#a meaningless post about something that doesn’t matter

[givemaycoffee]

Sometimes you see a post, it makes you incandescently angry even though it doesn’t really matter, you type out a long angry reply about why OP is wrong, you take a deep breath, and you delete everything and move on with your life.

[versadies]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman! (various x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. in a world of boys, he's a gentleman!

ADDRESSED. alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, and neuvillette (x gn!reader)

STAMPS. the little things they do around you that remind you that chivalry is not dead <3

CONTENT. ooc!neuvi (?), ooc!wriothesley (?), fluff/no-angst, established relationships, possibly cheesy (i like cheese), and possible grammar errors. some of the things mentioned can be applicable to others!

POST-SCRIPT. can you already tell that these four own my heart? i love them sm ( >-< )!!! also made new banners for a change hehe

LINKS. masterlist \ taglist

Although ALHAITHAM is someone who prefers to focus greatly on himself and prioritizes his own well-being over others', that does not mean he is selfish nor inconsiderate. Which is why it is not far-fetched for someone like him to do the little things that proves the fact that chivalry is not dead.

Though of course, he does it in his very own way. You just have to be very observant to notice it. 

For instance, whenever you two are sitting in front of the table, he’d cover the edge whenever you lean down to get something that fell from the table, ensuring that you don’t bump your head from the furniture and get hurt. 

Another instance is when you’d rant on and on in his presence, thinking he’s not listening to you due to his earpieces that’s used to cancel out meaningless noises. When in reality, he’s actually listening to you —  because to him, your words are always something of importance to him whether he’d admit that or not. 

It doesn’t even matter if you’re talking about your day, complaining about prices, or even expressing your concerns over things you shouldn’t even be concerned about; he’d listen without a word if not necessary, because if it’s important to you, then it’s important to listen about it. Though of course, the only exceptions are when you’d actually talk about something he doesn’t care about, such as gossip.

Meanwhile, in the bustling marketplaces of Sumeru, there’s bound to be scammers preying on oblivious consumers, and Alhaitham sees to it that you won’t fall for such things. It’s partially one of the reasons why he always tags along with you whenever you shop for groceries or for other things.

If a scammer tries their shot, they’ll only be greeted by a stern warning glare from the scribe as you look through the displayed products, only for your lover to drag you to a more appropriate stall that’s much better than the suspicious one. 

During the later stage of your relationship when you moved into his humble home, he made sure to have enough space for your things, and even sacrificed some of his own possessions for the sake of yours. 

Speaking of sacrifices, there are also times when he’d sacrifice his leisure time that he values in order to hang out with you. Despite your assurances that he doesn’t have to spend time with you if he wants to be alone, he doesn’t care and still hangs out with you anyway. 

In his perspective, it’s not a sacrifice, because spending his spare time with you is much better than spending it alone. 

It’s the little things that remind you that he does care. Though, you couldn’t help but try and confront him about his actions since you want to hear it from his mouth. 

When you do though, you’ll only get a deadpan look from him and a few words:

“Isn’t that the bare minimum of what boyfriends should do anyway?”

ZHONGLI is no doubt a traditional gentleman when it comes to not just you, but also towards anyone around him. Of course, you’re still special in his eyes. After all, you’re his darling gem who is above any other treasures that he’s come across in this lifetime.

He always checks up on your well-being with care and tenderness that often causes your legs to become jelly-like. He never fails to bring heat to your face from how sweet he is!

Like your average traditional gentleman, Zhongli gives you his coat as soon as he sees even a slight sign of you feeling cold from Liyue’s breeze, caressing your arms with his glove-covered hands while he’s at it. Not that you’re complaining, especially from how good his cologne smells from his coat that just made you a little in a daze.

He’s willing to open doors for you to enter first, no matter your gender. He doesn’t want your hands to get dirty from door knobs that have been through things that only Celestia knows what, so he insists that he shall open them for you. In a way, it sounded a bit over the top, but how can you say no to such a kind man like your lover?

He sees to it that you’re the first one to be seated before him, pulling out a chair for you before sitting next to you. It’s almost essential for him to sit next to you, as if you’re a light that he finds himself drawn to. 

When it comes to eating together, he offers you a bite of his meal that he either made or ordered, wanting you to try the delicious meal that’s made with precision and passion and appreciate it with him (though it usually ends up with him giving you more bites of it like a grandma would to her grandchild). Whenever he does this, he makes sure to blow the food first before giving it to you, not wanting your tongue to get burnt by accident. He even goes as far as putting his hand beneath the spoon to ensure nothing will spill on you and your clothes. 

Traveling is also to be expected when you’re with Zhongli, with you two visiting different areas of Liyue for a variety of reasons such as work, vacation, leisure time, etc. Whenever you two travel, he’s always there to give you a hand, especially when climbing up and going down. 

He’ll even go as far as putting his coat down on the ground for you to sit on to avoid your clothes becoming dirty should you two ever need a break, not wanting you to get too exhausted from your trip. 

Of course, we cannot forget how Zhongli has a sharp memory, so he knows the exact day for your relationship milestones and would never forget it. Expect him to celebrate things such as your first date-sary, monthsary, first kiss-sary, and the list goes on until you eventually tell him that most people (if not all) wouldn’t celebrate most of these things. 

That doesn’t stop him from greeting you with such occasions though ^^

It’s clear to see that the consultant loves you dearly and wants the best for you. The same goes to his dear friends and peers around him, and you couldn’t be all the more grateful to have such a man like him as your lover. In fact, his amber-hue eyes that you always seem to lose yourself to shines much brighter when he’s kind. 

“Why are you smiling? Is there something on my face?” He’d ask you when he catches you admiring him from your place. 

“Nothing. I just want to admire how perfect my boyfriend is.” You sigh dreamily, looking at him happily. “How are you such a perfect spouse?” 

He chuckles in response, now putting down his tea. “I beg to differ. Especially since the most breathtaking person in front of me is more worthy of such title.”  

It’s no lie to everyone in the Fortress – both inmates and guards alike – that WRIOTHESLEY adores you, even if he wouldn’t outright admit it. Though his words are nothing but silent, his actions speak louder. Out of the very few people that the duke trusts, you’re the one that comes to mind, and the same goes for you towards him. He’s quite honored that you trust him enough to let him become your spouse, and what better way to express that than actions? 

You’re rest assured that he always has tea saved for you whenever you come and visit his office. When you do, he always makes sure to pull out a chair for you to sit on, pour your cup with your drink of choice before pouring his tea on his own cup. 

For a man such as him, he’s observant and is quick to notice when someone is uncomfortable – in this case, you. As soon as he takes note of your discomfort or uneasiness, he is quick to comfort you and assure you that all’s well as he either swiftly takes you away from the scene or finds a way to help you go through it. 

With that in mind, Wriothesley understands if you find yourself preferring the world outside over the Fortress of Meropide. He gets it! He’s content with you just visiting whenever you can. He knows not everyone would be keen on staying in the stronghold prison for a long time, especially when they have no reason to besides visiting their spouse. 

Unless you’re an actual criminal, then that’s when you entirely have no choice but be stuck in the fortress and with him until you’re free to go. 

Speaking of criminals, danger lurks everywhere in Fontaine. You certainly can’t blame your lover for being quite protective with you, often telling you through his letters to be careful with going out at night and to not fall for any scammers or tricks by possible criminals that are still out there. He’s aware that you’re more than capable of protecting yourself from danger, but it doesn’t stop his worries even for one bit.

It’s not common for the Duke to come out from the Fortress and visit the city. When he does, there’s a huge chance that he’s seen with you, holding your hand as you two go on with your day as a couple. He does not show affection in public much, but that doesn’t mean holding hands would hurt! 

To others, he always seems so calm and collected on his own, but in comparison to how he acts with you, he’s much more content and relaxed, as if he’s in a utopian paradise that he feels at peace in as your laughter and voice soothes his unfaltering spirit. 

Should you ever ask for a mora of his thoughts from how distracted he was during your time spent together, you’ll only gain this response:

“Hm? Oh, forgive me for being distracted. You don’t have to worry about it.” He’d say casually, hiding the fact that he’s simply distracted from thinking about how much he wants this kind of experience to last forever.

Given that NEUVILLETTE is unfamiliar with human customs and feelings, the same goes for his unfamiliarity in the romance department. He didn’t think he’d end up courting someone, let alone form a personal relationship – especially since he avoids such things. However, you’re somehow an exception.

His experience in the court is unfortunately not enough to help him with his goal in winning your heart, yet somehow, he finds himself in a relationship with you. Though inexperienced and busy, he still has his perks that makes it up – such as his mannerisms.

Just like Zhongli, he’s quite a traditional gentleman. Not only will he help you sit down by pulling out a chair and remove your coat, he’d even make sure that none of your clothes, accessories, and even your hair would get caught in the furniture’s ornamentation to avoid the same inconveniences that he goes through in his daily life. 

He tends to hold your hand when the two of you go through the seats of the Opera Epiclese to watch a performance, dragging you to the best seat in the middle of the front row as he helps you become comfortable. After watching your first performance together, he never thought that watching a performance could be so enjoyable when you have companions to share the joy with. Where were you in his entire life?

On another note, Neuvillette is the type to carry your bags whenever the two of you go shopping or when he sees you holding something heavy, wanting to ease your burdens and struggles swiftly as he insists that he should help you. You should be able to have your hands free like a dove in his perspective. 

It shows that he’s willing to help you with anything you need, whether it’d be giving wise advice, getting something, lending a shoulder for you to cry on, and anything else so long as it eases your struggles. 

Given that he’s still exploring human customs and feelings, he entrusts you to guide him through it, and this means that he’s open with new things that he hasn’t tried before so long as it doesn’t clash with his busy schedule. 

He doesn’t mind doing particular activities with you, be it pot-making, watching documentaries, playing classic games, and the list goes on! If he has you by his side to try everything, then he’s okay with it all. 

Speaking of activities, Neuvillette has taken a liking for walking in the rain. He even fantasizes about going out into the rain, wanting to feel the raindrops pouring on him as he walks down the streets of Fontaine. 

Despite enjoying such joys, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t consider your comfort with the weather. Knowing how humans are with not wanting to become wet from the weather, your lover is there to help you in holding an umbrella that he’d bring should he hear any forecasts of rain beforehand. 

He makes sure that the entire umbrella is on you and stays that way, and he simply wouldn’t forgive himself if he sees even a few drops on your clothing that he could’ve prevented despite your assurances. 

If you ever expressed your concern of him getting drenched and possibly sick from the rain, he’d simply reassure you that it’s nothing to worry about, telling you that he does this very often whenever it rains. 

“Don’t worry about me, ma moitié.” He says with a tender gaze as he continues to walk side by side with you, holding the umbrella above you. “I will not get sick easily from the weather, nor do I mind having my clothes drenched. I want you to worry about yourself more.” 

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @ragnvdnr @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @astrequa @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino @dudufodd @somberrock @yevenly @lemontum @nghing @shaiah @miss-lady-witch @yashe @imkaaayy @badlywrittens @0rah-s @totallynotaraidensimp @garlicforthewin

[ninyard]

I just saw a post wondering what Andrew and Neil’s first proper argument is, and naturally I have to offer this:

Andrew and Neil don’t fight. They’ll ignore each other if they’re pissed off - but never for more than a few hours, or maybe until one of them has slept it off and decide it’s not worth it (usually Andrew). They’ll have tiffs but never over anything serious.

Except for in the months coming up to Andrew’s graduation. That is when I believe Andrew and Neil have their first real argument.

Andrew gets officially signed to his pro team around abouts the February of that year. It’s in a state further away that Neil expected, and since they found out, Neil keeps catching Andrew looking at apartments or researching the state and the team. He’s happy for him, of course he is, but he can’t quite identify what this feeling in his stomach is every time Andrew brings it up. The little fights that last longer than their usually bickering start not long after; Neil getting more pissed off by the little things Andrew does, Andrew having off-days with Neil more and more often, each of them asking for their own space because they know if they stay around each other they’re going to start a fight. It’s gradual in a way that they don’t realise for a little while that it’s getting worse, until just after the championship finals, and the season is officially over, when three days have passed without them talking for not much of a reason at all. Neil used his finals as an excuse, but Andrew didn’t have any good reason. After those three days, they’re finally alone in their dorm for whatever reason, and maybe Andrew has started packing or he’s just got some sort of welcome package from the team: everything explodes. Andrew tries to kiss Neil, and something feels wrong, and when Neil asks what the fuck is going on, all hell breaks loose.

Andrew doesn’t yell, of course he doesn’t, but he’s venomous. He’s asking Neil why he’s acting as if the world is going to end just because he’s graduating, he’s angry at him for becoming so dependent on his presence, he’s angry at himself for feeling like he’s found a future in Neil when this was never the plan. He was supposed to be nothing. A casual fuck, with an end date and no feelings but fuck if he can’t live his life without him now. Neil yells, because he does, and he’s angry that Andrew still seems so unsure about what they are, how comfortable they were, but suddenly things are different, and it feels like he doesn’t care. He’s angry at himself for building his life around Andrew, but he’s the only reason why Neil Josten exists. Andrew reminds him of that, and it makes everything worse.

It goes on for far too long, quickly becoming meaningless and just an excuse for either of them to vent out the frustration they’ve been keeping inside for months.

“You know that I won’t overstep your boundaries,” Neil points a finger at him. “So in your head it’s okay to treat me like shit and ignore me because you know that I will give you that space.”

He doesn’t even really think that, but every little thing, every little excuse is multiplied by a thousand when he feels this red hot rage. He hates the things that come out of his mouth, but Andrew gives it back, and his insistent refusal to back down just further butts their heads together and infuriates them both.

“I won’t chase after you because you’ve decided to allow me distance,” Andrew says, calm and ice cold. “You can’t invent boundaries for me and then be upset that they exist.”

Lows blows after low blows, unfair quips and insults from both sides, slamming of drawers and doors and throwing of things; they have never, ever fought like this before. It’s over everything and nothing at the same time. Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before campus security was called, but when he tried to tell Neil to calm down and lower his voice, it only made things worse.

They’ve been unkind and awful with each other for about an hour when Neil finds himself starting to get so furiously angry thats he’s upset, that he can feel himself being needlessly nasty with Andrew. For the first time ever he feels the tilt. He feels their foundations getting rocked, a crack in the base of the pyramid of their relationship that gives him the feeling that this might not last forever. He leaves their dorm with a slam of the door, and goes for a run. He hasn’t done that in a while, a run from his feelings, running from his problems and responsibilities. He’s not sure how long it’s been before he finds himself too far away from campus, because he just ran in a straight line.

When he checks his phone he realises he’s over an hour walk away from their dorms. He almost calls Matt, and hesitates over Coach’s phone number, but instead he clicks Andrew’s name. It’s only ringing for two rings before the ringing ends and there’s a quiet hiss at the other end of the line. Neil double checks that he’s answered, because Andrew hasn’t said anything, and brings the phone back to his ear.

“Can you come pick me up?” His breathing is heavy, all of his anger drained out through his feet with every single step that he took to get further away from their dorm.

“Where are you?” Andrew is quick to respond, and Neil can hear him already picking up his keys.

Neil tells him the name of some bar that he can see, and Andrew hangs up almost instantly afterwards. Neil starts to put his phone away, used to the abrupt endings of phone calls, but wishing he would say something more. He puts his phone away and wonders why Andrew can’t just give him something. He’s not looking for a Love you! Bye! But maybe just an answer that let him know he was listening. but then it starts to ring again, and it’s Andrew, and Neil doesn’t say anything when he answers.

“I’m leaving now,” Andrew says. There’s something in his voice. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Neil responds. “Thank you.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgment, but this time he doesn’t hang up immediately. He hesitates, but he’s somewhere outside now.

“I will always pick you up.” He says after a while, after he’s shut his car door and the engine has rumbled to life, and maybe it sounds like I love you, I care about you, I need you. Maybe it sounds like I need you to know that i can’t lose this.

“I know,” Neil says, and it sounds like I can’t do this without you. “Thank you.”

Andrew waits a second or two then before hanging up, and Neil waits for him by the curb. Andrew is there quicker than twenty minutes later. Neither of them say anything as Neil slips into the passenger seat, and neither of them say anything as they pull away. Neither of them say anything until Andrew has switched the engine off, and the car is sitting in its parking spot. They look at each other then, and maybe then they understand what’s happening.

“I’m not above telling you that I don’t want to leave here,” leave you. “But this was always a certainty. You’ve had plenty of time to prepare.”

“I thought that I had,” Neil tells him.

It’s the truth, in some way. He realises then that all of these little fights, and growing agitation, and this almost primal urge to push Andrew away was how he’d prepared. He’s been trying his hardest to soften the blow that it would have on him, and if he pushed him away first, then it wouldn’t hurt when he inevitably pushed him back or let him go. Only, that was never going to happen, and that’s what made it worse - nothing could happen to them now that would not bring them back to each other. So when Neil pushed and pushed and pushed and Andrew was constantly hitting a wall instead of a door, all they were doing was filling the room with resentment.

They sit in the car then and talk about the reality: Andrew was moving away in just a few weeks, moving further away than they’d ever been apart. The truth was that regardless of whether or not Neil decides to spend the summer with him, August would come, and Neil would go back to PSU, and Andrew would stay wherever it was that he was staying. They’d been fighting more in a subconscious test with each other, to see if one of them were going to give up, to see it this was the thing that would finally tear them apart. They talk about that, too, as difficult as it is for Andrew to be honest about that kind of thing. Neil asks him if he thinks it would be better for them to break up, to give each other space, to let Andrew flourish on his new team and meet new people and grow into himself as a professional exy player. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged the possibility out loud with each other, and it destroys Neil to ask it, and it destroys Andrew to hear it.

Andrew thinks about how Exy was supposed to be the deal with Kevin: how he was supposed to come off his meds, and Kevin would give him purpose, and he would find something to live for in the sport that would not love him back. Instead he gave him Neil. That was his something to live for, and while he’d started to learn how to live for himself, and he would eventually survive without him, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He would sooner give it all up just to keep him, and Neil knew that was the truth.

Neil thinks about how Neil was supposed to be temporary. Now it was the future, it was Andrew, it was a long and successful life. Neil Josten did not have an expiry date anymore. He could have things that were his own, things to keep, things to live for.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy, but as the evening went on, and they stay in that car and talk about the future, they’d truly come to the understanding that neither of them can lose each other. They will always be half of one another, and no amount of distance can change that. It’s hard conversation after hard conversation, and it’s emotional in the way that Andrew and Neil get emotional. All the fighting ends up being a catalyst for possibly the most personal, deep, intimate discussion they’ve ever had. There’s lots of silences and voices that threaten to raise but stay low. There’s a lot of questions, and answers, and questions without answers, too. Buts it’s needed. Andrew could not leave PSU without them having this conversation. If he had, I think they would’ve struggled a whole lot more with the distance, and the conversations they would have afterwards would’ve been far more difficult.

Ultimately that’s where they end the conversation sometime past midnight - with a semi newfound understanding of where they stand with each other, what they are, what the future means for them. It’s a fight that needed to happen, and in their own ways they apologise for the things that they said. Maybe they don’t say sorry, they just say everything is going to be okay, and distance will not be the thing that ruins this.

I don’t know. I really do think it’s a fight that’s needs to happen. I think it’s a terrible, angry, nasty argument, and they both feel awful about the things they said and did, but it had to happen. Yeah, could it have been communicated with words? Sure. But Andrew had to understand how afraid Neil was of losing him, he had to understand what Neil was doing to protect himself from it. And Neil had to understand that Andrew was always, always willing to fight for him, but he couldn’t do that if Neil wasn’t willing to see that he would.

[millyh23]

Old ink

Alessia Russo x Reader

Word count: 4k

_________________________________________________

You had managed to keep the tattoo hidden for as long as you could. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of it, but there was a certain awkwardness that came with carrying a permanent reminder of your past. It was a small, delicate script of your ex’s name inked discreetly near your hip—an impulsive decision made during the whirlwind of a long-gone relationship. No one in your current circle knew about it, not even your girlfriend, Alessia Russo. You’d never felt the need to mention it; after all, it was a part of your past, and what mattered now was the present you shared with Alessia.

You had fallen hard for Alessia, and the relationship felt different from the start—more real, more grounded, and certainly more serious than any you’d had before. That tattoo? It was a relic of a younger, more reckless you. But Alessia didn’t need to know about it. At least, that’s what you’d convinced yourself.

Everything came crashing down one afternoon at training, though, when Katie McCabe, ever the joker, decided to make light of something you had never intended anyone to notice.

Training had been intense, and as you and the Arsenal team headed back to the locker room, the mood was light and full of banter. You were laughing with some of your teammates, Alessia by your side, when you began peeling off your training kit to change into your regular clothes. You’d done this a hundred times before, always careful not to draw attention to your lower back where the ink was hidden beneath your shorts. But today, you were a little less cautious, still caught up in the post-practice high.

As you were pulling on your shirt, you felt a sharp whistle behind you. “Oi! What’s that then?” Katie’s thick Irish accent broke through the locker room chatter. You froze.

You turned slowly, catching sight of Katie pointing directly at your exposed hip. “You’ve been holding out on us, Y/N! That’s a name, isn’t it? Who’s the lucky ex?”

Your heart plummeted as a wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. The room fell silent for a moment before a ripple of amused laughter spread among your teammates. “Oh God, Y/N has secret ink!” Beth chimed in with a smirk.

You glanced nervously at Alessia, who had been sitting on the bench nearby, untying her cleats. Her expression shifted from amusement to confusion, her brow furrowing as her eyes locked on the tattoo. “Y/N?” Alessia’s voice was soft, but you could hear the tension in it.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you realized the gravity of the situation. This was not how you wanted Alessia to find out.

Katie, oblivious to the mounting tension, kept going. “Well, well, well. What’s the story behind this little gem? A memento of an old flame, eh?” She nudged you playfully, clearly enjoying the reaction from the team.

You tried to play it off, but the unease in the room was palpable. “It’s just… an old tattoo. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Katie wasn’t done, though. “Oh, come on, don’t tell us it’s meaningless now! You know what they say—tattoos last forever, just like true love.” She winked, but your heart sank as Alessia’s gaze darkened.

The laughter that had filled the room began to fade as the other players picked up on the shift in atmosphere. Alessia stood up, her eyes fixed on you, hurt flickering behind them. “You never told me about this,” she said, her voice quieter now, the usual warmth absent.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for the right words, but none came. You felt exposed, not just physically, but emotionally, standing there with everyone’s eyes on you, and most painfully, Alessia’s.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you finally muttered, but even as the words left your mouth, you knew how weak they sounded.

Katie, sensing that she had stumbled into something more serious than just locker room banter, awkwardly cleared her throat. “Uh, alright, maybe I’ve taken this too far. I didn’t mean to… you know…”

But the damage was already done.

The rest of the locker room quieted as you hurried to get dressed, feeling Alessia’s silence like a heavy weight pressing on your chest. You wanted to talk to her, to explain, but now wasn’t the time—not with the rest of the team around. Alessia didn’t say another word as she finished getting changed and quickly headed out of the room, leaving you to trail after her.

By the time you made it outside, Alessia was already walking toward the car park, her shoulders tense. You jogged to catch up with her, your breath hitching with a mix of exhaustion and panic. “Alessia, wait.”

She stopped but didn’t turn around, her back rigid. “What, Y/N?” she asked, her voice tight. “What do you want me to say?”

You moved to stand in front of her, your heart aching at the hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. It’s just… it’s an old tattoo from a long time ago. It doesn’t mean anything anymore, I swear.”

Alessia crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It doesn’t mean anything? You have your ex’s name tattooed on your body, and you didn’t think that was important enough to mention to your current girlfriend?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” you admitted, feeling like a fool for ever thinking this could stay hidden. “I got it when I was young, and I haven’t even thought about it in years. You’re the one I love, Lessi. You’re the one who matters.”

She shook her head, her frustration clear. “It’s not just the tattoo, Y/N. It’s that you kept it from me. What else haven’t you told me?”

Your chest tightened as her words hit home. “There’s nothing else, I swear. I didn’t mean to keep it from you, I just… I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

Alessia finally looked at you, her expression softening slightly, though the hurt was still there. “But it is worth bringing up. It matters to me because it’s a part of your past that I didn’t know about.”

You reached out, gently taking her hand. “I’m sorry, Alessia. I really am. I should have been honest with you. I’ll do better, I promise.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, her eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge whether she could trust your words. Finally, she let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “I believe you, but… I need some time to process this.”

You nodded, your heart heavy but relieved that she wasn’t shutting you out completely. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

She gave you a small, sad smile before pulling her hand away and heading toward her car. You stood there, watching as she drove off, the weight of your mistake settling heavily in your chest.

The days following the tattoo revelation were tense. Alessia kept her distance, not in an angry way, but in a way that made it clear she needed space to think. You respected that, but it didn’t stop the anxiety from gnawing at you. You hated the idea that something as trivial as an old tattoo could drive a wedge between you, but you also understood why Alessia was upset.

At practice, things were awkward. Katie had apologized profusely once she realized the impact of her joke, but it didn’t change the fact that your relationship was now the subject of locker room whispers. Everyone had seen Alessia’s reaction, and though no one openly talked about it, you could feel their curiosity and concern.

You missed the easygoing nature of your relationship with Alessia—the way she would steal glances at you during practice, or how you’d spend evenings curled up on the couch together. But now, there was a distance between you, and it left you feeling adrift.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, you found Alessia sitting alone in the empty stadium seats, her head bowed as she stared out at the field. Taking a deep breath, you approached her, unsure if she was ready to talk but knowing you needed to try.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting down next to her.

She didn’t look at you but acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “Hey.”

You sat in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I hate how things have been between us lately.”

Alessia sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I know. It’s just… this whole thing made me realize how much I don’t know about your past. It’s scary, you know?”

You nodded, understanding the vulnerability behind her words. “I get that. But I promise, I’m an open book from now on. No more secrets. No more surprises.”

Finally, she turned to look at you, her eyes soft but still guarded. “I love you, Y/N. I just need to know that I can trust you completely.”

“I love you too, Alessia,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “And you can. I’ll prove it to you every day if I have to.”

She studied you for a long moment before finally leaning in

Alessia studied your face for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice quiet but steady. “I need to ask you something,” she said, her gaze steady but tinged with uncertainty.

“Of course, anything,” you replied, sensing where this was going. Your heart clenched, knowing this conversation had been a long time coming.

Alessia bit her lip, hesitant but determined. “It’s not just about the tattoo. It’s about… everything I don’t know about your past. I know I’ve never really asked before, but after all this… I can’t help but wonder. I want to know about your exes, Y/N. I need to understand what they meant to you and where I fit into all of it.”

You weren’t surprised, but the question still caught you off guard. You’d been with Alessia for months now, and although you both knew the other had dated before, neither of you had ever really delved into past relationships. It had been an unspoken agreement to focus on the present and not dredge up old wounds. But now, it seemed that was no longer an option.

You took a deep breath, shifting in your seat to face her more fully. “I get it. I’ve been keeping parts of my past hidden, and that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to leave those things behind, but I see now that not talking about them doesn’t make them go away.”

Alessia nodded, her eyes softening slightly, though the tension was still there. “So… tell me. I want to understand.”

You hesitated, gathering your thoughts. It wasn’t easy opening up about your past relationships, especially the ones that had hurt you. But if it would help heal the rift between you and Alessia, it was worth it.

“The tattoo… it’s from a relationship I had a few years ago,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “Her name was Sophie. We were together for about two years, and it was serious. Or at least, I thought it was at the time. I got the tattoo during a moment when I thought we’d be together forever. You know how those things go… when you’re young and think love is unbreakable.”

Alessia listened intently, her expression unreadable. “What happened between you two?” she asked after a pause.

You sighed, the memory of Sophie still carrying a faint sting. “We grew apart. It wasn’t some big, dramatic breakup. We just… stopped being what we were. It became clear that we wanted different things in life, and in the end, we went our separate ways. The tattoo was a reminder of that relationship for a while, but after we broke up, it just became… a part of my body that I stopped thinking about.”

“And you never thought to get it removed?” Alessia asked, her voice neutral, though you could hear the curiosity behind it.

“I did think about it,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. “But it didn’t feel necessary. I wasn’t holding onto feelings for her or anything. It was just… there, and I never thought it would be an issue.”

Alessia nodded slowly, processing your words. “And Sophie? Do you still talk to her?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, not at all. We haven’t spoken in years. There’s no lingering feelings or anything like that. I promise, Lessi, she’s in the past. You’re my present, and my future.”

There was a moment of silence as Alessia absorbed what you had said. She took a deep breath before asking, “Were there others?”

You hesitated again, knowing this was going to be a difficult conversation but also realizing it was necessary if you were going to build real trust between you. “Yes. I’ve had a few other relationships, but none that meant as much to me as what we have now. After Sophie, I dated casually, but nothing serious. You’re the first person I’ve felt this deeply for in a long time.”

Alessia’s eyes softened as you spoke, but there was still a lingering tension in the air. “I guess… I just didn’t realize how much of your past I didn’t know about,” she said softly. “It’s not that I’m jealous, but it’s hard to hear that you’ve had these deep relationships, and I’m only learning about them now.”

“I get that,” you said, taking her hand gently. “And I’m sorry for keeping it all bottled up. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to share it with you—it’s more that I wanted to leave it all behind. But you’re right. If we’re going to be together, you deserve to know everything about me, even the messy parts.”

Alessia squeezed your hand, her expression softening further. “I just want to know where I fit into your life. I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with ghosts from your past.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly, your heart aching at the thought of her feeling that way. “I’m with you because I love you, Alessia. You’re everything to me. The past… it’s just that—the past. It doesn’t compare to what we have.”

Alessia’s lips twitched into a small smile, though there was still a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “I believe you,” she said quietly. “It’s just going to take me some time to get used to all this.”

“I understand,” you replied softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, you sat in silence, the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air, but the tension between you easing. Alessia leaned into your side, resting her head on your shoulder, and you wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start. You knew that healing the rift would take time, but you were willing to do whatever it took to show Alessia that she was your future.

Over the next few days, things slowly began to return to normal between you and Alessia. The tension that had lingered after the tattoo incident gradually started to fade, replaced by a sense of understanding and renewed closeness. Alessia asked more questions about your past—nothing intrusive, but enough to satisfy her curiosity. She wanted to understand you better, to know what had shaped you into the person you were now.

And you were more than willing to open up. You told her about your past relationships, your mistakes, and the lessons you had learned along the way. It was uncomfortable at times, but it felt necessary. Each conversation was like another step toward rebuilding the trust that had been shaken.

Alessia, for her part, began to let go of her initial hurt. She could see that you were committed to being open with her, and that meant more to her than anything. Still, there were moments when she’d glance at the tattoo with a wistful expression, and you’d feel a pang of guilt, knowing that a part of her still felt unsettled by it.

One evening, after training, you found yourselves lounging on the couch in your apartment, the warmth of a shared blanket wrapped around you. Alessia rested her head on your chest, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your arm.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said after a long stretch of comfortable silence. “About the tattoo.”

You tensed slightly, wondering where this was going. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you need to remove it,” she said softly, surprising you. “I know I was upset at first, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I realized that it’s just a part of your story. It doesn’t define us, and it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

You exhaled, relieved. “Are you sure? I don’t want it to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “What matters is that I trust you now. And I do. Besides, we all have things in our past we wish we could change, right? But they don’t define us.”

You smiled, feeling a wave of affection for her. “Thank you. I love you, Alessia. And I’m so grateful that we can talk about these things.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, snuggling closer to you. “And from now on, no more secrets. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agreed, pulling her into a tender kiss.

The decision to get the tattoo removed wasn’t something you made lightly. After the conversation with Alessia, when she told you she didn’t mind if you kept it, you realized how much you wanted to let go of the past—completely. While she was understanding and supportive, you knew deep down that having your ex’s name permanently etched on your skin, even if it didn’t carry emotional weight anymore, wasn’t something you were comfortable with. It felt like an unnecessary reminder of a time that no longer defined you.

The clinic was small, clean, and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air as you walked in. You were nervous—this wasn’t just about the physical act of removing the tattoo. It was symbolic, a final step in closing the door on that chapter of your life. You’d had a few sleepless nights leading up to this, but once you made the appointment, the weight of indecision finally lifted.

The nurse at the desk smiled kindly as she checked you in. "First time?" she asked, noticing your apprehension.

You nodded. "Yeah. Just trying to get rid of some old ink."

"Well, you're in good hands. It might sting a little, but you'll be okay," she reassured you. "It's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be."

You thanked her and took a seat in the waiting area, your heart racing as the minutes ticked by. You glanced at your phone, noticing a message from Alessia.

Lessi: “Thinking of you today, babe. You’ve got this. Can’t wait to see you after xx.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Alessia had been supportive the whole time, even though she said she didn’t need you to do it for her. She reassured you that your past didn’t bother her, that she loved you no matter what. But you wanted this—for yourself, and for her. It felt like a necessary step toward fully moving on and starting fresh.

The nurse eventually called your name, leading you to the back room where the procedure would take place. As you lay on the chair, the buzzing of the laser machine filled the small room. You clenched your fists at your sides as the technician started working on the tattoo. The sting was sharp but bearable, and you focused on steadying your breath, determined to get through it.

As the minutes passed, you thought about everything that had led you here. Your relationship with Sophie, the highs and lows, and how different it was from what you had with Alessia. Sophie had been important once, but what you had with Alessia was different. It was deeper, more real, more grounded in trust and mutual respect.

When the session was over, the technician applied a bandage over your now-fading tattoo and gave you instructions for the aftercare. “It’s going to take a few sessions to fully remove it,” she explained. “But we’ve made a good start today. Just follow the care instructions, and we’ll see you back in a few weeks.”

You thanked her, feeling lighter as you left the clinic. The tattoo wasn’t completely gone yet, but the process had started, and that was enough for now.

Later that evening, you returned home to find Alessia waiting for you on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a movie paused on the TV. When she heard you come in, she turned her head, her eyes lighting up as she saw you.

“How’d it go?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter, her expression soft but curious.

You smiled, dropping your bag by the door and walking over to join her. “It was fine. Hurt a bit, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Alessia’s eyes softened, and she reached for your hand, pulling you down onto the couch beside her. “You’re amazing, you know that? You didn’t have to do this, but the fact that you wanted to… it means a lot.”

“I wanted to,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Not just for you, but for me too. It felt like the right thing to do. I don’t need that reminder of the past anymore.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she looked up at you. “I’m proud of you.”

You rested your head against hers, feeling the comfort of her presence wash over you. For a few moments, you sat in comfortable silence, her hand tracing gentle circles on your arm.

“Do you ever regret any of it?” Alessia asked quietly, her voice soft but curious.

“Regret what?” you asked, turning your head slightly to look at her.

“Your past relationships. The tattoo, Sophie… all of it.”

You thought for a moment, considering her question. “I don’t think I regret it,” you said slowly. “I mean, it wasn’t always easy, and I’ve made mistakes. But I’ve learned from them, and those experiences shaped who I am today. I wouldn’t be the person I am without them. And without all of that, I might not have ended up with you.”

Alessia smiled, a hint of relief in her eyes. “I’m glad you think that way. I guess… I just don’t want to feel like I’m competing with your past. I know we’ve talked about this, but sometimes it still lingers in the back of my mind.”

You cupped her cheek gently, your thumb brushing over her soft skin. “You’re not competing with anyone, Less. You’re the one I choose, every day. The past is behind us, and I’m all in with you. I’m doing this because I want to move forward, to build a future with you.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch. “I know. I guess it’s just me overthinking, as usual.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Well, stop overthinking. I love you, and nothing about my past changes that.”

She grinned, her mood lightening. “Okay, okay. I’ll try.”

You snuggled into her side, resting your head on her shoulder. The weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving only the warmth of the present. You were moving forward together, and that was all that mattered.

As the night wore on, you found yourself feeling more at peace than you had in a long time. Removing the tattoo was just the first step, but it symbolized so much more. You and Alessia were stronger for it, and the future stretched out ahead of you, full of possibilities.

Over the next few weeks, you went through a few more sessions at the clinic, watching as the tattoo slowly faded away. Alessia was with you every step of the way, her support unwavering. Each session felt like another step toward leaving the past behind and focusing on the life you were building together.

By the time the tattoo was fully gone, you felt lighter, freer. It was a small thing in the grand scheme of life, but it represented something much bigger—the love and trust you shared with Alessia, and your commitment to building a future together, free of any lingering shadows from the past.

When you showed Alessia the final result, her face lit up with pride and affection. “It’s gone,” she said softly, tracing her fingers over the smooth skin where the tattoo used to be.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart swelling with love as you looked at her. “It’s gone.”

And with that, you felt like you were truly starting a new chapter—a chapter that belonged to you and Alessia, and no one else.

_________________________________________________

The End

[kaiser1ns]

#. LOST IN THE FIRE

featuring 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

sfw. slight suggestive nothing explicit. don't doubt now, don't make second guesses, when he lets you in his heart.

posting more chika contnet because of the new chapter, inspired by the lyrics of several songs ♡

Can’t someone tell you to stop messing with Takiishi Chika? Can't someone show you that it’s dangerous to play with fire? Because that’s what it feels like when you’re around him. You can read his lips, and see the way he forms words that are just for you to hear. Words that pull you in, close, dangerously close.

What people say about him, about you; it doesn’t matter, let them talk. You and Takiishi have something real, something that’s yours alone. There is no need to read his mind; you know what he wants. Every time he looks at you it’s like wildfire from his eyes to yours, making your heart race and burn, a silent conversation between two longing for each other souls.

When he gets close to you, when he kisses you, touches you, feels you, the bullet goes deeper and deeper into the heart no matter if the target is already hit. Time becomes meaningless, a blur. Minutes, hours — none of it matters when you’re together. Is there no one to tell you to stop? To warn you of the danger? It’s too late for that. You are already in the zone away from all signs and warnings, drowning in tears of pleasure, excited to let your wildest dream become a reality.

You wanted it didn't you? Why should you doubt it now? Step in, take control, drive straight towards to the utopia. You shouldn't be confused; things happened instantly, without warning. Knowing all about him, you choose to stay, taking pleasure with and in the pain. Don’t push away what’s so clearly right in front of you. He can't be arrogant with you, not when he lets you consume him, as he lets you inside his heart.

He communicates through his kisses and is open to taking things further. If he wants to keep you, he needs to love you harder. His lips are warm, and each kiss is deliberate and slow, marking every spot on your body. His touch is both tender and demanding—its possessive and controlling, pressing into you with a roughness that only makes you drown in the pleasure. Every breath you take, every moan you let is met with a response, leaving you wanting more and more. Desire, intimacy, he can't lose you, not now, not ever.

Takiishi Chika doesn’t just kiss you; he claims you.

His touch blends tenderness with a rough, demanding edge, a possessive force that makes you surrender completely. As his hands hold yours, guiding them to stillness, it becomes a commanding presence, making sure you remain under his control, the intensity of his claim. His fingers trace paths along your skin, leaving trails of desire that ignite your senses, a reminder of who you belong to. Each movement, each touch, is a promise that you are his, always and forever.

But don't let him fool you, to think he is in control, because you are the one who holds and owns his heart — you are the one who claimed him first, the one pulling the strings.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. I)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader / Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: With your terrible history of boyfriends during high school, you swore off love and vowed to get through university without a relationship. Things are great: you’re in your junior year, in an uncomplicated arrangement with a friend with benefits, and living in a nice sharehouse with two amazing roommates. But things begin to change once you meet Lee Minho, a student in your new class who vows to change your perspective on love.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut, light angst, pining, jealousy, strangers to friends to lovers, friends with benefits

♡ CW: Swearing, sexual themes and discussions, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: This is a three-part story because I can’t shut up. The second part will be posted sometime next week, and I’ll link it here. I’ve been writing all my life and have written for maaaany fandoms, but being on Tumblr as an active reader of SKZ fics made me want to write for them. So, yeah, guess this is what I’m doing now.

part II →

You are woken up by Hyunjin shifting beside you on the bed. He groans, arm reaching to mess with your already closed curtains. You chuckle.

“You know, the curtains won’t close any more than that.”

“I keep telling you your bed is in a terrible position,” He grumbles as you turn to face him with a smile. “Who thought placing a bed right under a window would be a good idea? Mornings are fucking hell here.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s not my house so I didn’t exactly have a say in that matter.”

“I told you a million times I could help you move it.”

“And I told you a million times Mrs. Choi doesn’t like for us to mess with her furniture,” You explain, turning under the sheets so you could face him before bringing your fingers up to pinch his cheek. Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “Speaking of which, you need to leave. You know her rule: no—”

“No boyfriends spending more than two days at the house,” He interrupted you with an eye roll. “I’m not your boyfriend, though, so that rule shouldn’t apply.” He shrugs.

Hyunjin has been one of your best friends since you first met over two years ago. It was Hyunjin’s first college party and one of the many times your housemates had dragged you along on a night out. His friends had dared him to try and chat you up, arguing it would be hilarious to see him get turned down by an older girl. What they hadn’t expected, however, was for Hyunjin’s clumsy attempt at flirting to be so endearing to you; his pink cheeks and bowl-cut hair made him look like a helpless kid despite his height towering over you. Before you knew it, you had spent the entirety of the party talking to him about everything and anything, only stopping once your housemate Eunha emerged from inside the house to drag you home with her as she desperately tried to dodge a rather insistent guy’s advances. After that day, you and Hyunjin became almost inseparable.

You can’t quite pinpoint when you began hooking up. It was meaningless in the best sense of the word. It was simply something that had happened. All you can remember is that Jisung had recently bleached Hyunjin’s hair after yet another dare from his friend. It had started with cuddles, which turned to kisses, which turned to touches, until you eventually slept together for the first time sometime last year after an excruciatingly stressful exam period. It had never once gotten weird between the two of you; the line was always clear: you were just friends who hooked up due to convenience. Everybody had needs and stress and shit complicating their lives, and fucking your best friend was far more practical and safe than going out to look for a random hook-up whenever you needed it.

You find yourself smiling at Hyunjin once again. His now long black hair fell in his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Yes, you’re not my boyfriend, but how am I supposed to explain what we are to a little old lady?”

“Doesn’t she always say she’s super modern?” Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you with a chuckle. “Maybe she’d like a situationship of her own and you’re depriving her of that by keeping this knowledge to yourself.”

You roll your eyes at his words, attempting to push him off your bed. “Why did you sleep here, anyway?”

Hyunjin sits up on the bed, a pout on his full lips. “I had a shitty date. I was sad and lonely. Glad to know you were paying attention to my story.”

“Hyune,” You sigh, ‘When you tell me said story while fucking me, can I really be blamed for not remembering anything?”

Hyunjin flicks your forehead lightly. “Yes, you can. At this point, it’s like our thing to vent about bad dates during sex,” He argues before getting up from your bed, finding his shirt, which had somehow been thrown over your study desk.

“You mean it’s your thing,” Correcting him, you get up as well, turning to fix up your sheets. “I don’t even go on dates and you know that. The only thing I vent to you about is how awful academic life is.”

Once you turned to face him again, Hyunjin was busy messily tying his hair. His brows promptly furrowed as he took in your words. “Remind me why you literally never leave the house again?”

“Just don’t want to get distracted. Getting my degree is more important than getting a boyfriend.” You lie with a shrug.

Your history with relationships was something you kept secret from everyone you met after high school. You feel embarrassed, as if it was all somehow your fault. After five failed relationships where you had been the one to be broken up with or cheated on, you began to accept that maybe the problem really was you. Maybe something about you makes men want to yell at and cheat on you. Perhaps you are just bound to be a distraction until they find someone better.

Which is why you don’t date.

Would anyone go through the hassle of reading a long, tedious book if they already knew about the bad ending?

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at your answer, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your degree isn’t going to keep you company when you’re eighty and alone.”

“Well, my degree isn’t going to wake up one day and suddenly decide to leave me either,” you refute, earning an annoyed groan from your friend as you walk past him to leave your room.

“You literally never have fun, though. All you do is go to class, work, and study. You should at least pick up a new hobby,” Hyunjin insists as he follows you, walking into the kitchen-living room area. “Go out more, stop avoiding college parties like the plague before it’s too late to experience the joys of watching your friend throw up on some random person’s couch.”

You make a face at the offers, grabbing your mug from the cupboard. “Why would I want to see that? Besides, I have hobbies.”

“I meant a social hobby. Sitting in your room watching fucking iceberg videos isn’t sociable,” He explains, and you let out an aggrieved gasp. Your iceberg videos were educational and entertaining, thank you very much. Behind you, your housemate’s bedroom door opens, and you turn to watch as she stumbles out of her room, looking half-awake. “Soojung, don’t you think she should get a new hobby?” Hyunjin addresses the blonde girl, who stares daggers at him.

“If I say yes, will you two stop speaking so loud?”

Hyunjin slams one hand on the kitchen counter, his other pointing a finger at you. “See, she said yes. You’re outnumbered, now you have to stop spending all your free time holed up inside your room.”

Soojung groans, stepping into the kitchen and shoving Hyunjin to the side. “He’s annoying, but he is kind of right,” she mumbles.

Truthfully, you did feel bad about having essentially wasted three years at university by actively avoiding parties and invitations any chance you got. The only parties you did attend, however, only served as an irritating reminder as to why you shouldn’t put yourself in those situations. Parties and bars only meant desperate college boys. Desperate for sex, for attention, for a potential relationship. For someone’s heart to break. You had met Hyunjin at a party, for fuck’s sake. Who knows just how south things between you two could’ve gone if he had become interested in you romantically?

But, as much as you hate to admit it, Hyunjin is right. Your life is essentially an endless loop of studying and working. You only socialize when your roommates are home, when your few friends come over, and when you and Hyunjin hook up. But you aren’t ready to step out of your comfortable bubble of avoidance, so you settle for the best thing you can think of.

As Hyunjin rummages through your fridge like he lived there and Soojung stirs her coffee blankly, you loudly set your mug down on the counter. “An elective course,” you announce.

The both of them turn to face you with the same puzzled expression.

“The fuck?” Hyunjin questions, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ll take an elective,” you explain matter-of-factly, “The university offers a lot of great courses in things I’m actually interested in. It’ll be a way for me to get out of the house without having to watch a friend of mine puke on a couch or whatever atrocity it is that you said.”

Hyunjin slams the fridge door closed, earning a scolding scream from Soojung, and walks over to where you’re standing. He pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re such a fucking nerd, what the fuck, but I’m so glad your hermit life is coming to an end.”

The elective course you choose is Japanese. It’s a language you’ve always been interested in learning, and while you know the class is merely introductory, you figure it will be fun to learn some phrases and expressions. You might even find yourself wanting to learn more in the future, and you’ll undoubtedly be glad you took this class during university.

Even if that means having to endure Hyunjin calling you a weeb.

You are able to begin attending classes a week after signing up; the lessons lining up with your work schedule to a T. The professor explained that, since you had joined the course late, you would likely need some guidance with phrases and words the class had already been taught. You didn’t mind, actually feeling excited in the morning despite your boring routine classes since you knew you would be doing something new you enjoyed in the afternoon instead of simply killing time around your house until it was time for you to work.

You walk into your first class ten minutes late, mentally cursing Eunha for being so good at telling stories about her weirdly entertaining life that it made it physically difficult for you to drag yourself away from her. You mouth a brief apology to your professor before scanning the room and scurrying over to the only available seat. 

You sit down in haste so as to not disrupt the class any further, swinging your bag over your chair and accidentally knocking over your seatmate’s water bottle all over his side of the desk. Luckily, the bottle lands on the soft surface of his notebook, barely making any noise. Unluckily, said bottle had been filled with coffee, staining his notes a faded brown color. You silently gasp, instinctively reaching out your hands to fruitlessly try and dry the pages that are now sticking to each other.

“I am so sorry, what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you continue to inspect his notebook frantically. “I’ll buy you a new notebook and another cup of coffee as soon as class ends, I promise,” You whisper to him, your eyes boring holes into the stained pages as you watch the bitter liquid slowly dissolve some of the black ink. At this point, you’re rambling out of nervousness, but you can’t seem to stop, adding, “Hell, I’m so angry at myself for what I did I’d bind you a new notebook and brew you some fresh coffee myself.”

You mentally berate yourself for your word vomit. It was just your luck that you would make someone hate your guts on the first day you attended a class.

After what feels like minutes of silence from him, you are prepared for the imminent burst of rage bound to come your way, the guy’s wrath more than likely stirring inside him as he sits beside you and watches as you foolishly shake the piece of paper, hoping it will miraculously return to its untainted state.

However, what you aren’t prepared for is the small burst of laughter that leaves your seatmate’s lips; it’s quiet, but you’re close enough to him to be able to hear it.

You furrow your brows, finally mustering the courage to look up at him for the first time.

“Did you…” You trail off. You feel a strange sensation inside your chest as your eyes meet his. It was something you had never felt before, a small burst of a fluttering that briskly washed over you before disappearing just as quickly. Like a pinwheel was placed inside of you and a strong wind had suddenly started blowing. You shake your head, returning to the matter at hand. You are probably just experiencing some anxiety due to what has happened, you argue mentally. “Did you just laugh at me?”

As you finally take him in properly, the guy before you looks as dazed as you felt just now, courtesy of your minor panic attack; his lips agape and his round eyes blinking while his dark pupils are fixed on you. You two remain that way for a few seconds in an impromptu staring contest that causes the peculiar feeling to bloom inside your chest once again.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “You… offered to bind a notebook for a stranger,” His lips twitch into a grin. “It was a little funny.”

You open your mouth but promptly close it, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make you appear like more of an idiot than you already do. You sigh. “Sorry,” you mumble, your voice low as well. “I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’m—”

“You two, on the back,” your professor calls out in a louder voice, however still keeping her calm demeanor. You and your seatmate turn to look at her. “I’m going to teach a few new phrases useful for traveling now. How about you two talk after class? This is actually quite perfect. Minho is one of my best students, so he could help you catch up to where we are.” She offers the two of you a small smile, and you feel your cheeks burn.

This class wasn’t mandatory, and you didn’t need it to get your degree. It is still a class, nonetheless. Ever since high school, you’ve always hated people who disrespect their professors by brazenly talking or sleeping during class.

“I’m sorry, professor,” You muttered. Beside you, your seatmate — Minho, as he was just called — scoots closer to you and whispers something you don’t understand under his breath. You look at him, confused. He chuckles, and you feel his breath on your cheek. It makes the odd fluttering return.

“Gomenasai,” He repeats more clearly, his voice louder, “It’s ‘I’m sorry’ in Japanese.” He offers you a smile, and you soak in just how good-looking he is. Ever since you first raised your head to look at him — when the pinwheel inside your chest rapidly spun and unexplainedly made you feel nervous — you knew he was a handsome guy, but his soft smile and calm eyes made him look even more annoyingly pretty.

Before you’re able to do it yourself, your professor speaks again and pulls you out of your trance.

“In this case, Sumimasen would be a bit more appropriate,” she corrects Minho, who clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath. The woman chuckles at his reaction. “It’s okay. This is also something you can explain to Y/N after class.”

As the class went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Minho didn’t take any notes. Your mind latched onto how you ruined his notebook and how it was your fault that he couldn’t properly study during today’s class, so you couldn’t find the courage to offer him some paper so he could take notes.

After almost an hour of unrelenting guilt swallowing you up slowly, you place your hand on Minho’s shoulder as soon as the professor announces class is over after assigning the students a small written assignment.

“We could talk outside? If you want,” you offer him, feeling the now-familiar nervousness come back, making your mouth speak faster than your brain can even think to rationalize, “There’s a bench I really like outside this building. It’s a good spot. There’s a nice shade, and it’s secluded enough that people don’t bother me when I’m studying. Or googling how to bind a notebook.”

Minho lets out a brief chuckle. “Okay. I would love to talk on your favorite bench.”

You blink at him. “I don’t have a favorite bench.”

“Hm, it sure sounded like it. You listed some good attributes of that bench,” He argues, a grin etched onto his lips.

“I told you I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He raises an eyebrow at your words. “You’re nervous?”

“Of course I am. I never bound a notebook before.”

Minho lets out a hearty laugh this time, his head thrown back and his eyes turning into crescent moons before he shakes his head. He picks his notebook off the table, showing you the crinkly light brown-tinted pages. “It’s dry now. I actually kind of like it, gave the pages a sort of vintage vibe. You don’t have to bind me a new notebook,” He reassures you, placing the small book into his bag. “As much as I would love to see how that would turn out.”

And just like that, your nervousness fades away. You smile at Minho, asking that he follow you over to your favorite bench.

The two of you talked for almost two hours. During that time, Minho helped you catch up with the vocabulary and phrases you had missed in class. When you asked him how he was able to know so much off the top of his head, his lips curled into a crooked grin as he sheepishly told you that he had been taking Japanese lessons since he was in high school. He explained that because he procrastinated signing up for an elective course, the advanced class was full by the time he got to it, so he decided to go for the introductory one instead. You chuckled and questioned why he would choose to spend his time on a course when he already knew everything being taught. He shrugged and explained that it was nice to have at least one class in which he didn’t have to try and that the fact that it made him feel smart also helped.

Not even your shift at work was able to make your conversation stop flowing, as Minho offered to walk with you to the coffee shop upon realizing it was near his apartment.

That was one of the many coincidences and things in common you found to have with each other that day.

It started with ordinary things like the fact that Minho had three cats back home just like you and how he had been collecting plushies since he was a child, while you had started your own collection as soon as you had access to money of your own. Or how your favorite authors were Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë — Minho swore you would die if you saw the special edition books he had back at home.

Then, it became a bit more amusing as you found out that Minho had worked at a convenience store chain when he first finished high school, and it was the same one you worked at for your first job after starting university. And you both had worked there for exactly a year and two months before quitting. You then told him about how you ended up attending this university after your top three choices turned you down, and his choices were the same as yours. And just like you, he also got rejected by his top three options, which led him to attend the same university as you.

You two couldn’t hide your bewilderment, eyes widening and lips bursting into laughter as these linked facts kept spilling out during your conversation. It was strange, you thought, but in a comforting way. It was almost as if you two had been living weirdly similar lives, all while having no clue about the other’s existence.

The two of you approach the small coffee shop while talking about your degrees. You try your best not to bore Minho with your ‘existential crisis-inducing psychology talks,’ as Hyunjin always put it, and you mostly listen to him as he talks about programming. He tells you that his dream is to develop cozy games that people can jump into without much thought, simply to relax. He says he knows how stressful life is and that people sometimes need something they can mindlessly do to get their minds off of shit. You resonate with it more than you care to admit, as cozy idle games are one of your favorite things to do while locked inside your room.

“So I do these freelancing gigs to make money but I’m actually set to start my first quote-unquote real job in two weeks,” he beams as you two stop in front of the coffee shop. Minho’s eyes lit up the moment he started speaking about his degree, and although you didn’t understand most of the terms he used, it is always endearing to watch someone talk about something they’re so passionate about. “There’s this guy who’s graduating soon who recruited me and a friend for a project he’s working on, so it’s not technically a job and we’ll work in his living room. I’ll still get some money and the chance to actually develop something, though, so it’s better than nothing.”

You smile at him. “If you like programming as much as your words led me to believe, I’m sure it won’t even feel like a job.”

Minho’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and he scratched his head. “Sorry, I talked your ear off about shit you don’t even understand.”

“I think everybody likes to hear people talk about things they like,” you assure him, “It was a good talk. I still can’t believe we have so many things in common. It was kind of funny how they kept coming up.”

Minho chuckles, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Guess the universe is giving us signs that we should be friends.”

“It seems like it.”

That day, you work with a persistent smile engraved on your lips. You can’t remember the last time you felt so good about meeting someone new. Despite your awkward first encounter, you found that talking to Minho was as easy as talking to an old childhood friend. It felt refreshing. The last friend you made was Hyunjin — whom you were so grateful to now for pushing you out of your comfort zone — and after that, you had unknowingly closed yourself off.

Minho had managed to open up your mind to the idea of letting someone in almost comically fast. And you loved that.

It’s been a month since you’ve been attending Japanese classes, and your studying sessions with Minho — which always turned into long conversations on what now had really become your favorite bench — were a weekly appointment, much like having him walk with you to work twice a week.

Today, however, Minho stopped you with a hand on your shoulder as you made your way toward your usual spot. When he asked you if you would like to study at his favorite bakery today instead, his eyes rapidly blinking as he looked at you through his bangs which had grown to slightly cover his eyes since you met him, you just couldn’t say no. He stammered as he promised that the place was even closer than the one where you worked, so you wouldn’t be late for your shift.

You smiled at his apparent nervousness, finding it endearing. You knew all too well how stressed you felt when offering something new or initiating plans with a new friend, and Minho seemed to be the same.

“Good thing you made this offer today, on my day off,” you bumped shoulders with him. “It’s almost like you knew.”

You begin walking, and Minho gently pushes you to the side so that he’s the one walking on the edge of the side of the sidewalk. You shoot him a questioning look, and he blinks at you again.

“Sorry, force of habit,” he chuckles, “My mom taught me a guy shouldn’t let a girl walk on the street side. I know it’s old-fashioned and probably made me seem like an ancient guy who wouldn’t let his wife work or something. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s kind of sweet. I never had anyone do that with me.”

You feel the pinwheel twirl inside your chest again.

The two of you approach a familiar building together. You furrow your eyebrows as you take in the floral curtains on the windows and the pretty font adorning the store sign of your favorite bakery. You think about how it would be nice if you two came here on another day. Maybe you could use that opportunity to finally introduce Minho to your other friends.

You only realize Minho has stopped walking when he calls out your name. When you turn around, he’s standing in front of the bakery with a smile.

“This is the place.” He points toward the white door with a nod as you return to where he’s standing.

No fucking way.

“This is your favorite bakery?” You ask, although it is a stupid question. Minho nods. You play with the strap of your bag. “Okay, this is starting to sound ridiculous, but I swear I’m not lying. This is my favorite bakery, too.”

Minho’s eyes widen at your words, and his lips curl into a smile again. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I will not,” You chuckle.

Minho opens the door and the two of you walk inside, the familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods bringing back great memories you made in this place. You often come here with your two roommates; it’s close enough to both your house and university that you can skip out on taking the bus, the atmosphere is always relaxing and comforting, not to mention the delicious cakes they sell. You smile to yourself as you remember Eunha scuffing down far too many slices of their chocolate cake after a nasty breakup a couple of months ago, tears streaming down her face so violently that the poor little old man who owns the shop appeared to check up on her.

“Their lemon cake is my favorite.”

“The lemon cake is what made me—”

You and Minho speak concurrently, with you unable to even finish your sentence before you both freeze for a couple of seconds in front of the only small table available at the crowded shop.

He’s the first one to move, pulling out his chair a bit awkwardly. “We should…” He trails off before clearing his throat as you sit down before him. “Should really make a written list of things we weirdly have in common.”

“At this point, I think it’d be easier if we made one of what we don’t have in common.”

You two settle for the obvious choice of two pieces of lemon cake with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of cola for you. Minho almost looked offended when you informed him that you hate coffee, wondering out loud why you even worked at a coffee shop before ensuring he could change your mind with just the five amazing facts about coffee he thought about off the top of his head. You shrugged him off with a grin. You couldn’t deny the irony of being a barista and having to make endless cups of a drink you despised daily, but you were sure Minho could never change your mind about coffee.

You two talked about your improvement in Japanese in the last month until the waiter returned with your order. Minho insists you’re a natural and could be on his level in a couple of years if you tried, but you roll your eyes at his compliments. You’ve never been naturally good at anything. That wasn’t about to change now.

“You know,” Minho begins once the waiter steps away from your table, looking around the coffee shop. People slowly started to leave as it got later in the day; the place was now much quieter, and the atmosphere even more cozy. “I used to think I would meet somebody in a place like this.”

“Like, in a romantic sense?”

Minho hums, still looking out to his side. You notice his side profile is really pretty, and you have to hide your smile by sipping your drink.

When he returns his gaze to you, he’s the one smiling. “Yes, in a romantic sense. Like being destined to meet someone.”

“Look at you, a hopeless romantic,” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. You never thought of Minho as someone like that. He seemed rather methodical, always following a routine and too engrossed in his codes to be preoccupied with something like love.

Minho furrowed his brows. “Why the eye roll?”

“I just don’t believe in that stuff,” you shrug with a small smile, “Stuff like destiny, soulmates, love…” You trail off, taking your spoon and poking the slice of cake in front of you. “Love has the awful tendency of being bad.”

Of course, you once believed all those things. Doesn’t everybody? But love has shown you time and time again that those are things reserved only for some people. And, clearly, you are not one of them. So why believe in it?

“It’s the most amazing thing in life,” Minho’s voice almost startled you as you were so deeply entranced in your thoughts.

You don’t lift your head to answer him, instead drawing mindless shapes on the icing on top of your cake.

“What is?”

“Love,” He replies in a soft voice. When you finally look at him, you’re surprised to find Minho’s deep eyes already looking at you, a small smile adorning his lips. “Love is the most amazing thing in life.”

You freeze.

You tear your eyes away from him, gaze focusing on the plate in front of you again.

You were careful with your rules. No parties, no bars, no talking to your male co-workers unless absolutely necessary, and no male friends unless they were in a relationship or proved beyond a reasonable doubt to only be interested in you platonically — which was what Minho was. So, why did him bringing up love make you feel so nervous?

Under the table, you unwittingly bounce your leg. This was stupid. Minho has been your friend for a month now; you see each other twice a week, and you talk for hours, always so comfortable around each other in a way that is still so new to you. He has never flirted with you or treated you in any way that led you to believe that he wanted anything more than to be your friend. You will not let your foolish trauma ruin what was proving to be an amazing friendship. He was simply sharing his thoughts on a topic. That’s all love was: a conversation topic.

You force out a chuckle as you snap yourself out of your senseless panic and look up at Minho once more. “We can just agree to disagree?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, something you can’t quite pinpoint swimming in his deep eyes as he looks at you. Instead of breaking the silence, he scoops up a piece of cake with his spoon and raises it like a glass. You shake your head with a giggle as you realize what he’s doing, toasting your spoons together at the center of the table before you both eat your spoonfuls of cake.

“You know,” He speaks as soon as he’s done eating, his eyes having never left yours. “Love can never be bad. I don’t think so, at least. It never makes anything worse. It can only ever make things better.”

You hum and shift in your seat, lowering your gaze toward the table. The truth is, you hate talking about love. That — coupled with your shame regarding your past relationships — is the reason why you never indulge in this type of conversation, even with your own mother. But years of swallowing down your thoughts and opinions whenever the subject was brought up only caused a buildup of emotions in your throat. So much so that you only realized you were talking once you were midway through a sentence.

“Love can make so many things worse,” you affirmed, your eyes following the polka-dot pattern on the tablecloth, “Losing someone is bad enough, but put love into that equation, and it just worsens tenfold.”

Minho nods. “By that logic, you can say that having someone by your side is always good, but if it’s someone you love, it makes it better tenfold, right?”

You let out a chuckle as you realize you two could go back and forth about that subject for ages.

But it felt good to finally speak out your feelings on the matter, so you continue, “Love can’t be that great if people can so easily fall out of it and for so many different but equally stupid reasons. You’re suddenly not attractive to them anymore, or you have different opinions, or they love picking fights but hate it when it’s the other way around…” You trail off, swallowing down a lump in your throat as you speak out of experience. But Minho didn’t need to know that. You lift your eyes. “Not to mention falling in love with a new person all while supposedly already being in love with someone.”

“That’s not genuine love,” Minho shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, as if it was his first time hearing of such things happening. “Real love is unconditional and understanding. Real love makes the person you love beautiful simply because they’re them. Real love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself as well.” His expression softens, and his eyes lock onto yours. “And real love makes it so that you can only see the one you love. You can’t possibly fall in love with someone else if you’re truly already in love.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, nodding slowly. You hate the fact that part of you is desperate to believe that what Minho said was true. And you hate it even more that an even bigger part has already dismissed every single word that left his lips.

Desperate to shift the subject from Reasons Why My Exes Left Me — which only leaves you feeling sad and pathetic — back to Love Is Amazing, you decide to try and lighten the mood.

“Okay, but then explain to me how love is so great when you can just have sex with anyone, and it feels the same either way?” You question him with a teasing grin on your face. Minho shakes his head with a smile and eats another bite of his cake. You continue, “Be it a stranger at a party you met ten minutes ago or the love of your life, sex will always be sex. Therefore, you’re wrong, mister Love-Makes-Everything-Better.”

Minho chuckles around his mug, eyes closing as he almost spits out his coffee. His eyes are like crescent moons when he looks at you again, clearly amused by your words. “Well, yeah, of course, sex will always feel good no matter who you’re doing it with. It’s sex, and sex feels good,” He shrugs dismissively. “But sex with love is different. You aren’t just fucking, just fulfilling your own desires selfishly. Love makes sex better because you feel good simply by making the person who’s so important to you feel good. It makes you want to melt into the other person and become one with them because close isn’t close enough when you’re in love.

“Touching them feels like a gift, like heaven. Tasting them feels like heaven. Hearing their voice in their most blissful state feels like heaven. The trust and connection you feel in that moment is heaven, and that’s only possible through love. You can have sex with anyone, but you can only make love to someone you love, and those are two different things. That’s how love makes sex better. Therefore, I’m not wrong.”

As you take in Minho’s words, spoken so casually, like it was common knowledge, they leave you speechless. You watch him as he smiles triumphantly when he realizes you aren’t going to refute him — because you can’t refute him.

You berate yourself mentally as you notice the familiar feeling of arousal wash over you as you repeat his words inside your head. Not because it was Minho who said those things, but simply because that kind of sex sounded so good. Good in a way you had never once experienced before. Like heaven, as he had put it.

Your experience with sex has always been simply about fulfilling desires. You thought that was all there was to it.

Until now.

And even so, with your ex-boyfriends, it was always unbalanced. Ninety percent about their pleasure and only ten percent about yours. The first time you had a guy go down on you was the first time you had sex with Hyunjin, and by that point, you had already had five boyfriends. It felt weird when it happened, and you remember Hyunjin whining about how you didn’t have to ask him every five minutes if he was really okay with doing that. It had always been different with him, the good kind of different. He had never been selfish during sex; if anything, Hyunjin was too much of a giver, sometimes forgetting about his own pleasure in order to focus on yours. You thought that was the best sex you could ever have.

Until now.

Because, even with Hyunjin, there was never a genuine connection. It never felt like a gift to touch him and have him touch you. It was never anything more than sex, more than something you both did because it felt good and it was easy. He slept in your bed, and he cuddled you until morning came, but it had never once felt anything close to what Minho described.

You can’t help but wonder if Minho has ever experienced that. You desperately want to ask him, but you two aren’t close enough for that yet.

You also can’t help but wonder why you spend the rest of the evening raging a war against yourself as your mind is consumed with thoughts of what it would be like to experience that kind of sex with him.

It’s late in the night on the following Saturday, and your phone incessantly vibrating under your pillow rudely demands your attention just as you’re about to fall asleep. You squint your eyes as you type in your password. You sigh as you see Hyunjin’s name on your screen because of course it’s him.

Hyune: I’m outside open the door Hyune: please open the door? quick? Hyune: mrs. choi is gonna kill me if I use the intercom pls I don’t wanna die Hyune: I’m in my pajamas do you know how humiliating this is

Hyune: and I’m highkey pissed off Hyune: I WILL sleep on the bench outside your house if you don’t let me in and then I’ll die and who’s gonna live with the guilt? Hyune: you Hyune: OPENM TEH DOOR

You roll your eyes at his dramatic texts, stepping out of the comfort of your bed and padding across the floor as quietly as possible so as not to wake up your roommates. You open your front door and speed past the hallway and Mrs. Choi’s home, reaching the outside door in record time. It’s something you’ve done more times than you care to admit in order to let Hyunjin into your house. Your tenant was a sweet woman, insistent that she was modern and understanding of ‘young people’, but she despised people coming into your home any later than midnight.

You step outside, finding Hyunjin pacing back and forth like a creep in front of your house. True to his words, he stood in his checkered pajama pants and a black t-shirt. His hair was in a ponytail, the strands messily sticking out everywhere like he had tossed and turned in bed before coming here.

“You look like shit,” you speak up, causing him to jump and let out a gasp. You chuckle as he scowls at you, climbing the few steps to reach the door.

“I had a fight with Mingyu,” he grumbles as you two walk toward your front door. “He told me I spilled paint on his favorite shirt, which is fucking impossible since I don’t even paint anywhere near his shit.” 

“I mean, you are a messy painter.”

Hyunjin shoots you a look as you close your front door behind you. You take off your shoes and walk toward your bedroom in silence. This was routine. Hyunjin knew the rules: no knocking on the outside door, no buzzing the intercom, no shouting from outside, keep your voice down in the hallway, no talking until you reach your bedroom. It was all automatic at this point.

His voice is louder when he speaks again inside your locked bedroom. “First of all, I am not a messy painter. The paint is messy, not me. Second of all, if Mingyu wasn’t a fucking idiot, maybe he wouldn’t leave his favorite shirt on the floor of the living room right by my art corner,” Hyunjin huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “If that’s how he treats his favorite shirt, I feel bad for his girlfriend.”

You let out a chuckle, which is cut short by him pulling you into his arms. “Hyunjin, that analogy makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does. You treat your favorite shirt like shit, you treat your girlfriend like shit,” he states matter-of-factly before pulling you into a kiss.

This was routine. It was all automatic at this point.

Hyunjin kisses you like he’s angry. Because he is, and that’s one of the reasons why you two do this. You let out your frustrations during sex. You complain, and you let off steam until you both feel okay again. It’s been this way for a year and some months now, and you never once thought anything of it. It was beneficial for you both, so why change or question it?

But that was before your talk with Minho. Before you were awoken to the truth that you’d been having meaningless sex your whole life.

When you’re pulled away from your thoughts, you’re already laid in your bed with Hyunjin hovering over you. His lips and hands wander through your body as he mumbles things you can’t quite understand; you can only make out your name and Mingyu’s mixed with curses. You try to bring yourself back to the moment, bringing your legs to wrap around Hyunjin’s waist and bring him closer to you.

He stops kissing your neck and yanks his shirt over his head, his hair untying in the process and falling on his face like a curtain. You giggle and try to fix it with your fingers. Hyunjin pouts.

“Don’t you think I’m right?”

You frown and hope he can’t see your confused expression in the dim lighting. You truly weren’t paying any attention to what he had been saying, too engrossed in your thoughts and too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin’s tendency to tell you about his frustrations during sex always left you a bit puzzled, but it was also oddly sweet. It was like he trusted you so deeply as a friend that he believed he could share anything with you, no matter the time.

So you nod, lightly pulling at his hair. “Of course you’re right.”

He hums and buries his head on your chest, grinding his hips into your clothed core. “Of course I’m right,” he mumbles under his breath.

Everything is a blur after that, your mind insistent on repeating Minho’s words like an annoying echo. When Hyunjin’s tongue fucked you hastily, and he murmured something about you tasting so good, all you could hear was Minho’s voice telling you how tasting the person you love feels like heaven. When Hyunjin pushed his cock into you, his hands gripping your thighs and head buried in your neck, all you could think about was how this sex paled in comparison to what you could’ve been having — what you could have already had — if only you weren’t so damn unlovable. 

You knew that Minho didn’t intend to make you feel bad with his words. They weren’t targeted at you. But that didn’t stop your mind from sabotaging and putting yourself down. It was one of your biggest talents, after all.

Your body was present and responsive the entire time; you moaned because it felt good, and you kissed Hyunjin because you wanted to. But you were mentally somewhere else.

And the worst thing is, you’re a hundred percent sure Hyunjin doesn’t even notice it.

Because this wasn’t love. This was only sex.

And this was all you had ever known.

Time flies by faster than your brain can comprehend; before you know it, another month goes by. You only managed to go to your favorite bakery with Minho one more time before your work hours were changed, your shift now starting a mere thirty minutes after your Japanese class ends. He still walked you to work twice a week, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t upset you to have to let go of your weekly talks.

Minho also became busier due to his own job. With so little time to see each other face to face outside of class, most of your talks took place over text. He talked about his job with so much adoration it made you a little jealous; his partners were now simply friends he worked with, and his joy over finally being able to create a cozy game made it so that he pushed himself over his limit, often sleeping on his friend’s couch after working until four a.m. and getting through the next day on excessive amounts of coffee.

That was how you two came up with the idea of Minho dropping by the café where you work to pick up coffee for him and his friends. He would drop by at least twice every day, his friend’s house — which also served as their office — only one bus stop away.

The first time Minho came by, he had his wallet and phone in one hand, a sharpie and a block of sticky notes in the other. You eyed him curiously as he scribbled on the piece of paper while your co-worker prepared his coffee. When he was done, he stuck the note to the monitor in front of you on the counter. You furrowed your brows as your eyes shifted from the Japanese words on the bright yellow note back to Minho’s smug face. You were certainly grateful he at least had the courtesy of including the romanization of whatever he had written down. Not that it helped you in any way.

“Since our studying sessions after class were rudely taken from us, this is your extra homework. It’s all words we already learned. You just gotta think a little bit, and you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, I know you can do it,” He assured you.

Expect you weren’t that smart and ended up giving up by the time you got home that night. The piece of paper was no longer sticky on the border due to you carrying it around all day, boring holes into it as if that would magically give you the answer. You snapped a picture of it as you got ready for bed and sent it to Minho, begging him to put you out of your misery and simply give you the answer. ‘I want to drink coffee,’ he replied. You slapped your hand over your forehead with so much force you were sure the entire house had heard you. He was right; you did learn that in class. Curse the Japanese language for being so difficult.

After that, it became a routine. You waited expectantly for Minho’s visits daily, but you are extra excited today. It’s a Friday, and your birthday is tomorrow. After much pestering from Eunha, you agreed to have a small gathering at your house. It only made sense to invite Minho; he’s become one of your closest friends in the two months you’ve known him, after all.

As he walks into the coffee shop, sticky notes and sharpie in hand, you chuckle to yourself. You two chat about the development of his game, with Minho kindly using layman’s terms when explaining it to you. He also tells you about how one of his friends got so frustrated with a code that he threw his phone at a wall before immediately regretting it and crying on the floor next to Minho’s desk. Before you can get worried, he assures you that it’s just an ordinary day at the office, and the three of them end up laughing everything off at the end of the day.

After taking his order, you watch as he begins writing down your homework for the day on the small piece of paper in his hand. As you look around the coffee shop, most tables are empty, and the sun is starting to set outside the glass doors.

“You wanna come over this Saturday?” You ask Minho, who looks up at you before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. That was one thing you learned about Minho since he began coming over: he wears glasses. Not every day, but enough times for you to notice how good he looks with them. But friends find each other attractive all the time, you justify it. “You never came over to my house, and my roommates really want to meet you. Plus, it’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Your birthday? And you save that information to the end?”

“It’s not a big deal. I usually never even celebrate.” You shrug lightly. You’ve never been big on birthdays, as you just don’t see the reason why it’s supposed to feel different from any other day of the year. “But my roommate pestered me to do something this year, so I agreed to have a party.”

Minho shifts on his feet. “I… really hate parties…” He trails off.

“It’s not a party party. I promise!” You hold up your pinky finger. “It’s more of a get-together, just my roommates and my only two other friends. And, you…” You trail off, “If you come.”

Minho blinks his eyes a couple of times before tearing the piece of paper he was writing on from the pad and crumpling it in his hand. He quickly jots down something new and sticks it to your forehead.

“Minho!” You scold him, to which he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling. You advert your gaze from him as your persistent thoughts regarding how unfairly pretty Minho is begin to flood your brain once again. You take the note and analyze it:

はい (Hai)

You smile as you understand the word, looking up at him.

“I’d love to come to your birthday party,” He beams. “Thank you for inviting me.”

To say Minho is nervous would be an understatement.

He gets out of his car twice, ready to march back inside his friend’s apartment like a coward and pretend that nothing happened both times. Only when he thinks back to how you smiled at him when he agreed to your invitation does he find the courage to start the car and drive to your house. He’d noticed for a while now how much he likes you. But it was when he agreed with the idea of going to the café you worked at to pick up coffee that it truly dawned on him that he really liked you. Minho hated taking the bus, he hated doing anything other than zoning out on the couch during his breaks, he hated bustling shops, and he hated how his co-workers both managed to have such intricate coffee orders.

Yet he agreed to that idea, even suggesting he drop by two times a day.

He noticed he’d felt a familiar small whirlpool inside his chest whenever he was with you, when he heard you talk about something you liked or saw you smile. He’s also noticed that this tiny whirlpool has been growing bigger and bigger the more he’s been around you.

But that doesn’t scare him. Minho loves love. He loves to be in love, to love someone, and to make that person feel loved. It’s his favorite thing about life. If he was honest, he missed it so much he didn’t know how he was able to live without it.

Just down the block from your house, he parks his car and gathers his phone and his present for you — clearly clumsily wrapped, even with his co-workers’ help. He feels another wave of nervousness wash over him as he approaches the house; he’s an hour late and needs to mentally prepare to socialize with people he’s never met before. Minho chuckles as he realizes a silly party makes him more nervous than the prospect of possibly falling in love.

You open the door almost as soon as he rings the intercom, and he walks down the hallway into your house door; the crooked box he’s been holding makes his hands sweat. The first thing he notices as you open the door is your styled hair with a big white bow on the back, looking much prettier than the ugly bow he and his friends managed to stick on top of his present. He smiles at the sight and scratches his ear in a futile attempt to stop them from turning red.

God, he really liked you, didn’t he?

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him with a smile. Minho notices the quiet music playing inside the house, the simple decorations, and the cake on top of the kitchen counter. He mentally sighs in relief. This truly wasn’t anything like a big party. “You’re wearing your glasses again,” you point out as Minho walks inside and removes his shoes. He subconsciously reaches his left hand to touch his wire-rimmed glasses that sit on his nose bridge. He grimaces and curses at his friend for making him stay later than he was supposed to today.

“I had no time to go home and change,” He apologizes, fingers now toying with the stupid bow on top of the box. “I usually wear contacts, but they make my eyes dry if I stare at the computer for too long, so I just… wear my glasses at work…” Minho trails off, suddenly feeling stupid, his eyes looking anywhere but toward you.

You chuckle, lightly touching his glasses for a second before moving away again. “You always come to the coffee shop wearing them, and I think you look really good,” you assured him. His eyes quickly met yours, only for you to advert your gaze this time. “You should wear them more often.”

Minho only hums, lightly nodding his head. He feels stupid all over again as the image of himself throwing his contact lenses down the drain crosses his mind.

Clearing his throat, he finally hands you your gift. You giggle at the mismatched wrapping paper and poor excuse of a bow, which makes Minho let out a chuckle and murmur an apology. You open the box, and your eyes light up when you spot the stuffed bunny you have been raving about since you two met. It was the only animal missing from your collection, but you couldn’t find the right time to save up money to buy it. Minho didn’t need to ask if you liked it as he watched your smile grow bigger as you looked at the brown bunny.

“Come, I gotta put him in my bed now,” you beamed and took Minho’s hand in yours, leading him to the living room. There, five people sat on the couch and on the floor. Minho furrows his brows as he takes in a head of light brown hair covered by a familiar beanie. “These are my friends. Eunha’s the girl with short hair on the floor, and Soojung’s the one with blonde hair next to her. They’re also my roommates,” You point at them as you speak. “That’s Jisung sitting next to Soojung; he’s also her boyfriend. And then Hyunjin, with the long hair, sitting next to Chan on the couch. Everyone, this is Minho from my Japanese class.”

With that, you pad off to your room with your bunny in tow. As Chan finally turns to look at Minho, his shocked expression mirrors his. They stare at each other for a while before Chan finally breaks the silence.

“What the fuck, that’s my co-worker.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “So this is why you had to leave an hour earlier today?”

As you come out of your room, you chuckle. “Chan is your co-worker?” You ask Minho, “I can’t believe this. He’s been our friend for longer than I’ve known you. He came like a package deal when Jisung began dating Soojung.”

“Damn, dude, you hate me so much you never talked about me to your friend?” Chan gasped, a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Minho rolls his eyes but is unable to stop a small grin from forming on his lips as the entire living room erupts in laughter. “Of course I talked about you. I talked about you and Seungmin all the time. It’s just I…” Minho shifts on his feet, shrugging. “I never said your names.”

More laughter seeps out of the group of people, including Chan, and Minho finds himself laughing along this time, shaking his head at his own stupidity. 

He sits beside Chan on the couch while Hyunjin heads to the kitchen with you. He quickly asks him how he came to be friends with you in the first place. Chan explains that he’s been in a class with Jisung for almost two years, and the boy had always pestered him about ‘old people’ needing to hang out with people their age. That’s how he ended up meeting Soojung as soon as she became Jisung’s girlfriend. You and Eunha were an inevitable addition, seeing as you were not only roommates but also great friends.

You offer Minho a beer, which he declines. As much as he wanted to, no beer was worth having to take the bus back home. He silently sips his cola as he watches your group of friends chat. You end up sitting beside him on the couch, your friend Hyunjin to your right.

Minho finds that he missed getting together with people like this and didn’t even realize it. His only friends were left behind back at home, and although they were less than an hour away by bus, their busy lives prevented them from meeting in person. Minho’s favorite memories from his teenage years were having his friends over and just doing nothing for hours, talking about stupid shit until their stomachs hurt from laughing. Eating takeout on the couch with Chan and Seungmin after work came close, but they were always too tired and too stressed to entertain the idea of making jokes. Those were times when Minho realized he had really become an adult.

Jisung’s loud voice suddenly booms through the living room and startles an already drunk-looking Eunha, who murmurs something about the younger boy giving her a heart attack one day. 

“I’m bored,” he grumbles, draping his body over Soojung. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”

Soojung rolls her eyes at him, flicking his forehead. “Are you a teenager?”

Jisung pouts, sitting up straight once more. “We’re in university. University students play this fucking game all the time,” he states matter-of-factly. “Don’t make me regret falling for an older woman.”

“Jisung, I’m only three years older than you, I’m not—”

“Don’t make me call you noona.”

Soojung inhales deeply before turning to face the people sitting on the couch, placing one of the empty beer bottles scattered around her feet on top of the coffee table. “Let’s play spin the bottle. But let’s do dares instead of kissing, that’s too boring.”

Jisung beams, cuddling close to her like a needy child. Minho chuckles at the sight.

Eunha scoots closer to the couple so the group is seated in a circle around the coffee table, half of them on the couch and half on the floor. Minho never had the chance to play spin the bottle, which seemed to be such a staple game of one’s teenage years. By the time his friends were off sneaking into clubs and drinking behind their parents’ backs, he was already in a committed relationship and well aware of the fact that he didn’t enjoy parties.

It seems silly, but he’s glad he won’t live past his youth without experiencing such a trivial thing.

Soojung spins the bottle, and the neck stops facing Chan while the bottom faces Jisung.

“Take your shirt off,” Jisung waves a finger at Chan, who looks somewhat disoriented. Minho chuckles under his breath just as you do the same. You two face each other and let out a hearty laugh, your arm coming to rest on his bicep before retrieving back to your lap faster than Minho hoped it would.

Soojung squishes Jisung’s cheeks and places a small kiss on his lips. “You’re such a fucking chaotic bisexual,” she giggles, “Y’know, Chan, Jisung has had the biggest crush on you since you two first met.”

Chan shakes his head with a stifled laugh and proceeds to remove his shirt, neatly placing it on his lap.

Jisung is next to spin the bottle, this time landing on Soojung, who you dare to show her most embarrassing text. After showing the group a string of texts showing raunchy screenshots of a manhwa she’d been reading at that time, all sent to one of her class group chats which included some professors, she lets out a heavy sigh and orders Eunha to spin the bottle before any questions can be asked.

This time, the neck faces you while the bottom faces Eunha herself. With a smile, the short-haired girl dares you to kiss Minho.

He feels his smile drop at the very second the words leave her lips. This was not what he had in mind for tonight.

“What?” You sputter, “Why?”

Eunha shrugs, adjusting herself so she’s seated upright and staring right at you. “Well, he’s the only one here who would be actually fun to see you kiss. Jisung and Soojung are okay with each other hooking up with other people, so that’s no fun,” she explains, using her fingers to list her reasons, “I’m not into girls, so that’s no fun for me. Hyunjin is too obvious. We all already know Chan, so it would also be boring. Minho is like fresh meat. That is fun.”

Minho’s brain begins finding a suitable excuse for why you two can’t kiss, because he’s certain you have no interest in doing it. Not only are you friends, but your reaction didn’t exactly exude excitement at the prospect of kissing him. Just as he’s ready to lie through his teeth, you turn to him and place your hand on his shoulder, a touch so soft he’s barely able to feel it through the fabric of his shirt.

“Is this okay with you?” You ask him, the tone of your voice so sweet Minho feels like it melts his every thought until his brain is nothing but a sugary pool filled with only you. So he nods because god, yes, this is okay with him.

You gingerly place your right hand on his cheek, bringing your faces closer until your lips press together. The whirlpool inside his chest spins fast, like a vortex dragging every sense of his body toward you and only you.

You remain still for a few seconds, Minho’s eyes opening slightly to search for any sign of regret on your face. Before he can even properly look at you, your lips begin to move against his — gently and carefully, like you’re not sure if this is what he wants. Minho deepens the kiss and hesitates three times before committing to placing his left hand on your waist. The giggles around the two of you nothing but a muffled murmur to him. He presses another kiss to your lips, his body shifting until he is all but caging you against the back of the couch. But just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you push him back with a smile, Minho chasing after your lips.

He blinks a couple of times, eyes zoning into your smudged red lipstick. He subconsciously bites his own bottom lip, wondering if any of the color transferred to him. The surrounding murmurs bring Minho back to the moment this time, awkwardly clearing his throat before lifting himself off of you and sitting upright on the couch. He tunes out every comment regarding the kiss to the best of his abilities, focusing his energy on slowing down his heart rate. When he catches you giggling while looking at him, your arm touching his bicep yet again, he nods, grabbing his cola bottle from the floor and taking a sip.

Minho can’t remember the last time kissing someone got him so worked up. He entered a long-term relationship at such a young age that he’s only now realizing how unaccustomed he is to kissing someone new, to the rush that comes with having your lips pressing against the ones of someone you like. It was exhilarating and a bit terrifying all at the same time. He was awkward, unsure where to put his hands, uncertain if you were enjoying yourself. He was also greedy, wanting the moment to last for much longer than it had.

This had cemented the fact that he does, in fact, really like you.

After kissing you, the whirlpool living in his heart had now fully transformed into a tiny hurricane — with great chances of growing even bigger.

Minho only notices the game has continued upon hearing your voice complaining beside him. He watches as Soojung shrugs.

“It’s the only thing I could think of, sorry.”

“But why?” Hyunjin asks, placing his cup on the coffee table. “It’s a stupid dare.”

The blonde girl scoffs. “No, it’s not. I’ve had to basically live with you two for the past year, and it’s common knowledge how easily you get a boner for her.”

“Not true,” Hyunjin retorts, although it sounds more like a question than an affirmation.

Eunha blurts out, “You once got a boner watching her stir a cake mix.”

Hyunjin opens and closes his mouth before groaning, pulling you into his lap by the waist. You apologize to him quietly, to which Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

Minho feels as if he’s intruding on something private.

You sit on Hyunjin’s knees, almost falling off his lap as you clearly try to keep some distance between the two of you. Hyunjin clicks his tongue and pulls you closer to him until your back is pressed up against his chest. He whispers something in your ear, to which you lightly slap his arm as his lips upturn into a grin.

Minho is definitely intruding on something private.

At some point, you turn so you’re sitting across Hyunjin’s lap, your body now facing Minho. He can’t help but watch with dark eyes as the younger boy’s hands wander through your body; playing with the buttons on your blouse, squeezing your thighs, and caressing your skin a little too close to the hem of your skirt. He furrows his brows as he tries to understand your relationship with Hyunjin, seeing as you’re obviously not put off by his hands on your body.

Minho is so transfixed by the sight and his racing thoughts that he only realizes the game has ended when someone taps his shoulder from behind the couch.  When he looks back, Chan is holding a cigarette and motioning towards the stairs that lead to the house’s terrace.

In the chilly open space above the house, they sit on a bench behind a tall vertical planter. Minho wonders who tends to the garden as he observes the various flowers, as well as some vegetables and herbs scattered around him. The terrace is small; the garden taking up all the space, an old wooden railing that overlooks the quiet street the only other thing in his sight.

He and Chan chat about school and work, as they often do nowadays. After Chan recently broke up with his girlfriend, Minho found that his friend had become much more closed off, so the list of subjects they would talk about became minimal. Chan bites his thumb before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He chuckles when he mentions being scared of graduating next year. Minho bumps his shoulder with him, arguing that being in his situation is worse. He admits that he regrets starting university late and that being in his first year when he should already be in his third is discouraging. Chan dismisses his worries, reminding him of how Minho is often the one to fix broken codes and come up with ideas for their game whenever Seungmin gets stuck.

“A degree is just a piece of paper,” Chan says, throwing his cigarette butt at a nearby trashcan. “You’re already a fantastic programmer, Minho.”

“You’re just saying that because I saved your ass today.”

Chan shrugs. “You’ve saved my ass basically every day since we started working together.” After a beat of silence, he asks, “Why did you start uni so late, anyway? You never told me.”

Minho hums, digging his brain for a way to sum up the entire story. “It’s complicated—”

He’s interrupted by footsteps on the stairs leading to the terrace. A loud giggle echoes through the open space before you and Hyunjin step into their field of vision. The long-haired boy holds you from behind, and you two stagger toward the railing.

“Wish everyone would go home already so I could just fuck you,” Hyunjin whines as he turns your body around so you’re facing him. Minho almost chokes on nothing at those words, and Chan stifles a laugh with his hand. He curses the small space as they’re able to so clearly hear everything you’re saying.

You playfully kick Hyunjin’s shin. “Don’t say it like that, Hyune, what the fuck.”

“It’s true, though,” Hyunjin continues, pressing you against the railing. He towers over you, so the only thing Minho can see from where he’s seated is your white skirt floating in the wind behind the tall boy. “I had a stressful, terrible, awful, dreadful week. All I kept thinking about was coming over and relaxing with you.”

“See, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so awful.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “There’s nothing awful about fucking. I know how much you like it, don’t act so coy.”

Minho watches as your hands clench around Hyunjin’s gray shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him softly, much like you had done to him a few moments before.

Minho presses his lips into a thin line. He connects every dot available to him inside his head and suddenly feels pathetic.

Hyunjin being too obvious of a choice for you to kiss, his hands all over your body, his words about fucking you, the way you kissed him like it was a habit.

If you had a boyfriend, why did you agree to kiss him?

The words swarm Minho’s brain. He vaguely recalls you and Hyunjin eventually walking out of the terrace. Chan starts a one-sided conversation about one of his classes, with Minho humming after every couple of sentences to appear like he’d been listening when his head is too busy wondering how to feel about everything.

Minho recalls Eunha walking up the stairs and shouting for the two of them to come downstairs to sing you happy birthday. He recalls Hyunjin’s hands wandering through your body throughout the song, his lips pressing small kisses on your face and lips as you smiled. He recalls feeling confused, stressed, jealous, and pathetic.

Minho is only truly back to the present moment once Chan’s voice bids him a loud goodbye, and the door slamming behind him makes his senses finally return to him. As he looks around, he notices that the only people left in the living room are Jisung, Hyunjin, and you. Beside him on the couch, Hyunjin stretches with a loud groan.

“I’m gonna take a shower. D’you have any of my clothes in your room?”

You sigh from where you’re sitting on the floor, resting against the television stand. “Of course, I do. You’re always living shit behind, you’re like our third roommate at this point.”

Hyunjin chuckles, walking over to give you a small peck on the lips before disappearing into your room. Minho gnaws on his bottom lip with a bitter smile as he realizes Hyunjin will sleep over at your house. The ugly feelings return as he remembers his thoughts about you these past few weeks when he unknowingly cultivated too big of a crush on you. Even on his way here tonight, when he had chuckled to himself at his lack of nervousness in the face of potential love.

Love.

Minho can’t help but wonder why your view of love is so negative when you’re in a relationship. And, at the same time, he doesn’t dare to think about it for too long, fully aware that his foolish affection-filled brain will come up with a myriad of reasons — all where your boyfriend is the sole culprit for your distaste — and Minho knows better than to let those thoughts linger for too long inside his mind. He knows himself all too well, knows only awful shit would come out of assuming things about your relationship; the urge to beat Hyunjin senseless for being a shitty boyfriend and making you think that way about love being the worst of them.

“I’m too drunk to go back to my dorm,” Jisung suddenly speaks, his eyes glazed over as he stares ahead. “Gonna crash here tonight, too.”

Minho takes that as his cue to leave.

You walk him outside, a small smile on your face the entire time. He feels guilty not being able to reciprocate the gesture. As you tell him goodbye, thanking him for coming, you pull him into a hug. You hadn’t hugged much since you met, and Minho foolishly wants to draw you closer to him, to feel your body pressed against his just as it was pressed against Hyunjin most of the night. But he can’t do that.

“Are you okay to walk back by yourself?” You ask him as you pull away.

Minho nods, forcing out a small smile. “My car is parked just down the block.”

“That’s why you didn’t drink!” You exclaim with a giggle, “I forget that most people our age already drive. My anxiety didn’t allow me the chance to even try and get a license, so I just accepted my fate of taking the bus.”

“I could drive you…” Minho trails off. There he goes again, being pathetic. “If I have the time… You can give me a call and I’d be happy to drive you anywhere.”

You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another embrace. Minho smiles genuinely as he buries his head in your hair.

The drive back home has Minho feeling stupid all over again as he thinks about how you’re probably in bed with Hyunjin by now. The whirlpool is back inside his chest, but it isn’t good or welcome this time. It’s agonizing and painful.

Love had never been painful. Love had never been bad.

But he had never experienced love toward someone who already loved somebody else. Although you brazenly state that you don’t believe in it, you must feel some type of love toward Hyunjin if you’re willing to be his girlfriend.

As he silently drives home, Minho finds himself agreeing with you.

Maybe love can be bad, after all.

Minho feels stupid.

This has become a constant in his life.

He had always thought of himself as a logical person. Programming had taught him that everything is predictable and fixable if you work on it hard enough. A broken code? It may take him six hours of staring at the computer to figure out it was nothing but a missing semicolon, but he will get there in the end. It was annoying and frustrating, but it was always something easily fixed.

He thought love was like that. It had always been like that with him.

Until he fell for you.

Minho was coming to terms with the fact that maybe love and programming were nothing alike. Love isn’t predictable. Loving someone who is already in love with someone else isn’t easily fixed. He can’t backspace and delete your boyfriend from the equation.

It’s been a little over six months since you two first met. Minho has consistently gone to the café you work at every day, and you two still had endless talks over text messages. You talk about everything and anything, from silly things like sharing pictures of both your growing plushie collections or your love of that particular coffee shop’s lemon cake to more serious topics like how Minho learned how to cook when he was twelve so his mom wouldn’t have to do it by herself, and now his roommates take advantage of that, or how sad you are that next year you will have to leave the house you’ve grown to love so much.

But, whether it is in person or through text, you still avoid the topic of love. You don’t ever bring up Hyunjin unless he’s part of a story you were already telling, and Minho feels his heart heavy as he slowly allows himself to imagine what it could be that led you to hate love so much.

He desperately wants to ask you, know your reasons, and make sure you’re happy with your boyfriend. But he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and doesn’t know how to go about it without scaring you. So he never does anything, like a coward.

Minho finds himself coming over to your sharehouse on most weekends since summer break ended. Your countless get-togethers at that house have become a hard-to-break habit. Hyunjin, Jisung, and your roommates are always assured to be there, with Chan joining whenever he isn’t overwhelmed with work or school, which was rare.

Minho had always been a hopeless romantic, always doing things for love that people repeatedly warned would result in regret. This time, it was forgoing visiting his parents and friends back home just to spend most of his summer with you. Despite not being able to pursue you in the way he truly wanted to, Minho still wanted to be your friend. You were still a fantastic person he loved to have around; that didn’t change simply because you had a boyfriend. Although he could feel a bit of his heart cracking every time he had to see you, all while knowing he couldn’t do anything about his feelings for you.

He couldn’t change your perspective of love if he weren’t allowed to love you.

In all the time he spent at your house during summer break, he ended up becoming good friends with Jisung, as you tended to stick next to Hyunjin most of the time. Minho didn’t mind it; he is your boyfriend, after all. At least, that’s what he repeats to himself every night he comes over like a mantra as he almost masochistically forces himself to watch how Hyunjin kisses your lips and caresses your skin or how you play with his hair and snuggle with him on the couch. He also endures the countless nights he’s left your house knowing all too well that Hyunjin would be spending the night with you in a way that Minho can only ever dream about.

Tonight, in particular, Hyunjin seemed to be all over you like bees on honey, buzzing around you everywhere you went, his hands never leaving your body as he pulled you closer to him every time you even slightly pulled away. Because god forbid your bodies not be touching in some way for even a split second. Before he knows it, Minho is downing his third bottle of beer of the night.

From where he’s sitting on the couch, Minho rolls his eyes as discreetly as he can while he watches Hyunjin pull you to sit on his lap on the floor as you all get ready to play a game of cards. He gnaws on his lower lip because he knows he’s being petty and borderline childish. You’re Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Of course he’s all over you, of course he wants to be close to you, of course he wants you on his lap. Minho concludes with a bitter chuckle that he is, indeed, pathetic when it comes to you.

He gulps down more of the awful-tasting cheap beer.

The night comes to a close after far too many rounds of Cards Against Humanity, with Jisung winning more than half of them. His ethics and morals fly out the window the moment the cards are handed to him, as he manages to create the most absurdly offensive phrases known to men every single time. Minho found himself groaning and yelling at the younger boy as the alcohol took over his system. He doesn’t know how much of it was simply his annoyance at Hyunjin clinging to you like a koala throughout the entire game disguised as competitiveness.

He doesn’t think he’d like to know either.

Like every night he comes over, Minho is the last person to go home. He has to call an Uber, far too buzzed to want to sit at a bus stop all alone at this time of night. He hadn’t even noticed how he kept downing his drinks until he felt the familiar buzz of inebriation wash over his body a while before the game ended. Although slamming his fist into the coffee table with a whine about how he had only been given lame cards should’ve been a sign.

As he waits outside your house by the fence, he suddenly hears the door shut behind him and your voice calling out to him. He smiles at the faint slur of your speech and the way you drag out the last syllable of his name like you always did when you were a bit drunk.

“I told you to wait for me!” You reprimand, opening the gate to stand next to him. “Look how lonely you look here all by yourself.”

Minho just shrugs with a smile, shaking his head. He did wait. He waited almost half an hour after announcing he should leave as you disappeared into your room with Hyunjin. He was still waiting, in fact, only mindlessly scrolling on his phone for the past ten minutes instead of finding a ride as he hoped you would come outside when you saw he wasn’t in the living room anymore.

You poke his shoulder, bringing his attention away from his phone to your smiling face.

“Tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Especially that last round when Hyunjin won after being tied with Jisung for the whole game,” you grinned, “Seeing Jisung make a whole damn case about how much better his card was really made my night. Think that’s the first time I’ve seen him act like a law student since I met him.”

Minho chuckles, bringing his attention back to his phone. Seeing your smile and how your eyes light up while you talk about something you like brought back the whirlpool inside his chest, which wasn’t a pleasant feeling any longer. It made him glum to think how a once beautiful feeling had turned into nothing but discomfort simply because he was lovelorn.

He hums. “You must be proud to have your boyfriend put an end to Jisung’s annoying winning streak.”

“What do you mean?”

Minho looks up from his phone, eyes wandering through your puzzled face. He furrows his brows for a second. Maybe you’re both drunker than he’d thought.

“I mean, it must’ve been nice to see Hyunjin win after Jisung basically made us all want to quit the game,” he explains, watching as your expression turns from confusion into shock before you let out a loud laugh.

Minho’s eyes widen, worried your laughter might wake up your neighbors. He gently shushes you, his arm grabbing your shoulder, but your smiling face only makes his lips stretch out into a grin. He suppresses a giggle as you catch your breath, shaking your head.

Minho smiles at you so fondly he’s certain he looks like an idiot. “What’s so funny?”

“Hyunjin isn’t my boyfriend,” you explain like it’s obvious. “We’re just friends. I thought you knew that.”

Minho only then realizes he had never once heard you refer to Hyunjin as a boyfriend, nor had any of the people around you. But his assumptions weren’t so ill-judged, either. You two acted like a couple. It wasn’t so absurd to assume that you were one.

He finds himself staring at your amused face for a few seconds before forcing himself to turn his attention back to his phone.

You acted like a couple, but you were just friends. Minho groaned mentally.

“So, you’re like friends with benefits?”

“Yeah… I don’t particularly believe in love anymore, Minho. I thought you knew that from our talk a while ago,” You chuckle, shifting on your feet. “Hyunjin is one of my best friends. We just hook up ‘cause it’s convenient.”

Minho hums, his fingers ghosting over his phone screen. “Sounds like you’re running away from love.”

He blinks a couple of times as he takes in his own words. He would have never said such a thing if it hadn’t been for the liquid courage flowing through his veins.

You shrug, moving to sit on the white bench just outside the house. “Well, yeah, that is what I’m doing. Love hasn’t been kind to me at all. I have no interest in going after it, only to be hurt again. It’s a movie I’ve watched before and I hated the ending every time.”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek, finally clicking the button to find a ride, his thumb pressing on his phone screen more forcefully than he intended. He felt angry. You didn’t deserve to settle for a friend with benefits due to convenience. Had you wanted to be in that situation, it was your every right to do so, but you were in it out of fear of being hurt.

He felt sad. He wished you didn’t equate your past experiences with love to everything it could be. Bad experiences in love were possible for everyone — even for him, who used to believe unwaveringly that love could never be hurtful — but that didn’t mean it was all there was to it. Minho desperately wanted to show you that. The good side of love, the side that made him put it above everything else in his life on so many occasions, the side that made him crave it even now when it hurt more than it felt good.

And, strangely, Minho felt relieved. It was a small percentage of the chart of current emotions he was experiencing, but prevalent nonetheless. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he felt happy Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend and, most importantly, that you weren’t stuck in an unhappy or toxic relationship, as he had so often feared.

His ride arrives, and he’s overcome with a wave of courage. Minho would much rather live with regret than with a constant ‘what if’.

Shoving his phone inside his pocket, he offers his hand to you, who looks up at him curiously from where you’re sitting on the bench before taking his hand. Minho pulls you to your feet and hugs you. With his hand on your waist, he pulls your body closer to him, finally holding you tightly the way he’s always wanted to do. He presses a kiss to your head, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, “I’m gonna change your mind.”

He feels your body shake with a chuckle, but he only tightens his hold on you.

“What?”

“About love, I’m gonna change your mind,” He answers matter-of-factly, “You deserve to feel love without being afraid.”

Minho pulls back from the embrace just enough to see your face, and he’s surprised to find you smiling up at him. He smiles back.

“I will change your mind.”

Minho had just dropped you off at your house, ready to drive around aimlessly until he absolutely had to go back to his dorm, when Seungmin texted him.

Kim Seungmin: hey my sister’s engagement dinner is tonight Kim Seungmin: and i might have fucked up something in the code i was working on so now there’s a chance that you fish 100 rare fish at once 🤪 Kim Seungmin: pls pls do me a solid and fix it before chan sees it and kills me? Kim Seungmin: love you hyung 💚

Minho initially groaned at the messages, thinking of the many ways in which he could murder Seungmin and get away with it. But, ultimately, he didn’t want to go back to his dorm anyway, so he gladly turned his car around. If he was lucky, this would take hours and he would have a valid excuse to crash in Chan’s cramped living room.

He punches the code to the front door and his friend greets him with a puzzled expression.

“I forgot to do the, uh, troubleshooting for this week,” Minho blurts out. It’s the first lie he can come up with, and he hopes it’s convincing enough. Chan nods slowly. Seungmin might have saved him from having to endure his roommates on a Saturday night, but he still owes him.

“It’s all good,” Chan says with a sigh, “I’m most likely gonna pull an all-nighter designing these new characters. Anyway, how did you waste your time today?”

Minho has been taking you on what he likes to call Subtle Dates for a month now.

Chan affectionately calls them Waste of Time Dates.

Minho rolls his eyes, sitting down on his own desk. “We went to Han River and walked around till sundown, then watched the Banpo Bridge water show.”

Days like today were rare, so Minho was happy. Most weekends, it seemed as if the whole world was conspiring against anything he planned with you.

“Oh, how romantic of you,” Chan gasps, feigning amazement. “Did you at least kiss her this time?”

“You know I can’t just kiss her like that. I know she’d freak out if I tried to do anything romantic with her,” Minho taps his fingers on his desk, knowing he sounds ridiculous. But he has a plan. He just hopes this plan actually works out soon. “I don’t mind being patient.”

He hears Chan scoff. “So, you took her on another one-sided date and then drove her home so Hyunjin can fuck her?”

Minho’s fingers stop tapping on his desk, his hand coming down to slam on it before he can stop himself. He lets out a heavy sigh, and Chan mumbles an apology. But, the truth is, he knows his friend is right. Just last weekend, Minho dropped you off straight into Hyunjin’s arms, the younger boy waiting for you to come back in front of your house.

And Hyunjin wasn’t the only inconvenience that rendered it almost impossible for the two of you to spend time together. Minho had to cut most of your dates short due to Chan calling him about something urgent that only he could fix at work, or you canceled altogether because your roommate was upset and you didn’t have the heart to leave her alone like that. There were also times when Minho was too tired to even go out at all, like on the day of his birthday, which resulted in you coming over to Chan’s apartment and eating cheap takeout food with him and his two friends.

Minho found himself dealing with countless bumps in the road when it came to finding a way into your heart.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Chan says hesitantly, “You clearly like her a lot.”

Minho repeatedly opens and closes the code he’s supposed to fix. He sighs. “I like her more than a lot, and I don’t even know when that happened.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” His friend explains, his face disappearing behind his own computer screen. “I just can’t see what will change if you go on dates with her when she doesn’t even know they’re dates and if she’s just gonna go home and have sex with someone else. I don’t get it. What difference does it make?”

He can hear Chan scoffing, although he tries to disguise it by clearing his throat. Minho shakes his head.

“It makes all the difference because that’s not love. I wanna show her what love is, and that it isn’t always bad. I promised her that I would.”

Chan sighs, sliding his chair toward the mini-fridge by the couch. “Agree to disagree?” He asks, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it in Minho’s direction. He grabs it mid-air, just before it hits him in the face, and clicks his tongue.

“Agree to disagree.”

Minho plugs his headphones into the computer, drowning out the noise of Chan’s pen sliding across his iPad with his brown noise playlist. But he can’t drown out the obstinate thought ringing inside his head, screaming at him that Chan is right.

Taking you out on dates — which you don’t even know are dates — doesn’t really make a difference if you’re just going to go back to your convenience with Hyunjin at the end of the day. If you think you’re just friends going out together, and you go back home at night to the comfort of sex without the love you’ve been running away from for so long, what Minho is doing truly is useless. 

It’s just like when he argues with Seungmin through their codes, screaming at the younger boy in all caps about something that’s broken, even though he knows he’s going to be the one who will end up having to fix it.

Minho’s fingers come to a halt on the keyboard.

Closing his work, he opens up Google and finds the first flight he can to Japan. Almost as if he’s on autopilot, and his brain is completely shut off. He books the flight and the cheapest hotel he can find, using almost all the money he’s saved up to move out of his hell of a dorm. It might be the most idiotic thing he has ever done in his life, but he’s so in love it hurts him. And he loves love, and love with you — the thought of that alone has his heart beating at his throat. He doesn’t want to keep on with these futile attempts at trying to make you see that love is good and that, maybe, love can be good with him.

The truth is, he feels scared. Maybe even more scared than you do. He is terrified of knowing the answer, of finding out that maybe he could change your mind about love but that it would simply lead you to someone else’s arms and he would have to endure the pain of unrequited love until it inevitably faded away with time.

Minho would gladly live with that pain if it meant you were happy.

But he needed to know.

He adjusted his glasses — a childhood nervous habit that returned after he started wearing them more often since you complimented him months ago — and retrieved his phone from his backpack.

He typed and deleted more times than he’d like to admit.

Me: Hey, it’s late sorry  Me: Just wanted to know if you’d be up for a trip to Japan? Me: In two weeks Me: For study purposes Me: We’d finally have the chance to use what we learned in class lol Me: Chan was supposed to go with me but he has a family thing so he can’t anymore Me: Everything’s already paid for and he said he doesn’t mind if you go in his place Me: Lmk what you think

Minho’s fingers typed as his brain came up with excuses and lies, sending more messages than he needed to. He couldn’t tell you he booked a whole damn trip with you just to see if maybe, possibly, you have feelings for him too.

He all but throws his phone across his table after turning on Do Not Disturb. He’ll need to muster up the courage before reading your answer, and having his phone buzz for anything that wasn’t your reply would just be torturous. He felt stupid, would feel even more so if you turned down his invitation. He almost doesn’t want you to answer, wants to pretend he never even sent anything.

Because it was stupid.

But love is stupid, and he is in love.

Worst-case scenario, he’s stuck with Chan in Japan for a weekend while he laughs at him.

Best-case scenario, he spends a weekend with you in Japan. No letting you go back to another man at the end of the day, no more hiding that he is taking you out on dates, no more distractions, no more inconveniences of your daily lives.

Minho opens the code he was working on again, quickly typing out:

// NOTE: Minho will fix this.

[pineapplerightsideupcake]

So.. I'm confused about something. If your beliefs in radical feminism say that trans people aren't valid in their feelings of being trans, what's stopping you from making bisexual people not part of the LGB? B stands for bisexual. What if their sexuality is just a phase? What if they are *actually* just heterosexual? For that matter what's stopping you from excluding YOURSELF from the community? At some point, you can't exclude any more people from a space that wasn't supposed to be gatekept to begin with! -Vero of CFC

You people always use that word “valid”. It’s absolutely meaningless post modern nonsense. Trans people feel that despite having a male or female body, their feelings about it change reality. I’m not telling trans people how they feel. Because you’re right, I can’t know that. What I’m telling them is that their feelings don’t change their bio sex. I’m telling them their feelings don’t supersede the rights and dignity of women. That’s not at all the same thing as being same sex attracted.

If I tell you that I am attracted to both men and women you can believe me or not. It doesn’t change my sexuality. You can’t know how I personally experience sexual attraction. But if I tell you I’m an Olympic Figure Skater, that’s something external and material. That’s something that either is or isn’t. And it doesn’t matter how true I want it to be.

This isn’t about people being invalid or valid. It isn’t about telling others I know better than them how they feel. It’s me telling them that their feelings don’t change material reality.

And we don’t get to sidestep reality because language is limited and imprecise. We create words to express ideas and categorize things so we don’t have to start every conversation from the ground up. Think of the quote “a rose by any other name”. The word ‘rose’ is made up but the flower it refers to exists in the material world. And you and everyone on earth could declare a rose a tulip but as long as people needed to specify they’d find a way to invent the word rose again. It’s why every 3 years your movement declares old terms verboten. MtF and FtM got used until people got mad it didn’t erase the reality of bio sex and people just used those terms in place of “male and female”. Then the same thing happened with AFAB and AMAB. Now we’re onto TME and no one knows what anyone is talking about because at the end of the day, people are male or female and no amount of “validation” or the right words erases that reality.

I am bisexual because I am attracted to both men and women. Lesbians are women exclusively attracted to women. Gay men are men exclusively attracted to men. Straight people are exclusively attracted to the opposite sex. The LGB community formed because the thing we had in common- same sex attraction- is punished in most societies. It absolutely was designed to gatekeep. It was a civil rights movement- not a secret club house. The LGB have no more moral responsibility to admit opposite sex attracted people than black activists have to include white or Asian people.

“Queer” has nothing to do with it. Demi flux genderoo aroallo fox kin have nothing to do with it. A group of men that believe their internal state of mind makes them literally a woman has nothing to do with it. You people overran a movement for same sex attracted people, convinced everyone to call our community a slur, and demand that we center heterosexual teens too immature for a relationship thinking that makes them the same as a Gay man.

I’m tired of arguing with 19 year olds that read too much mlm fanfiction that having short hair and wearing hoodies from the boys section doesn’t mean they’re gay men. I’m tired of arguing with those same girls that the 45 year old man with pigtails and a pink pinafore sucking his thumb and holding a dolly on social media isn’t a brave woman defying The Man. He’s just a pervert.

[havocskies]

bro pls pls pls pls 🙏 do an NSFW alphabet with hobie ill do anything?!!!

HOBIE BROWN | NSFW ALPHABET

i am losing my self respect day by day.

anyway im also sorry for not posting ive been flirting w this dude for the past few days he is so cute but that will not stop me from writing for yg xoxo

╭──╯ . . . . . ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ . . . . . ╰──╮

A = AFTERCARE

- hobie is an absolute GOD at aftercare n i wholeheartedly believe this. especially when he knows he can be a bit much at times, there’s never a time where he skips out on aftercare. i think he would like to just relax, cuddle, and talk for a bit after he cleans you up thoroughly. then probably get a little treat, but he always likes to make sure you actually had fun as well. he’d put all of his attention on you way before he started worrying about himself, you’re always his priority

B = BODY PART

- i think hobie doesn’t have a MAJOR preference for anything but he seems like a thigh kinda guy. doesn’t matter the gender or size, he’s a thigh enthusiast. not always in a nasty way, he also just thinks they’re comfortable and whatnot. wear anything that shows your thighs and he is all for it 🙌

C = CUM

- im sure hobie keeps up w his health and cares for it, so i don’t think he’d taste horrible. he’s considerate guys 😭 idk if he’d really have a preference for where he cums either. probably asks beforehand or just knows what you prefer but if you’ll let him he’ll switch it up for funsies

D = DIRTY SECRET

- hobie doesn’t really keep secrets much, and i don’t think he’d be doing anything vile enough to really have to keep secrets anyway 😭 he’s just a normal dude imo but thoughts wise ?? he’s definitely imagined some things he’s too scared to talk abt im sure (take that how u will)

E = EXPERIENCE

- im sorry ik yg see him as like a sex god manwhore but i cant see it 😞 he’s spiderman he’s a nerd and he’s goofy, like yes he’s hot but he definitely fumbles without knowing the opportunity was even there LMAOO but regardless i think his body count is VERY low if not even zero. that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant, though. he’s figured out enough to know what he’s doing and what to do, he’s considerate and never wants his partner to be left out of thought

F = FAVORITE POSITION

- i can’t really see him having a favorite position i think he would’ve had little to no opinions but the moment yg find one you specifically like a lot he LOVES it. loves anything that makes you react the most, he’s such a pleaser yg cannot convince me of anything different

G = GOOFY

- yg write him to be all serious n i dont like it 🙁 he’s hobie he’s gonna crack a few jokes, especially if he’s nervous or he sees you’re nervous and he wants you to relax. probably jokes about how he’ll try his best not to send you to the hospital or wtv (he is not that confident)

H = HAIR

- hobie probably isn’t always clean shaven so he believes you don’t have to be either. still he’d at least be trimmed just to make things easier and whatnot. just his preference, whatever you do w yours he could not care less. other than that i think if sony was allowed he’d have a happy trail but unfortunately sony are pussies (im kidding)

I = INTIMACY

- i think hobie would prefer intimacy over anything else. he’d see sex as less of a pleasure thing and more of something to be shared when you’re extremely close. i don’t think sex w him would ever be meaningless, he’s always trying to show how much he loves you

J = JACK OFF

- hobie’s probably just an average dude. doesn’t do it too much bc like ?? why would he when he has you. ofc, if you’re not up to it yea he’ll go somewhere or just deal with it, you’re never obligated in his eyes. i just think he’d prefer you over anything else

K = KINK

- he’s gotta be a little freaky. like i say a lot (im sorry) he does joke abt biting, so he probably has some small kinks but i doubt anything serious. maybe at the most a very minor corruption kink, but its only about introducing you to things if you’re entirely willing. something about knowing he’s the one introducing you to it makes him wanna do it more

L = LOCATION

- hobie doesn’t strike me as a very public kinda guy. like maybe on occasion, but it’d have to be somewhere he’s pretty sure yg won’t get caught. i do think he’d prefer in your or his own home though, makes it more intimate and less stressful. he would however joke about fucking near someone yg don’t like out of spite

M = MOTIVATION

- you’d probably have to be actively trying to get him going, sex is never really the first thing on his mind. ofc it can very well happen unintentionally. i think gestures, positions, anything that shows off something ALONG WITH the clear intent will make him realize. maybe. i still wholeheartedly believe he’s pretty oblivious most of the time, he can be wanting it but he won’t realize you’re trying to make him want it. he’s a little dumb bear with him. he also just doesn’t associate revealing clothing with you wanting sex, so you’ll have to find other ways to get him to realize you want him. anyway i think mostly anything that shows off your thighs will get his mind wandering. anything that shows off their shape or just shows them off in general

N = NO

- in no way ever will you get this dude to do cnc (consensual nonconsensual) he gets sometimes its a trauma response but yg also have to remember he’d have to be getting off by pretending to assault you and i just can’t see it. he couldn’t do it, he’d rather try and help you with that trauma in other ways

O = ORAL

- happy to give always 🙌 he sees it as no different than you giving. even so, i don’t think he’d ever ask you for head. he’d see it more as a bonus, not something that’s expected in a relationship. if you’re never comfortable giving or even receiving head he will not be losing sleep whatsoever

P = PACE

- probably likes to switch it up. while i do think most of the stuff he said in his intro were jokes (runway model, inconsistency, labels, etc) i do think he does like to switch things up. he doesn’t like being limited to one thing, he likes to explore a bit and keep you on your toes xoxo

Q = QUICKIE

- hobie doesn’t strike me as someone who cares much for quickies. he’d much rather take his time, show he actually loves you. if both of yg are REALLY struggling then yg are going home, end of story. if you were to suggest a quickie he’d be unsure but he’d be willing to try at least

R = RISK

- hobie’s big risk taker im sure, but sex is a lot different than everything else. it’s a lot deeper and meaningful, so he doesn’t want to risk upsetting you or causing problems. idk if he’d even wanna risk being caught bc that’s just an inconvenience to everyone else 🙁🙁 only if it’s inconveniencing someone neither of you like i suppose

S = STAMINA

- pretty good stamina. not crazy or anything, but he can definitely go for a while. i think he finishes fairly average time but he can go multiple rounds, yk ?? like i said not a sex god guys

T = TOYS

- im sure hobie isn’t against toys at all ☠️ kinda goes back to what i said w introducing you to things. he’ll definitely try anything (as long as it’s humane 😭) and really doesn’t have much shame. take that part how u will.

U = UNFAIR

- hobie definitely likes to tease, no doubt. not all the time ofc but he can be an asshole just for jokes. if you’re genuinely upset he’ll stop. plus i think edging and overstimulating would count as something that deserves to have a conversation over first, not everyone’s completely into that and he knows full well

V = VOLUME

- i don’t think he’d be loud. not a whimperer probably but definitely a groan kinda guy. he has no shame breathing and groaning in your ear if he’s really goin (with you ofc he is)

W = WILD CARD

- switch. i think by default he’s more dom leaning but if you take that position he won’t complain, he thinks it’s hot as hell. would probably let you do almost anything to him 😇

X = X-RAY

- he’s pretty tall guys, it’s not small that’s for sure. i think honestly he’d be around 6-8, anything above is just scary in my full opinion so that’s not what he has ummm. i do think he’d be pretty normal girth. and, ofc, if he is pierced he would’ve done it himself. a stranger handling and piercing your dick is not for the weak im sure

Y = YEARNING

- probably a pretty normal/average drive. he didn’t think much about sex before you so going without it isn’t a problem for him at all. i don’t think he’d be like horny 24/7 around you, most of the time he’s just happy to be around you

Z = Zzz

- like i said w aftercare hobie prefers to stay up with you and spend time. even if it’s late at night he will try his absolute best, he’s not sleeping until he’s sure you’re comfortable and completely cleaned up. unless you like emptied his balls or destroyed him or something, then aftercare is on you i guess 🤕

[pikahlua]

In regards to your post on Izuku’s self sacrificial traits, how do you think the dark hero arc plays into this? I thought the point of it was to sort of pull his self sacrificial nature back a bit with the whole “you can’t do it on your own” and “don’t kill yourself for the cause” thing. They don’t have to be mutually exclusive, i get that “bakugou looks up to Deku’s self sacrificial nature as a positive trait he doesn’t have” and “Deku should rely on others and not hurt himself” can both coexist. But they also give mixed messages narratively. Is one not condemning it while the other puts it on a pedestal?

THANK YOU!!! For taking the bait.

I've been ranting about this theme a bit because, from what I can tell, it might be the biggest point MHA is trying to make to answer the question "What is a hero?" Because of MHA's length, the points of the argument have been rather spread out. I think people's understanding of the argument has been distorted by the length of time between the points. Overthinking is the enemy here.

But really, why are people coming away from MHA with the message "Heroes shouldn't sacrifice themselves"? The message is coming from somewhere. The problem is it's probably coming from a conflation of concepts. What is self-sacrifice? That's the question that gets at the root of the problem here.

In the west, "sacrifice" has negative connotations. "Something is lost." "Someone suffers for the sake of a goal." "Someone gives up something." The focus is entirely on the pain experienced by the one sacrificing.

But the point MHA is trying to make is that there's a difference between "suffering loss" and the sacrifices a true hero makes. Izuku isn't a remarkable hero because he's willing to destroy himself at the drop of a hat. The focus is not on his drastic behavior but on the recipients of his drastic behavior. The point is, sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice is meaningless, but sacrifice for the sake of others, well, now we're getting somewhere.

It's the "for the sake of others" part that matters here. Izuku is a hero because he cares for others, because he wants to save others, and what he's willing to sacrifice to accomplish that is merely the measure of his conviction, of his heart.

The quality of self-sacrifice is a core trait measured just to gain enrollment at UA, the most prestigious hero school in the country. Self-sacrifice is fundamental to being a hero. Do you really think the point of the MHA story is to demonstrate how self-sacrifice is a bad thing, that heroes shouldn't sacrifice themselves? Do you think the rest of Class 1-A wouldn't be willing to sacrifice themselves should the need arise so long as it's in order to save someone?

The difference between Izuku and the rest of the world, at least at the beginning, is that he is sensitive to calls for help. He is able to perceive those in trouble that others cannot perceive. Others get confused by the context or are not in a constant state of listening for cries for help. Others cannot always tell when is the right time to act or if acting is the correct choice. Izuku never wavers in the face of such questions. He always acts, because he cannot help but act. It is who he is. It's his nature to be this way. And this is the spirit that slowly influences his classmates and the rest of society, this is the spirit Katsuki fears and later comes to emulate, this is the ideal Izuku admires in his hero All Might for which he always strives.

Heroes want to save, but some of them just don't know how--and Izuku teaches them how. Izuku teaches them that, for true heroes, to save others is more important than anything else they could ever want. It is more important than their self-perceived weaknesses, than their egos, than their desires for vengeance, than their small-time dreams, no matter how noble or justified or important any of those things might be. To be called a hero, one must be prepared to risk it all.

These are the traits Hero Killer Stain wishes to promote in society. These are the qualities he exonerates from assassination. A person who lives for the sake of "service to others" is the sort of person who has more right than anyone to "cling desperately to life." Society needs such people, and for that very reason such people need to stay alive. This is the collectivist ideal. If everyone is concerned for the well-being of others, then everyone is looking out for everyone else. If you're ready to save others and risk yourself to do so, others will risk themselves to make sure you make it out alive too, and thus everyone is protected. If you do end up perishing due to self-sacrifice, it is a tragedy, not self-determination, but then your actions still protected the whole, and the whole will continue to protect everyone in it to the best of their abilities because your self-sacrifice was appreciated and the spirit of your goodness carries on in others.

But that's a whole lot of waxing poetic about self-sacrifice. I did acknowledge that people are picking up a critical message. Where then is the criticism?

It comes from Shouta Aizawa.

Aizawa is the major proponent of rationality in this case. Self-sacrifice = good is not the end of the philosophy. It is as you say, something must balance it out.

People often think Aizawa's philosophy boils down to "I don't want heroes to be self-sacrificial," but that's not actually what he's saying. Aizawa's philosophy is to make the distinction between self-sacrifice and self-destruction.

"Being self-sacrificing isn't the same...as being suicidal. Many kids confuse the two. So I'll give them what they want. A 'death,' so to speak."

The hallmark of heroic self-sacrifice is that it's done for the sake of others. Self-destruction is different; it is for the sake of the self. Some people would take the chance to mask their self-destruction as self-sacrifice by looking for a way to die while saving others. That's not the point of heroic self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is a last resort. You save a person in trouble because you care about preserving their well-being no matter the cost, but some sacrifices are not in balance. Say someone is trapped in a room and you want to get them out, and you have a battering ram and a bomb. Should you strap a bomb to your body and explode open that door to let the person out? Wouldn't that be a heroic sacrifice to save someone? No! It's certainly a sacrifice, but it's not a heroic one. You should act to preserve ALL well-being, including your own. Use the damn battering ram.

Consider the circumstances at play in the quirk assessment test. Izuku was ready to sacrifice his entire arm, his physical constitution, for the sake of demonstrating his power. What does Izuku incapacitating himself achieve were Aizawa to let him do so? It would merely be to prove his strength to someone. No one is at risk here. No one needs saving. Izuku has no person to receive the good will of his self-sacrifice.

"Whatever you were planning...it would have inconvenienced those around you."

"You're totally useless after saving just a single person."

Self-sacrifice is still a sacrifice, which means it has costs and consequences. Who loses because of self-sacrifice? Many people. The person who sacrifices themself loses their life or well-being, which, if others asking for help are worth saving because you believe all people are equal, then you are also worth saving and in just as much need of help. Additionally, your loved ones are harmed because they care about you. And the rest of society suffers because it was better for having you in it; you can no longer save anyone else. To save the most people possible, a hero should strive to survive. A hero should strive to win.

Taken all together, you get the philosophy that allows Katsuki's team to triumph during the Joint Training Arc, which was the entire point of this match. Note how all the above logic is summed up quite succinctly by the gremlin himself.

Katsuki is dedicated to winning the match and leads the charge, but that puts him at risk of being targeted. However, he's willing to be in that vulnerable state because he trusts others to save him. That's what empowers him to put himself on the line. His goal is a complete victory, which means that self-sacrifice is considered a loss. There are costs and consequences, and heroes should do their best to mitigate them. Katsuki is doing everything in his power to reduce the necessity of self-sacrifice, but not because he thinks self-sacrifice is bad. He thinks needless self-sacrifice is bad, and so he strives to eliminate the need for it.

But that means he does acknowledge that there are times self-sacrifice is necessary. He's grown up afraid of Izuku's heart because Izuku demonstrates how easily self-sacrifice comes to him, and that puts Katsuki on the spot. Katsuki doesn't know if he is capable of self-sacrifice. Because he's so competent and strong, he's never noticed a need for sacrifice in his life. He's never had to demonstrate self-sacrifice, and if that's such a fundamental part of being a hero, Katsuki doesn't know if he really is a hero at heart.

But as I mentioned above, the reason he never had a chance to display self-sacrifice as a trait is because he lacked the ability to tell when people need saving. He looks around and sees a bunch of people who are wasting their potential. He thinks some people who seem to ask for help are much more capable than they behave.

Note how Katsuki failed his hero license exam. If Katsuki had stuck around the triage center and fought Gang Orca when he showed up, Katsuki likely would have passed. But Katsuki decided to forego battle to run around and save people. And hilariously enough, the bystanders who dock Katsuki points point out that Katsuki correctly identified them as low-priority targets to save. He's pretty good at figuring out who DOESN'T need saving. They end up docking him points because of his inappropriate tone, which is possibly the funniest way they could have said "Well you're technically right but also holy crap you're bad at this."

And that's the point. Katsuki knows saving people is important, and he perceives Izuku is the absolute best at it. Katsuki is constantly looking for a way to compete with Izuku in this realm because he has to. Katsuki wants to be the best, and to do so he has to improve in this area. Izuku pisses him off because he is extremely adept at perceiving calls for help from those who truly need it, and Katsuki notices every time Izuku is faster on the uptake. It happens at the sports festival with Shouto, which is why Katsuki considers the sports festival a loss.

Katsuki does get better at this, and that's what allows him to eventually get his hero license. Think of his behavior during the school cultural festival, where he sees his classmates trying to appease their peers out of guilt. That's people pleasing. That's ego. Katsuki won't have any of it. From his perspective, if Class 1-A wants to make sure everyone has a good time, then everyone means everyone. Class 1-A has to enjoy the festival too, and the best way to do that is to throw a badass concert. By enjoying themselves and being proud of their well-earned accomplishments, by thriving, Class 1-A demonstrates to their peers how to best win against all those tragedies that tried to bring them down. Self-deprecation for the sake of appeasing others' ill will when that ill will is unjustified is just self-gratification. It's just a way to stop feeling guilty, but the only purpose that serves is to debase yourself. Class 1-A didn't do anything wrong to the other classes, so Class 1-A does not need to atone to them. Self-sacrifice in this case brings no benefit to anyone. Instead, the classes should all be thriving together.

All of these lessons converge in the Dark Deku arc. Others express worry for Izuku's behavior because they see him as engaging in self-destruction. They want him to rest, but Izuku perceives there are people in need of help, so he can't help but save them. And not everyone condemns Izuku's behavior.

Kudou encourages it.

The problem at play in this arc is the question of power. Izuku has power, which means he is capable of saving people. And many people are in need of saving. How many people can one finite Izuku save? That is the question he is set to answer. He is facing the same question as All Might, but All Might's example was to save people while he was losing One For All. All Might had a finite amount of power that he was going to lose in time, so he decided to spend that dwindling power on saving as many people as he could. That would be the more virtuous use of his finite power.

But All Might's flaw was in rejecting the help of others when others were capable of helping him. Izuku falls into the same trap. He thinks he has to save people alone because he's the only one capable of it.

This is Kudou's spoken caveat. "Inaction is not an option," so yes Izuku needs to be acting in this moment. "That said...if there's anything that could bolster Izuku Midoriya now, it would be..."

The answer is not merely "friends." We are given the answer that Izuku needs friends at first, but this is a special type of friend. Izuku needs friends who "share his resolve," who "can match his pace...and keep running alongside him." Izuku needs comrades (nakama)! He needs friends who want to save just as much as he does. He needs friends who are just as capable as he is. That's why Class 1-A has to first demonstrate their capabilities to Izuku so that he can be convinced.

Katsuki doesn't criticize Izuku's ideals either. In fact, he openly praises them.

All Katsuki is saying here is "You're doing the right thing. Saving people, even at cost to yourself, is the right thing. We want to help. We can help. Don't reject us.

"Don't pay a price when you don't have to."

tl;dr

In a collectivist society, the ideal is that everyone looks out for each other, thus is everyone protected.

Self-sacrifice has costs to the self, to one's loved ones, and to society. The price paid must be worth the good achieved.

The virtue in self-sacrifice is that it is done when necessary for the sake of others. Anything less is self-destruction, which is harmful to society.

Heroes have a duty both to be prepared to self-sacrifice and to mitigate the need for self-sacrifice.

Rejecting the help of others who are capable of helping is to reject the collectivist ideal.

Izuku's self-sacrifice is virtuous BECAUSE IT IS FOR OTHERS' SAKES. Izuku's self-destruction and rejection of help from others are what the story criticizes.

Izuku Midoriya's nature represents the ideal of self-sacrifice because of his innate desire to save others, and Katsuki Bakugou recognizes that trait as core to being a hero and thus admires Izuku for it--but he's also afraid he doesn't have that trait for a large chunk of the story. Izuku's journey to accepting the help of others, Katsuki's journey to discovering his self-sacrificing spirit, and their mutual admiration of each other all provide the perspective for the audience to understand this ideal: heroes are those who live in service of others.

[ko-existing]

hello!

i have been following your instagram since the beginning of 2023. at first, i barely understood anything. ego made up its own ideas, did not know the terminology’s, nor read from any respected gurus. this changed back in summer, as i began reading from many gurus. i took notes, then everything started to piece together. i saw how there was no method to materialize, how nothing could be true but “i am”. it was truly a marvelous experience. i feel as if non-dualism has done more for the egos well being, than any other entity. thank you so much for your continuous explanations to people’s questions, and just posting daily reminders. i look forward to your posts both on here, and on instagram!

that being said, i do have a question but i fear it is from the ego. i am unsure if when in the act of deciding, if it was through ego or self, however it was decided many times that i would observe a new ego, with a whole different life. i understand this life is an illusion of Maya. it has never really existed, yet it is being observed through Brahmin. This has been a repeated cycle for a couple months now. Deciding to wake up as a different ego, and if not happening. There is nothing Atman could do wrong. which leads me to wonder why i am still observing the old ego? this is also the ego speaking, however observing anything else, or materializing is very simple. it is instantaneous. but this one thing is just like a fish that doesn’t swim. ego’s actions, nor thoughts don’t matter since they are unreal and observed- but then why the incompetence of one materialization? ego has been pondering this, but it goes way with the response of “neti, neti.” i would greatly appreciate your feedback, thank you for all you do.

tashi!🕉️

i've always liked "neti, neti" = "not this, not that" or མེད་རང་རྟག་མེད (med rang rtag med) in tibetan because no matter what descriptions you read of your "SELF", it is nowhere near the actual Truth. If I say you're "awareness" , it is not true, your beyond that label. You're not this "awareness", you're not that "Self". You're nothing but also something; no-thing but even then, "you" can never ever be described in words.

Have you noticed that you jump between "this vs that" all the time? You say you "know" this is all Brahman but then you ask about the ego and why xyz isn't happening the way you want to. Then, you say you know you're not this, not that. You're contradicting yourself, it's a very easy trap!😄

"Ego" is only what you THINK you are. Fundamentally on a deeper level it has no existence of its own, no real reality. It is just a collection of thoughts. Thoughts are nothing, meaningless. What you call the "ego" is nothing.

If you forgot EVERYTHING you ever knew and lost all 5 senses, wouldn't you still have an effortless sense of existening?

You said: "this one thing is like a fish that doesn't swim", what made you come to this conclusion? Isn't All "THAT"? Where does the destinction between "hard" and "easy" come from? Aren't you imagining the concepts of hard vs. easy?

"Deciding to wake up as a different ego" How do you expect to wake up as something that fundamentally does not exist? Would it make sense to you if the ocean wished to wake up as a wave? Does a wave truly exist on its own or is it an illusory form the ocean takes on? What are both made of?💧

It sounds confusing because there is no other way to put it other than into limiting words but please read carefully 🙏🏻:

You think you are a physical person trying to get something physical. But for "THAT", all is "THAT". All is instantly "THAT" because "THAT" is all there is to begin with. Do you need any effort to be aware of the words you're reading right now or is it simply happening without anything to do? I'm NOT talking about understanding these words, i'm only talking about being aware of these words before anything else.

So it is with everything else. What you are "aware" of, Is. EVERY other interpretation is illusory. In order for you to come up with an interpretation, you must think imaginary thoughts first. Without thinking, is there anything to say against what you are aware of or is it simply happening now?

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 26

PLEASEEEEEE NOTE: this is a Maturity rating chapter. heed the content warnings below etc etc

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this one was supposed to be merged with chap 25 but it was getting long and i felt like this motive reveal chapter should be isolated anyways

one day i will write a full thing about fucking nasty style and post that online without the 25 chapters of leadup

ty @digitaldollsworld for the peer review and validating me specifically :)

Content warning tags: blood, physical violence/roughhousing, biting, making out (while bloodied. mild bloodplay?), mildly dubious consent becoming unspoken consent given enthusiastically becoming dubious consent again, coitus interruptus, mild (nonsexual) breathplay, murder plot suggestion, unhealthy relationship dynamics...Please let me know if there's anything I'm missing

< previous - from start - next >

To his surprise, they don’t continue on the same path together.

Instead, they split, with Kirigiri walking towards the stairs, and Makoto in the opposite direction. Without exchanging words, or even a glance.

It gives him pause for a moment, but the choice is ultimately easy. Kirigiri, for all her mysteriousness, does not seem like the kind to be swayed by money, or most other things for that matter, and would certainly not hesitate to point out his current state. He goes after Makoto instead, trailing him some steps behind into the supply room.

The place is the same as ever - stacked with materials, shelves crammed snug with crates of all sizes, and with the air disconcertingly clean and free of dust, as if Monokuma vacuumed every day - and the overhead lights hum and buzz, glowing with an insufficient yellow light. Makoto is crouched near the far wall, over a box on a bottom shelf. Byakuya approaches, making no effort to conceal himself.

For a moment, neither of them say a word. Makoto continues to rummage, and Byakuya simply watches, arms crossed, waiting patiently as the silence stretches to minutes. 

Finally, Makoto turns over his shoulder. “Uh…hi?” He doesn’t sound startled or surprised by Byakuya’s presence, but more bewildered by it than anything. “Do you need something?”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound sarcastic or spiteful. On the other hand, he sounds so genuine that it dissipates any tension that might’ve been in the air. Byakuya sighs, a little exasperated, but less bothered than he thought he should be.

He was going to ask what Makoto’s feelings were about the motive reveal, but suddenly the atmosphere is all wrong for it, and such a conversation feels too exhausting to have now. “What are you doing?” He asks instead.

“I’m…” Makoto trails off, turning back to look into the box. “...Looking for something.”

“Yes, I gathered that much.” He rolls his eyes, and steps nearer. Even standing right behind him, it was impossible to determine the exact contents of the box just by looking, and he didn’t remember the exact locations where all the products were stored either. “I’m blind, not stupid.”

And he blinks, surprised by what he just said; that hadn’t been the snide remark he wanted to make. It feels like it should have been harder to say, and yet the words had left his mouth easily, like he’d been waiting to finally say it for himself. Makoto startles a bit, just as taken aback by the admission as he.

“I…” Makoto starts, then looks back down. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” 

The response is so meek it’s annoying, and not the kind of answer he was wanting from someone who had been sneakily butting into his life the past few days, and he scowls. Whatever light-heartedness had been previously present was now slipping quickly away into irritation. “I don’t need your pointless scraping. What are you looking for?”

Makoto doesn’t answer. Rather, he continues to dig through the box, acting as if he hadn’t heard Byakuya’s question at all; a complete reversal from the previous sheepish, meaningless apologizing. It’s almost jarring, if it wasn’t also something entirely infuriating - he couldn’t remember the last time someone had the gall to ignore him, other than his father - and Byakuya childishly aims a kick at his shin. “Answer me.”

“Ow,” He says instead, unconvincingly. “Okay, okay, um. Do you promise not to get mad?”

“I’m going to be even angrier if you keep talking in circles.” He snaps, the last threads of his patience thinning. “I know for a fact that you’re not this wimpish, so speak up.”

Even despite the demand, Makoto is silent a little moment longer, rummaging still. Byakuya is about to kick him again, when he stands up, a tiny, blue box clutched in his hand.

“You, uh…you were shaving this morning, right?” He takes a deep breath, then holds the box out. “You’ve got a little blood here-” And he taps a finger against his cheek, somewhere below his ear; Byakuya mirrors the movement, reaching up to feel that thin line of roughness, the scab tugging at the skin. “And…I remembered my dad gave me this brand of razor, it’s really easy to use-”

Byakuya smacks the thing out of his hands before he can even finish speaking, sending it spinning across the floor, beneath some other shelf.

For a moment, the two of them stand there, stock still. Byakuya can feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, throbbing against his eardrums; he’s not sure which of them is more shocked, to be honest. Makoto’s hand is still partially outstretched, now empty.

Then: “What the hell is your problem?!” Makoto demands, instantaneous and loud and cracked with a slight note of hysteria. The sound bounces tinnily between the metal shelving units, before being swallowed into the wooden surfaces of the crates.

“What is your problem?” Byakuya shoots back, just as furious. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want your pity?”

“It’s not pity if I’m trying to keep you alive,” Makoto grabs his arm, shoving it upwards. His hand is nowhere big enough to wrap around it, but the grip is tight anyways, fingers digging into the hollow junction of his wrist. “You barely eat, you don’t talk to anyone-”

“I’m trying to keep myself safe-”

“That’s shit, that’s bullshit. You look,” He breaks to breathe, to laugh, and his grip tightens, grinding the bones. “You look like such shit, and it’s not even hard to tell. It’s so obvious that you’re trying to hide it but you can’t, and everyone can see that you’re falling apart and it’s so pathetic but you won’t let anyone get close enough to tell you that -” He’s shaking, or maybe that’s Byakuya himself. “Just-”

And falls silent - no, not entirely silent. Byakuya can hear his uneven breathing, the quiet squeaks in his throat. Stifling the sound of his crying, still only just audible over the hum and clanks of the building’s internals, and the ring in his own ears.

Why was he crying? The thought is fleeting, and should have just been a blip in everything else. “I am not,” He starts, and the latter half of that sentence never even becomes coherent in his own mind.

Instead, he tries to wrench his hand backwards and away from Makoto’s grip, and Makoto just follows him, pushing him, until his back meets the hard, uneven edges of a shelving unit, digging into his shoulders.

“You are, you so are,” Makoto wheezes. His hand shakes violently, but Byakuya still can’t break out of it; his wrist is being pinned to the metal frame, the cold surface a shock against his skin. “You - fuck, you can’t even take care of yourself. You try to act so cool but you’re so helpless it’s lame. You’re trying so hard to predict where the next threat is coming from but your biggest threat is yourself. You can’t even see what’s happening around you, so you don’t even try to find out - I just -”

And he stops, taking another deep, shaky breath, head dipping down until his forehead rests against Byakuya’s collarbone. His other hand is bracing the edge of a shelf, next to Byakuya’s hip, and Byakuya can feel it by sheer proximity, the warmth bleeding impossibly through the layers of Makoto’s jacket and his own thin shirt.

He-

should say something. Anger and indignation boils in his gut, how dare Makoto say such things? Who gave him the right? Didn’t he know who Byakuya was?

But-

what can he say, when it feels like he’s suddenly been struck stupid. Like he’s a child again facing his first real defeat at the hand of one of his siblings’s lackeys, kneeling with scraped knees weeping blood into his pants as he’s being taunted, the words hysteric and victorious. Like he’s trying to argue with Kirigiri, but she’s already had the last word and is simply walking away.

So he resorts to the same answer he had the first time he was forced to concede to one of his siblings, and kicks Makoto in the shin.

It’s not a very strong blow. Caged in against the shelf as he is, he doesn’t have enough space to pull back very far; but it makes Makoto grunt, surprised, and his hold loosens. Byakuya shoves him backwards, and glances to his side, where the white light spilling from the open door marks the exit.

He could leave. He doubts Makoto could catch him if he ran seriously. But his legs refuse to move; it would feel too much like conceding. He’s been losing too much these past few days to forfeit again, now.

Makoto is standing in front of him, the overhead lights above providing just enough illumination for Byakuya to make out the location of his nose, the curve of his brow, and in the split second before he can do anything Byakuya reaches out. One hand snags fingertips into Makoto’s hood. The other grabs his face, slotting his chin almost tenderly into the space between forefinger and thumb.

The effect is instantaneous, Makoto’s cheeks heating beneath his fingertips. “Hey, wh-”

Byakuya feels his face pull, an undignified baring of teeth that’s barely reminiscent of a smile, before he drags Makoto forward and knees him in the gut.

He prefers more dignified solutions to things, but violence is the most universally understood language, and he can admit to its usefulness when the need calls. Like now, as Makoto wheezes, bent over, his hands clutching unsteadily in Byakuya’s shirt to keep himself upright.

This is how it should be, he thinks, as he looks down at the crown of Makoto’s head with a twisted sense of triumph. It hardly lasts long before Makoto’s moving again with an animalistic growl, fingers twisting so tightly Byakuya can feel some threads snap in his shirt, before he’s shoved backwards with a rattling clang against the shelves.

It’s hardly enough to stun him, but he winces anyway, at the metal frame digging between his shoulder blades. Far more effective, is what comes next - Makoto sways, resting his forehead against Byakuya’s chest - before surging upwards, colliding the top of head against his nose.

The taste of copper is an afterthought to the sharp, explosive burst of pain. Byakuya screams - snarls - with it, blood tracking a hot line down his upper lip, stinging against raw skin. He sinks his hands into Makoto’s hair, and yanks roughly, trying to drag him off.

It’s unsuccessful. He doesn’t have the strength in his arms to move the weight of another teenage male, but it’s not wholly ineffective either. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and he’s managed to drag Makoto’s head backwards enough to see his face.

A face that, even in the dim yellow light of the supply room, is flushed darker than usual. And with eyes that are blown wide, the blotted shape of iris-pupils very, very dark against the whites.

It takes a moment for him to put together what that means through the haze, before Makoto’s hands are resituating themselves in Byakuya’s shirt collar, and yanking him down to - kiss him.

He freezes for a moment, mind once again going utterly blank. It’s nothing more than a hard press of lips, almost far too innocent compared to their previous state. Makoto’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, and sliding slightly against his as he smears the blood over his mouth.

It continues for a long moment, the two of them frozen in place, until Byakuya realizes that Makoto was beginning to pull away, his hold loosening; willingly seceding control over, meek again, and anger works its way up in Byakuya’s skull, spiking sharp and precise through the delirium.

He twists his hands, fingers tightening in the locks of Makoto’s hair, and forces him still, bowing his head down to bite at the seam of Makoto’s mouth with all the composure of a starving dog, smearing blood, tongue and teeth snagging in the cracked skin of his lips.

He pulls away just enough to grin, savagely, at the sight of Makoto with a vividly dark slice staining across his mouth. “That is how you kiss someone,” He whispers, with something dark and self-satisfied curling in his gut.

The only response Makoto gives is a low, almost inhuman sound, before he’s being yanked down again.

There’s nothing chaste about it this time. Rather, it’s more like a continuation of their fight, biting, clacking teeth, hands scrabbling and grasping for purchase. Makoto matches his every move with the same exact vigor, and Byakuya tastes salt and hot metal and the over-sweet sourness of energy drinks and laughs into the kiss, breathless and triumphant at Makoto’s desperation, the feeling of hands dragging down his sides, even as he claws back, trying to drag him nearer, nails raking across the thick fabric of his blazer, down his back, over his arms. In turn, Makoto licks into his mouth, tonguing hotly over his canines, the soft roof of his palate.

Disgusting. Byakuya shudders, and lets his jaw slacken just a little more.

He feels his back beginning to slide, uncomfortably, down the frame. It’s both an annoyance and a relief - the previous angle was killing his neck - but then Makoto leans forward, weight pressing against him, sandwiching him there, and digging his spine painfully against the hard juts of the shelves.

Byakuya half-thinks to scold him for that, but at the same time, Makoto is sliding his leg between his thighs, propping him up, and the reprimand turns into a groan instead, breathy and desperate and far too loud in the solitude of the supply room.

He jerks back, suddenly self-aware again, face flushed to burning. This was - he feels his head swimming, self-appalled, rivaling the temptation to sink down a little lower, lean into the hands that are now feeling clumsily up his ribcage - utterly unbecoming of him. To give into such base temptations-

Ever persistent and apparently undeterred by the absence of his mouth, Makoto leans forward and presses his teeth to the side of Byakuya’s neck instead, and the rest of Byakuya’s coherent thoughts try to fly out with those thin, pinprick-sharp flares of pain.

“Idiot,” He still manages to hiss, even as he gives in and grinds down, against a sweet pressure that makes everything feel so - indescribably - “Bastard, you pathetic little-”

Talking was getting troublesome. He presses his hands against Makoto’s cheeks, feeling a small thrill of victory when he feels his thumbs brush the corner of his lips on the first try, and kisses him again, feeling dizzy with it.

His hands shift, seeking out better purchase in Makoto’s hood, knuckles pressing against the warm, jumping muscles in his neck, the other sinking into his hair again. This time more to keep himself upright as Makoto was apparently trying to bite his tongue off - and that thought really shouldn’t be doing anything for Byakuya, and yet -

Tap, tap. Tap.

“Makoto,” He gasps, whines, managing to pull himself away once more. This time grabbing onto Makoto’s face and pushing him backwards like an undisciplined, overeager dog - the other boy struggles for a moment, pushing back against his hands - “Wait, just - calm down, you - do you hear that?”

It takes a moment for Makoto to respond. “Wh-huh?” He manages, somewhat incoherently, which Byakuya…supposes, is reasonable. They’re still pressed against each other, and Byakuya can still feel something pressing against his thigh, which he tries very hard to ignore, in favor of concentrating hard.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It doesn’t sound like it was coming from the hallways. But it couldn’t be the heating or piping in the walls either; it was too soft, and…too dynamic, too purposeful, for that. He cranes his head over his shoulder, but the only thing behind him was the shelf, some boxes, and the flat, gray expanse of the wall.

Tap. Tap, tap, taptaptap-

The sound rises to a sudden crescendo, speeding behind him. Almost reflexively, he shoves away from the shelf, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Makoto lands on his back with a grunt, and Byakuya lands nearly on top of him, before scrabbling backwards until his back meets the shelf, self-awareness shattering his earlier insanity.

Makoto is staring at him, face still flushed and dazed. “Hey, what was-?”

“Awahwahwah!? Kyahh!!”

They jerk their heads in unison, turning to find a short, round, oblong shape standing in the doorway. Monokuma stands there with face covered by paws, squealing. “C-c-could this be?! The fabled, mythical, super-ultra-sexy-secret-rendezvous I heard about from the headmaster’s handbook?! Wah! My eyes!! My untainted, honest, adorable teddy-button eyes!!!”

“Shut up!” Byakuya snaps, voice far too high-pitched to not be damning, despite his best attempts to calm down. He surreptitiously turns away from the door, and can see Makoto doing something similar out of the corner of his eye, tucking his knees up close to his chest. Monokuma shakes, either from laughter or phony horror.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry, Young Master Byakuya. I’m a very progressive bear, after all!” It nods emphatically, and Byakuya grits his teeth at the derisive use of the title. “After all, I am your headmaster, and I want this place to be all sweet and accepting of all my students! You can talk to your classmates about it at this seminar I’m planning-”

“Get out of here.” Makoto rasps, voice still rough and a little unsteady. He sounds downright furious, more so than Byakuya remembers ever hearing him. “It wasn’t- It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh-ho? T’wasn’t it?” Monokuma tilts its head, and toddles over with squeaky footsteps. “Well then, what did happen? Because it certainly looked to me like I just blue-beared you two!” And it cackles hysterically at its own joke, the sound grating and echoing between the shelves.

“He-” Makoto’s sneakers scrape against the floor as he shifts, hesitating. “He was- trying to…trying to kill me.”

And even through the rising haze of fury, panic, and nauseating shame, Byakuya’s thoughts grind to a sudden halt.

“What?” He says aloud, at the same time as Monokuma squeals with apparent delight, drowning him out entirely.

“Oh, oh! Is that so?” And it rounds on him, all of a sudden far too close for comfort, his vision divided white and black. “Tell me, is this true? What was the weapon? What was the plan? Oh, it’s a shame I interrupted, so now I gotta make up for the lost opportunity! Spill the deets!”

So none of it had meant anything. Their pathetic, awkward fumbling in the dark, his brief delusion of control, had only amounted to this. Back to being humiliated and shamed by a grinning, faceless mastermind, and with no more authority over himself as he did before, as Makoto was trying to save him. Again.

He kicks Monokuma away, sending it spinning with a yelp into one of the shelves, and bolts from the room. Makoto is shouting after him, and soon there are footsteps dogging at his heels, but he makes it all the way back to his bedroom before Makoto catches up to him as he’s trying to unlock the door.

He narrowly makes it inside, tries to swing the door shut but it bounces off of Makoto’s shoe, jammed in just in time - and he’d wince in sympathy, or mull in the dejá vu of it, if he wasn’t currently trying to tamp down his own swell of emotions, nearing to breaking through his thinly held-together composure.

“Why did you say that,” He spits through clenched teeth. Too exhausted to try and force him out, too angry to just ignore him. “Of all the stupid, useless lies to come up with, you had to choose one that made me look even more pathetic?!”

“What were you going to say, then,” Makoto shoots back, just as irritated. “Was there anything more plausible that would’ve been better for you than ‘we were making out in the closet’?!”

He doesn’t bother to reply. Because no, that was the most believable thing Makoto could have said, which was why he was so furious now. There was the logical setting, an established motive - the set-up for a cheap, impassioned crime, with no thought or grace behind it. 

If he had said it himself, he might have barely been able to salvage his own pride. But having to be defended by his own so-called ‘victim’, having to be saved by Makoto again-

He sits down heavily on the bed, rubbing his temples. “Just leave, Makoto.” He sighs, eyes screwed shut. He’s too tired for this, and would rather try and sleep and forget it all. Or break down, which was beginning to feel like a very real possibility, which he’d rather do in the privacy of his own room anyways.

But instead of leaving, Makoto drops down to the floor with a thump, directly in front of him. “I’m not leaving until you go eat something.” He says, stubbornly, apparently recalling his entire original purpose of trying to bully him into codependency.

I was hoping he would’ve forgotten that. Byakuya feels a pulse throb beneath his fingertips, exasperation pushing through the rising fog of panic. “Must we do this now?”

“If I don’t, you’re going to ignore and avoid me and everyone else again, right?” He could almost hear the teasing smile tugging at the corner of Makoto’s mouth. “But, um. I mean. If you don’t want to talk, we could…you know…”

It takes a moment to identify exactly what he’s suggesting, but the disbelieving laugh that escapes Byakuya’s mouth is entirely unintentional, the panic miraculously dissipating in the same breath. “You can’t be serious.”

“I-I mean-! I’m totally okay if you don’t want to, I just thought…” Makoto trails off with a cough. “I…it was kind of a joke. Um- but you were enjoying it too, right?” There’s a thin note of hesitance in his voice.

Byakuya sighs. “...Yes. Unfortunately so.” Enough that if he thinks too much on it, he’ll become aware of the buzzing still lingering in his lips and the feeling of warmth beneath his hands, the low throb in his nose where the bleeding had only just stopped, and there was no good way that particular thought process was going to end. He’d almost prefer the impending anxiety attack to this.

“O-oh, okay. Cool. That’s cool.” Makoto rocks a little bit. “So…”

“I’m not having sex with you right now.” He deadpans, and Makoto has the gall to blush sheepishly, as if he weren’t the one making the suggestion in the first place.

“Right. Yeah, of course.” He scratches his head with a quiet laugh. “We…kinda took it a little fast, huh?”

That was an understatement. And he raises a hand over his face, trying to hide the heat rising beneath his fingers…much of what had happened was mostly due to his own actions. “Well, it’s not like we are in a situation where we could have a normal progression of things.”

“I don’t know, we have a pretty good kitchen. I would’ve liked to make you dinner first, or something.”

“How romantic. Forgive me if the idea of a school cafeteria meal doesn’t sweep me off my feet.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try it. I can make a pretty good omelet on a good day…if you’re okay with that.” The lilting invitation is clear, and Byakuya snorts.

“I should’ve murdered you in front of Monokuma.�� He deadpans back.

Now it was Makoto’s turn to chuckle, a soft, surprised ‘ha!’ that makes Byakuya smile wholly inadvertently.

“Yeah, probably,” He agrees. “Did you want to?”

The smile slides off his face instantly. It sounds like Makoto is joking, but - it’s hard to tell. So hard to tell without being able to see if he’s smiling, if the easy tone of his voice matches his face.

“Do you want to?” He asks again, voice softer, serious.

Probably not a joke, then. He laces his fingers tightly, tight enough for his joints to ache, pressing the knuckles to his chin. “It hadn’t…crossed my mind.” Not seriously, at least. And not since the last trial.

But he could. There was no deal to uphold, not anymore. And Makoto - 

“Why are you asking?” He looks up for the first time, at Makoto, sitting cross-legged on his carpet. Staring back at him. “Surely you don’t want to die?”

Makoto doesn’t reply, his face still curiously, infuriatingly blank.

Everything that had been previously cleared comes rushing back, fury and disbelief and - anxiety, of all things, a painful, welling lump of it rising up his gullet - and before he knows it, he’s on the ground, kneeling across from Makoto with his hands around his neck.

The skin is warm. Shockingly soft, slightly tacky with sweat. The pressure isn’t enough to cut off airflow - his hands are only just resting against his throat - but Byakuya flexes his thumbs lightly, feeling the shape of his Adam’s apple beneath his fingers, his pulse beneath his palms.

And the whole time, Makoto makes no move to push him off. He had twitched, maybe, surprised at first, but that was all, now frozen stock-still - no, he was relaxing into the touch, muscles going purposefully slack as his shoulders slump.

“...What are you doing.” He whispers. Tenses his fingers, feels the breath hitch. “I could kill you right now. Why aren’t you stopping me?” Takes a deep, shuddering breath as he feels his voice begin to break. “Don’t tell me you actually want to die here!”

Makoto’s mouth is a dark cavern as he opens it to respond. “I don’t. Of course I don’t.” His voice wheezes slightly. “But if it’s you… I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

Byakuya feels his hands shake. This was too much, all of it too much - he hadn’t even concluded how he felt about Makoto yet, not coherently - and apparently, in the time he’d spent in self-isolation, something had become twisted. The most mundane person here had become wholly insane. For his sake.

I must be insane too, he thinks, for the tiny, irrational thrill of joy that runs through him at that realization.

He jerks when he feels hands resting over his, fingers tracing delicately over the fine lines of his knuckles, the hollow of his wrist. Keeping his grip steady.

“I don’t think you will, though,” Makoto continues. “You don’t really want to kill anyone. You would’ve done it already if you did.”

“Don’t act like you know me.” He grits, grip spasming, torn between removing himself from Makoto and throttling him to shut him up. “You know perfectly well there’s a difference between intent and capabilities.”

Makoto takes a shaky, raspy breath. A slash of white pulls across his face. “Then are you gonna prove me wrong?”

Byakuya hesitates for too long. In that time, the hands that rest over his pull and then press, and he flinches as his palms fully meet Makoto’s neck, almost icily cool against the clamminess of his own skin. He yanks them backwards like he’d been burned, too shocked to even scold him for - for any of it. Too flustered to wonder if he even could.

His hands shake, still, even when he clenches them into fists with his nails biting into his palms, pressing into his knees.

Makoto coughs once, massaging his neck, before he stands up slowly.

“Let’s go,” He says, still smiling as he offers up a hand. “I’ll make you an omelet.”

< previous - from start - next >

[jeannereames]

Hello Dr. Reames I hope you’re doing well

I have a question. I was reading everything you’ve written on your blog about alexander and hephaistion and in a post you mentioned that as alex and hephaistion became older their relationship became more complicated. Could you expand more on what you mean by that? In what ways did it become complicated?

Why Alexander and Hephaistion as Lovers as Adults was “Complicated”

I’m not entirely sure whether the asker means the historical people, or the characters in my novel, so I’ll answer for both, as the answer is somewhat the same, but in the book, I can add more specificity. One must be more circumspect about the historical people.

First, if they were never lovers (the historical people), then the only complication would have been Alexander’s increasing power. No matter how much freedom Hephaistion had, the murder of Kleitos showed that a drunk, furious Alexander could do terrible things, even to people he considered like family. As ATG aged, he had more cause for anger, and he also drank more.* So there was that.

But returning to the question of whether they were lovers, my colleague Sabine Müller doesn’t think they were—largely because she believes they met as adults. And THAT gets to the heart of why—if they were lovers—their relationship would have become more complicated across time. They aged.

The Greeks placed homoerotic attachments among the stages of life. A preteen/young teen was the beloved, or pursued partner (eromenos). Once he got a beard, post 18-ish (e.g., ephebe age), then one became the lover, or pursuer (erastes). Any relationship one had previously enjoyed with an older lover was expected to transmute into very close friendship/affection. Then, around the late 20s/early 30s, one would settle down and get married. It was still all right to chase younger boys, but only for a little while. Doing it too long earned “dirty old man” status, although we have evidence of older (40+, even 50+) elite men doing just that. Also, males of any age could pursue affairs with hetairai and other prostitutes (male or female), as well as with slaves of any age.

Two adult men still “carrying on” as if they were teens/young men was considered unseemly. By the time both were past 20, and certainly past 25, they shouldn’t still be having sex with each other. Although if they’d been long-time lovers as youths, they might get nods for loyalty (v. the playwright Agathon and his long-time lover, Pausanias) … and friends didn’t ask what they did behind closed doors. But this was easier to pull off as a slightly counter-culture artist playwright than a king and his increasingly important marshal.

So that’s why Alexander and Hephaistion would have experienced complications as they aged—assuming they stayed lovers. And they may not have. Even if, as youths, they were lovers, as adults, they could each have moved on. Curtius names other youths (not just Bagoas) with whom Alexander might have had a fling. It’s subtle in the text, but the Latin word used could imply something. We don’t have similar attestations for Hephaistion, but I wouldn’t expect us to, so that’s meaningless. Remember, our histories are laser-focused on Alexander, with details about other marshals appearing only if/when they matter to the main story. So, we have the name of Philotas’ mistress only because she became Krateros’ source for dirt on what Philotas said about Alexander as pillow talk. If not for that, we wouldn’t even know he had a mistress. Ergo, we MUST assume there’s a lot of information about the men in high positions around Alexander that our sources simply don’t relate (and perhaps didn’t know).

Now, in terms of Dancing with the Lion, the age thing very much is the problem, as Hephaistion is the elder but Alexandros king. They can continue a relationship for a short while (a few years), but AS KING, Alexandros would be assumed to be the “active” partner (erastes), and that would damage Hephaistion’s reputation—because he’s older (and was originally the erastes). For an older male to accept the passive role (bottoming) was demeaning, making himself “like a woman.”

That’s why the penultimate scene in Dancing with the Lion: Rise is so important! Hephaistion “flips the script,” explaining why he considers bottoming the position of power—startling Alexandros, who never thought about it that way.

Going forward, their friends will ignore any continuation and not examine it too closely due to respect for their loyalty to each other. But this works only for a little while. After Granikos and leading up to Issos, the pressure is on for Alexandros to find a nice girl to make his mistress and move Hephaistion into the role of Older Friend (without benefits)—which he does with Barsine. Yet I don’t plan to have them entirely give up their romantic liaison, so that requires concealment for Hephaistion’s benefit. And it’s not fully successful. Some push back against Hephaistion by enemies does owe to disrespect for his “preferences.”

But keep in mind, I’m speaking now of the fictional characters, not necessarily the historical people. My Hephaistion is pretty high on the Kinsey Scale, in the 5-6 range. Keeping the respect needed to command successfully as his political star rises means he must wear a mask, or find a beard, to use slang. One of the (several) points behind my series is to show it wasn’t necessarily any easier to be gay in “tolerant” ancient Greece. It was just difficult in different ways.

———————

* Before anyone asks, no I don’t think Alexander was an alcoholic, even a “functional” one. There’s literally not enough evidence to say for sure, pace J. M. O’Brien (Alexander the Great and the Invisible Enemy). O’Brien may not call him an alcoholic, but he certainly implies it.

We have two complicating factors that make any sort of real determination difficult: first, the nature of banqueting at the Macedonian court, and second, the fact that historians record the exceptional, not the usual. Symposia (drinking parties) in the Greek world were already venues for both competition and display, and Macedonians didn’t customarily dilute their wine, unlike (many) Southern Greeks. The king was not only expected to keep up, but to excel in all things, including his ability to drink. So there’s that. Add to this the fact historians don’t tell you about the 56 times the king held a symposion where nothing exciting or out-of-the-way happened. They’ll tell you about that 57th when something bad DID happen.

Even in antiquity, there was debate about whether Alexander drank too much, with detractors and Roman-era rhetoricians using him as an exempla of Drinking is Bad (especially in rulers), while apologists (like Aristobulos) claimed he didn’t overdrink, he just liked conversation so he stayed late, lingering over his wine.

Hmmm. I’m going with Door Number Three: yes, sometimes he drank too much, especially as stresses piled up, but if he’d been an actual alcoholic, even a functional one, he probably couldn’t have accomplished everything he did. For one thing, availability of alcohol on the march would’ve been sporadic, so I suspect those famous drinking parties were what happened when they got their hands on some wine, in between long stretches where they probably didn’t have much, if any.

[zincsishere]

The lilymation and think before you sleep drama

...why is the world filled with CUNTS??? Another reason why I don't really share my opinions with people.

This is for the lily fan to keep supporting her and attacking the people in my comments with the rude insults. leave them alone!!

My point with this whole thing is:

1. Lily is in the wrong. You DO NOT send other people to attack someone, no matter what they said about you! You guys are assholes! (I'm talking to a certain amount of people). Just because you don't agree with someone politically or you don't agree with someone at all doesn't mean you attack them or try to affect their source of income when they didn't DO ANYTHING. Sharing your opinion shouldn't be a death sentence.

If you don't agree with someone, try to talk to them first and see if they're worth arguing with in the first place. Most of the people that I was arguing with made the argument pointless and meaningless. It just became a dick measuring contest that I got swept into. I'm an angsty, emotional 14-year-old, and sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me and say shit that I shouldn't be saying. That is my fault, and I'm trying to stop doing that. I'm going to encounter a lot of bad people in my life. That doesn't mean I have to get down and start arguing and fighting with them. Most people just want to fight because they want to fight.

This is more of a personal opinion, but I will say it anyway.

2. TBYS wasn't offensive, and I don't even have to defend him. He defended himself. He made a video explaining himself with evidence to show that he wasn't acting like an asshole or being malicious; he was just giving advice.

This drama is old, but I need to set the record straight. Having opinions (that are well supported with evidence) doesn't make you an asshole, and it doesn't mean you should be attacked! People were trying to show me that he was a "bad guy."

But the evidence they showed me was bullshit. He didn't insult them. He didn't say anything rude. He wasn't doing anything worthy of cancellation. Like I said, I won't accept BS from someone just because I like them. ( aka Melanie Martinez < allegedly sexually abuse someone > and Ariana < she wrecked a relationship then made a song about it saying that she doesn’t care >) If there were something worth incriminating him about, I would've stopped being a fan. But, as I said before, just because someone might be an asshole doesn't mean they deserve to be harassed.

No matter how many times I fucking say this, NO ONE IS LISTENING. DON'T FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE! No one deserves to get hurt or harassed just because of their opinions! "BUT HE SAID-😟😟" "BUT HE DOESN'T SUPPORT—😡😡" "HE'S A BIGOT—-👹👹👹" (coming from someone who has never watched a single fucking video)

Respect... shut up, please. I don't care if you like the guy or not, but what Lily did is not acceptable, and you can't defend that. That doesn't make me a dick rider; it makes me someone who has half brain cells left.

him potentially being “shitty” doesn’t matter. Hold People accountable for their damn actions.

Other people are making videos about this topic, and I'm so glad Lily is getting the consequences she deserves (she doesn't deserve to get doxxed; fans are crazy), but the rest is karma. I'm still waiting for a ukulele apology from that girl.

I'm turning off the comment section. If you DM me insults, I'll just report you. You're clearly not worth arguing with.

P.S. What I mean by he didn't do anything. I mean, he didn't sexually or verbally abuse or assault someone. He wasn't a crackhead doing drugs on the street and putting up fight with fags (I'm a homosexual 😐). He wasn't going around cussing out everyone he knew and saw; he wasn't going around shooting up schools. He was sharing his opinions (opinions that are well supported with science, articles, and experience) and putting people in their place when they were being rude or disrespectful. That's why I like the guy. You don't like him, that's fine, but you can't sit here and defend Lily like she's not an asshole herself. She's just a depressed one. (That sounded really rude, sorry lol)

You think the video fucking sucks. you think he fucking sucks. OKAYYYY but don’t act like Lily’s actions were agreeable just because you didn’t like his video or because you don’t agree with what he said. if you wanna argue about that, just go to his channel and confront him about it. he would happily defend his ass.

-Not the lily fans threatening to hurt and rape me yet I’m the bad guy here for not agreeing with someone trying to hurt and harass someone’s career then they want to claim that ALL TBYS fans are “right wing, dumb asshole who are bigot and ignorant” :) I’m turning off my notifications

Before you say anything, you have no idea who I am. Stop saying that I support Lily being doxxed or getting raped. I never said that. I said Lily should get 'consequences for her actions'. I have said countless times that I don't support her getting rape/doxxed threats and neither does thing before you sleep. ( you guys all know by now how crazy and obsessive fans can get when it comes to their idol or their favorite person. those types of fans can’t be controlled even if the creator actively tell them to stop. ) ( this should be argument lily should get consequences for her actions as a YouTuber she knows how crazy fans can get yet she actively told her fans to go harass and flagged a smaller creator because he didn’t like his video he could’ve gotten death threats and rape threats from her young fans. ) She ACTIVELY told her crazy fans to harass without watching any of his videos he told his fans to leave her alone. HOW IS SHE INNOCENT HERE?!?!

You guys keep putting words in my mouth, just finding excuses to dehumanize and make me be viewed as a bad person just for disagreeing with you. I'm a young SA victim, and I was almost raped at a very young age. The fact that you guys skipped over everything that I said just to assume that I condone raping and doxxing is beyond me. I'm saying this again “I DONT WANT LILY TO JUST DOXXED OR R@PE THREATS NEITER DOESNT SEAN (TBYS)”

Thanks before you sleep wouldnt actively go out of his way to make Lily because he wouldn't benefit from it, and because he wouldn't do it. he's not that type of person. Please just watch the video. ( without anger/hate and LISTEN TO WHAT HE SAYS ) because if you actually did watch the video, you would know that it wasn’t hateful or misleading of Lily’s character things that he said about her character are things that she said about herself.

Old non-crazy fans of Lily agree with think before you sleep because they actually watched his video and see that there were something wrong with.

He complemented her and explained parts that he liked about her and gave her advice (more like his fans) about health and fitness, since he has a lot of experience in that area. That's all he did - give constructive criticism and advice. He didn't tell his fans to actively go attack her. While Lily didn't watch the video and told her fans to go to his video that she did not watch, mine you, to go for reported cyberbullying. YouTubers work very hard on their videos, editing and scripting. That to just go down the shitter, and he wouldn't get paid for the work. And Lily is an online creator. She should know that if she's gonna send a huge number of people to go report his video, they're going to do way more than just report his video and they're gonna harass the living shit out of him. You're telling me that she, “a person who is a victim of cyberbullying and harassment because of someone that she used to be friends/dating a manipulative and crazy person”, doesn't know how crazy people can be about their favorite creators to the point of bullying and harassing someone to suicide? She had to go to a freaking mental hospital because of it and you’re telling me that she did not know what she was doing ???l I know this information because I'm an old fan of hers. Her videos brought me comfort, and I watched tons of her videos. I'm still shocked by this behavior. How are you gonna send your crazy ass fans to go bully and harass someone? You were just bullied and harassed yourself online to the point where you had to go to the mental hospital. Like, she is fucking deranged or something.

I truly believe she did that with malicious intent and tried to frame herself as a good person getting bullied by this 'bigot misogynistic fatphobic racist YouTuber.🥺' She knew what she was doing. She should've talked like a proper adult instead of getting a massive group of 2000 people to secretlyharass and ban his video. I wish you could see it how I see it, but creators know what they're doing with these parasocial relationships. The video was harsh, but it wasn't spreading any lies. He gave his evidence, his sources, and he was nice but constructive. Yeah, it's kind of unwanted advice, but it's his video. He can do whatever he wants on it as long as he's make center whole campaign of people to hurt her.

 I

[arminsgffr]

Smoking by the window

Armin x reader

Disclaimer: reader smokes, actually don’t know if vaping is considered smoking, but you get what I mean. modern au, idk

I wanted to portrait how Armin doesn’t want people to kind of idealize him as this pure boy, who is not able to even kill a mosquito. Who doesn’t ever do bad things on purpose. And how he wants to be abke to be the protector and not the protected.

This is my first post. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there’s any misspelling. Hope you enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The universe is so big. We’re basically nothing. Little stupid things. Minuscule. It’s kind of a triggering thought, to know you don’t really matter, and that it doesn’t really matter what you do in this world. But then, you can use it as an excuse to do whatever you want, right?

Smoking by the window is a thing now. A thing that I do when I’m overwhelmed, or numb, or bored, or… existing. Even now, that Armin is asleep beside me, I couldn’t help the desire of taking out my vape and use it. It’s two in the morning, the perfect hour. That feeling of nothingness emerged so suddenly, I’m starting to like it at this point. The vapor coming out of my lips is pretty. I look down my side, Armin’s prettier. He looks so peaceful, relaxed. I can’t believe he ended up with someone like me. Someone with a lost future, when he has such a bright one. I inhale, again and again, till getting a little dizzy. I actually have grown really fond of the feeling.

— Honey…? — I hear Armin say, sleepy. He’s trying to open his eyes. — What time is it? —

He sited on the bed, with his beautiful eyes not fully open, tired back, looking at me with a confused face, trying to figure out what was happening. He looked really cute.

�� Oh, shit, sorry. Did I wake you up? — I said in a low voice.

— Not exactly… — He made a pause. — What are you doing? —

—Just vaping a little bit, I was about to go back to sleep, anyway. —

He giggled, more awake. — We both know that’s not true. — he said, with that expression he made when he was saying something ‘obvious’. I just smiled at him. — Can I try? —

— What? — I said a little shoked.

He let out a little, soft laugh. — Can I try? — He repeat it, slowly, pointing at the vape in my hands.

— Are you sure? I don’t really want you to, I got to be honest. What if you like it? — I said with a worried tone.

— What if I like it? — He thought there was really nothing totally wrong. Well, maybe he did, I can’t speak for him.

— I don’t want you to like it. —

He didn’t reply, he just left silence. I could tell he was thinking. I get why he would want to try, but no. He can’t go down that path.

— You treat me like I’m a fragile… pure thing. I’m not. I’m a person. — The golden like hair boy said.

— Yeah, and as a person, I don’t want to fuck up yourself. You know I’m not the best influence. —

— Fine. But really, don’t treat me like I don’t do anything wrong, and like you’re gonna spoil me. —

— But, what if I do? — I really resented having such a screwed life.

— Honey…— He got closer to me, taking me in he’s arms. — You won’t, I promise. I love you. —

— I love you more. — I said, looking at him.

We just stayed like that a little longer. I was falling asleep, when he realized and laid my head down, still hugging me. He took the vape from my hands and put it in the nightstand. He was so warm and comfortable to hug. He moved me closer to him, while resting his head, softly, on top of mine. He was holding me like a porcelain doll, with al the caring and welcomeness of the world. Like I was he’s most precious treasure, but still a person to care about.

— You are the one who deserves to be treated like a fragile, not thing. I want to be the one that looks after you and protects you. Please let me. — He said, softly and loving. I just hugged him tighter and, indeed, let him. And for a moment. For that moment, everything stopped feeling so meaningless. Instead of knowing we were all stupid nothings, I genuinely believed that it was just Armin and me in all universe. And that I wasn’t that meaningless either. I was something in Armin’s life, apparently. So I’m gonna make sure I’m a good something for him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A really short thingy, but I guess is not that bad for being the first one shot. Anyway, hope you liked it :)

[wndaswife]

hi!! idk if the requests are open but i was thinking of a taylor x reader story where they’re married with a little girl around the same time as the movie but taylor has been too obsessed with her social media/influencer life and that caused a crisis in their relationship. you could include a divorce/breakup too with a happy ending btw

-🎈

taylor sloane & fem!reader

tags: angst, hopeful ending

summary: Everything bursts one evening after months of unease and passive aggressive tension between you and your wife.

“Celeste’s parent-teacher night thing is tomorrow,” you say from the washroom as you rub your moisturiser into your face. “If you’re still gonna be out with Ingrid and Harley before it starts, just get dropped off at her school and we can meet there.”

There’s no response from Taylor for a few moments and you look into the bedroom at her, anticipating a response. She’s sitting at the edge of the bed in a skimpy pink nightgown. The light from her phone screen is cast onto her face as she types a quick caption for her Instagram post.

She tips her head up slightly and finally responds asking, “What time is it at again?”

You press the tip of your tongue into your cheek in annoyance and repress a roll of your eyes. “We talked about you going three days ago,” you answer. Irritation was implied in your response but Taylor doesn’t pick up on it.

She lays back across the bed, her legs hanging off of the edge. “Yeah, but whatever, I just forgot,” she says.

You place your hands on the sink counter and lean forward, looking at your wife scornfully. “It’s at eight. Will Celeste and I have the pleasure of seeing you there, Taylor?” you inquire bitterly, tipping your head to the side.

“If Nick doesn’t get shit-faced drunk,” she says with a lighthearted scoff. 

Now feeling your irritation bubble up into something unmanageable, you snap, “Taylor, are you fucking kidding?”

She looks up from her phone and sits up with a bewildered expression. “What?” she answers incredulously. “You want me to just fuck off and leave my brother at some bar? You know how he gets.”

You turn off the washroom light and step into the bedroom. “That’s not the fucking point! We made a deal. We talked about you coming tomorrow,” you snap, your hands emphasising your anger. Taylor drops her hands and her phone lays in her laps. She regards you with a scrutinising expression. “I told you about it a month ago and asked you three days ago to make sure you could still go,” you say.

She shrugs and exhales humorlessly through her nose. “Okay, well, my plans changed. Why does it matter? You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god,” you scoff and straighten to run your hands through your hair. “How can you possibly not be understanding this? Taylor. We made a deal. You made a promise. You said you would go. You don’t just get to leave your wife and your daughter to do some stupid meaningless shit with other people.”

Taylor curses under her breath and rolls her eyes. “So, what? Give up what’s important to me just to do whatever you want me to?”

“You cancel on Celeste and I all the time. You care about promotional events and parties and your social standing that means jackshit in the real world more than just being home with us. With me,” you say. You inhale a shaky breath and you hope Taylor can’t hear it. “It feels like… we’re just not the most important thing to you anymore. I mean… are we?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” she concedes out of exerted pressure and some feeling of obligation. “I’ll be home before eight so we can go together with Celeste. Okay? Does that make you happy?”

You don’t respond and Taylor takes this as your understanding. She puts her phone on the nightstand and pushes the blankets to the side to get in. She looks up at you expectantly. “Okay, get in. Come on. Stop being annoying,” she urges. She pulls the blankets on your side of the bed back and gestures for you to come lay down.

“Taylor…” you exhale and rub your forehead with the tips of your fingers. “I think we need to take a break.”

“Wh…” She laughs, a twinge of nerves peeking through the way her eyebrows furrowed. “What? A break?” She straightens in bed.

You just look away and run a hand through your hair, standing in the weight of your words. It was the truth — you wanted a break, wanted to stop trying to get Taylor to care about things and people she didn't care about as much as you wished she did.

She climbs out of bed and walks towards you. “You… You can’t just take a break from your wife, Y/N,” she says as if trying to rationalise your resolve away. 

“I need time,” you answer. “I’ll just… stay at Dan’s for a while. I don’t want to keep trying to make you prioritise us more than ‘what’s important to you.’”

“So you’re just going to… to leave? Celeste? And me?” she asks. You can’t tell if you only imagined the way her voice trembled slightly when she spoke or if she sincerely was concerned.

“I won’t leave. I’m still going to see the both of you, but I just need space, and I think you need it too. I don’t want to push you into doing anything. And I’m tired of forcing you.”

Taylor looks at you for a few silent seconds, her stare solemn and perhaps even remorseful. She knows she’s been treating you unfairly. She knows she’s been a bitch. She looks down at the floor and swallows. “Okay,” she says finally and you know for sure this time that her voice is trembling. “But tonight… you’ll stay?” She looks up at you.

You meet her eyes and nod. She manages a smile and hesitantly lifts her hand before taking yours into hers. The both of you get into bed and you lay beside each other in the bedroom that was now devoid of light apart from the dim moonlight outside shrouded by the curtains and overhead clouds.

Through the dark of the bedroom, Taylor’s eyes are pinned on yours, her body buried in blankets. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she utters quietly. “I know I’ve been absent. And terrible to you. I don’t mean to. I just don’t pay attention. I get caught up and only realise when it’s too late. Or when you tell me.”

You turn your head, looking away from the ceiling and towards your wife. “I know. It’s just hard.” She inhales and turns her face towards the pillow, ashamed. You move onto your side and wrap an arm around her torso, pulling her against your chest. She rounds her hand to your back and curls her body against you. “The break will be good for us. If we try, things can get better. We’ll work at it, okay?” you tell her.

Taylor sniffles then nods. You cradle the back of her neck and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay,” she says. “And then I’ll have you back.”

[salaapaoo]

I have prompt for you (⁠☞ﾟ⁠ヮﾟ⁠)⁠☞

(well, I think it counts as a prompt?)

Cale. We love him. Cherish him. Wish for him to heal but suffer at the same time.

I had this idea where sometimes, Cale wants to tell his family things. So he speaks his confessions in a different language.

At first, he says meaningless things like, "I like the color of your fur," Or "your scales are very smooth." But sometimes, he'll say something like, "I like your eyes because they are full of life. They are very different from mine." And refuse to elaborate

Ron will walk into his room to give him tea and Cale will look up from his book and speak about just how much he appreciates Ron and he will say it so earnestly that Ron wants to know what it was.

Cale looks up at a dining room full of conversations and laughter and will speak of just how scared he is to lose this.

Confessions to no-one but himself, I suppose?

Thank you for this ask!!!! i love prompts! I really enjoyed this because i've been in a bit of a slump lately so this honestly helped a lot hehe :> This turned out longer than i thought??? I might post it to ao3 as well because it's almost at 2k?? If i do, I'll link this ask to it as well !!

this is such a cute concept !!! i hope you like this :>

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Before anything else, he had learned to equip himself with words first, piling word upon word to form a barrier to keep others from wandering too close. He learned to structure his sentences in order to garner respect from those around him, all the while maintaining a cold politeness that drew lines that were never to be crossed. In all honesty, he doesn’t remember a time he’s ever allowed himself to erase that line. He’d spent years staring at the daunting line he’d drawn by himself, too afraid to scuff it from the sand. It was too late, he’d tell himself, moving on to try to convince himself that it’s better off to not get too close.

(There were only two people who managed to breach that gap on their own, pulling him right into their orbit with ease).

Now, though, he’d gained so many people who he’s grown to love so dearly- so many people that he wishes he were able to soften his walls and allow himself to be vulnerable around. But habits are hard to change and his fears are too deep rooted to ignore. Cale wished to tell everyone how much he loved them and how grateful he was to have them in his life, but no matter how many times he opened his mouth, the words never came out right. It felt as though a dam stood in his way, tall and sturdy after years and years of reinforcement. A dam that he had built to protect himself from floods, now refusing to budge, leaving him to suffer in drought. His mind was constantly overflowing with his adoration for them, but no words would come when summoned.

(He was scared. This – the chance to finally be vulnerable - was too new, too unfamiliar. Cale was scared that his thoughts would be misunderstood, so he bottles them up before they ever get the chance to become).

It starts out as a slip of tongue.

He’s running his fingers through soft, soft tufts of red. A steady purr emanated from Hong’s chest where he was loafed in Cale’s lap, and it was all too much. His thoughts escaped him before he could even think to stop himself, bubbling out from his lips in a familiar language that only one other knew, “I like the colour of your fur… it’s so pretty.”

"Hm?" Hong perks up, tilting his head back to look up at him, "Did you say something?"

and oh, how freeing that was.

“Nothing, really,” He replies smoothly, lightly scratching at the kitten’s cheek as how he knew Hong liked.

Hong settles again with no questions asked, too sleepy to think further and the nice scratching helps lull him back to sleep. Satisfaction wells up in Cale’s chest after finally being able to voice his thoughts. He feels lighter.

-

Cale sits on the love seat in his room as he waits for Ohn to re-emerge from the bathroom. Recently, he had returned from a visit to the capitol with plenty of souvenirs in tow for the children. He'd invited them to go with him, but the two kittens had chosen to remain at the villa, deeply invested in the new training regimen assigned to them by the Molrans. Raon, on the other hand, practically threw himself into Cale's arms and asked when they would depart.

The door opens a crack and only a sliver of the girl's face visible through it, "It looks kind of weird..."

"Do you want to show me?" He asks, patiently waiting for her response. The door is pulled open and Ohn steps out, shy and unsure as her fingers tangle in the sides of her pants.

"It's not weird at all," Cale says, "I think it suits you, Ohn."

The silver haired girl had a silky white blouse, the front of it adorned with carefully draped frills. The sleeves were long, leading to lace detailed cuffs. This was paired with a dark brown pair of slacks that had thin, silver pin stripes running parallel to each other in vertical lines. Ohn had shown interest in fashion recently, but had grumbled about how a lot of the clothing designs were always too much for her liking and too bulky to fight in. Cale had chosen the fabric of this simple outfit with the help of a tailor on the second day of his stay in the capitol, and he really hoped that he liked it. If not, then they could go together next time.

"Really? You think so?" Ohn looks at him, her eyes dazzling as she sought out more reassurance.

"Yes," He says, standing up from his seat. With a hand on her shoulder, he guided her towards a full body mirror so that she could get another look, "I think you look great, don't you agree?"

This time, Ohn looks more confident in her answer as she nods.

"She's getting so big," He whispers to himself, watching as she darts out of the bedroom to go show the others, "My beautiful, beautiful girl." 

-

It was a little after 3 in the afternoon, but after having an impromptu picnic with the kids and Rosalyn, Cale was hit with a wave of drowsiness. Today, it was a beautiful day where the temperature was just warm enough to feel like being wrapped in a toasty blanket. Even Raon, who would usually be full of energy, fell victim to the cozy lull, so he took the dragon into his arms and made his way back to the bedroom. Now, Cale laid with Raon comfortably tucked in his arms. A gentle breeze caressed the sheer curtains, moving in closer to tickle his skin.

Raon was heavy on his chest and now his size was about to match the length of Cale's torso. He's also grown a lot since the time they met, and Cale is so proud of him. The pride and warmth swarms in his chest like a restless hive of bees, leaving him buzzing with too much affection to contain.

Cale lightly blows at the dragon's face, who in turn, shifts to burrow deeper into arms, away from Cale's breath. He’s out like a light already, and knowing that no one was listening fed the secure feeling in Cale’s chest.

"I'm so proud of you, you know?" He says softly, "My strong, brave dragon..."

Lightly, he drags a finger across Raon's back, tracing along the edges of the black scales. "I love how your brilliant, blue eyes are so full of life," Cale murmurs, pressing a kiss to Raon's forehead. So different from his own, he thinks.

A sputtering rumble comes from the dragon's chest, and Cale is rolling over so that Raon's head is cushioned by his arm instead. He falls asleep easily with Raon in his arms.

-

What nearly gets him caught is when he’s so overcome with the need to thank Ron for all he’s done for him. 

Cale had been holed up in the library for almost the entirety of the day so far, his nose stuck between the fluttering pages of countless novels. It wasn’t a shock that the butler would come check up on him when he lost track of that much time. A soft knock came from the doorway, drawing his attention to Ron, who easily balanced a tray of refreshments in his one hand. 

“Young master,” The butler frowned ever so slightly, his tone chiding, “Have you been so busy that you need to neglect your own needs?”

It’s a light scolding that he’s not quite used to yet, but it’s so warm and comforting even though the smallest part of him feels a bit embarrassed. Maybe it’s the direct show of care that has that part of him shying away. 

“Ah,” He replies dumbly. The book is plucked from his hands to be placed face down on the table and then the space in front of him is taken up by the tray of snacks.

“Knowing you, you’d probably end up forgetting dinner as well if not reminded,” Ron sighs good naturedly. The tray is made up of the cookies Cale loves, neatly cut up fruit, a glass of lemonade, and a halved sandwich.

The fluttering warmth returns full force, swelling his heart until it felt like he was about to burst, so he lets it out. His words stream out like a whispered prayer of thanks, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, so thank you. Thank you so much for all your hard work and thank you for always remaining by myself from the moment I woke up here.” 

Maybe this was dumb on his part because instead of the ease he felt after speaking his mind, he freezes up. Ron, who was already halfway out of the door, stops mid step and turns back to face him. Curiosity and fondness fills his features, “Is there so much on our young master’s mind that it spills out? What’re you thinking about?”

(Ron just had to ask. How could he not when Cale’s muttering was laced with so much fondness that he could make it out even through the barrier of the foreign language). 

“Nothing,” Cale quickly schools his expression, “I was just thinking about the novel I was reading.”

Ron lets out a hum, but he doesn’t quite look convinced. He turns to leave anyway and the door closes behind him with a soft click.

(Although Cale was skilled at masking his thoughts, he could not stop the way the tips of his ears reddened at the sudden attention. It was cute, but Ron knew when to stop pressing). 

-

No matter how many times he’s experienced it, eating together with his family always managed to leave him with a sense of awe. Cale sat in his seat, silently gazing around the lively room. The long table that he had once considered over the top and unnecessary, was filled with all the people he’s grown to love. Vicross, though seated, reached over to slice chicken and distribute to the trio, piling the meat up high to ensure they would be full. Rosalyn’s features held a teasing smile and she lightly elbowed at Choi Han’s side, and Lark’s face took on a pinkish hue. Eruhaben and Ron were engaged in a conversation, each one elegantly cutting into their own meals. 

This was something Cale was grateful for. This was something that filled him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he would be able to experience. If he could help it, Cale would make sure that nothing would be able to take this away from him.

(Even if it meant bleeding himself dry, Cale wanted to protect this). 

One day, Cale hopes that he will be able to tell them how much he loves them, but for now, he’ll have to stick with his one-sided confessions. 

“I love you.”