Distractions (M) ; Hoseok x Reader

In which it’s almost like he wants to get caught.


smut, 2.2k words, hoseok/reader, highschool (?) au

Hoseok is…hot. And happens to be your classmate.

He’s the boy who pulls out chairs for the girls and is always seen flirting with them and then taking them out to shop or whatnot. He’s got nice hair, and you like it especially when it’s gelled up but maybe even more when’s got a snapback perched on it, backwards. He’s a fuckboy, yes, but he’s a nice fuckboy, who’s outgoing and sunshiney and hard to dislike. And dear god do you like him–it’s just that you never expected that, somewhere, somehow along the endless run of time, you’d end up like, well, this.

You’re sitting next to him in class, chatting, with nothing to do. And, oh, you’re dating him, too. You’re still not quite sure how exactly it all went down, but it’s been nearly half a year and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this thankful or happy. Ever.

“Wait, you guys are having a dinner party tomorrow? And Jungkook is going? And I wasn’t invited?” Hoseok pouts at you sulkily.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

hello i have a prompt sorta??? "aching to be touched, never talking about the thorns"

[u should all listen to everything is fine by teen suicide while reading this ok bye]

eric asks dylan how he feels about hunting one night. it’s late and they’re halfway through a bottle of hennessy, limbs spilling on top of eachother in a way that would make their parents cringe in discontent.

“i think hunting sounds fa-bulous,” dylan draws out, smiling into eric’s lap. “under one small condition.” eric giggles, pushing the hair out of dylan’s face while looking down at his beautiful sunshine boy.

“now what would that be, v?”

“hunting’s gotta take place at littleton’s very own columbine high school!”

eric wonders if god has a remote control. wonders if maybe he did them both a favor and just skipped ahead a year, because that’s sure as hell what it felt like. he doesn’t remember what he had for dinner last night, let alone how their demise was thought up. so when it’s dylan’s turn to ask questions, he chooses wisely. he wants eric to remember.

“eric, honey, can i ask you something?” eric nods, twirling dylan’s hair while dylan looks up from his spot on eric’s lap, again.

“does our doctor ever say anything weird to you?”

“i don’t know, honey. she’s a shrink, everything she says it weird.” dylan rolls his eyes, turning to face eric.

“eric, come on, be serious. we never talk about anything serious.”

“we’re better when we aren’t talking,” eric counters, pressing a light kiss onto dylan’s neck. dylan sighs, and gives in, pulling himself upwards in eric’s lap and laying him flat on the bed.

eric’s hips are red, raw, and bloody, but they don’t talk about it every time eric whines when dylan’s hips bang against his. dylan wishes he knew that eric’s like a legal document with never ending fine print, secret after secret, catch after catch.

it’s not like they’re comfortable enough with their feelings towards each other to talk about anything other than sex. dylan is eric’s best friend, sure, but rather than finding solace in blonde hair he finds it in bloody knives in bathtubs in the early morning. his hips never stop hurting and he can’t tell if it’s from the blade or from dylan.

“eric, just let me in. let me help, i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” dylan pleads, pulling on a long t-shirt and shoving his jeans back on his legs.

“nothing’s wrong, dylan. why would you think that?” it’s useless to try and hide from what’s coming to you. the sun, the moon, and the truth always come out eventually, you know.

“eric, there’s fucking blood all over your sheets. what the fuck is going on?” eric smiles back painfully at dylan, before he starts crying. it’s not real crying, though. the tears are just rolling down his cheeks, mouth still forced into a smile, teardrops dripping onto his bare chest.

“we don’t talk about this stuff, dyl. I’m great, i feel fantastic!” eric’s voice is shrill and too loud, and it hurts dylan’s ears. he shakes his head, grabbing his shoes and his jacket, before opening eric’s bedroom door.

“you know what, eric?” he’s standing in the doorway with so much rage in his eyes eric swears one wrong word will kill him.

“i’m sick of it. i’m sick of you only wanting me when it’s convenient for you. you’re such a fuck-up, god. everyone is right about you. go find another hookup, e, because i’m fucking done.” he slams the door so hard eric’s shelves shake, and eric pulls his comforter over himself, and closes his eyes.

“everything is fine.”

anonymous asked:

I hope it's okay to message you about my little victory. I was making a Sims family of me and my friends and for the fist time ever I made my Sim "fat" It doesn't even make that much of a difference or whatever but... I felt really great when playing with "fat"me because I was just as awesome as when I made myself appear skinny. I know it's a teeny tiny little thing but it feels like the first step to accepting my fa(t)bulous self and I have you to thank! You're an inspiration. <3

no babe, that totally is an awesome thing and you should feel good about it!!! I felt the same way when I finally put my actual weight on my license. it’s such a freeing feeling. I’m a proud of you and your fatty SIM!!!