#so hungry no cravings until I’m about to throw up and then I want to eat only the things we don’t have

[milo-is-rambling]

I am so hungry rn and all I want to eat is bread but we don’t have a lot of bread stuff like I think we only have one singular piece of bread and no bagels like ugh this is miserable I simply want a sandwich

[toki-hotel]

2008 Bill Kaulitz Relationship Headcannons

AN: I’m a new writer but requests and feedback is definitely welcome :)

Warnings: smut 18+, mentions of reader wearing makeup

SFW

He is actually very shy. It will take him a while to come out of his shell. This can be seen when he starts to tease you directly, making jokes that are personal to you,  like he does with his band mates and brother. Will call you out on your bad habits or embarrassing moments. But he laughs with you not at you...for the most part.

Bill loves junk food. He will whine about how he’s hungry and craves something. Won’t stop pouting until he gets it. This means random trips to the nearest gas station or grocery store. Will beg the tour managers to make a pit stop at fast food places on the way to the next venue or interview.

His feelings for you develop gradually, he needs to form a connection with someone before considering the relationship. In his friendship with you, these small feelings made him anxious because he doesn’t know how to deal with them. Over time they grow stronger and he can’t hide it anymore. He has serious heart eyes for you, and its obvious to everybody.

If you’re a playful person than you guys will get into so much trouble. Playing pranks on other band members. You’re always trying to scare George but it’s IMPOSSIBLE. Bill comes up with plans where one of you guys hides and the other tries to distract him, you’ll jump out and scream but George is just like...what are you doing? He will roll is eyes at you and leave the room.

If you’re more chill then this man decides YOU are his target. He will tease you with Gustav at his side the entire time. Throws wads of paper at you until you snap. Will try to sit on your lap whenever you’re not paying attention to him. He loves to get reactions out of you. His favourite is when you give in and pretend to be mad at him. chase him around and pretend to hit him or tickle him. Bill will literally giggle like a child and have the biggest grin on his face.

He likes to be tall. If you’re short then he will definitely mock you. Holds stuff above your head and laughs while you jump. Bill is 6′4 so idk if any of the readers would be that height, but if you are as tall or are wearing heels he is not happy about it lol. He will literally go and change his shoes so that he can be taller.

NSFW

Now because he has to form a connection to someone before progressing into a relationship, he isn’t the most experienced. Bill is a little bit shy about it and will cover it up with dirty jokes. He’s definitely made out with others though, lets not forget how many fans he has, so he is a great kisser.

He loves kissing! Making out with you is his favourite thing ever and the messier the better. His tongue piercing is so fun to him, he loves to tease you with it by running it up your neck. 

He loves it when your lipstick smears all over him. Bill wants you guys to look like a mess by the end of it. This means messy hair and makeup smeared everywhere, mascara running down your guys’ faces.

He’s sub leaning. THERE I SAID IT. Have you guys seen the chokers he wears? Going back to the teasing you part, he also loves to do it in bed. Will give you little touches here and there, or give you the look. You can recognize it from a mile away. Plays with his tongue ring, or sticks his tongue out at you. He will push you until he gets a reaction, again it’s his favourite.

Once you’re alone and call him out on it, he pulls the innocent act. Tell him the punishment you plan for him and he switches up so quick. Bill’s cat eyes shift to puppy dog ones. Sounds so sweet when he says ‘please’. Will get on his knees and cling to your waist. He just wanted you so bad he ‘couldn’t help himself’.

Edging him is the best and worst punishment for him. He’s happy to have your attention, but he can also be very greedy, he just wants to have you so bad. He will bring himself to tears so quickly, but its okay because he’s pretty when he cries and he loves how he feels after. Its cathartic. The release of pent up energy makes him feel so much better.

AN: Plz request stuff! I’ll write for other band members and modern versions too.

[whateveryouiguess]

let me in.| roommate! eddie munson x reader

warnings: angst to fluff, not that serious tho, reader is sad and eddie tweaks bc he’s in love w her lol. no use of y/n, reader is described as wearing a bonnet to sleep. takes place in modern day :)

a/n: heyyy remember when i started this blog five months ago lmao. anyway. college is hard gimme a break. this wasn’t requested but i think it’s Neat. enjoy!

eddie can’t fuckin cook.

he can work the shit out of a hungry man and boxed macaroni but a genuine, effort-given, home cooked meal? forget about it. this lack of talent hasn’t ever bothered him though, he’s not a particularly picky guy (being dirt poor you learn to just eat what’s in front of you till you get full) so his ineptitude hasn’t created much of a hindrance. until now.

she’s not much into sharing her emotions; she’s always there with open arms when eddie falls apart, but she’s never asked for it in return. instead, she resorts to sulking in her bedroom and waiting till eddie’s left the common area to utilize the space. eddie is a grade a eavesdropper, and he wouldn’t put himself above listening through the wall to check on her when he’s especially worried. he gives her the space she knows he wants, doesn’t pry, but when he stays in the living room all day and doesn’t hear her come out of her room once, not even to eat, he knows it’s time to warp some boundaries.

“soup and self care,” she once described her catch-all sadness remedy. she’s used it on him more times than he can count and he knows for certain that it works like a charm (when accompanied by a tight hug over the shoulders and a warm kiss on the cheek, that is. she never misses.)

—————————————————————————

an hour and a half into fucking up a tomato bisque, eddie considers throwing in the towel and just ordering panera, but he worries the sentiment won’t ring true enough if it’s not from scratch. he groans loudly and drops the still warm pot of a soup homage into the sink, wiping the sweat off his brow with the black handkerchief ever tucked into his back pocket. defeated, he slumps against the marble countertop and heaves a big sigh, eyes trained on the closed, sticker decorated door directly across from the kitchen.

it’s just my period.

his poor girl.

i’m being dramatic.

she was so damn strong.

don’t worry about me.

he would give her the world. he had to.

“fuck it.”

ed slides towards her bedroom door, knocking gently. he hears her clear her throat and reinject the pep into her voice as she calls out a strained “yeah?”

“can i come in?”

“i-“ he hears shuffling, her voice gets closer to the door. “what’s up?” the shakiness in her voice makes his palms tingle and his cheeks burn. he’s hurting for her, and she won’t tell him why.

“sweetheart, please let me in. i know you’re not okay and i-i don’t wanna pry, or make you uncomfortable, y’know, i respect your boundaries and all that, but i…” the words leave him as his hand slumps over the brass knob of her door. “i can’t let you sulk anymore, kid.” his throat aches under the weight of the words that leave his lips. he doesn’t realize how heavy they are until he lets them go. “please.” with a quiet sniffle and a slow turn of the knob, eddie’s made privy to the pitch black mess of her room. she’s back in bed as soon as the door is open. tip toeing around her discarded bra and work clothes, a textbook and her open laptop, he crawls into bed beside her, leaving just enough space for her to roll over and cuddle into him. he craves her surrender, but he wants her to do so willingly. his shoulders feel hollow without the acupressure of her arms around him, he wants nothing more than to scoop her up and cradle her like she does him, but he’d rather be a gorgons lunch before pushing her beyond her limits. so, he settles on resting a hand between her shoulder blades and toying with the little curls at the nape of her neck, picking at the fairy knots and brushing them back under her bonnet when he’s done with them.

“i don’t wanna talk.” she huffs, as if he’d said anything to refute her. he just nods silently and rubs her back, smiling she presses herself up against him shyly.

“tomato bisque or french onion?” she coughs a little and sits up, squinting at him. the pale moonlight bleeding from the window and the blue cast of the doordash order screen on his phone lights him up like a freshwater pearl as he smiles at her confusion. “i’m getting panera, do you want tomato or french onion soup with your grilled cheese?” the scrunch in her nose scares him for a second, until she rolls over onto her other side and curls into his chest. the white flag has risen. his arms are quick to find her waist and shoulders holding her tight, tight, tight, to him. a slow, heated kiss to her temple is the nail in the coffin, and he’s sure he can coax her into a face mask or a back rub later on to complete the usual routine.

homemade or not, he was gonna get his girl some soup. he would get her the world.

[ladylooch]

Bestie! A blurb night! Can I have some angst? Maybe that Nico & Timo fight we talked about? Or maybe Timo mad at his parents again? Or whatever you want 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 💕🍻

The way I was craving angst and you delivered 😘

“Later.” Jack Hughes tosses up the peace sign to Nico and I as he heads out of the locker room. We both wave back in acknowledgement. Nico glances over his shoulder at me, then goes back to tying his shoes.

“You still good to give me a ride?” I ask Nico, running a hand through my wet hair to push it back into place.

“Depends.” 

“On?” He stands to his full height.

“What the fuck your problem is?” Nico is visibly seething- eyes darkening, jaw clenched, shoulders tight with tension. I strap my watch back on my wrist. With Jack gone, everyone else has left. I was receiving treatment after practice in the form of an intense sports massage that included cupping. Deep, maroon circles line my upper body as a reminder.

“Ah…” I trail off, looking back at my brother in law’s tense face. “I’m not sure. Wanna let me in on it?”

“I can’t believe you. Standing there acting like you don’t know how much you’re hurting my sister.” I drop my hand to the side, scrunching my eyebrows together. Em and I had a good morning before I left. We were tangled up together until Lio woke up. Then we brought him into our bed for family snuggles. Lio is loving Em’s pregnant belly and talking with his little sister.

“What?” I blink. “Nico.. I don’t know-”

“Asshole!” He yells, coming up on me and shoving me hard in the middle of my chest. I stumble back a few feet, stunned. He goes to shove me again. This time, I defend myself, bringing my hands up.

“Nico, bro. What the fuck.” I bat his next shove away. “Dude, I don’t want to hurt you. Just talk to me.”

“I’m going to hurt you.” A small scoff falls from my lips.

“Do you know how to fight?”

“You’re about to find out how much I know about fighting.” I side step another swing.

“Nico!” I yell, trying to snap him out of his angry trance. “What is going on?” I wave my hands out to the side, gesturing for him to explain.

“I heard Em talking with Lex last night about the shit you’re pulling on Instagram. She gave you Lio. Now, she’s growing your daughter. And you repay her by sending dick picks on Instagram!?” He is bellowing by the end.

“Wha-”

The whole word doesn’t get out of my mouth before he swings at my face. His fist knocks me across my left cheek and nose. Pain explodes from my face immediately. My eyes water as I look back at him in anger.

“Nico! Fuck.” I gingerly touch my nose. I’m pretty sure it’s broken… again. Now I’m pissed. I was holding back because my wife would not appreciate me throwing hands at her brother. But fuck it. I reach out, knocking Nico hard upside the head when he tries to swing again. I point a finger at him as he moans in pain. “That’s a warning shot. Hit me again and I’ll break your fucking nose. Ouch. Fuck!” I touch my nose again, seeing the bright, red blood collect on my finger tips. 

I walk over to the trainer’s table where cups, tape and towels are collected. I grab a towel, putting it against my bleeding face. I turn back to Nico who is huffing and puffing, looking like his anger is building back up.

“What are you talking about? I’ve never sent dick pics on Instagram. She said that?” I’m so confused. Again, she didn’t mention anything about this and I’m obviously not doing that. I’m too busy trying to get between my wife’s thighs to even think about anyone else.

“Yeah! She said it last night when she was picking Lio up.” He starts walking towards me. 

“Stay over there.” I hold my free hand up, then dig in my pocket for my phone. I press on Emma’s contact.

“Hi daddy!” She exclaims on the second ring. Thank God because Nico is almost next to me again. “Are you on your way? Your babies are hungry.” 

“Well, hopefully soon. But your brother has me cornered in the locker room right now because he thinks I’m cheating on you.”

“What?” She chuckles. Glad she finds this amusing when I can feel every pulse of my heart in my nose and eyes.

“Yeah. He said he heard you talking about it last night.”

“Oh! Ha!” She laughs again, louder this time. “Yeah, I was telling Lexi about my dream.”

“Awesome.” I murmur. “Well, I’m going to be a little longer because your brother broke my nose, punching me in the face to defend your honor.” She gasps.

“Nico! What the hell is wrong with you!” 

“I.. I’m sorry! I thought…”

“Does that sound like Timo? God he can’t even go two day without trying to get his hands in my pants, even 8 months pregnant! He’s obsessed with me!”

“Well, I don’t know! All I heard was what you said when I was walking down the stairs!” 

“I turned to you and smiled to greet you! You think I would smile if that was real! No! I’d be screaming and running after Timo with a knife.”

“Wait what…” I say with concern.

“Baby, you cheat on me, I will cut you.” 

“What family did I marry into?” I mutter, looking at my brother-in-law who’s face is twisted into embarrassment. “Alright, we will talk more about that when I get home.” I tell my wife. “ I love you.” 

“I love you. I’m so sorry babe.”

“Not your fault.” I mutter directing my stare at Nico.

“I’m sorry.” He says when I get off the phone. He holds his hands up in a truce. “I… Yeah.”

“You think I’d do that to her?” Nico shakes his head no immediately. “She is my entire world. Our babies too.” 

“I know. I’m really sorry. I’ll grab Ryan.” He murmurs of the assistant athletic trainer who is still in the building.

I pull the towel away, looking at the massive clot on the white fabric. I scrunch my nose, then wiggle it a bit side to side. It probably isn’t actually broken, but I’m going to be sporting a black eye or two. Ryan concurs when he gives me a once over, but says it will be clearer tomorrow once some swelling goes down. He plugs my nose and gives me an ice pack to keep on my face for the ride home.

“At least Em likes you with a broken nose” Nico laughs, trying to ease the tension as he drives me home. I am leaning my head back, eyes closed, icing my face as he hits the freeway. A headache is beginning to pound against my forehead.

“She wasn’t with me last time someone broke my nose.”

“Oh yeah… Guess I forget with how much she always kisses your scars.” I smile, a soft laugh bouncing my shoulders.

“Yeah, she makes Lee do it now too.” 

“So in a way, you should thank me. Now, you’ll get more kisses from your babies.”

“I will absolutely not be doing that…. Asshole.”

[rottencoreflesh101]

Please for the love of god share your smut ideas

OKAY LISTEN LISTEN

I was writing a few ideas at work on my notebook. Its for my new beloved Yushiro, a mutual over insta just awoken something inside me for him….

Here JUST A SNIPPET-

Warning: Nsfw, smut, mentions of suicide.

KNY SPOILER WARNING

So it takes places after Tamayo’s death. Yushiro had to take care of the place they both shared by himself now, he had to attend to Tamayo’s patients by himself and tbh he hated it… every second of it. He loved her so much… it was unfair that everyone got their stupif happy little ending and not him! He didn’t care about Muzan’s death! Tamayo! Tamayo is all he cared about.

He wanted to keep her safe, hidden from danger, his lady… but she wanted to help other so.. who was him to stop her from what she desired most… it was obvious her love wasn’t for him but for her passion. He has come to terms that she’ll never love him back but he wanted to follow her and love her for the rest of eternity by her side but that was brought to and end when lady Tamayo was killed by Muzan… his world collapsed, he found no reason to continue living this eternity with out her, his lady Tamayo…

Tanjiro made sure to remind him that ending his own life was something Tamayo wouldn’t wanted, he should live to keep Tamayo’s memories alive, her story, her work, her passion, her love…

A few years had passed since lady Tamayo’s death, Yuchiro was roaming the busy streets of the Asakusa city doing some groceries until he bumped into a young lady, she was taller than him, she had a kimono decorated with flower patterns and decorative flower accessories.

Yushiro’s eyes widen at the realization this was no ordinary woman but a demon! He quickly stepped back and let out a soft growl getting ready for any sudden moves from the demon. The young lady just giggled as she realized she was just unmasked by another demon.

“I mean no harm to you or anyone in that matter… oh! But where are my manners? I’m L/N, L/N Y/N” you let out with a soft smile as Yushiro did not drop his defensive stance.

Writing…

The idea was having Yushiro bump into a demon y/n who used to be a doctor when she was human. She lets out this information to him and he trusts her enough show her his patients since he wasn’t so skilled on Tamayo’s “healing” practices.

Y/N and Yushiro end up working together like he and Tamayo once were. Yushiro ends up falling for Y/N while Y/N returns his feelings and it would lead to some pent up smut!

Yushiro would be all shy and gentleman like until you give him the greencard. He will press his lips against yours like if he was trying to eat you, he’s desperate, hungry and he is craving for you, his new lady…

He will throw you into his private room just to ravish your guts.. all his sexual frustration for years were finally let out and it was all for you, his y/n.. he would have you pressed against the wall while shoving his finger into your mouth to avoid such loud lewd noises as he pumps your insides like an animal, inhumane even. He would go harsher and harsher by the minute, he barked for your silence, to keep it down so your patients wouldn’t hear both of you but deep inside he wanted you to go against him and get louder so everyone could know how good he is making you feel, that you’re his lady now…

“Pretty… so pretty”

[lowlights]

Wait No Longer

This is @ezrasbirdie's fault. Period. She said oh- what if this happened? And my head exploded and this came out. It's filthy and fun. It is barely edited. I hope you enjoy.

What if Pero didn't go looking for the black powder after the defeat of the Tao Tei, and found you instead?

Wait No Longer

Pero Tovar x f!reader // 1.2k words

Warnings: Smut but I gave them feelings by accident. Oral f!receiving. Reader is described as having thick thighs. Exhibitionism. Pero is a filthy menace.

**

Pero liked to eat alone. He didn’t want to talk and he certainly didn’t want to talk about the nuances of power that existed within the Wall. At times, he even forgot about the black powder that had drawn him to the other side of the world. This had nothing to do with the food, though it was plentiful and filling.

It had everything to do with you. Pero liked to eat alone until you sat down next to him.

From then on he only wanted to be alone- with you.

Many meals were spent shoulder to shoulder, sometimes eating in silence and other times trading secret smiles. You felt electricity when he rested his hand on your thigh for the first time, which led to stolen kisses in the corridors away from prying eyes. Pero got bolder with his overtures and so did you, testing the boundaries of what you could get away with without rousing suspicion. As the threat of the Tao Tei increased, so did Pero’s voracity and craving for you.

The evening after the Tao Tei’s defeat, you seek him out in the mess hell the second you return from your post in the Wall. You hurry to your normal spot at the end of the little table tucked behind one of the large pillars, eyes panning wildly across the crowd of the wounded and weary survivors. Your heart pounds in your chest as you think about what this gruff Spaniard means to you and the conversation that you never found the time to have with him.

Finally, Pero comes into view and you thank the heavens above. He makes eye contact with you and shoves the table away from him with impressive force as he leaps up. You crash into him, throwing your arms around his neck and immediately snuggling your face into the warmth of his neck. You can’t see how he winces, but it doesn’t matter because he holds you as tightly as he can manage.

“Are you alright?” you ask over the din of the large hall.

“I am alive, which is more than I thought I would be,” he responds. His hands search your body with a methodical frenzy.

You pull back from him, holding his face between your hands. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Uninjured. I-”

Pero silences you with a forceful kiss. It’s hungry and unbridled, a reassurance that you both survived the biggest threat you would ever face. He feels so real beneath your hands with his armor long since removed. You can feel every muscle and curve of his body and you want– gods you want everything from him. Everything of him.

Pero breaks from your mouth to press his lips along your jaw and bite down gently on your earlobe. It sends a shiver straight to your core. “Take me to your quarters, now. Preciosa, I need you,” he demands.

You arch against him and dig your fingers into the back of his neck. “Pero, we can’t- we can’t. The commanders are on their way. We have to stay…our absence will be noticeable. Pero Tovar, that mouth,” you moan as he sucks sharply along the column of your neck.

“Would you like to see what else this mouth can do?” Pero grins wickedly and doesn’t wait for an answer. He lowers you down to the bench and kneels before you. What on earth is he doing?

Pero starts unbuttoning your trousers which sends a wave of panic through you. “Pero, what if they see? We are not so hidden back here.” Your breathing is ragged and your heart races almost as quickly as it did when you faced the monsters.

“Let. Them. Watch.”

Pero practically rips open the front of your pants, yanking them down and off in one fell swoop. You grab a nearby cape and throw it over your body as Pero pushes your legs wide. You look around with wild and wide eyes, struggling to see if anyone is watching. You are mostly invisible back here but not entirely. If someone were to even lean back slightly and turn their head, you would be found out.

Pero immediately licks along the seam of you sex and you mewl.

“Quiet, Preciosa,” he growls before shoving his tongue into your wet cunt. It’s filthy- by far the filthiest thing you’ve ever done. Ever even dreamed of doing. He eats you like a man who has forgotten to eat for days, and your thighs immediately clamp down on his head. His fingers dig into your flesh as he pries your strong, thick thighs back open. His iron grip keeps you steady, something you need when he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks as though his life depends on it.

What if the commanders see? Gods above, what if the Emperor sees? The thrill of being caught terrifies you but it makes you cunt practically gush with arousal. Pero takes note - as he always does - and doubles down on his motions. His tongue is ever the menace and heat starts to build in your belly.

The world fades away. There are no commanders, no great hall, no wall. There aren’t hundreds of people within a whisper’s distance- there are just the two of you. His fingers gripping your thighs and his nose nudging your clit. His wide tongue licking, his pouty lips sucking.

You almost lost this, and you realize that Pero is thinking the same. It’s why he couldn’t wait another second to devour you.

The cord snaps and stars explode along the edges of your vision. You grip Pero’s head through the cape as he drinks down every drop that he can. You come back to reality to the cacophanous sound of applause, and you realize that someone is calling for the Spaniard.

“Pero…Pero, they’re looking for you. Commander Lin is…oh my gods, Pero. Get up there,” you tell him breathlessly as he climbs out from under the cape, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

He strides out from behind the column with his hands strategically clasped across his front, trying- and failing- to hide his throbbing erection. The normal scowl on his face is replaced with the most satisfied smirk you have ever seen him sport. While all the attention is on him, you pull your pants back on quickly.

As you walk around the column yourself, you can see him shaking hands with William.

With the same hand he used to wipe your arousal from his mouth.

The knowledge makes your cunt ache.

Some agonizing minutes later the hall is clearing and Pero makes a beeline for you. Wordlessly, he grabs your hand and pulls you towards his sleeping quarters.

“Pero, slow down. My legs are still shaking! Oof!” you exclaim as Pero sweeps you off your feet. Literally.

“I am not a patient man, Preciosa. I have done my waiting and I will wait no longer. I will have every inch of you and make you come on my cock until the sun rises again.” Pero captures your lips in an awkward but passionate kiss as he hurries down the hall and kicks open the door to his room.

Pero is a liar, though.

He makes you come on his cock far past the rising of the sun, and every day after.

[thebluestbluewords]

cinderellaverse?? In my 2024??

it’s more likely than you think!

(for context: the rotten ot4 are wildly codependent, Ben is possibly seducing them all via unreciprocated acts of kindness, and this takes place directly after the iconic Good Boy scene, only with some AU changes that aren’t ready to post yet).

(why am i posting this if no other context is finished yet??? Because I’m needy and crave validation. Next question, please).

+

“Ugh,” Mal agrees. She looks mostly asleep still, which is understandable. “Weird. Did you eat yet?” 

Carlos lifts the napkin-wrapped bundle in his hands. “I brought food. To share. If you want.” 

This, predictably, gets Mal up. They’re far enough away from the isle that Carlos can almost believe that their parents aren’t lurking behind every dark corner of the castle, but not so far that they’ll turn down fresh food, even at stupid early hours.

“Berries?” 

“Yeah. Brought berries for you. And muffins.” 

“Evie wants chocolate,” Mal says immediately, stretching out both hands for the napkin-wrapped bundle. “And weird that Ben made you meet someone new. I thought we’d already been subjected to every princess-type in the school by now.” 

“Not a person. He made me meet a— a dog.” 

Mal stops with the muffins in her hands still outstretched. “Oh,” she says carefully, which is nice of her. Their Auradon education must be kicking in, or some shit. “And you’re not halfway home?” 

“I was. But Ben sort of—put the dog away and tracked me down? He was cool about it. We went over afterwards to check out the stables, cause he thought maybe it was like, just animals I don’t like, and they’ve got cats and stuff there. And the dog was on a leash, and he’s actually super tiny and not murderous.” Carlos shrugs, telegraphing the motion as much as he can. Which isn’t much. He’s supposed to be working on the whole expressing emotions thing. Even though it’s so much easier to shut down entirely whenever he feels an emotion. “So yeah. Still alive, still here! And Ben’s being weird.” 

“Weird how?” 

“Just weird. He was being all nice and stuff. D’you think he’s been bribed by Fairy Godmother to get info on us?” 

“Might be,” Mal agrees, tearing into her muffin. She’s unwrapped the whole bundle, and laid them out in an order that’s got to make sense in her head. (it shouldn’t make sense. They can’t afford to be predictable. Predictable is how you get your lunch stolen, or poisoned, or eaten by pirates who think it’s funny to take a perfectly rotten sandwich and swap it out for seaweed slime). “You should eat though. You didn’t tell him anything, right?” 

Carlos pulls a scrap off the cinnamon sugar muffin. It’s the one Mal’s put in his assigned spot, which is directly across from her own, with Evie’s double chocolate on the left and Jay’s lemon poppyseed on the right. He’s not really hungry, but it’s still too much to turn down food, so he rolls it between his fingers until half of the sugar falls off into the napkin, and the rest of it is compressed into the smallest possible ball of muffin flesh. He can eat a little piece of it, and then Mal will stop asking, and he can eat for real later. Once he’s alone. 

He pops the ball of muffin into his mouth. “No. Not really.” 

Mal shoves another mouthful of muffin into her mouth. She picked the blueberry one, and it turns the whole mess of it vividly purple as she chews. “Cool. He’s probably just being a royal brat then, trying to get some new intel for the gossip mill. But hey, it’s cool that he showed you the stables. Maybe next time we need to get to town you can steal us a horse, yeah?” 

Carlos snorts. He’s seen a horse now, and there’s no way they can get away with stealing something that big and ornery. Cars might be bigger, but they don’t bite and they don’t poop and they don’t have teeth the size of his fingers and a desire to bite through anything that looks even remotely like a carrot. “Yeah, no. Horses are fucking giant.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Mal says casually. She throws one of her loose berries up so she can catch it in her teeth. Sometimes, when it’s just the four of them, Mal forgets to act human and does things like this. Things where she snatches treats out of the air with her teeth, when her neck bends in ways that a human’s shouldn’t, like she’s forgotten that she only has seven bones in her neck and not seventeen like a standard dragon. “Nobody ever wakes me up at the crack of dawn to show me cool shit.” 

Carlos wants to laugh and make this whole thing normal, but he’s fucking exhausted and the cinnamon sugar from the muffin is sticky on his fingers. He’s been trying to pull it apart carefully so that his whole hands don’t get covered in the crumbly topping, but that’s been working about as well as their escape plan so far, which is to say not at fucking all. “Yeah, yeah. He also made us run laps first, don’t be jealous.” 

Mal snaps her teeth. “I’ll be whatever I want. He didn’t do anything else?“ 

“Nope.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, mom. He just wanted to talk a bunch about how we’re settling in. And how we’re doing emotionally.” 

[hephaestn]

harringrove prompt: making up after a fight! or a glimpse into their typical saturday night 💞

“What are you in the mood for tonight? I could make us some pasta or we could be lazy and order Chinese. It’s your choice.” Steve turns to Billy, hands on his hips.

“I don’t want anything,” Billy replies in a dry, angry tone. He hasn’t even turned to look at Steve.

This is the thing. Billy doesn’t fire back at Steve anymore when he’s angry; he goes silent, avoids Steve until his anger has melted away completely. Steve knows he’s working hard on managing his emotions, knows it’s best for Billy to talk things through when he’s calm—but selfishly, Steve wishes Billy would’ve just yelled at him so they could be done being angry. It’s their first free day together in almost two weeks and Steve misses him, craves his touch, his lips.

Steve takes a deep breath in and rounds the small isle of their kitchen. Their apartment is tiny but he loves it. Steve doesn’t need space, he wants to bump into Billy as the both walk down the small corridor to their bedroom, he likes being able to see Billy reading in the living room as he reheats food from the day before. Their bathroom is the smallest bathroom Steve has ever seen but he loves feeling Billy’s arm slightly touching his as they wash their teeth in the morning. But Steve knows Billy needs space when he’s angry, that the house feels suffocating to him sometimes—so he stays in the kitchen, resting his weight against the isle.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mutters.

For a moment, he thinks Billy hasn’t heard him but the blond finally turns his head to look at him.

“Steve, leave it.”

“I was stupid, okay?” Steve takes a step forward, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I’m a bit weird about… rats.” He looks elsewhere and shrugs. “But this is your flat too, if you want one I’ll have to accept it.”

When he looks back at Billy he can see something has changed on that face he adores so much; the little lines around Billy’s big eyes are faintly there, a smile waiting to break free.

“It’s just a hamster, Steve.” Billy bites the inside of his cheek, a smirk on his lips.

Steve feels the tension lifting up and walks up to him. “Hamster, rat.” He fakes a shiver and plops himself on the couch, next to Billy. “Rodents.”

Steve is exaggerating, on purpose, knowing his faked stupidity will make Billy lighten up. And, it works. Billy finally lets out a laugh, his eyes sparkle.

“Rodents. Jesus Christ, Harrington.” Billy throws his head against a cushion. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I could always get a snake. If the rat—sorry, hamster—disappears… Well, it was simply natural selection.”

Billy’s laugh fades but his eyes stay on Steve’s, looking deep into them. Steve sees the adoration there, the love. That’s his Billy. Everything’s okay.

“Chinese,” Billy says after a minute.

“The pasta might be quicker, if you’re hungry.”

“I rather wait.” Billy’s teasing him, Steve knows that tone.

“I could make you Arrabiata!” Steve exclaims in faked excitement.

“God, no. I rather you feed it to my soon-to-be hamster.”

“It’d die,” Steve says, deadpan. “It might all work out for me in the end.” Steve gets up from the couch with a giggle.

Billy lets out a gasp and throws the cushion from behind his head towards Steve, slamming it against his bum.

“Chinese it is then,” Steve says without looking back, a big smile on his face.

[diorleclerc]

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞 + 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐨

merry christmas and happy holidays besties!! i wrote a few holiday drabbles a few months ago and completely forgot to queue them last night lmao

daniel woke up in the middle of the night, reaching out for you but your side of the bed was empty. he thought that you’d gone to the bathroom but then he heard a noise coming from downstairs. he slips out of bed and quietly makes his way down.

he sees the dim light coming from the kitchen and walks in to see you sitting at the island. your son had set out a glass of milk and a plate of cookies for santa before he went to bed, but you ended up getting to it before santa did.

daniel was amused as he watched you eat the cookies, not even noticing that he was there.

“why are you stealing santa’s cookies?” daniel spoke up just as you were about to grab another cookie and take a bite. “i was hungry,” you shrug. “it’s three in the morning, love,” daniel says, coming to sit down next to you. “so? santa’s allowed to eat in the middle of the night but i’m not? that doesn’t seem fair,” you say and he laughs.

“i think he’s gonna be a bit disappointed when he stops by our house and there’s no cookies left for him,” daniel jokes. “oh well. he got cookies from all the other houses already. he’ll survive without the cookies from our house,” you say.

“you’re okay though right?” daniel asks. “yeah, i just woke up and craved cookies,” you shrug.

“remember the last time you had cravings in the middle of the night-“

daniel cuts himself off as he realized when that was. “are you…” he starts, glancing down at your stomach then back up to your face.

“maybe,” you say quietly. “maybe? are you- are you serious?” he asks. “i think so. i haven’t taken a test yet. but i’ve been feeling the same symptoms for the past few days,” you explain.

“can you take one right now?” daniel asks. “now? i was going to wait until after christmas to do it. you know, just in case it’s negative. i don’t want us to be disappointed on christmas,” you explain.

“but if it’s positive, then it’ll be the perfect christmas present. and if not, then i’ll just have to knock you up tomorrow,” daniel says and you smack his arm in response.

“okay, let’s take one then.”

daniel waits for you outside the bathroom and comes in once you’re done. he sets a timer and you both sit on the ground, backs leaned against the wall as you waited for the test to be done.

you’re both nervous about the results. you hadn’t been trying for a baby, deciding to just let it happen. but now the thought of turning your family of three into a family of four was all you could think about and there wasn’t anything you wanted more.

“it’s done,” daniel says when his timer went off. daniel picks up the test off the counter, not looking at the result until he’s sitting down next to you again.

“i can’t look, you tell me,” you say, shutting your eyes. you’re convinced that the test will be negative and tried to prepare yourself for the disappointment.

“it’s positive.”

you open your eyes, looking at him to see if he’s joking.

“what?”

“it’s positive,” daniel says, turning the test around to show you. “we’re gonna have a baby,” he says. “oh my god, i’m pregnant. we’re gonna have another baby,” you whisper, processing everything. “we’re having a baby,” you repeat, throwing your arms around his neck.

“yeah we are,” daniel whispers against your neck. “best christmas present i could ask for,” daniel says, kissing you softly.

you both head back to bed but you’re both way too excited to to fall asleep now.

daniel was laying on your stomach while you played with his hair when you heard small footsteps approach your room.

“mommy? daddy?” you hear your son’s quiet voice as he enters your room. “yeah buddy? everything okay?” daniel asks, sitting up and helping him climb into bed between you two. “i went downstairs to get some water and saw that the milk and cookies were gone,” he explains.

“that means santa stopped by right?” he asks and you and daniel share a smile. “yeah honey, i think he did,” you answer. “i can’t wait to open all the presents he left,” your son says, snuggling against you. daniel wraps his arm around both of you.

“well, if you don’t go back to sleep right now, he’s going to come back and take those gifts away,” daniel says.

you’d think that your six year old son would be the one having trouble falling asleep when christmas was the next morning, but he was fast asleep.

instead, it was you and daniel who were awake, both of you thinking about how your little family was about to have a new member.

[merv606]

Terry fucking Daniel in Mercy BUT he brings up Amanda while he is doing so:

“If your ex-wife could see you now, moaning like a whore. Begging for me to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Look at you, whimpering for my mouth on your ass, wanting me to eat it out. Did you ever get your mouth on her like this, Daniel? On that ex wife of yours, darling?”

“She could never make you feel like this, Danny boy. She could never make your body crave my touch. She was nothing compared to me.”

“What would Mandy say, seeing her ex with a cock up his ass, being fucked properly? Begging for it like a whore?”

“You were made for a man, sweetheart. Made to take cock. Made for me. No woman—not even your ex wife—could satisfy you, baby.”

A++++

10,000,000/100

🔥🔥🔥

Nothing like fucking your beloved husband within an inch of his life whilst taunting him about how his ex wife could never give him what he truly needed - “a nice hard cock in your tight little ass.”

Short but NSFW

“If she could see you now, sweetheart - choking on cock.”

“I’m so goddamn deep you can taste me.”

“Would she be surprised?! About how much you can take?! Hmmm how greedy your ass is for it? How you spread your legs for me to open you up on it?!”

“She could get toys of course but that wouldn’t do the job would it? Wouldn’t be the same.”

“Because she couldn’t hold you down like this, could she? Couldn’t make you take it like this … she wouldn’t be able to come inside you like this / fill that ass with cum til it’s dripping.”

“Size queen and hungry for my cock,” he hisses, vicious, fingers in Daniel’s mouths as he drools around the thick digits.

“Maybe we should send her a video or some nice pictures / so she can see how good I give it to you - how I give you something she never could - show her what she’s missing.”

Throw in a few size queen insults and we are good to go!

[theflyingfeeling]

Twenty-Fourth Day of Gift-Giving: Touches

Prompt: Tracing the other’s lips with their finger

The last one! Thank you SO much for reading, I hope this little project brought you some joy these past weeks 💝 And if you missed some posts or couldn't keep up with my daily posting schedule, worry not! None of the stories are particularly festive (except maybe Day 12), so you can read them any time. All the stories can be found in this tag, and I'm thinking of posting them on AO3 as well 🎁

~

As much as Aleksi hated early wake-up calls, this particular morning he hadn’t minded having to crawl out of bed at eight to take Rilla out; he had groaned when he had heard Rilla pawing the front door, but at least it offered Aleksi a chance to study Olli’s sleeping face before he’d wake up too. Although Aleksi’s eyelids still felt heavy and he probably would’ve fallen back to sleep in less than a minute if he had closed his eyes, the serenity on Olli’s face was far more captivating than anything Aleksi would ever see in his dreams.

Lone strands of curly hair had fallen on Olli’s eyes. Reluctant to wake the man up just yet, Aleksi defied the temptation to gently sweep it off. Maybe he also wanted to keep the slight worry on Olli’s face hidden so as to deceive himself into believing they’d have another full day together, the faint lines still visible on Olli’s forehead a reminder of their talks just before they had fallen asleep. Olli for one had not been able to conceal his grief about their parting when they had finally climbed to bed the previous night, and Aleksi had barely succeeded in kissing away his frown, troubled by the farewell to come just as much as Olli was. To know it would by no means be forever brought them some comfort at least; Aleksi was already looking forward to the video calls and the silly texts once Aleksi and Rilla would have settled down at home.

But it won’t be the same, Olli had said, and Aleksi knew that. There was little he could do about it, tough, little he could say to console Olli when he was hanging by a thin thread himself; one more look at Olli’s big, wet eyes and Aleksi would’ve been one phone call away from putting his Helsinki home up for sale, so he had seen it best to just kiss Olli again and tell him they’d figure it out, somehow.

They’d had to. They would. Aleksi was going to throw hands at the universe if they wouldn’t.

These thoughts from the night before consuming his mind, Aleksi had absentmindedly brought a finger to Olli’s lips and started tracing their shape. Over the past week, he had come to known them in every way he could think of, from having them move against his own or slide down his neck or close around his hard-on, so that it was now easy for him to retreat the memory of them, should he miss their softness and eagerness (and he would, no doubt, often and desperately, but it would be only one of the many things he’d be left craving for, once he’d be back in Helsinki). 

Aleksi didn’t realise Olli was awake until the lips under his finger curved into a faint smile. Seeing the reaction, he snuggled closer and brought his own lips to Olli’s ear. 

“Hi.” He left a soft kiss on Olli’s cheek and happily deepened it when Olli turned his head enough for Aleksi to catch his bottom lip in between his own. 

“Morning,” Olli replied. Other than that, he showed no intention to break off the kiss or to get out of bed any time soon, and Aleksi kissed him back as if he had nowhere to go that day either.

How he wished it was true. He wished it so much until a lump appeared in his throat.

“I think I’m gonna miss you too much,” he said into the kiss. It had been a long time coming, since the previous night at least, but he could no longer stop his eyes from welling with tears.

“Maybe you could get a refund for your tickets,” Olli said in turn, lips hungry for more kisses. “Tell them it’s an emergency and that you couldn’t possibly make it.”

Aleksi knew as well as Olli that wasn’t how it worked, but damn if Aleksi wasn’t ready to give it a try.

“What about my work? I have two production sessions scheduled for Monday alone.” It was impressive how they managed to hold an entire conversation in between all the desperate, hasty kisses that demanded to be given, as if their supply of kisses would overflow if they didn’t (it might, for all Aleksi knew, and he sure as well wasn’t going to risk it).

“Tell them you’re sorry.” [A kiss. Another. Another.] “Tell them you’re in bed with fever.” [A kiss. Another.] “Or just that you’re needed elsewhere.” [A quiet sob.] “Tell them… tell them I need you here.”

By then Aleksi was sniffing himself, but he wasn’t going to let any more hopeless sobs leave Olli’s mouth.

“Okay,” he said and kissed Olli until he stopped shedding tears (or maybe they just mixed with Aleksi’s own); until they both fell back to sleep.

~*~

I think I'm gonna miss you too much.

When Aleksi had said it, he really had meant every word, but five days after his return home, to his empty and sort of chilly apartment, he was pleased to have realised the longing had not consumed him completely during the week. Had his head been constantly absorbed in memories of his time with Olli, surviving all the Zoom meetings and email formalities would have likely been twice the uphill they were on a normal day. By all means, that was not to say Aleksi had not missed Olli; he had, incredibly so, especially when he climbed in his bed late at night and entertained himself with the idea of Olli being there waiting for him, possibly wiggling his eyebrows or just looking at him with an insane amount of affection in his eyes. Some days Aleksi wasn't sure if the sound that left his mouth whenever he thought about it resembled more a chuckle or a sob.

They had texted each other throughout the week, having (tearfully) agreed to give each other some space after the rather intense week they had had and decided they would, eventually, have time for sappy phonecalls (as well as for some spicy late-night FaceTime chats, Aleksi hoped). Come Friday, however, Aleksi dragged himself to his bedroom after another intense studio day and grabbed his phone.

"C'mere Rilla, let's ask how Olli's doing," he said to the dachshund, planting a kiss on her forehead as he helped her on the bed.

Aleksi closed his eyes while he waited for Olli to pick up the phone. He knew he had no reason to doubt if Olli would, but somehow he felt calmer listening to the dial tone like that.

"Hi," Olli's voice finally said. Its tone wrapped Aleksi in something warm and soft, like a blanket.

"Hi Olli."

"I was just thinking about you."

Aleksi slid down further on the bed, revelling in the warmth and softness of the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well that's funny," Aleksi said, although speaking wasn’t an easy task with how much his lips were quivering (from smiling, but maybe also from something else). "Because I was just thinking about you. Hence I called."

"Glad you did. It's good to hear your voice."

Aleksi closed his eyes again and wished he knew a way to tell Olli just how much he loved hearing his voice as well; how he had missed its calming melody in the mornings as well as all the more impatient whimpers in the evenings; how much more quiet his life had been before they had let each other into their lives like this.

Trying hard to maintain a casual tone, Aleksi recalled the events of the past week.

"How was your week?" Aleksi was thankful for Olli being the one to continue the conversation, seeing Aleksi himself was but a few more seconds of expectant silence from starting to ramble on about how even a salmon fillet at his local supermarket had brought a smile to his face the other day without him noticing until Niko had pointed it out.

"An okay week, I'd say, overall. You?"

On the other end of the line, Olli suddenly moaned tiredly, probably stretching himself. Aleksi bit his lip and wondered if the man did it on purpose, just to test him.

"'Twas alright. Helped out Mikko and the boys with some studio stuff."

"Sounds cool."

"And I did some laundry too."

"Okay?" Aleksi chuckled.

"Yeah. Noticed my favourite grey hoodie's gone. D'you remember seeing it? I think you were the one using it last time."

"Ummmm..." Aleksi glanced down at himself, his grin widening. "I might be wearing it right now."

"Ha! I knew it!"

"I'm outraged, Aleksi," Olli sniffed, as if offended by this heartless betrayal. "Guess I'm gonna have to come down there to get it back."

"Yeah, I don't know, it must have ended up in my suitcase by accident." Cheeks full from the smile stuck on his lips, he put a hand inside the front pocket of said hoodie and snuggled to himself.

(If he did it just to imagine it was Olli cuddling up to him instead, who could've judged him for it?)

"Uh-huh? Guess you gotta."

Aleksi contemplated keeping any lovesick pleas to himself, until he remembered he'd no longer have to keep his heart so closed and protected.

Not from Olli.

"Like... I know you're away from home a lot during the year as it is, but... I always like it so much when you're here and I hope that... maybe this could be 'home' as well. One day."

The more seconds that passed waiting for Olli's reply, the more restless Aleksi grew under his blanket, almost shivering despite being tucked up to almost his chin.

"Yeah. I think it could be. One day," Olli said at last, his voice just barely louder than a whisper. "In fact... I quite like the sound of that."

Aleksi was prepared for a 'but' which never came. Instead, Olli dropped his next bomb, just in time for Aleksi to have blinked the tears from his eyes.

"So... what else are you wearing right now?"

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

(Not hate) okay so about that one controversial fic. I’m not gonna say anything bad about but I’m actually just genuinely curious why you decided to write something like that? Considering that there’s way less controversial things to write about, why did you decide to write that?

i think i answered something similar a while ago, but it got lost on my blog bc i am incapable of tagging things properly lol i can never find anything

i am a person that likes to be challenged. i like taking an unusual or controversial concept and exploring it (one of the reasons i invented and did kink!week, where i challenged myself to write abt unusual/odd/misunderstood kinks and tried to make it genuinely hot, even if i personally wasn't necessarily into it). truth is, i got bored with the fanfic community and the type of content that was preferred, and i was honestly bored with it for a while before writing this fic. no hate to fandom writers -- i think there is a place and an audience for everyone, but i craved a different type of content, both to read and to write. i felt like i was expected to throw out fics that are basically all a variation on the same concept, and i felt i'd go nuts if i read one more larissa x teacher!reader self-insert fic. i felt like the content was just used for self-insert gratification and porn with little to no plot or actual character exploration/development. and honestly, nothing wrong with that, but i was hungry for stories with substance, or even slightly more imaginative smut, if we're talking smut (and let's be real this is a very horny fandom lol).

so one morning i was scrolling through the Webbed Site, as one does, and i stumbled upon a larissa x wednesday fic by a person whose username i honestly don't even remember, but they were not a popular or a known creator. and i was like, what the hell, let's see if this is cringe and if it is i can be Outraged with my wife later. and while Some of it was cringe, i felt like there was actual substance to the story and that their dynamic made sense, even if there were bits that i disliked and the grammar was very poor. and i was like, wow, that actually felt refreshing to read, even with its many flaws. at least it was original.

so i started to wonder -> under which circumstances would these two characters actually make sense? how do i create a world in which that relationship would work? i love to challenge myself as a writer, and i thought about it until i came up with a narrative that could support my idea!

i am honestly surprised by how many people are appalled by the concept of ageing up a character? that has been around for as long as fandom exists. i didn't think it would be *that* controversial, and if you read my story i honestly don't think there is anything Outrageous in it. in fact, i think it's much, much tamer than MANY popular fandom works. i expected some backlash bc people are generally close-minded online and have very Specific ideas abt what is Moral and what is Not, but i didn't expect people to go *this* nuts lol. i am better prepared for next time, i guess

and even if my work was like. Immoral and Horrible, it's fiction. if you don't like it, don't read it. i feel we encounter a genuine problem when people try to control and police other people and the type of content that gets written and posted -- a lot like young people trying to erase "problematic tags" from ao3. i am not saying certain things aren't problematic, but there is a distinction to be made between fiction and real life. people are allowed to write about whatever they want to write about, and it doesn't make them criminals, murderers, pedophiles, or morally corrupt and evil.

i honestly think most people who have accused me of promoting pedophilia wouldn't recognise sexual abuse if it was happening before their eyes irl lol. and besides, i never said oh go fuck your former teacher, that's a great idea!!! (i know fandom people who have bragged abt doing that though lol) i have simply written a story about two characters that are both consenting adults, and you can take it or leave it.

i am, in fact, writing a new fic that does deal with pedophilia, ephebophilia to be precise with my terminology, sexual assault and cycles of abuse -- how and why they happen and whether they can be broken and how. it's a very personal story and i pull a lot from my own life experience with sexual abuse as a minor. it's, obviously, not a romance or a ship story, but it *is* set in the wednesday universe -- and i am SURE i will get another bout of "kill yourself" messages, to which i say, i don't give a shit. i think people who send that type of shit are sad and deranged -- and tbh, you can send me those day in and day out and i would still i post whatever the fuck i wanted. i got angry with all the ignorance and hate that i witnessed after i published "particular" and i now feel the need to write what people think they witnessed in my story.

all that being said, i am also a person that likes to poke at the status quo. my answer to "why" is "why not?" so you can take that as you will. i am not harming anybody and i don't see why i should be apologetic about writing a fic that i wanted to write.

i appreciate you asking a genuine question and not hiding behind anon! this is my genuine answer, and i hope it's somewhat satisfying -- if not, that's too bad bc it's the only one i've got.

[briamichellewrites]

15 - Bria’s Version

Bria was alone in her apartment when Mike stopped by. Nobody had heard anything from her in two days, so he came over to make sure she was okay. She answered the door looking like she had just woken up. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red. He wrapped her in his arms and held her. I love you. He didn’t know if something happened or if she was just going through an episode, but he was afraid of letting her be by herself.

They went inside and he closed the door behind them. She wiped her eyes, as they went into the living room and sat down. What’s wrong? She didn’t know. Her mind was beating her up and she couldn’t get the voices to stop. What did she mean? Was she hearing things? No, they were just the thoughts in her head. They were abusing her.

They were calling her fat. They were also telling her not to eat anything. Has she eaten anything? No. She couldn’t. Why not? Because the voices would beat her up for it. She tried eating some grapes but they attacked her. Did she throw up? No, she just stopped eating. She wasn’t fat, but she was at a very healthy weight. He was concerned about her not eating, so he called his mother to ask what he should do. She advised him to be there for her and listen to her.

He did just that. After hanging up, he let her talk and he assured her that he was not going to leave her. What the voices in her head were telling her wasn’t true. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about Borderline Personality Disorder, so he could help her. As did the band. They promised her that they would never give up on her.

He was internally so scared of losing her, but he tried to remain calm to avoid making her more upset. This was not something he was used to. He could imagine how scared she was, as well. It also had to be very new to her. He understood depression and anxiety, but not Borderline Personality Disorder.

It took a couple of hours, which felt like forever before she came out of her episode. She stopped crying and wiped her tears. He kissed her forehead, as she thanked him for not leaving her. Of course. Was she hungry? Yeah. Okay, he would make her something to eat. They got up and walked over to the kitchen. She sat down, as he went through her refrigerator to look for leftovers.

He found some leftover salmon pasta with tomato sauce and cheese. It looked good, so he heated it for her after putting some of it on a plate. Though she was probably starving from not eating for two days, he didn’t want to overwhelm her with food. Once it was hot, he put it in front of her with a fork. Thank you. Salmon was what she was craving. That’s what he thought she wanted since he remembered how much she loved it.

It tasted delicious. Her mood improved as she ate. Did she need to take her medications? What time was it? He checked his watch. It was three in the afternoon. No, not until at least five because they helped her sleep. Okay. He wanted her to go to bed early. Maybe she could take a bath to help relax her. She liked that idea.

After making sure she was okay, he kissed her cheek. I love you. She loved him, too.

Maybe these memories will someday fade Maybe I won’t flinch every time I hear your name I’m still picking up the pieces of the mess you made I know that someday won’t be today

Brad was on his way to the studio when he noticed her standing outside her car along the side of the road. He pulled over in front of her before getting out. She looked relieved to see him. What’s wrong? Her car broke down and she was waiting for a tow truck. What was wrong with her car? She had no idea. It just stopped working. She only had a very basic knowledge of how cars worked, so she was hoping he could tell her. He went into her car and popped open her hood.

He did a basic analysis but couldn’t find anything wrong with it. She would have to have a mechanic look at it. When the truck arrived, it hooked the car up using a chain. He helped her talk with the driver about the next step. She rode with him to the studio after getting the address and phone number of the mechanic from the tow driver.

He would help her call her insurance company to file a claim. She got the necessary information from the glove compartment before the tow truck showed up. Using the phone in the studio, he sat beside her in case she needed help talking to the agent. She never had problems with her car before, even though it was an older vehicle. It was a 1980 BMW M3. It was the only car she could afford at the time. Her social worker helped her buy it because she had no idea what she was doing.

She also needed a legal adult. After getting emancipated, she put the title and the insurance into her name. That meant she was one hundred percent responsible for the car and insurance. She kept up with the insurance payments every month and the maintenance. Since it was an older car, it was likely dead. Awesome. Thank you.

She hung up the phone. What did the agent say? Her car was covered. That meant she would be getting money back to pay for repairs or a new car. Until then, she could get a rental from the car company. Joe came in with Chester and Rob behind him. He joked about being late because some asshole broke down on the side of the road.

“Fuck you. That was me, you asshole.”

They laughed. What happened? She had no idea, though it looked like her car was dead. It just stopped working while she was driving. She was hoping the mechanic would tell her. The guys all got ready to start for the day, while she sat back and watched them. Despite the stress of her situation, she was in a good mood.

How was her play date with Misty? It was so much fun! She was the queen of her castle and she knew it. What did they do? They went outside for a while to use the bathroom and to get some exercise. She had a huge smile on her face. It was adorable. She liked sniffing at everything and doing whatever dogs did. They then came back inside and she took a nap on her dog bed. Then, Mike came home. That sounded like a fun time. It was.

Mike didn’t feel it necessary to tell the band what happened because it was over. It was one of many episodes she would have. She was in a good mood, so there was no need to bring it up. Misty was overjoyed when he returned home. Hi, human! Hi! He laughed, as he bent down to pet her. They went into the kitchen, where he checked her food and water bowls.

He refilled her water bowl before setting it back on the floor. Thank you! She was thirsty! It tasted good! She had spent the day playing and sleeping. Puppies like her needed beauty sleep to grow big and strong. Mike asked if she wanted to go for a -. He couldn’t even finish his sentence because she raced to the door. Yes, she did. Mike couldn’t help himself. This was worth coming home to. He stood up and went over to get her leash.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

[97-liners]

fwb!woozi x fem!reader

words: 10k

genres/themes: friends with benefits, college au, smut (minors do not interact!), fluff, angst, romance, it’s got a little bit of everything 

warnings: typical college parties (alcohol), explicit sexual content (choking, oral sex, unprotected sex, mentions of light bondage, mentions of woozi as a hard dom, most of the sex is pretty vague though)

In which there’s two things you knew when you were entering this arrangement. One: Jihoon doesn’t like relationships. Two: You’re a damn fucking fool for Lee Jihoon.

The two of you are in a 24-hour diner. It’s long after midnight, but you’re always a little hungry after getting your guts rearranged, and Jihoon is deceptively kinky, so you’re really craving the comfort of salt and carbs tonight.

“I mean, if it’s an agreement that we sign, isn’t it a contract?” You pop another fry into your mouth.

Jihoon sighs. “Calling it a contract feels too serious. I want this to stay casual. That way, everything is easy and nobody gets hurt.”

He slides the napkin across the table to you and sets the ballpoint pen down next to it. Glancing down, you read the words written on the thin brown paper as you chew.

1. kissing okay - but can’t be soft or excessive 2. no staying the night 3. no pillow talk or cuddling 4. don’t acknowledge the arrangement in public 5. either party can end things at any time

And then there’s the last unspoken one, obvious enough that it doesn’t even need to be discussed. Don’t fall in love.

title and soundtrack: lowkey - niki

.

.

.

The first time is an accident, sort of. You’re at a Halloween party that he’s also at, dressed in whatever slutty outfit you had gotten to match your friends’ equally slutty outfits this year, drunk. (Not enough to be sloppy, just enough to fall into bed with Jihoon at the end of the night and still have the wherewithal to call a lyft home after.)

The second time is less of an accident. The dance team is throwing a party at Soonyoung’s apartment and you spot Jihoon in the corner, arms crossed, glowering at everybody. Maybe it’s serendipity, but it sure is hell of a coincidence. You’re stressed about your upcoming exams, he’s pissed about his roommate hosting a party without telling him first, and the two of you relieve your frustrations with sex while the party continues on the other side of his bedroom door, and nobody notices that the two of you are missing for most of the party.

And then it happens again, and again, until it’s not a random hookup anymore. It becomes a thing, and Jihoon hates things. 

“I don’t want things to get messy,” he tells you, what feels like the exact second that the post-orgasmic glow wears off. You’re lying on your stomach, chin cushioned on your forearms that you have crossed in front of you, watching Jihoon as he stares blankly up at the ceiling with his arms at his side like he’s a vampire in a coffin. “But I like what we have going on.”

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement and swallow down a yawn. His bed is so comfortable. You should ask him where he got his sheets from, you think to yourself. “I’m down to keep doing this, if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. We can work things out another time, though,” he responds. “Do you need me to call you a lyft?”

You burst out into laughter. You can’t help it— Jihoon is blunt, brusque in a way that makes your neurons light up, like a puzzle you’re on the verge of solving. He makes you want to test your limits with him. To push when he pushes and pull when he pulls, take him apart just to see the machinery that makes him tick. 

“Alright, alright, Jihoon, I’m heading out,” you grin, rolling out of bed in search of your clothes that are scattered across his bedroom floor. 

That’s Friday night. And then, despite your overlapping friend circles and shared university campus, you don’t see him again until the next Saturday, when you bump into him at a frat party. You’re there to drink away your regularly-scheduled monthly emotional breakdown about your chosen major and projected career path (biology, pre-med, because your high school guidance counselor told you it’d be a good idea), and he’s there because Soonyoung had dragged him there (and promptly abandoned him to do keg stands in a corner). 

You’re flirting with some Tall Frat Dude with broad shoulders and way too many teeth when Jihoon catches your eye from across the room. He’s wearing a button-up with the first two buttons undone, a tantalizing peek at the smooth pale skin underneath, and his sleeves are rolled up. He flicks his eyes towards Soonyoung, way too drunk to be attempting a keg stand in his state, and you instantly understand what he’s wordlessly communicating. His apartment is empty right now, and will be empty for the rest of the night. 

“Sorry,” you tell Tall Frat Dude, still watching Jihoon, “gotta go. Just saw a friend.”

And then from there, it all unfolds exactly the same way it has the past few times. The five minute walk back to Jihoon’s place is silent, but as soon as the door closes behind you, he has you pressed against the door, arms caging you in on either side, thigh between your legs, lips on yours, hot, slick, needy. 

(He eats you out on the kitchen table, pushes Soonyoung’s discarded homework onto the floor, holds your hips down while he laves his tongue over you, laughs against your skin when you scream. After that, you ride him on the couch until he gets impatient and bends you over the armrest, holding both your hands behind your back and tipping you forward so your face is pressed against the cushions to muffle your sobs. Jihoon is relentless, and he fucks you until you can barely walk in a straight line afterwards.)

Like the control freak he is, he writes up a set of rules for both of you to agree to. 

“Not a contract,” he says, glancing up from the napkin that he’s writing it on. The two of you are in a 24-hour diner. It’s long after midnight, but you’re always a little hungry after getting your guts rearranged, and Jihoon is deceptively kinky, so you’re really craving the comfort of salt and carbs tonight. 

“I mean, if it’s an agreement that we sign, isn’t it a contract?” You pop another fry into your mouth.

Jihoon sighs. “Calling it a contract feels too serious. I want this to stay casual. That way, everything is easy and nobody gets hurt.”

He slides the napkin across the table to you and sets the ballpoint pen down next to it. Glancing down, you read the words written on the thin brown paper as you chew. 

kissing okay - but can’t be soft or excessive

no staying the night

no pillow talk or cuddling

don’t acknowledge the arrangement in public

either party can end things at any time

And then there’s the last unspoken one, obvious enough that it doesn’t even need to be discussed. Don’t fall in love.

“Looks reasonable enough,” you shrug. You take the pen and sign your name at the bottom, only ripping the thin paper slightly. In a minute there is time / For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse, a line of poetry by T. S. Eliot comes to mind as you accidentally trail the pen off the edge of the napkin and leave a tiny smear of ink on the formica beneath. Jihoon slides the napkin back to his side of the table and signs his name too. 

“There,” he says, taking a picture with his phone. “Easy.” From beside your elbow, your phone screen lights up with the notification from Jihoon, a text message containing a picture of the not-contract. “For your records,” he says.

“Sure.” You put another fry in your mouth and chew, trying to ignore the way your other hunger that gnaws at you, the hunger that asks for more of Jihoon, more of his fake scowls and crossed arms, more brusque one-liners, more embarassed flushes, more touches and sighs and gasps. You’re insatiable, you realize, and here Jihoon is, putting you on a diet. 

.

.

.

“Do you ever just want someone to wrap their hands around your neck and call you mean names?”

Jihoon stops eating and looks up at you with a perfectly neutral expression.

You’re sharing a table with him at the dining hall closest to the gym. Jihoon is there to use up his meal swipes and load up on a plate of post-workout chicken breast, and you’re “studying” for your upcoming chemistry exam. 

You hadn’t actually been expecting to see Jihoon today. But, your roommate is having her group members over to work on a project, and if you spend another hour in the library you think you’ll go crazy, so here you are, settling in for a long afternoon in the dining hall when you see Jihoon walk in. He had tried to ignore you at first, but you just grinned and called his name so obnoxiously that he ended up trotting over to your table with an embarrassed expression on his face anyway.

“No,” Jihoon says in response to your initial question. He eats another piece of chicken.

“Oh. Just me, then,” you shrug, turning back toward your textbook, looking at the figures of carbon-13 NMR interpretations but not actually absorbing any information. From the corner of your eye, you see Jihoon swallow, hard, his adam’s apple bobbing down and up.

You’re not looking at him, but you can practically feel him thinking. He thinks so loudly, you re-read the same paragraph about benzene substitutions three times before you notice and turn the page.

Plate finally empty, Jihoon stands up and gathers his empty dishes before slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. He stands there for a moment. 

“Soonyoung has dance practice at 7,” he says, and then he turns and walks away, leaving you to grin at your textbook in silent victory, all thoughts of studying forgotten. 

•  •  •

Later on at their apartment while you’re bouncing on his cock, you almost think that Jihoon forgot the entire exchange in the dining hall. In his defense, he doesn’t have a bad memory, but you also wouldn’t put it past him to just ignore your extremely un-subtle approach.

That is, until he pulls you down flush against his pelvis while you’re riding him, his hands firm against your hips, thumbs digging into the divot above your hip bone. You gasp quietly at the sudden interruption, but then he flips you underneath him with enough force to make the university housing-issued bed frame creak in protest.

And then his hand is around your throat, his thumb pressing into your pulse and curving under your jaw, and you squeak, eyes wide.

Jihoon applies light pressure, watching you carefully as he tests the waters. It’s not enough to actually cut off any blood flow or choke you, but the firm grip of his hand around your neck, the knowledge that he has you pinned like a butterfly on a corkboard, is enough to have you clenching around his cock in desperation. 

And then he starts moving, and you think you might die on the spot. You scrabble uselessly at the bedsheets, fingers searching for purchase against the tightly drawn cotton, as he drives into you harshly with a relentless pace. “Fuck,” he groans, eyebrows pinching in concentration as he fucks you, “look at you, such a filthy slut, hm?”

You respond with a punched-out sob, incomprehensibly forming words with your mouth that don’t quite make it out of your throat. Yes, fuck, Jihoon, oh fuck, ah, yes yes please. You’re dizzy and you feel like you’re floating, static crackling at your fingertips.

The pads of Jihoon’s fingers prod at your lower lip and you automatically open your mouth, let him shove his fingers against your tongue and hold your jaw open. “So good for me,” he pushes forward, watching intently as you gag around him, eyes filling with tears. Your vision is blurry when he spits, “filthy girl, huh? My little cockslut,” and then you cum so hard, the entire world disappears for a moment. You see white, hear ringing, and then when you come back down to earth, you vaguely register the sharp overstimulation of Jihoon thrusting sloppily, his face pressed into the pillow near the crook of your neck. You’re digging into his back with your fingers, you realize, shuddering in his arms, making high choked-off keens from the back of your throat.

Jihoon mouths at your shoulder, groaning quietly, his cock throbbing as he fills you with his cum. He pulls out of you and lifts himself on one arm, but you’re still crying, hot tears rolling down the side of your face. You can’t seem to grasp on to any thoughts for long enough to think, and then Jihoon’s hand is on your cheek, his thumb rubbing slow, gentle swipes against your skin.

“I got you,” he says quietly. “Shh, I got you.” The low sound of his voice brings you back to earth, the feeling of cotton bedsheets under your palms real and solid. Jihoon leans down and kisses you, soft and slow, like he’s tasting you.

And you kiss him back, like holding on to a lifeline. You lie there with him for what feels like forever, searching hands moving on bare skin, kissing each other. 

.

.

.

The only reason you know Jihoon in the first place is because you had dated his randomly assigned freshman year roommate for about a month before the two of you had the nastiest breakup of all time. 

Despite moving in similar circles and running into each other at parties with unnerving frequency, you’re not actually that familiar with his friends. Part of you thinks that maybe that’s why Jihoon is so okay with hooking up with you, because you’re pretty much just another rando that he never has to acknowledge outside of the bedroom. 

You know who Soonyoung, his roommate, is, of course, because everybody at this school knows who Soonyoung is, and a big portion of the student populace at rival schools do too. At least, they know of the viral video of him getting drunk at a frat party and running through a closed door, or that video someone leaked of him going crazy and crowd surfing (and getting dropped) after the dance team won a competition, or that time he delivered an English 1101 presentation on Wuthering Heights in the form of an autotuned rap that he then uploaded to Soundcloud and played in the quad at midday.

Regardless, you know who Soonyoung is, but you don’t really know him. Which is why you’re surprised to see him in the kitchen when you’re leaving Jihoon’s bedroom at 2pm on a Thursday, right before your statistics lecture. You don’t remember hearing the front door closing, so he must have been in the apartment the whole time you were here. And there’s no way he didn’t hear some things, you realize belatedly.

(Jihoon’s face between your legs, nipping and biting at your inner thighs, his hot breath fanning across your soaked cunt, waiting for you to beg. Him, proceeding to edge you for what feels like hours, and then when you finally do cum, you sob at the white-hot orgasm that lights your nerves, seizes every muscle in your body.)

When Soonyoung sees you leaving Jihoon’s room, he looks entirely too excited. He smiles at you harder than you’ve seen anybody smile at anything in your life. “Oh, hi! You’re the girl who’s been fucking my roommate!”

“Oh yeah,” you shift on your feet, adjusting your backpack straps on your shoulder. You’re wearing Jihoon’s sweatpants because you have an organic chemistry lab that you didn’t prep for tonight, and you don’t have enough time to grab lab-appropriate pants from your place. You didn’t think twice about asking to borrow a pair of pants just a few minutes ago, but now you’re hyper-conscious of the fact that you’re wearing Jihoon’s clothes. “I didn’t know you’d be here right now. Sorry about that.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Oh, I don’t care. I have headphones. I’m not a perv, I can listen to music.”

“Okay,” you giggle, somewhat relieved. 

“Anyways.” Soonyoung picks up the blender on the kitchen counter and starts to pour his smoothie into a water bottle definitely not meant for a liquid of that viscosity. “Weren’t we in the same English 1101 class freshman year?”

You grin at him. “Swuthering Heights, your 10-minute mixtape about the Brontë sisters’ satirization of Victorian morality? Yeah, I was in that class. Gave a PowerPoint presentation like a chump, though.”

“You remember my Emily Brontë rap! Hell yeah!” 

“Of course I did. I think about it all the time in my Victorian poetry class.”

“Oh!” Soonyoung’s eyes grow round and his mouth falls into a little O-shape in surprise. “My friend Wonwoo is also an English major! Do you know him?”

You blink at Soonyoung. “Oh, no, I'm just taking Victorian poetry as an elective. I’m not an English major, I’m actually pre-med.” You think about your battered copy of the poetical works of Lord Tennyson sandwiched between your lab manuals in your backpack, the blue ballpoint pen annotations spiderwebbing the margins. I am half-sick of shadows / said The Lady of Shalott. The line of poetry comes unbidden to the forefront of your mind. 

“Cool, multidisciplinary,” Soonyoung says, unfazed. “Can't believe Jihoon’s been keeping you all to himself. You should hang with us sometime! I bet our friends will like you.”

“Uh. I don’t know if Jihoon would be okay with that.”

“Fuck Jihoon,” Soonyoung replies cheerfully, his eyes curving up into a a smile. “I mean, I know you already are, but fuck what he thinks. He’s lame and emotionally constipated. Jihoon is like the old dude in Up, but before he learned to let loose or whatever. Or like, that angry little dude in Snow White.”

You squint at him. “Do you mean Grumpy, the dwarf? I’m barely keeping up, Soonyoung, what are you even talking about?” You’re laughing now, evidently loud enough to attract Jihoon’s attention through his closed bedroom door, because he appears a moment later, his eyes narrowed in irritation when Soonyoung makes a single loud snorting sound.

“You’re annoying,” Jihoon says to Soonyoung (who just shrugs it off, smile not faltering at all). He turns to you. “Didn’t you say you had class?”

You check the time on your phone and sigh. If you leave right now, you’ll only be three minutes late for class, and statistics is a large enough lecture that the professor never takes attendance. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, opening the door to the apartment. “Bye, Jihoon. Nice meeting you, Soonyoung.”

“I’ll text you,” you hear Soonyoung call out as the door swings shut behind you.

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.

.

Soonyoung Kwon: party tonight!!!!!!!! u free??? come over at 10 if yes 🐯🎉🐯🎉🐯

You: sure. 14th street apartments?

Soonyoung Kwon: yee 😎 apt 1407, same building as me n jihoon but two floors up ⬆️ 

Soonyoung Kwon: it’s wonwoo n jun’s apartment!!!!! 

Soonyoung Kwon: don’t get freaked out by the phallic images on the walls tho 😥, jun’s just like that but i promise we’re good ppl 👍👍👍👍 

Soonyoung had described it as a party, but it’s more like a Dance Team and Friends gathering. You see Minghao and Mingyu hanging around in a corner along with Jihoon, Chan is taking shots (loudly) with some other freshmen, and Junhui and his roommate are in the corner petting the cat that they’re definitely not allowed to keep in university housing. There’s some other people you don’t recognize, though, clustered around a couch that Soonyoung (over-enthusiastically) waves you over to. 

“These are the geezers, Jeonghan and Seungcheol,” he says, pointing to the two in question. 

Seungcheol, a buff dude wearing a sleeveless tee, rolls his eyes. “Stop calling us geezers, we’re literally one year older than you.”

“Seniors, geezers, same thing,” Soonyoung waves his hands and spills a few drops of his vodka soda over the top lip of the red solo cup he’s holding.

Jeonghan turns to you and looks you up and down, his delicate features shifting into a look of appraisal, as if he’s evaluating you. “You’re pre-med, right? I think I was your TA for freshman systems biology.” 

“Yeah,” you answer, slightly unnerved by the way he’s watching you. 

“Hmm.” Jeonghan taps the tips of his fingers along the side of his cup. “Are you single?”

You nearly choke on air at the sudden question. “Huh?”

“Are you currently exclusively dating someone,” Jeonghan clarifies, as if you didn’t understand the meaning of the word single. 

“Um.” Reflexively, you look back over your shoulder to glance at Jihoon, who’s currently scowling and chewing Mingyu out for something while Minghao laughs. You turn your head back to the small group in front of you and land on Soonyoung, who makes eye contact with you and shrugs. Then, you look back to Jeonghan, who waits patiently for your response. “Yes?”

“Perfect,” Jeonghan says, the corners of his lips curling up in satisfaction. Seungcheol sighs heavily. “Okay,” Jeonghan says, “I’m going to set you up with a friend.”

“Wait,” you laugh, “don’t I get a say?”

“No,” Jeonghan replies without a second of hesitation, “I’m going to set you up with a friend of ours who is miserably single.”

Seungcheol leans in and with a conspiratorial stage whisper, informs you, “you can say no if you don’t want to, but it would be a pretty big favor.”

You’re grinning, though, so Jeonghan takes that as initiative to proceed with his plan. “Hey,” he calls out over the music, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Wonwoo! Stop reciting poetry to the cat and come here!”

From across the room, Junhui’s roommate whips his head around and frowns at Jeonghan. Seungcheol raises his eyebrows and waves a single hand up and down, beckoning him over. The cat remains unaffected, despite the music and shouting and sudden interruption of the petting. In fact, it just rolls over on its side to give Junhui more access to its chubby neck. 

Junhui’s roommate, sighs and makes his way over to where you, Soonyoung, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol are standing. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan chirps brightly. “Come on, Seungcheol, Soonyoung, let’s go get more drinks,” he laughs, bright like a bell, before unceremoniously absconding.

Junhui’s roommate turns to you. He’s handsome in a conventionally attractive hunky way and wears wire-rimmed glasses that make him look cold and intimidating, but you know you’ve also seen him around the English building following one of the Victorian lit professors around like a puppy before. 

“Hey.” You perch on the edge of the arm of the sofa, taking the place that Jeonghan had just vacated. “Wonwoo, right?”

“Yeah.” He looks around, mildly confused. “Sorry about my friends. Um. And you’re Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, surprised he knows your name. “Yeah. Have we met before?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t think so, but Jihoon has mentioned you a bit before.”

“Oh?” Now you’re genuinely surprised, because you had half-expected Jihoon to keep you tucked away like some kind of dirty secret.

“Yeah, he said that you’re smart and nice.”

Smart and nice. Possibly the two most generic compliments a human being could ever give, but the thought that Jihoon thinks enough about you to tell someone else that you’re smart and nice, that he thinks you’re smart and nice in the first place, that you inhabit a spot in his brain beside just a booty call and occasional acquaintance… it feels like a sudden rush of dopamine right into your brain. A rubik’s cube in your mind, and three of the faces are complete. 

“Hey Wonwoo,” you grin, “wanna get a drink?” It’s a university housing apartment unit, so the tiny kitchen connected to the main living space is cluttered with bottles and cups and napkins and various half-empty snack bags. “Didn’t you take Victorian poetry last semester? I see you in the English building with Professor Bashiri sometimes.”

So you end up in the kitchen with Wonwoo, leaning against the counter, mixing cocktails and taking shots while talking about the paper he’s preparing with his advisor for an upcoming conference. He had struck you initially as the quiet, bland, handsome type, but with just the right prodding, you have him rambling to you in that deep voice of his, a half-empty solo cup held out in front of him as he gestures. You listen in genuine interest as Wonwoo tells you about his manuscript, about Edward FitzGerald’s nineteenth century translations of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam veering into original poetry and the dozens of subsequent translations attempting to pick apart the patchwork boundaries of Victorian orientalism and true translation of the original text.

(“Loaf of bread, flask of wine, book of verse, right?” You vaguely remember studying one of the quatrains at the start of the semester. You know you’re not even quoting the verse correctly, and you’re acutely aware of how painfully tacky it is to recite poetry while at a college party holding a plastic cup with half a shot of tequila at the bottom, but Wonwoo nods so enthusiastically that his glasses slide half a centimeter down his perfect nose, and you don’t feel quite as cringy anymore.)

Wonwoo is telling you about studying abroad in London last summer when you notice movement by the entryway of the apartment. The door opens, letting in a flash of the stale light from the hallway, and then as it swings shut, you see a flicker of Jihoon’s form passing between the door and doorframe.

“Hold on,” you set your cup down, interrupting Wonwoo, “I gotta go check on a friend.”

Wonwoo says something to you, but you’re too distracted to really pay attention to him. You follow Jihoon out into the hallway. As soon as the door closes behind you, silence settles over the air like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the party on the other side of the wall. 

“Hey, leaving so early?” You catch up to Jihoon with a few hurried steps. 

Jihoon glances over at you. “Weren’t you just having fun at the party?”

You shrug. Jihoon takes the stairs down two floors, back to where he and Soonyoung live, and you stick by his side and follow him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, feel free to continue having fun.” Jihoon glances at you through the corner of his vision as you trail after him. “Wonwoo is nice.”

“Why are you leaving?” You nearly trip as you round one of the landings between floors. When you look down, you realize the shoelaces of one of your sneakers is undone, so you crouch down on one knee, not minding the way your short skirt rides up in the empty stairwell, and you tie your shoe.

Miraculously, Jihoon pauses with one foot on the landing and one foot on the next step, and waits for you to finish tying your shoe before continuing to go down the stairs. He doesn’t answer your question, but instead responds with a curt “you can come over if you want. I’ll text Soonyoung to check first before coming home.” 

It’s an implicit offer of sex, that much is clear. Part of you is disappointed for some reason, but the rest of you is just glad that he isn’t ditching you completely. It’s a strange feeling. 

For a moment, you wish you had someone you could talk to about this whole arrangement. Rule number four is that nobody else is supposed to know that you’ve been sleeping with Jihoon, but the two of you have broken the first rule (no soft kissing) so much now that you’re not sure if they can be considered hard rules anymore, or just limp suggestions. 

Yeah, sex is great, you’d tell your hypothetical confidant, but have you ever watched Jihoon work, completely focused and in the zone? Have you ever made Jihoon laugh with his full body, watched him scream-laughing until he’s clutching his sides, on his knees, hitting you weakly with no strength behind the swing? Sex is great, but have you ever just kissed Jihoon? Melted into the heat of his body, tasted the salt on his skin? Yeah, sex is great. But have you ever met Jihoon?

• • •

“It’s snowing outside,” Jihoon says, peering out from between the blinds, afterwards. It’s after, now.

(After he pushes you against the door and sucks bruises on your throat, pulling at the hem of your shirt and putting his hands on every inch of your body, pushing up your skirt around your waist and grinding his thigh between your legs until you’re whimpering against his lips, pushing back, desperate for something. And when you get to his bed, he closes his hand around your wrists and holds them over your head, tells you to keep them there, to be a good girl. 

Jihoon binds your wrists to the bed frame above your head with a long silky-soft scarf, carefully winding the fabric so it sits snugly and doesn’t rub against your skin, all the while praising you and calling you his angel, his baby girl. He lavishes praise on you and eats you out, fucks you open on his fingers while he swirls his tongue over and sucks your clit and coaxes you through three orgasms, until you’re incoherent from the overstimulation and pull your hips away, jerking out of Jihoon’s iron grip on your thighs, elbow clanging loudly and painfully against the bedframe as you try to pull out of your bounds.

And then, as if to balance out the tenderness with which he had tied you to his bed frame, he fucks your mouth until your jaw feels like it’s about to seize up and you can barely see through the mess of tears clinging to your eyelashes and running down the sides of your face. He doesn’t warn you before he’s cumming down your throat, treating you with roughly the same amount of care that he would a cocksleeve.)

Afterwards, Jihoon tells you that it’s snowing outside, and you join him and lean over his desk to look out the window. True to his word, the entire world is covered in a thin powdered sugar dusting of white. It barely counts as snowfall— the snowflakes melt almost as soon as they hit the ground. In a few hours, the lacy white layer on the ground will become brown slush, and then tomorrow the roads will be plowed and salted, bone dry, dusty, and caustic. But right now, the view outside his bedroom window is like looking into a snowglobe.

“Huh,” you look around at the sparse flicker of falling snowflakes passing under the streetlamps. “It’s early for snow this year.” Then you groan, remembering what the approaching winter signifies. “Fuck, finals are soon, aren’t they?”

There’s another pause where Jihoon stares out the window, not responding to you. You purse your lips and look around, searching for your coat, damning your earlier self for deciding to come to Soonyoung’s party dressed in a cute skirt rather than a full snowsuit. 

“You can stay, if you want.”

You turn back to look at Jihoon, who awkwardly avoids eye contact with you. “Um. Me?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon nods. “Unless you want to walk back to your place in the snow. My bed is big enough for two people. Here,” he turns to the bathroom, “let me get you a toothbrush.”

•  •  •

It feels domestic. Cozy. Comfortable. You even have your own toothbrush now. But the warmth is terrible— it burns at your ribs with the knowledge that this is all stolen, snatches of a simulacrum of love.

Jihoon broke another rule, you notice.

.

.

.

“Mina, I need legal advice,” you interrupt your roommate’s reading, barging into her room with an apology milkshake from the student center food court. She looks up from her book, a frown on her face just as you set the milkshake down next to her.

“I’m lactose intolerant,” she says simply, putting down her reading and picking up the milkshake anyway. “And I’m not certified to give legal advice by any governing bodies.”

“Not yet,” you correct her. “Look at this.” You show her your phone, where you have the picture of Jihoon’s napkin contract pulled up. 

Her eyebrows draw together as she squints at the scrawled text. “Kissing okay, but can’t be soft or excessive,” she reads out, “no staying the night, no pillow talk or cuddling, don’t acknowledge the arrangement in public, either party can end things at any time.” She looks up. “That’s your signature. Who’s the other signature?”

“That’s irrelevant,” you take your phone back. “Anyways, thoughts?”

“I think the identity of the other person is actually incredibly relevant, and I don’t think this counts as legal advice,” Mina replies. She takes a slurp of her milkshake. 

“So.” You sit down on the edge of her bed. “Do you think I’m okay to go on dates with other people?”

“I feel like that’s a context-driven question that I don’t have the context for,” she says. There’s an extremely dubious expression on her face, though. 

You sigh. “I just need the validation that it’s okay for me to go on a date.”

“With who?”

“An English major,” you respond. When that dubious expression doesn’t lift from Mina’s face, you clarify. “Do you know Wonwoo Jeon?”

“Ah,” Mina nods. “Sad poetry boy.”

You blink at her. “What?” You shake your head, “anyways, thoughts?”

“I literally don’t know what to tell you.” You can tell she’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes at you, but because she’s nice, her face remains perfectly smooth and placid. “But knowing you, I think your hesitance to go on a date with sad poetry boy has more to do with your feelings than with your legal obligations.”

You frown at her, grimacing like you just tasted something foul. She’s right, of course, but you don’t like being seen through so easily. Mina raises her eyebrows at you. 

“Fine,” you huff, “so maybe I’m sleeping with someone who wants to do the whole no-strings-attached thing. And maybe I like him.”

Mina raises her eyebrows at you again, and you wonder if she’s been working out her forehead. 

“I know,” you say, even though her expression is inscrutable and you don’t know what she’s trying to communicate through her eyes. “But I just need validation. And, my bad decisions are mine to make.”

“I guess,” she sighs. “Whatever. Go for it. Go on your date, or whatever.” She glances up at you as she turns back toward her desk. “But dating other people isn’t going to fix your issues with the person you’re fucking.”

Mina’s being reasonable, as she always is. “That’s a problem for future me,” you tell her.

“I think it’s a problem for current you, right now,” she points out, correctly. “And I think you need to break it off with the person you’re fucking before you get hurt even more. You know it’s not going to go anywhere, but the longer you stay in the relationship, the more invested you’re going to get. Whoever said you could have sex without developing feelings is wrong. There’s way too many endorphins and hormones involved for that to be completely true.”

“Okay,” you say, because she’s right, as usual, but you’re still not completely convinced. “Anyways, if you know any single dudes who are in touch with their emotions and like to read victorian literature, let me know.”

Your roommate lets out a sharp bark of sardonic laughter. She immediately whips her head around and narrows her eyes at you. “I know that’s not your type,” she scowls. “I’m not stupid.”

“I have feelings, I read books,” you say, shrugging. “It’s gotta be at least close to my type.”

“Your type is assholes,” Mina sniffs. 

“Hey, that’s not true!” You’re about to argue, but then you reconsider, because it is true. 

“I’ll introduce you if I think of someone who fits the bill,” she says, turning back to her reading. You can practically sense her rolling her eyes as soon as her head is turned away from you. “But I think you’re being ridiculous.”

•  •  •

You may be struggling through all your classes, failing quizzes left and right, but you’re nothing if not a believer of science. The scientific merit of your endeavors is questionable at best, but it still counts, at least in your head it does.

Trial one: your date with Wonwoo is pleasant, but unremarkable. The two of you go out for lunch at one of the nicer (read: the chairs aren’t peeling) cafes on campus, then spend the afternoon walking through the art museum in the city. He’s pleasant and very smart, and you enjoy your conversations with him. At the end of the night, Wonwoo promises to lend you his copy of Middlemarch.

Result: you’re still not over Jihoon. You find yourself itching to snap pictures of interesting paintings you see and text them to him, curious for his thoughts. Halfway through the date, you see a postmodernist painting that’s all black, a panel stitched together with twisted scraps of metal and thick yarn and torn paper and broken glass, and you finally break and take a picture to show to Jihoon. 

Trial two: you ask Jeonghan to find you another date, because he had so willingly played matchmaker the first time around. Jeonghan laughs in your face and then forces you to take him on a date. You pay for dinner, and the two of you bicker all night long. A particularly heated argument on the edibility of pokemon nearly drives you to frustrated tears. At the end of the night, Jeonghan tells you he had a good time, and all you can do is stare at him incredulously, because you know you definitely didn’t hallucinate the experience of yelling about how farfetch’d comes pre-seasoned. 

Result: unsurprisingly, you’re still not over Jihoon. You text him to tell him how annoying Jeonghan is, and he commiserates with you, and the two of you spend an hour complaining together.

Trial three: Jeonghan tells you to go pick up his coffee order for him when you go to his office hours for organic chemistry II. You don’t really have a reason to listen to anything he says, since there’s two other TAs for your section, but you go get his coffee order anyway. The moment you step into the coffee shop, you’re distracted by how cute (and vaguely familiar) the barista is, with his pouty lips that curl up at the corners and eyes that curve into half-moons when he smiles. Joshua, you read off his nametag. 

Joshua-cute-barista laughs when you tell him you’re here to pick up Jeonghan’s coffee, and when you ask him where you know him from, he tells you that he’s in your statistics lecture and usually sits two rows behind you. You manage to wrangle Joshua-cute-barista into a study date for the upcoming final project, and when you leave the coffee shop, you notice his number written on a cardboard cup sleeve with a little heart drawn in. 

And you think: maybe Jeonghan isn’t so bad after all. 

.

.

.

Jihoon might not like relationships, but you’re not the same. You want, with your body, with your lips, with each lungful of Jihoon’s scent. In the quiet moments of the night, you wonder what it would be like to hold his hand. To be his, and for him to be yours, and for your feelings for him not to be a secret like it’s something shameful and dirty. You soundlessly mouth the word boyfriend, tasting it, wanting nothing more than to put a sound behind the motion. 

It was only a matter of time before you got tired of this, you think. 

This is the part where you call a ride and go home: after you’ve collected your scattered clothing off his bedroom floor, put yourself back together like you weren’t just tangled in bed with him, lips on his. But instead of leaving, you hesitate, perched on the edge of Jihoon’s bed. Jihoon looks up from his phone expectantly when you don’t move, and you open your mouth and tell him.

“We should stop seeing each other.” 

You look away, avoiding eye contact, but you can still feel Jihoon’s eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. 

“What’s wrong,” Jihoon asks, like it’s a problem he can solve. 

“Nothing,” your fingers worry at the edge of Jihoon’s blanket, “I just think we should stop having sex.”

Jihoon frowns. “Is it not good?”

“No, no,” you’re quick to amend, “it’s good. You’re good, Jihoon, great. Incredible. It’s just…” you chew on the inside of your cheek, trying not to squirm under the weight of Jihoon’s eyes, trying to ignore the way his shoulders tense, “I’m kind of. Seeing someone.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay,” Jihoon says.

Something in you makes you keep talking, like a bicycle with the brakes cut out, words coming out of your mouth. “There’s this guy in my statistics class, Joshua, and we’ve been talking. He’s really sweet, and I think he really likes me. I mean, he’s really good to me, and he asked me on a date, and we’re not really exclusive or anything yet, but I just feel like—“

“Okay,” Jihoon says, interrupting you. “I get it. It’s fine.”

Sinking disappointment, hot, awful, heavy. “Fuck,” you breathe, barely a whisper, pinching at the bridge of your nose. You’re not good at this, you really aren’t. “Just like that? You’re not going to put up a fight?”

“The rules,” Jihoon reminds you. “You’re allowed to end things at any time, remember?”

“Are we really going to pretend that those rules mean anything? Come on,” you snap, looking up at him, “Jihoon, we both know those rules were bullshit.”

“Neither of us was supposed to get hurt.” Jihoon looks down at his dark phone screen, fingers brushing against the glass blankly. “That was the point.”

“That was the point,” you repeat. “But even if we followed the rules to the tee, you know it wouldn’t have worked, right?” 

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look back up at you. 

“Jihoon.” You ball up your hands in your lap, willing him to lift his head and just look at you, but he doesn’t. “Even if you can stay cool and distant, you have to have known that it’s not the same for me. Rules or not, you’d always be able to hurt me anyway, because it’s you.” Your voice drops, and in a quiet murmur, more for yourself than anything, you ask again, “Jihoon, you know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, almost defiant, he throws back a question of his own. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You know the answer to this question. It’s an easy one, and it should be easy for you to say. It’s an answer you should have said ages ago. But instead, the words that come out of your mouth are this:

“I want to end this,” you tell him, voice steady with false certainty.

You search his face for a hint of a reaction. Anger, disappointment, sadness, anything, but all you see is a careful mask of indifference. You know he’s pretending, you can tell, but it hurts just as much. 

It hurts, knowing that he’s feeling something, but he still won’t let you see, even as you’re leaving his bed for the last time. It hurts. 

“Fine.” 

You stand abruptly, turning away so he doesn’t see the way your face crumples. “I’ll see you around, Jihoon,” you say quietly, and then you leave and you don’t look back, because you know that the second you look back, you won’t be able to keep going forward.

.

.

.

Your date with Joshua goes terribly.

Through no fault of his own, though. You’re miserable and irritable, and you can barely manage to respond to his questions in full sentences. Joshua is sweet. He’s an open book, and he smiles at you with adoration painted in his eyes. He’s perfect, but he’s not Jihoon. 

Your last encounter with Jihoon wasn’t a breakup. The entire arrangement had been carefully engineered so that the end wouldn’t be a breakup, and in the absence of your lingering feelings, it would have worked. But, fuck, it sure does feels like a breakup, you think.

.

.

.

You miss Jihoon. The thought of calling him, asking for sex and falling back into old patterns, crosses your mind more than once. It takes all your self-discipline not to fold under the tantalizing prospect of seeing him again, even if it’s purely transactional.

Keats was right, you think, an over-dramatic and overplayed sentiment that you suddenly can’t get out of your mind. Maybe you’re going crazy, bringing up Victorian poets in your head like this. You think you might move to the countryside and waste away in a room by yourself, writing gothic literature until you die. You hadn’t realized that you had gotten so used Jihoon’s company, his reassuring presence, but the absence of it makes you want to tear your hair out. 

.

.

.

You pass by Soonyoung on campus, and he immediately turns his head to the side and averts his eyes in the most conspicuous way possible. You can tell that he’s trying to become invisible in the hope that you’ll pretend that he doesn’t exist.

Not a breakup, you whisper to yourself as you walk past him. Not a breakup.

.

.

.

In December, you fail your synth lab practical. You don’t even need to wait for the final grades to be released to know that you failed the class— your clumsily drawn reaction pathways that lead nowhere, the lack of an identifiable product at the end of the practical, and your wonky NMR spectra are enough. 

It’s like you’re standing over a sink, watching your years of chemistry and biology classes draining away, your medical school aspirations swirling into the pipes where all of your other discarded dreams go. 

It’s not a surprise, but it’s crushing nonetheless. It’s heavy, rib-cracking, and the worst part is that you saw this coming from miles away. 

You step out of the organic chemistry labs and you’re tired, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life. It’s cold outside. A fine layer of snow covers the entire campus, but you sit on one of the benches outside the chemistry building, your backpack discarded near your feet, your coat zipped all the way up to your chin, and you lean forward and press your closed eyes against your palms and you cry. 

“I can’t do this,” you whisper into the empty night around you. There’s nobody nearby to hear you, but maybe just talking to the moon is enough. “I can’t. I can’t. Fuck,” your tears are hot as they drip past your hands. By the time they hit your wrists and soak into the sleeves of your coat, they’re icy cold. “Fuck. God. What do I do now?”

What do you want? Work for what you want, you remember. Like fuck if you know what you want, if you’ve ever known. What do you want? You’d make a very good doctor. Take these classes, join these clubs. Keep your GPA above this cutoff and you should be fine. Talk to your professors, ask for letters of recommendation. What do you want? It’s easier that way, easier, and nobody gets hurt. What do you want?

You hear your name, but the weight of everything is too much for you to straighten your spine. You’re too tired to lift your head. 

“Shh, I got you.” It’s Jihoon’s voice, quiet and soothing by your ear, and you only cry harder. “I got you,” he says. You feel his hand on your shoulder, rubbing back and forth slowly, like he’s trying to anchor you to him. It’s been weeks since you last saw him, and a part of you think that you might be hallucinating your deepest, most shameful desires, but it’s him. Jihoon is here. “I’m here. I got you,” he murmurs, “deep breaths. You’re okay.”

He pulls you up, slings your backpack over his shoulder, and half walks half drags you through campus. By now, your sobs have subsided into quiet little hiccups. You can barely see through the blur of tears clinging to your lashes, but Jihoon’s grip on your arm is firm as he steers you past the biotech campus, down sidewalks and past heaps of snow left over from the plows, brown with dirt under the passing lamplight. 

At some point, you hear the beep of a key fob being passed over a scanner, and then you’re indoors and your wet cheeks aren’t so cold anymore. It takes you a moment, but you blink away enough tears to realize that you’re in the ground floor of Soonyoung and Jihoon’s apartment building. Jihoon takes you up the elevator, the whole time rubbing small circles into your arm with his thumb, reminding you that he’s here with you, by your side.

The inside of their apartment is just as you remember it, a little cluttered, a little dark, but cozy. It even smells the same. The instant familiarity you have with this apartment is nearly enough to fool you into thinking that the argument with Jihoon hadn’t happened, that you’re still welcome here, that you still might have a chance.

Jihoon sits you in his kitchen, hands you a box of tissues, and while you wipe at the snot and tears on your face, he busies himself in the kitchen with something. You hear him pouring a mug of water and sticking it in the microwave, but you don’t have it in you to laugh at their lack of an electric kettle. Jihoon doesn’t comfort people. He’s not soft or tender in the way you are, not sentimental like you, he keeps his emotions tucked close to his chest. He comforts you clumsily, with hands unused to the actions, but he tries.

Jihoon places a mug of tea in front of you. You peer at the paper label on the end of the string hanging out of the water and read lavender chamomile. He sits across from you and laces his hands together on the surface of the table.

“Do you wanna talk about it?“ He sounds so kind and patient, it breaks your heart. Do you want? What do you want to do?

“I failed my organic chemistry lab,” you blurt out. “I’m not getting into medical school anymore. Not with my GPA. I’m not graduating on time anymore, either. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Jihoon frowns, in that expression that tells you that he’s thinking about something. He doesn’t respond immediately, but you know him well enough not to be put off by his silence. “Do you actually want to be a doctor?” 

“Yes,” you reply automatically, because it’s the right answer. You hesitate, and then you say the truthful answer. “I don’t know,” you admit miserably. You feel your throat tightening as the weight of your failure starts to close in on you again. And then, again, like the tide coming to meet the moon:

“Have some tea,” Jihoon orders, pulling on the tether.

You lift the mug to your lips and drink. The taste of tap water is metallic and cuts through the floral taste of the chamomile. In the back of your mind, you wonder vaguely if Jihoon and Soonyoung have considered getting a water filter. 

Jihoon taps his fingers on the surface of the table, his mouth downturned, his eyebrows drawn together in a look that you recognize whenever he’s thinking about something. When he speaks, it’s uncertain and halting, but it’s clear. “Why don’t you change your major to English?”

“It’s not that simple,” you say automatically.

“You said you’re not getting into medical school with your grades,” he responds sharply, “so what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, miserable.

Jihoon tries again, this time speaking in a softer tone. “I’ve noticed that you usually do what other people ask, even when you want something else. But you never tell anybody what you really want. It’s almost like you’re hoping that someone will read your mind and give it to you if you drag your feet enough.”

He’s right, of course, but you’re not quite ready to press on that bruise. You hate how seen you feel, stripped bare, exposed like a raw nerve.

You ask an easier question instead. “Why did you take me here?” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you crying alone in the snow.” He presses his lips in a thin line, frowning to suppress a smile. “I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“You could have. People have mental breakdowns all the time here. It’s college.”

“Fine,” he huffs, “I wasn’t going to leave you crying alone in the snow.”

“And you’re okay with me being here when Soonyoung could walk in and see us?” Another bruise, one that’s easier to press on.

Jihoon draws his eyebrows together into a frown. “Well, what do you want me to do, then?”

It catches you off guard. What do you want? You want a lot of things. And Jihoon is right. You know you wear your emotions loud, bright, open. You know you’re friendly to a fault, trusting and affectionate. But for all your laughter and jokes and easy conversation, you keep your desires tucked close to your chest.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you tell him. You’re not sure which question you’re answering.

“To the right people, you’ll never be,” he responds, and you wonder how many times he can break your heart in one night. 

For the first time in your life, you think about what you want your future to look like. Smart, ambitious, you’d make a good doctor. You think about a white picket fence, the letters M and D appended after your last name, and then you think about your copy of the poetical works of Lord Tennyson sitting on your desk. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

You’ll talk to Wonwoo, you think to yourself. You’ll talk to your Victorian poetry professor. You’ll talk to your pre-med advisor, and you’ll talk to the English department’s undergraduate advisor. But first….

“Mmh.” The ceramic mug is warm against your skin and you think the circulation has fully returned to your fingers by now. “Can we talk about that night?” You don’t need to specify which night you’re talking about.

Jihoon stiffens. He sits, on edge, like he’s being hunted, but then he sinks back and relaxes once again, like he’s made up his mind. “Do you want to go to the diner?”

• • •

It’s the same diner from the night he handed you the contract, a set of rules scribbled onto a greasy paper napkin. Careful boundaries drawn with all the permanence of a blue ballpoint pen stolen from his advisor’s office. 

The two of you are even in the same booth as last time. The only thing you had ordered was a side of fries, but Jihoon, as usual, had a bit more sense than you, and ordered two burgers. It wasn’t until the greasy smell of ground beef hit your nose that you remembered that you haven’t eaten all day, between your morning exams and your evening lab practical and the frantic studying in between, until your untimely mental breakdown on a park bench outside the chemistry building. 

You’re so hungry, you almost forget the reason that the two of you had come here in the first place— It’s not until after you’re done with your food that you start talking.

“You said you didn’t want to hurt me.” It’s a statement, flat at the end of the sentence, but it still reads as a question. Jihoon crosses his arms and leans back into the vinyl back of the seat. Defensive, a small voice in the back of your mind suggests. 

“I didn’t,” he nods to affirm your statement. “But I guess the ship has sailed on that.”

You trace little circles onto the surface of the table with your fingertips. The buzzing overhead lights cast harsh shadows on Jihoon’s face, creating sharp planes of light and dark. “Did I ever tell you that I like you, Jihoon? Like, a lot.”

“You didn’t, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I know.” Jihoon shreds a napkin into tiny strips while he talks, looking down at his hands so he won’t accidentally make eye contact with you. 

You want to ask the question, but you don’t want to know the answer. “Why didn’t you put up a fight that night?”

“You didn’t either,” he points out. Right, as usual.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” you laugh, just to fill the space between you and Jihoon. “I know you’re like, all cool and sexy and unattached and stuff. I didn’t want to spook you or anything, but I wanted to keep seeing you.” 

“Hm,” Jihoon replies, expression unreadably blank. 

“Anyways.” You swallow thickly. “My date with Joshua went terribly. We didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry about that,” his tone is flat and sympathetic. 

You swirl your straw in your water, letting the ice clink loudly against the sides of the glass. “Would it be bad of me to ask for us to start fucking again?” You almost cringe at the crudeness of your words. 

Jihoon laughs sharply, looking up from his hands. “Is that what you want,” he asks, tone edging on sarcasm, “or are you just trying to sound like you’ve got a handle on everything?”

Ah. There it is. The Jihoon you remember, prickly, almost mean at times. The Jihoon that lights up your neurons like a christmas tree. You had nearly gotten too used to the version of him that handled you with kid gloves. Maybe you should start crying again.

You grin at him, not caring if it’s a bit too wide, a bit too goofy. “I missed you,” you tell him, laughing at the way his ears flush pink at the nakedness of your words.

“Do you really want everything to go back to how it was before?”

“No,” you say, “but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“That sounds terrible,” Jihoon frowns. The napkin in front of him is completely reduced to shreds now. “And you never asked me how I feel about you.”

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer.” You frown at him.

“You can’t just avoid questions you don’t want to know the answer to, just because you don’t think you’ll like the answer.”

He’s right, of course. You sigh loudly, perhaps a little too obnoxiously, and Jihoon laughs at you. “You peel me like a clementine,” you mumble. “It’s terrible, being known.”

“A mortifying ordeal, even?” Jihoon raises his eyebrows, and you nod miserably. “Go ahead, ask me,” he gestures with his hand, waving it like he’s offering something to you. 

“How do you feel. About me.” You say the words like you’re sucking on a lemon. 

“I missed you too,” he admits. He shifts in his seat, clearly not used to talking about his feelings. “I want to see you all the time, but this time, with strings. Even if it’s messy, even if we get hurt along the way.”

You grin at him under the stale glow of the diner lights. A timer beeps in the kitchen and you hear the sound of rattling metal. “Even if it means we break the rules?”

“Fuck those rules. I was an idiot.” He says it, sincere, his face open. 

“Jihoon, do you like me?”

Jihoon purses his lips, fighting with himself mentally. You watch him expectantly, because you need to hear the words, need to hear them from Jihoon.

“Yes,” he finally admits. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

“So does that mean I can,” you pull out your phone and flip through your photo gallery, laughing as Jihoon groans, “kiss you softly and excessively? Stay the night? Cuddle with you? Call you my boyfriend in public?”

“Yes,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. 

“And you’ll call me your girlfriend in public?” 

“Yes,” he says again, but he doesn’t roll his eyes this time. That same smile is there, softer, fonder. 

“Do it, then,” you put down your phone. “I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” Jihoon says, before leaning across the table and kissing you (softly, excessively, in public). 

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv, I read ‘side-along’ by LQT (amazing) and now I’m craving for some hot Harry fics. Where Harry is unabashedly seductive and confident and Draco just does not know how to deal with it.

Do you already have a rec list for that ? Thanks so much darling !

Hi anon! Love that trope for us 😌🙌 if you’re looking for hot & seductive Harry you can’t go wrong with any fic by @l0vegl0wsinthedark and @lazywonderlvnd, they’re masters of smooth Harry! Some of my favourites:

Lucid by @dracoladon (2020, E, 4.4k)

Harry's not sure what makes him harder; listening to Draco talk about astronomy, or shagging Draco so thoroughly that he can't talk at all. Both, probably.

Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2016, E, 6k)

Potter escorts me home, presses me into my front door and kisses me with a ferocity that’s exhilarating. And then Potter asks me, in a growl that makes my cock throw a wet tantrum in my pants, how many more dates I would deem mandatory before I let him fuck me. I drag Potter to bed.

This Christmas, I Give You My Everything by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2017, E, 6k)

This holiday season, Harry decides to claim the gift he wants more than anything else.

Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd (2020, E, 8k) - mild dubcon, Polyjuice sex

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)

In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven. Naturally, her favourite targets are the poster boys of the two sides of the war: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Bored and annoyed, the two take up tabloid baiting for sport and pleasure.

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (2021, E, 11k)

[In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.]

Little Talks by Femme and noeon (2012, E, 11k) - the way Harry wins everyone’s heart by being a sweetheart to Scorpius is a masterclass in seduction IMO

Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.

What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (2018, E, 12k)

Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

Shining, Like A Present by @bixgirl1 (2017, E, 13k)

The discovery of a small silver box at the site of a case opens up new possibilities.

Can't Get You Out of My Head by Femme (2017, E, 14k) - I highly rec the whole Special Branch series

After he sees Harry Potter naked in the Auror showers once, Draco can't stop thinking about him.

Stupid Love by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 17k)

Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways.

Heart Like Neon by @lqtraintracks (2020, E, 41k)

Bored of being The Chosen One, Harry discovers he rather likes sex and becomes a professional. He’s good at it, and part of why is that he can read people. Not minds, not Legilimens, but their whole self, and he can give them what they don’t even know they want. Enter Draco fucking Malfoy, enigma to everyone, including himself. Harry can’t help but want to break into him, to figure him out. And Draco, thinking he’ll fuck Potter on a lark, has no idea what he’s in for.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (2018, E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

[miekasa]

Mie, after the recent episode I’m in need of healing…And the cure would be some headcanons about porco pretty please 🥺❤️

I want to make it abundantly clear that Porco is, in fact, my boyfriend, and I love him very, very dearly. He’s so sexy for no reason lmfao it's kind of ridiculous. Anyway, here are some thoughts about him <3

sfw

He’s a Starbucks slut. He won’t admit it, but he is. Uses your name for the order to keep it all under wraps, but he’s a whore for it. He’s there a minimum of five days per week, and he is very particular about the standards of his drinks.

Pretends not to care about anything, but cares about everything pls. He’s good at the nonchalance act, even better at sarcasm and masking everything behind it, but the truth is Porco cares a lot. Especially about you.

Sure, he’s an asshole, teases you to no end, pushes you onto the couch and walks away laughing, smushes your face with his palm to throw you off balance, tells you there’s a bug on you just to watch you freak out… but he also opens every door for you, encourages you to tell him about your problems, buys you food even when you say you’re not hungry. He’s a good boyfriend, alright, even if his methods of affection aren’t so… traditional.

He loves to make fun of you, will literally point and laugh sometimes, but he’s not gonna let anybody else do that. He gets to laugh at you because he loves you and would kill a man for you; nobody else is doing that shit, so nobody else is making fun of you while he’s around.

He’s a car guy, and is very particular about his car maintenance; which is why he does it all himself. So, expect at least one Saturday out of your month to be booked just watching Porco clean and detail his car; and yes, you’re booked too because he drags you by the collar, sits you on a fold-out beach chair, and tells you to, “Sit there and do your assignments, or fix your little animal villager island.”

(Quality time is one of his love languages, he just won’t admit it. In fact, if you asked him about love languages, he’d scrunch up his face because, “What the fuck do they mean by that? Can’t a dude just say ‘I love you,’ in peace anymore?”)

He also cleans your car for you, and if you ever bring up going to a car wash, then prepare to meet his death stare for the remainder of the day. The premium air prank thing wouldn’t work on him—he wouldn’t even care about you potentially being scammed, he’d be more miffed that you went to some random man to put air in your tires lmfaooooo

That bomber jacket he wears… that’s yours now LMFAOO. He gives you shit for it, always calls you out on stealing his stuff and not even wearing it when it’s actually cold outside, but he loves to see you in it, don’t be fooled.

He used to smoke/juul in highschool, until Marcel forced him to stop. He rarely gets the urge to pick up a cigarette anymore, but when he does, he tries to curb his craving with candy—and he hates candy, so it’s a punishment in itself. Occasionally, when he’s stressed, you’ll find Porco angrily making his way through a sleeve of Starburst, and that’s when you know he needs a shoulder massages, and maybe a couple of kisses to calm him down.

Him clearing a pack of candy is also a telltale sign to his friends that the two of you have had/are in an argument. When Pieck sees Porco buying his third pack of Twizzlers for the day, she knows she had to intervene no matter how much Porco says, “It’s none of your fucking business, Pieck.” Porco might be intimidating to everyone else, but not to her; which is why she has no qualms pulling him by the ear to his brother.

Because the only other person besides Pieck who’s not scared of an angry Porco, is his older brother. Marcel definitely sets him straight, tells him to pull his head out of his ass and to stop ruining his teeth and his relationship over a petty argument. And Porco has the audacity to scoff when you and Marcel actually get along pls.

In theory his haircut should allow him to pull off hairstyles similar to Levi’s and Armin’s… if you every try that shit on him he might just bite your hand bye.

Bitches about all the stuff you buy when you’re out shopping, but won’t let you carry any of the bags. You offer to hold your own purchases, and he just scowls, clicks his teeth, starts walking ahead of you, and then tells you to hurry and catch up. Chivalrous asshole <3

He remembers all your anniversaries and in-between special dates, and he’s a pretty good gift-giver. He’s not all that sappy about it in the moment, preferring to just hand you your present and stick his hands in his pockets, but it’s easy to tell that he put a lot of thought and effort into it.

He likes being kissed. Kiss him, even if he complains about you “smothering him in affection.” He likes it.

If you’re walking next to him, then you guys are gonna be holding hands. He’s not crazy about PDA, but he doesn’t think hand holding is anything drastic. Plus, he likes that you sometimes squeeze his hand. You could hold his arm if you want, he’s into that, too.

He has this habit of just… watching you. He probably doesn’t mean for it to be as intense as it is, but Porco is always watching you, and he notices everything about you—no bad mood, or slight annoyance is flying under his radar.

With that tho, sometimes you’ll just be… doing normal things (cooking, cleaning, reading, doing homework), and he’ll just eye you up and down. Like he’s looking over every part of you and committing it to memory. He doesn’t even intend for it to be sexual, but with the way he’ll sit a little leaned forward, with his legs spread a little bit, and stalk his eyes over you—it definitely is less than innocent at times.

He’s not too much into matching couple items (at least nothing too obvious), but if you give him something or buy something for him, he’ll wear it. Maybe you don’t have matching clothes, but all the beanies he owns are because you bought them for him; or maybe he’s sporting a new chain because you picked it out; and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t peel that stupid little sticker off of his back window because you put it there and he loves you or whatever.

He’s an early riser :// he’s not up at 5am, but he is awake by 8-9am most days, even on weekends. It’s not even that he does it to be productive; it’s more that he’s a creature of habit, and getting up that early in high-school kind of stuck with him. If you’re not an early riser, then too bad; when Porco is around you will be.

I’m talking, ripping the covers off of you, and rolling you off the bed if he has to. Tells you to get your ass up and eat breakfast with him, but he’s just likes to spend his mornings with you when he can.

He’s very cognizant about what you eat and where you eat. He’s not tracking your calories or forcing you to eat “healthy”—he’s not saying or doing anything to make you insecure. But it is important to him that you eat well and eat enough to sustain yourself. So if he drags you to the kitchen and forces you to eat dinner with him, it’s because he cares.

He’s a pretty good cook, too. He just fucking hates when anyone is in the kitchen when he’s cooking, so if you’re looking to be his sous chef, or hoping for a picturesque moment out of a movie, then good luck LMFAOO.

He’s, unsurprisingly, athletic, too. Along with disciplining himself at the gym, he’s played sports since middle school, pretty much anything he could get his hands on to keep himself busy. It gets narrowed down to just rugby or lacrosse in the fall, and hockey in the winter at university. He doesn’t do much in the spring because he’s got allergies LMFAOO.

His teammates usually refer to him by his last name. You are not to refer to him by his last name unless you want to be body slammed into the mattress, and tickled without mercy; or have your forehead flicked if you’re in public. He will classically condition you out of it, because what does he look like going around with his girlfriend calling him Galliard.

He boxes, too, but that’s more for the sake of working out, not to compete. Definitely takes you to the gym when it’s pretty empty, sticks a pair of gloves on you, hangs up a punching bag and smiles, “Show me what you got, pretty girl.”

He turns out to be a good trainer—for boxing, and just being at the gym in general; if you need a workout buddy, he’s a great option, even if he does mess with you a little. If he teaches you his best tricks just to watch you take down Bertolt, then no he didn’t <3

Encouragement when you’re working out usually comes in the form of him tapping your ass and telling you good job. Or him patting your head, and saying he’s proud of you for keeping up.

Head pats are a frequent form of affection outside of the gym, too. Even if they are teasing sometimes, it’s Porco-talk for “That’s my girl.”

nsfw/suggestive

Occasionally, you’ll catch him having a lollipop in place of other candy to curb his smoking cravings. Usually, your presence is enough to calm him down, which is why he’ll take it out of his mouth, and put it in yours instead, and tell you to, “Hold onto to this for me, baby.”

And while he’s stopped the cigarettes and juul pens, he’s not averse to a joint every now and then, and one of his favorite things to do is shotgun with you. Makes you sit right on his lap, keeps one hand on your jaw to make sure your mouth stays open while he blows smoke over your tongue. Tells you how pretty you look for him.

He’s got a thing for you sitting on his lap in general. Particularly because he likes to keep his hands on your ass, but he’s also a fan of the way you paw at him when you’re riding him.

He can be pretty rough with you—manhandling you, smacking your ass as punishment, forcing your hands above your head or behind your back—but he never wants to hurt you.

Does this thing where he’ll smush your cheeks between his fingers while he’s fucking you, likes to watch you cheeks get puffy, likes to hear for you to beg him to kiss you or let you cum. He’s mean, will smile, get close enough to your lips, and then turn his hand so that your mouth is covered with his palm and his only order is, “Keep quiet, doll. I’m not done with you yet.”

Would he let you slap him… probably, if you ask.

If you wear his jerseys to his game, then expect to get fucked in it afterwards—in it is key, because he’s not letting you take it off. Will bunch it up, stuff the bottom of it in your mouth, and tell you to keep it there while he fucks you.

He’s not a biter, but he does have a nasty habit of sucking wherever he can get his mouth on you. On your neck, your tits, your stomach, your clit, your thighs.