#irenes pets

[irevanity]

blerp…

[annoyinggiverpost]

[fandomwonderer]

Local calico has something to say!

[unit-zero-two]

Saw a post talking about Irene going to Lumen to vent about how frustrating and confusing the Abyssal Hunters are to work with, and that’s got me thinking all sorts of stuff. The Abyssal Hunters basically have alien minds at this point, they don’t really think or act like humans, so Irene spends a lot of time with them but can never quite adjust. She can work well with them eventually, but they always do something that throws her off, frustrates her. But most people don’t know what it’s like to deal with the hunters, or with the Seaborn. Most of the people who do are weirdos like Kal’tsit, so that’s not much for conversation.

So, Irene starts spending shore time with Lumen, just venting. About the Hunters. About the Seaborn. And about the Inquisition. Lumen is a regular guy, he’s met all of these people, he gets it. Plus, he’s a good listener. It’s his greatest ability, right behind never giving up. So he listens, and he listens, and he lets Irene vent. When she wants to talk, to have advice, he’ll do so, but usually he just listens. They’re both busy, so they don’t have a lot of time. Lumen is dragged around by the Inquisition and Rhodes Island, Irene needs to try to keep up with the Abyssal Hunters who don’t rest as much as she needs to. They only ever have a little time together, hanging out, venting as friends do.

They both start looking forward to these meetings. Irene likes to have someone to talk to, and Lumen just likes to listen. Irene is so passionate about everything, putting in more effort than anyone. And when she’s done venting, she starts to leave a little room for him to vent. Pushes him to complain about anything annoying in his life. She didn’t do it the first time they did this, or the second, but it was clear that in her travels she started to feel guilty, so she allows him release as well. They’re both always moving around Terra in their missions, home stops being a single spot. It’s a landship named Rhodes Island, a place they can always be sure to meet each other. A place they can always vent to each other.

Specter makes sure to comment and say how adorable it is when Irene accidentally gives Lumen a new nickname. Irene tries to keep it to herself, but eventually she decides to own it. Specter is going to always tease her anyways, she might as well make it official. While surrounded by Seaborn and fighting for her life, Irene makes sure to promise to return to vent with Lumen, to return, to her Lighthouse.

And sometimes Lumen can be found standing on tall places, watching the horizon. When asked what he’s doing, he just responds “I’m watching for the birds to return.”

[antirepurp]

i think some folks may need to have the word "queerbaiting" revoked from their vocabulary until they learn what it means. perhaps

[cinemajunkie70]

A very happy birthday to Jim Carrey!

[gil-estel]

THERES A LINE FOR THE WATER BOWL

[ripeossis]

You cannot possibly go further. This is indefensibly gay and any other interpretations will not be accepted.

[beastsovrevelation]

Irene: Val, one of your serpents bit Frenchie! Now he's in the hospital!

Valak, glancing down at the snake under his desk: Socrates... You're my favorite.

[hauntedhousecat]

Miss Irene the Beauty Queen

She requests a sacrificial treat....or a toss of a toy mouse across the room.

Which to choose....🤔

[birdmenanime]

late night birdmen doodles

[thewritingrowlet]

The Loving Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, anal (I think it counts), throatfuck, cum-in-mouth, daddy kink

word count: ~3k

author's note: surprise, mothertruckers

You lean back in your big chair as exhaustion finally settles on your mind and body. You look through the tall glass behind you, “oh, it’s dark already—what time is it?”. You flip your phone on its back and tap the screen twice. “Oh, it’s almost 10”, you murmur, “Irene will kill me”. Irene? The smiling woman on your lock screen? Are you sure?

You’re not sure, but you’re not in the mood to fuck around and find out—not after spending the whole day away from her, making her go through her day by herself. “I’m coming, love; please wait a moment”, you say to your phone, the picture a representation of her being.

It’s nothing but a moment for you, as you find yourself stuck in the sea of cars. “Where are these fools going?”, you wonder. Well, “these fools” are trying to get to their safe havens, just like you are. “These fools” are trying to unwind after working their asses off to provide for them and theirs, just like you are. “These fools” are trying to go to the harbor where their hearts are anchored, just like you are. You chuckle as you think about it, “I guess we’re more alike than we know”.

-

A wave of joy washes over you when you see the black Genesis sedan parked in front of your house. You resist the urge to just stop the car right here as the acute avidness to see your cherished wife is mighty. You park your car in the driveway next to her car and jump out right away.

“I’m home”, you say softly as you turn the handle of your front door. That is correct: you are indeed home. This is the safe haven that you’ve worked hard for and saved up for so that you and your wife have somewhere to unwind after spending long days at work—this is the harbor where your heart is anchored.

You see a lady draped in white run towards you, and another wave of joy washes over you. “My love” is all the greetings you can come up with, as the sight of her takes your breaths away, no matter how frequent you see it. Irene wraps her arms around your frame, fighting your cold with her warmth. There are plenty of sounds you find to be enjoyable, but your lady’s sob is not one of them. “Where have you been? I was so worried about you, honey”, she asks tearily. You put your lips on her forehead to soothe her, “I’m so sorry, my love; I was neck deep in work that I lost track of time”.

You know that you can’t offer comfort when standing up, so you lift her up by her thighs and take her to sit on the sofa. You pet her softly in the back of the head as she sobs to her heart’s content. She finally falls silent after a few minutes and hums softly in rhythm, imitating a cat’s purr. “Feeling better, love?”, you say to her. “Y-yes”, Irene says, “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to be burdensome to you—I-I’m sure you’re tired, and-and I wasn’t being helpful”. You peck her cheeks thrice, just like how she likes it, “I’m sorry for coming home so late, love; I had so much work to do”. Irene returns the pecks to you, “thank you for working so hard all the time”.

You lay down on the sofa for a cuddle, and you hear Irene’s stomach rumble faintly. “You haven’t had dinner, love?”, you ask her. “We-we were supposed to eat out, r-remember?”, she says. You punch yourself internally as the memory returns to you, “I’m so sorry, love”. Irene used to voice her disappointment whenever you forgot about something, but she ditched that habit when you two got married. “We have sliced beef in the fridge, don’t we? I’ll make us something if you’ll let me go”, you say to her. Irene reluctantly unwraps her limbs from your body, seemingly sad about not touching you.

You open the fridge and grab half an onion and some sliced beef and put them on the counter next to the stove. You throw some minced garlic into a preheated nonstick pan that already has a bit of oil in it and wait until the fragrance fills the kitchen. Since Irene doesn’t really like onion, you cut the onion in half again, only using a quarter of it. You throw the onion—chopped largely so that Irene can avoid it easily—into the pan and cook it down until it’s soft. You look over your shoulder and see that Irene is still on the sofa, presumably asleep. “I hope this meal can convey how much I love you, my dear Irene”, you say to yourself as you dump sliced beef and sauces into the pan.

You put the food on a large plate and reheat some leftover rice in the microwave. You walk to the sofa and take a knee in front of the sleeping beauty. “Irene, my love”, you poke her forearm gently, “let’s eat, baby”. Irene wakes up slowly from her peace, “carry me, love”. You carry Irene on your back and take her to the dining table, and the overwhelming smell wakes her up entirely. “Wow, that looks so good, love!”, she gasps in excitement, “I want to eat! I want to eat!”. You silence the beeping microwave and take the rice out of it. You take a seat in front of your wife as she starts eating excitedly. “Oh my fucking God, that’s so fucking good”, she says. “Love, what did I tell you? Save the profanity for when we’re in bed”, you scold her. “Well, bed is where we will be after this”, she murmurs, not loud enough for you to hear.

You wash the dirty plates and pan after finishing the very late dinner with Irene. Irene stays silent as you do, which is curious, because she usually praises your cooking endlessly while she waits for you. “Did you like it, love?”, you ask her as you’re walking towards her. In your head, you expect Irene to say that she did like it—love it, even—but she says something else. “Daddy”, Irene bites her lip sexily, “I want my dessert”. You know what she means by that, and so does your cock. “You better earn it, then”, you say as you carry her to the bedroom.

Irene shakes herself off your arms and starts kissing you in arousal. She even goes as far as invading the space in your mouth with her tongue. The fact that she’s the one doing all this and is the first to break the kiss is funny—Irene can’t even keep up with herself. “Dad-daddy—fuck”, Irene struggles to breathe, “plea-please, I-I need you—I need my husband’s big cock”. You sit on the edge of the bed and rouse her, “I’ve always told you to work for it if you want something, so come and work for it”.

Irene kneels in front of you and frees your cock from your trousers and boxers. “I can’t live without—”, you cut her off by forcing your cock into Irene’s mouth. These fools only call Irene a cold person because of her front; everything about Irene is anything but cold, take her mouth for example. “Stop talking, start doing”, you command. Irene’s gags sound incredibly hot, and you’re desperate to hear it right now. There’s only one way to achieve that, and that is by fucking her mouth hard. You hold her head with both hands and bounce her on your cock. You feel the tip of your cock reach the back of her mouth, and Irene starts making the gagging sound that you love. “That’s my good wife”, you groan, “fuck, that’s so fucking good”.

You mercilessly fuck Irene’s mouth, sometimes stopping to make sure you don’t hurt her too much—with what you have in mind, however, her voice is guaranteed to disappear after the night ends. “Fuck, I’m getting close”, you announce. Irene looks at you and winks, and you can hear her telling you to cum in her mouth. Once you feel that your cum has accumulated on the tip of your cock, you plug your cock deep in Irene’s mouth and blow your load with a deep groan. You let her head go and Irene pulls away from your cock. She pokes your knee to get your attention. “Yeah, baby?”, you ask, and Irene swallows your cum in one gulp in front of your eyes.

“I—hah, holy fuck—I hope we’re not done”, she says. You shake your head, “we’re far from done, honey—strip, please”. As much as you like seeing Irene in a shirt, it’s not comparable to Irene in nothing. Irene starts her ritual by tying her hair in a bun and biting her lip—she’s making it really hard for you to resist the urge to just rip her clothes off. She reaches for the buttons on her shirt and undoes them one by one, letting the shirt drop to the floor after. “If you’re trying to tease me right now, sweetie, it’s working”, you admit your defeat, “I want to fuck you so bad right now”. She walks towards you after taking off her trousers, “and I want to get fucked by you so bad right now, daddy”.

You tell her to sit on the bed while you leave to get something to cover her eyes with. “I hope you’re down for something naughty, baby”, you say as you show her a silk blindfold. “I was expecting you to have me do the work because you were tired”, she says as she puts on the blindfold herself, “let’s get naughty, daddy”. You help her move to the center of the bed, and since Irene can’t see through the black silk, she doesn’t know that you’re grabbing more silk cloths to tie her limbs with.

“Daddy, where are you?”, Irene sniffs around the bedroom, trying to pick up your scent. You softly rub her cheeks with your thumb, “I’m here, love”. She blindly grabs your hand and guides it to her pussy, “I’m so wet for you, daddy”. You play with the nub of Irene’s pussy with your middle finger, “how bad do you want daddy, hm?”. Irene squirms around as your finger keeps stimulating her, “ahng, ngh, fuck, daddy—I-I need you so fucking bad. Please, daddy, I’m begging you”. You stop fiddling with her clit, “do you trust me, love?”. Irene nods to your question, “I-I’m sure daddy will take care of me”. You peck her lips before tying her hands together. “Next time I tell you to strip, I want you to take everything off—but it’s okay, I forgive you this time”, you say as you unlatch her bra and pull her panties down. Irene whimpers softly as her arousal peaks, “daddy, daddy—ngh, fuck—punish me, daddy; I’ve been naughty”.

You flip Irene onto her stomach and lift her waist up. “Ask nicely, love”, you say to her, your cock hard as rock. “Please-please-please—OH, FUCK”, Irene screams when you put the tip of your cock in her ass, “daddy, it hurts—it hurts so much”. The only thing coating your cock is her spit from the blowjob earlier, “you asked me to punish you, so this is your punishment”. You know that Irene will say the safe word if she wants to stop, so for now, you keep moving forward until your cock is fully lodged in her rear. As you keep fucking her ass, however, Irene lets out screams of pain that sound genuine. You’ve done anal with Irene before, but considering that she wasn’t prepared for this today, you feel bad for doing this, so you retreat from her ass.

You lay Irene on her back and take off her blindfold. “I’m so sorry, baby”, you apologize to your sobbing wife, “that must’ve hurt so bad, right?”. Irene shakes her head, “y-your pleasure comes first, daddy; I-I’ll do whatever you want me to”. You free her wrists so that you can cuddle her properly. “There’s no need for that, love. I’m not more important than you”, you spray kisses on her face, “I’m sorry for acting without consent”. Irene takes off her bra that has been hanging loosely on her arms and throws it away, “c-can we have vanilla now, daddy? I-I can do the work”.

You grant her request and lie down flat on the bed, giving Irene the chance to do whatever she wants. Irene lines up her pussy with your cock and goes down on it until she reaches the base, letting out a long moan as she goes. “I’m so glad I’m married to you”, she says, “ah, ngh—your cock makes me so fucking happy, daddy”. You palm her soft tits that are bouncing in front of your eyes, “I’m glad I’m married to you as well, love—God, fuck, you’re so tight”. Irene plants her hands on your chest and starts fucking herself with your cock, “ah, ah, ah—I-I will always be tight for you, daddy”. If you were to rank the top 3 sounds Irene makes, the order would be her moans, her gags, and then finally her laughs—her moans are simply angelic and deserve the top spot.

Irene keeps bouncing herself rapidly on your cock as she’s more comfortable taking you in the pussy than in the ass. “Daddy, would you let me cum? Please let me cum, daddy”, she begs. You tell her to cum whenever she wants, “you’ve earned it, baby; you’ve been so good”. Irene screams and trembles as she cums, and you feel her pussy squeezing your cock. “Daddy, daddy”, she falls limp on your body, “thank you—ah, fuck—thank you so much”.

You let Irene catch her breath as you whisper praises and affirmations into her ears. “Can I mark you, daddy? I want to show people that you’re mine”, she says. You chuckle, “the ring on my finger already does that, love—but sure, mark me if you want to”. Irene latches her mouth on the side of your neck, kissing and nibbling it to plant her hickeys on your skin. You’re usually the one doing the marking, so you never knew that getting kisses and nibbles in the neck feels this good. “Love, I like having your lips on my neck”, you say. Irene doesn’t say anything and keeps focusing on applying her love mark on you. “That should be enough”, Irene straightens her back, “your turn to mark me now”. She slaps your hands away when you reach your arms out towards her. “No, no, mark me from the inside”, she points at her pussy, “you haven’t cum yet, so give me your cum, please”.

You roll over and get on top of Irene, “you want my cum in your pussy, love?”. “Breed me, daddy”, she rubs your cheeks softly, “I’m so fucking fertile today”. You look at Irene in the eyes, “are you sure? You have a career to chase, love”. Irene rolls her eyes in annoyance, “fine, you’re right; I’ll take the morning after pill then”.

Seeing that you’ve come to an agreement, you start thrusting into her warm core. You’re instantly reminded of how tight she is. “Fuck, love, I don’t think I can last long”, you say, hoping that it won’t disappoint her. “Th-that’s okay, daddy; I won’t last long either”, Irene replies. You guide Irene’s hand towards her pussy, indirectly telling her to touch herself as you’re fucking her.

The two of you are busy with your own tasks: Irene is touching herself and you’re fucking her balls deep. “Ah, ah, I-I think you hit my cervix”, she says between moans, “are you sure you don’t want to breed me, daddy?”. She places your hand on her stomach, “just imagine, daddy; my tummy would start getting bigger and bigger, and I’d be so fucking horny all the time that I’d cum just by humping your thighs”. “What—fuck—what about your career, love?”, you ask, still doubtful about this whole pregnancy thing. Irene moans loudly as she feels the increased pace, “I-I’ll gladly throw it away as long as I get to please you every day”.

You’re still not entirely sold on the idea, but her words make you so damn aroused. You hug her tightly and continue fucking her—you can hear your orgasm knocking at the door. “Babe, I’m cumming”, you announce to her, and Irene tells you that she is about to cum as well. You grit your teeth and release your load deep into her pussy, possibly sending it straight to her cervix. At the same time, Irene shakes as she rides the high of orgasm. You reject her request to stay inside and walk towards the drawer where Irene keeps pills and condoms. You take one pill and a bottle of water and hand them to her. You tell her to take it in front of your eyes to make sure she doesn’t throw it away or something.

“Look, love”, you softly say to her, “I do want to have a child with you, but we haven’t talked about this thoroughly before; me getting you pregnant right now is not wise—I hope you understand, love”. Irene nods, “y-yes, honey. I’ll be patient and make sure that I’m ready for motherhood before you breed me”. You smile gently, “one day, when we’re both ready, we’ll have sex all day long to make sure you get pregnant, okay?”. “God, you’re making me so wet”, Irene says, “I swear I’ll drain every drop of cum out of your cock, honey”.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tears IV

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: You and Fluffles

It's not often that people come around to the house.

Most of the time, it's you and Mami.

But today it's you, Mami and some of her teammates.

Mami usually does team bonding at their houses when you're away with Abuela and Tia Alba but today she's been convinced to open the house to them.

They're as quiet as a group of football players can be, having been lectured by Alexia at training today about being respectful of your needs if they're going to be invading the house together.

It's after dinner that they arrive. It's late, not enough for you to be in bed but late enough for you to have already had your night time bath and be in your pyjamas.

You hide away most of the time in your bedroom, just drawing but you pop out occasionally to show Mami what you've created.

The living room is loud with chatter and the tv has been commandeered by Jana and Bruna to play FIFA while everyone else watches and yells out tactics to try to help.

You're sitting on Mami's lap when suddenly everything gets a bit overwhelming and your skin becomes itchy with unease. You go tense, locking up all of your muscles at once until you're frozen like a statue.

Mami notices instantly, slipping your ear defenders on and lightly tap you off her lap. "Go and get Fluffles, pequeñita," She says.

You shake your head, still completely stiff. You glance around the room at where the girls are still watching the screen.

"No one's going to judge you for needing Fluffles," Mami says," I think you're in need of some Fluffles cuddles."

You sniffle and reach for her hand, tugging on it so she comes with you.

"Alright, pequeñita," She says," Let's go and get Fluffles."

You tug out at the collar of your pyjama shirt. You don't like how to feels against your skin and Mami tugs it off you. The air is a bit colder now but it feels nice on your heated skin and you can finally relax when Mami heads into Fluffles' room and unlocks her cage.

Fluffles leaps out of her cage instantly, darting around the room briefly before she leaps into your waiting arms. Her little hands press against your shoulder as you push your face into her soft fur.

Mami got your Fluffles last year for your birthday and she was your favourite thing in the whole world. She was so soft and little and she always made you feel so much better when you held her.

"Do you want to stay in here?" Mami asks," Or should we go back to the living room?"

You think it over for a moment, content with just holding Fluffles against you as she grunts softly against you.

"I take Fluffles with me?"

"Of course," Mami says," I'll even warm you up some milk. Do you want to go back out to the others?"

You nod. "With Fluffles."

It's nosier in the lounge than in Fluffles' room but you've got your ear defenders and your Fluffles so things are getting better.

Mami returns you to your spot on her lap as she sits on the sofa again.

Fluffles rests against you as you take big, deep breaths like Mami taught you to.

"I told you it would be a good idea," Irene says to Alexia when she notices," Pets are always good for kids."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "Oh yes because you can definitely compare your dog and son with my daughter and her chinchilla."

Paredes shrugs. "But I was right. They're cute together."

"They're not cute together when Alba lets it free to roam around the house without permission. I've had to put wrappings around all the wires."

Paredes holds her hands up. "Hey, I said get another dog. You're the one that gave her the chinchilla."

"She loves it," Alexia replies," It helps with her issues. It's the fur I think. If she could take it everywhere with her, she would. I think she wants another one too."

Paredes laughs. "Good luck with that."

Fluffles shifts in your arms until she's buried in the crook of your elbow, falling asleep quickly as you hold her.

Your whole body relaxes as Fluffles does and Mami very gently moves your ear defenders to rest against your neck.

"Do you still want your milk, pequeñita?"

You nod and she very carefully sits you on the sofa while she goes off to the kitchen.

With Mami gone, it's just you and Fluffles and you give her lots of little kisses as she naps.

Keira slides in next to you and very carefully points at Fluffles. "Who's this?"

"Fluffles," You answer," Mami got me her for my birthday last year."

"That's nice. What kind of animal is she?"

"A chinchilla. She's very soft."

"That's nice," Keira says," Does she live in your room?"

You shake your head. "Lives in the spare room so she has lots of room to play."

"That's cool. Is she your best friend?"

You nod. "Her and Mami."

"Her and Mami what?" Mami asks as she returns.

"My best friends," You reply," You and Fluffles." You think for a moment. "And Teeny."

"You're so sweet, pequeñita," Mami coos, layering kisses over your face," You're my best friend too."

You're sat on her lap again quickly and Mami holds your sippy cup of warm milk for you to drink out of.

The noise of the rest of the team has quietened down now because someone's put on a movie to watch. It's an adult movie so it's pretty boring and once you're done with your milk, you shift to get more comfy on Mami's lap.

Her fingers card through your hair before gently drawing circles on your belly. It's nice and relaxing and Fluffles soft weight in your arms is just perfect.

"Alright you lot," Alexia says," Come on, out."

"Aw, Ale!" Mapi complains," Why?"

Alexia glances down at you. "Because my pequeñita needs to go to bed now. You just being here has tired her out!"

Mapi laughs. "See, Ingrid? I'm good at getting babies to sleep when it's late!"

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Not a chance, Mapi! Teeny's bedtime is the perfect bedtime for her. I'm not changing it."

The girls all stream out promptly after that and Alexia is left to get you and Fluffles settled in bed. She returns Fluffles to her cage and lifts your limp body up into her arms.

She bypasses your bedroom entirely and tucks you nice and safe into her bed, sliding in next to you.

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Girl Code (18+)

pairing: student!jihoon x student!reader

genre: college au, angst, smut (MDNI), lotta crack, friends to...?

description: when you and your friends find out jihoon's been writing down everything you've off-handedly said about "girl code", you simply have to know why.

warnings: brief bondage/restraint, heavy insecurity on readers part, self-doubt, dirty talk, pet names, dom!uzi, sub!reader, desperation, oral (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), muscly uzi, unprotected sex (dont do it guys....), pining, bad writing, red velvet are your friends, theyre super fun, mingyu is excluded badly, he just wants to b a part of it :(

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "i am simply a hole for him", "pussy? wet. heart? pounding. me? yearning", "every1 talks ab sapphic yearning but what ab just. jihoon-yearning?",

wordcount: 12.0k

a/n: idk why but this is deffo not as good as my previous works. n e way also sorry to @onlyseokmins bc i promised her a seokmin fic WHICH IS STILL COMING i just felt like this was kinda genius and needed to happen first ok bye

It’s mid-spring, and the world is blossoming and flowering around you. Grass sprouts greener, plants drink in the heavy rainfall and flowers are blooming, slowly unfurling their pedaled heads to crane into the beautiful sky. At odds with nature, people walk the street to be drenched in the downpour, only to be dried off by the shyly peeking sun, and to have freckles surfacing on their skin and hair, getting frizzy from the humidity, when they’re biking along the streets. It’s serene, it’s natural. You’re reminded to love the place that birthed and fostered you. 

But that’s out there.

You’re sitting, bottom planted firmly on the sticky surface of Joshua Hong’s couch, looking distantly into artificially colored lights, flickering across the floor, where people are dancing on one another in skimpy outfits and makeup, and everything is very far from the moon and the flowers. 

“The second one is a lie!” Seulgi yells over the music, cup of god knows what in her hand, and slurring her words.

Sitting on the couch and stools surrounding the coffee table is you, Mingyu, Soonyoung, Seulgi, Irene, Yeri and Jihoon.

“No, I know she likes anal!” Screams Soonyoung giddily (forever oblivious to his surroundings), receiving a glare from your roommate, Yeri. You were currently playing two truths and one lie, and attempting to discern whether Yeri was lying about being on television, lying about having black belt in taekwondo or lying about having tried anal. “It’s about whether or not she’s tried it!” Irene rolls her eyes and huffs. “My point still stands,” Soonyoung grins and eyes Yeri, and you watch somewhat disgusted, reminding yourself to ask her about it later.

You’re sitting next to Mingyu, utterly small next to him, and the two of you are only watching the scene unfold, sharing snickering glances when something funny happens. “I’ve never done taekwondo!” Yeri screams at Soonyoung, and you and Mingyu fall back in your seats laughing and slapping each other, when Soonyoung’s face drops for a moment. 

“They’re so dumb!” Mingyu cries, and you nod buried in a decorative pillow. 

“Screw this noise, I’m finding Junhui,” Hoshi mumbles, a little deflated from his loss. Then he’s standing up, cargo-pants and all, and trudging away, pouting over his shoulder when he hears the laughing continue.

Jihoon - who’s been incredibly quiet and observant throughout the night, only sipping a single bottle of beer, slaps his thighs. You’re hoping in his ever searching eyes he hasn’t seen the way you’ve been staring at him all night. Are you drunk or is he so complex and sexy, and wearing a t-shirt that shows his huge arms and pants that show his thick thighs? You’re almost certain you can chalk this up to only ever seeing him in sweaters that totally swallow him - almost. “I’m going too,” he announces, standing up and not leaving much room for argument.

“Why? I’ll be the only guy,” Mingyu whines, pout pushing out his bottom lip. You scoff. You know he loves feeling like he’s one of the girls. “Paper,” Jihoon says, and adds more, when he realizes he’s being so curt it’s almost rude: “Tomorrow. I have a paper tomorrow.” 

The group seems to accept this, knowing the stresses of college are weighing on each of them heavily. But your eyes narrow. You’re not buying it. 

You watch him sling his jacket across his body, biting back more words. He’s quiet, sure, but never this quiet. With how he’d slumped back in his seat all night, almost bent into himself, there must be something bugging him. Jihoon’s eyes meet yours. It’s a half a second, but you feel like he knows you’re on to him, the way he hides his face under his long, black hair again and turns his back to you. All of a sudden he’s hurrying away, excusing himself half-heartedly. You narrow your eyes even further and purse your lips.

“Be right back,” you say. Seulgi pouts.

You’re trudging after him, fussing with your hair all of a sudden and adjusting your dress and - God, you care so much how he sees you. But you suppose you care more that he’s okay. That’s why you’re squeezing through the dancefloor, getting grinded on by several anonymous bodies, before pushing out to the entrance and finally breathing air that wasn't coming directly from someone else’s mouth. 

“Jihoon, wait-” 

You catch up to him by the doorway, where he’s stopped his journey, to slip Vernon a bill for a ziploc of mediocre weed.

“Jihoon!” 

Finally, he hears you and he turns to you, where you’re regaining your last leg from the mass of bodies. Vernon is apparently still sober enough (you wouldn’t have thought so) to understand time and place, so he gently pushes past the two of you into the crowd. 

You’re not ready for the look he gives you. Eyes so sharp and face darkened from his shaggy hair, curling into his face, and frowning and furrowing his brows as if he couldn’t understand why you’re here. 

It sends your out-reaching body slamming backwards. You’re shrinking away from him, eyes flitting downwards self-consciously. You consider your history with him for a moment, weighing it in a glass of vodka-cranberry. This is pathetic, you realize, and it feels terrible. You’re pathetic and desperate and clingy and why would you feel the need to ask him this.

And then one moment to the next you’re scolding yourself for thinking that way. For thinking it was wrong to reach out a helping hand.

Jihoon apparently has enough of you debating with the angel and the devil on your shoulder, because he speaks finally: “What is it?” 

There’s a pause.

“Are you okay?” 

Another pause. You watch Jihoon’s face soften in shock, mouth falling open for a split second, before he’s closing it again and looking away. The ziploc crunches in his fingers, when they tighten and he shoves it into his inner pocket. 

“I’m good,” he says.

“Okay.” 

And this time and even longer pause! You can barely take it, the way he looks at you, and it almost feels like he suspicious of you, like he’s trying to discern what you’re doing here in front of him.

“Have a good night,” you say. He nods slowly and begins to walk off, and you watch him and the way the moonlight fills the entrance, so you’re coated in for a moment. Then it disappears with a slam of the door. You let out a shaky sigh. 

Why did you do that? Why would you even think to do something like that? 

You decide against standing there for any longer, not allowing yourself to overanalyze it, and you turn around to go back to your friends. Yet again comes the song and dance of trying to navigate the most terrifying human cesspool, face scrunching up in disgust as you make your way back to the sofa, almost unscathed, except you think you accidentally got caught in an armpit. 

“Y/n! Come quick, so you can be a part of this momentous- momentous.. Moment!” You hear Mingyu calling and when he’s finally in view, you realize something very, very terrible is about to happen.

Mingyu’s holding a leather notebook between his fingers - Jihoon’s notebook. It’s the one he’s always writing in; the one he shuts closed whenever anyone gets too close, the one he keeps tucked under his arm at all times; the one he’s inexplicably writing in, even if he’s blasted on Vernon’s weed. And it’s private and he’s somehow forgotten it.

“We’re not opening it,” you say immediately, power-walking back to your spot in the couch. Mingyu snaps his head towards you, and he almost looks offended at that. “What do you mean we’re not opening it, of course we’re opening it!” 

“It could be private, Gyu!” You retort and Seulgi chimes from her spot on the couch: “I’m with Y/n.” 

“No, what? Fuck you guys! We’re seeing what’s in that notebook!-” Irene spits. “Thank you!” Mingyu says.

“Yeri, it’s up to you,” you say, eyeing your roommate sharply, as you sit down again. The entire group turns to her, fury behind their retinas, and she gulps, shrinking a little. 

“Me, I just…” she shrugs abashedly and trails off. There’s a moment where you think she’ll side with you and leave the poor boy alone. You have some semblance of faith in your friendship, and maybe, maybe she’ll back you-

“He’s a music major, it’s probably just angsty lyrics, now open!” 

“Yes!” Irene and Mingyu gloat, and despite wanting to respect his privacy, you scoot closer to Mingyu (he scoffs at you, but does not mention it further, as he is itching with curiosity). With a solemn, heaved sigh, as if about to unfurl the world’s grandest mysteries, Mingyu’s large hand flips the book open.

There’s no justified way to put word to the shock that follows this. The first page reads:

“Girl Code Rule #1

Guys should bring flowers on the first date. Either lilies, roses or tulips. Depends on vibe.”

There’s a confused silence - as much as silence as you can get from a bass-boosted room of drunk college students. 

“What?” Irene quacks in disappointment, leaning closer to read it again. “Why-.. Go to the next page.” And Mingyu does, turning over the page and the next couple of pages follow suit. 

“Girl Code Rule #2

Whoever offered the date pays for dinner. First date should always be dinner, ‘none of the bowling crap’.

Girl Code Rule #3

Guys are more attractive the more hygienic they are.

Girl Code Rule #4 

It’s an ick to wear skinny jeans. *Google what an ick is.”

They come one after another, each more confusing than the last, and it’s not until number 5, that the heavy, suffocating spread of realization begins blooming among you. Clarity - your minds open like leaves of a flower in spring.

“Girl Code Rule #5

The cinema on Attacca street is a nightmare and we hate them. Never go there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

“Us!” Yeri finishes, pointing her finger at the page but directing her eyes, wide and pupils small from shock, towards you. The group exchange gaping glances. It’s undeniable - the cinema thing is relating to an incident that had happened months prior. You refuse to go into detail, but it had gotten grim.

“These are all things we’ve said!” Seulgi snatches the book out of Mingyu’s hold, beginning to mindlessly scroll through the book with furrowed brows, etch growing deeper and deeper in outrage. 

“That’s- This is crazy. That’s so not cool!” You shriek and Yeri nods in agreement: “Girl code is for girls only!” 

There’s a general agreement on the outrageousness of this. That is, except for one big boy on the couch.

“I meaaaan,” Mingyu is looking a little sheepish sitting in the middle of you and Yeri and Seulgi and Irene. All eyes flit towards him, small and sharp. He’s talking slowly, lowly and carefully:  “You guys have to have said it out loud while he was there, so you weren’t exactly being discreet…” 

“Men don’t usually listen to women, we thought we were in the clear!” Irene hisses.

“No man has ever listened to me in my entire life,” Seulgi deadpans, looking at Mingyu from beyond the book. Mingyu throws his hands out, incidentally hitting Yeri in the face, and ignoring her pained groans when she falls back on the couch. “I listened. Just now. Check that off your list-” 

“Why is he writing this down..?” You mumble, seemingly the only one grasping the gravity of the situation (although maybe there is none? You can never tell when it’s with him) and it truly is such a mystery. Was he attempting to pry open the minds of women? You don’t exactly think he has trouble finding dates, so you’re left a little at a loss. 

“Let’s ask him-” Mingu says.

“He just left, dumbass,” Irene spits and you can tell she’s almost disgusted with herself for ever siding with him.

“Let’s ask him tomorrow, then, after class,” you say decidedly. 

“Ugh, don’t talk about tomorrow..” Yeri groans, and you can see the regret settling in because why do all the hot guys throw weeknight parties? “Y/n, can we go home?” she asks and you’re nodding immediately.

“Seul?” 

“Yep.” 

And in the span of just a couple of seconds, your entire friend group is packing up, Seulgi stuffing the book into her tote bag. Mingyu’s still sitting, much smaller when you’re standing over him, and when he has that almost starstruck look on his face. “I’m so glad I’m a part of this, guys.” 

“You’re not.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Yes, I am,” Mingyu counters, clearly thinking otherwise. He’s grinning stupidly. “Hey, wait, where are we confronting him tomorrow?” he calls out suddenly, but you’re already on your way out.

“GUYS! WHERE ARE WE MEETING?”  _____________________________

You, Yeri, Seulgi, and Irene sit side by side on the middle-back row in class, eyeing Jihoon from the peaks. It’s a quiet, morning class, and the teacher rambles on while the four of you glare down at him. Or at least they glare. You hope it’s not noticeable how there’s something softer in your eyes - something almost tender. He’s fidgeting a little. Maybe he feels the pairs of eyes on the back of his black-buried head or maybe he’s noticed the book is gone and he feels the consequences coming.

It was certainly a strange situation to tackle. Mingyu did have a point, if it was a private conversation, you certainly had not discussed it as such. And even then, was there a crime in what he was doing? You just couldn’t understand how Jihoon possibly felt the need to garner all this information on women. He’d never had trouble picking up girls. You would know.

You shake the terrible, terrible thought away, when Irene speaks up: “The coward is all nervous.” 

“Okay, let’s calm down. We can’t know he’s an evildoer, before we find out his true intentions.” Seulgi reasons, a hand soothing over Irene’s arm. Yeri nods softly. “God, I wish class was over.” 

And suddenly it was. Well, twenty more minutes of suffering through a class that was totally lost, picked up by the pollen-saturated wind. Then the professor is excusing himself and wiping the board. 

Never in your life had your group been so fast at packing up their things, pencils and computers shoved down bags, before you’re strutting (model-walking) over to Jihoon. “We need to talk to you,” Yeri says, once she’s in front of his desk, hand on the wood. Jihoon looks up from where he’s packing his bag, eyes peeking through the thick strands of hair. He nods. He knows. 

As you wait for students to exit the class (Minghao giving Jihoon a confused grimace, before he squeezes out), you study Jihoon. He’s still sitting, and you’re all towering over him. His pale skin is glowing in the light and he purses his lip and bounces his leg - God, his thick leg - in nervous await. 

Students are slipping out the door in droves and when the last, tired body escapes, Seulgi reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather-bound book. “We read it.” 

“I figured,” he mutters. He’s avoiding your eyes, flinching a little when Irene slams her hand onto the book. “So, why have you been writing down the girl code?” 

Jihoon sighs. His lips make a tight line, and you can see how he wonders what to say. The pause would’ve been more tense had you not had the girls with you. 

“The girl code is for girls only,” Yeri supplies. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it-”

“Just answer the question, Jihoon!” Seulgi snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is, like, top-level strange.” 

“Alright!” Jihoon throws his hands up in the air. His eyes flit to you, totally quiet and scratching your nails on the wooden table. You look away. He sighs a little. “I… It’s..” 

You almost want to hug him when he buries his face in his hands, tugging at the ends of his hair. 

“You can’t tell anyone.” 

The four of you exchange glances.

“We won’t.” 

He pauses.

“It’s.. IhaveacrushonthisgirlandIdon’twanttomessitup.” 

There’s a beat, where the information glides cooly into your skulls and you begin to process. Jihoon - cold, cynical, loner Jihoon - has a crush on a girl and is trying to improve himself for her? 

Holy hell.

“Jihoon!” cries Seulgi and Irene chimes in, equally as adoring and diffused: “That’s so cute, you should’ve just said something!” 

There’s an uproar of coos and cries and oohs and ahhs and compliments being thrown at Jihoon and he just sits there, cheeks blazing bright red, although with a little, shy smile on his lips. 

And then there’s you. It’s so dumb. Why can’t you help the slight disappointment that lowers on you, like the fog does in the blooming season? Why can’t you smile wider, happier for Jihoon? Why do you feel this way? Does it really take all this commotion for you to realize how much you want him? You half-smile and look at your shoes. Just as how your feelings blossomed like a flower in spring, you hope they, too, are destined to wither away once more. 

“Congratulations,” you say to him, giving him a dignified nod. Jihoon looks at you for a moment, before he smiles tightly and thanks you.

“Jihoon!” Yeri says, and you know you’re about to hate her for what comes next: “We can totally help you with the crush!” 

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “Really? I mean- you guys don’t have to-” 

“No, no! You can come to our girls’ nights and we can tell you everything!” Irene cuts in, nodding in reassurance. Jihoon smiles to himself a little sheepishly.

“Who is it?” Seulgi asks, and you can tell her heart is triple its usual size.

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Come on!” Seulgi begs, but Jihoon is steadfast. He gives her cheeky smile and shakes his head again. “No way. It’s my secret.” 

“We can keep a secret!” Yeri begs, bending her knees in plea. You, unusually quiet, speak up again: “We can.” 

There’s a pause while Jihoon looks at you again. He narrows his eyes and it’s almost like he’s trying to decode you. Maybe he’s noticed you’re just as quiet as he was, at that party. You hate yourself when your heart picks up at the thought of him caring about you. 

Suddenly he’s snapping out of it and smiling and shaking his ruffled head of hair again. “No. If girl code was supposed to be a secret, then I don’t even wanna think about telling you.”

This time there’s no talkback, only somewhat embarrassed nods.

“We deserve that.”  _____________________________

You come back to your dorm room that afternoon, and lie down in bed. Thoughts of Jihoon plague your mind and you feel disease-ridden, attempting to push away the thought with the same useless reminder: You should do your paper, gotta do your paper now, it’s due very soon…

But no matter how many times you tell yourself, you can’t overcome the crushing feeling in your chest, like your entire rib cage is being compressed. 

You know when these emotions started. It was at the Halloween party, six months ago, and Jihoon had been wearing a cop-outfit and you, with a more humorous approach, a lobster costume (Mingyu was a chef). Somehow, he’d still found you sexy though, because he was laughing in the bathroom of Seungcheol’s frat house, ripping the costume off of you. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna fuck a lobster,” he’d said in between kisses, laughing again as he caught sight of the costume, discarded on the floor. You giggled. “Me neither. There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know?” 

And he’d thrown his head back, still with that black hair, still in that sexy fucking uniform, and his nose all scrunched and adam’s apple bopping in time with his joyful laughter. “Stop making me laugh while I’m trying to get you wet!” 

“I’m already wet,” you’d shrugged, “you’re hot.” 

And before you knew it you were handcuffed and he was rutting into you against the sink. His cock was disappearing and reappearing from your pussy, hooked onto him like a vice. Groaning and listening to your withheld moans, he’d left the most sinful hickies along your shining neck, while mumbling desperate praises to you: “You’re so pretty, N/n, letting me have you like this, so fucking hot.” 

You supposed you’d buried those feelings, because you felt so pathetic for catching feelings from a one night stand.

And it is pathetic. And you are pathetic, and desperate, and alone, and God, is it even Jihoon, or is it the way it suddenly feels like no one wants you? 

“Stop that,” Yeri says suddenly, lying on her bed on the opposite side of your room. You tilt your tired eyes towards her. “What?” 

“I can hear you thinking. What’s up?” She said nonchalantly, dropping her phone, that she’d been mindlessly scrolling through. Cheeks bunched up on your pillow and mascara smudging under your eyes, you look at her and sigh.

“Just tired,” you hum. _____________________________

Jihoon has been adopted. For a whole week following that incident, suddenly, your friends are taking him with them everywhere, and your safe space is invaded by his hair, his laugh, and his subtle cologne. It’s him with you during movie nights, it’s him during girls’ nights, and it’s him while you’re getting ready for a bar-night, all sitting in Irene and Seulgi’s pink-tastic room, doing makeup on the floor and on the desks and on the bed. 

“I love your eye makeup,” Seulgi says to Yeri (it’s a pink number with glittery inner corners), under eyes totally covered in white powder, as she’s baking her makeup. Jihoon is sitting on the floor, hair tied up in two pigtails that Irene had given him. “Thank you, Seul.”

You’re doing your own makeup, working blush into your cheeks and trying not to look at him, the way he’s half-lying on the carpeted floor, looking absentmindedly into his phone. His thighs are huge, and he’s wearing gray sweatpants, and you think you’re going insane.

Irene (who’s done with her makeup before anyone else, always) looks up from her own phone. She narrows her eyes deviously. “Jihoon, what do you think of Yeri’s makeup?” 

Jihoon snaps his head up, pigtails bouncing. “Uh,” he looks a little lost, when he turns his head over to Yeri, who smiles sheepishly, not totally understanding what was happening. “It’s nice.” 

“Just nice?” Irene smirks, and Jihoon finally seems to catch on to the fact that this is some sort of test. Indeed it was, and you knew it from the moment Irene began to talk. Your eyes flit between them, sitting behind you in the mirror. “Can you elaborate on that?” Irene smirks.

“It’s…” Jihoon considers what to respond, almost nervous. “She looks better without makeup.”

“Son, no!”

“Never!”

“Absolutely not!” 

It’s a cacophony from the girls, even a pillow is thrown at his head, which he dodges in shock. “Never say that to a girl, Jihoon! It’s rude!” Irene lectures, a finger pointedly thrown in his direction. When he doesn’t seem to get it, Yeri explains: “Imagine spending time on something, only for someone to say they’d wish you hadn’t done it all.” 

Jihoon, who’s been bristling like a disturbed cat up until now, softens in understanding. “Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, our child, you’re learning,” Irene says, face turning back to her phone, as she apparently has lost interest in the conversation. 

You watch quietly with a bemused smile, having paused your ministrations on your face, brush held in the air before you. Jihoon’s eyes flicker over to you, an unreadable expression on his face. You meet his eyes in the mirror, pitch black and blank. You look away quickly.

You can feel him, still looking at you, and you feel self-conscious at the way you crooken your back to better focus on your face. What’s he thinking? That you look ugly? That your back is ugly? Your makeup?

“Are you okay, Y/n?” 

You freeze. His voice is soft as ever, and you understand now, better than ever, why he’s a music major, because it’s so melodious and sweet in your ears. All eyes in the room snap to you and you eye them all in the mirror. “Yep.” 

Yeri sighs, exasperated. “She’s been depresso for, like, a week.” 

“I’ve been fine,” you correct, smudging out the pencil on your lid. “I’ve been fineeee,” Yeri mocks, making her voice nasally and high. You glare at her through the mirror, but all she does is stick her tongue out at you. 

“I’m just stressed out, okay? I've got a lot on my plate,” you mumble bitterly, and it’s true, because every time you’re trying to do assignments, papers, write notes and focus in class, you think of him, and how he doesn’t want you. And one wrong thing leads to another, and then you’re thinking about how no one wants you, and you haven’t had a boyfriend since you entered college. And then it’s something about how you look, or it’s something about how you are, as a person, and you just sit at your desk with this terrible feeling in you gut, trying not to cry, or hoping that your sniffles don’t overpower Replay by Shinee blasting in Yeri’s headphones, as she’s eating crackers in bed, just a few feet away from you. 

“Just talk to us if you need anything, okay?” Seulgi frowns and you smile at her, hoping it looks convincing. She nods at you, turning back to her handheld mirror. But alas one person stays staring at you. You avoid his eyes, trying not to look like you’re about to cry.

“I can arrange a spa day? We can get our toes done,” Irene asks, and she wiggles her toes in the air for emphasis. “Ooo, yes!” Yeri exclaims. 

Finally, Jihoon’s attention is ripped from you, wincing at the thought of another person handling his feet. “Can I skip out on that, maybe?” 

Irene scratches her chin, pretending to think about it. Then she says, bluntly and directly: “Nah.” 

_____________________________

“Let me come with you to the spa!” 

“No! Jihoon, walk faster,” like a mother, Seulgi is grabbing Jihoon’s wrist and dragging him further from the tall, huge man behind you. Mingyu is following you all like a dog, whining and crying, and pouting. “Please, guys! I don’t wanna go with Seungcheol and Jeonghan, they’re mean!” 

“Spa day is for girls only!” Yeri yells over her shoulder, as the five of you stumble away from Mingyu, crying out to you. “What about him?” Mingyu yells and points. 

“Don’t listen to him, sweetie,” Seulgi tells Jihoon and he nods very seriously. “He’s our adopted son! Now shoo!” 

Finally Mingyu gives up the chase, and you disappear behind the outerwall, beginning down a busy street towards Irene’s favorite spa. “I don’t get how you’re friends with that guy,” Irene says, elbowing you, and you both snicker. “He’s a pup,” you shrug.

The streets are filled with people, the sun is shining, and it’s spring, and everything should be great, because you’re with your friends. But he’s here too. Swallowed up by his hoodie, pitch black in a sea of colors, he’s still here and his very presence has you tense, and yearning for the touch of a masseuse. The streets that had grown so familiar, that you thought you had learnt and mastered, had become so foreign, and you’re trying to escape into yourself, trying to find a backdoor out of the constant blabbering, teaching Jihoon the importance of gossip and female communication and companionship. These are your friends. The sadness eventually musters into frustration.

Soon enough, you’re sighing so hard you think your soul escapes with it through your mouth. A spa-worker begins massaging your feet, and working her thumbs into your sore soles. Irene laughs at your reaction, two seats over. “Told you all you needed was a spa day!” she beams. Yeah, a spa day and maybe a new friend group that wouldn’t adopt the guy who you should certainly not be around!

And speaking of him, he’s sitting in the chair right next to yours, grimacing and flinching back from the disdained worker. 

“What are you gonna tell her?” Yeri quips, smiling at the end of the row. Jihoon takes a second to snap out of his constant flinching, looking over at her nervously. “Oh, uh…” 

The girls are all looking at him expectantly, but you’re squeezing your eyes shut and wishing your ears could shut too. 

“Probably, like.. ‘Hey, I like you, would you maybe wanna go out on a date sometime?” 

“Pssh!”

“Absolutely not!”

“As if!” 

Jihoon is a little flabbergasted.

“Here’s what you’re actually gonna say,” Seulgi leans over in her chair towards him, directing him with a finger in her armrest. You hear Jihoon scramble in his chair, and you know he’s taking out that stupid notebook again.

Seulgi lowers her voice to mimic his, when she talks again: “‘Hi, crush, how are you?’ Wait for her response… Then: ‘I’ve always thought you were very beautiful. Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date, would that be okay with you?’ And be suave about it.” 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH.”

Yeri and Irene burst into laughter, hitting the armrests of their chairs and covering their bright smiles with their hands. Even you snort in amusement. “What?!” Seulgi exclaims, outraged. “What’s so funny about that?” 

“Nothing, I just-...” Irene wafts herself, trying to ease away that tears of glee that spring in her eyes. “I can’t imagine any man, let alone our son, saying that to a woman.. Wow.” 

“It’s good! I would be flattered,” Seulgi defends herself viciously. Yeri snorts from her seat: “It’s not a drama, Seul!” 

“Well!” Seulgi scoffs, twisting her upper body to face Yeri now. “Maybe I would like my life to be a drama, thank you very much!” 

Their argument continues viciously, insults and laughter being thrown at each other left and right and you can almost begin to tune them own, letting the feeling of pads on your feet and a gentle, cool brush on the nail lure you to sleep.

Then there’s a hand on your forearm. You peek an eye open and see him - God, it just has to be him - leaning over his chair to gently grasp you. He looks at you through lashes, and he’s so sincere that it kills you when he says: “I can tell you’re not okay.” 

You’re a little taken aback, one second prior you were being lulled to sleep and now he’s talking to you, so low, so seriously, while the girls try to attack each other behind him. You wish your heart isn’t suddenly galloping, and you wish his warmth on your arm and radiating onto you isn’t so nauseating. “I-”

“Don't say you are, when you're not. You’re very obvious, you know?” he hums, smiling softly when he sees you flush from his intense gaze. You avert your eyes nervously. “Uhm. I just.. I don’t really want to talk about it, Hoon.” 

You flick your eyes back up to his to survey his reaction. His expression softens at the nickname, and he holds your gaze for a moment longer, before he nods in understanding, all the warmth of his closeness disappearing, when he sits back down in his seat.

“That’s okay,” he smiles at you in reassurance, and your heart leaps, and you can’t help but think that he doesn’t need anymore training to make his crush - whoever the lucky girl is - completely and totally happy for several lifetimes. 

He’s a beautiful, sun-beamed flower, where he sits, light flitting through the store-front windows. You’d be happy for several lifetimes. If only he wanted you. _____________________________

“What is going on?!” 

It’s Mingyu, and he’s somehow found you, as you’re trudging out of your latest class, suddenly hot on your trail and outraged about something or other. “What?” you mumble, heading to the cafe near the end of the hall.

“With Jihoon?! Why does he get to be your son when I don’t?!” Mingyu wafts his arms and pouts and you cringe, leaning away from his loud voice. “Ugh…” 

“I need to know why he was writing that girl code stuff, Y/n. Why is he suddenly allowed at girls’ nights, when I’ve been trying to get in for months?!” 

You take a turn into the cafe and sigh at how crowded it is, immediately placing yourself in line, Mingyu right behind you. “Calm down,” you say, just wanting a sandwich and maybe some peace and qui-

“I will not!” he snaps back, brows furrowed and a determined look on his face. You look up at him, pursing your lips in thought. Did Mingyu deserve to know? Maybe. He had been trying to get into girls’ nights forever, always going on about being ‘an honorary member’. 

“I’m not sure I can tell you- Hey, can I get a tuna sandwich, please?” You say, quickly turned to the clerk behind the counter. “I won’t tell anyone, pleaseee- Can you get me one of those too? Thanks.”

You’re handed your sandwiches, and you hold both of them, drifting over to a table by the window, both of Mingyu’s hands on your shoulders and his voice in your ear: “Please, please, please, pretty please with the sugar on top?”

You plop down in your seat, simply exasperated, and hand him his sandwich. He’s settling himself down when you answer: “Okay.”

“Yes!” Mingyu fists the air in victory, mumbling self-assured under his breath: “Begging always works.” You snort and take a big bite of your sandwich. 

“Stop eating and tell me!” he whines. “I’m hungry– Hey!” 

Mingyu snatches the sandwich right out of your hands and grins at you deviously, dancing with it. You hate him. You hate him, but it is a little endearing.

“Jihoon has a crush on some girl and he’s been writing down the girl code in an attempt to understand women,” you deadpan, and when Mingyu’s mouth and guard drops, you snatch your sandwich back and begin gulping down hungrily. 

“Are you shitting me?!” You shake your head.

“So, that's why he's allowed at girls’ night?” You nod your head. 

“So, that’s why you’ve been so down?” You almost choke on your food.

“What?” 

“Because you like him,” Mingyu says seriously and, with a totally stunned look on your face, you shark down the bits of sandwich in your mouth painfully. “How do you know that?!” you cry, head suddenly snapping in seventy different directions, relief washing over you, when none of your or Jihoon’s friends are around.

“Because you’ve been acting all weird around him since you fucked at Seungcheol’s Halloween party,” Mingyu shrugs. You wave your arms wildly.

“How do you know that?!” Whining, you throw yourself back in your seat, and bury your head in your hands. This couldn’t be happening. Your delicate secret, the one that could have - should have - simply faded away into summer, was now out and open, and you look out the window, and it’s spring.

“I know everything,” Mingu says ominously, giggling evilly.

“Mingyu, I will fucking kill you.”

“Fine! I needed to pee and you guys were super loud,” Mingyu pouts and takes a bite of his own sandwich. “No need to be so rude.” 

“I can’t believe you know,” you groan, head collapsing on the table. Mingyu, forever and always silly, finally softens and frowns. You’re scattered. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“No,” you say. Then, a moment later (in true Girl Code fashion) you’re lifting your head from the table and burying it in your hands: “I just. I don’t know, Mingyu. I feel so pathetic for liking him after a one night stand! And now he’s doing all this for another woman and he’s with us all the time…I haven’t had a boyfriend in college, Mingyu. I just feel so…” There’s a pause, when you’re trying to find the right word, and Mingyu stops breathing, looking at you and fearing the worst. Then comes the word, ripping itself from your lips:

“Unlovable.” 

Mingyu’s frown deepens. Big, puppy Mingyu who’s always silly and happy, just slumps in on himself. “You’re not unlovable,” he mumbles, sounding genuinely disbelieving. You scoff.

“Thanks, Mingyu, it’s just.. That’s how it feels,” you admit, running a hand through your hair and looking at your half-eaten sandwich on the table. Mingyu’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks up again, he’s determined, and you can discern almost immediately that there’s no escaping this plan. Or he’ll for God’s sake start begging again.

“I’m going to wingman you,” he’s nodding to himself, and you can see the plan falling into place in his head, “I’m gonna wingman you and set you up with my friend at the party on Saturday!” 

“Please, don’t,” you groan half-heartedly, but a piece of you brightens with hope, with summer, like maybe this was the thing you needed to get over your schoolgirl-crush on Jihoon.

“No,” Mingyu responds simply. “This is happening.”  _____________________________

Indeed, it is happening. 

The frat house is practically bumping with each beat of whatever pop song is playing over the speakers, and you lean into the rhythm that reverberates in the kitchen table beneath your fingers.

You somewhat wish that you hadn’t been as excited for this as you were, that you hadn’t spent hours picking out the perfect pink dress and doing your makeup, and that you aren’t hopelessly dependant on Mingyu (of all people) to find you a fuck. But you are. Putting on that dress and hoop earrings and doing your hair and declining Yeri’s invitation to the girls’ (and Jihoon’s) pre-party, you feel like you’re scrambling, like constantly falling through the air, flailing for something to ground yourself on. 

Now, scanning over the tinted lights and the dancing people and feeling the slight, warm buzz of vodka in your blood, you know you need this. And still, you combat that slight anxiety, the insecurity that you hadn’t felt in years - what if Mingyu couldn’t find a single guy that wanted you? 

Mingyu doesn’t seem worried though.

“Okay! We just gotta figure out who to set you up with. Take your pick,” he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing and gauging your reaction. Your brows furrow as you shrug. Somehow, even when half the guys are objectively hot, you can’t say you find yourself drawn to any of them. You don’t linger on the feeling, fearful that maybe you’ll realize all the things they’re missing, the things they’re falling short of, are just Jihoon’s traits. “I don’t know, man. I just-..” 

Mingyu senses your struggle and elects to give you his excellent guidance. “Alright, well you could do Joshua?” He’s pointing somewhere in the crowd, and sure enough, you notice Joshua, majoring in communications or something like that. “He’s a star: total hottie, super smart, sweet and considerate, and-” 

“And he fucked Yeri,” you deadpan, head lolling over to look at Mingyu disapprovingly. Mingyu’s mouth falls open: “What?!”

“Yeah, like, two months ago!” you argue, wafting your hands. Mingyu’s mouth stays open, and he’s seemingly totally appalled by this. 

“What?! Okay- nevermind. How about him?” He points his long limbs again, and this time you notice- 

You narrow your eyes confusedly. Hopefully Mingyu was not trying to set you up with the biggest player in your year? “Jeonghan?!” 

“What? No, the guy beside him, dickwad,” he playfully smacks the side of your head as you refocus your eyes. Indeed, a blonde guy is standing next to Jeonghan, seemingly whining at him. “Who’s he?” 

“Lee Chan. Super sweet, great bod, a little dumb, but very doting-” 

“Is he a freshman?!” you cry, almost as if it were a crime. Mingyu huffs. “You’re not making this easy, you know?!” 

“I’m not dating or fucking a freshman,” you cross your arms and Mingyu senses the air of finality in your words. He sighs, slumping behind you for a moment, before he spots something across the room.

“Wonwoo! What about him?” he doesn’t even bother pointing at this point, simply tilts your head towards the man, who was currently talking to Seungcheol a little ways from the kitchen. You spot him. You suppose you’d always been a little curious about Wonwoo. From what you’d seen of him in passing, he was sweet and polite, absolutely gorgeous and extremely smart. You nod solemnly.

“I could- I could see that,” you say and Mingyu’s eyes light up. He bounces victoriously, punching the air. “He’s great, you’re- you’re gonna love him,” Mingyu delights and before you can even get another word in, Mingyu’s yelling across the room: “Hey, Wonwoo! Wonwoo, scootch over here!”  

Your eyes widen in shock. “Wha- we’re doing this now? Just, on the fly? No warning?” 

“It’s fine,” Mingyu waves you off, eyes trained on where Wonwoo is now walking towards you. 

“Do I look okay?” your voice is wavering nervously. You still can’t help how you feel, even in your dress and your makeup. Where had all your confidence gone? The confidence with which you’d literally fucked Jihoon in a lobster-costume? Even the thought of him stings. Mingyu’s confident facade falters for only a split second at the vulnerability in your tone. His gaze softens and he looks at you: “You look great, N/n. Calm down, Wonwoo’s super nice.” 

“Hey, Gyu,” Wonwoo’s voice is cool, as he approaches Mingyu. Standing in front of you and Mingyu, he briefly scans you, then acknowledges you with a nod and a sweet smile. “Wonwoo, hey, you know, I was just wondering if you’ve already done the history paper?” 

Wonwoo is unamused. “I’m not doing your paper again, Mingyu.” 

“Oh well, shucks, that’s simply too bad,” Mingyu (poorly) feigns annoyance and defeat, before he’s grabbing your shoulder. “Anyway, Wonwoo, have you met my very good friend, Y/n?” 

You fake a smile, hoping the absolute pain of the current interaction was not showing on your face. If you’d known Mingyu was this bad at wing-manning, you would’ve gladly put up with his begging instead. You want to crawl into a hole and die, because based on Wonwoo’s smug smile, he has a pretty good understanding of what’s happening.

“Whoops, look at the time!” Mingyu looks at his wrist. He is not wearing a watch. “Damn, I guess I gotta go and- and leave my two good friends alone with each other, such a shame, uh, anyway!” As he speaks he backs further and further from you, trying to ignore the glare in your eyes, before he’s bolting at his last word. 

There’s an awkward silence as soon as Mingyu’s gone. You feel like an unshelled turtle. You purse your lips and stare at your heel-clad feet. 

“So, Mingyu was trying to wingman you?” Wonwoo’s voice is deep and bemused. You look at him in horror, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation.

“Yeah,” your breathe, and he immediately begins laughing. “Sorry about that, he was- he was just trying to be helpful, although it’s hard to defend him right now.” 

“He’s wingmanned me before, too,” Wonwoo muses and, thank God, this was actually a good thing. You find a balance on the common ground. “Really?” you grin, looking up at him.

“Yep,” Wonwoo admits, “safe to say I did not get my dick wet.” 

You laugh hard, and it feels like a switch has flipped inside you, restarting your joy-generator, because you’re laughing and hitting Wonwoo’s arm, and he’s smiling because he’s just made a pretty girl laugh. 

“He’s so bad!” you say when you’re done laughing. “Everytime!” Wonwoo drawls, “Everytime he pulls that shit and he’s never wearing a watch!” 

You and Wonwoo laugh together, throwing (good-hearted) snarky comments about Mingyu around, and your cheeks are rosy and shining in the kitchen-light. Finally, party still bumpin’ and pumpin’ in the near distance, your laughter dies down and you’re both half-leaning against the counter. Wonwoo looks down at you with a smug smile. 

“What?” you ask, growing insecure again under his gaze. He hums.

“So you asked for me?” 

“Hm?” 

“When Mingyu was wingmanning you,” Wonwoo reminded you, tilting his head. “You asked for me?” 

“I-” you stutter, and your heart clenches nervously, because if things had been right, if things were different at least, you would have asked for Jihoon. It’s this gut-punching guilt. It feels wrong to use him, Wonwoo, to overcome Jihoon. “He was laying down my options.” 

“Options?” Wonwoo quips, brow raised questioningly, but he doesn’t interrogate further. Instead, he leans his head down, so he’s much, much closer to you, breathing hitting your face when he whispers: “But you wanted to fuck me. Isn’t that right?” 

You gulp. His presence is almost suffocating. Avoiding his eyes, you flicker them onto the dancefloor, where- 

Where Jihoon is storming out of the house. 

You squeeze your eyes shut - something Wonwoo thinks is out of embarrassment, from the question he’s just asked you - and try to refocus on Wonwoo. Try to ignore how the thoughts about Jihoon come bubbling in your head. It was probably something with his crush. You want to do nothing more than comfort him, hold him, steal away every bad thought he may ever have. 

You open your eyes, hoping that somehow seeing Wonwoo’s face would fill you with a need for him - him, and not Jihoon - but seeing him in the low lighting only serves as a reminder that Wonwoo is not him. 

“I’m- I’m so sorry, Wonwoo. I gotta go. I’m really, really sorry-” you say suddenly, and immediately you’re scurrying towards the door. Wonwoo frowns, eyes following you in your path. “Did I- Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, you were hot!” you say absent-mindedly, before you’re disappearing into the entrance, and then further along, out the door.

Wonwoo stands alone at the counter, still somewhat leaned towards your ghost in front of him, and shakes his head in confusion. “What the fuck?”  _____________________________

“Jihoon?” 

You exit just in time to see him, stomping on the other side of the road, armless denim jacket wafting in the wind. It’s spring, just warm enough that you’re not freezing, but still cold enough that you curl your arms around yourself. Your hair blows gently. It smells distantly like flowers. 

He turns around at your voice. When he does, you know your suspicions were right. He looks so defeated. His gorgeous long hair, that usually only makes you clench your thighs together, is limp and drags him downwards. His arms hang similarly at his sides, fists clenched at the bottom, causing veins to ripple along the forearms. He stands just below a street light, spot-lighted, as if on a stage.

“Leave me alone!” he yells out to you across the road, voice breaking halfway. This does nothing to dampen his demeanor - this tough front, this anger he suddenly carries. You still in the grass beside the road, looking at him pleadingly. He can’t hold your gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, Jihoon,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “But I can just.. Support you. You don’t have to be alone right now.” 

This almost seems to piss him off more, clenching his jaw, sharply defined by the harsh shadows, and steering his head away from you, like a sunflower following the sun in the sky. It hurts your heart. The way he almost seems angry with you. And yet again you’re made to feel pathetic for following him out here. Like you’re on your knees and he’s standing there in front of you, spitting on you. Why does it hurt so much? You almost wish you’d stayed with Wonwoo - that you’d followed him to his room and let him fuck you and pretended you weren’t thinking about him the entire time.

“Shouldn’t you go back inside?” he’s prickling with hostility. “You seemed like you were having a good time.”

“Jihoon,” you say breathlessly. “None of us is having a good time if you’re not.” 

Whatever cog you unturned, whatever screw you unscrewed, Jihoon’s tightly wound posture unwinds, and he softens and withers before you, one hand clamping over his eyes. You take this as a sign to move towards him, heels clicking on the asphalt warning him of your advance. It’s deadly quiet, save for the heartbeat of the frat house behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally lowering his hand and looking at you. You smile sympathetically, relief flooding you, when he lets you gently place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

The two of you begin to walk in silence, and you recognize it as the path that leads back to the dormitory. It’s calm, steps becoming rhythmic and breeze easing your muscles with its cool touch. You study his face as it’s lit and unlit by the systemic presence of street lights. You’re able to put your own feelings aside for him, to be a martyr, and to sacrifice yourself to comfort him. It feels like cutting your own throat to talk to him about another woman, a woman he loves, truly, but you know it must be done.

“So,” you muster finally. “What happened in there?” 

He scoffs bitterly, looking at the pavement underneath his shoes. You frown. “Nothing happened.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, a little confused.

“I didn’t tell her.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re honestly not the best comforter, you realize, cringing and hoping you’re not making it worse by talking to him about it. You see the faint outline of the dormitory at the end of the street. 

“Why not?” you quip quietly. His mouth makes a tight line. He breathes out shakily, and you fear you’re riling him up again by asking further.

“She was talking to some other guy,” Jihoon says, eyes flitting to yours before immediately ducking back to the pavement. You furrow your brows. Could it be you? That thought nurtures the spring garden in your stomach, the one you’d been trying to kill. But the insecurity that had come with it, and with him, only manages to squander that light.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you say softly, hand finding his arm, but he pulls it away from you immediately. Ouch. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles without humor. 

Finally, you decide to just shut up, to stop pushing him when he’s so vulnerable, but this time it’s Jihoon who doesn’t stop speaking. “You know,” he begins and again he’s laughing, but you can tell it’s only a cheap plaster for the pain in his voice, “I’d memorized that- that confession thing Seulgi made. And I followed all the- the style advice and the-” his voice breaks and he hisses at how pathetic it sounds. “Everything. I did everything,” he summarizes finally and when you look you see orbs of tears forming at his waterline, like the dew drops that sparkle on leaves in spring. 

You don’t know what to say. It’s almost too hard to see him like this. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but Jihoon shakes his head.

“Stop saying that,” his voice is harsher, groggier, thick and stained by the sobs in his throat. You pause your steps. You’re standing in the yard outside the dormitory now. Hundreds of windows become an audience to where you now stand before each other. 

“Why?” you ask. 

“Because-” he wipes the tears away aggressively, composing himself before he finally, finally looks at you. “Because you’re gonna make me think that you actually care.” His voice is suddenly laced with venom again. The hostility that you’d tamed returns and it’s so much stronger, more bitter. You’re taken aback.

“I-I do care? Why do you think I don’t care-” 

“Oh, please, Y/n. You didn’t want me at your girls’ nights or at spa day or fucking whatever. You didn’t- You don’t care about my book or my crush or my-” 

“I do care!” you interrupt, voice stern and much louder. “What, you think I follow you out of parties for fun? Because I don’t care about you? And yeah, maybe I didn’t want you at the girls’ nights, but what does that matter-” 

“It matters because!–” he stops himself in his tracks, hand coming out to halt you. “Fuck it, wait here,” he orders, and suddenly he is trudging into the darkness of the courtyard. You stand still, flabbergasted, and thoroughly confused. It’s so dark you can’t even see what he’s doing, only hear him in the dirt, silhouette blending into the shadows. Then, he’s walking back to you and you finally see him. 

There are flowers in his hands. 

It’s a makeshift bouquet, held tightly in between his veiny, pale hands, consisting of flowers that grow in the courtyard, red, yellow and lilac. It’s a slow-burning realization as he stands himself before you, looking into your eyes with a sincerity that is laced with pain. You know this part of the girl code. 

“Hi, Y/n, how are you?” he breathes, and his voice is shaking and he’s looking at you and practically begging you to play along - to indulge him, even if you would turn your back on him. You can hardly register anything but him and those flowers, because your surroundings, the moon, the stars, the shadows and the streets are overpowered by the blooming in your chest. A single flower unfurls the pedals of your heart until you are open before him. You meet his eyes.

“I’m good.” 

He nods. 

“I’ve always thought you were very beautiful,” it almost seems like it physically pains him to admit these breathless feelings. “Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date,” another pained, gulping pause. “Would that be okay with you?”

It’s as if time has stopped in this moment; how his chest rises and falls under his shirt, how his hair gently nuzzles his face, how his eyes blear out at you from underneath his bangs, how he glows in the moonlight, and how his hands shake around the stems of the flowers. 

“Was I..” his voice is hoarse, “Was I suave about it?” 

“Yes,” is all you can manage, because all those flowers that you had stomped into a half-death were coming alive again and this time it was more than welcome.

“Yes?” 

“Yes, you can take me on a date,” you break into a wide smile and, upon realizing you probably look like an idiot, you lower your gaze and your warm, shining cheeks to the pavement. He gasps, and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

“But- you and Wonwoo-?” 

“Do you wanna know why I was even talking to Wonwoo?” you ask, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s also smiling. You can’t help but reach out a hand to wrap around one of his, still frozen in holding the flowers. He quickly maneuvers the bouquet to the other hand and intertwines your fingers. Your heart soars. “Mingyu found out that I was sad because you had a crush on someone - I didn’t think it was me, you know? So he promised to wingman me at this party.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Jihoon whispers, and you laugh, feeling so floaty and lovely. “Don’t call him that,” you say, but Jihoon only smiles cheekily, eyes matching the crescent moon in the sky above you.

“No, I meant me,” he says. He looks down at the flowers and frowns. “Is that why you were so quiet? On girls night?” 

You nod and he sighs. “I’m such an idiot.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re so sweet,” you say genuinely, and Jihoon nearly melts at how much you mean it. There’s something so wonderful about the way all the words, that he would never use to describe himself, float around your head and sparkle in your eyes in this moment, looking up at him.

Jihoon needs to kiss you.  He’s not sure he’s ever needed anything as badly. He rips his free hand from yours only to place it tenderly against your cheek, pulling your face and your warmth into him, bouquet held out at his side to allow you snugly in his chest. 

His lips are so soft and his nose nuzzles your own, plush hair tickling your forehead, and his huffed out breaths dance along your cheeks. Your lips mod perfectly, unlocking the shackles with which that earth-shattering yearning had held onto you. The world is anguish but will momentarily and suddenly be interrupted,  cleaved apart with a sudden gash, by a planet-killer: love. 

You truly don’t mean to make it heated, hell, you’d be content just kissing him forever, feeling how his tongue prods at your lips and meets your own, but his sculpted chest under your fingers draws out a pathetic moan. His eyebrows spring up and he pulls back to look at you. You blush under his gaze, fiddling with your dress.

“Holy fuck, that was so fucking hot,” he gasps, lips swollen from your insistent sucking on them, panting into the night air. You brighten at his compliment. “Inside. Now. To my room.” 

“You know, girl code says to not have sex before on the third date,” you say smugly, unprepared when his free hand pushes you back into his chest, and his lips drag over half of your face, finding home at your ear. His voice is a growl: “Fuck. Girl code.” 

He begins a somewhat dramatic march to the front door and you can’t help but run after him, taking his hand, and seeing how he smiles at that feeling. He looks so happy. Your heart skips a beat, because it’s you - you’re the one making him so happy. 

And he’s so hot, it’s all you can think about as he drags you along the corridors, how nice his arms look in the sleeves denim, how pretty his hair is, his fucking face, and the chest you just barely felt under your fingertips. You’re watching doors pass in a monotonous routine, jittery and unable to wait for the one that might be his, for him to take you through it, and for you to bloom, totally and perfectly under him.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes, voice gruff and much lower than you’re used to when he stops at his door, fishing for his keys in his pocket. It enters the lock and with a click, everything you fantasized about is opening to you. 

As soon as you’re inside, he’s kicking the door shut and pushing you against the wall, nails gripping into your dress, when he finally drops the makeshift bouquet on his nightstand. He cries out into your mouth at the way your chest bounces from the impact, immediately capturing your lips in his again. 

You can’t help the way you’re tugging at his hair, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of him, when he shoves a thigh between your legs. You moan into his mouth, rutting into him, while his wandering hands pull your skirt up you to pool around your waist. He pulls back to look at you, how your hips cant into his strong, big thigh, and how your pink, lacey panties cling to your wet pussy. 

“Off,” he mumbles, apparently having decided that the simple tugging of the fabric of your dress won’t be enough. You turn around in a daze, not even uttering a word, simply shoving the zipper at the back of it. 

Jihoon groans, he has to, seeing the way you stick out your ass to him, while your hand lay flat on the wall. You shake your hips teasingly at him, and his hands float to your ass, petting it and squeezing it in his fingers, and biting his lips because it looks so fucking good and plump, and there’s a wet spot in your panties. He grabs your hips and rubs his dick into you. You gasp at the feeling, nails scratching against the wall.

“You make me so hard, baby,” he says breathlessly, unable to help himself humping against you, pre-cum spilling from his tip. “Shit,” he grunts, and you’re squeezing your eyes closed at the outline of his dick pressing into your pussy. 

Finally Jihoon collects himself and his cold hands drag the zipper down. The top of your dress loosens and slides down your shoulders, where Jihoon aids you in slipping it off. His hands spin you around, finally taking a breath to marvel your bare chest in front of him. 

You blush, suddenly so bashful, when just before you were wiggling your ass at him. You curl your arms over your chest, but Jihoon’s own come to stop them. “No, no, no, no,” he tuts, almost sad, “why are you doing that?” 

You don’t answer immediately, but apparently it’s not a rhetorical question. His hands intertwine with yours to prevent you from covering yourself up. “Uh, I don’t know,” you stammer sheepishly, “I don’t wanna, like, kill the mood or any-” 

“You’re not killing the mood, pretty,” Jihoon whispers so, so achingly sincere and your heart hurts. 

“Sorry, it was just-” 

“Don’t say sorry,” he lectures, interrupting again. He tilts his head and he looks at you with a flaming intensity. “Try again.” 

You pause, flustered out of your mind.

“I-I’ve just been feeling a little insecure lately, I guess,” you say and you’re positive your face is beet-red, but if it is Jihoon says nothing, only pouts and releases one hand only to direct your eyes back to his with a hand on your chin. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” he says and even when you seek it out, you can’t find even the slightest hint of lying in his voice. “I want to show you, but I can’t do that if you cover up. Understand?” 

You nod, lips breaking into a little smile, that his heart becomes hot like the spring-sunshine. “Okay,” you say and he smiles brightly, releasing your chin from between his fingers. 

He guides you onto the bed, but it’s no longer heated and rushed, it’s so soft and gentle, and he pulls off your underwear only after you whisper in agreement, and then he lowers himself into it, again, only allowing himself the pleasure when you whisper a strained yes and nod vigorously. 

He fully makes out with your pussy - his lips are wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking it, and fucking moaning into it, sending vibration straight to the coil in your stomach. You’re moaning so loud, broken cries bouncing off the walls, while your finger wrap into his hair and your legs thrash. His tongue flattens against your folds, then dips down to trail around your slit. 

“Jihoon!” you cry, hips bucking into his mouth. He groans again, releasing your pussy with a soft pop. “Fuck, baby, keep saying my name like that.” And then his face disappears in your pussy again.

And you do, everytime his nips and gums on your sensitive folds, tongue trailing back up to your nub to fully envelop it. He sucks, hard. And you think you might cum the second you look at him, because the image of his full head of hair buried in between your legs and lapping like a starved man is so pornographic, your head spins.

He might go insane from just the taste of you, he realizes, because even when you cry that you’re cumming, and your legs shake around his head and your pussy is soaked with your cum, he can’t bring himself to pull away, strong arms wrapping around stomach to still you as you begin to wiggle from the feeling of his tongue just continuing to lap at you.

“Jihoon! Fuck, t-too much,” you whimper and the sound shoots straight to his cock. He finally pulls away, eyes still trained on your pretty cunt, and the way it clenches around nothing. “Clenching so hard, sweetheart, only for there to be nothing, shouldn’t we fix that?” he hums, leaning down to trail his finger through your folds, gathering your wetness on its tip.

You whimper uncertainly, when he crawls back over your body, hair tickling your face when hovers just above you and he shushes your pathetic squeaks. He pushes the wet finger into your mouth and you suck obediently. “Shh, baby, just taste yourself on my finger, how can you be insecure with a pussy like that, hm?” 

You cry around his single digit, tongue sliding over it eagerly. He wants to fuck your face, the way your pretty, plump lips wrap around his finger, but he’ll save that for another time. “Shh, baby, I know. You’ll be stuffed full of cock soon, don’t worry,” he rasps soothingly, and slips his drenched finger from your mouth. 

Finally, he rips the denim jacket off, white tee following soon after, and you’re left, mouth gaping, at the how toned his stomach is, how big his pecs are and how fucking thick his arms are at his side. 

“You’re so fucking hoot, Hoonie,” you drawl, making grabby hands to urge him back to you. He smiles at those words, even gains a small dusting of pink on his cheeks, but he shakes his head. “Gotta get my pants off, baby.” 

“Hurry up,” you grin playfully, and he scoffs at you from where he stands, pants and boxers coming off in one fell swoop. “So needy,” he mumbles to himself, but you can tell by the overjoyed expression on his face, that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

His cock is finally freed, and your eyes float to it, drinking in the sight of him. He’s so pretty and so red, and a single vein creeps up its curved surface towards the oozing head. You gulp, eyes sparkling. 

“Wan’ it in my mouth,” you mumble, where you’re now half sitting up and glowing from your first orgasm. Jihoon looks at you and laughs, as he climbs on top of you again. 

His face hovers over yours, finger carding through your hair tenderly. He looks in your eyes. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

He coos at you, eyes flickering to your lips for a moment, and you feel his cock twitch where it rests heavily on your stomach. “Not right now, pretty, I wanna fuck you.” 

“You don’t have to cum-” you reason, mouth practically watering at the thought of having him in your mouth. He stops you though, hand still brushing through your hair, so delicately, as if you were a lily, or a rose, or a tulip.

“I’m not gonna be able to hold back if you look at me like that with my fucking cock in your mouth,” he whispers, and it’s so intimate, despite being so vulgar. How warm you both are, naked and holding onto each other and his dick is oozing onto your stomach and your pussy is leaking onto his sheets. “Like that,” Jihoon emphasizes, when you look up at him adoringly. You smile. 

“Okay,” you say, a determined look on your face, “later then.” 

He laughs. “Eager baby. Relax, you’re gonna get a pussy full of cock now, your mouth can wait.” 

You wanna retort, say something snarky, anything, but you’re abruptly interrupted by the feeling of his cock pushing into you. You moan and your nails claw at his back, because it’s so big and so raw in your pussy, you feel that fucking vein dragging against your walls. “Shit, Hoonie. Fuck, fuck.” 

He’s groaning too, hands on your waist and face in your neck. “So fucking tight, so pretty.” 

You’re both panting when his cock is fully nestled inside you, sitting snug against your walls. You look up at him and he’s pretty, all flushed and lips swollen, and the sight makes you clench. He hisses, jerking abruptly, making the both of you moan. 

“Fuck, baby, can’t just clench on me like tha-” 

“Please, please, just fuck me now, can’t wait anymore!” you cry, clawing at him, nails raking over his flexed biceps, where he holds onto you. And he can’t help but fulfill your wish.

You honestly don’t know where he gets his stamina, because the second you’re done asking, he’s ramming into you so hard and so fast, your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open in a long whine. The whole bed is shaking from the impact, as his hips sheath and unsheath from your warm, welcoming pussy. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he drawls, hands trailing up from your waist to your bouncing chest, thumbing over your nipples. “Bet Wonwoo wishes he got to see you like this, hm?” 

The way your pussy has his cock in a chokehold, the way you’re lying beneath, it has him fully dazed, and now he babbles all that comes to mind. “Yeah, but you’re mine, princess. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else can have you crying like this for their cock, right?” 

“N-No one else,” you whimper, sopping cunt clenching and unclenching around his dick. “That’s right,” he pants, humid breath on your cheek, “Say you’re mine, pretty girl, say you’re fucking mine.” 

“A-ah, ‘m yours, Hoonie,” you cry and he thinks he might cum just like that, at your blissed face, glowing beneath him, and your pussy sucking him in, and you obeying him thoughtlessly. 

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he rewards you by dragging his hand down your stomach to rub your clit. Your whole body convulses into his, hands dragging over his big arms for support. “Come on, sweetheart, cum on my cock now.” 

And you do, the tension in your stomach tightening beyond what you can take, before it finally unfurls, and it blooms, and it’s spring, and your squirting all over Jihoon’s abs, because God, he’s so fucking hot and he fucks you silly with his dumb, big muscles and his dumb, cute face.

The sight of your squirting, thrashing and shaking underneath him is all he needs. Jihoon shoots you full of his cum, making you feel so full and wet, before he finally halts his rutting hips, stilling on top of you. 

You’re both panting. You’re sweating so much, your hair sticks to your forehead, and you’re gasping for air. Jihoon is still on top of you, holding himself up somehow, and licking at your neck appreciatively. 

There’s a pause, where you’re basking in each other's warmth, and there’s so much love between you it’s almost suffocating. Then you're narrowing your eyes at the head of hair in your neck, growing suspicious. 

“... Are you still hard?” 

He laughs into your neck, peering up at you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you still open to that dick-sucking thing?” _____________________________

“So,” Yeri trails off.

You’re sitting in front of her, Seulgi and Irene at the campus cafe after a thorough round of congratulating you and Jihoon’s new relationship. They’d been both surprised and somehow not-at-all-surprised. 

“He can’t come to girls night anymore,” Irene states the obvious, and immediately you, Seulgi and Yeri are nodding along. 

“Thank God, I wasn’t the only one thinking that.” 

“It just wouldn’t work,” you supply, agreeing. 

There’s a pause. Seulgi pouts. “I can’t believe we don’t have a son anymore. They grow up so fast,” she says and she sounds genuinely sad about it.

You sigh a little, debating whether or not to play this card. Then you say: “I know someone who would like to be our son.” 

“Oh, no..”

“Don’t say..” 

“Yep,” you shrug, and then you hear him. Lumbering clumsily down the hall, like a galloping horse. 

“I HEAR THERE’S A NEW POSITION OPEN DURING GIRLS NIGHTS!!!!! I MADE MUFFINS!!”

Mingu is running through the cafe, dodging stools and chairs like he’s on Ninja Warrior. 

Irene frowns. “I guess he’ll do as our new son.” 

“We can always kick him out if he gets too annoying,” Yeri shrugs, just in time for Mingyu to stand before your table with a fresh tray of muffins. 

“Yes!” he cries with glee, voice incredibly high because he just can’t believe it.

“Begging always works!”

[semina-art]

About me

Hi there! I finally decided to write something about myself))

My name is Irene Semina, I'm 34 y.o. and live in Russia. No children, no pets, freshly divorced)) For the past 15 years, I've been working as a packaging designer, and before last year, I had practically never painted anything. I'm not an artist, but it became a hobby for me in July 2023 when I started reading HP fics.

Last year, I started reading Drarry because that was my comfort pairing when I was 14. I decided to reread some of my old favorites, but after a few stories, I got bored, so I tried one Tomarry time-travel from my favorite Drarry author... And here we are)) The first Tomarry/Harrymort fics I read were in Russian, but soon I switched to AO3 and started reading mostly in English. I love drama, slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers… Give me death, blood, despair and cruel Tom and you'll win my heart XD

I am a self-taught artist and have never considered it a hobby until this... unhealthy obsession with Riddle)) But I'm soooo glad I'm here! I LOVE the Tomarry community, the authors, the fics, the artwork, it makes me so happy and helps me get through life's difficulties. I also have a Telegram channel, where I've found a lot of online and offline friends, warm community and support.

English is not my native and I'm quite shy, so answering your questions and leaving comments are extremely stressful)) I always overthink my responses and worry about whether you will understand everything and forgive me my poor grammar) I feel like an idiot pretty much all the time XD I'm totally fine reading without a dictionary, but lack of practice and confidence in speaking and writing can be frustrating sometimes =_= But it's ok, this Tomarry obsession has already improved my skills, that's just one more to improve.

Thank you for your support, comments and reblogs, I really appreciate that! Love you all <3 <3 <3