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[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[husbandhoshi]

LILY HI ITS ME STAR!!! HOW ARE YOU I LOVE U AND WISH U ALL THE BEST MUAH MUAH!! also: perhaps smth a little naughty at 11:36 PM with lab partner!wonwoo 👀👀

tags: college!au, inexperienced!wonwoo x f!reader, nerd!wonwoo, experienced!yn, oral (m!receiving)

[11:36]

wonwoo has never liked chemistry.

the periodic table looks like a colorful placemat and a titration might as well be a long winded recipe for a terrible cocktail. (although the ones at the delta tau delta chemistry themed party were good. they served them in little beakers, and wonwoo thought those were quite cute. that was also the party where he met you.)

speaking of you—unlike chemistry, wonwoo does, however, like you a great deal.

which makes chemistry much more tolerable because you are his lab partner.

on the first day of lab, when they had asked the class to pair up, you walked over to him, and wonwoo almost melted right into the ground.

"you're the only one here i know," you whispered, waiting for him to lean down to your height. he did, and you smelled like cherries. "we talked at the delt party. wonwoo, right?"

"yes, i'm wonwoo," he had said, words tripping and tumbling off of his tongue like he was learning to speak for the first time.

it was no better at the party, except he was drunk and you were drunker, and you had made the grave mistake of asking him what classes he was taking. two mike's hard lemonades and a battery acid vodka shot later, his dumb ass was still talking about emily dickinson, and you, somehow, were standing there in those mile-high heels, listening as if he was the most interesting guy at the party.

i think she's totally into you, mingyu had said, in that loud, spitty cadence he has when he's 90% beer.

don't be ridiculous.

but then you had asked wonwoo to walk you to your dorm, and you took the long way, winding right through campus.

he doesn't dream often, but he thinks the one he had that night was red and smelled like your lip gloss.

now, he thanks god for the miracle that is you in an oversized hoodie and shorts in his room past sundown.

granted, you're there to work on the last lab report of the term, and he had seen you just two nights ago at the kappa party, but wonwoo thinks he likes this version of you best. (that night, you had tried to break in your new heels. he ended up holding onto them, and you ended up holding onto him on the drunken stumble home. whether it was for support or for something else, wonwoo doesn't know, but he wishes he wore something different than the ratty polo from the back of his closet.)

"thanks for all your help," you say, closing your lab notebook. "i don't know how you're so good at all of this."

"i'm not," he laughs. he hands you your pencil case with the sailor moon charm, the one you were so proud to show him when he mentioned he watched anime. "it was all you."

you wave him off and bend down to put your things in your bag.

wonwoo tries his best to avert his eyes. he really does.

it's a valiant effort. there's a book out of order on his shelf (anna karenina, tolstoy). he really should have put that gundam figure away before you came over.

and your ass is perfect, but that doesn't really surprise him because he doesn't think there is a single thing wrong with you.

"you know," you start, still rifling around in your bag. "i heard something real interesting from mingyu the other day."

"hm?"

wonwoo changes the backlight color of his keyboard. it does not make him calmer. instead he feels all the peely leather on his gaming chair poke through his sweats and he tries not to think about the little birthmark you have on the back of your thigh.

"he told me that..." you stand straight and turn to face him. there's a fresh coat of gloss on your lips, like a magic trick. "you have a crush on me."

wonwoo doesn't know what to say. he likes to think before he speaks but now you're walking towards him and thinking isn't really an option anymore.

"right?"

"um."

not good. he didn't think he was that obvious but he's no liar.

"fine, i'll start." you're standing right in front of him now, and he thinks the gulp he takes is audible. "i like you."

he watches your lips form around the words, glittery and confident, and if he wasn't doomed before, he certainly is now.

his near perfect gpa is doing jack shit to help him understand why someone like you, gorgeous and funny and smart and popular, would ever take a second look at the gangly boy in the glasses.

but you are—in fact, you're staring with an intensity that makes him afraid you can actually see right through all the clothes he's got on.

"i—" come on, wonwoo thinks. they're the words he wanted to tell you outside your dorm building three weeks ago when you said you didn't know anyone quite like him. "i like you too. a lot."

"good."

the first thing he learns is that you're forward, and he likes that.

the second thing he learns is that your lip gloss tastes like cherry.

your mouth is hot and soft on his. he thinks he died and went to heaven, and then you're kissing him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth so he whines into your mouth.

the last time he tried kissing was during senior prom. his date stood on her tiptoes and he accidentally bumped his nose into hers and missed her mouth and the whole thing was a disaster.

and yet now, wonwoo feels like he's melted right into your hands. you lead and his body just knows how to follow.

"you're shy, huh?" you murmur, pulling back to look at him. "that's so cute."

he doesn't quite know what he looks like but his glasses are slipping down his nose and he feels the menthol sting of your lips all over his. there has never been this much blood in his cheeks but that doesn't quite make sense to him because he feels all of it going straight to his dick.

"you're perfect," is what the primordial ooze in wonwoo's brain manages to put together.

you kiss him again, and when he remembers to relax his lips enough, you're slipping your tongue in and letting him suck, and you moan.

wonwoo swears he could have blown his load right there and then—when it came to you, it really didn't take much, and now he's wondering what your skin tastes like, craving the cherry of your cunt.

your hand on his chest, sharp nails and glittery rings, trails down nice and slow. it feels like he's on fire. it's a wonderful distraction from the sensation of your teeth on the pretty, taut skin over his collarbone, but then you're biting and licking and he feels his balls get so tight and heavy in his pants he might just cry.

and then your hand comes to rest on his lap, right over his hardness, and wonwoo's about to protest—no, no, sorry, i don't mean to have a boner! i've never been kissed like that before in my life!—until you drop to your knees, right in between his parted thighs.

"has anyone ever touched you like this?" you say, voice low, dizzying. "anyone ever made you feel good?"

he shakes his head no, a new, sudden wave of desire climbing his bones.

mussed hair and swollen lips, you look more beautiful than anyone wonwoo's ever seen in his entire life. he doesn't know what he did in a past life to earn this but he must have saved the world.

"p-please," he says, but it's somewhere between a moan and a gasp because you're palming him through his sweats, the sensation foreign, thrilling.

"patience," you tease, and he would be morbidly embarrassed at the spot of precum on his pants if you weren't already thumbing at it yourself.

once you take his cock out of his sweats, he knows he's losing whatever battle he was fighting. he sees how your hand looks so little around it, and it's his nth struggle to make sure he doesn't just cum in your face. maybe another day, if he's so lucky.

"i-i might cum really fast," he confesses, because he doesn't know how to really say he's never gotten a blowjob before.

"good," you answer. unlike him, somehow you always know exactly what to say.

the third thing wonwoo learns that day is that he's fully, wholly, entirely obsessed with your mouth. with your slick bottom lip, with your tongue, and now with the way he sees your gloss-smeared mouth wrap taut around his cockhead.

wonwoo can never return to watching porn again. there is simply no one quite like you.

"f-fuck," he pants, the feeling overtaking him all at once. "feels so good, mouth's so good—"

one look at your eyes, big and watery and good for him, and he feels his cock twitch in your mouth. and then you start moving; you take him all the way to the base and then some. he feels your tiny little throat close around him, and the groan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic. he never thought he was that big, but seeing your eyes well up and your mascara get all dewy as you gag around him is doing something crazy to his brain.

it doesn't take long for you to fall into an easy rhythm. you're figuring him out so fast, and that would scare him if it didn't feel so good. your tongue's on his veins, the underside of his cockhead, and he's already gripping the armrests of his chair with white knuckles.

you sink down again and swallow around his length, let your throat do all the work, and wonwoo throws his head back, chest heaving. his eyes flutter shut, and the fluorescent ceiling light phases in and out of vision as you give him what could possibly be the best head you've ever given someone in your whole life.

"gonna cum s-soon," wonwoo manages. "you're so fucking hot."

it's either a moan or a whimper that comes out of you when he says that, and he thanks his lucky stars he has the wherewithal to put that information in his back pocket. he doesn't know when or how but his plan is to return the favor to you in full. and if that involves a copious amount of praise, he's all the better prepared because he has no shortage of nice things to say about you.

you take him once, twice to the base and wonwoo feels all the heat in his balls and his belly and then he's cumming, more and harder than he ever thought possible. he almost thinks it's like a piece of his soul was taken from him.

"d-don't have to swallow," he says, but you do, every last fucking drop until it's dribbling from your perfect mouth, and wonwoo is now fully convinced you are a real life goddess.

i'm an addict in the making, he thinks, but then you smile at him with those eyes, and he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

he searches for the right words to say, something cool, experienced. it's a constant effort to be that guy for you because he's still not really sure why any of this happened.

"stop thinking so hard," you say, coughing once, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "i can see your wheels turning."

how you can read him so easily is beyond him. he wonders if you knew he was in love with you the second he laid eyes on you at the delta tau party.

where are my manners, wonwoo then remembers, and the post-nut clarity possesses him to brush the hair out of your eyes and help you up from your position on the ground.

"i like you. i don't care how experienced you are."

he hears you, and he believes you. instead of arguing, he cups your tear-streaked face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe your cheeks.

"plus, i think i'm a pretty good teacher."

you smile, and wonwoo has the confidence to kiss you back, for real this time.

[awkward---bean]

today is where your book begins (the rest is still unwritten)

come one come all to read the newest chapter of the anyone but you au!

“You know what?” Kara asks, softening to a more amiable tone. “Just… let’s get through tonight. For them.”

Lena takes a step forward. Their faces are closer now—Kara can see that the black eyeliner under her lower lashes is smudging. To counter Kara’s white flag, Lena lets her voice drops to scorch. “Well, she’s your sister. I doubt the relationship will last long.”

At that, Kara’s brow furrows deeply, her mouth falling to a gape. No one messes with Alex. “And she’s your friend, so I think my sister must be out of her mind to see something in her.”

“Well, I might as well just go get a drink instead, then,” Lena answers, voice low and smooth as she takes another step forward, “and toast to never seeing you again.”

For a second, the warm puff of air that accompanies Lena’s words consumes every single one of Kara’s synapses when it clashes against her mouth. She licks her lips, taking in a sharp, shallow breath as her eyes flicker down to Lena’s, cherry red and gorgeously parted.

But then, just before Kara’s body can do anything rash and stupid, an ever-so-slight smirk of victory pulls at Lena’s lips. Lena smirks and turns to walk away, headed to the bar, and Kara is left so exposed and blindsided by her own reaction that, even though she’s two seconds too late, she feels the overwhelming need to reclaim her dignity. With a horrible, burning flush crawling up to her cheeks, she takes a step forward, furrows her brow, and raises her vodka coke high in the air, yelling out a very impassioned:

“Yeah, cheers to that!”

read chapter 1 here on ao3!

[caitlynmeow]

Modern AU

Cassandra has a death wish with the drinks she makes. Bela is surprised her sister didn’t get a heart attack. But that is only Bela, what does she know when it comes to the things that her sister does. As long as she’s handling this madness just fine, Bela shouldn’t have any reason to complain.

But the eldest daughter feels obligated to mention what is mixed with the vodka. Because different people like different things right? Some prefer cranberry, others prefer cherry soda, and then there is Cassandra’s mix which is vodka and red bull. Of course, it isn’t for show, Cassandra does drink that monstrosity and thinks most people are okay with this thing.

It isn’t only vodka. On occasion, Bela saw her sister mix espresso with red bull when she needs the extra burst of energy after staying up very late. How her sister didn’t drop dead after drinking that is still something Bela wonders about to this day.

Cassandra never listens though. She thinks it’s okay and as long as her body isn’t rejecting this then why should she stop?

On a morning while the girls were staying over at their aunt Donna’s house, Cassandra did toss espresso in a glass full of the energy drink. It was then that the three sisters saw their very kind and very soft-spoken aunt snap.

Donna is very against energy drinks. To the Italian woman, if you need energy you get it from caffeine that’s either in tea or coffee, and that’s about it. Energy drinks are a huge no in her book and she often speaks about it. To see her niece nonchalantly mix two things that have no business mixing together, the woman was sent over the edge.

Donna might have over-dramatized it. She didn’t have to go as far as to mention how she would tell Alcina that she stood by while her daughter killed herself. Because the woman is convinced that the second Cassandra drinks the beverage, her soul will depart from her body.

Daniela, trying to help her aunt calm down, mentioned that she should relax because “Cass does this a lot you really don’t—“ But she was interrupted because what do you mean she does this frequently?

Donna wonders how Alcina allows this. To which the daughters gulped because their mother doesn’t really know and they figured that what Alcina didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt her. But of course, Cassandra is cocky and thought her aunt wouldn’t even know what red bull is which is apparently not true at all.

[dcbbw]

Cocktail

This is just a thought that was in my brain, and I finally decided to write it out. It’s not even a full fic; at under 700 words, drabble is the only way to describe it. Not sure if it’s part of an existing AU or something new; for now, it just is.

If you read this, THANK YOU. Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this 100% error-free.

Contains my version of PB characters

Song Inspo: 4am, soft siren/CASHFORGOLD/Sidewalks and Skeletons

Word Count: 635

Riley Brooks poured herself a cocktail. It was 6:30 am, far too early for alcohol but she justified her actions by telling herself that the orange juice made it breakfast. Besides, day drinking was a thing now. As she mixed her ingredients together, she reflected on how every major milestone of her Cordonian adventure had been punctuated by a drink.

The night of the Coronation, when she returned to Ramsford with her mind and soul filled with confusion and hurt, Maxwell had brought her a whiskey sour filled with cherries and garnished with wedges of lemon and lime. A boozy fruit salad. The sweetness of the cherries blended with the tartness of the citrus to soothe the burn of the sour mash and numb her heart.

The night in France during the Engagement Tour when Drake took her to the billiards hall. He suggested drinks and that she have a mojito: a blend of sweet and minty muddled to allow each ingredient to assault her tastebuds with every swallow. But Riley neither needed nor wanted muddled. Her emotions were enough of a mess. Liam’s words were a complete contradiction to his actions. No, Riley Brooks needed straightforward and blunt. She chose a whiskey neat. And felt the need for another one after Drake leaned her over the pool table, his hardness pressing invitingly through the denim of his jeans and into her ass cleavage.

Sitting along the darkened banks of the Siene River, enjoying rustic bread and aged cheeses with Liam as he waxed poetically about their future, even though the chances of finding Tariq were growing slimmer with each moment that passed. Riley drank deeply of the French red wine, letting it warm her insides and wrap her in a hazy comfort. Perhaps she and Liam weren’t meant for open daylight; maybe he wasn’t protecting his father for the most fucked-up fuckery she had ever been subjected to. Just maybe, Liam was protecting her and their love, keeping them tucked under the cover of night and away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

The sloe gin fizz the night of the wedding party had tasted of bittersweet victory. Her name had finally been cleared to Cordonia’s satisfaction, but the disingenuity and boot licking towards her by the nobility and elite merely because their King had ordered it, made the victory a hollow one. They were only sorry to be wrong in their assumptions and gossip, which made them dislike and mistrust her even further. 

There was no liquor at the Statue of Liberty the night of the proposal; Riley chose to make her coffee Irish at breakfast the following morning. She knew her answer would hurt people; the announcement before the meal was served confirmed it. While her intended grinned broadly and gushed eagerly over her, Riley sipped the strong beverage, avoiding gazes and offering a wan smile when she did catch someone’s eye.

On her wedding night, tepid champagne sat in a bucket filled with melted ice. The bubbles that had fizzed and hissed in their flutes when she and her husband toasted each other were now flat. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breathing labored as the bride and groom lay in each other’s arms, whispering promises and sweet nothings to each other.

The sparkling cider when she told her husband they were pregnant; with a loud yell of happiness, he had picked her up and swung her around, prompting her to throw up all over his shirt and the carpet.

And now this morning, vodka and orange juice. A screwdriver. She needed the sharpness of the vodka to strengthen her resolve and solidify her courage. The orange juice would make her tears not as bitter and her words sweeter. Not that it would make a difference. 

Because five years, two children, and a trail of lies, failures, and broken promises later, today Riley Brooks was going to ask her husband for a divorce and sole custody of their children.

Tagging:  @jared2612​​​ @ao719​​​ @marietrinmimi​​​ @queenjilian​​​ @indiacater​​​ @kingliam2019​​​ @bebepac​​​ @liamxs-world​​​ @mom2000aggie​​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​​ ​ @twinkleallnight​​​ @umccall71​​​ @superharriet​​​ @busywoman​​​ @gabesmommie1130​​​ @tessa-liam​​​ @beezm​​​ @gardeningourmet​​​ @lovingchoices14​​​ @mainstreetreader​​​ @angelasscribbles​​​ @lady-calypso​​​ @emkay512​​​ @princessleac1​​​ @charlotteg234​​​ @queenrileyrose​​​ @alj4890​​​ @yourfavaquarius111​​​ @motorcitymademadame​​​​ @queenmiarys​​ @walkerdrakewalker​

[smallraindrops-blog]

Meet Me in The Sunflower Fields.

(part two)

(A sleep family series)

Summary: out of order snapshots of the hazy days of summer with cherry popsicles and the distant, happy laughter of family. Modern!au

Word count: 1.6k

warnings: no beta, nsfwish, kids being kids, mention of puking

Notes: this will be a daily series for the month of July. Super self-indulgent so beware. I will have a sleep family Masterlist out soon, so yall won’t have to hunt through all the tags.

Did not mean for this part to go this long. Lol

Cocktail

(Early childhood)

Even late into the night, the heat remained oppressive, a damp weight that hung over the land. Thankfully, some genius  had invented A/C, letting the house remain mostly cool.

Creeping down the hallway, you did one last check on all the children. The quiet noises of Hypnos putting away the last of the dishes only served you to move quickly. 

You and Hypnos had barely had a moment alone since summer began and you planned on enjoying your husband tonight.

The twins were first, both sleeping deeply in their beds as you checked that the window was locked. 

Icelos looked like a little princess with her white canopy gleaming in the warm nightlight, her stuffed bunny tucked into her arms. You tugged her blanket up a little higher, smiling when she sighed heavily in her sleep.

However, Phan had already kicked off his blanket, a comic dangling off the side of the bed from his fingers, his limbs starfishing across the bed. He looked so much like Hypnos in that moment, you wanted to laugh.

You went over to him, placing the comic on his nightstand and you adjusted him so he wouldn’t roll off the bed. Again. You placed the blanket halfway up, kissing his forehead lightly. 

Then Morpheus’ room was next. You paused, listening for any noise before peeking in. The lad was deeply asleep, curled up into a loose ball, done in by the summer sun and the new pool you and your parents had installed for the kiddos.

With a quick glance at the window, you whispered a soft ‘Sweet dreams, baby’ before closing his door.

Last but not least, was Phobetor. 

When you opened the door, you gave the floor a wary glance. Far too often, you - or Hypnos- had fallen victim to a stray lego. Once you were confident that you wouldn't be assaulted by plastic, you went to the youngest.

All of his pillows were on the floor, his beloved trex doll under the bed and the blanket were pushed off the end of his bed. His shirt was bunched up, showing his little round belly, drool spilling down his mouth.

He was sleeping like a rock. 

With an amused eye roll, you quietly grabbed his doll, tucking it close to him. It was then you saw the red lego under his cheek, no doubt leaving a deep imprint in his skin.

How in the world….

You debated if you wanted to risk waking him up but you couldn’t leave him with a lego stuck against his cheek. With a nervous grimace, you lifted his small head up and peeled off the block, placing him back down.

Phobetor’ face twisted and you felt your heart stop because once Phobetor was awake, he was awake for hours.

But your son merely smacked his lips and flopped to the other side, his back facing you. You let out a sigh of relief, quickly tucking him in, making sure the room was safe and hurried out. 

You paused in the hallway for a moment, realizing the lego was still in your hand so you placed the lego on a bookshelf as you walked past then hurried down to the kitchen to where Hypnos should be. 

When you got down there, you raised an eyebrow when you saw him with the hidden bottle of vodka, pouring a generous amount into a glass, orange juice waiting close by.

He looked gorgeous, his pale curls loose from his daily bun, his skin darker from time in the pool today. He was wearing one of his thin shirts, the chill in the kitchen enough to make his nipples hard under the fabric.

Your mouth watered.

Hypnos held your stare, still pouring. A moment later, he switched to the other glass.

Biting back a laugh, you went over to him, kissing his temple as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“Is there a reason you brought out the heavy stuff?” You dipped your head lower, kissing behind his ear. Hypnos shivered, his fingers groping for the orange juice as you pressed your weight on him.

Hypnos finished mixing the drinks, twisting around in your arms to scowl up at you. His hands rested on your chest, “Yes. Do you know what your oldest son called me today?”

“What did he do?” You asked, trying to remember if Morpheus acted up but nothing came. Morpheus had happily been swimming the day away like a little fish.

“He called me ‘dad’.” Hypnos looked devastated. When you remained quiet, he gave you an expectant frown, crossing his arms.

“You are his dad.” You informed Hypnos slowly. Wondering if Hypnos had already been drinking without you.

Hypnos rolled his eyes at you, pushing you away enough for him to grab his drink. “I am supposed to be dada. Not dad. Not daddy.”

He took a deep sip and poked you in the chest. “Da.Da. Nothing else!”

Unable to resist, You leaned down to press your lips against the shell of his ear, keeping your voice low. “Yeah, besides ‘daddy’ is supposed to be your title for me.”

Hypnos smacked your shoulder, gasping out your name in outrage but you saw the smile that formed before Hypnos hid it with another sip. Feeling left out, you got your cocktail and quickly caught up. 

You and him stood in comfortable silence for a long moment, enjoying the quiet house. No screaming, no dramatic ‘oops’ as something fell to the floor or fighting between the kids. 

Just blissful quiet.

”I think we should have another baby.” Hypnos announced as you took a sip, stirring his cup as he peeked up at you under his eyelashes.

You choked, nearly spitting out your drink. You slammed a hand on your chest, coughing after you swallowed.

”What- Hypnos, where is this coming from?” You gasped, staring down at him. “Because Morpheus called you dad?”

Hypnos shrugged, running his finger along the rim of his glass. His curls fell down his cheeks, creating a veil of moonlight around his face. “I just thought, well- The twins will be in school soon enough. And Phobetor could use a playmate.”

“By the time the baby is old enough to play, Phobetor would be in school as well.” You pointed out quietly. You finished your drink and almost went for more but held off. Hypnos still haven't met your eyes.

This certainly wasn’t what you were expecting from Hypnos tonight. You shifted, bracing hands on the kitchen counter, locking Hypnos between your arms. Hypnos polished off the drink before you took it away, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Do you really want another baby?” You asked him quietly, studying the way he bit his bottom lip, the kitchen light turning Hypnos’ gold irises honey soft. He was beautiful.

You had loved him since you were a boy, even when he hated you and you hated him back, there had been a type of love there too. A childish one that had shifted and grew into something you wouldn’t trade the world for. 

And… and if he really wanted another baby, you would give him one. You and him would make it work. Somehow. 

You cupped his chin, lifting his face toward you. “Hypnos?”

His expression crumbled. “I want my babies to stay my babies. Isn’t that horrible?” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I should be cheering for every milestone, not becoming this selfish thing.”

Ah. Not even you could offer him that. The power to stop time was beyond mere morals.

”Nothing wrong with being sad that the kids are growing up.” You told him quietly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you but Icelos had informed me this morning that she is all grown up and doesn't want me to help tie her shoes anymore.”

Hypnos gave a watery laugh at that and spoke. “And Phan had decided to be a fire truck when grows up, did I tell you that?”

You chuckled with a headshake. “A fine choice.” 

Hypnos swayed closer and you kissed him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You meant to pull back, to finish the conversation. Really you did. 

But the gentle whimper, the soft lips parting under the pressure of your mouth, the warmth of his body against yours, made you linger. Hypnos wrapped his arms around your neck, keeping you close, the kiss shifting to something lewder. 

You silded your hands under his ass, lifting him up easily. You squeezed, smirking at the gasp it earned you. He fist a hand in your hair, tugging at you. 

Placing him on the counter, you gave another greedy squeeze, groaning softly when one of his hands went under your shirt, running up your stomach. Hypnos’ legs wrapped tight around your hips and you were about ready to carry him off to bed when you heard noise from one of the kids’ bedrooms.

“Papa! Dada! Phan threw up!” Icelos cried down the hallway, disgust clear in her sweet little voice. 

You and Hypnos shared a look of utter despair, realizing tonight would be another missed opportunity for lovemaking. 

Both of them went up the stairs, Hypnos taking Phan to get cleaned up as you handled the bed. Icelos was wide awake, toddling behind you as she chatted at you about her dreams about puppies and hotdogs.

When you were bringing up the new sheets, you saw Morpheus out of bed. At your questioning glance, he lifted a cup of water. “I was thirsty.”

Then Phobetor opened his door, tears running down his round cheeks as he wailed. “Papa, a monster ate mister red!”

“Mister red?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“My Lego!” He wailed even higher, making you wince. Icelos was still chatting happily as her baby brother sobbed and Morpheus ran down the stairs for more water.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. 

if Hypnos really did want that fifth baby, it was going to be a long while.

You heard the sound of more puking from the bathroom. 

A very long while.

[blursed-ninjago-ideas]

Whumptober 6

So I have to explain the context for this one a little bit. I guess call it SOG Red Shogun AU.

Kai uses his old Slither Pit connections to go deep undercover in the SOG. The team quickly loses contact with him.

Prompt: Recording

Randomly Selected Whumpee: Kai

Selection method: Rolled dice

TW: Alcohol abuse, various injuries, and a lot of vague but uncomfy implications.

--

“Everyone to the bridge. You’ll want to see this.” Pixal said.

Jay and Nya shared a worried glance before they set their tools down. Zane and Pixal were waiting for them when they arrived.

Pixal was staring at the screen with a strong frown and Zane was pacing back and forth. A bad sign if Zane was doing something so out of character.

“How are the computer repairs coming?” Jay asked nervously.

Cole came in behind him holding Baby Wu’s hand. It was still weird that the baby they had been taking care of was their sensei.

“The repairs are going well. Our situation is not.” Pixal said, not taking her eyes off the screen. “The virus downloaded several files onto our computer.”

Nya sighed in frustration.

“How long will it take to remove the malware?” she asked.

“You misunderstand.” Pixal said, finally turning to face the others. “These are normal video files.”

Pixal received three confused looks before Zane stopped pacing long enough to speak.

“The good news is that we have contact from Kai.” Zane said.

Nobody liked how that was phrased.

“There’s bad news, isn’t there?” Jay asked, barely keeping his voice level.

Zane nodded. He gestured to the screen as he pressed play on the first video.

There was a wave of relief to see Kai alive, but it was chased with concern at his appearance.

His eyes were unfocused and his skin was covered in bruises and soiled bandages. He was trying to wrap his knuckles, something he had done a millions times before, but he was having trouble with it this time. His hands were shaking too much and his movements seemed too sloppy.

“How’s it going, Red?” the voice behind the camera asked.

Kai barely responded. His entire focus was on wrapping his hands.

“Let me help you with that.” a female voice.

The owner slid into frame to sit next to Kai and help him wrap his hands. Her cherry red Mohawk blocked most of Kai’s face, but what could be seen wasn’t reacting. He seemed to barely know she was even there.

“He’s pretty out of it.” laughed the camera man.

The Redhead laughed as she finished wrapping Kai’s hands.

“I think we poured like two bottles of vodka down his throat.” she said “Top it off with the concussion and he probably can’t remember his own name!”

The camera shook as the camera man laughed again.

Nya felt Jay reach over and squeeze her hand.

“What is this?” she asked.

Zane just shook his head.

“Are you filming?” the redhead on screen asked.

“Boss wanted to make a presentation for his friends.” The camera man explained “Said to get some glamour shots of our little ‘new addition’.”

“This is just a part of his cover, right? I mean, he threw the wire out to make them think he was quitting being a ninja. This is just….” Jay trailed off.

“I do not believe Kai is faking this.” Pixal said, clenching her fist.

Jay wanted to argue, but Nya squeaked next to him.

The camera focused on Kai’s face again and it was undeniable. Kai wasn't sober at all. He looked like he had been dragged through the cursed realm and back with the dried blood caking on his face.

“Let’s get you in the ring, Red.” the cameraman said, reaching a hand forward to help Kai stand.

Kai mindlessly took the hand and nearly fell back over the moment he stood.

That was the end of the first video.

They all stood in silence for a moment before Pixal spoke.

“There is more.”

No one answered her.

She reached forward to play the second video, but Nya shot forward and stopped her. Pixal didn’t argue. She just took a step back.

“I believe Kai’s cover was blown.” Zane said, having calmed down.

--

That just felt like the place to end it.

Kai threw the wire out to maintain his cover and that left him alone. He was fine with the enemies, it was the "old friends" he wasn't prepared for. Old habits are easy to pick back up, especially when you're surrounded by bad influences. Kai ended up blowing his cover without knowing it, but by then the SOG were having too much fun playing with him. (I will stop rambling about this au now.)

-Ivy

[pisspope]

Attack on Titan + Favorite Cocktails

Part 1: Scouts

so I want to make actual cocktails that I feel like represent these characters but it's gonna take some time to craft. so for now here's the regular drinks I think they'd really like + links to the recipes if you want to try them for yourself!

I tried not to include rum in any of the scouts recipes because i don't think that's something they would logically have access to. Connie's recipe includes rum but it can be substituted with vodka quite easily, so i thought it was worth including.

Eren + Feuerzangenbowle

- a mulled wine, but with a sugar cone that u set on fire !!!

- this is one of Connie's favs too but they never let him make it because they don't want him anywhere near an open flame

- eren likes the mulled wine by itself too, when the scouts are in hiding he makes it as a treat on cold nights

- makes it as more of a social event as opposed to just wanting to drink. loves to gather everybody around him while he sets the sugar cones ablaze one by one

- his mulling experience makes him the best punch maker of the scouts too. In a modern!au he's always tasked with making the punch for parties and get togethers. he puts his hair in a little lunch lady style hairnet and gets roasted to shit by Jean.

Mikasa + Kirsch Royale

- red like her scarf 😱😱😱

- very very cherry flavored mixed with champagne

- like mikasa; beautiful, will knock u on ur ass

- historia introduced her to it at her coronation party. everyone's popping cheap champagne and historia Demands that they bring out the good stuff for her friends

- just likes vodka-soaked cherries in general; anything that's spent time submerged in alcohol is her finger food of choice

- if Jean/Mikasa endgame they bond over their love of cherry liqueur idk idk ((also kirsch?? kirschstein?? the flirting opportunities baby))

Armin + Aperol Spritz

- lightweight alert!!!!!

- usually a really light alcohol content, pregame type of drink. just a white wine and some sparkling water really

- armin has two of these when he first drinks and gets absolutely blasted. Someone (probably jean) snuck it from erwins office the night before shiganshina 2 electric boogaloo

- armin drinks it on special occasions. But he also likes to bring a pitcher of it down whenever he talks to Annie

- in the modern day he LOVES Pina coladas, but in universe he has no clue what a pineapple or a coconut is so

- when he goes to marley he also discovers blue caraçao and puts that shit in everything ("it makes whatever you drink look like the ocean!!!")

Jean + French Connection

- called "The Connection" because France doesn't exist

- just cognac with amaretto liqueur

- his dad drinks it; that's it that's the reason

- he thinks it's cool and masc because it's served in a brandy glass and only has two simple ingredients; wants to be seen as an adult and a man's man or w/e

- has a convo post-rumbling talking about how he "wished all alcohol wasn't so bitter tasting". man has had only cognac and a hint of amaretto his whole life. Annie buys him a sweet moscato wine ("her one good deed for the week") and his head explodes

Sasha + Rumplesnuggler

- literally creamy alcoholic hot chocolate (peppermint schnapps and Irish cream being the alcoholic part)

- sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet

- her dad made it for her one christmas and ever since then she's been hooked

- every time she drinks it it takes her back to the cold woods of her youth, of her loving family, and of her moms delicious cooking

- gabi and falco try the non-alcoholic version of this and love it too. instant sugar high

- she also really likes anything with vodka because it's made with potatoes lol

Connie + Green Demon

- midori and lemon juice!!! Toxic waste in a bottle!!

- azumabito brings a bottle of midori as a gesture of goodwill (likely called something else at this point) and Connie just 👀👀 "it's green. Like GREEN green"

- he's putting it in everything, like it's food coloring. Green water, green green tea, green coffee. Menace to society

- he lets niccolo try it and he ponders the taste for a second. "Let me try something". Squeezes a WHOLE LEMON into the glass (he's a chef not a bartender). Tastes it, immediately regrets it. Sooo sour. He's about to throw it out but lets connie try his concoction of the damned first

- Love At First Sip. man never tried that marleyan wine because it's just midori and lemons from here on out

- when he gets married they toast this instead of champagne. heck he might just get married to the bottle

- Connie Springer Midori Melon Man

Levi + Dry Martini

- my first thought was a U-Boot which is just beer with vodka poured in it. this man weighs 100 pounds soaking wet and 50 of those pounds have to be liquor before he feels anything

- instead it's gin and vermouth which is. Not much better tbh

- levi likes to be in control of what he drinks but also what he looks like while he's drinking it. No unsophisticated beer kegs or basic wine glasses. It's martini glass or bust. No martini glass? He'll just drink water.

- same with the olives or lemon peel. No garnish? No drink. he's a little picky

- definitely has a favorite bar that makes it Just Right. probably a bar he went to with Erwin when they were starry-eyed scouts

- in the modern day he also makes a hell of a mixer. Kenny 100% taught him how to make a killer trash can punch

?????????????????????????

Hange + ???

- do NOT engage hange in talks about alcohol do NOT pass go do NOT collect 200 dollars

- their fav drink does not have a name. it is a long island iced tea but made of GARBAGE

- the ingredients change every time but it is invariably disgusting

- attempts at mixing include: pickle juice, barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, seawater, bone marrow, olive oil

- every once in a while a combo will come together that shouldn't work but absolutely does. do not trust this miracle to happen twice

@lemmetreatya @nuri148 @uwubraun u guys said u were interested so!! here it is!! i did it. my opus. im gonna do the warriors next and i already have Ideas

[thepartyplug]

Whiskey Delivery in Manchester by The Party Plug

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[illegally-blind-and-deaf]

Treasure Planet AU Idea

Where Jim never managed to get the engine started again as he's falling down the crevice at the end...

And he keeps falling, and falling, and falling.

Until the planet explodes and all he can remember before everything went black is the pure terror flooding his heart as he plummeted towards death.

Except it's not death, because he wakes up in the middle of a snow-covered world, dark and gloomy and miserable. He looks around, trying to figure out where in the world he is. It's not like anything he's seen before, and it's horribly cold to the point that he wonders if he'll freeze to death.

He wanders along, watching as the snow around him cleared a little to show a city ahead, with columns of smoke from the factories rising above and glittering lights. Maybe there's warmth. Maybe there's an explanation.

He wanders in, glancing at the signs written in such an odd script he's never seen before, dangling across old shop fronts and painted across windows and banners:

кормить детей!

мир земля и хлеб!

He doesn't know what they mean, or what language it is. It makes no sense. Nothing makes sense and it's petrifying.

After what seems like forever, he reaches a towering palace, a glittering jewel in the heart of a tarnished crown. It's huge with turquoise walls and warm light spilling from the windows. He finds a back entrance and somehow sneaks in, making his way through the winding halls, following the scent of the most delicious food.

He should have known it would take him to a kitchen. A massive one, too. People of all sorts shouting, dicing, mixing, running, all hurrying to get the food done and on the tables. It's a good few minutes before someone notices him standing in the doorway, shivering at the warmth after the bitter cold outside. The chef who notices him beckons at him, speaking rapidly in the sake foreign tongue. He raises and eyebrow, startled and overwhelmed at the whole situation. The chef repeats that statement, more impatient, yet Jim stares blankly back. The chef mutters something then walks over to the boy. He asks something different, something about a Russkiy? And making a talking motion with his hand? Is he asking if Jim speaks their language? The boy shakes his head, hoping his guess in right. The chef stares at him with concern, then says something to his coworkers. Jim is too distracted by the delicious yet foreign food being prepared. It smells like heaven, somehow better than his mother's cooking.

His mother.

He missed her.

He wanted to go back and hug her and apologise for everything, but he couldn't.

The chef got his attention again and pointed to himself, uttering a single word. "Sasha."

A name. Jim pointed to himself. "Jim."

The chefs all shot him confused glances.

"Djim?"

Someone muttered something and someone else laughed.

"Djim... Dim? Dima?"

"Dmitri?"

They all stared back at him expectantly. Dmitri. It must be a name, right? Jim nodded, accepting his fate. He would fix it later. For now, he just needed to remember Dmitri.

Eventually, as time passes, he learnt their foreign language. It was Russian, as they lived in a country called Russia on a planet called Earth, and he was now working in the kitchens of Tsar Nicholas II. Jim, or Dmitri as everyone called him, soon proved to be useful with his cooking and cleaning skills, even if he was still limited in his communication with others.

He did improve; soon it was almost impossible to tell that he hadn't lived there his whole life. He spoke it with fluency, read it easily and even knew a couple of dances. He discovered apples and cherries and borscht (and vodka, though he hated it,) and became an expert in cooking Russian meals.

There was one person who caught his eye. Nicholas had four daughters, as well as a son. The youngest daughter was Jim's favourite. Red hair, vibrant blue eyes and an uncanny vocabulary of practice jokes up her sleeve.

Her name was Anastasia.

She would go missing when Rasputin cursed the family and the revolution killed them all.

Jim went into hiding. He roamed the cities of St Petersburg, stealing and conning to survive. He made a friend called Vlad, who reminded him of Silver, all those years ago when he dreamed of a thousand planets' worth of treasure. Now his biggest dream was getting out of Russia, which was proving very difficult.

Then, ten years after the revolution, there was a rumour in St Petersburg.

Anastasia was alive, and her grandmother would reward 10 million roubles to whoever could find her and bring her to Paris.

Ten

Million

Roubles.

A thousand planets' worth of treasure.

It was like a repeat of the past, except now he needed a girl, not a map. And a music box.

A girl by the name of Anya.

[dreaminlittlenightmares]

Writing prompt: you mention before about how the Lady usually eats a guest who pays for the most. Can you write about one of these events? I just want to see the Lady being a badass and eating someone.

AU where the Lady is Hannibal Lecter

Title: It's Always Nice Having a Guest for Dinner Word Count: 805 Characters: the Lady, a Guest CW: Alcohol mentioning, Implied Cannibalism

The Lady quickly went over the list about her special Guest in her head. She was to entertain a noblewoman from the southern cities. The Guest had no known food allergies, did not have a specific diet, and preferred high-end vodka to drink.Seemed easy enough. The Lady had no preference when it came to who was to get her personal time. As long as they paid the price for it, they would have it; and, the "High Roller" Guest had to have paid a small fortune.

The Lady exited the elevator and slid open the doors to a private dining area. The High Roller was already there waiting for her, along with some appetizers and half-finished drinks. "Good evening," the Lady announced with a smile in her voice, "I hope you didn't have to wait for long."

"Oh no! Not at all" the High Roller cried out, "They told me you were on your way up. I haven't even touched the food, in case you wanted to eat first, my lady." The High Roller sounded so flirty, it was cute.

The Lady took her seat next to her Guest and picked up a piece of fried octopus with chopsticks. "Thank you for your kindness. But, the Maw prides itself on its cuisines. It would be a shame if the appetizers went cold before you could eat them."

The High Roller turned as red as a cherry. "Well, I heard you like people with manners. I figured it would be impolite to start without you." The Lady smiled and pushed the piece of octopus closer to the High Roller's lips. Her Guest ate it hungrily, as expected. The rest of the dinner went on like this. They both chatted and ate merrily, as if they were old friends reconnecting. Appetizers came and went, followed by the main course and alcohol. The Lady had a higher tolerance for drinking than the High Roller, and that came quickly apparent after four drinks.

"Uhnusher one, Miss!" the High Roller pushed her empty glass forward, "Tell meh aboush yuhr masssssk."

The Lady emptied the bottle of vodka out. "My mask?" she asked cutely, "It's nothing but a plain, white thing that protects my delicate skin, my lady. Nothing more."

The High Roller leaned in too close. "Buh whhhhhy dah masshk?" The High Roller slumped into the low floor table, making a mess of the remaining dishes. "Are you preeetttty?"

The Lady tilted her head to the side. "Would you like to see?" Her Guest nodded her head so hard and fast, it was a surprise her neck didn't snap. "Very well..." The Lady pulled of her white mask swiftly and glanced down.

The High Roller gasped in wonder and started to drool. The Lady took the woman's chin and lifted it up from the litter. "Well? Am I pretty, my lady?" The Guest was too stunned to answer verbally. She nodded again with a small 'uh huh'. The wonder in her small, beady eyes turned to desire the longer she looked at the Lady. "Would you like a kiss, my lady?" Again, the Guest nodded without thinking; and the Mistress of the Maw was happy to oblige. She lowered her lips to hers and gave the High Roller a cold, sweet kiss.

The Guest didn't resist; or rather, couldn't. She felt a breath of iciness slither down her throat and freezing her insides. But the kiss was so sweet, she didn't mind the cold. The Lady, however, pulled away and pushed the Guest onto her back. She stood over her and sighed. "Thank you for being a patron of the Maw," she said coolly, "Your sacrifice will be remembered at the next dining service." She flexed her hand into a claw and slowly closed it, like she was crushing a can in it.

The Guest reached for her throat as a tight, icy feeling choked her. She didn't scream, she couldn't. The Lady ensured that when she twisted her hand sharply, which broke the Guest's neck instantly. The Lady looked down at the dead woman at her feet and took in a deep breath. The dark magic that was in the Guest floated out and went back to its Mistress.

"Ahhh," the Lady sighed, but her relief was quickly replaced with disappointment. The life force she absorbed was barely a satisfying taste. She huffed and walked over to a panel in the wall. She slid up the panel and took the hidden phone, and dialed the kitchens downstairs.

"Hi. I'm done here. I didn't use too much magic this time. The High Roller had too much vodka, so anything that required marinating in vodka should be already done." She looked back at the Guest and paused. "I'll take her liver, though. Seared and with mushroom sauce, if we have any..."

[serabellyms]

A PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME. Alisa Marta Dubrovsky AGE. verse depending [ 29-32 ]. SPECIES. human GENDER. cis female ORIENTATION. bisexual-biromantic. selective attraction to alien species (drell, asari). INTERESTS. biotics, hand-to-hand, music, people. PROFESSION. Systems Alliance N7 Adept (Fury Classification) -- Navy Branch, Captain. || Council Spectre (AU-dependent). BODY TYPE. Toned, lithe, light-footed. EYES. Green. HAIR. Red. FACE. Soft features, fair-skinned, bright smile. HEIGHT. 5'0". COMPANIONS. Romanov Crew (primarily), Kaidan Alenko (verse-dependent), Normandy crew (verse-dependent). ANTAGONISTS. Cerberus, Reapers, Collectors, biotic extremists, turians (occasionally), batarians (Elysium/Skyllian Blitz), threats to human & galactic safety. FRUITS. Cherries, blackberries, strawberries. DRINKS. Peach tea, vodka, tequila. ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? Yes, primarily on shore leave. SMOKES? No. DRUGS? No. DRIVERS LICENSE? Yes.

[eijishimas]

caught red handed.

18+ nsfw content. minors dni. all characters are aged up.

masterlist.

content warnings: f!reader, college!au, masturbation, mentions of alcohol, voyeurism, daddy kink, bit of a handjob, bit of oral (m!receiving), filming, slight degradation, creampie, one (1) instance of bakugou slapping your pussy.

notes: happy belated birthday to my bestie, @rekiri . you deserve the world and so much more, you’re sweet and hilarious and i fucking love talking to you, whether we’re joking or being more serious. i know you told me not to, but i really wanted to write something for you as a gift (because ya girl is a bit of a broke bitch). ik it’s not eren, kiri, or reki, but i hope you like this piece regardless. i love you, even if you annoy me to death, you whore /j. this one’s for you <3

wc: 2.6k | inspo (nsfw link): xxx

Everyone knew college was stressful. Deadlines nearly every single week, assignments and essays, not to mention attending classes brought a whole new wave of anxieties for students every single day. Sometimes that stress was either doubled or relieved by having a partner for a project or two. Luckily for you, you and your old high school classmate Katsuki Bakugou were paired up for a project for one of your Quirk Law classes. It was a research project, one that required a forty slide presentation. You were headed on your way to Katsuki’s dorm today to work on it at the time you agreed upon: 5pm. Then you two would study together for upcoming midterms. It was all planned out down to a tee. So at around 3:50pm, Katsuki knew he had time. He figured he needed a break from his Rescue Tactics Indoors II class, otherwise his brain would begin oozing from his ears.

Pushing aside his overpriced textbook, he rolled his shoulders back, hearing the cracks of his stiff muscles while he stretched at his desk. He let out a sigh, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand as he scrolled mindlessly through his socials. Mina had posted a Throwback Thursday post, an old one of him and you back in your freshman year of college. His nose twitched in annoyance as he recalled the parties, more specifically Denki Kaminari’s birthday party, where he had gotten so drunk that the walls melted and bent before him. Katsuki’s expression changed however, as he swiped through the collection of photos to stumble across an image of you and him. Have you always worn dresses that tight? You practically had your ass out from how short your garment had been cut, tits threatening to spill out of your low hanging neckline. Not only that, but Katsuki had an arm slung around your shoulder. His smile was stretched wide due in part to the alcohol in his system, but also because you were standing next to him. You were laughing at something Mina had said behind the camera, your hand tossed against the slightly unbuttoned shirt Katsuki had worn that night. Your fingers had brushed against his toned chest and he scoffed at the thought. Slowly but surely, memories of that party flooded back to Katsuki in waves.

They were mostly recounts from Kirishima and Mina, but apparently you two had made out in front of everyone that night. He swiped left again, swallowing dryly as he saw just that. Your manicured fingers were wrapped tight around his party shirt, tongues in a deadly dance of want and desperation for each other. Katsuki’s eyes grew as he noticed that the photo hadn’t cut out the part where he had been kneading your ass through that skimpy dress of yours. Immediately, Katsuki went to Mina’s dms demanding to take down the photo. And she did, thank god, but not without sending Katsuki more than ten photos of you and him making out at the party. He clenched his jaw, anger and a low desire plaguing his conscience. Glancing to the top left corner of his phone, he noted the time. 4:10pm.

He had time.

Saving the photos to his gallery, he pushed his chair away from his desk to have some fucking breathing room. His eyes flitted down to his sweats and as he expected, there was a tent forming. He groaned, wiping the sweat from his palms off on his pant leg before languidly beginning to palm himself through his clothes. His breaths quickened, chest stuttering as he looked to his phone displaying the photos of you and him. There’s a faint recollection in the back of his head of how you taste. Like cherries from your glossy lips, like vodka from the shots you took off of Denki earlier that evening, how you moaned into his mouth the night you had drunkenly kissed.

Katsuki tugged the waistband of his sweats down, allowing his previously constrained cock to breathe. It slapped against his stomach, heavy and leaking. Shit, he didn’t remember being this horny at the beginning of this. Spitting into his palm, he lubed up his dick as best as he could on short notice. His eyelids drooped as he swiped through the pictures like a filmstrip, a montage of all the best moments he had with you at that party. You grinding on his lap, you whispering dirty ideas you wanted to do with him later, you, you, you…

Katsuki squeezed his aching shaft, fisting his cock as precum dribbled down his slippery head. His face was an uncanny shade of crimson, a testament to how horny he was all for a few old pictures of the two of you. “Y/n.” He swore he barely recognized his voice from how breathless and needy it was. He continued to pump his cock, the only thoughts replaying in his mind were perverted fantasies of you bouncing on his dick hard enough to hear the slap of your ass cheeks against his abs.

Tapping the screen of his phone twice to zoom in, he admired your curves with pursed lips. Fuck, you really were gorgeous. Everything about you radiated a sinful nature he could never put his tongue on. You were tempting him, licking flames up his body with such intensity that made him shiver. He cursed, thumb drifting over his slit as he hissed. Fuck you for being as ravishing as you were that night, fuck you for making him feel so goddamn needy for your-

“Bakugou, I was about to text you but I remembered you were studying today, so I figured it would be okay if I came a bit...” your words trailed off. You blinked rapidly in an attempt to process the scene unfolding before you. Katsuki Bakugou, holding his dick in his hand, face on fire with a deep blush, his other free hand secure around his phone with- was that a picture of you from your freshman year of college? There was a beat of silence, Katsuki’s uneven breathing the only sound in the room aside from the low drawl of the ceiling fan over both of your heads. You gaped at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips upon realizing his hand hadn’t stopped moving. If anything, you saw his hand flex around his cock, further tightening his grip as you stood right in front of him.

“What the fuck-”

“What?” he beat you to the punch, his lips twitching into a devilish smile, “Don’t like what you see?” His confidence knocked the air out of you, your bewildered attitude showing true on your features. Your body feels warm, searing beneath his gaze. “Excuse me?” you squeaked out, overcome with both curiosity and a hint of lust for the ash blond.

“Are you gonna fucking help me or not?” His pride was refusing him to be flustered, not when he was this feverish for you. He needed the upper hand, he needed control over this situation. And it seemed by how you were shifting your weight from side to side, that it was happening just as he wanted. Who were you to refuse such an offer from Katsuki Bakugou?

And that’s how you ended up here, nestled between thick, muscled thighs with your hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. He had you spit over his dick, his entire shaft gleaming in all its glory as it stood to attention in your grasp. The flash of his camera burned your eyes as you suckled on his crown, hand continuously jerking his cock while he ravenously watched you through the screen. The guttural groan that escaped him was nothing short of music to your ears, your thighs tensing as the coils of heat continued to build and knot between your legs.

“Mm. Keep going like that, take it. All the way in now, like a good little slut,” Katsuki instructed, his voice slicing through the heavy atmosphere of desire. The words make you whimper, enveloping his sensitive head in vibrations while you lick around his slit. A large hand cupped your face, forcing you to make eye contact with the ash blond behind the camera. His black tank top truly had no confines over him, since it was tight enough to see the outlines of his pecs and ripped torso. Katsuki sure worked hard to maintain his appearance, but you knew he had the strength to back those muscles up. The thought of him completely dominating you, holding you with strong arms and pinning you down with his body made your pussy even more wet with your slick than it already was. Even from how you were on your knees, Katsuki possessed an unspoken will over you. You wanted to please him, make him feel good, make him have no good reason not to give you everything he had to offer.

You took your lips off of his head with a little ‘pop’, eyes wide and expectant as a string of drool connected your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. Bakugou’s smile grew, making sure your face was completely in frame and in focus. “Dirty girl,” he hummed, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek before guiding your lips toward his twitching cock. You slowly kissed the vein on the side of it, mumbling out four words:

“Your dirty girl, daddy.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Katsuki let out a low, gravelly moan. It was as if a switch inside him had flipped. Without warning, he’s pulling you off the floor and sitting you down in his desk chair instead. He’s a bit rough, his vision clouded by the sheer want to fuck you until you were screaming his name, until his name was the only word your pretty little brain could recall. He abandoned his phone and instead had his hands drop to the armrests of his desk chair, encasing your body as he towered over you. Your skirt was immediately shucked up your waist and Katsuki’s hands went to work on your panties. He ripped them off completely, tossing them aside without a care as to where they went. He gazed down at you with fervour, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt.

“Who’s pussy is this?” he coaxes with a grin, teeth shining. His hand slipped between your thighs, his index and middle finger tracing up and down your slit. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your thighs instinctively closing around his hand. Your face bloomed with warmth, eyes darting away from his cocky demeanour, “Baku—”

Your body jolted as a firm smack was delivered to your sensitive pussy, a wet, lewd sound meeting your ears as he did. It made a high pitched, whiny moan be pulled out from your throat.

Fuck.

“Try again,” he ordered, tone demanding and almost condescending. His lips ghosted yours yet he never had any intention of moving close enough to seal the gap between the two of you. You whimpered, eyes meeting the dark red irises that were staring straight through you.

“‘S yours, daddy.”

“Now that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

His lips found yours, teeth tugging at your bottom lip hard enough to make the warmth in your stomach double. The liquid heat had been building ever since you walked in, and you were fairly certain that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He hooked your knees over his elbows, biceps flexing as the muscles in his arms supported your full weight. He picked you up with such ease, your arms flying around his neck as you squeal, gasping at how little effort that took him. He was a pro-hero in training, of course he had practiced lifting people up no matter their body type or size. Either way, it didn’t matter to him. He thought you looked rather angelic clinging onto him regardless. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat with his hands spreading your cheeks, grunting as he adjusted you in his arms. He slid slowly into your slick cunt inch by suffocating inch, your walls fluttering and enclosing around his throbbing cock. Katsuki’s breathing was unsteady, eyes watching your expression intently in hopes that this new position would give you as much pleasure as it was giving him. His ego was running rapant from how you were holding onto him for dear life. You were practically shaking in his grasp, mouth open in an ‘o’ shape as all you could do was gape at how deep he reaches within you. You were keening, eyes hazed with lust and nails digging crescents into his shoulder blades hard enough to make him hiss.

When you finally catch your breath and adjust to his size, you give him a curt nod as an indication for him to start moving. Slowly, he lifted you up off his cock until his head kissed your entrance before allowing gravity to do most of the work. This position had his cock nudging your cervix and it made the knot in the pit of your stomach squeeze further, threatening to snap with every loud smack of his balls echoing through his dorm room. He pistoned into you like that, reaching deeper to rearrange your insides. It was like your entire body was being engulfed with pleasure and fire. He took in your face, how it scrunched in pleasure, hair sticking to your face as you mumble out how much you want to cum, how much you need to cum.

“Fuckin’ tight just for daddy, hah?” he cooed to you, “You wanna cum all over my cock like a little slut? You were watching me from the door jerking off for you. Dirty fuckin’ girl. Who’s making you feel good? Say it. Spit it out.”

“You!” you moaned, your head feeling light from the way the veins on the side of his cock rubbed your walls, “You, daddy. Please let me cum. I w- wanna cum!”

“I can’t hear you,” Katsuki rumbled, eyes steeled before you unmoving and unwilling to give you permission just yet. “Please!” you begged, “I’m a dirty girl. I’m your dirty girl, daddy! Please let me cum!” You were too engrossed in your pleasure to have any semblance of shame. Katsuki grinned. That’s what he wanted to hear. He let out a tiny ‘tch’ before uttering out, “Then cum, slut.”

Without another word, you let out a final wanton moan, gushing around him as the liquid heat finally expels from your body. Your orgasm hits you in waves, your body quivering with each new sensation as you hold Katsuki’s cock within your cunt. Your nails leave angry red marks along Katsuki’s shoulders, ultimately sending him hurtling towards his own release.

Cum dripped down his twitching cock, your chest heaving as your legs feel like jelly. Tingles shot down your spine as Katsuki pumped rope after rope of his sticky cum well enough to paint your inner walls white. He helped you ride out your high, delivering harsh bitemarks to your neck to leave a mural of hickeys claiming you as his. The smile he gives you is cocky, prideful, and arrogant. He placed you back down on his desk chair, your thighs still going through the aftershocks of your high. Reaching for his phone, he tapped the app icon for his camera. He knelt down, chuckling as your fingers slid between your legs to spread your lower lips for him. His cum seeped out past your slit, leaking down to your puckered asshole.

“There we go. Aren’t you daddy’s good girl, hm?”

Tiredly, you nodded.

“‘M daddy’s good girl.”

all works © eijishimas 2021. do not reuse, modify, or repost.

tags:

@lonleyweeb77 @cynthus-no @lonelyheart-cluband @smhhyung @stoopidnekobish @kiridarling @kirislilrock @baku-deku1 @hajisuu @damnitcrowley @foruthemoon @peaxhcringe @justanotheruselessextra @izukuuarchive @katsuki-kitten @shokoarashi sorry i couldn’t tag all of you!

want to be on the taglist? see here.

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Seventeen Masterlist

index: smut - 🔞| suggestive - 💋| fluff - 🌸| angst - 🌩| crack - 😆| horror - 🔪| personal favorite - ✨| requested - 💬| repost - 📌

Choi Seungcheol (S.Coups)

[20:56]🌸

[22:36]🌸😆

[20:34]🌸💋

Cherry Lips🌸😆

[22:46]🌸😆

Birthday 🌸🌩

the devil said...🌩🔞

Unholy🔞

Vodka Slime🔞😆💬

the kraken's girl🔞🌸😆

Yoon Jeonghan

[21:51]🔪💋

Hong Jisoo (Joshua)

[20:24]🌸

Fall From Grace🔞

half past five high (ft.Mingyu)🔞🌩

Masquerade of the Sinners🔞

Wen Junhui (Jun)

[20:43]🌸

[19:10]🌸🔞

Ride (Me) Back Home🌸🔞

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi)

TTT (Tipsy To Tease)🌸😆💋📌

Jeon Wonwoo 

[20:25]🔞

[23:48]🌸

Red Lights🌩🔞✨

Good To Us (ft. Mingyu)🔞✨

Good To Me🔞😆🌸

[21:15]🌸💋

[14:26]🌸😆

Trust Me, My Love - Teaser - Part 1 - Part 2🌸🔞✨

Getting Closer🌩🔞🔪✨

[20:24]🌸🔞

All To Yourself🌸💋

bloodlove - part 2 - one more taste🔞🌸🌩

love me tender...or maybe not🌸🔞

Lee Jihoon (Woozi)

[21:00]🌸

Lee Seokmin (DK)

Happy go-lucky boy! (sometimes not so happy)🌸🌩

Kim Mingyu

[22:12]🔞

Good To Us (ft. Wonwoo)🔞✨

Get A Grip (On My Collar)🔞🌸

half past five high🔞🌩

Hotel Voluptas: Check(ed) In (You)🔞

Xu Minghao (The8)

[00:24]🌸

Boo Seungkwan

[23:22]🌸😆

valentine's on a budget🌸🔞🌩

Chwe Hansol (Vernon)

[09:39]🔞

[23:06]🌸💋

Remember When🌸😆🌩💋

Lee Chan (Dino)

Be Mine?🌸🌩💋

hoodie szn (but make it jolly)🔞🌸😆💬

the drink is on me (I want your body on me too)🌸💋

the drink is on me (like your body)🔞🌸

OT13

What type of lingerie would Seventeen wear in bed: Hip Hop Unit - Vocal Unit - Performance Unit🔞

Reaction to meeting a shy and introverted fan🌸💬

Seventeen and types of physical affection🌸💬

What type of sex related content would Seventeen make🔞💬

Seventeen reaction to you using your safeword🌩🌸💬

Seventeen as types of kissers🌸💬

Seventeen reaction to watching porn with their s/o🔞💬

song drabbles

hybrid!AU drabbles