠rather than the rule#Forget emphasizing her atypical role - Pidgeon has outright erased it in an effort to diminish her#She does the same thing when talking about Elizabeth's role after Edward IV's death and it's equally ridiculous and incorrect#There's stupidity and then there's willful misreading & rewriting of history according to your own imagination. This fits the latter
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Wait omg..... Jessica Cruz probably did rifle... my specialized sports knowledge coming in CLUTCH
Okay so I barely practiced and made it to regionals like once so im NOT the expert here but uh headcanoning that Jess did air rifle when she was a teen. Like idk if it would be as part of a team like with a high school (what I'm familiar with) vs like an individual thing vs like a travel/competitive team (it depends on the sitch in her area growing up) but she definitely went to some national matches (probably including JOs/JO quals like i think she was GOOD). I think she probably would have quit competitively following a bad shot at nationals (relatable) along with anxiety about competition (ALSO relatable) but still kept up with shooting casually for fun and relaxation and to hang out with friends etc.
She definitely would have shot smallbore competitively too but I never did that bc I was lazy so idk to much abt it competitively
#and by bad shot i mean a 0#it hurts me to even think abt doing that during a match actually esp at fucking JOs#a girl on my team did that and im sure it was devastating (we never let her live it down after too) but like dang. i feel that pain#im just saying she would vibe sooooooo hard with rifle. like canonically they just said she did it but im talking air in particular#also in the panel they said six which first off. humphries bro thats TOO young ik youre trying to be impressive but youre talking abt rifle#here. if someones let their kid have a gun at 6 theres actually smth wrong with them. and not even a bb or smth wtf#ANYWAYS you guys haveeeee to understand this. jess would go so hard for rifle she would fit right in w every competitive shooter ive ever#met istg-#she would be out there on the porch 35° weather in full gear mid match crying w the rest of us it would be great#wait wait shoutout to the time i had to get smth from my car and there were like 4 ppl out there crying during the middle of standing#like i literally FEEL THAT SO HARD (weve all been there) but also like... awkwarddddddd#4 is an unusually large amount though. normally its like 2 ppl at a time first relay. with more 1st relay ppl crying after than during#gosh rifle omg this is making me miss it#<<<<freshman/sophomore me would kill me for saying this btw. i HATED practicing so bad then omg#OH and Jess would be a kneeling girlie. fave position. why ? bc i said so shut up#no but bc its my favorite position (yes i know its the worst okay. im aware of all the reasons kneelings sucks and why everyone hates it.#but you know what? kneeling hates everyone equally and i respect that) no but uh yeah âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸#top 10 posts that are 80% jargon and only i care about đ#anyways this is canon to me now actually#like idc what you say she was down in the trenches (the range) w the rest of us#also ik she almost certainly would have shot paper but in my mind she practices mainly w electronic bc thats what i used (even if its super#uncommon and is only used at the nice ranges) if she was super competitive she would probably have driven to shoot electronic. lets just say#there was a paper nearby and an electronic scoring range a bit farther or smth#anyways yeah#WAIT OMG SHE DEFINITELY MET HER FRIENDS FROM HER BACKSTORY THROUGH RIFLE#and the dating drama too omg rifle drama was INSANE. like i was almost always out of the loop bc i never practiced and didnt have snapchat#but like the drama was INSANE. fucking wild. at least to my nerdy ass self. so her relationship drama makes total sense now okay babe fr#jessica cruz#blah
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i wear a lot of skirts and pink and whatnot as my style has developed with me & my personality but when one of those age regression girlies latch onto me....i do not like that
#like oh....you think im one of them...bestie no im freshly 23 and im happy i made it this far i dont wanna go back#sometimes i hate being 5'2 with a small frame you have to be very careful and kinda vet everyone you interact with#idk there's a complex discussion to be had. i am someone who has went through what they fetishize and i know a lot of girls in that#community have too. so i worry a lot if if my behaviors and preferences accidentally align with that community in ways i don't realize#bc trauma will always reveal itself. idfk. when i was 20 i got in a relationship with a man who was 30 because i misheard him and thought#he was 24. i thought he was okay until we were at this giftshop and he wanted to get me something but as giftshops are super expensive#i mentioned i could fit in childrens clothes and it saves me a lot of money ($60 shoes are $30 for kids) and tbh fit my frame better#so he was âprove itâ so i did and mf said âTHATS HOTâ ??????????? BITCH#my style wasn't even feminine in the slightest at the time đ it feels like a curse to have this kind of trauma then never outgrow this body#believe me ik how trauma changes your brain but how#as a woman#can you ever be apart of that community? why do you allow this to continue and not persecute these men for existing?#you're inherently enabling it and saying its okay this happened to you and its okay that other adults can hurt other kids#when my rapist got put in prison i screamed i yelled i sang i danced my friends set off FIREWORKS for me#when he got out i cried more than i ever have. i moved STATES (not the sole rzn but nonetheless) not that i was in the one he was in prison#in anyways but i was so fucking petrified he'd find me again. its embarrassing but i started sleeping with a chastity belt again.#i made more phone calls i ever have in my life to people who have and will get their hands dirty#i understand the self hatred those girls have. i understand the girls who sleep with everyone to take some of their power back.#i even understand the girls who want to get raped if they got assaulted but it never felt like enough for the pain they're experiencing#but please stay the fuck away from me. as someone who has tried to heal and wants every man like that erased from earth.#do not give them an ounce of attention. ostracize them like they're meant to be. leave it to god for their karma they will be dealt with#reckon with your pain and make sure it never happens to anyone else. only the harmed can make the greatest teachers#tbh bro i am disgusted with myself at all that those are the kinda vibes i put out.#what are you supposed to do as a woman when feminity is equalized with infantilism? i think its tone deaf and misguided whem girls are like#i dress this way to contradict societies views!!! babes its a whole cultural issue that requires reviewing and reforming#you are not doing anything revolutionary by wearing frilly skirts and saying im not like them bc they see you and ur automatically boxed in#i dress how i want and say what i want but i know as a individual im not the beacon of a groundbreaking movement#singularily flipping society on its head. dress how you want but be aware of the connotations. you're living in this society here and now#there's consequences that may not be in your favor and youll be assumed to have values that dont align with you and it may break your heart
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"Indeterminacy", J. Mae Barzio
#nhl global series#FINE. fine. the toxic version of the finnish mafia in which no one gets what they want#and the finn polycule of the canes who aren't even there but also in a bad way#you think it's different because you're in a different place but you just see all the ways you don't fit into their life and you never knew#i thought we would be happy if only but here's the what if and we're still not#also? i do and don't go here have been infected by the tetrapod7 and losersroom agonies but it is SOMETHING#going on with whatever is happening over there with jeek/brods/dumba/boldy/fabes.#yes for the another person's tracks in the snow (overlapping soulbonds/d-pairs/curses) snow falling so slowly that no one noticed it#also for some reason i can just envision boldy in a blue striped shirt. wish i knew why. and brods in one also so.#equal but opposite pendulums of their own tragedy (boldy-fiala soulbond to ??) (brods missing dumba hours swedish soulbond jeek & fabes??)#also the prediction of snow and then the snow itself endless is#hockey :/#like? OH MY GOD IT'S SOMEBODY CONTINUOUSLY LOSING IN THE PLAYOFF WITH DIFFERENT TEAMS#I TRIED HOW MANY TIMES ONCE IN ICELAND (WINNIPEG) CALIFORNIA (THE KINGS) (WHY IS THIS PLD) (IT'S NOT BUT OH GRETZKY?)#THE WHITEOUT OF A SPRING BLIZZARD EVERYTHING UNEXPECTED PLAYOFFS IN APRIL THE PALENESS OF YOUR UNDERARM#THE LEAN AND SKIN AND BONES THE STARVED WORKED TO THE BONE THE BLANK SIDES OF THE DIE HOCKEY GAME OF CHANCE#the chords i recognized but couldn't name the music of winning what does it feel like to have the heavy/lightness of the cup in your hands#i was tired of being unsurprised (yes the maple leafs losing in the first round every year-ish. lol.)#the children i never had the rookies that never made it the prospects you came up with the 1/64 goalies who'll make it to the nhl#that you know by the time you're sixteen whether or not the life that gets put on hold until after hockey THE FIELD SPLIT LIKE A LIP?????#you know âhowâ to win the cup. you can see the path everyone walked before but you can't quite see it everyone hiding how and yet not#you can't see a way because you can only see them that team who won nothing past that#and the memories of the past getting slowly lost to the drifting snow of time covering up the tracks to a blank white open page of history#before and after you. there was never another team but this one this team will never exist afterwards again#hmmm. so we wormed out. this might have to actually go to hockey.
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cartwheeling around my bedroom right now with no sign of stopping đĽ°
DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh
Today â 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) â 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 iâm 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).
âââââ
He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday.Â
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 clubâs 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 townâs 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. Itâs sort of the only one he hears at all.
Today â 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) â 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 youâve ever been to this gym before, why he doesnât 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 youâve been coming here for a long time and heâs somehow just always been so in his own head that heâs 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 heâs not just looking anymore, heâs sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesnât want to be that guy. He isnât that guy â 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.Â
The only problem is that now, he canât remember how many sets heâs 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.Â
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.Â
âââââ
You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one â 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 itâs 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 isnât 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 doesnât 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 Seungcheolâs hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows heâs 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.Â
He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves heâs 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 âgood friendâ 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 Seungcheolâs 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 heâs probably overdone it. Again.
âHit the shower?â 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.Â
Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. âYou go ahead. Iâll have one at home.âÂ
He doesnât give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything heâs touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasnât had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isnât going to readily admit to that though.
âNah, Iâll do the same,â Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit.Â
Thatâs when he sees you again.Â
He doesnât notice at first; youâre stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. Itâs the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation heâs 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, heâs already walked past you and youâre 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 heâs going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheolâs 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.
âWhat was that?â Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that itâs disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.
âNothing,â Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. âNo-one. I-... theyâre new, I think. I donât know.â
Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. âYeah,â he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesnât think he likes the look of. âNothing, my ass.â
âââââ
Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.
Granted, you arenât speaking to him â at least, not at first. But thatâs not really what matters.
Itâs late, and itâs a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoonâs 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 theyâre good for recovery and that itâs healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesnât manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, heâs 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 doesnât know (or really care) who it is thatâs coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that theyâre 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 thatâs 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 doesnât want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesnât want to hear any more of your call. Itâs 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.
âNo â no, you donât get to-...â you hiss into your phone. âIt was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.â Jihoonâs 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 heâd 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.Â
Unfortunately, thereâs nothing âinsanely prettyâ 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 doesnât know if you notice.Â
âLook, Iâm at the gym â weâre not doing this right now. Iâll call you later.â 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 youâre all right, but an even larger part of him doesnât. It isnât because he doesnât care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time heâs 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 ânoâ, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you⌠Jihoon isnât stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way youâre rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that itâs a ridiculous question.
Youâre walking into the gym at 10 oâclock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course youâre not all right.
Heâs 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 youâre using â he notices, but he isnât sure why, that itâs the same one as last time â and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.
Itâs 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 â 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 youâre listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when youâre 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 heâs 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 doesnât even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. Itâs 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 heâs 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.Â
He isnât sure exactly how long heâs 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 doesnât notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesnât 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 heâs listening to music and has no idea that youâre standing three feet behind him. He doesnât even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.
Itâs 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: itâs not a perfume (it doesnât smell like a perfume), but itâs you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He canât tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like heâs 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.Â
âIâm so sorry,â he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. âI didnât even think you were still here.â He canât 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 heâs just finished a round of sprints? Why canât he breathe?
âNo â hey, no, donât be,â 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 youâre always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. Itâs cute. âItâs okay. I was trying not to disturb-... Iâm sorry.â
âYouâre fine,â he tells you. For the first time, heâs able to smile back at you properly.Â
Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? Heâs breaking out in a sweat.
âCall it even?â you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now youâve 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 âdealâ. (He feels a bit like heâs 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, heâs cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and heâs not entirely sure that it isnât written all over his face.
âAlone, today?â you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didnât think you were going to continue this. And yetâŚ
âHm?â he questions.Â
You swallow before answering. âYou⌠the last time, you were with a friend?â you explain, and now itâs your turn to look away. He wonders if youâre a little warm too, if heâs right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning.Â
âOh. Right.âÂ
He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why youâre asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes werenât looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now â you certainly wouldnât be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all â but somehow, he isnât, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.
He really didnât have âyou being interested in one of his best friendsâ on his bingo card for tonight, thatâs for sure.Â
âYeah. I think heâs with his partner, or⌠I donât know. I donât really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.â
You nod silently and Jihoon canât quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if youâre upset at the revelation of Seungcheolâs partner, or maybe that he doesnât tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you donât really care what his friend is up to that means he isnât here. But whatever it is that youâre feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; heâs 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.
âHow much were you deadlifting, just then?â you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesnât 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.
âOh, God⌠uh, one⌠160?â He says uncertainly. âThatâs not⌠I can do heavier-...â In his mind, he slaps his forehead. âWait, no, thatâs-... I mean, itâs true, but I didnât mean-...â
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, heâs given himself the ick.
âI guessed you could,â you say.Â
Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: heâs 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 arenât any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just⌠stares.
âI mean, okay. Come on.â Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. âYou can get another twenty on that at least, right?â
He doesnât know how to explain whatâs happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And thereâs no way you havenât 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, heâs never felt so overwhelmed in his life.Â
âSomething like that, yeah,â he strains. Heâs 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.
âMm. You can tell.â
Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes youâd stop (he doesnât know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. Itâs all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesnât 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 itâs 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 doesnât break when he asks, âare you parked far away?â
What? Itâs dark outside, and this part of town isnât exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.
âOh,â you say, eyes a little wide. âIâm-... just staying close-by. I walked here.â The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. âReally. Itâs like⌠not even ten minutes. All main streets. Itâs nothing.â
âTen minutes longer than Iâd walk around here at night on my own,â he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. Heâs actually completely serious.
You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesnât believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, theyâd giggle just like you do.Â
With a smile still on your face, you say, âwhat? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.â
Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, heâs 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.
âI mean it,â he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, heâs leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesnât think about it too much, he wonât cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. âMaybe Iâve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but itâs still true.â
âHow long is too long?â you ask.
âAll my life,â he tells you.
âNo way?â
âMm.â A beat. âWhat about you?â
âIâm just staying with a friend, right now.â
âOh, right.â 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 hadnât seen you before. The second was true, then.
Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.
âMaybe-...â 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 youâre about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. âNo, donât worry. Scratch that.â
âAre you sure?â he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, thereâs not much he would have said no to. He feels like itâs only fair to give you another chance to say it.
But you donât.
âYeah, itâs nothing.â You pause. âI⌠should probably get going.â He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.
âShit. Yeah, me too,â Jihoon agrees. He didnât realise it had gotten so late, so fast: heâs hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows itâs 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.Â
But itâs already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still canât shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. âDo-⌠you need a ride?âÂ
Heâs 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.
âItâs okay. Iâve-⌠got a call to make, so.â 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? âThank you, though. Really.â
âDonât mention it,â he says. âJust⌠get back safe.â
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 youâre 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 youâre sure about walking home, but youâre already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesnât say anything.
âIâll see you around, uh-âŚâ you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time youâre about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you havenât done this part, yet.
âJihoon,â he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly.Â
âY/n,â you introduce yourself.Â
âSee you around, y/n.â
You split off in the opposite direction to where heâs 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.Â
âââââ
He doesnât see you then for two whole weeks.Â
For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; itâs not a big deal â itâs not like youâre always there when he is, and heâs sure itâs the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if youâve had a change in schedule. Maybe youâre on a different working pattern, something that means you canât be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays.Â
Itâs 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. Itâs fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isnât it?
Maybe youâve 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 youâre not well. He sort of wishes heâd had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks heâd check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something.Â
Deep down he knows heâd probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a âcasualâ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But thatâs fine. Itâs the thought that counts.Â
The next time he sees you isnât even in the gym, at all. Itâs a Sunday afternoon â 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 itâs not obnoxiously busy and that thereâs only one other person in the queue waiting to be served.Â
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. Itâs you.
Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesnât 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. Itâs agonising, though. He really wants to.Â
You step forward to order and heâs typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoungâs three-way group chat, in which heâs 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, heâs had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, heâs just made a friend. They donât believe him, because of course they donât. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldnât be blushing just from saying your name if you were really âjust a friendâ. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldnât have mentioned you at all.
âIâm so sorry â bear with me, just-âŚâ 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 heâs having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and youâre 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 isnât working, and theyâre cash only, today.Â
He can hazard a guess at your predicament.Â
After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is youâre 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 wouldâve just turned around and walked out. Itâs exactly why he doesnât bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesnât fit in his pockets, he doesnât take it out with him. The system isnât perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress.Â
But the roles arenât reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so⌠he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if itâs appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.
âDonât worry â Iâve got it,â he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. Youâre 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 donât see this, however, because your eyes havenât left Jihoonâs face since he appeared â as far as youâre concerned â out of thin air.
âI canât ask you toâŚâ you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and heâs moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer.Â
âYouâre not asking. Iâm offering. Iâve got you.â He says this with such finality that you quite literally canât argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink â an Americano, nothing exciting â and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.
âHi,â you finally say, and Jihoon canât help but give a small chuckle.Â
He doesnât have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, âhey.â
âHow⌠have you been?â you ask.Â
âCanât complain, really,â he says. âAre you okay? I havenât seen you around for a few weeks.â Oh, God â 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 didnât he just leave it at the question?Â
âYeah â about that,â you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat thatâs spreading over your cheeks. âYou know how I said I was staying with that friend?â He nods, and you continue. âI was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so⌠Iâve been moving my stuff over to a new place.â
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.Â
âSounds tiring,â he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. Itâs 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 couldnât have this effect on him. âIs it going okay so far?â
âYeah.â You nod. âItâs a process, but⌠itâll be worth it.â
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. Thereâs 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.Â
âDo you⌠maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?â He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesnât let himself think about why it makes him giddy that youâre accepting the offer, just like that.
âYeah â yeah, sure.â 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.
âYou must be excited to get into the new place, then?â 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.
âOh, God yes.â You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. âItâs been fun staying with my friend, butâŚâ You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. âOkay, a warning: Iâm a terrible person for this, I know. Sheâs done me a huge favour, letting me stay there â but I canât deal with how untidy she is. Itâs driving me nuts.â
A chuckle bubbles in Jihoonâs chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasnât fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesnât seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. âThat bad?â he asks.
âYou have no idea,â you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadnât â he thinks you look quite lovely when youâre all lit up like this. âShe doesnât clean her dishes after she eats â she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I donât think sheâs used the vacuum the entire time Iâve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere ââÂ
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. âIâm serious! I canât live like this, Jihoon. I canât!â
The more you speak, the less he can control the fits heâs descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; thereâs desperation in your voice but itâs just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile⌠he canât help it â heâs in pieces. Itâs okay though, because youâre 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 cafĂŠ. 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.
âYouâre so much stronger than I am,â he says.. âI couldnât deal with that.â
âYou know, I had a feeling youâd be a clean person, too,â you say, sipping at your coffee again. âI mean⌠Iâve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasnât sure, butâŚâ
âHey,â he says, mock-defensively. âI donât trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!â
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 youâre concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.
Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty â Jihoon starts feeling like youâre someone heâs 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: thereâs no real reason for either of you to still be here.
Except the obvious.Â
âSo, the apartment,â Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. âIs itâŚ?â He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of âlocalâ, or ânearbyâ, but he canât quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.
Then again, you did say â a few subject changes ago â that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe thatâs it.
âAbout⌠a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,â you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast itâs like theyâre on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesnât realise for a few seconds, by which point he isnât even sure how to relax them.Â
âNo way?â he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, heâs soaring.Â
âYeah. Iâll want to get back training soon, too, so thereâs some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,â you tell him.
Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. Itâs the coffee jitters. Apparently.
âWell, if you need any help with anything, Iâve got a car.â
âYouâre too sweet,â you say. âI really couldnât put you out like that, butâŚâ
âYou wouldnât be,â he assures you with a shrug. âIf Iâm not working or in the gym⌠Iâm never really that busy. Itâs up to you, but-⌠Iâd be happy to.â
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 ânew contactâ screen.Â
Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in â for a moment, heâs staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now heâs under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that heâs typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm.Â
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.
âYou need an emoji,â you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.
âHuh?â
âEveryone in my contacts has one â Iâve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.â
âOh, uh-âŚâ Jihoon swallows, and for some reason heâs completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. âI canât â you pick one for me. I donât know.â
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. Heâs about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what youâve chosen.
Jihoon, the contact name reads. And thereâs the little angel face next to it.
âOh, come on,â he says, blushing deeply. âYou canât be serious.â
âI totally am,â you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. âIf you wonât pick your own, you get what youâre given. You did this to yourself.â
âWow,â 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.Â
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.
âI think I need to get going,â he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, âI have some friends coming over tonight.â
âYeah â yeah, of course,â you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. âNo worries.â
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.Â
âIt was really nice to see you,â you say, turning to face him.Â
âYou too,â he agrees. âText me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Donât just say you will?â
You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. âOkay, okay. I promise. Iâll text you â thank you.â Thereâs a pause, but only a tiny one. âAnd for the coffee, too.â
âDonât worry about it,â he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he canât be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though.Â
âNo, really. Um⌠next oneâs on me?âÂ
He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like heâs malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one?Â
âI-âŚâ he starts, his throat dry. âYeah, okay. If youâre sure.â
âIâm sure.â You nod, smiling with â what he doesnât realise is â relief. âIâll see you around, okay?â
âYeah. Yeah â Iâll see you, y/n.â
âââââ
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 â heâs been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except itâs 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 doesnât mention that heâs 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 doesnât say that you exchanged phone numbers.Â
He absolutely wonât confess to being smitten.Â
All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what heâs seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks youâre attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when Jeonghan asks if heâs 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 â he knows their pestering isnât going away any time soon.Â
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.
Itâs 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 â not for the first time this evening â and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friendâs place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didnât stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a â:(â and his was a simple â:)â. That was it, but heâs been thinking about the exchange ever since.Â
Heâs 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.Â
jihoon: fine. youâre right.Â
seokmin: ?
soonyoung: probs true, does need context
jihoon: about the gym girl. youâre right.Â
soonyoung: OH
seokmin: Hahahahahaha
seokmin: Yeah, youâre definitely the last to know, dude
soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmaoÂ
jihoon: they what?
jihoon: how do they know?
jihoon: they donât go to my gym! i havenât seen them in weeks!
soonyoung: because we told them?????Â
seokmin: So, we might have told everyone
jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.
seokmin: Hey! Weâre just glad youâve 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.Â
At least heâs admitted it now.Â
Heâs vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you â itâs out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that itâs real. Straight from the horseâs mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasnât confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever youâre doing to him, whatever this⌠is, it matters.Â
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?
âââââ
Come Monday evening, heâs about ready to hit the roof.
As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks heâs 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 itâs 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 â at some point between getting home yesterday and now â someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. Thereâs a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartmentâs parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty.Â
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 âMonday Motivationâ booster message â âyouâre going to have a great day, today!â â 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 âoofâ, Wonwoo with a âyikesâ, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned âMondaysâ 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.
Itâs going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.
Things donât necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 oâclock rolls around and heâs on his way out the door, heâs feeling a bit like heâs 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 itâs 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.Â
Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however â so no sooner than heâs 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 heâs 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 theyâre not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyoneâs emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but heâs only ever satisfied after the third test anyway.Â
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 heâs 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. Heâs 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.
Itâs not just any smile, but heâs 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 heâs breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but canât quite hear what youâre saying.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit â youâre talking. Focus. He needs to focus.Â
âSorry â what was that?â he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.
âI like your shirt,â 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 youâre finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe Iâm not alone in this.Â
âOh?â he says. âUm â thank you?â
âHowâd it go with your friends last night?â you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and heâs a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isnât sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even heâd forgotten in the heat of the day heâd had, but you remembered. Heâs 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.Â
Thereâs hope.
âYeah â yeah, it was nice,â he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that heâs apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, heâs gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything â this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isnât helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. Heâs not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin.Â
He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. âSorry â Iâm-⌠I just didnât expect to see you back here so soon.â
âYeah,â you chuckle. âI-⌠couldnât stay away. Missed it a little too much.â
âI get that,â 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. âItâs good to-⌠have you back, anyway.â
âGood to be back,â you agree. âHey â can you leave that set up for me, when youâre done? Iâm on legs today, too.â
Jihoon doesnât want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesnât. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that heâs remembered. âSure,â he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as youâre about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. âI mean â hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-⌠do, you know⌠anythingâŚâ
âAre you asking me to train with you?â you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks heâs ever seen it. This is torture. Heâs not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest â God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.
âI-âŚâ he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. âYeah. I am.â
âGive me two minutes,â 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. Heâs 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.Â
âYou go ahead â Iâve just finished.â
He knows heâs really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before heâs even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.
Jihoon doesnât 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 youâre finished. You talk to each other when youâve 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.Â
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.
âYou okay?â he asks, and you nod, patting whatâs exposed of your chest and neck with your towel.Â
âYeah. Yeah â just⌠fuck.â You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second â not even, only for a breath â and really just to let him know that youâre okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like heâs been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. âYou donât come to play, do you?â
âSays you,â he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. âI was wrong about you â youâre insane. Clinically insane.âÂ
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.Â
âI was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,â 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. âWhat?â
âThatâs-⌠got to be a form of masochism,â 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.Â
âHow?!â 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 doesnât act on it, but he wants to.
âWhat do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what youâve just done?â Itâs 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. âI donât know. Maybe Iâm just better than you.â 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 isnât going to take the bait. Heâll lose, heâll admit it â heâll put his hands up and say youâre absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesnât 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 donât leave yours and yours donât 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?
âTen minutes,â he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. âAnd youâre definitely getting the next coffee, now.â
ââââââ
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 canât go out to do whatever theyâre 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. Thereâs a very obvious answer, which is that heâs not. He doesnât want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.
jh: wellâŚ
jh: what are you trying to put together?
y/n: a bed :(
y/n: todayâs 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 mindâs eye. He doesnât see how he could ever say no.Â
jh: apparently yes, you can.
jh: text me the address? iâll leave in 5.
He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwooâs 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 hasnât 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. Youâve 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 itâs 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 donât 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 heâs arrived and you reply saying youâre on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.
âHey,â 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 canât 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.Â
âHi,â 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.
âThank you so much for this.â Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before youâre nodding back towards the stairwell. âIâm on the third floor. Follow me.â
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 heâs 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 youâre at your tetherâs end with D.I.Y, but itâs 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 canât imagine how youâve coped every day since then; if his own building didnât have an elevator, Jihoon thinks heâd 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.Â
Youâve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesnât know you very well, but he still thinks itâs very you â all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, thereâs so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the âmessâ, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. Itâs easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment heâs ever been in.Â
âDid you want a drink?â you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. âIâve got wine, or-⌠anything, really.âÂ
âJust some water would be great,â he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later youâre handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. âI really wouldnât be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.â
âDoes this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?â you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He canât tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasnât quite as successful as he hoped it would be.
âAbout thatâŚâ He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. âIâm sure between the two of us, weâll figure it out.â
âMy knight in shining armour,â you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. Youâve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you havenât 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 doesnât know the names of.
âOkay.â He frowns, looking back up at you where youâve kneeled down a couple of feet away. Youâre grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoonâs lips are more aligned with a pout. âYou maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.â
ââ-
Ignoring the fact that you canât understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. Itâs⌠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, youâre 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.
âWe did it,â you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, thatâs what he assumes youâre feeling, because itâs what he is. âWe actually did it.â
âI mean, you did most of it,â Jihoon says. Itâs 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 isnât going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that.Â
âShh. You helped,â you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. âI couldnât have done it without you.â
âIf you say so,â he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isnât sure he believes you, but the way youâre 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. âWe make a good team.â
âWe do,â you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. âCome on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?â
A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and youâve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and youâre settled comfortably next to him: thereâs plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isnât 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 arenât 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 youâre twisted slightly so youâre 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 shouldâve 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 heâs so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths⌠Heâs 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 youâre resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. Theyâve 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? Heâs pretty sure heâs 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, heâs going to explode.
He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though heâs 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 canât quite help himself, canât 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 theyâre trained on him.Â
Any. Fucking. Minute.Â
âJihoon, I-âŚâ you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that heâs facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. Thatâs not a great loss: he couldnât explain the plot even if he tried. âI donât know if-⌠you can tell me if Iâve read you wrongâŚâ
âYou havenât,â he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. âIâm sure you havenât, I mean.â
In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and youâve 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.Â
âI just-... I donât know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especiallyâŚâ Youâve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. Itâs written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words youâre 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 heâs been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.
âI canât get you out of my head. I really like you.â
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 â 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 â 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, soâŚ
He leans forward and kisses you, instead.
He almost canât believe that heâs only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like itâs 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 couldâve been carved from stone around each other â 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.Â
âIâm sorry, I didnât know how to-âŚâ 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 isnât sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. Heâs trying, though. âBut â shit, Iâm crazy about you.â
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.Â
Jihoon isnât 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 â he just knows that he doesnât mind one bit. Youâre warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. Heâs kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and youâre 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 heâs 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, youâre towering over him. Itâs easily the best view heâs ever had.
âCan I-âŚ?â 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.
âYeah,â 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 youâre staring down at him. Itâs addictive.Â
âOh my God,â 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. âFuck, youâre so hot.â
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. Youâre sitting right over his clothed cock and heâs 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 heâs never kissed anyone with, before.
âSays you,â 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. Heâd usually feel embarrassed, but itâs hard to when youâre the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.
Youâre 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: heâs straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and thereâs 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 youâre 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. Heâs past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too.Â
And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where heâs 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.
âWh-âŚâ you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point.Â
He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. âWhat?â
âHad no idea you could-âŚâ Youâre 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. âYou were soâŚâ
âSo what?â 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. âCome on⌠talk to me.â
âSo good,â 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. âSo-⌠fucking good.â
Youâre so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesnât even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: youâre already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, itâs 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-âŚ
âIf only youâd been patient enough to see the set together.â
Oh, so you can read his mind now, too?Â
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 â he wishes he had. Even imagining it, heâs throbbing.
âYou wear all this for me?â he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. âFuck. I bet you didnât even need my help tonight at all, did you?â
Youâre 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 heâs pretty sure your clit is.
âY/n, youâre so pretty. Let me see you.â
âI didnât,â you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much youâre actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings youâve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. âJust⌠really wanted you to come overâŚâ
âMhm. I know,â 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 â when his teeth tug just slightly, youâre about ready to beg.
âJihoon, please,â you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesnât know if heâs 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 isnât 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.Â
Heâs 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 heâs ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that youâre moving, at first. Jihoon doesnât know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together â if itâs shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? â but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.
âKeep your legs wide for me?â he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. âGood girl.âÂ
Youâre 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 thatâs 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 doesnât hesitate to tell you so with a groan.
âGod,â he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if youâre ready â if youâre 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.  Â
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. Heâs only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until itâs buried inside your pussy completely.Â
âSâthis okay?â 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.Â
âMore â please,â 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. âFuck â mhm, just like thatââŚâ
He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. Heâs 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.
âDonât stop,â you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. âFuck, fuck â please, donât stop.â
âIâm not going to,â he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldnât 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. âYou gonna come for me, huh?â
âI-âŚâ you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately â perhaps itâs sort of closer to a growl than a cough â and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe youâre learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, itâs tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. âY-yeah, fuck, IâŚâ
âGood girl,â 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.
âOh, my God,â 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 canât blame you. He still isnât over it, either.
âYouâre so gorgeous,â he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. âSo pretty. So sweet. So good.â
âShh,â you giggle, but he doesnât. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until youâve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans.Â
He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. âWe donât have to do anything else if youâreââ
âShh.â This oneâs a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. âYou wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?â
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 doesnât miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. Itâs 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.
âPlease,â he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment theyâre 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.
âI need you so fucking bad,â you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isnât in much of a better state himself; heâs 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.Â
âNeed you, too,â 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, youâve pulled free a small foil square. You donât even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; youâre ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks heâs 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 heâs fighting demons.
âOkay?â 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.Â
âMhm, just-... take it slow?â you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. âSâbeen a while.âÂ
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 heâs fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing.Â
âYou can move,â you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. âIâm okay.âÂ
Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. Heâs in real danger of losing control any second. âYeah, this isnât for you, baby.â
âOh?â you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until heâs buried up to the hilt. Fuck, thereâs a bruised cervix if youâve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.
âIâm sorry,â he says. âYou just-... fuck, you feel so good.â
âMm, says you.âÂ
Itâs 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 youâre reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because heâs 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 youâre about to apologise but he doesnât 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.
âDo that again,â 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. âPlease. â
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.
âIâm close, y/n,â he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. âCan-... can you give me one moreâŚ?â
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.
Itâs 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 heâs 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 youâve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all heâs worth.Â
â
You offer for him to shower first â an offer he gratefully accepts. While youâre 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 youâre 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.Â
You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. âYou didnât have to do all this,â you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.
âIt was the least I could do,â he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. âI couldnât leave and make you change them yourself.â
âLeave?â you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers.Â
âI mean, itâs getting pretty late, soâŚâ he says. âI probably need to get going at some point.â
âOrâŚâ you say, tongue darting out over your lips. âMaybe you donât.â
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? Itâs hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.
âAre you⌠asking me to stay?â he asks.Â
âOnly if you want to,â 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. âIâve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.â
âOf course I want to.â
So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, heâs awestruck. Jihoon canât take his eyes off you.
ââââââ
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 doesnât quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if heâs 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.Â
All of last night mustâve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. Thereâs no way you really told him you liked him, too. Thereâs no way any of it could have really happened.
âY/n?â He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if youâre awake already. When thereâs 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 doesnât mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe youâll have changed your mind somehow now the sunâs 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.
âWhat time is it?â 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.
âI donât know. Early, I think,â he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. âGo back to sleep.â
âNot if youâre awake,â you say. Heâs not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering.Â
âDonât worry about me,â 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 canât hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. âItâs okay. I donât mind.â
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.Â
âAre you gonna answer that?â you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. âCome on, Jihoon. It might be important.â
âNot important enough,â he sighs.Â
âAt least see who it is,â 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.
âGive me two seconds,â 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.Â
âTake all the time you need.â
He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows.Â
âHey, look â Iâm really sorry,â he starts to say, but Seungcheolâs voice cuts him off almost straight away.
âJihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasnât here, and Seokmin said he didnât hear you come home last night. We all thought youâd died,â he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other manâs face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how youâve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.
âI stayed out,â Jihoon says, a little wobbly. âI canât make the run, someth-... shit.â You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. âSomething came up-...â
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 heâs really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that youâre very proud of that.
âDude,â Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. âTell me youâre not with a girl right now.â
âShut up. Go away,â Jihoon grunts. âIâll call you later.â
âOh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...â
âBye, Cheol,â 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. âYouâre the worst, you know that?â
âYeah?â you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. âLet me make it up to you, huh?â
#fb : donât sweat it.#THANK YOU X10000000#âthis was just wowâ has inflated my silly little ego to levels I will not disclose#equally that you liked the progression CAN I EVEN PUT INTO WORDS#HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME. ACTUALLY CAN I#because strangers to lovers really đŤ đŤ đŤ đŤ đŤ fuckin. i spent so long figuring out exactly how many interactions and wrote so much of this out of#chronological order because I had IDEAS and then needed to make them FIT and just. that comment has cured my stress acne and also#every problem Iâve ever had as a human being#thank u for the love I hope youâre doing well && Iâm so v glad youâre around at the same time as me đŤś#q
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The difference between how I enjoy Olivia and how I enjoy Jackie is that I like to imagine Olivia dying in deep and symbolic ways that leave a deep scar on the people around her that will still manage to die out before her death can reach its climax and I like to imagine Jackie being hit by a car and exploding
#rat rambles#oni posting#and if you know me youd know that both of these are equally affectionate lol#olivia appeals to me by being am extremely interesting character and a complicated person#and jackie appeals to me by being very easy to boo and throw tomatoes at#theyre both sad divorced middle aged women but jackie is easily the worse of the two and the more pathetic of the two#olivia has deep moral and philisphical crisies and jackie throws a hissy fit over her ex wife throwing a party its not a competition lol#like jackie is such a manchild of a woman and thats exactly why I love her#I do also have serious thoughts feelings and hcs abt her too but those are a result of her growing on me and that was a result of her being#a sad wet cat of a woman who is such a shitty person for no good reason#she had reasons but those are mostly just hand waves nowadays#and even back when she did genuinely believe in doing things for good rather than solely progress it still was shaky reasoning#point being she ruined everything for everyone including herself and it was for no good reason and I love that abt her#also I love my design for her so she gets bonus points by leeching off of my artistic talents or whatever#shes sooo silly actually (incorrect)#olivia is also silly I will forever obsess with 'tiny baby!' and her various puns and jokes as the pod#it rly makes you wonder what they were like back before they were doomed toxic yuri and were simply doomed yuri#I have my hcs ofc but yknow#their date nights were probably just them sitting in a mcdonalds for 17 hours straight discussing theories and doing their college homework#and then their study nights were them getting blackout drunk and crying their eyes out and having gay sex or smth#in the modern day they both absolutely refuse to drink unless theyre home alone they can't trust themselves in the slightest#anyways obligatory 1 am post made time to go to bed and keep being offline as hell
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so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*
a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick đŽâđ¨ so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!
nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.
nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.
nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.
nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?
nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.
nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (
nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.
choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.
nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?
nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.
nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.
"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."
uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.
"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.
nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.
nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.
nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.
nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.
nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)
nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.
"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."
oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.
you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.
"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.
fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.
he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.
nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)
#aniya writes ૮ ⤠⤠ŕžŕ˝˛á#my head would be in my hands#if they weren't already occupied#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso jjk#choso jujutsu kaisen#choso#kamo choso#choso kamo#choso x reader#jjk choso#choso smut#choso x you#choso my beloved#choso x y/n#choso x female reader#jjk ^ ~#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jjk drabbles#jjk x poc!reader#choso kamo x reader
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Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.
We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.
I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.
But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.
Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.
And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.
It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.
It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.
And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.
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Don't They Know a Rabbit Can't Cry
Synopsis: while travelling the witches' road you're forced to confront the two witches who left you centuries ago without an explanation.
Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader x Rio Vidal
Words: 2.3k+
WARNINGS - swearing, choking, knives, nightmares, brief mentions of burning and being buried alive and playful use of 'mommy'
A LIFE ONCE LIVED //
It's a quiet evening as you pluck wildflowers in the wake of the setting sun. You would have to head home soon; to avoid the danger of navigating your way back in the dark. The older witch did not like you being out alone at night but you weren't quite done yet. The bouquet had to be perfect. Not that she would ever say otherwise. not to you anyway. Too soft. Too sweet. She had a soft spot for you. They both did. You twist the delicate stem between your fingers. Lavender. Beautiful. Intoxicating. And... hot. Sizzling against the pad of your pointer finger and thumb. And searing into the skin. You drop it quickly. Flames swallowing the single flower. Bizarre. You take another. plucking it from its spot. Flames shoot up from the ground surrounding you entirely. Red hot and roaring as the flowers make way for beautiful flames that dance in the breeze. Creeping closer and closer. Quicker and quicker. Until you feel it burn against your skin.
You jolt up. Sweaty and warm in the night's cold embrace. You're safe. Right now at least. No fire. No nothing. You rub your temple. Just a nightmare. They'd been more frequent as of late. Little flashes of the past engulfed in fiery fury. Fitting. The makeshift campsite was still. The ashes of the small fire dance in the breeze. Witches litter the ground in a moment of respite. You didn't know them but you imagine they're quite desperate. Most weren't brave enough to even dare travel the witches' road anymore. Pushing up you decide to go for a walk. Not far just enough to feel the cool air and calm your heart. Away from prying eyes. There wasn't much around here anyway.
"can't sleep?" it's a startling thing. To hear such a familiar sound so abruptly. It brings with it a quickened heart. A look of surprise. that voice. An unpleasant reminder of the past. That's all this trip seemed to be. A constant trip down memory lane. In many ways, you wish you had never agreed but maybe your darkened heart may still hold a few soft spots.
"just needed a minute alone,"
"That's a dangerous game around here," there is a playfulness to her tone. one that makes your jaw tense.
"can you just go away?" you ask. "I can't- I can't deal with this right now."
"playing hard to get?" just as playful but different. Still familiar. Annoyingly so. "what happened to that sweet girl who brought me flowers every day."
"don't," a threat. You wished not to relive the past right now. Not with them. They didn't deserve to remember you so fondly.
"made us little flower crowns." her voice travelled the woods. Surrounding you from all directions. Trapping you in your spot.
"stop."
"used to bring us fresh bread."
"fuck off," you bite back with an equally sharp turn. Subdued anger began to rise at the mere sight of them. Agatha Harkness. The harbinger of your nightmares. The years had been kind to her appearance but if rumours are to be believed she had a dark reputation. Evil. Soulless. Murderer. Maybe in another lifetime, you would have disagreed. A green witch stood to her side. Far enough away for you to know they weren't on good terms either. She sported a signature smirk you wanted to slap away. Rio Vidal. Infuriating in every conceivable way. They both brought different feelings. Similar but still different. "why can't you just leave me alone?
"we're only checking on you, dear,"
"After such a scary nightmare." Rio teased. "do you need to get in mommy's bed tonight?"
You take a deep breath. Don't raise to her level. Don't give her the satisfaction. It's not quite admitting defeat but you're tired. Falling against a nearby tree. "please leave." you let your head fall back against the bark.
"I'm sure Agatha won't mind,"
"leave the poor girl alone," as always Agatha comes in to mediate. It's always just a little misleading. The woman crouches down before you. Glassy eyes bore into yours and for a moment you're that girl again. The one they remember. Who picked flowers and planned picnics? Ran in the meadow and liked to sit at the edge of the lake. Who held on tight to Agatha's hand as she walked you home. You didn't have much back then. Lived in a small cottage in the woods with your family. The older witch came into your life so abruptly. Looking back on it now she probably just saw a naive girl she could play with. "are you okay?" her question brings you back to reality. The here and now. Stuck on the road with a bunch of washed-up witches and the two people you hate most in the world. Stuck in a never-ending cycle of reliving the past. The end seemed so far away. Who knows if you'll even make it that far with this useless bunch. "do you wanna tell us about it?"
"Agatha," said softly.
"yes, dear?"
"fuck. Off." quiet but firm. You can tell she wasn't expecting it. A little chuckle sounds from behind her. The witch raises.
"fine." Agatha answers. "forgotten how stubborn you can be." your eyes trail after her as she begins to walk away, Rio takes a moment before following. And the question that has been bubbling in your chest for centuries finally comes up.
"Why did you leave me?" they slow to a stop. Yet to turn back. Did you even really want to know the answer? Perhaps it was a question best left unanswered. Years of bitterness already seeped into your bones. Little to be said to make you less angry at them. Less murderous rage. "what did I do?"
"Nothing," Agatha urges. Short and simple. No explanation needed apparently. "don't stay up too late,"
"then why?" you asked again. a little louder. A little firmer. Why was she acting like this? Pretending she cared. It was infuriating.
"Just tell her," Rio presses, turning back to you.
"don't," Agatha places her hand on Rio's shoulder but that doesn't stop the green witch from sulking towards you. A malicious little smile.
"come on, look at her," a knife pointed in your direction as she makes her way over. "just as pitiable as she always has been." she crouches down in front of you much like Agatha had before. But you don't see that girl you once were. Her eyes fill you with anger. It's strange to think you used to admire her so. Used to put flowers in her hair, and she let you. The tip of her blade forces your head up ever so slightly. "A pathetic little girl. Scared of the world," a sharp pain. You swallow hard "scared of anything real."
"Rio," Agatha walks up, towering over you two. "put it away,"
"Why should I?" she wonders. Pressing a little harder. "tell her."
"What happened to you?" Agatha questions. Your eyes flicker up to her. Did she really want to know or was it diversion. "where does this hate come from?"
"you left me," you reply. A loud bark of laughter from Rio as her blade lowers.
"no," the woman shakes her head slowly. "that's... not it."
"boring," Rio groans loudly. "I didn't lie, y'know? I know you don't want to believe me but it's true. Isn't it Agatha?" the woman rises to her feet. Patting the other witch on the shoulder. "we left because you were weak."
"it... it wasn't quite like that," Agatha offers out a hand. You brush it off, standing up. "we thought you'd be better off."
"alone?"
"without us." Agatha corrects. "you were so..." her eyes trail over you. "different back then. You didn't know you were a witch. You were just so..."
"innocent," Rio insists.
"no- well, yes but not in the way you might think. You just needed a push and we were being so careful,"
"soft," Rio interjects once more.
This little game of back-and-forth was cute. But you didn't care. Rio was using it as an excuse to get some sick sense of pleasure from throwing in insults while Agatha was doing anything to avoid saying what she thought. You knew Agatha. She could be just as mean as Rio. "can you get to the point?"
"you already know," you ignore Rio, looking straight at Agatha.
"We wanted to protect you," you can't help but roll your eyes. That was the best excuse she could come up with. Some fairytail bullshit. "felt easier to leave." you glance at Rio who looked just as over it as you did.
"Agatha thought you'd be better off without us. That we shouldn't be dragging you into a world you weren't ready for. Blah blah blah. Too weak to come with us. If we left you wouldn't get caught up in anything bad,"
"Rio was actually the one who didn't want to go,"
"Whatever," she huffs. Her gaze down at the knife in her hand; twisting the edge against the tip of her forefinger. "I thought it'd be worse if we just left you. that it'd fuck with you- we just needed to be harsher."
"but I was right,"
"you were wrong," Rio answers.
"How? I mean look at her," Agatha ushers towards you. "a full-fledged witch. Survived centuries. That's something. You didn't need us."
"do you wanna tell her or should I?" you wonder if Rio is genuine in her question or if this was just another attempt at teasing. This conversation had mainly been between the two of them.
"Tell me what?"
"I wasn't... okay, Agatha," you admit for perhaps the first time ever out loud. Only Rio knows what happened to you in the years between them leaving and the last time you saw her. You made sure of that. The two of them had grand legacies but you wanted to be forgotten in history. Like the legend of Bloody Mary. Not a sole dare speaks your name anymore because who knows what'll happen if you show up.
"oh bunny," a pet name you hadn't heard in a very long time. It almost seemed childish now. Pathetic. "just talk to me."
"you don't care,"
"god do I have to do everything around here," Rio complains. "she was tried as a witch, Agatha. Use your head for once."
"Rio," you huff.
She rolls her eyes. "burned at the stake."
"Rio," you snarl. "stop. I don't wanna talk about it."
"yes you do," she responds sharply. "you want nothing more than to make Agatha Harkness feel guilty for leaving you. Hurt her the way she hurt you." you dart for her in one swift motion. A hand around her neck. The teasing just becoming too much, and you were sick of hearing her talk.
"you hurt me too," you bark, shoving her against the nearest tree. What should be fear is instead a small smirk and dark eyes.
"fiesty," she quips. She knows you won't kill her. You can't.
"you're the only person to ever leave a mark." you resume. "an ugly scar that my body just refuses to heal."
"come on sweet one." you drive a little harder. "make it hurt."
"do you know what it's like to be tied up and buried in a coffin? To slowly suffocate to death over and over and over again," fingernails dig into the skin of her neck. You can see it's having an effect. The wobble in her smile. "the way your body screams for oxygen. Your insides burning with desire but there is nothing you can do?"
"drop her," Agatha's hand reaches your shoulder and your powers kick in. Your free hand waves her away. Energy blasts her backwards and she stumbles to the ground. A lesser witch wouldn't know of Agatha's ability to drain magic but you were smarter than that. careful in your use despite the speed. control what's around her rather than directly blasting her.
"don't touch me," you growl.
"our... little girl... is all grown... up," choked out of Rio's mouth. You watch her grow a little paler. A little more starved for breath. And then you drop her. She crumbles to the floor. "and filled..." she coughs. "with... murderous rage... apparently."
"calm down," Agatha tries from her place on the floor, as she tries to get up. You use your magic to help her up. Leaving her hovering just a few feet off the ground.
"y'know, when they dragged me from bed and burned me at the stake all I could think about was you two. Surely, they didn't just leave without a word. They'll... come back and help me." you can still picture that night. The confusion. the heat. The pain. "you left me," you walk towards Agatha. "and look at you now. The great Agatha Harkness is completely powerless."
"we're sorry, okay- aren't we rio?" rio shrugs a little. With a heavy sigh, you drop Agatha to the ground. "you've come a long way bunny."
"wasn't really a choice,"
"Can we just backtrack a little," the older witch requests. Brushing herself off as she stands back up.
"immortality looks good on you," Rio teases. You hold up a middle finger.
"you're immortal?"
"for the longest time, I thought one of you cursed me with it. Some fucked up way of protecting me. But then I went looking for you. Heard all about your extra circular activities. Witch killer, hiding behind dark magic," Agatha just looks back as you turn to Rio. She knew the story. "Rio was easier to find,"
"should have stayed dead," Rio insisted, the cold metal blade dancing across the scar on your neck. "how easier that would be," you shove her away and she just chuckles. "oh how I missed this," she wonders over to were Agatha is stood.
"I'm going back to sleep," you announce. "let's just leave it at that,"
"Why did you come," Agatha asks. You wonder if it's worth the conversation. The headache of continuing to engage with them. "if you hate me so much?"
"to die," you say eventually as you head back to camp.
// NEXT
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Bamf Babies
RQ: 'I saw that you opened your requests and could I request a dabble of the daily life of Kurt and his partner who treats his bamfs as if they're are their babies? Like she cooks for them, makes them little clothes, tucks them in, gives them names (with Kurt's approval, of course), and all that?' - @mari-thesimp
Warnings: GN reader, though the term 'mother' is used just once just as a way to describe your role. Unedited.
A/N: Umm yes??? Ugh, this was a fun little drabble. The bamfs, come on, cute little guys. I wish I had one. I'd kill for one.
The bamfs were...a lot...when you first met them. They were like little gremlins who were constantly at full energy, scampering around and getting into things they weren't supposed to. The only time they weren't running around so much was when they finally sat to eat. Kurt noticed that they were fond of you right away, and while he has to leave for missions, he decides to leave them with you, or at least a few at a time before it gradually turned into all of them.
You became their unofficial mother. But like hell you'd deny that.
The bamfs slept with you, all curled up beside you like a litter of kittens. Their soft, velvety skin felt so warm against you, like gentle peach fuzz. Sometimes they fought to sleep the closest to you, some would cry and you'd have to reassure them.
Bamfs can be quite jealous, so you have to make sure to show equal amounts of affection and love, otherwise it can cause an unruly bamf which is never fun. As you learned how they worked, you got better at managing them all.
Each morning, you wake up and made them breakfast. Kurt is normally exhausted, so you let him sleep in. The bamfs scramble out of bed with you, eager and happy. their little chirps and chitters fill the kitchen as they gather by your feet. Some climb on the counter, trying their best to help you cook. Pancakes were their favorite, but they weren't so good at making them. They tried, but they often made a big mess with the batter. Then they fought...and an even bigger mess happens.
So you handle the mixing. You learned.
They still liked to try to help, so you let them put chocolate chips or blueberries in them if they wanted. Each pancake you poured, you held up a bamf and they sprinkled in their add-on. Each one was served and given syrup, and now you had a handful of happy, quiet bamfs. Still and busy eating their food. Their big cheeks full of sweet pancakes as they ate happily.
"Guten Morgen..." Kurt says groggily, making his presence known. He's got major bedhead, trudging over to you and rubbing his eye sleepily. You return the greeting, smiling at him as he hugs you from behind. "Any for me...?" he asks tiredly, his face nuzzles your neck.
"Of course," you chuckle lightly. The bamfs had to get their sweet tooth from somewhere, and Kurt's sweet tooth was crazy.
You make Kurt his breakfast, and pass out cut up bananas and fruits for the bamfs. Some pout, and you chuckle. "Now, you have to have something healthy too, little ones. Besides, bananas and berries are yummy." You spoke gently to them, scratching their heads as you distributed the food. They all reluctantly ate the fruit, wanting to make you happy.
After breakfast, it's bath time. You bath the bamfs twice a day, they get...dirty, very easy. Luckily all of them can fit in the bathtub, so it's not that difficult. You scrub them and wash their hair, seeing them happily splash and play in the water. Some hate the water, they are like cats, trying to get away from the tiniest of drops, but you manage. There are one or two where Kurt has to help hold them in so you can wash them. The poor bamfs cry and try their hardest to get out, but only when they're clean. You give them lots of kisses when they're done, so they feel better. The little dears eventually stop crying, but they pout and are grumpy.
You like to play with them, you go outside and play on the playgrounds with them, the bamfs love slides. They're also little spiders, crawling on every single thing they can.
"Careful!" you called, one bamf climbed on the very top of the castle and chirped victoriously. The bamf seemed so proud of itself, but like that instinct you had, the bamf slipped and slid off the castle top and down to the wooden pellets that covered the playground. It landed on its back and its little body rolled over, the force of the landing turned it onto its belly.
A soft hic and it started to cry. You rushed over, Kurt noticed and teleported beside the little bamf as it cried. Its tearful cheeks damp as it reached up to you. "Awe it's okay...I'm here baby..." you cooed, holding the darling bamf close. It was a little dirty, but otherwise okay. Nothing broken, "You're gonna have one hell of a knot on your head later, sweetheart."
The bamf cried and buried itself into you, the others were concerned and slowed their play as you comforted the hurt bamf. "He's okay, liebe...just a little hurt." Kurt reassured, but the bamf didn't want to be put down and you didn't want to let it go yet.
"I know, I know...just let me comfort him..." you whispered to Kurt, whom backed off and let you do your thing. "Shh, sh...it's alright, you slipped, that's all. You're okay, little one..." you reassured the bamf and gave it a little kiss on the head, your hand gently soothing the sore spot.
Playtime didn't last much longer, you all went inside to clean up once again, and it was dinner time. You cooked and hummed, the bamf who hurt itself didn't leave your side, crying and wanting to be held constantly. You of course held it, the poor thing kept itself buried against you. The darling had a wrap around its head where it fell and you held an ice pack to the spot when you weren't stirring dinner at the stove.
Kurt occupied the rest, they couldn't use sharp utensils, but they helped season things. When dinner was served, it was a typical mealtime, they ate happily with little complaint unless it came to brussel sprouts and broccoli. You cleaned up, and came to the den to relax for the evening and enjoy their company...and Kurt's of course.
The bamfs colored at the table, most of their drawings were messy and childlike. The injured bamf stayed close to you, laying in your lap with the ice on its head. The pitiful bamf was extremely attached to you, and would sometimes make cries to get your attention when it wanted more.
Kurt stayed close to you, sighing down at the little bamf. "He's really attached to you, schatz...all of them are. They might love you more than me," he chuckled lightly, kissing your temple. The comment and kiss made you smile lightly, your heart beating a little quicker.
"Ah well...I just try to care for them the best I can." Your thumb was gently rubbing the bamf's cheek, the little one had fallen asleep in your lap. "I think it's bedtime, the others are quite sleepy too."
The rest were slow and sluggish now, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Kurt agreed, leading them all up to your bedroom. "Alright little ones...let's get you in your jammies." you hummed, holding up little onsies you made for them. Putting clothes on them for the first time was hard, but over the months, they learned to adjust. It was like putting clothes on a cat, they acted funny at first but as you learned the sizes and where the clothes were pinching, you figured out how to make the clothes as comfortable as possible.
They all slept in bed with you, but they had their own little corner where there was a big nest they slept in too. However, you couldn't deny them if they wanted to sleep beside you, especially the hurt one. So after you changed and got ready for bed, you slipped in and they all piled in after you. The injured snuggling close, then the rest came around and settled.
Kurt was behind you, his tail wrapping around your leg. "Comfy?" he asks you softly, and you nod in return. You were exhausted. The day was long and you were ready for bed. You had a little family here, and you couldn't be happier with your life. Kurt and the bamfs were your everything, and you were theirs.
Thanks for reading.
*BAMF*
Dividers by @/adornedwithlight
Cover images from Nightcrawler #5 (2014)
#kurt wagner#nightcrawler#kurt wagner x reader#xmen bamfs#nightcrawler x reader#xmen#nightcrawler bamfs#x men#x men 97#đ my works
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The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed
art by : @shripscapi
Edited to add: I was hoping that people that did not like this ship could still appreciate the art as I gave them two separate pieces, but people have been coming into my inbox on all platforms, so let me encourage you to block the Jongritte and Ygritte tags on tumblr or twt, as well as me so you will not have to see it if this is you. I also would encourage you to create your own AU as it is very fun. My AU is based on Jon becoming King before leaving the Freefolk, so following his psychology as a character, Ygritte is his only choice as consort as long as sheâs alive. You can make your own with Val if you want, but I do not owe anyone to pay for commissions of their preferred characters.
Look at my King dawg weâre definitely getting through the Wall!!!
For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, Iâm not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. Heâs not very connected with the South and I donât feel that itâs his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isnât necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).
The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesnât really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. Itâs not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Nightâs Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. Heâs always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. Heâs wanted Winterfell, though he didnât want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But heâs known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. Heâs seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jonâs feelings when Ned allows him to join the Nightâs Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but itâs unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that donât care that heâs a bastard, donât see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesnât hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.
We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lordâs keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in Kingâs Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it canât be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more âopenâ and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didnât want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously thatâs House Starkâs color. Jonâs clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Nightâs Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because Iâm sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). Thereâs a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte, but also defeating the Others as fire is the way Jon originally tried combating them as a steward at the Wall. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as itâs for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. Sheâs not very good at the craft!
As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritteâs crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldnât be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to âtell the futureâ not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so Iâm just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jonâs crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Branâs weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like itâs different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. Thereâs also some ivy to parallel with Ygritteâs holly.
The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isnât just about Lyanna. Itâs also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe itâs real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfellâs only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Baelâs child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritteâs idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the storyâs premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfellâs daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and âstealing herâ, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didnât like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didnât see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jonâs cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jonâs whole look is to look fearsome.
I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then Iâd be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that donât enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully Iâve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!
Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves:
#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#jon snow#ygritte#jon x ygritte#jongritte#valyrianscrolls#fanart#asoiaf fashion#asoiaf meta
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CALL OF THE SEA / PART FIVE
pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! a/n: so sorry for the wait, this chapter isn't as long as the others but i'm in the process of moving! i'll be moved in by late next week, so when that happens, i'll finally have more time to deliver longer parts and be more active! <3 masterlist
When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.
âYou let her get away.â
âSânot like I meant to, Cap,â Soap defended, scowling to himself.
The four men stood in Priceâs quarters, all shoulders equally tensed and expressions grim. While Gaz and Ghost remained quiet thus far, the intensity rolled off of them menacingly. Soap could practically see the sourness fill the air.
âBut you did,â Price reiterated, slamming his palm on the table. It shook the room, quill holders rumbling and threatening to spill onto the floor. âWe already take a risk havinâ her on our ship until she grows accustomed to livinâ here. How could you be so careless?â
âCan ye blame her?â Soap spat back. The men fell silent with Price narrowing his eyes in suspicion. âThe poor lass watched the four of us burn her village down. Then we took her in like a fit of scoundrels. I donât blame her for runninâ off the way she did.â
Price kept his mouth shut, pressed in a firm line. His shoulders were squared, an argument threatening to spill out, yet he didnât encourage it. After all, Soap had a point, but they werenât supposed to care. It was a simple part of being savages.
âSheâll understand eventuallyââ
âBut she wonât,â Soap cut Price off, leaning his hands on the table to match the Captainâs. The two of them stared long and hard at one another. âWe donât even understand, so what makes ye think she will?â
âSoap,â Ghost warned. Soapâs gaze flickered over to the masked man, whose eyes were darkened with warning. Gaz shifted uncomfortably from beside him. âWatch your tongue.â
Soap opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Price raised his palm, requesting silence. The look on his face was unreadable, but the sign of authority was clear.
âYou need to get your head out of the trenches, Soap,â Price warned. âCarinâ for her will only have you throwinâ yourself overboard, and thatâs not somethinâ I can save you from. We needed a medic, and she was in the right place at the right time. That is all.â
âSo ye donât have the slightest bit of sympathy for her, sâthat right, Cap?â Soap asked, eyes narrowing in on the Captain.
âThere is no place in this world for sympathy,â Price responded meekly. âLet alone for her.â
âAnd for us?â Soap questioned, gesturing to the other two men in the room.
âYou are my men,â Price grunted. âShe is an unlucky woman that came from rags rather than riches. That is to no fault but her own. You forget your place, Soap.â
Though Price had remained calm, Soap could see the building aggravation. It was in the way the Captainâs hands clenched atop the table, his eyes glossed over with a heated fire from being rebutted.
âIt seems yer forgettinâ yers as well, Captain,â Soap muttered bitterly.
The atmosphere was so thick, it was suffocating. Not a single man said another word, caught in a deadly stare down. It was a rarity to challenge Priceâs authority, let alone over an unfortunate woman who they had ruined all on their own.
If Soapâs words affected Price, he didnât make it known. Rather, his irritability was evidence, and he appeared to be fighting off any resentment towards his own crew.
âGet out,â Price uttered, voice low, but the notion was clear. âAll of you.â
Nobody argued. Rather, they filed out one by one, Priceâs door slamming on the way out.
Ghost grumbled when just the three of them remained, stalking off to his own quarters for the night.
Gaz joined Soap in watching the masked man leave. It wasnât until he was fully out of sight did Gaz speak.
âYou have a point, Soap,â Gaz said quietly, slapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. âGood luck makinâ Cap see that.â
Gaz gave him another squeeze of his hand before sauntering off himself, leaving Soap alone on the upper deck, the summer air suddenly feeling frigid and bitter.
The cell was suffocating you all over again. You missed the feel of a bed, the soft furs that lined Priceâs bed that showered you in comforting warmth for the night, the flood of fresh air in your lungs.
Part of you felt like you took it for granted. The bitter part of you, though, knew that you deserved to have those things without being in the possession of a pirate.
The shoes Soap left you taunted you from the corner of the cell. They mocked you, called you ungrateful. It painted you with an uncomfortable guilt that settled deep in your bones.
You shouldnât feel bad for a bunch of savages, but what kind of savages would think to surprise you with shoes, even picking out ones that you might like? You couldnât speak for the others, but Soap had shed a light of humanity in a time where you needed it, and you had fucked that up.
Now, you wanted it more than ever. The cell was cold and unwelcoming, and you missed the taste of freedom you were given so shortly.
It felt as if you were back at square one. For the first day, nobody came to offer you food like before. Your stomach grumbled with a might that had you coiled over, silently crying into your hands. The second night was torturous, and it felt as if your own stomach was beginning to feast on itself.
The third night, however, was when you were finally graced with sympathy.
What greeted you, or more so who, had taken you by surprise. Expecting Soap or Gaz, or even Ghost to degrade you for being so stupid, you were instead faced with the Captain himself.
Price stood with a steaming bowl of stew and another bowl of simple rice. The sight of it had your mouth watering and your stomach gurgling in desperation.
âHello, dove,â he offered, his tone surprisingly soft compared to the spitefulness he held days before. It still held authority, one you didnât think would ever rid itself, but it wasnât as angry as expected.
You gave him a nod in response but said nothing. A touch of dread crept up your spine. He was all too calm to you, who had nearly sent his men to unforeseeable death.
Price balanced the two bowls on one arm so he could unlock your cell door and step inside. Once in, he carefully placed the bowls on the ground in front of you where you sat, taking a cautious step back.
As much as you wanted to devour the food without. a second thought, you remained frozen and stubborn. You stared at the bowls of hot food before shifting up to look at him. When he gave you a nod in confirmation, that was all you needed to begin eating.
Eating was the nicer word. Demolishing was more accurate.
You didnât bother to eat with the spoon given, rather you used your hands to grab a fistful of rice and guzzle it down. Grains of rice stuck to your face around your mouth, showing an embarrassing display. You were so hungry you didnât care.
âSlow down,â Price ordered. You paused in your eating, glancing up at him. He didnât look angry, but he did look a bit disturbed at your desperation.
Flustered, you swallowed the food down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Picking up the spoon in the stew, you ate it with eagerness but allowed yourself some decency.
Price was silent as you ate, standing with his arms crossed, watching. You were too enraptured in the meal to care, even if you look distasteful. The food had never tasted this good before, and you weren't sure whether it was because you were starving, or because somebody else cooked.
You imagined the pirates in the kitchen together, chopping vegetables and meat to place it in a pot, using an array of spices. Arguing over who got to do what, disagreeing with a choice of meal for the day.
It gave them a small sense of normality in your mind, even eliciting a small laugh from you. Priceâs face contorted in confusion, wondering what could possibly be funny, especially in times like this. You, locked in a cell, given the worst hand the world couldâve given you, finding something joyful enough to laugh through it.
âWould you like to tell me why youâre laughinâ?â Price gruffed.
You swallowed down your food, peering up at him from where you sat on the floor. âI was just imagining Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets to cook,â you confessed, looking back down at your food. âI apologize. It is not funny.â
You could feel Priceâs stare. The air was silent, tense, before he ultimately broke it. âGhost is the one that cooks,â he explained. âUsed to be a butcher back in his day.â
âA butcher?â you repeated, pondering. The mask Ghost flaunted made him mysterious and concealed. You wouldâve never imagined him as a butcher, though the more you thought about it, the more it clicked. âThat seems to make quite a bit of sense, actually.â
âDoes it?â Price hummed with the telltale sign of amusement. It was hardly evident. âYes, I believe it does. Explains why heâs so good with a knife, aye?â
You grimaced at that. Ghost was certainly good in combat, that was something you could see from the jump. You just didnât want to envision who and what he uses it on.
âI believe we got off on the wrong foot,â Price began. The words took you by surprise. âMight have ruffled too many of your little feathers too soon.â
âThat is a severe understatement,â you muttered. Price shot you a look, successfully shutting you up.
âWe do not normally have others on our ship. If we have treated you with hostility, then I apologize. You must understand the walls we have built up, you see,â he explained.
âThen why have you taken me if you are going to treat me as a mere rat?â you asked. He sniffed, feigning disinterest. âI thought you appointed me as a medic. It does not feel as though you are true to your word. Is there perhaps another reason for kidnapping me that you are not telling me?â
Price was quiet, eyes wandering off elsewhere. He appeared in thought, as if debating something heavily in his mind.
âNo,â he finally said, hesitating. âYou were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I do not apologize for taking you, but I do⌠sympathize. Perhaps I shouldâve been kinder.â
âPerhaps,â you repeated, albeit a tad bitterly. Price was unfazed by the subtle resentment you held. He didnât seem to care at all. He was a hard man to read, even harder than Ghost. You couldnât tell what he was thinking, and that was dangerous.
Price cleared his throat, the aura of awkwardness smothering him. It was evident to you that he wasnât used to being kind and having to resolve with someone. You briefly wondered what made him change his mind.
âYou are right,â he continued. âWe took you in to be our medic. Medics cannot work in a cell.â
Price took a step back to leave the cell, yet the door remained open. He gestured for you to step out, to join him. You were weary, slowly standing from your spot and taking a skeptical step out of the cell.
âI will give you the choice in who you wish to stay with until we can arrange a space for you to sleep.â Price began stepping up the stairs that led to the upper deck, so you silently followed. âIf you wish to stay with me again, that is fine. But if you wish to stay with Gaz or Soap, that can be arranged as well.â
âNo Ghost?â you asked in, dare you say, amusement.
âUnless you would like to be strangled in your sleep, I would not advise it,â he responded.
âThat was a jest, Captain. I know how to pick my battles.â
Price paused in front of the doors to the upper deck, turning to you. He stared for a long moment, before you saw the tiniest of smiles play at his lips. It was buried under his facial hair, but from the slight crinkle in his eyes, you knew.
âYouâre quite the wise bird, Iâll give you that,â he mused, before opening the doors. âUp you go.â
The moonlight soaked into your skin the moment you stepped out of the brig. It was inviting, basking you in the warmth you so craved. The air was crisp, and you breathed it in heavily through your nostrils, your body immediately faltering in relief.
Oh, how you missed the outside. Though your stay in the brig was much shorter than when you first arrived, it was still just as alleviating to get a taste of being human again.
âYou will stay with me for the night,â he explained, guiding you across the creaky decks. âThe others are already in their rooms. Tomorrow, you can decide who you prefer.â
You gave him a nod in acknowledgment, following him quietly to his quarters. When you arrived, the familiar scent of musk and cinnamon invaded your nostrils. For a pirate, it was a comforting smell, and you found a strange solace in it.
âIâm sure you wish to bathe, yes?â he asked.
A bath sounded heavenly. To wipe the grime and sweat off your skin, to feel clean again. You wouldâve jumped into the dark sea if it meant bathing.
âYou do not mind?â you questioned, suspicious.
âYouâll be sleepinâ in my cot for the night. Iâd prefer if you were unsoiled. No bad blood, aye?â
Priceâs boots were heavy against the floors as he made his way to the back of his quarters, where a lone curtain hung. Pulling it back, he exposed a wooden bowl, large enough to fit you, but certainly a squeeze for him.
A barrel stood behind the bath, and Price made haste to lift it with ease. Water began to pour out of the spout, slowly but surely filling the makeshift tub.
While he worked, your eyes wandered to glance around his quarters. When staying in it previously, you didnât have the gall to be curious. Now that the two of you were on good enough terms to be acquaintances for now, you allowed yourself to be a bit nosy.
The walls were littered with pinned up maps, all varying in land. You hadnât a clue where everything was, so none of it made sense to you. However, upon looking over to his desk, you saw another map, one unlike the others.
This one was written on with the ink of a quill. You werenât sure the location, however, it seemed to be a mixture.
Over some of the islands graphed on the map, a large X was drawn in its place. They were crossed out with the ink, covering up the names printed over the location, deeming it impossible to read.
However, two locations were circled rather than crossed out. One was in the middle of the sea, not a piece of land or island in sight. The other was circled around a small island, tucked away from the Mainland, its name unknown. Beside it, a scrap piece of paper sat.
âThe one who heals the ill and poor
shall be the cure to all demise.
Washed away to land and shore
shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.
Find the one that you shall seek
to end the curse of Shadowâs Peak.â
As you finished reading, a large hand came into view, slamming over the poem. Price loomed over you, leaning against the table.
âGo and bathe,â he ordered. âI will leave you alone to do your bidding and return when youâre done.â
Jostled by the surprise appearance, you offered a meek nod, sauntering off to the tub. As Price left, he rolled up the map as well as the poem, tucking them under his arm and leaving no trace of what you witnessed behind. He had something to hide, it was clear, but you couldnât decipher the meaning of the passage you read.
Perhaps he was simply a writer. It would explain why he seemed defensive that you saw it, but it wouldnât explain the map. He also didnât seem the type to sit at his desk and meddle with written poetry. He was a Captain, and his priorities lied with the men on his ship and the thievery of neighboring villages.
Now left alone in the quarters, you willed yourself into the bath, sinking into the water. It wasnât warm nor cold, but it was relaxing anyway, biting away the tension in your muscles. You were in desperate need of it, and you were grateful you and Price were at a standstill where he allowed you the pleasure.
While you tried to rid yourself of what you saw, it kept creeping in in waves, burdening you with questions unanswered. Even after you scrubbed away the caked dirt until your skin was raw and changed into clean garments that Price tugged out for you, the sense of unease never went away. You felt tainted, like a lingering darkness was coursing through your veins and oozing from your skin.
The garments you wore were large. They overtook your body, swallowing you whole, but they were much better in comparison to the rags that hung from your body, dirtied with nasty impurity. You didnât know how to feel about the Captain after everything, but he was showing you humility, and that was enough for you right now. It was the best you could make out of being kidnapped by the four of them and thrown in a life of chaos and uncertainty.
As you tucked yourself into Priceâs cot, you took one last glance to the maps that remained on the walls. None were like the one you had seen, not a scribble nor blotch tainting the paper. The one Price held was special, and you knew youâd be fighting tooth and nail in order to find out. Until then, you could let yourself relax. After all the torment youâd been through, you deserved a moment of peace before everything imploded once again.
#call of duty#cod#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#gaz x reader#price x reader#soap x reader#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#john price#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#soap mactavish#soap cod#price cod#captain price#captain john price#ghost simon riley#cod ghost#gaz cod#kyle garrick#kyle garrick x reader#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#pirate!141
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Alright Apology Tour... I don't even know where to start for this episode.
So I'll start with this statement:
I want them to make it work.
Surprise, surprise but I think that when stolas and blitz aren't forcing it, they are actually cute together.
This is my favorite scene from the episode because stolas just falls into blitz's arms and blitz just holds him.
He cares, it's obvious that blitz cares but I think he's still unaware of how much. I also think that stolas know that blitz cares.
In the conversation at the beginning of the episode there are two scenes that kinda prove this.
In the first scene blitz is talking about how relationships are boring and not worth it, and stolas leans on the table and basically asks him if he thinks that then what are they doing now.
Which is a valid question, because blitz is clearly fighting for them right now. He's doing a terrible job and saying all the wrong things but he is there. Stolas understandably gets annoyed and walks off when blitz side steps the question.
The next scene where we see that stolas is aware at least a little of how blitz feels is when he's fake apologizing. He pretty much says 'oh I'm supposed to apologize for thinking so badly of myself I push people who actually care about me away? And stolas just says yes.
There are moments of clarity that tell me blitz is completely aware of his faults but other moments that make me think differently. When stolas says he sounds like striker he denied it. Only to continue to mock stoas for being a prince and completely disrespecting him.
I feel like if blitz had approached the conversation in the garden like he had the one at the party things would have gone better.
Speaking of the party. The stolas song was amazing, and it was basically about how stolas still has feeling for blitz but he just doesn't think blitz cares. Which is a fair feeling since blitz left the garden basically telling stolas he'd apologize to everyone but him. Which was a petty thing to say.
Stolas hating the party despite the song is also really funny, up until the end of the episode that is. Stolas complained to himself the entire time how ridiculous and petty it is to host a party like this every year, he even continues that thought process while drunk.
Also while drunk stolas explained to blitz how he's looking for a romantic love. He wants to be loved and wanted by someone special a conversation that of course makes blitz feel bad but stolas can't see that.
This is the moment that cemented my belief of wanting them together. They're both so casual in this scene stolas because he's drunk and blitz because he's feeling vulnerable and guilty.
They still have a natural chemistry and quick witty dialog that flows naturally. They fit well together even when fighting, but only when they're not forcing the relationship. Only when stolas doesn't have blitz on a pedestal, and when blitz isn't blaming stolas for all of his problems. As equals they work.
I wanna see them make up.
#helluva#helluva boss#apology tour#hb#hb stolitz#hb stolas#hb blitzo#hb blitzø#hb verosika#helluva boss blitz#vivzieverse#hellverse#helluva boss stolas#helluva boss stolitz#stolitz#blitzo x stolas#helluvaboss
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oooo if youâre interested would love to see your take: reader is Azrielâs mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but donât view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, sheâs hurting, she overhears them saying sheâs not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isnât what youâre looking for, all good!
Between Us Alone
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azrielâs mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.
Wc: 1.2k
A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duhâwho do yâall think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they lastâŚ..evil laugh
ââ
The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysandâs office. Youâd gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his âboysâ nightâ early and join you at your shared apartment.
A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysandâs spymasters.
It was exhilarating at firstâthe quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.
Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhysâs office, voices clear now, though you didnât mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassianâs boisterous laughter.
âOh, come on, Az,â Cassian said, his tone teasing. âYouâve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Donât tell me you havenât thought about it.â
âGwynâs sweet,â Rhysand added. âAnd she clearly enjoys your company. Youâd make a good pair.â
Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.
Azrielâs reply was quieter, almost unreadable. âGwyn is a friend. Iâm not looking for⌠that.â
Cassian scoffed. âYou say that now, but itâs been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwynâs perfect for youâkind, strong, clever. She gets you.â
âSheâs not the only option,â Rhys said smoothly. âThere are others. Nestaâs mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.â
Cassian nodded in agreement. âThereâs also Y/N.â
You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.
âNo, I donât see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.â Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.
You shouldnât have stayed, shouldnât have listened, but you couldnât move. Couldnât breathe. They didnât mean to hurt youâyou knew that. Youâd always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azrielâs shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.
But to hear them speak so casually, as if you werenât even a possibilityâŚ
Azrielâs voice cut through, firm and unyielding. âI donât need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.â
âYouâre avoiding the question,â Cassian said, clearly amused.
âDrop it,â Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.
The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.
â
The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.
But tonight, it felt suffocating.
You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.
This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for monthsâyears, nowâit would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.
As Azrielâs partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and youâd agreed early on that revealing your bondâto anyoneâwas too risky.
Youâd thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azrielâs love life like you didnât exist, like you werenât his, made you question how much more you could endure.
You told yourself it wasnât Azrielâs fault. He hadnât encouraged them. Heâd even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you���d tried so hard to bury.
What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?
You didnât hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azrielâs footsteps until he was standing in front of you.
âSomethingâs wrong,â he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. âWhat happened?â
You shook your head, forcing a smile. âItâs nothing. Just tired.â
His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. âDonât lie to me.â
The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.
âY/N,â he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. âTell me.â
You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldnât keep it in any longer.
âI went to Rhysâs office,â you admitted quietly. âI was going to find you, but⌠I heard you all talking.â
Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. âWhat did you hear?â He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that couldâve had you so distraught.
You swallowed hard. âThey⌠they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.â You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. âThey said I wasnât even an option.â
Azrielâs eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.
âThey didnât mean it to hurt me, I know thatâ you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. âThey donât know about us. But⌠it still hurt.â
He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. âThey had no rightââ
âThey care about you,â you interrupted. âThey want you to be happy. And maybe theyâre right. Maybe youâd be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone whoââ
âStop.â
The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.
âDonât you dare doubt this,â he said fiercely. âDonât you dare doubt us.â
Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.
âYou are my mate,â he said, his voice breaking. âYou. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.â
âBut theyââ
âTheyâre idiots,â he said flatly. âIâll deal with them. But donât let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.â
You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.
âI love you,â he said, his voice softening. âMore than I thought I was capable of. And I donât care if they donât see it. I see it. I feel it.â
A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. âI love you too.â
He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.
âIâm sorry,â he murmured. âI never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if itâs hurting youââ
âItâs not,â you said quickly. âNot really. I just⌠I needed to hear this. To hear you.â
He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. âYouâll never have to doubt me again.â
ââ
Arenât they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3
Requests are still open ;)
#oneshots#scenarios#acotar#azriel shadowsinger#a court of thorns and roses#azriel angst#azriel x you#azriel fluff#azriel fanfic#azriel spymaster#azriel x reader#rhysand#cassian#azriel fic#azriel imagine#acomaf#a court of silver flames#a court of frost and starlight#a court of wings and ruin#a court of mist and fury
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