#she thinks the teams are countries 💀

[darththrog]

My grandma's watching the match with me. She's worried about the players running so fast all the time. She's asking if they could rest for a while 😭

[diorsluv]

casual , part 11

“ but we’re ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by luca.fantilli, rutgermcgroarty, and 111,103 others

yourusername ur favs are back 😈😈

tagged: luca.fantilli, rutgermcgroarty, markestapa, edwards.73, vivianliu

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username10 aww this is my fav type of post

username1 BUBBLES

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_alexturcotte 1/3 of these pics have some sort of suffocation going on… are you guys okay

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username46 wheres my girl vivi 😔😔

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username21 the chaos is so endearing

_quinnhughes i thought u said vivian wasn’t going with u guys

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trevorzegras you need to invite me

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username39 when do i get a friend group like this 😕

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markestapa ngl that card game was fire

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→ markestapa LMFAO

luca.fantilli we never hang out anymore 😔

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rutgermcgroarty you have no good photos of me do you…

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adamfantilli the shoe game is fire

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username71 it’s so cute how ur always together

edwards.73 stop teaming up with rut when we play card games

→ yourusername but you and i always compete against each other

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→ edwards.73 well maybe i wanna change our thing

→ luca.fantilli not possible bro u can’t change a “thing”

username93 luca, rut n mark r dressed up as powerpuff girls like TELL ME IM WRONG

lhughes_06 i don’t like this horsing around mess

→ yourusername stop speaking like an old man for the love of god you’re TWENTY.

→ lhughes_06 respect your elders

→ yourusername oh lukey it’s funny that you think i would

mackie.samo i shouldn’t have left i miss you

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→ yourusername we miss you too ☹️

rutgermcgroarty

liked by colecaufield, yourusername, and 100,004 others

rutgermcgroarty its national best friend day look its my best friend

tagged: yourusername

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yourusername it’s not national best friend day 😑

→ rutgermcgroarty then its my national best friend day

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→ rutgermcgroarty its an appreciation post 😕

→ yourusername rut sweetie i know u appreciate me u tell me every day

→ rutgermcgroarty NO I DONT

→ yourusername okay you show me every day

→ rutgermcgroarty WHY WONT U LET ME APPRECIATE U

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→ rutgermcgroarty whats stopping him from posting an appreciation post

adamfantilli ok whats the likelihood of him actually posting an appreciation post LMFAOO

→ rutgermcgroarty 0.0001%

username29 ooooo the bf’s getting called out

username27 AWW THE CREEPER HATS

username18 minecraft besties so aesthetic

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markestapa the way she’s barely at your shoulders LMAOOO

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→ dylanduke25 or maybe she’s 4’6 💀

username14 guys what if the bf posts her but it isn’t ethan

→ username68 i’d cry

luca.fantilli best friends but u dont even have pics of her 🙄

→ rutgermcgroarty real best friends got no pics of each other 😔😔

→ luca.fantilli i have pics of u???

→ rutgermcgroarty but we’re men

→ yourusername isnt it supposed to be the other way around??

edwards.73 ik what ur tryna do

→ rutgermcgroarty do u tho?

_alexturcotte deliberate beef (?)

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→ markestapa you can’t just say perchance.

→ mackie.samo you can’t just say perchance!

→ dylanduke25 YOU CAN’T JUST SAY PERCHANCE.

→ adamfantilli YOU CAN’T JUST SAY PERCHANCE!

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→ yourusername god what is this nonsense

lhughes_06 mhm 🤨

→ rutgermcgroarty i thought u supported my aspirations

→ lhughes_06 mhmm 🤨🤨

username45 are u trying to make ethan jealous

username89 one day they’re gonna get into an actual fist fight

next chapter notes ) so… i was going back over old chapters of feather and i realized they used to be SO short??? like why did i suddenly start making everything longer but for the sake of the plot and my sanity i’m ACTUALLY going to be reverting to my old ways this time (not lying!!!!) and it’ll be easier for me to get chapters out 😭

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust @alwaysclassyeagle @love4ldr @inhoodmood @bunting58 @crazycat-ladys-blog @smoooore @bunbunbl0gs @lilasianmeat

[illubean]

Valorant Protocol as Highschool Stereotypes

Characters: Chamber, Gekko, Iso, Jett, Killjoy, Neon, Phoenix, Raze, Sage, Skye, Viper, Yoru Type: Headcanons

HAHA help me valorant brainrot >.< also this is based off of my hs experience soooo yeah

Warnings: none

Chamber

your typical pretty boy

all the girls love him all the boys hate him

well...most of the girls love him

they follow him around to classes or offer him gifts or ask to sit with him at lunch etc.

and he eats up the attention every time

he's lab partners with Viper in Environmental Sciences and he likes trying to flirt with her

she actually hates him btw

Gekko

canonically he skateboards

but honestly? I can see him being on the dance team

he's so high energy, he needs some sort of outlet

he never misses an opportunity to show off his dance moves

homecoming? prom? he is the center of the dance circle

like Raze, he doesn't know how popular he is

he's just happy to have so many good friends that it doesn't even actually occur to him that he's considered "popular"

Iso

he's an ap art kid

like he walks around with a big ass sketchbook every day

always talking about his portfolio

Iso baby ily but please shut the fuck up about oil paints <3

he probably volunteered part of his summer break to come in and paint a mural for the school

I think he'd also take a piano class as like a schedule filler but he actually gets crazy good at it

Jett

pe tryhard

if you end up on the opposite team as her while playing dodge ball good luck 😓

she's always picked as team captain because literally no one else is excited as she is

she's sorta like Hairo from Saiki K 💀

she gets a lil mad when her teammates don't try

Killjoy

she's in robotics club

she's not very popular but that doesn't bother her at all

she heads straight to and from every class and spends her lunch period in the workshop unless Raze drags her off somewhere

not a lot of people actually know who she is, and if they do they just know her as 'Raze's Friend'

i think she'd remind the teacher about the homework and hit you with the "erm actually 🤓" tbh

Neon

she's on track and field/cross country

after every meet you can find her laying on the floor somewhere ready to puke bc she tries so hard to win 😭

she always ends up top 5 tho

she complains about practice but joins the team every year anyways

she carries her bag around all the time and if you open it there's like 10 water bottles in there

#hydratedqueen

Phoenix

theater kid DUHH

he's probably drama club president or sumn

bro will NOT let go of a specific song from a musical he was in his freshman year and it wasn't even his song 💀

he's been in every show every year and somehow he manages to land every role he wants

he's insanely good at the game 'bang' (mostly because he's louder than everyone else...)

he probably plans/hosts the cast parties too

Raze

she doesn't care much about her grades

she does the bare minimum and gets straight Cs

she's just here to have fun

everyone likes her because of her approachable personality

she doesn't think she's popular but she is

Sage

she's in the medical assistant class

she takes it very seriously, as she plans on going to medical school

even before taking the class she carries a first aid kit and other essentials everywhere she goes

you need a bandaid? ibuprofen? a pad or tampon? she has it all

she's also ASB president

school events literally would not be able to run without her

lets just say her college applications/resume will look REALLY good...

Skye

she also took medical assistant but was less crazy about it than Sage

she just follows her friend's lead

she thinks the skills are useful but she doesn't see herself making it her career

but also I think she would play volleyball

she's a well rounded player but specializes most in defense

still, don't underestimate her bc this girl can SPIKE

Viper

she took every ap science class offered without taking the general ones first

she complains about getting any grade below an A...

"What are you talking about? That test was easy"

sorry not everyone is as smart as you Sabine 😑

she spends all her free time at chem tutoring (even though she doesn't need it)

Yoru

he thinks he looks cool and mysterious when he walks down the halls but he doesn't

everyone just thinks his mad all the time and stay out of his way 😭

randos try to pick fights with him bc he "looked at them wrong" (Yoru wins every time)

he's not exactly a 'quiet kid' but he does lay low when it comes to the social part of school

despite his 'bad boy' look, he has pretty good grades

he's also probably one of those guys that a handful of girls have a crush on but he has no idea

[szasfuckingwife]

SHAWTY FUCK WIT’ ME CUZ SHE KNOW I’M POPULAR

RICHBOY!EREN YEAGER X RICHGIRL!READER

WARNINGS: Smut, car sex, Jean tryna sabotage eren and y/n, swearing, weed, jealous sex, Jealous eren

SYNOPSIS: You and Eren have started your relationship and have become exclusive, but when Jean finds out, he decides that he wants you for himself..

A/N: I wanted to release this on the day i hit 1k but it’s cool💀 I made two drafts for pt 2, this and one and another one where eren invited Y/n over for dinner at his parents and she meets zeke. I dunno if i like this draft as much but I decided to release it cuz car sex wit eren???

This is pt2 of Soundgasm

It’s been months, and in those months , you’ve spent them with Eren. Yes, it was semi fucking, semi talking but it was with Eren nonetheless. Of course, you didn’t want to make it obvious to your parents that you were seeing someone- if you can even call it that. But, if you had the choice, you’d chill with Eren everyday.

Yet again, you were at the country club. Except this time, you were more than happy. Mainly due to Eren being behind you, holding your hands as you held the club. You swore that Eren couldn’t distract you when you were golfing and he put you to the test.

You couldn’t stop giggling as he kissed your neck and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Eren, you’re gonna make me miss it.”

“I thought you were the best golfer here?”, he put his cap on your head. His head was definitely bigger than yours. Despite that, he found it cute how it looked on you.

However, inside the country club building, a tall brunette stared at the touchy scene in front of him. It was his friend - or more frenemie - kissing on some girl. He’s seen you before from time to time. Jealousy didn’t show on his face but he was definitely feeling it inside.

“Jean, bro…is that Eren?” Connie, another teenager asked Jean. You’ve met Connie before, he’s a little to weird for you and quite literally the definition of ‘spoiled brat’. Splashing his parents cash as if it was spare change.

Jean nodded, “Who’s the girl?”

“That’s Y/N. I didn’t know they were close like that.” Connie raised a brow, scratching his bald head.

“I didn’t know that there was a ‘they’ anyway…” Jean muttered, pulling down his Cartier aviators.

You see, Jean didn’t love Eren. Yeah, that was his friend from middle school. And yes, they’d had a happy friendship until they grew into teenagers. Jean thought Eren would stay on the hockey team, like he promised. And when Eren turned around and joined the basketball team, getting all these offers angered Jean.

Not enough for Jean to be praying on Erens downfall, but enough for Jean to think that maybe, just maybe, you’d be happier with him.

When you guys finished golfing, Eren took you over to the bar, paying for both of your drinks. “You gonna come to my game this Saturday?”

“I haven’t missed one this season..” You smiled at him, causing butterflies to float in his stomach. “I don’t see why I’d miss this one.”

Eren loved when you came to his games. You were his motivation. Yeah, because he didn’t want to lose and embarrass himself in front of the girl he was so close calling his girlfriend. But, seeing your smile after scoring was enough for him.

“I’ll see if coach can get you better seats this time. What did your parents think of the last game-” “Eren!”

When you looked behind him, you saw three people walk up to you. Constance, who you’ve met, was smiling, dressed in a large, navy blue varsity jacket with a white hoodie underneath and the same coloured cargoes.

There was a brown haired girl, who you haven’t met. She wore a casual lilac summer dress with her hair up in a ponytail. Her eyes were huge, in a cute way. She smiled at you, her cheeks rosy and round.

The guy in the middle of them was the tallest out of the three of them, he may be taller than Eren. There were striking similarities between the two however. For starters, they were both tall, brunettes, pretty eyes. He wore a tight long sleeved white top and some joggers. There was no doubt about it, he was definitely intimidating but weirdly, he wore a smile on his face.

“You didn’t tell me you’ve got a girl..” The taller boy wrapped his arm around Erens neck. You saw him put a little bit of pressure as Eren began chuckling. “All grown up now, huh?”

“Shut up, Jean..” Eren responded, smiling after seeing his best friend. “Y/N, this is Jean, Sasha and Connie.”

They all smiled at you and you gave one back. “Connie? Is that a nickname?” You asked.

“Don’t tell me he gave you that bullshit about his name being Constance.” Jean cackled, his friend’s cheek going red with embarrassment. “It’s a name his grandma gave him and she’s the only reason why he can call himself a quarter Dominican.”

Connie barked out insults at Jean earning a few heads to turn towards your group at the bar. You all continued to laugh. Jean especially payed close attention to your smile and how pretty it looked.

After you all had your drinks, you all chose to chill outside, soaking up in the sun. A conversation had already begun but, it was mainly Jean giving Eren shit.

“I told you if you stayed doing hockey, we would’ve made it big.” Jean sighed as Eren rolled his eyes for the nth time.

“You do hockey?” You ask.

He smiles at your curiosity, “Yeah, I do. Our team are on our third championship and hopefully, getting our fourth by next Friday.”

Eren watches as Jean continues to babble about hockey. He sees the face he makes. That one face where he seems unbothered but Jean’s really trying to impress you.

“I see you do golf. Well, we all did this morning.” As Jean spoke, Connie held back laughter, disguising it with a cough. Sasha seemed to be confused to and nudged Connie, hoping he’d tell her.

It took a few minutes before you realised they probably saw you and Eren playing together. A shy laugh leaves your mouth, “It was just practice. Eren’s a little rusty…”

“Oh, he’s rusty in golf too? He was rusty in the court too is what I’m hearing.” The table falls into silence after Jeans dig at Eren. You fear Eren will retaliate, cause a scene. But all Eren does is chuckle as he eats the last of his sorbet.

“Who you hearin that from?” Eren asked.

“People in your team, Yeager.” Jean smirks.

The tension that was now at your table couldn’t even be cut with a knife, it’d need something much greater. You can barely hear anyone breathe let alone talk.

You look at Eren, attempting to get him to look at you back but, he doesn’t

However, Connie clears his throat after a few seconds of silence, “Well, Eren I know you have a game on Saturday which is why I’m being so generous and throwing a party on Sunday. And of course, Y/n and yourself are invited.”

It took a lot of convincing from you in order for Eren to say yes to going to Connie’s party. He was filled with excuses, ‘i’ll be too tired from the game’ and ‘Connies parties are too much’. But once he heard you say you wanted to go so you can meet his friends, he knew it was just out of the kindness of your heart.

So, on Sunday, Eren picks you up in his Mercedes - what he didn’t mention was that he begged his father to give him the car so he could impress you.

It did kinda hurt when you didn’t gawk at his car but he didn’t mind it. Maybe you just weren’t impressed by material items.

When he pulled up to Connies house, you were both immediately met with a loud bass that shook the whole neighbourhood. Eren sighed before walking into the house, he wasn’t a frequent party guy but he enjoyed them.

As soon as you walked in, the smell of weed and alcohol met your nostrils. Random people were all over each other, kissing, grinding or shotgunning. Eren made sure your hand was in his at all times, he didn’t want one of these weirdos talking to you.

“I-Is that Eren Yeager?!” Connie walked up to the two of you with open arms. It took you by surprise how he hugged the both of you. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t want to.” Eren muttered.

“Your house is beautiful, Connie. Why would your parents let you do this?” You chuckled.

You saw Connie’s eyes shift left and right before he shrugged. “They don’t know.” He saw your mouth open as you were about to say something. “And they don’t need to know.”

You sighed before Connie asked if you guys wanted any drinks and went to go get you something. Eren said something but due to the very loud music drowning him out, you replied with a “What?!”.

“Come dance!” He said. “Need to let everyone know you’re mine..”

A smirk grew on your face as you realised what this all was about. “Is Eren Yeager jealous?”

Eren quickly looked away. He doesn’t get jealous, mainly because he’s used to getting what he wants when he wants. And God help whoever tries to take that away from him.

After Connie came back with drinks, you let loose. The alcohol made you less reserved, causing you to start new conversations with randoms around the house.

Eren doesn’t usually dance but when he felt you grind against his crotch, Eren suddenly felt some rhythm in his legs. It was almost like you were right back on the field having him help you practice with golf.

This scene was a little more intimate and a little more risqué. His hot breath hit your neck before he kissed it. You felt his strong hands grip on your hips subtly moving your hips to where he wanted them.

It was getting way too hot. You turned around and looked at him in the eye. His pretty eyes were lidded as he looked down at you. The corner of his lips were curled up into a grin, he wanted to kiss you so bad.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You whisper into his ear. “Afterwards, I want you to take me somewhere - anywhere - and fuck me…”

Eren watched as you walked away so innocently. Sweetly asking Connie where’s the bathroom and politely asking people to excuse you.

He’d fulfil your wish.

Unexpectedly, you were met with a long queue to Connies bathroom. You weren’t even sure if some of the people in the line were even there to go to the bathroom but rather for a quickie.

“I know he doesn’t know you that well but Connie really made you use this bathroom…?” A low voice spoke behind you. When you turned around, Jean stood with a grin plastered on his face.

You chuckle, “There’s another bathroom?”

Jean puts his index finger by his lips, “Don’t tell everyone.” He whispers causing you to giggle. “It’s his parent’s on suite. Come, I’ll take you.”

Nothing was stopping you from following him. You were desperate for the toilet and the quicker you can do your business, the quicker you can get back to Eren.

Jean opens the door, holding it open for you to pass.

“That one…” He points at the door and you thank him before running to the bathroom. You finish your business and look in the mirror to take a good look at your appearance.

All that dancing had done something to your make up. You chuckle as you notice how your eye bags seemed slightly darker from your mascara and how your lip gloss was slightly smudged.

Once you leave the bathroom, you were met with Jean sitting on Connie’s parent bed, lighting a blunt. His eyes were on you as he placed it in between his lips.

“You’re gonna get Connie in trouble when his parents come home and their bed smells like weed..” You chuckle, finding a place on the bed to sit.

He shrugs, “The windows are up. Besides, they love me. I’m like the golden child in their eyes.”

You chuckle. The atmosphere was strange. Jean seemed like a chill guy but he was definitely arrogant in some way. All thoughts left your mind, however, when Jean took the blunt out of his lips and passed it to you.

“Nah, I don’t..smoke..” You smiled. “You shouldn’t either, Mr championship hockey player. It’s bad for your lungs and shit.”

He shakes his head grinning. “I don’t do it often. It’s just tonight, I wanna relax.”

“You better not do it often. When you make it big, it might be detrimental.” You mutter. Jean sees the way you play with your fingers and he can’t tell if you’re nervous or if that’s a habit.

Whatever it is, it’s cute.

“When I make it big, huh? What makes you think I’ll make it big?” He asks, he moves himself slightly closer to you but not too close where you’re uncomfortable.

You look at him. “You have an athlete persona. And, the way you were making it sound in the country club, you were destined for greatness.”

Jean shrugs, as if he doesn’t care. But he’s smiling in his head because he knows he’ll make it big. All the offers and scholarships piled at his front door aren’t just imaginary.

“Nah..” Jean chuckles. “I been playin since I could walk it feels like. My mom…she wasn’t filthy rich when I was born so it was hard to get me lessons. But when she slowly became richer, I’ve been at the top of my game. I owe it all to her, really.”

A smile adorns your face as you hear him talk about his mother. “How about you? I hear you do…golf?”

You then go on to ramble how you’ve been playing golf for a little over ten years now and how everyone thinks it’s boring, but it’s fun for you.

“And, you teaching Eren how to golf now?” He looks at you smugly. Something was telling you that Eren would be brought up. “He never seemed that interested before he met you I assume.”

You shrug, “He’s…good. But yeah, basketball is his thing. Golf is definitely mine.” You chuckle but Jean doesn’t. He just grins, and looks away.

The room falls silent as Jean continues to smoke, “You like him?”

The question almost catches you off guard, was it not clear in the country club?, “Yeah…I really do. He’s been great.”

Your answer leaves Jean a little more jealous than he should be. However, he does nothing but chuckle. “I’ve seen this happen so many times, y’know?”

“Seen what happen?”

He looks at you, blankly, “Eren gets a girl to fall in love with him and in the end, he leaves them for dust. It’s happened to that girl, Historia? Don’t know if you know her?”

Jean knew that what he was saying was a lie. Well, it was a half lie. Eren and Historia briefly dated and it was a very nasty break up. It was filled with toxicity from both parties and the relationship would’ve rot had it continued. But that was Eren’s first toxic relationship.

Ask any of his previous girlfriends, apart from Historia, they’d tell you that he was the one that got away.

“No..No, I don’t.” You answer. Was everything Eren told you a lie? Like how he’s never felt like this about anyone? Was it all just bullshit?

The conversation that was ahead didn’t appeal to you, so you stood from the bed. “Thanks for the conversation, Jean. It was nice getting to know you.”

He stands too, “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said all that about Eren. It’s none of my business…It’s the weed talkin..”

“No, you might’ve just opened my eyes a little.” You sigh, walking to leave the bedroom.

When you open the door, you were met with those same pretty eyes you’d been looking at for months. He looks at you, then behind you to see Jean. You can see him mentally try to connect the dots, but it’s too late. It didn’t help that your lip gloss was smudged.

“Eren..” You say, before he storms away.

You follow Eren outside as he marches back to his car. Obviously, from his perspective, he’s seen the girl he likes and his friend in a room that smells of weed. And, your lip gloss smudged.

But you have questions of your own. “Eren, stop..”

“Just get in the car, I’ll drop you home.” He sighs as he opens his side of the car. Normally, he’d walk over and open your door first. But he’s mad, furious.

The car ride starts off silent. Well, for the most part. The roading chants from Connie’s house echo throughout the driveway.

“Did you make out with him? Or fuck him?” He asks, like it’s an ordinary question.

You look at him in disbelief, “You’re not serious..”

“What? I’m seeing my girl and my friend in a room, what am I supposed to think?” He scoffs.

In any other situation, the way Eren called you ‘my girl’ would make your cheeks grow warm. But now is not the time, “I can’t speak to one of your friends?”

“Was that you were doing?” Eren asks sarcastically.

“Yeah, it was. And the things he told me about you surprised me the most.” You scoff back at him before crossing your arms and staring out the window.

Eren stays silent for a second, “What’d he say?”

“We talked about Historia. And how that and every other relationship you’ve had was toxic as hell.”

If Eren wasn’t driving, he’d snap his head to look at you in total disbelief. What Eren were you guys talking about? Because it surely isn’t Eren Yeager.

The same Eren Yeager who picked flowers from his mothers flowerbed to give to his first girlfriend before she cheated on him? Or the same Eren Yeager who was left soaked after giving girlfriend no.2 his jacket when it was raining like crazy?

“Y/N, I know you’re smart, c’mon..” He sighs. “He’s only saying that so you look at me differently.”

“And why would he-” “Because he’s attracted to you, Y/N!” He says, at this point he’s beyond annoyed. Finding out Jean was trying to jeopardise his new relationship was enough, but finding out you believed him?! Icing on the cake.

Once Eren says those words, it’s like everything clicked for you. That’s why he threw shade at eren at the country club.

“Ask any ex of mine, I was nothing but good to them..” Eren sighs. “Historia…Historia was the only toxic one. She cheated first, then I cheated. And yeah, I regret it. But…I was hurt.”

You look at him, full of regret. “I’m…I’m sorry, for not believing you..”

He shakes his head. “It’s whatever.”

The rest of the car ride is silent before Eren stops at a red light. You can tell this whole situation has pissed him off. But, there’s nothing you can do to regain his trust.

“One question, though..” Eren muttered. You turned to look at him straight away.

“You didn’t fuck him?”

You sighed, smiling slightly. “No, Eren. I barely even looked at him.”

“Good.” He turned into a car park and parked there. “Come ride me..”

The casualness in which he said that surprised you. But, it was the least you could do. Awkwardly, you made your way to sit on his lap.

Eren grabbed the back of your neck and pushed your face towards his, inviting you into a lengthy and sloppy kiss. His anger was radiating from the kiss alone as his other hand began to grab your ass from behind.

You felt his pull your skirt up slightly so he could grab your panties. That’s when you heard a loud rip. You immediately felt the absence of your panties but you didn’t care. For now, all that mattered was making him feel good.

“Eren..I want you..” Eren smiled into the kiss after hearing your words. His hands went down to his joggers, pulling them down so his dick sprung out.

It was hard and throbbing against you. “Maybe we should argue more often.” He smiled at you, before kissing you again.

The feeling if Eren’s cock sliding in between your folds made you crazy. You wanted nothing but for him to thrust inside you, but you knew that you couldn’t be too impatient.

“This is what you wanted, hm? Talking to my friends, tryna get me jealous so I could fuck you like a whore, huh?” He whispered in your ear. You didn’t answer, the feeling of Eren against you making you unable to form words. “Answer me, Y/N.”

You nod, biting your lip. Suddenly, you feel a sharp slap on your bare ass. “Y/N, you’ve been pissing me off all night, use your words.”

“Yes!” You whimper. “I just wanted you to fuck me..”

Eren knows that was the case all along. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have grind on him like no one was watching.

Finally, Eren pushes his cock inside you. You gasp at the feeling, gripping onto his shoulders tightly. Eren smirks as your hips begin to rock, slowly but it feels amazing.

A string of moans leave your plump lips. Eren groans at the way your pussy tightens around him ever so slightly. “You’re fucking mine, okay?”

You nod again, forgetting how Eren wants you to speak. He thrusts up into you roughly, earning a loud moan from you. His strokes are quick and satisfying. You feel like you’re gonna cum before he abruptly stops.

“Ren..” You whine.

“You want me to fuck you like that? Then, fucking speak when I’m talking to you.” His voice is low as he tells you what he wants.

You begin to bounce on his cock. Obviously, it’s quite cramped because cars aren’t made for sex. But you make it work. Eren’s hands grip tightly on your hips as you speed up.

And Eren so badly wants to rip your shirt to see your beautiful boobs. But he knows hes dropping you back to your parents.

So, he settles for pulling up your top, exposing your tits. He greedily sucks and kisses all over them. If your mind wasn’t already scrambled by his dick, this would send you.

“Eren, fuck..feels too good..” You whimper.

He notices you slowing down and slaps your ass again, “Don’t slow down. You were talking all that shit earlier, like you know shit..”

A whine leaves your mouth again as you try to bounce on his cock as feverishly as you did before. But you just don’t have that much energy.

“You need some help, huh?” He asks and you mewl out a small, ‘please’.

Immediately, you feel Eren snap his hips up into you, fucking you hard and deep. You lose your breath for a second before gnashing your teeth down on your lip, attempting to muffle your moans.

His lips are back on your tits and then they travel up to your neck, hard enough to leave marks. You try to stop him, realising that if your parents see a hickey, they’d be angry as hell. But, all efforts are futile.

“You gonna speak to Jean again?” He says, breathlessly.

“N-No!”

His hands slap your ass a few more times, “I know, baby. Because you’re mine, hm? These tits are mine, this pussy is mine, yeah?”

You nod, this time Eren doesn’t care because he so close to cumming. “You’re about to make me come, baby. I can feel you’re close.”

“I’m so fucking close, Ren..” You hug him as he fucks you even more faster than he did before. Eren groans out a ‘Fuck!’ before you cum all over him, causing him to cum too.

The car smells like pure sex as you and Eren try to regain your breath. He looks up at you and kisses you. It’s a softer kiss but it still sends butterflies to your stomach.

“Be my girlfriend.” He mutters in between kisses.

You look at him and smile. “I’d be honoured..”

[fizzydrink698]

conflict, conceal, confess | minho

kinktober day 31: thigh-riding

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 18.1k (💀)

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, (modern!consort au)

warnings: sexual content (thigh-riding, oral sex, fingering, handjob, marking, a whole lot of smut honestly, like 6k words of it), swearing, an ungodly amount of academia

summary:

“Why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard. “Truce?”

“Yeah. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again?”

“Your brother is such an asshole.”

You wondered how many of your conversations with Felix had started with those exact words. In the years since childhood, there had probably been countless variations of this very situation: you collapsing into a seat near Felix, ready to unleash after biting your tongue for however many hours beforehand.

His reaction was second nature at this point. Without even glancing towards you, Felix paused in the middle of rolling out what looked to be shortbread dough and turned to switch on the coffeemaker. “What is it this time?”

“Do you remember how many new people signed up to debate at the start of the year? Had to be at least twenty, right? Maybe thirty?”

“At least thirty,” Felix confirmed. “I gave out blondies to every person that signed up. The entire pan was gone in like an hour.”

Yes, you remembered that day. Specifically, you remembered Felix holding up the empty pan with a big smile on his face and proudly declaring how many people had shown interest in joining. And you’d had to figure out how to politely break it to him that the hordes of first-year students walking back and forth in front of his table were eyeing a little more than just his baked goods.

Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.

“Guess how many are left,” you challenged him, eager to prove a point.

Felix frowned, thinking it over. “There were still about fifteen when I was last there. So, ten?”

“Six,” you exclaimed, balling your hand into a fist and planting it onto the tabletop for dramatic effect. “And Minho made one of them cry today.”

In just a few years, you and Minho had transformed your university’s debate team into one of the most successful in the country. You’d won awards, you’d attended international competitions, you’d gained notice from several notable figures in academia. Membership of the debate team had gone from a minor footnote you’d discard in an application to a badge of prestige, of recognised talent.

Minho’s standards were high, shockingly so, but he got results. As a second-in-command in all but name, it was usually up to you to run damage control, to nudge members towards persevering instead of walking out the door. The good cop to his bad cop, the carrot to his stick. You’d be tempted to call it exhausting, were it not for the undeniable rush of satisfaction whenever you succeeded in building up a member where Minho failed.

Lately, however, your efforts were starting to fall short. In just eight weeks, over twenty recruits had quit before team selections had even finished.

“Oh, jeez,” Felix muttered. Before he could say anything more, the coffeemaker chirped behind him, and he wasted no time pouring you the biggest cup he had lying around.

You motioned it over with greedy little grabby-hands, accepting it with a smile.

Felix returned to his shortbread dough and picked up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “Why did they cry?”

You made a vaguely displeased noise through a mouthful of coffee, only managing to word a response when you set the mug down. “I don’t even know. This week’s debate was on the ethics of nuclear power, and I could tell she took pretty much all her talking points from Wikipedia. I assume it was about that. Minho probably got all Minho about it and tore her to shreds.”

Felix paused. You wondered if it was just because he was concentrating on his cookies, until you realised he was hesitating. “…I don’t know. I know Minho takes this stuff seriously, but he’s not the kind of guy to make some poor kid cry over debating.”

“Why not?“ You asked, and you can’t stop the bitterness creeping out into your voice. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

“Oh…” Felix said, eyes widening in realisation. He lifted his head up to look at you, sympathetic. “Shit, yeah. I’m sorry.”

For the most part, you’d gotten over your experience in high school debate club, but the memories still stung a little.

You’d been so eager, signing up the very second you were eligible, talking Felix’s ear off about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. You’d known that Felix’s older brother - a year ahead of you - was somewhat of a big deal in the club, and you’d maybe imagined him taking you under his wing. Looking out for you, encouraging you with gentle feedback and a warm smile.

You’d gone into your first debate, attempted to expand upon the few points you’d known about the topic, and shyly waited for Minho’s counterarguments.

He had stepped up to the microphone, levelled you with a blank stare, and eviscerated every single argument you’d made. Pointed out every logical fallacy, every gap in your research, every misspoken or poorly worded statement, everything. He’d cut you right to the bone, with zero mercy.

You spent the rest of the club meeting holding back tears, ran all the way to Felix’s house as soon as it was over, sobbing your eyes out – and actually, maybe that was the first of many “your brother is an asshole” exchanges.

Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.

When Minho returned home about a half-hour after you, you’d stormed into his room and demanded to know why he would treat you so badly. Did he want to drive you away from the club? Did he secretly hate you this whole time?

You’d never forget his response. The shrug he gave you, the arch of one eyebrow as he took in the sight of you, burning with rage, fists clenched by your side. The fucking sigh.

I just thought you’d do better than that.

What a fucking thing to say to a fourteen-year-old. Especially one that looked up to him the way you did.

And, deep-down, there was a certain sting that accompanied his words. Something you could never bring yourself to admit out loud, not even to Felix. An extra flash of pain, because back then you’d…

Whatever. It was ancient history.

You had almost quit on the spot. Instead, you dove headfirst into researching the next week’s topic, determined to beat him, paranoid about every little mistake he might pick at.

And that…

Well, that was your life for the next nine years. Even that one blissful year when Minho had graduated, the year you’d taken over as head of debate club, the year you’d gotten your team all the way to nationals - he still didn’t leave you in peace.

He’d turned up to that final competition, gaze intense, face neutral. You’d spotted him in the audience, unable to tear your eyes away, watching every little twitch of his jaw, every tiny shift in expression, and knew he was picking apart your arguments. Waiting for you to trip up and fail in front of everyone.

It felt like a glorious ‘fuck you’ when your team won that year. You’d held that trophy, looked right into Minho’s eyes, and wanted to scream ‘I fucking told you so’ right in his smug face.

Ugh. Asshole.

“It’s all in the past,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug it off.

Taking another swig of coffee, you reached over and poked Felix’s shoulder, grinning.

“And besides…Minho isn’t the one coming with me to the U.N. next month.”

“Next month,” Felix repeated, slightly in awe, matching your excitement and then some. “Holy shit, it’s so soon.”

It was. In just a few weeks’ time, you’d be standing in front of a U.N. committee giving a speech on commitment to environmental preservation with your best friend by your side. You’d worked for this for months, years even. And you’d be doing it together.

“I’m afraid I have bad news about the U.N. speech.”

You sat there, horrified, as your supervisor – Dr. Koning – shuffled the papers on his desk with a grave expression. “What? What happened? Don’t tell me it’s cancelled.”

“It’s not cancelled,” Dr. Koning said, before pausing. “…But it has been postponed. Certain recent global events have pushed it further down the agenda. The speech will happen next January.”

“January?” You repeated, and horror quickly dawned on you. “No, wait. Felix can’t do January. He’s studying abroad next semester. There has to be some other…”

“I’m afraid there’s not. I’ve tried to speak to the few contacts I have, but changing the agenda of the United Nations is…well, a little beyond our capabilities, I’m sure you can understand.”

“But this is just as much Felix’s speech as it is mine. It’s on environmental preservation, he’s the one that’s specialising in environmentalism, he can’t just get dropped like…what if he flew back for the U.N. speech? That’s doable, right?”

“Even if he could, he would still be missing the weeks of preparation leading up to the speech,” Dr. Koning reminded you, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Unless he withdraws from his study-abroad program, I’m afraid we have to give his spot to someone else.”

You felt like you’d just been punched, right in the gut. Felix couldn’t withdraw from the program. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen this university in the first place. He’d spent months competing for the limited spaces at the best partner university, he’d e-mailed the faculty there ahead of time to begin networking, he’d based his entire career path on the connections he could make there.

Even the fucking United Nations wasn’t worth the damage his future plans would take if he dropped out of studying abroad.

“…Who’s taking his spot?” You asked, quiet, defeated.

Dr. Koning looked down at the papers, and adjusted his glasses. “Well, there are a few candidates in mind. But at such short notice, there’s really only one feasible choice. One of my colleague’s PhD students, you might know him. Lee Minho?”

…No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

You choked on the sudden anger bursting from your chest, trying your best to push it down before you started cussing out Lee Minho right in front of your professor. Finally, you were able to respond through gritted teeth. “Yes, I know him. We don’t…really get on.”

Dr. Koning frowned, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are there any incidents I should be aware of?”

“No, nothing like that,” you said. “Just…it’s been a thing since we were kids. We don’t like each other.”

“Well, we can look for others…” he said, before trailing off. Frowning, he leaned forward slightly, granting himself an air of conspiracy, like he was letting you in on a secret. “But, honestly…if this is something you feel comfortable setting aside, just temporarily, you should know that Minho really is the best candidate. By quite a wide margin.”

Of fucking course he was.

You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes and fighting the urge to start massaging your temples.

“…Maybe,” you relented, even if it took every ounce of willpower you had. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good to hear,” Dr. Koning said, smiling. “I really do hope the two of you can work together on this. Both of you have shown astounding potential. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

“…Mm-hm. Me too.”

It was a cold, crisp Monday morning, and you found yourself stood on the steps of the lecture halls. The expression on your face was enough for the dawdling first-years around you to give you a wide berth, allowing you to scroll through your e-mails in peace.

Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.

For him.

Felix had mentioned that Minho was sitting in on a talk from a visiting financial expert on the state of global economics, and you figured now was as good a time as any to confront him about the speech.

…And by ‘confront’, you meant ‘patiently and politely open channels of communication’. Of course.

Fuck, it was freezing.

You shivered, pulling your scarf just a little tighter around your neck, and exited out of your e-mails to shoot a text to Felix.

You

Who in their right mind voluntarily sits in on an economics lecture at eight o’clock on a Monday morning?

Lixie

…

i mean

…literally you last week

You

OK first of all

That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar

The man has a Nobel prize

Second of all

That wasn’t a Monday

Third

Shut up

Lixie

ok no cookies for you

You

Wait no, what??

I take it back.

Take it all back.

You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.

Bestest and smartest.

Waittt

You were so distracted texting Felix, you didn’t notice the doors to the lecture halls opening, and the slow stream of students beginning to file out.

You did, however, notice a familiar voice.

Your head snapped up to see Minho at the top of the steps, talking with who looked to be the guest lecturer. The two were standing still, rather than walking along with the rest of the students, positioned just out of the way so they could continue whatever conversation they were having without interruption.

Cool, even more waiting.

You shifted your weight, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat to keep warm, and watched as Minho continued to speak – and, unbelievably, managed to make this lecturer laugh.

You blinked.

What the fuck? Minho didn’t make people laugh. He made them miserable, yes, but never laugh.

And then, suddenly, as if he could sense your insults, Minho looked over and locked eyes with you. His eyebrows raised slightly, probably in surprise at seeing you on campus so early in the morning. You made sure to maintain eye contact – an old habit with Minho, by this point. You hated being the first to look away, it always felt like weakness.

He turned away, saying something to the lecturer with a slight incline of his head.

The lecturer blinked, before nodding. You watched as, with a warm smile, the lecturer extended what looked to be a business card to Minho.

Minho accepted it, the two exchanged one final handshake, before Minho turned on his heel and descended the steps.

Towards you.

It was a little unfair, you wanted to grumble, that Minho always looked so put-together, no matter the time of day. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, perfectly suited for the chilly October morning air, under a tailored beige overcoat. It looked designer, the plaid pattern on its lining looking vaguely familiar, but that was standard for Minho’s wardrobe. You’d known since you were a little kid that Felix’s family had money.

Like, ­fuck-you money.

You forced your eyes up to his face before they travelled any further downwards, but you knew from a glance that Minho was wearing some form of tight black jeans. They were a staple of his wardrobe, and you hated them. You hated any and every reminder of Minho’s…

Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.

Which you also hated.

With a passion.

He did dance as a kid. And some kind of equestrian thing in his teenage years – because, again, fuck-you money – which all contributed to…

You know what?

Didn’t matter.

Because you hated them. They weren’t worth mentioning.

“We need to talk about the U.N. speech,” you said, as soon as he got close enough, cutting straight to the chase.

“OK,” Minho nodded, approaching closer. You paused, confused, as he showed no sign of slowing. He drew closer and closer, and something tightened in your chest, as he–

He brushed past you, shoulder nearly bumping yours, continuing onwards past you.

You stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment, blinking at the empty air where he had just been standing.

Shock quickly morphed into incredulous anger, and you turned sharply to storm after him, blown away by his rudeness. “Hey, where – what the fuck?”

Minho paused, turning to face you, halting so suddenly that you almost bumped right into him. You stumbled back a step or two, before righting yourself, as Minho asked. “…Wait, did you mean now?”

The way he said it, confused, as if you were the strange one for not specifying the obvious.

“No, I was thinking in three weeks. But let me just check my calendar first,” you retorted, deadpan. “Yes, now. Why else would I be here?”

“For classes,” Minho pointed out, gesturing to the lecture building he’d just exited.

You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.

Because the honest answer, that you were here because you’d been waiting for him, now sounded…

“…Look, are you free to talk about the speech or not?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.

Minho stared at you for a moment, before giving you a shrug. “I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

“Good.”

“I usually get coffee around this time, while it’s quiet.”

“…OK? Good for you?” You said, frowning slightly.

Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.

What, he wanted a pat on the back for having coffee in the morning?

Finally, with a sharp exhale that could almost be mistaken as an exasperated sigh, Minho turned away and set off walking again.

Rude. You were literally just having a conversation? Now, he just expected you to follow him?

Ugh.

Reluctantly, you did just that, having to quicken your pace to match Minho’s stride with those…fucking gargantuan legs of his.

Legs that didn’t matter. Because you didn’t notice them. At all.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t head for Muffin House, the main coffee shop on campus. That was your go-to place for caffeine – it was cheap, they had a bunch of muffins in different flavours, and they had an irresponsibly large number of discounts on extra espresso shots for students.

Instead, you had to follow Minho down a little side street nestled between two of the towering science blocks, cut across a near-deserted car park, and finally took a right towards a quiet little pocket of buildings on the edge of campus.

You would have walked right past the coffee shop entirely, were it not for Minho suddenly ducking through the doorway of a non-descript stone building. You paused, and it was only after looking up and studying the front face of the building that you noticed the sign for Kwon’s Koffee.

Inside, it looked indistinguishable from other coffee shops on campus – except it was far less crowded, with only a few tables taken up by exclusively postgraduate students.

This was definitely one of those little insider-knowledge haunts for PhD students, like Minho. And the idea almost made you want to hate it on principle.

You joined the queue behind Minho, gaze wandering toward the board of coffee specials.

…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.

Still, the principle of the matter remained.

“You realise Muffin House was so much closer, right?” You asked, glancing at Minho.

Minho made a face. “Yeah, but their coffee is shitty.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s always bitter.”

“Yeah, because it’s made to go with the super-sweet muffins,” you said, slowing your words as if trying to explain the concept of taste to a toddler. “They balance each other out.”

“Which means if you don’t get muffins, you’re shit out of luck,” Minho pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder at you. “And I never get them.”

You stared at him, genuinely affronted by this statement. Yet another thing to add to the colossal-sized list of reasons to dislike Minho. “What? Why? How?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“How are you and Felix even related?”

“It’s because of Felix,” Minho argued, and you had to admit, your interest was piqued. “Who do you think was the test subject for all his recipes?”

“What, were they bad?” You asked, intrigued.

Minho smiled ruefully. “Some were. But the most dangerous ones were the great ones. There’s only so many whole pans of brownies you can inhale before your body just rejects sugar on sight.”

Huh.

You forgot, sometimes, how close Minho and Felix were. It didn’t entirely fit in with your general doctrine of ‘Minho = The Worst’ so it was often banished to the back of your mind.

You supposed even the absolute dregs of humanity usually had at least one redeeming quality.

…Wait, this was coming dangerously close to an actual conversation with Minho.

“I think you’re just a coffee snob,” you dismissed with a shrug.

Minho rolled his eyes, and that brief façade of reasonable humanity vanished. “If Muffin House figured out how to brew coffee without burning it to shit, I’d drink it. But they haven’t yet, so…”

You opened your mouth, already raring to start an argument, but it was at that moment that the person in front of Minho in the queue finished ordering. Minho turned away from you, and walked up to the counter.

You followed closely behind, and it was only when your attention shifted from Minho to the person behind the counter that your eyes lit up.

“Seungmin?”

Seungmin blinked, leaning to the side just a little to look over Minho’s shoulder at you, surprised. “Oh, hey! Long time no see.”

Seungmin had been a stalwart member of your debate team for the first few years of undergrad, until he landed a job as research assistant for one of the most respected professors on campus. You had a lot of good feeling towards him, not least because he – along with Felix – often acted as the mediator between you and Minho.

He must have remembered that role too, as his gaze soon shifted back and forth between you and Minho, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Wait, are you two getting coffee? Like, together?”

You saw Minho bristle out of the corner of your eye, and you fought back a scoff. Did he really find it so insulting to be seen in public with you? “Yes, we are.”

Seungmin’s eyes flickered between the two of you again. “…Voluntarily?”

Minho answered this time, seemingly through gritted teeth. “Apparently.”

“Huh,” Seungmin said, mostly to himself. “Interesting.”

“Can we order now?” Minho asked, impatiently.

Seungmin shrugged, ignoring Minho’s rudeness, and set about taking your orders.

(Of course, Minho took his coffee black. Pretentious motherfucker probably had a whole thing about palate and bean aroma or whatever. You threw in a muffin with your order, to spite Minho more than anything else.)

It was only at the end, when it came to payment, that Seungmin looked up again at the two of you. “Are you guys paying separately, or…?”

That was kind of a dumb question.

“Separately,” you said, pointing out the obvious.

“Very separately,” Minho echoed, giving Seungmin a very pointed look.

Impressively, Minho’s glare did little to change Seungmin’s expression. In fact, Seungmin only smiled a little wider, calmly reverting back to his standard customer service script. “…OK. Cash or card?”

After payment, it only took a few minutes of waiting for your coffee before you found yourself sat at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, facing directly across from Minho.

The two of you sat there in silence, coffee in front of you.

How did you…how did you even start a conversation with Minho that wasn’t an argument? Usually, you relied on him to say something incorrect and pounce on it.

Now? You had to figure out how to be…nice. Civil. All because of this dumb speech.

You watched Minho shrug off his coat, turning in his seat to drape the coat over the back of his chair. The black turtleneck he was wearing underneath was surprisingly form-fitting, and when he turned back around to face you and pick up his mug, your eyes dropped down to your own cup before you gave into the urge to scowl openly.

Sometimes, you wondered if it would be harder to hate Minho if he were less attractive.

It was a thought you crushed down the second it came into your head, but you couldn’t entirely deny it. There had been moments, unspeakable moments, when you started dating someone, that your brain betrayed you and compared them to Minho. It was like he had to just…infect every part of your life. He had to ruin everything.

You swallowed, curling your fingers around the handle of your mug, tapping the edge of it with your thumb. “…So, the speech.”

“The speech.”

“I assume Koning already talked to you about it?”

“Yes.”

“…And?” You said, resisting the urge to scream. This was like pulling teeth. “Your thoughts?”

Minho sat back in his chair, eyeing you closely. “Why the U.N.?”

Easy question. So easy, you’d almost call it moronic. “It’s the U.N. It’s literally where I want my career to take me.”

“You want to work at the U.N.?” Minho asked, and you could almost mistake his tone for interest.

“Yes,” you said, confidently, half-prepared to defend yourself in case Minho decided to find your ambition laughable. Screw him. “The Human Rights Council, preferably, but I wouldn’t say no to a job in the General Assembly.”

“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.

“Ergo, a speech there. It wasn’t easy, but we managed it,” you said, not even pretending to be humble.

“…It’s impressive, honestly. What you’ve achieved.”

“What me and Felix achieved,” you corrected him automatically, but honestly, you were a little thrown. That sounded…dangerously close to a compliment. From Minho.

“Koning said it was your idea,” Minho said. “You came up with the proposal, and you were the one ballsy enough to actually submit it to the U.N.”

“Yeah, but the speech is literally on environmental preservation–”

“International NGO commitment to environmental preservation,” Minho interrupted, and you bit down the sudden flare of anger that he felt the need to correct you on your own fucking speech topic. “International commitment is your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

“And Felix is literally specialising in environmentalism,” you reminded him, and it was then that one of your biggest concerns about this whole situation reared its head. “Which reminds me, actually, why did they pick you to replace him on it?”

Minho stared at you for a solid moment, eyebrows slowly raising, as if he couldn’t believe you were being serious.

You felt yourself bristling, growing defensive. “What? You’re a politics student, not–”

“My master’s thesis was literally on environmental activism. I help teach undergrad classes on green politics and ecological efforts in government policy. How do you not know this?”

…OK. So, fine, maybe you didn’t pay that much attention to what Minho actually studied. Why would you? You imagined it would only piss you off more, reading through his fucking glowing examples of academic writing – like, seriously, in your second year of undergrad, one of your professors used one of his essays as a literal example of how to do the assignment.

You scoffed, lifting your coffee up to your mouth, muttering under your breath. “Ego-logical efforts, more like.”

Minho tilted his head, clearly having heard every word you just said. “What was that?”

You stared him down, taking one long, unabashed drink of coffee, before setting your cup down. Maintaining eye contact, you forced your most innocent smile. “Nothing.”

Another moment of silence fell between the two of you, as Minho’s mouth twitched. You could tell he was very tempted to call you out, and you almost wanted to dare him to say something. Going this long without some kind of conflict with Minho felt…weird. Strange.

Instead, Minho sighed, and you couldn’t imagine the visible shock on your face when his expression actually softened towards you. “…Look. I know you really wanted to work with Felix on this. It’s really shitty that this got taken out of your hands.”

…What? What the fuck was happening here?

He continued. “I’m sorry you got screwed over like this.”

What the fuck was in this coffee?

“I’m not trying to butt in and mess with everything you’ve prepared,” Minho said. “I genuinely just want to help you. I know we’ve got…issues.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Sometimes people just don’t get along,” Minho said, eyes flickering downwards to his mug as he took a sip of coffee. “But I hope we can be professional about this.”

You fought the urge to scowl, but you couldn’t quite stop yourself from clenching your jaw at the assumption.

You could be professional.

You could be insanely fucking professional.

“Yes, I hope we can,” you said, your voice perfectly level. Calm. Composed. Professional. “So, actually, until this speech is over…why don’t we call a truce?”

Minho blinked, caught off-guard by your choice of words. “‘Truce’?”

“Yeah. Until the speech is done, we’ll try to be nice to each other. No more arguments…” you trailed off, the words already sounding hollow and you were the one saying them. You backtracked slightly. “OK, maybe some academic debate. But nothing personal.”

“Nothing petty,” Minho added, giving you a pointed look.

It took an impressive amount of willpower to force your smile to stay on your face. “Exactly. We somehow managed it as kids. How hard could it be to do it again, for the next few months?”

Minho didn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking the proposition over.

You took another sip of coffee, trying your best to leave it at that. But you couldn’t help but add, pointedly. “I mean, I don’t think it’ll be hard for me. But if you think you–”

“I’ll manage,” Minho interjected, dryly, unimpressed. “You’re the one who starts it most of the time, anyway.”

“I don’t–” you bit your tongue, taking a second to claw back your patience. “…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

You sat just a little taller, frowning. “OK. So, we’re decided.”

“Yep.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

“…Good.”

“Good.”

“Great,” you said, maybe just a little eager to get the last word. Maybe.

It was only when you took another sip of coffee, content with yourself, that Minho dropped the sudden curveball. “My housemates are throwing a Halloween party this weekend. Maybe you should come.”

You very almost did a spit-take with your coffee. “What?”

“If you’re so interested in a truce,” Minho added, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface of the table, and that was when you recognised the invitation for what it was.

A challenge.

Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.

You straightened your shoulders. “I’d be happy to,” you said, and it sounded vaguely threatening.

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Minho said, his words so edged, you could imagine them slicing into you.

Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.

This was a terrible idea.

You hesitated on the pavement outside of what was very obviously a Halloween party in full swing. You’d purposely waited a little, hoping to avoid the awkward early stages of house parties, your imagination filled with dreadful images of being one of the first to show up and having to make conversation with Minho.

The later, the better. More people to act as a buffer, and a better excuse to get drunk.

Hopefully, fingers-crossed, maybe Minho had already gotten absolutely wasted and wouldn’t even notice you were there.

Bolstered by the thought, you shot a text to Felix – who should already be inside, having volunteered to swing by early and help his older brother with decorations – to say that you were here.

OK.

Breathe.

Go.

You marched up the path towards the front door, refusing to be distracted by the partygoers scattered around the front yard, smoking and chatting and one couple leaning against the wall and already looking very handsy.

The front door was open, and you made your way inside, senses alert for any sign of Felix (to approach) and Minho (to avoid) as you did so.

The house was impressively large for student housing – of course it was, Minho lived here – and yet, every room held a crowd of people. Dancing, drinking, having fun. A drunk girl, dressed in what looked to be some variation of zombie Disney princess, stumbled into you, giggling apologetically as she did. Her drink – a can of something, maybe a bottle – was icy-cold as it brushed against your thigh.

You should have worn something longer, you thought. Your costume was cute, and dare you say, maybe even kinda hot, but it was not cut out for any temperatures colder than a room full of warm bodies. Just the walk up to the house had you shivering, just a little.

Your hunt for Felix led you from room to room, as you tried and failed to prevent yourself from rolling your eyes at the size of this place. Someone had set up tables – multiple – for beer pong in one room, while another room hosted an impressive speaker system for dancing, while another room was all softly-lit and calm background music, clearly the designated room for quieter, laid-back conversation.

A layout that checked all the house party boxes, sure. But a terrible place to try and track someone down.

Eventually, somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, and it was here that you wondered whether you should just give up for a second and grab something to drink. You’d find Felix at some point, hopefully. Just as long as you didn’t run into…

“Oh.”

You turned at the voice, instinctively, but on second thoughts maybe you should have pretended not to hear.

Minho was standing in front of you, leaning against the kitchen counter.

And he…

He looked…

Holy fucking shit.

From the fake blood on his billowy white shirt and the painted-on bite mark on his neck, he was clearly some kind of vampire. Someone – maybe Minho himself – had applied the subtlest amount of eyeliner, and between that and the rumpled dark hair, and the…

Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.

Oh, you had to leave right now–

“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.

“You’re late,” Minho noted.

It was only then that you realised Minho was part of a loose cluster of guys, all of whom turned to see who Minho was talking to.

And one of them, to your intense relief, was Felix.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, wandering over to throw an arm around you in a half-hug. He was a cheerful drinker, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t help your confidence a little to see someone so unambiguously happy to see you here.

When he pulled away, you noticed that the little hand-drawn stitches around his neck had already started to smudge. Miraculously the little fake plastic bolts on either side of his head remained intact.

“I like your costume,” Felix told you. “It’s very…pink.”

“It is very pink,” you agreed, looking down at yourself.

When you glanced up, you caught the way Minho’s eyes flickered upwards too, as if he’d just finished looking you up and down.

You tensed a little, preparing yourself for some kind of critique. Lee Minho, champion appraiser of cheap Halloween costumes.

To your surprise, however, Minho quickly averted his eyes and took a deep swig of the drink in his hand.

“I like your costume too,” one of Minho’s friends chimed in. He was kind of cute, all dark hair and big brown eyes, so adorable that his werewolf costume came across as looking more like a chipmunk. “What are you?”

You smiled, relaxing a little. “The most accomplished woman of our time.”

The guy blinked, looking briefly thrown for a second, eyes back on your costume as he tried to decipher who you were.

But Minho, astonishingly, cracked a half-smile. Which, for Minho, was practically a laugh. “Are you Barbie?”

“Yes,” you admitted, reluctantly, half-tempted to lie just to be petty. Except, damn it, no more pettiness. You’d agreed.

“Barbie is the most accomplished woman of our time?”

“Princess. Astronaut. President. I am prepared to fight you on this.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’ll win.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, and again, his gaze flickered downwards. What, was it so shocking to see you in pink?

You shifted your weight, and you almost folded your arms over your chest before you remembered what the neckline was like on this dress. Maybe not.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix and Minho’s friend exchanged a look.

Clearing your throat, you turned your attention to the large and varied alcohol selection littering the kitchen counter. “So, what can I get to drink here?”

“Minho can talk you through it,” Minho’s friend suddenly announced, patting Minho on the shoulder. Minho blinked, tearing his eyes away from you to look at his friend. “I’m gonna go find Chan, he promised me a beer pong rematch. Felix, bro, you should come with.”

Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”

“Nah, come on,” Minho’s friend insisted, hooking his arm with Felix’s, cheerfully pulling him away. “Be my cheerleader.”

You stared, as it dawned on you that your biggest support in this minefield of a conversation was being frogmarched away.

Right. OK. Alone with Minho.

Cool.

You chanced a look back towards Minho, only to find him still watching you, and you quickly diverted your attention to the alcohol again. Smoothing down your skirt, you forced yourself to shrug. “I thought about coming as Frieda Dalen, but I figured no one would get the reference. She was–”

“The first woman to speak at the U.N., yeah.”

You snapped your head back to stare at him, bewildered. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Minho raised one eyebrow, and you were genuinely irritated that, in combination with the hair and the blood and the outfit in general, it almost…almost maybe twisted something in your gut. “My first official university debate was about the history of women in global affairs. She was a good factoid. 1946, right?”

You fought the urge to scowl as you confirmed his answer. “Yep. 1946.”

And, because even the tightest of leather couldn’t dull your burning dislike of seeing Minho smug, you pressed him further.

“Do you remember which country she was the delegate of?”

“No,” Minho admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked at you. After a moment, he straightened up from where he’d been leaning, gaining an inch or two of height in doing so, forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to continue meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me?”

His words should have sounded patronising.

Except, there was a strange edge to his voice, almost a playfulness but not quite. Not a lightness, because it definitely didn’t feel light. It felt kind of heavy, actually.

If you didn’t know any better, you would almost mistake it as…

“Minho!”

Both of you jolted at the sudden shout, barely having the time to turn towards it source before a tall guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask and ridiculously pretty long, blond hair staggered into Minho and hugged him.

You blinked, too caught off-guard to even appreciate the bemused expression on Minho’s face as the pretty guy mumbled into his shoulder. “Minho, I think…I’m druuunk.”

You took that as the perfect opportunity to back out of this…interaction with Minho, even as something strange twisted inside of you. You quickly grabbed the closest drink you could and retreated out of the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.

You needed to drink. And maybe dance. Anything to distract you, before your mind wandered anywhere dangerous.

This wasn’t working.

Drinking your problems away was a terrible idea in and of itself, but you’d been tempted to give it a go. After your second drink, however, you were blindsided with the intrusive thought of getting wasted and throwing up in Minho’s bathroom, and all the humiliation that could go with it, and it had warned you off alcohol for the rest of the night.

Dancing, your alternative solution, had worked for the first hour or so. You had let loose a little, but as your drink-fuelled buzz slowly faded, you found yourself growing increasingly uncomfortable by the stale air and the press of warm bodies. You were getting hot, something under your skin beginning to itch.

You needed to get out of here, just for a moment, to clear your head.

With crowds of people blocking your way to the front door, you decided on a different path towards some peace and quiet. Upstairs was mostly left untouched, understandable since there were no drinks to be found and no music playing, and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you reached the top of the stairs and turned a corner, and found an empty hallway.

Perfect.

Before you could think twice, you sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. The relief of taking a break from standing in these heels was immediate, and you let your head loll backwards, closing your eyes.

You just needed a few minutes here, you decided. Just to recharge.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes, but you felt your expression immediately sour. Of course it had to be the worst possible person to find you here, alone and close to misery, sitting in the hallway.

Minho approached, or at least, that was what you gathered from the sound of his footsteps. He came to a halt fairly close, pausing, and spoke up again.

“How are you this wasted already?” Minho asked, and there was surprisingly little amusement in his voice at the idea. In fact, you’d almost mistake it for concern.

“I am distressingly sober, actually,” you replied, slowly opening one eye to glare at him, but it was half-hearted at best, and you closed it again. “Just needed some quiet. Had a headache.”

Minho didn’t say anything in response. In fact, it was silent for so long, you started to wonder if he’d walked off without you even noticing, when he suddenly spoke up again. “I know a good place for quiet. And for fresh air, if you want it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes again, fixing him with a look of suspicion. Admittedly, whatever he was suggesting sounded like the perfect place for you right now – which was exactly the reason you were so suspicious. “Where?”

“It’s pretty nearby,” Minho said, and to your disbelief, held out his hand.

Your eyes flickered from his face, to his outstretched hand, to his face again, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to your feet by yourself. To his credit, Minho withdrew his hand smoothly, seemingly unaffected by your refusal to take it.

“After you,” you said, still reluctant to let down your guard.

Minho nodded, and set off down the hallway, going just a little further from where you were sitting, and stopping in front of a door. With a glance back to you, probably checking to see if you were still following, or if you’d lied about being sober and collapsed while he wasn’t looking, he opened it and wandered inside.

You took a few steps towards it – and then caught one look inside the room and halted dead in your tracks.

That was…

Was that…?

“Is that your fucking bedroom?” You asked, in pure disbelief.

Minho stopped, turning around to look at you, and how the fuck could he look so calm about this? “…Yeah? Last time I checked, why?”

“Why? Are you…” you trailed off, scoffing, before putting on your best Minho impression. “‘I know a good place, come follow me’ and it’s your bedroom. Come on.”

“I wasn’t…I was talking about the balcony. There’s a balcony through…” Minho gestured vaguely towards the far wall, where you realised the huge ceiling-to-floor curtains hanging there must be hiding the doors to it.

Of course he has a balcony.

Of course.

For once in his life, Minho looked just the slightest bit ruffled as he finally caught on to the incredibly obvious implications.

He swallowed. “Look, if you’re not comfortable, that’s–”

You interrupted him with a scoff. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

In fact, to prove just how comfortable you were, you marched into his room, forcing yourself to appear entirely unbothered.

“See? Fine,” you said. “Just, maybe lead with the balcony thing next time, so you don’t look like some massive sleaze.”

Again, Minho’s reaction surprised you. Instead of anger or annoyance at your accusation, Minho cracked another half-smile. “Fair.”

…Yeah, you really weren’t used to this whole ‘nice’ thing between the two of you. It felt weird, like the very foundations of your dynamic were shaken by it.

As Minho led you towards the balcony, you tried your best not to look too closely at his bedroom, as much as your curiosity protested otherwise. The most detail you got was that it was fairly neat, fairly clean, and he had a stupidly large bed. Which, you know, Minho, fuck-you money, that made sense.

You point-blank refused to dwell on it.

As soon as he slid open the door, you quickly leaned forward and breathed in that refreshing cold night air, and felt your headache fade just a little. It was only when you stepped out onto the balcony that you truly felt yourself relax, and the tension built up in your head began to ease.

“Better?” Minho asked, and you heard him come up from behind you, coming to a stop beside you to look up at the night sky. You couldn’t make out many stars from here, thanks to the light pollution of the city, but it was still undeniably a pretty cool view.

“Yeah,” you admitted and, begrudgingly, you turned towards him to mutter. “…Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I won’t be too long out here,” you added, feeling the weirdest need to justify accepting this kindness from Minho, to downplay it. “I’m not exactly dressed for October weather.”

Minho paused, keeping his gaze fixed on the night sky above and very much not on you. “Yeah.”

…Yeah?

You frowned, unable to stop yourself from feeling slightly defensive. “I mean, you’re one to talk.”

That got his attention. Suddenly, Minho had no problem looking at you. “What?”

“Your pants, Minho. Did you paint them on yourself?”

And you realised then and there that you must have made some kind of error, because Minho looked genuinely amused. Glancing down at himself for a moment, his eyes wandered back up to meet yours, and there was a genuine note of curiosity in his voice. “What, do you like them?”

You stilled, faltering just slightly, before retorting. “I’d probably like the cow they’re made from more.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not real leather,” Minho quipped back. “If that’s your only issue with them.”

“Well, you know, the fake leather industry is actually…” you trailed off, because your comeback sounded lame even in your head. “Whatever.”

The two of you fell into a silence, both watching the stars for a moment, listening to the thud of the bass downstairs and the muffled cacophony of voices.

And then, quietly, reluctantly, Minho spoke. “…Can I ask you a genuine question?”

If it was about the pants, you might actually throw him off this balcony. “OK. You’re not guaranteed a genuine answer, but go ahead.”

“The U.N. speech. It was your idea. If you want to go into human rights, why are you doing a speech about the environment?”

You paused, genuinely flustered by his question. Your response came out jumbled. “I don’t…you know, the two aren’t mutually exclusive, environmental damage is having a huge impact on–”

“Yeah, but that’s not what the speech is actually about. It’s a great speech, but why isn’t it on a subject youwant to do?”

“Who says? You? You don’t know what I want,” you shot back, irritated, refusing to admit that he’d touched a nerve.

Rather than snapping back at you immediately, Minho took a deep breath, calming slightly. “…You’re right. I don’t. I shouldn’t assume.”

What was this? You didn’t want him to agree with you, you wanted an argument. This ‘nice’, truce stuff was really starting to grate on you. “Exactly.”

“It’s just…it’s important that you do what you want, and not try to shape yourself around other people.”

“I don’t,” you argued. “Maybe what I want is for you not to attack every little decision I make. Like you always do.”

Minho’s brow furrowed, his stance shifting slightly. It took a second to realise that he was appraising you, eyeing you thoughtfully.

“You…really seem to dislike me,” he noted.

“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.

“Why is that?”

You let out a deep breath, mostly out of frustration, but also a little out of exhaustion. Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to construct some kind of response.

There seemed to be a multitude of answers to that question. Minho was arrogant. He was atrociously blunt in most social settings and seemed indifferent to the hurt he caused others. He had an exorbitant amount of money and had very few qualms showcasing it. He scared away almost every single new debate team recruit because he was apparently allergic to the concept of constructive criticism. He’d ruined more than one relationship you’d had. Apparently, you talked too much about him, but there were only so many ways to honestly answer questions about your day or how you were feeling without mentioning how aggravating Minho was in some capacity.

But honestly, the more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself slipping back into the shell of that little fourteen-year-old, looking up at the cool older boy with wide eyes and hoping for just one kind word.

And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.

“Because you’re an asshole,” you stated, simply.

Minho stared at you for a second, before frowning slightly. “I mean, not really.”

…Oh, he decided to say just exactly the wrong thing there, didn’t he?

“You absolutely are. Like, objectively,” you argued. “You literally made a girl cry last week over debating.”

“What? Who?”

“That first-year girl. Dark hair, super perky. You know, when she’s not crying her eyes out.”

Something approaching recognition dawned on Minho’s face, but to your surprise, his expression dimmed slightly. “Oh, her. She told you it was about her debating?”

Well, not in exact words, you wanted to say. But it wasn’t hard to read between the lines, given what you knew Minho to be capable of.

“OK, then what was it about?” You asked.

“She came up to me after our last meeting and asked for some tutoring,” Minho said, before giving you a very pointed look. “As in, a specific kind of ‘private’ tutoring. Very specific. And she was not subtle about it.”

You blinked. “…What?”

Minho’s brow furrowed, visibly searching through his memory of the incident. “To be fair, I might have laughed in her face. In my defence, it was less about her and more about the audacity.”

You pictured the scene, of that girl coming onto Minho, his face when he realised what was happening, and the worst part of you maybe wanted to smirk a little. But you would not indulge it. “Still, sounds like you could have been nicer abut it.”

“OK, yeah, I feel a little bad. But no, it wasn’t over her debating skills. I might be harsh, but you think I’d make someone cry over that and not give a shit?”

Every ounce of amusement drained out of you in an instant, replaced by something cold. “I mean…yeah, you’ve done it before.”

“What? When?”

He didn’t know?

How could he not know?

You might have finished sobbing by the time you’d confronted him, all those years ago, but hadn’t it been extremely obvious?

You stared at Minho for a good few seconds, waiting for him to slip up, to give up the joke. But all you got in return was a genuinely confused expression on his face, waiting for you to clarify what exactly you were talking about.

Oh.

Yeah, he really didn’t know.

Shit.

You swallowed, looking down at your hands, picking at one particularly jagged edge of your thumbnail. “…Me.”

Minho stilled. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head, searching your face. “You cried?”

Oh, fuck this guy. You stiffened, embarrassment roiling in the pit of your stomach, and snapped, seething. “Just forget it–”

“No, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. When you braved a look over at him, you didn’t find the smirk you were expecting. Minho looked genuinely chastened, watching you with a deep but unreadable emotion. “I…didn’t know.”

You didn’t like this, you didn’t know how to handle…earnest Minho. Where the fuck did asshole Minho go?

“It was just the once. It was my first debate, and you were a dick about it,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug.

“Oh,” Minho said, with such a strangely specific tone that you couldn’t help but look over at him. There was a look of dawning realisation on his face, and the slightest hint of…

Embarrassment?

“I think I remember that,” Minho said, sounding vaguely horrified. “…This is going to sound dumb.”

Minho? Dumb? And aware of that fact? “…OK.”

“And a little pathetic.”

“Good, go on.”

“But I think, at the time…I was hoping you’d ask me for help.”

You stilled, trying to comprehend the string of words that had just left his mouth. Trying to forge them into anything that made even the smallest bit of sense.

“…And you didn’t, I don’t know, think about offering your help? Before humiliating me in front of my classmates?” You asked, and you almost surprised yourself with the way your voice shook with an old, familiar anger. “That didn’t, you know, maybe occur to you?”

Minho turned his whole body to face you head-on, hand curling around the balcony railing at his side. It was in that moment, seeing him entirely, that you glimpsed that blunt, ruthless young man that had cut you so deeply all those years ago – and saw, for the first time, how small he really was. That memory had taken up so much space in your mind, had warped itself until Minho towered over you, a titan, a symbol of each and every one of your failings.

Now, for once, a new image appeared. An awkward teenage boy, too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to be something in your eyes.

You softened, just for a second.

And then, remembering yourself, remembering all that had happened between the two of you since then, you came back to your senses.

“And what about everything after? It’s not like you were nice after that one little misunderstanding, you picked at everything I did for years.”

“In my defence, neither were you. You refused to speak to me unless you had to for years,” Minho pointed out. “And I realised how much you could do, what you could achieve–”

“If you kept being an asshole?”

“If I held you to actual standards,” Minho corrected, and for the first time in this conversation, he was starting to get heated. Good. “The next time the club met, you wiped the floor with seniors. Seniors. You were just as good as me, and you barely had experience.”

A compliment from Minho, however begrudging and biting it was, had a dangerously addicting effect on you. Actually, maybe the begrudging part only made it better. “And what? That pissed you off?”

Minho’s expression faltered, just for a split-second, and that spoke more than any confession could.

“It did,” you said, half-shocked for a second, before pressing on. “So, you wouldn’t get off my fucking back foryears. You even turned up at nationals after you graduated, hoping I’d fall flat on my face.”

“Is that what you think?” Minho asked, incredulous.

“What else would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe…” Minho stopped, before letting out a short, bitter laugh. “Never mind. Forget it.”

You wanted to press him further, but the anger that had sustained you so far was starting to flag a little.

This was just…exhausting, sometimes.

You let out a deep breath, just as a cold October breeze decided to kick up, making you shiver. Instinctively, you folded your arms over your chest, tucking your hands into your sides to get just a little bit of warmth.

Maybe it was time for you to leave.

You looked over at Minho, opening your mouth to say something–

Only to catch his gaze openly, unmistakably, dipping down towards your cleavage.

You stopped.

You stared.

His eyes moved upwards again, finding yours, and he realised he’d been caught.

He tensed, just for a second, and you watched a tangle of emotions play out across his face before he settled on a neutral, blank, composed expression. But he didn’t speak.

He just…looked at you.

Waiting for you to say something? Daring you to say something?

It was hard to decipher, because at that moment, your brain was still 100% stuck on the fact that Minho had been checking you out.

Because that wasn’t some little accidental flicker, his gaze had stayed there.

Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.

For all your complaints about the cold weather, it was starting to get very warm out here.

Why the fuck wasn’t he saying something? Anything?

You swallowed – or, well, you tried to at least.

Something had awoken, deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt it starting to unfurl, slowly, your nerve endings beginning to prickle.

“Are you…” you didn’t finish the question, you couldn’t finish the question, because the words ��are you into me?’ were so laughably alien that they just refused to leave your mouth.

Minho waited, expectant for something, searching your face. Whatever he found – or didn’t find – was enough to make him speak.

“What?” he asked, and it was that same voice he had in the kitchen. Quiet, loaded, just a touch lower in register that almost made your breath catch.

It was like he was challenging you. Goading you. Wondering whether you were too much of a coward to finish that question.

You needed to ask. You needed to say it.

Come on, you were about to talk to the fucking United Nations in a few months, surely you could handle asking one question to Lee fucking Minho.

“Are you…attracted to me?”

Already, you were starting to cringe internally. Already, you were preparing for the worst. You tried to reassure yourself that it was fine, that when he said ‘no’ you could call him out on staring at your chest, he had no room to speak, it was a logical question, it…

Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.

He didn’t say anything.

And the longer he looked at you, the longer he stayed silent, the more obvious his answer became.

…Oh.

That…

Maybe you were drunk, actually. Surely you had to be. Because the idea that Minho found you attractive didn’t drive you off like you thought it would.

Minho found you attractive.

Minho, the man with an ego so large it could smother a man, a superiority complex so vast it could bring awe-stricken observers to tears, that Minho…found you attractive.

Huh.

As you stared back at him, you were hit with the sudden thought of kissing him.

Which would be a terrible idea.

Because Minho was Minho and just because he was into you, just because he was perhaps objectively maybe a little good-looking, just because he’d admitted that all these years he’d seen you as an intellectual equal, just because he had the kind of thighs that could probably crush a watermelon, he…

He…

You paused, mind-blank, before rising up on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

The first few seconds were strange. Of course they were, it was surreal to feel someone’s lips on yours and know this was Minho, holy shit. You could feel how still he was, how shocked, and you knew he must have been on the exact same wavelength.

And then, he closed his eyes, his hand lifted up to gently cup your cheek, and everything clicked together perfectly.

This felt right, like really weirdly right despite it all. Some kind of base level of brain chemistry was screaming about how right this was, and it had you shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

Was this a bad idea? The two of you had to work together for the next few months, you should have been aiming to keep things strictly professional, personal issues could complicate–

Minho let out the tiniest exhale, recapturing your lips immediately, and your thoughts stopped dead in your tracks.

Fuck professionalism, you’d earned this, you’d been working your ass off for months, you deserved to take satisfaction whenever you could get it.

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up slightly to press the entirety of your front against his. He was warm, shockingly so, and when his free hand moved to press itself into the small of your back, you chanced parting your lips just a little.

Minho followed suit, deepening the kiss, angling his head just slightly. Everything about his touch, how he held you, it was all so strangely gentle in comparison to the usual way he treated you. As if you were an illusion, like if he squeezed too hard, you might disappear.

One of your hands came up to run your fingers up his neck, through his hair, and the drag of your fingernails coaxed a quiet hum out of him.

Every noise you pulled from Minho, every little reaction, felt like winning an argument. It felt like a strange natural extension of your debates, isolating the weakness in the other’s defence and targeting it.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, biding your time, and when you tested a sharp little twist, you heard his breath catch.

Minho went still, just for a second, just enough to take a deep breath, before grabbing your hip and swinging you around, pushing you up against the sliding balcony door, trapping you between it and him.

The impact was enough to knock a gasp out of you, and he pulled away briefly. You watched him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, breath heavy, as he tried to form words. “Fuck, are you–”

You pulled him back to you, a hand fisted in his shirt collar, too impatient to let him finish the rest of his question. Your kiss was rushed, insistent, and you took your time before you pulled away to mutter against his lips. “I’m fine. Just…fuck it, just keep kissing me.”

Minho’s head dipped towards yours, briefly, as if he were about to do just that – before he paused. “…Ask me nicely.”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, impulsively, heat rushing to your face.

He pulled his head away, his whole body even, until the two of you were just barely touching. He lingered, teasingly close, an amused glint in his eye. “Why, is that want you want? Me to fuck off?”

You didn’t know if he was being sincere or not. You never knew if he was being sincere or not. That was Minho, through and through.

You scrabbled for an answer, brain still sluggishly working through the fact that you weren’t kissing anymore, chest rising and falling with every quickened breath. You found your words, looking him directly in the eye, tilting your chin up slightly.

“Kiss me,” you said, practically venomous, before setting your jaw. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”

You didn’t know why that was the threat you made. Logically, it held no weight – Minho might have been attracted to you, but would he really care if you kissed someone else? You half expected him to laugh you off, and wander off back to the party without even a glance back at you.

He did neither of those things.

In fact, the teasing look in his eye vanished completely. His gaze turned so intense that you wondered if he could burn a hole straight through you.

When he finally spoke, he was deceptively calm, his voice perfectly even as he noted out loud. “I see. So, that’s how we’re playing this.”

You barely had time to process his words, before his mouth was back on yours, almost feverish, and with a newfound harshness.

You met him with just as much enthusiasm, matching him move-for-move.

A gentle Minho was too complicated. A soft, kind Minho forced you to confront some preconceived notions that you were very happy to keep unchallenged.

This Minho, the one who dragged his right hand down your side, the one who gripped your hip so tightly you could imagine it bruising, this was something you could handle. Something you didn’t have to overthink.

Because, fuck, you really, really didn’t want to think right now. You were sick of thinking, your whole life was thinking.

Minho’s hand slipped downwards to your thigh, his palm sliding around to the back of it before he lifted your leg up slightly to slot his thigh right between yours.

The instant he lowered your leg, you realised exactly what he’d done. Immediately, you felt the press of him between your legs, subtle enough to allow plausible deniability, and yet too firm for you to just ignore. To make matters worse, you were now just slightly off-balance, your foot just brushing the floor.

You couldn’t lower it, you couldn’t regain your balance, without pressing down even more on his thigh. You tried anyway, and the friction resulted in your first whimper of the night, light and breathy against him.

Minho’s grip, still on your leg, tightened.

He dropped his head to press his mouth to your neck, kissing at the skin there – and then he clenched his fucking thigh muscles, and your resulting moan slipped out right by his ear.

Your hands scrambled for him, clutching his shoulders, breath heavy as you tried not to rock your hips. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction, you absolutely refused to. You grabbed a fistful of his hair again, pulling by the roots to drag his head back upwards so your mouths could meet again.

Your kiss was now heated, almost clumsy. You caught Minho’s bottom lip between your teeth and nipped, enjoying the way he hissed, the way his tongue licked over where you’d done it, the way his left hand came up to your face – not to cradle this time, but to clutch, to grip.

His right hand moved up to your ass, giving it one firm squeeze, before suddenly and very deliberately pulling you down and along his thigh. More noises fought their way out of your mouth, and you were too weak to resist just one roll of your hips, chasing that same friction. It had barely been a few minutes, and you could already feel yourself starting to ache, heat beginning to collect at the apex of your thighs.

It was gratifying to learn, when you pulled Minho even closer, forcing the full length of his body to press against yours, that you weren’t alone in that. You felt something firm beginning to press into your hip, and when you slid your hand down to confirm what it was, palm sliding against it, Minho inhaled sharply.

You grinned against his lips, and squeezed him through those damned fake-leather pants.

He groaned, eyes drifting shut for just a second, before suddenly snapping open.

“Come on,” he said, swallowing, and took you by the wrist. Before you knew it, he pulled you away from the balcony door to slide it open again, and hurriedly tugged you inside.

You had been a little too distracted to notice how much colder it must have turned outside, but inside welcomed you with a warmth that radiated through your whole body.

But it took you a moment, brain still in a thigh-induced haze, to realise the full extent of what it meant to be inside.

To be inside Minho’s bedroom.

You hesitated as Minho slid the balcony door shut behind you, drawing the curtains together.

You stared ahead, eyes on that huge bed – and the first hints of panic seized your chest.

Quickly, almost unthinkingly, you grabbed Minho by the arm and pulled him. He stumbled, clearly caught off-guard, but he went along with it, letting you pull him to you and turn, pressing him up against the wall.

Easy. Your back was to the bed now, removing it from your sight, and that strange new weight of anxiety disappeared entirely. You went back to kissing him, hands back in his hair. Your new comfort zone, apparently.

Apparently, however, you didn’t entirely fool Minho, who must have picked up on your tension at least a little.

“I thought,” he murmured, between kisses, and made no move to grab at you like he had outside, “you might want,” more kisses, “some more privacy.”

You hummed, non-committal, your concerns already disappearing as you tried to figure out how to get Minho’s leg back between yours again without outright asking.

“Outside, people can…” he paused, probably because your nails had scraped along his scalp almost accidentally, and he shivered, “hear.”

You pulled away slightly, hiding how breathless you were, fixing him with a playful look.

“Hear what?” you challenged, pretending as if you hadn’t literally moaned in his ear just a short while ago.

Minho didn’t answer, but you knew that expression. It used to keep you awake at night, anger burning through you at just the thought of it. He was smug.

Surprisingly, the sight no longer filled you with burning rage – but it did prompt you to back him up against the wall again, stepping right back into his personal space, and pull his head down to kiss you again.

He relaxed into you, soft and gentle as his hands eased over your sides, which only served to wind you up more. Frustrated, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and out from where it had been tucked into his waistband, and let your hand snake up under it.

You had learned over the course of the evening that Minho, as mouthy as he liked to be around you, wasn’t the most vocal partner you’d encountered. Maybe that would have discouraged the average person, but you knew Minho. You’d known him for years, you knew every tell he had, the meaning behind every hint of body language.

You knew that when Minho’s breath caught, as your hands ran up his stomach, up his chest, exploring his upper body, it was basically his equivalent of shaking with anticipation.

You took the hint, grasping his shirt with both hands and pulling it upwards. The shirt – some kind of billowy white poet’s shirt, the kind with the little lace-up ties at the neck that he’d left undone and open – was loose enough to remove easily, and you let it drop without a second thought.

Even now, despite everything, you were reluctant to stroke Minho’s ego by openly ogling him. It was a challenge, trying to ignore the smooth skin, the lean muscle, so you dipped your head before he could see your reaction, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the underside of his collarbone.

Again, it felt like a special talent to recognise Minho’s deep inhale, when your hands brushed his chest, for the emotions it betrayed.

Your mouth descended lower, eager, towards his chest – and you let your tongue brush his nipple.

His breath caught again, and when you experimented with a quick nip of your teeth, his grip on your sides tightened briefly.

That was Minho’s equivalent of being horrendously, painfully turned on.

Your hand slid down past his abdomen, cupping him through his pants, and this time you let your palm gently grind against him.

Minho’s body shivered under your touch, and it felt like winning.

And then, suddenly, as if he had somehow read your mind, he scrambled for the zipper of your dress, determined to even the playing field. You briefly pictured denying him, pictured staying clothed while undressing Minho, having that kind of advantage over him.

Tempting, maybe. But then you imagined the feel of Minho’s hands on your bare skin, and you made your decision pretty quickly.

Minho pulled down your zipper, building anticipation as he hooked two fingers under each of your spaghetti straps and slowly peeled your dress from you, letting it pool around your ankles.

His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.

“Oh, wow.”

You couldn’t help but grin slightly, glancing down at what you knew Minho was staring at. Your underwear was a matching set of pastel pink silk, with little hints of lace and ribbon, even a bow or two. You’d taken one look at it and knew it screamed princess.

“I always commit to my costumes,” you replied, refusing to feel even the smallest hint of embarrassment. It was hard to feel so anyway, with Minho staring down at you with dark eyes, drinking the sight in, amusement long since shifted into something else entirely.

He reached forward, tracing the ribbon at the edge of your bra cup with his thumb, before letting it sweep down over the lace – and right over the peak of your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. “Were you expecting someone to see it?”

“No,” you admitted, half-tempted to arch your back, just to press your breast into the curve of his palm. “Nothing about this was expected.”

Minho hummed quietly in agreement, still taking his time admiring you. He grabbed at your breast, not quite rough but not entirely gentle, fingers splayed, making sure to drag his thumb back over your nipple as he did so. “I never imagined you wearing something like this.”

You were so focused on the weight of his hand on your chest that you almost missed the implication. Almost. “Imagined? You imagined?”

Minho’s eyes darted up to meet yours, looking caught out for just a moment before his expression smoothed again. “Sometimes. Occasionally.”

OK, you had to ask. “What did you imagine?”

“Not this,” Minho stated, stubborn, refusing to give a single detail.

Your mind whirred at the possibilities anyway. What? Did that mean it was the complete opposite of this? What was the opposite of this sugary pink ensemble? Black, sexy? Leather? A whole dominatrix-style thing, was that what Minho was into?

“Tell me,” you demanded, incredibly curious now.

He hesitated, before sighing. “…You know that red skirt you wear sometimes?”

Well, that was not where you thought this was going. “Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about you wearing it at debating. You’re stood behind the podium, most of you hidden from sight,” Minho described, and his voice slowly began to shift. “I’m stood behind you, like I’m reading your notes over your shoulder. You don’t look at me, but your legs part, just a little.”

Your breath caught, as his left hand brushed against your inner thigh, fingertips stroking circles into the sensitive skin there.

“You let me slide my hand up,” he continued, and slowly, his hand begins to drift upwards. “Because you want me to know you aren’t wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

“And you want me to feel how wet you are, waiting for me,” Minho said, pausing his hand just a few inches from the edge of your underwear, waiting as he checked your face for any signs of protest.

You couldn’t imagine what exactly your expression was, but you’re certain that protest was probably the furthest fucking thing from it.

And so, his hand moved, cupping you through your underwear, feeling just how damp the fabric was. Your breath rushed out shakily at the first moment of contact, almost akin to a gasp, body shuddering.

“That’s what I imagine,” he said, and fucking shrugged, even as his thumb pressed directly against your clit.

You moaned, your hand immediately flying up to clutch at his shoulder for balance. Everything about Minho’s touch, the pressure, the pace, screamed relaxed. He wasn’t trying to do anything but just…touch you. Gauge your reaction.

You closed your eyes, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, as his fingers continued to work small, slow circles around your clit, still over the barrier of your excessively pretty underwear.

“Should have known,” you murmured, trying not to gasp, and trying not to push your hips towards his hands. “You’re the type to tease.”

Minho’s voice came low from somewhere above your ear, as his hand moved at that same maddening pace. “Not usually.”

“Ah,” you breathed, understanding. He was on the exact same wavelength as you. Every reaction sparked from the other was a victory, to be enjoyed, to be savoured. “I get it. I’m special.”

Minho murmured something under his breath, something you couldn’t quite make out, and pressed just a little firmer against you. You moaned from the surprise of it, burying your face further into his neck.

Beneath your hand, you could feel his dick twitch, now so firm and so insistently pressing against your hand that you knew it had to be aching, trapped in those skin-tight pants like that.

You moved your hand up, struggling briefly with how tightly his waistband sat around his hips, before your hand suddenly slipped inside, fingers grazing roughly against something slick and warm and hard.

Minho finally moaned, loudly, openly, hips bucking briefly up into your hand. “Shit.”

“What was that you were saying?” you asked, innocently, running your fingers back over what you knew to be his cockhead, teasing. “About no underwear?”

Minho sucked in a breath, and from where your head was resting in the crook of his neck, you could hear him swallow. “…These were already too fucking small.”

“They are stupidly tight.”

“Don’t act like you – fuck,” he hissed, cutting himself off. Probably because you’d squeezed him again.

His free hand found its way to the corner of your jaw, prying your face away from his neck so he could duck his head down and kiss you, hungrily. You reciprocated, basking in the way he groaned against your mouth.

And then, he asked. “Bed?”

You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”

Minho paused, pulling away a little to take in your expression. Immediately, you did your best to smooth it out, to appear unbothered, casual, fine.

He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”

You swallowed, still trying to maintain your composure. “Besides your dick? No.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, and faked one short, sharp laugh. “Ha. You’re so funny when you dodge the subject.”

“I’m not dodging anything,” you argued.

He paused again, waiting, watching you. And, after a moment, he pulled his hand away from your underwear to wrap around your wrist, gently tugging your hand out of his pants.

“OK, fine,’” you relented, composure cracking. That old familiar dread returned, lodging itself in the pit of your stomach. “I just don’t…do this. All this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, and towards the room at large. “The way it’s all spontaneous, I mean.”

“Me neither,” Minho said, calmly, still waiting expectantly. “What else?”

Fucker.

You scowled, jaw clenching, teeth gritted as you admitted. “And my experience in general, is…one could say limited.”

“I figured as much.”

“Rude,” you pointed out, vaguely offended. You’d had this man fucking shivering from just touching him. And what? Now, he was calling you inexperienced? Amateurish? Like he could tell the whole time? Bullshit.

“No, not…” Minho cleared his throat, looking mildly exasperated. It was a look you often inspired in him. “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m saying this, because I don’t want you pretending when it comes to shit like this. If you’re not going to be honest, I don’t want it.”

Honest.

Shit.

You hesitated, debating internally, weighing the pros and cons in your head. It was so fucking Minho to pick the most aggravating time to do the right thing. Of course, the one time that him being an asshole worked in your favour, he refused to do it.

“Fine,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine. OK.”

He waited, eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from averting your gaze, looking up at the ceiling.

“Technically…technically,” you repeated, with emphasis, “one might argue that…I haven’t had sex yet.”

Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.

You swallowed, trying to stay firm. “It’s really not a big deal…”

“It is,” Minho argued, tersely, but when you looked at his face, there wasn’t a hint of anger. There was, however, a strong hint of guilt in his eyes. You could practically see his thoughts, the way he replayed everything he’d done tonight, the fear that he’d done too much, come on too strong, picturing you as some blushing innocent virgin he’d deflowered–

“I’ve done everything else,” you said, eager to clear up that misconception. You were far from innocent, there was just one particular act you hadn’t gotten around to. “Hands, oral, all that. Done it. It’s literally the one thing that hasn’t…like, I’ve had relationships, it just never reached the point that…”

It always went around in circles. You wanted your relationship to be serious, to be settled and firmly established and in a good place before it happened – but the time it took to get there made your partners panic, made them think that to go so long without sex, without wanting them, the relationship must actually secretly be failing. And then you’d break up, and you’d be even more guarded and hesitant the next time, and on it went.

“And I’ve been busy with school and my career anyway,” you added, swallowing, forcing a shrug. “Who has the time?”

Minho was still staring at you, but at least the guilt had faded away.

He’d made no move to get away from you, at least, so you took this as a good sign. With a deep breath, you turned around and took slow, measured steps towards that ridiculously large bed, and looked him dead in the eye as you made a point of sitting down on it.

Doing your best to sound certain, reassuring, convincing without leaving a single bit of room for doubt, you spoke.

“I’m happy and comfortable with everything but sex-sex happening. So, if you want that…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase the thought in your head, before giving up with a shrug. “Tough shit, I guess. That’s my line in the sand. Everything else is fair game, though, so don’t get all…weird about it.”

“I’m not getting weird about it,” Minho said, stubbornly.

“You were. Just a little. Like you’re afraid to break me or something.”

Something sparked in Minho’s eyes, and he smiled slightly. “I’d never think I could do that.”

“Good, because you can’t,” you repeated, firmly. “There, honesty. Done. So, either come over here or leave.”

“Leave my own room?” Minho asked, amused.

“Yeah,” you said, doubling down, leaning back to plant both hands behind you on the bed. “It’s my room now.”

For a second, it looked like Minho was going to laugh. And then you caught the way his eyes began to lower, following the lines of your body, the way you were sitting on his bed, clad only in underwear, waiting.

He exhaled slowly, appreciatively. “…This is happening.”

You weren’t sure if that was aimed at you, or himself, but either way it didn’t matter much when he crossed the room in a flash. Barely taking the time to plant one knee into the mattress beside you, his mouth was on yours, hand on the back of your head.

It was a gentle gesture, sweet even, how he cradled the back of your head.

So, just to be certain that he knew exactly where you stood, and exactly how much patience you had for gentleness, you took his other hand and slid it into your panties.

Minho groaned, pulling away from the kiss to look down, and you felt his fingers slip through your folds, the movement made slick and easy by the way you were soaked.

“You’re so impatient,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly annoyed about it. “All the time.”

“Yeah,” you replied, unapologetic. “I know what I want.”

“Mmhm. And so do I,” he said, and pulled his hand out of your underwear. You opened your mouth to argue, to question why, until you felt his hands move to your back, to the fastening of your bra.

He unhooked it easily, sliding the straps off your shoulders. Pushing up from the bed to stand tall, Minho let the bra fall from his hands, before reaching down to grab at your waist and pull you to standing.

He kissed you again, briefly, ignoring your bewildered expression, before switching your positions – him sat on the bed, you standing over him.

“These are staying on. They’re a bitch to peel off,” he told you, and your gaze was practically glued to his hand as it ran up his faux-leather-clad thigh before he gestured to your underwear. “It’s up to you, what you do with those.”

Your hand, unthinkingly, drifted to the lacy hem of your underwear.

“…What, no preference?” you asked him.

Minho stared at you, eyes dark, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly with knowing, and didn’t reply.

Heat flooded your belly. You swallowed once, and hooked your fingers around your waistband, stripping out of your underwear before you could think twice.

He reached for you immediately, his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. From what you could tell, he seemed to be guiding you towards straddling his lap – to which you took the slightest detour at the very last second, planting your knees either side of his thigh, the very same one that had been pushed between your legs on that balcony.

How very familiar a feeling. And yet, how very different, because now you were pressed against Minho’s naked chest, and when you kissed, one hand went straight to your bare breast, the other arm hooked around your bare waist.

Logically, you should have felt exposed – but there was very little room for logic here, not when Minho was squeezing you so tightly against him. You felt…enveloped by him. By his warmth.

It was…nice.

And then you finally let go of those last few traces of stubborn pride, and let yourself grind down on his thigh, and it was fucking fantastic.

You moaned, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his, and rocked your hips faster. His thigh was so solid under you, thick bands of muscle from a lifetime of sports, clenching and unclenching. Heat pooled in your gut, spiking with every rock of your hips, every drag of your clit against him.

You felt Minho’s hand drop from your waist to curl around your hip, gripping tightly, urging you to keep moving. You pulled your face away from his, just in case – headbutting him in the nose, no matter the context, would very probably be a mood-killer – and instead lowered your head to plant kisses on the side of his neck.

Minho tilted his head back, just a little, granting you better access, his breath escaping him in one long, shaking exhale. You were forced to grip onto his shoulder with one hand, just to steady yourself, still grinding down on him.

Tension built between your legs, pulsing with every heartbeat as you continued to grind against him, and your kisses grew clumsier. Open-mouthed, harsher, teeth scraping against sensitive skin in a way that left Minho gasping.

“If I left marks, would it…” your voice was sluggish, raspy, dazed, “would…can I?”

It was a silly question, because the obvious answer was ‘no’, he wasn’t going to want any reminders of this temporary lapse in sanity.

And yet, Minho’s reply was immediate. “Yes. Yeah, you can, if…that’s…”

He broke off, with a noise so low in his throat that you could almost feel his chest vibrate from it, as your mouth latched onto his neck.

Your movements weren’t deliberate, not exactly. You had no strict intentions of marking up Minho’s skin, but it was just whenever it felt good. With every new sudden jolt of sensation shooting through your body, you sucked, leaving a path of your own pleasure scattered intermittently along his neck, the base of his throat, the swells and dips of his collarbone.

Minho reacted to each, and when you thought to look down, you saw his dick straining against his pants, so much so that it was even starting to pull his waistband away from his skin, revealing glimpses of what lay underneath.

You watched his hand lower to his crotch, as he tried to adjust himself, to figure out a way out of his discomfort. Without thinking, you reached down and pushed his hand away, letting your own slide into his paints.

Minho sharply inhaled, as you slid the palm of your hand over the head of him, letting your fingers grow slick, before wrapping your hand around his length.

He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.

And all of that was because of you.

Because he wanted you.

You felt your body physically judder at the thought, your thighs clamping around his. Something sparked inside of you. Up until now, you’d been turned on – obviously. You were naked on Minho’s bed and straddling his thigh, of course you’d been turned on, but it had been manageable. Like burning coals, smouldering, blazing hot to the touch, sure, but under control.

This, seeing him like this, was as if someone had jabbed right in the heart of those coals, oxygen rushing in and flames erupting, sparks crackling in the air. No longer under control, but all-consuming and desperate.

The muscles of your core clenched so tightly that it was almost painful, and with a ragged breath, you finally began to ride in earnest.

Minho clutched you with one hand as you moaned, his other snaking down to join yours on his dick. You let him guide your hand, controlling how hard you squeezed him, how slow you pumped him. Honestly, at this point, you didn’t have the concentration for it on your own, not when your legs were starting to shake with every new press of his thigh. You could feel something build, like a wave swelling, the crest just in sight but not quite…

“That’s it,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your chest. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, watching the way you bounced. “You’re…God, you’re fucking hot, do you know that?”

His words only drove you further, stoking something within you, and you moaned in response.

“Oh, is that what you like?” Minho asked, eyes lighting at his new discovery. His moved the hand on your waist to settle on your breast, squeezing lightly. “Me telling you how good you look?”

“Minho,” you muttered, half-warning, half-longing.

“With our history, I’d have thought you liked me mean,” he continued, and you should have wondered where that smart mouth of his had been this whole time.

He leaned in, kissing your neck, following upwards, until he reached your ear.

“But that’s not it,” he observed, murmuring into your ear. His hand – the one on yours, the one helping you stroke his dick – quickened, gripping yours just a little tighter, and his breath caught for a second, before continuing. “You want to hear how good you feel. How good you are.”

You whined, your body faltering for a beat, before picking up again.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You like praise,” he said, so very confident. Knowing, almost, like there was something else to it. Something he recognised, intrinsically. “You want me to admit how…fucking perfect I think you are.”

“Minho.”

You felt him twitch under your hands, felt the way he reacted to the way you breathed his name.

“Because you are,” he said, the words falling from his lips, as you grew even more frantic. “You are, you are, you’re good, you’re perfect, you’re…fuck, keep going. I can feel how wet you are, you…”

Fuck, fuck, it was too good. Too good and yet not good enough. There were tears in your eyes and your legs burned from how tightly they were clamped around Minho’s thigh, how desperately you’d ridden him, trying to chase an orgasm you just…you just couldn’t quite…

“Maybe you should fuck me,” you whined, voice hoarse, shaking. You’d spent the last five minutes essentially edging yourself, your brain was fried, and all you could imagine was how easy it would be for Minho to pull you over just a short distance onto his dick, let it fill you, maybe it…

“Don’t. Fuck, don’t say that,” Minho gasped, trying and failing to make it sound insistent, final. You could see the effects of your words. He was tempted, he was sorely fucking tempted. You knew he was picturing the exact same thing that you were. “I’m not taking your virginity at a fucking house party. You…”

He broke off with a moan, letting whatever words that would follow die on his tongue as you squeezed him.

“I need…I need more,” you gasped, through gritted teeth. Your body was starting to betray you, your legs starting to give out before you could reach your climax.

You buried your face in his neck, panting.

“I can’t…fuck,” you moaned, before one little word fell from your lips, the one word he’d asked for so long ago, out on the balcony, “Please.”

With a sudden, sharp breath, Minho hooked his arm around you and rolled you over, pressing you into the mattress. Your hand slipped out of his pants as he moved, hurriedly, down your body.

He paused at the apex of your legs, glancing up. “Are you OK with–”

“Yes,” you hissed, your hand fisting in his hair and pushing him downwards. You were so close, you were so close, and his thigh wasn’t between yours anymore, and you just couldn’t… “Yes, fuck, please.”

You could glimpse the beginnings of a smirk as he followed your hurried pushing, but before you could even register it, you felt him lick one long stripe along you, and your head emptied of all thoughts.

His mouth was hot and wet and almost immediately targeted your clit, leaving you shaking as you ground up into his face without shame, chasing the orgasm that had been just inches away for so fucking long. You could barely breathe from it, each breath wracking your body in almost-sobs, every muscle stiff and coiled in desperation.

You felt Minho hook an arm under your leg, pulling it up so that it could sit on his shoulder, parting you just a little wider.

You arched your back, your head pressing even further into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. When you spoke, it was barely coherent, a loose string of words. “…H-hands, fingers…please, whatever it…Minho, I’m so close, I’m…ah…”

You felt him slide in a finger – two fingers? More? You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you just knew how close to the edge you were. Your muscles were locking up, body shaking, even as Minho placed his free hand on the curve of your hip, thumb brushing your skin in small, reassuring strokes.

Your grip in his hair tightened, mind going blank, tears in your eyes as you gasped. “Yes, keep – keep…keep–”

You came, and it felt like shattering. Your body’s muscles locked, rigid, shaking, as your own moans rang in your ears. At some point, your thighs had clamped around Minho’s head, your one anchor as you tried to come back down to earth.

It was like every rational thought, anything with even the slightest bit of complexity to it, evaporated. You were left weightless, on your back, dazed. Slowly, sluggishly, your gaze drifted to Minho.

What a sight, you thought. Pretty.

His cheek was pressed into the flesh of your inner thigh, skin flushed so pink, head tilted down so that most of his face was hidden by his rumpled hair. He was kneeling, and you saw that his hand had returned to his dick. It was as if he were trying to be discreet, almost quiet, even as he desperately pumped himself.

Barely even thinking about it, you reached down. His breath caught when you wrapped your own hand around him again, letting him guide your movements once more.

His head lifted, and you caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes looking up at you. Always so unreadable, even now, even when burning.

Your mouth moved before your thoughts could catch up. “You’re…”

You didn’t know how to finish that. Gorgeous? Annoying? Terrifying?

All of it was true, none of it felt right to say in that moment.

You just watched him, eyes locked, until he choked out a moan, squeezed his eyes shut, and came with a soft, low, “fuck.”

It felt dirty, almost voyeuristic, to watch him cum. But even if you didn’t look, you still would have heard him, you still would have felt it on your hands, your thighs. You still would have felt the way he slumped forward, head dropping to your chest, forehead pressed against the valley between your breasts, his quick, deep breaths against your skin.

You still would have felt the way it all fell quiet – until it was just you, Minho, and the impending repercussions of what just happened.

What you’d done.

What had you done?

Your head dropped back against the mattress, looking up at Minho’s ceiling but not really seeing it, as your senses slowly returned to you.

Shit. Fuck. Every other fucking expletive, they all ran through your head.

What the fuck had you–

Minho cleared his throat, lifting his head up off of you. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your face, and you tried to school your expression into something neutral, pushing down the storm of thoughts in your mind.

You didn’t know why, but you expected him to withdraw from you immediately. Maybe that was doing him a disservice, but it was true.

That was why you were so surprised by the kiss he pressed to your temple, strangely gentle, even as his usual sardonic tone crept back into his voice as he spoke. “Let’s clean up first, overthink later.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you argued immediately, because old habits died hard even in a fucking surreal situation like this.

He didn’t laugh, but there was the slightest twitch to the corner of his mouth as he replied. “Sure.”

He sat up, and you caught the way he winced, probably in newfound discomfort over the state of his…current attire. While he attempted to strip out of his ruined pants with anything close to dignity, you pushed yourself up to a seated position, trying to look anywhere but him.

What now? What now? It was all well and good for him not to overthink, but you couldn’t drive away the sudden flood of consequences that threatened to overwhelm you. Of all times, why did it have to be now, when you were forced to interact with Minho so much more? You’d have to work with this man for the next few months, fuck, you had to talk at the U.N. with him. What would people say?

What would Felix say?

Something powder-blue and soft entered your field of vision, smelling of detergent and lavender fabric softener. You blinked, looking up to find Minho offering you a towel, and you wondered how long you must have zoned out, wrapped in your own thoughts. There wasn’t quite a smile on his face – nothing so extreme like that from Minho – but there was something gentle in his eyes.

You took it, swallowing, and cleaned yourself up as best as you could. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho pull on a pair of black sweatpants – and when he straightened up to standing, you finally clocked the blooming purple marks littered across his skin.

“Oh, fuck, your neck. I’m so sorry,” you gasped, mortified at the blooming purple marks on Minho.

He glanced towards you, and gave you half a shrug. “It’s fine.”

They were very much not fine. They were prominent, the kind of hickeys you’d be embarrassed to leave on a long-term partner, let alone a…

A…

Well, whatever Minho was.

You swallowed. “It’s not, have you seen them?”

He paused.

“…Yes,” Minho replied, firmly, and there was something about his tone that made you stop, that made you stare at him.

He stared back, face perfectly neutral but refusing to look away. The implications were not lost on you, and your face began to warm.

Clearing your throat, you set the towel by your side and reached for your clothes, having to get up to pick up each item along the shameless trail that ran from the bed to the balcony doors, gathering them in your arms in a small, pink pile. “Please tell me you have your own bathroom.”

Minho laughed a little, nodding towards the door to your right. “Where do you think I got the towel from? Through there.”

You spent a few minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose yourself, trying to clean up properly, slipping your costume back on. The strange feeling in your stomach didn’t ease up, not even once. In the mirror, you looked almost exactly the same as you had when you first stepped into Minho’s room – but how was that possible, when everything had changed?

Fuck, just…you didn’t need to think about it. Deal with it later, deal with all of it later. You just needed to get out and get some space and distance and just…

You drew yourself up as high as you could, squaring your shoulders, and pushed open the bathroom door.

You found Minho standing in the middle of the room, seemingly in mid-step, turning quickly to face you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was…what? Pacing?

“I can’t stay,” you stated, trying to sound firm. You mostly succeeded, were it not for the slightest hesitation you had, the faintest strain to your voice.

Minho paused, catching it immediately. “…Do you want to?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It felt like a trap, even now, as if Minho was preparing to pull the rug out from under you. You wished you couldn’t imagine that level of cruelty, and yet you feared it, however irrational it was. “…I don’t want people to talk.”

Minho eyed you for a second, and yet again waited before he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words before they left his mouth. He settled for a very simple, very Minho statement. “Fuck people.”

At any other time, in any other situation, you would have rolled your eyes. You even felt the urge now, tied up in the same desire to go back to normal, to pretend everything was fine. “It’s not as easy as that.”

“It is,” Minho argued, but there was no irritation in his voice. Just quiet. “But I get it.”

“This was very…uh,” you swallowed. “…Impulsive.”

“Yes. It was definitely that,” he replied, and was he even capable of being any more cryptic?

You glanced away, finding it difficult to look him in the eye as you admitted, quietly. “…But, uh, good.”

Minho paused. “…Yep.”

Couldn’t he just say what he was fucking thinking? You needed to know, you needed to know if he was on the same page as you, if he was also thinking that it was too weird to just leave things like this. Silent and awkward and just…dancing around each other like this.

You swallowed, and folded your arms over your chest. You weren’t quite brave enough to look at him again yet, but you spoke up again. “Did you…have a good time too?”

And just when you were expecting another cryptic little non-response, Minho decided to cut straight to the point and catch you off-guard. “I had a great time.”

You blinked, shocked enough that your eyes darted back to him without a second thought. “…Good. That’s, uh…good.”

It was so strange to see him like this. Lee Minho, always so put-together, never a shred of vulnerability – and there he was, hair mussed, shirtless, barefoot, taking a breath as he tried to put together his next words.

“I had a great time,” he repeated. “With you. And…”

He stopped.

“And…?” You asked.

His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”

You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”

“…Yes.”

You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…

Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Yes, what?”

He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”

You took another step. “Why?”

This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”

You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”

He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”

“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”

Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.

You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.

“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.

Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.

You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.

More than just that.

More than just…

Oh.

That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain –  was capable of thinking.

Oh.

“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”

You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.

When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.

“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”

Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.

“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.

“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.

Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”

“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”

Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.

You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”

He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”

“Assho–”

You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.

The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.

“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"

taglist: @buntrsh​ @liz3056​ @sunnyville36​ @sleepylixie​ @healinghyunjin​ @aliceu​ @laikaya​ @the7thcrow​ @lynx-paw​ @mainexiii​ @springdeity​ @bettyschwallocksyee​ @kawaiiayasan​ @tae-kook-lover​ @itshoonie​

[hunterbunter3000]

OH LORD MAMA TAKE THE WHEEL THISNIS MY LAST ONE.

imagine the boys just got back from a mission and when they enter the base, they found sweetheart cooking their country food for them. The taste is giving ✨SEASONED✨, its giving ✨you want me to marry you✨, its giving ✨that type of food that added 10 years to your life span✨, ITS GIVING ✨YOU DID A VERY GOOD JOB AND IM PROUD OF YOU✨

NOOOO NEVER STOP THESE I SWEAR YOU'RE JUST FINE 😍😍🫂🫂 these give me life you have no idea miss roro💕

(@missroro ROROOO GURL IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER😭😭 PLS FORGIVE ME I WAS SHADOWBANNED AND THEN OTHER ASKS KEPT POURING IN🧎‍♀️this is quite long, so hopefully you will take that as a sacrifice for my tardiness 🙏I hope you're doing well! I miss you LOTS 💓)

BUT UGHHH GOD

And the FACT that I already have a scenario that's kinda like this blows my mind 🤯🤯

When Sweetheart wasn't needed for this certain mission, she said "aight bet. I know yall are gonna be so damn tired and hungry so watch this WORK."

(Idk if you wanted Sweetheart to cook her home food, or cook their country meals, so imma do both 💀)

Her home-cooked food:

When Task Force 141 came back to the base they smelt that SEASONING IMMEDIATELY LIKE--

Gaz: Something just happened.

I know he's the FIRST to book it to the living room, and then he sees the PLETHORA

GRITS, SWEET YAMS, MAC AND CHEESE, CHICKEN, HAM, GREENS AND OX TAILS, CORNBREAD-- ALL THE GOOD SHIT YOU CAN THINK OOOFFF

Gaz squeals (LITERALLY SQUEALS) cause he's been wanting to taste her cooking.

(He's always asked about African-American cooking since he grew up with British cooking. Sweetheart told him the goodness and he's been hooked on it ever since)

Everyone else comes in and sees the table and they're just in shock

Like what the hell- how long did it take you to make all this?? I love you???

It felt so domestic, like coming home to a home cooked meal after getting off work and seeing your wife smile at you saying "welcome home, dear!"

Sweetheart is just beaming at them, saying "I know yall have been through hell, so have a lil' piece of heaven!" (She's so CHEESY) the mother in her comes thru, telling them to take showers and get situated first then come eat.

WHEN I TELL YOU THAT THEY B O O K E D IT TO THE MENS SHOWERS TO GET CLEAN-- GHOST PUSHED ALEX AND SOAP INTO A WALL SO HE CAN GET THERE FIRST (König and Price were already in there LOL they're witches I swear)

They were done so quickly Sweetheart had to check if some of them were actually clean

Sweetheart: Suds?

Soap, flushed: uhm, yeah?

Sweetheart, eyes squinting: Did you wash yo' ass?

Soap:

Soap: Yes...?

Sweetheart: GO GET CLEANED

Soap: BUT FOOD--

Sweetheart: G O

(Alex and Gaz low key laughing at him and Price is disgusted that Soap sometimes doesn't wash his ass)

They all finally sit down and they just enjoy the warm feeling in their chests while looking at the food. Sweetheart turns on some r&b music (is this a black 80s BET movie? MAYBE) and she walks to the edge of the table, eyes are filled with love and pride for her team. "Aight, I'm gonna keep this short and simple cause I know all yall are hungry and tired," she starts. The team sit on every word she says, as they always do. She smiles. "I'm glad you all made it back safely. Successful mission or not, I will always be proud of all of you. I love yall."

She's too good for them, man. Wtf

They all just fell in love with her more AHA

So she sits down and the chatter and clatter begins. They all moaned so much when they ate the food 💀💀

(They all went into a food coma and had the BEST SLEEP EVER)

--

(If she made everyone's food from their culture) (I put my whole ass into this wow)

When SAS and Los Vaqueros trudged through the hallway, they heard a clang and a yelping "Ow! Son of a-"

Price and Ghost look at each other before picking up the pace towards the kitchen. "Sweetheart? Are you -" Price freezes when he sees the kitchen filled with different types of food. " - Okay..."

"Oh fuck-- Hey! Yall are back already! That's wonderful." Sweetheart nervously laughs as she wipes her hands on her messy apron. The others start to come in, not expecting the different dishes on the counters. She squeals, "Nah uh! Don't come in here! Go and get cleaned now, all of you!" They stare at her for a bit until sprinting to the Men's Showers. Shouts and loud bangs from falling tact gear are heard, making Sweetheart chuckle and shake her head. Once the men came back to the kitchen, she was gone and so was the food. "In here!" She yelled. Soap made it first to the dining room and let out a big gasp. On the long, make-shift table sat a multitude of different foods and drinks each man recognized from their home country.

"Oh, mo leannan, this looks barry!" Soap exclaims.

"In English, Mactavish." Ghost mumbles, making Soap kiss his teeth. "This looks wonderful, St.! I'm- how did you--" Sweetheart shushes him, Soap still smiling ear to ear. "Don't ask questions! Just come sit down and get your plate."

They all grab a plate and utensils with rushed steps and big smiles.

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

Price, Ghost, and Gaz sat at the end, where they all recognize the things to make Bangers and Mash. Shepherd's Pie and Fish and Chips could be found on all their plates with a side of Barm cakes. Their dishes melt in their mouths, dragon breathing at every bite since it was still hot. Ghost had a feeling in his chest that he felt extremely warm and overwhelming. He didn't think she would make something like this for him. "How're yall enjoying it?" She asks behind Price. "Umberweivable!" Gaz spouted out, a disbelief and amazed look on his face. Sweetheart laughs at him, "Hopefully, that meant unbelievable!" Gaz nods quickly with big food-filled cheeks. "Absolutely amazing, Princess." Price says after taking a swig of homemade Ginger Beer. "Haven't had Shepherd's Pie and Ginger Beer in so long. Good run down memory lane." Price smiles with soft and grateful eyes. Sweetheart snorts out a laugh and taps her cheek. Price raises an eyebrow until the embarrassment creeps in. He grabs his napkin and wipes the food that was stuck to his cheek. "I'm glad you like it, Cap! It was so hard finding an easy recipe for that damn beer." Sweetheart grumbles, looking at the kitchen with furrowed eyes and hand on Price's shoulder. He leans into her touch and sighs. "All in all, thank you." He murmurs, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on it. Sweetheart giggles, ignoring the heat coming from her hand. "You're very welcome!" She moves to Ghost, who has been quietly shoveling food in his mouth. "Hey Ghost! Are you--" Sweetheart stopped when he looked up at her. Eyes big with tears running down his flushed, stuffed cheeks. His eyes tick away from her changed face. "What...?" Simon whispers. She gives him a soft smile as one of her hands wipes off his tears. He didn't even notice the tears falling... "You enjoying the food?" She asks softly. Oh, that tone. That tone she uses only for Simon. He shivers, nodding his head slowly and then laying on her hip. She coos, wrapping her hand around his head while giving him head scratches to calm him down. You're alright, Simon. She's saying through her touch. Enjoy yourself.

Soap was practically vibrating in his chair when he saw a pitcher of Scottish Ale next to a big pot of Cullen Skink and an array of Scotch Pies with small Bacon Butties on the side. He did a double take when he saw a dish filled with Stovies and fried cut potatoes. Just how he ate it when he was younger. He lets out a disbelieved laugh as he reaches for it. "St.!" He calls out to her. She comes over with a worried look. "Wassup Suds? Everything okay?" He looks up at her with glassy eyes and a smile, nudging the Stovies. Sweetheart snickers, "I told you I would make it! I remember you tellin' me that your...màthair? Or-- mudder- damn I forgot how to say it-- but ya mom use to make this for you! So I looked up a recipe and may have added some of my extra spice to it." She explains as she whispers and laughs that last part. He can't believe that she remembers that. He told her that when he met her; telling her all the different Scottish cuisines. "I hope it tastes good..." She mumbles to herself. She cares. Soap grabs his spoon and collects some of the dish. She cares so much. Memories going through his mind when he chews it. She cares too much. "It's delicious." Soap whimpers out. Sweetheart smiles as she bends down to hug him. "I'm glad you like it."

Alejandro exclaims loudly when he takes a bite of his abundantly covered Elote. Rudy chuckles at him, taking another big ladel of Pancita and putting it in his bowl. "Hey guys, are you- WOW," Sweetheart yells. "You guys really ate almost everything! The Tamales and Flautas are gone..." Alejandro hums as he swallows. "So is the Ceviche and the Pipián." They both laugh at Sweetheart's surprised face. "Yall were hungry!!"And we still are, mama!" Alejandro snickers, taking more bites of his corn. "Mi flor, how did you make some of these dishes? And by yourself?" Rudy asks. He's so proud of her. He feels like he's back at home. "Oh, I had some help! Kinda-- some of the rookies helped me make the dishes! But then I kicked them out cause they were getting on my nerves." Sweetheart said, making the men laugh. "I knew you were a good cook. You would make a good wife someday, Sweetheart!" Alejandro shouted out as he smiled. Her shy laugh made him feel warm, but he wants his statement to come true.

König wanted to cry. He hasn't seen such a big pan of Tiroler Gröstl in a while. A basket of Kaiser Rolls is next to some Kasnocken and a pot full of Potato Gulasch. He scratches the brown hood he has on. Sweetheart made it for him so he could wear it when he's on base, since his other one was stinking up the joint. He watches Krueger take a big bite of his food and gulp down his drink that tastes like Almdudler. He's also wearing a hood that Sweetheart made for him; light blue fabric and handmade yellow stars scattered around it. It's scrunched up to his nose, his scarred lips still munching on his roll. He seems to be enjoying himself. König hasn't eaten with Krueger ever since they were kids. The impact on Krueger's actions in the past really changed everything for König and the family. But at least they're bonding in silence. "Hey, you two! Enjoying the food?" Sweetheart asks. Sweetheart. "Yes, meine kleine Göttin. It's very tasty." Krueger compliments her. She giggles, but it's cut short when Krueger grabs her arm and kisses her cheek. "Thank you for this wonderful feast, my love." He whispers in her ear with a smirk. Her mind goes blank for a moment, the heat of the kiss still searing on her brown skin. König grips his fork hard, turning his knuckles white. She sputters and then loudly laughs. "Yeah! No- no problem! I uh, König? How you uh, you enjoying the food?" He looks down at his plate, still quite full of food, yet not feeling like eating any of it anymore. König smiles with his eyes. "I am, Schatz. Thank you."

Horangi was enjoying himself to the fullest. Slurping down some Jajangmyeon with korean fried chicken and Kimchi fried rice with an egg. It reminds him so much of his mother's cooking, and when he didn't receive any Valentine's Day gifts so he would eat the noodles on Black Day. He blows on the noodles, the steam fogging up his black sunglasses. He wishes his past choices didn't bring him to this point. To be reminded of what he had, and now it's gone. He drank some of his soda, causing a big burp outta him. "You seem to be enjoying it, Horangi!" But without all his choices, he wouldn't have met her. He chuckles, covering his heavily scarred smile with his hand. Her warm hand snakes around his, gently pulling it down. She wants to see his smile. Her eyes sparkle at seeing his half-uncovered face. He's so pretty... "You like the noodles? M'sorry if I got the sauce wrong, I think I forgot some ingredients--" Horangi shakes his hand up. "No, no! It's perfect. The black bean sauce is amazing. I almost finished the whole pot." He's extremely impressed by her, but the cold feeling in his spine is wanting him to put the mask back on. Sweetheart squeals and claps, "Oh wonderful! I'm so glad you like it! By the way.." She leans down to hug his frozen form. "I hope to see your smile again. It's very pretty." She says. He is not grateful for his past choices, but he is grateful for her.

Alex and Roach enjoy their food in comfortable, happy silence. Alex hasn't had a decent cheeseburger since his leave. He dips a crinkle cut fry in ketchup, while Roach enjoys a big Maine Crab Roll. He's never tasted one before, but he always has, ever since Sweetheart gave him a postcard with the Roll on it, it's been his dream to taste one. "Yo, Alex! How's the burger?" Sweetheart asks, walking up to the both of them. Alex hums with a smile on his face. "You can't go wrong with a cheeseburger unless it's from a dirty bar." Sweetheart laughs, "Amen to that! And you're you doing, Gare Bear? Ya like the roll?" She asks sweetly. Roach can feel his face heat up from the nickname. He puts it down, finally taking breaths from horking it down non-stop, and putting two thumbs up. Her bright smile made both of them feel warm inside.

Graves sighs. His bones and joints hurt so damn bad. That mission with everyone was successful but it always costed some type of labor pain. He went to his dorm, already clean and changed into casual clothes. He could've sworn he heard laughing on the other side of the base... It didn't matter to him. All he wanted to do was to sleep off this pain. He notices a big plate covered in tin foil and a small note plus a coke-a-cola on his door mat. His eyes scan down the hall way with confused brows. Is he being pranked by one of his shadows? He better not be, he doesn't have the patience for it- Oh it's from Sweetheart. Wait- "What?" Graves mumbles, eyeing the messy note. The note reads:

Hey Graves. Congrats on the successful mission

Made you some dinner cause I'm pro proo pri PROU FUCK proud of you. That is the only time I'm gonna say that to you and it's not even in person. Doesn't matter, enjoy the food

Sweetheart ♡ (p.s. you still an asshole and NO I did NOT put laxatives in your food this time)

He huffs out a chuckle with a wobbly smile. So she does care for him. In a-- weird, hateful way. He walks in his dorm with food and drink in hand and opens the tin foil, the smell of barbecue baby back ribs, steamed carrots, buttered rolls and mashed potatoes fill his nostrils. His mouth waters immediately as he sits in his desk chair. He digs in with the utensils that Sweetheart gave him, his mind immediately going to his repeated fantasy about having a family with Sweetheart. Her, serving him a big plate of food with their baby boy on her hip. She kisses Graves's forehead and situates their son in the high chair before she starts to eat as well. A happy smile works on his face, not feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks. A happy family. "It's delicious..."

- 𓆩♡𓆪 -

After Dinner Bonus!

"Hey, no one go ANYWHERE! Yall are helping me clean all this shit up!" Sweetheart points out with a frown. Soap laughs, "Of course, hen! Why wouldn't we?"

"You did a lot for us, Princess. We'll take care of everything now. Go and take a load off." Price says close to her. Very close to her. "Nah, I can help!" Sweetheart pushed. "Your shoulder has been bothering you, hasn't it?" Ghost said, making Sweetheart flinch. "Why you gotta call me out like that, man?" Sweetheart whined. He was right, though. She's been rotating her left shoulder from time to time, playing it off every time one of the boys asked about it.

Alejandro laughs, placing his hand on her hip. His thumb doing small circles on her thin clothing. Rudy and Krueger strolled towards Sweetheart. Rudy wore a soft smile, yet his eyes told a different story. A more mischievous story. Alejandro's voice dropped an octave, making a hot jolt spike through Sweetheart's spine. "Come now, mama. I know just what to do to help you relax."

°.Reblogs are highly appreciated.! Thank you for your support everyone!!

[robthegoodfellow]

I'm Glad My Dad Died

mungrove | slightly expanded version of fic written for @strangerthingscharityzine | ao3

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy had a secret: he was glad his dad was dead. So glad that even when his mom sold their house in Ocean Beach and moved them to Hawkins, Indiana, uprooting him from his friends and the sea and everything Billy loved, he still wouldn’t go back to the way things were. Given the options—California, dad alive; or Indiana, dad dead—he’d pick the second every time.

He would, even though Hawkins was its own hell. Learned the hard way that among prepubescent country bumpkins, embroidered roses on your shirt and hair like Shirley Temple bought you a one-way ticket to Loserville.

It was the fall of 1979. Disco was dying and former flower children were gearing up to vote for Reagan. Kumbaya over, time to make America great again.

So, yeah—sixth grade sucked, but stuff at home was world’s better. They were living with Aunt Doris—because San Diego was too expensive, his mom said, and wouldn’t it be nice to get a fresh start?

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow. 

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music! 

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide. 

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life. 

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five. 

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered. 

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien. 

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off. 

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make       true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate. 

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and… 

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead. 

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did. 

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

[ur-mom-did-69]

Hey y’all! This is my first time writing so please bear with me. Let me know what y’all think though!

Bull rider x Nika Mühl

(Yes ik a bull rider is weird I was just think about it today💀)

Nothing kills you slower than letting someone go

In the heart of a small Texas town, the lights of the local bar flickered like fireflies, inviting weary travelers and spirited locals. It was a raucous celebration, the air thick with laughter, camaraderie, and the scent of barbeque. The night was alive with the sound of clinking glasses and country music wailing from the jukebox. Among the crowd, Alex, a vibrant bull rider, stood out—not just for her victorious grin, but for her unmistakable Texan charm.

With a cowboy hat perched atop her sun-kissed curls and a worn pearl-snap button-up shirt clinging to her muscular frame, Alex was a walking Southern stereotype. Her jeans were perfectly fitted, revealing her strong legs honed from years in the saddle, and her boots were scuffed from countless rodeos. As she settled onto a barstool, she couldn't help but beam at the crowd, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of a successful ride.

Today, however, was special; it wasn’t just her victory that fueled her energy; it was the celebration itself. Spying a group of tall women nestled in the corner, Alex recognized them immediately—the UConn women's basketball team, in town for a break. Without hesitating, she flagged down the bartender and ordered them a round of drinks. Her deep Southern drawl broke through the chatter as she introduced herself, her smile infectious.

With a confident stride, Alex approached the lively table. “Howdy, y’all! Is this a winning celebration I’m intruding on?” she grinned, her Southern drawl wrapping around every word like a comforting embrace.

“Not at all! I’m Nika,” one of the players replied, her dark eyes sparkling as she extended a hand. “Thanks for the drinks, by the way.”

“Alex!” she said, shaking Nika’s hand firmly. “Glad to meet some champions! I’ve been tellin’ everyone in this town that the only sport that matters is bull riding, but maybe y’all could convince me otherwise,” she chuckled, her accent lending an extra layer of warmth to her charm.

Nika felt a quickening in her heart as she studied Alex: strong but gentle, a prominent presence yet grounded. “I’ve always wanted to ride a bull. What’s it like?”

“Like dancing with a tornado. You either get twirled around or sent flyin’. Makes you feel alive!” Alex said with a twinkle in her eye. They continued to talk, the energy around them buzzing as the night wore on, laughter mingling with stories of triumph and trials.

The two women lost themselves in conversation, sharing stories of their lives—Alex’s wild west adventures and Nika’s basketball powerhouse experiences. Each laugh and exchange sent little sparks between them. With every word, they discovered more that connected them despite their different worlds. That evening, under the dim lights, Alex worked up the courage to ask for Nika's number, and when Nika easily obliged, a thrill shot through her.

“Let’s make this a date then,” Alex suggested, her Southern charm radiating. Nika nodded, excitement bubbling up within her.

Their first outing was unexpected. Alex took Nika to a nearby rodeo, and as they settled into the bleachers, Alex turned to her, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “So, how’d you feel about seeing me get thrown off a bull tonight?”

“You’re competing?” Nika asked, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of nervousness.

“Sure am! Just a little amateur rodeo,” Alex shrugged, trying to play it cool, but Nika could see the pride in her eyes. As the night wore on, Nika cheered louder than any of the rowdy spectators, her heart pounding in rhythm with the pulse of the event.

When she watched Alex flawlessly ride a bull, she couldn’t help but admire the tenacity and skill of this spirited Texan. Afterward, the connection deepened, and for the next two weeks, they spent every moment they could together, especially at night, tangled between the sheets, whispering sweet nothings and sharing dreams.

But a looming reality soon hit. The time came for Nika to return to Connecticut, and the distance stretched before them like an insurmountable wall. Their message exchanges grew sparse as they struggled to maintain their connection. The longing turned to frustration, culminating in an argument that lingered over their heads like a thundercloud before it finally burst. Days passed without a word, leaving Alex feeling empty and alone, and Nika wrestling with a sense of loss.

Then came the day when fate intervened, and Alex found herself on the wrong side of a bull's fury. The ride ended in calamity, and the pain was sharp and immediate. When Nika received the call about Alex’s accident, panic and worry surged through her. Without a second thought, she hopped on the next flight to Texas, her heart racing with fear and determination.

Arriving at the hospital, Nika rushed to Alex’s side, the sight of her bruised and bandaged partner shattering her heart. Tears spilled over as they locked eyes; finally, the dam broke, and both began to cry. They had fought so hard to stay connected, but it took this moment of vulnerability for them to truly understand the depth of their love.

“You scared the shit out of me, Alex I thought I almost lost you,” Nika whispered, holding Alex's hand tightly as the tears streamed down.

Upon her arrival, she found Alex bandaged and bruised but still strong. “Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m tougher than I look,” Alex joked, but Nika saw through the mask of bravado. Alex’s face turned from a small smile, into a pained expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to lose you either though,” Alex replied, her voice shaky. They poured their hearts out, sharing their fears and desires, vowing to fight for what they had built together.

As Alex healed, she began to reevaluate her future. The idea of riding bulls, once a thrill, felt more like shackles. She realized that the life she longed for was not rooted in the arena but in moments shared with Nika. The decision came swiftly. With each passing day, recovery transformed into purpose, and soon after, Alex packed her bags and moved to Connecticut, embracing a new chapter with Nika.

But life in Connecticut felt overwhelming. Alex struggled against the quietness of country life compared to the excitement she had left behind. As days turned into weeks, an unshakeable tension hung in the air. Nika’s once-warm smile grew cold and distant, and Alex’s pleas felt like whispers lost in the wind.

Alex recognized that things weren’t changing with Nika and finally had a sit-down conversation with her. “I feel like we’re in the same exact place that we were in a couple of months ago. I mean I’ve tried talking to you about it, which is rare these days because I feel like I don’t even see you anymore when we live in the same damn place for Christ’s sake!” Alex said, trying her hardest not to raise her voice.

Nika scoffed, “I never asked you to drop everything and come up here, Alex! You say that we don’t see each other, but one of us is actually doing something important with their lives. I mean, how far did you seriously think bullriding was going to get you? I’m working my ass off during practice and studying for my classes. What have you been doing the entire time you’ve been here?”

Alex’s face fell as she heard Nika talk about her career. “Wow. So that’s how you feel about everything? You didn’t have to ask me to drop everything for you because I would’ve done it regardless, Nika. Say what you want, but I was doing just fine with my career because I had enough to buy me a farm up here in Connecticut that I was going to surprise you with on our anniversary. That’s what I’ve been busy with the entire time that I’ve been here, but even then I still made time to try to spend with you, but you just kept brushing me off,” Alex said with a lump in her throat.

Nika’s expression suddenly changed from frustrated to regretful. “Alex, I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean it.”, she said teary-eyed.

A moment of silence passed between them. “I don’t think we thought things out enough for us,” Alex spoke softly.

Alex stood up, putting on her boots and hat. “I think I should go. It’s clear that we want different things. I want you, and you want your career and studies, which I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around, Nika. I love you.”

Nika shot up from her seat. “No, Alex, please don’t go. Please, I’m sorry. I love you, I don’t want you to go.”, she said sobbing.

It was too late though, Alex had already gotten into her truck and drove off as Nika watched her from the window. Maybe they were too different to be compatible, or maybe this only made them realize just how deeply they impacted each other’s lives.

So… what do we think…? Part 2? Thank yall for reading hope you enjoyed it!

[renard-dartigue]

Today's Bravern episode was awesome, had alot of funny moments. I'm convinced Bravern's VA is having a blast lol.

Also

Lulu: You got games on your phone?

Spoiler discussion below

So Superbia is back and that is genuinely fascinating because he might give us more hints as to where Bravern and deathdrives come from.

Something that really stood out to me was the fact that before Superbia could speak Japanese, he was clearly trying to communicate in his original language. Isn't it strange how Bravern doesn't understand this language? How does he know Superbia's name then? I legit believed Bravern knew because Superbia told him during their fight in Hawaii. But I guess that wasn't the case???

Its also strange how Bravern isn't baffled by Superbia's return, almost like he expected him to come back after exploding. Like how do I put this? Ok so clearly, this isn't the same Superbia as the one Isami and Bravern defeated. He must have been rebuilt. Whether or not he has the same memories isn't clear since Superbia doesn't seem to know Bravern. Or maybe he does but because of the language barrier he didn't understand Bravern's fancy introduction. Regardless, there is a possibility that Braven doesn't know everything about deathdrives.

My biggest questions right now are: Is there a chance to bring Superbia to their side? Does Superbia only want Lulu because she makes him stronger? Or does he have a similar attachment to Lulu as Bravern does to Isami? Because if its the latter I could definitely see Superbia joining their side if its the only way he can protect Lulu. Cause let's face it, ain't no way that girl is leaving her dad's(yup thats Smith) side willingly. Personally, I hope Superbia joins the team just to see him and Bravern talk more. I'd love to watch two giant robots bicker over dumb shit while Isami losses his mind lol.

Also, I love Smith dude. This isn't American bias or anything. (Especially given what my country's leaders are doing right now but let's not get into it). When Smith is positive its so infectious and I think him and I are on the same wavelength. There is this moment when him, Isami, and Bravern are flying over to Japan and Bravern says one of his wacky phrases followed by an awkward silence. I literally, out LOWD, say "Ookay". And right after that Smith says "Ookay" in the EXACT same way and I started wheezing dude. 💀

Ok ok that's enough rambling lol. Now to wait another week for (hopefully) some answers.

For once I gotta say, the English in this hasn't been as painful as some other animes I've seen. Both Smith and the Major have been pretty alright. (What I'm saying is that I'm not cringing as much when a primary English speaking character doesn't pronounce English words right.)

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 8🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 8 "Fracas at the Frostyfaire Folk Festival"

Timestamp: 00:20:30

Video Length: 5min.

Gorgug and his parents talk about the Frostyfaire Folk Festival (‣Pt. 1 | Pt. 2)

Brennan: "You see there's a bunch of people that already have little drum circles with fiddles and guitars and people just sort of like"

The gnomes in Gorgug's neighborhood: "Lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai, lai-dee-dai"

Zac: "Gorgug's just looking out his window like, guess it's that all day, huh?"

Brennan: "Wilma and Digby are downstairs. They're powering through breakfast. They've got clipboards. There's some people with surveillance. They're like,"

The Thistlesprings: "All right, this is gonna be great! This is such an honor, to be able to host. Gorgug! Morning, bud! How you doing?"

Gorgug: "Hey, I'm doing good."

Zac: "I'm, like... And this is just maybe a question for Brennan, but have we had this festival here before?"

Brennan: "No, your parents go this every year."

Zac: "Yeah."

Brennan: "But hosting it's a huge deal. The festival actually kind of moves all over Solace. They've sometimes gone up to Ashgrove or the Dunefort or other places to try to participate in this, but yeah, Frostyfaire bounces all over the country."

Gorgug: "So Mom and Dad, I feel, you know... I'm here to help with whatever this is, you know? And uh-"

The Thistlesprings: "Absolutely, absolutely. Well, you know, we tried to throw some tarps over the projects that are kinda halfway done. We're getting some blankets. I mean, people are gonna bring their own blankets. We're getting some blankets out on the hillside, facing the stage. The stage is right out the back door, at the bottom of the hill. It's gonna be great. We got all these great- and kind of an interesting, we have... Have you ever heard of emotional music?"

Gorgug: "Emotional? Are you talking about emo music?"

The Thistlesprings: "Yeah!"

Gorgug: "Yeah. It's pretty cool. Actually a type of music I think is cool."

The Thistlesprings: "Oh, well, great! We love it."

(The judgemental glance from Emily is SO FUNNY!!!!! 😂🤣💀)

Emily: *offended* "You're out of the band." 😭✋

Zac: "I mean, it's okay!" 😂🤣💀

The Thistlesprings: "There's a band coming that your... I mean, I know that Fig is not touring right now, but Lola Embers got in touch with us, your old, you know, she represented you by way of representing Fig."

Gorgug: "I was really just kinda hanging on. It felt like I was sailing behind the boat."

The Thistlesprings: "Hey, you're a great drummer! This is our rock star sports team kiddo."

Gorgug: "I'm okay."

The Thistlesprings: "With the straight As!"

Gorgug: "Mostly."

The Thistlesprings: "Well, you know, but that's the thing, you know? Well, hey!"

Brennan: "And you actually hear a knock on the door and you see that your biological parents walk in, Roz and Gorbag. Gorbag is like,"

Gorbag: "Hey, Gorgug!" *Gives a big hug*

Brennan: "Roz says hi to Wilma."

Roz: "Hi, hi! Coming in to say hello!"

Brennan: "And they're sort of excited to be here as well, 'cause you remember Gorbag was a musician."

Gorgug: "Are you guys playing today?"

Gorbag: "Yeah! Well, I'm just jamming. I just like to come. There's a drum circle that's been going for 40 years, since the start of Frostyfaire."

Gorgug: "That's too long."

Gorbag: "What happens is, the festival's only once a year, but every year, the last guy or gal or person who's drumming at the drum circle, they take a small little drum and they keep it going all year long, kinda like the Olympic torch."

Ally: "Finger drumming!" 😂😂

Brennan: "Finger drum." 😂😂

Gorbag: "So the drum circle hasn't stopped in 40 years."

Gorgug: "What would happen if it stopped?"

Gorbag: *cries*

Brennan: "He starts to cry." 😂🤣😭💀✋

Gorgug: "No, hey! Hey, it's okay!" 😭✋

Gorbag: "Music is a part of a tradition. It's something that unites all of us."

Brennan: "You see Digby puts a little arm around his calf, he's so tall. Digby goes,"

Digby: "Yeah, don't even worry about a C. That's, you know..."

Brennan: "You see that Gorbag says,"

Gorbag: "A C? I thought it was..." And he looks at it and says, "Porter give you a C?"

Gorgug: "Yeah."

Gorbag: "He almost fuckin' failed me, man."

Gorgug: "Really?"

Gorbag: "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Gorgug: "He's been- He doesn't- I don't think we're speaking the same language, to be honest. I don't know."

Brennan: "You see Wilma looks and says,"

Wilma: "Have you tried making him a little cup of tea and sitting down and saying, 'hey, you know, I feel like I'm letting you down and I wanna know how to do a better job so that I can put a smile on that face?'"

Gorgug: "Not exactly that. I've tried maybe something kinda similar. I think I have to go a completely different direction though, honestly."

Wilma: "Baked good."

Gorgug: "It's not so completely... Yeah, I'll try baked goods. I'll try that, I'll try that."

Wilma: "All right."

Brennan: "You see Gorbag says,"

Gorbag: "Well, listen. I know you're Mr. Study right now, you're taking four classes at once, but if you got a second, I think me and Dig, me and Wilma and Dig and Roz might be down to that drum circle. Maybe you grab some bongos or, you know, get something from the kit. Get a little snare. All drums welcome."

Gorgug: "Okay, yeah, I'll give it a shot. I can bring my snare, just head on down."

Gorbag: "Yeah."

Brennan & Zac: *both mimicking snare drums*

Brennan: "Everyone just starts tapping around, and Wilma goes,"

Wilma: "There's music everywhere!"

Zac: "Specifically in that drum circle." 😂🤣

[nctangelz]

( 💌 ) LOADING . . . MONIQUE WITH NCT 127!

TAEYONG

MOM AND DAD!!! everyone always jokes that they are the parents / stressed mom and dad / co-leaders of NCT. taeyong said he offered the leader role to monique pre-debut, but she declined because she insisted that taeyong was the one who earned it 🥺. moni and taeyong are always seen watching in the corner as chaos begins…waiting together until they have to intervene.

tae + moni are probably the closest out of everyone in NCT, they grew up eachother living as neighbors, so they go WAY back. they love sharing stories from school to nctzens! moni always jokes that taeyong will be the one to walk her down the aisle when she marries (since yk, her dad left to get milk and never came back 💀), and taeyong doesn’t believe it…but she really does mean it! their relationship is just so precious, we love to see it!

JOHNNY

BESTIESSSSS, johnny & monique just clicked when they met as trainees, and instantly hit it off!! they bonded over the fact they were away from home, and they both taught each other things about their country! moni even successfully taught johnny how to speak in french somewhat! she accidentally switches from english to french when she’s have conversations w/ johnny, and johnny just stands there like 🧍‍♂️ i have no idea what your saying.

johnny loves to take moni on little adventures and they are always going sight seeing or going to other cities to explore whenever they have downtime! she is often a guest on JCC … even if she isn’t tagging along for the activity she finds a way to be in it, even if she’s unwilling. they always have a blast together! it’s so easy for moni & johnny to talk to each other and moni loves that she gets to relax around johnny and know she’s going to have a good time!

YUTA

THE BADDIES of NCT. lemme tell you, yuta & moni? baddest besties alive, they look like the could kill you, but actually are the sweetest duo known to earth. they are always hyping each other up and whenever they go out, they are DRESSSSEDD. they love to express themselves in anyway, and they are each other’s biggest supporters.

the two of them are always stirring the pot whenever they are eachother, they love to make stuff up and convince everyone it’s true and just mess with everyone…it’s typically doyoung or taeyong that realize their antics and in moni’s words “ruin the fun” they are also always just doing crazy things and the members are lowkey scared of them, esp moni. yuta brings out the chaotic side of her members never thought could ever exist 😭😭

DOYOUNG

doyoung just wants to worry and care for moni like a gentlemen, but moni makes it SO HARD. she’s always harassing him and making fun of him, and doyoung is just like 💀 girl be so for real rn. he would be in the middle of doing something for her like opening a chip bag and moni just starts screaming “YAH, DOYOUNG, DO YOU THINK IM INCAPABLE JUST BECAUSE IM A WOMEN? YOU DONT THINK I HAVE MUSCLES? HOW RUDE.” and doyoung is like WTF. he just looks at her with his crazy eyes and gives up 😭😭

but dw, doyoung will harass her right back and moni will giggle and say sorry. he always worries about her and makes sure she’s eating and drinking and will always try and prevent her from making self-sabotaging decisions…but does she listen? 9 times out of 10 she doesn’t but yk, he tried!!

JAEHYUN

moni is sooo affectionate around jaehyun, he just looks so cozy and comfy! whenever she sees him she loves to tackle him in a hug and lay her entire body weight on him. jae is dying while moni is in her own world, happy as could be. jae & moni are inseparable once together though, once they hang out and spend time together; there’s no going back. they will spend time together until moni passes out and takes a cat nap…and jaehyun just goes back to playing games.

moni & jaehyun are such a great team when playing games, because moni is really good at creating strategy and working out puzzles, while jaehyun has the muscle to actually execute the mission. moni always takes his strength to her advantage, for example having him carry her bags or even her when she’s super tired…not that jae minds though. he likes that moni allows him to protect her!!! if someone were to mess w/ moni…you better hide from jaehyun, he is moni’s #1 defender.

JUNGWOO

jungwoo LOVES to listen to moni. whenever moni needs someone to talk to to either vent or just talk about built up ideas in her head, she goes to jungwoo. he loves listening to his older sister talk…even if he’s worried for her mental health. he will always be moni’s shoulder to rest on! he will listen and let her talk, and then the two of them will work it out together…or just do something to cheer themselves up!

moni adores jungwoo with all her heart, she will spoil him always. if he briefly mentions wanting something one day, she’ll buy it and hide it until his bday/christmas. she would do anything for woo, and it’s so precious! all the members complain that jungwoo is her favorite because she always is doing stuff for him, and she will swear up and down she doesn’t have a favorite….but jungwoo knows he’s the favorite <3

MARK

mark is moni’s child - she’s always worried…she’s worried about his health but also worried about just how he acts. mark will say some weird stuff and moni is just standing there like 😀 should i be concerned? but besides her worries, mark makes her laugh SO MUCH. she will try and hold in her giggles..but mark makes it impossible 😭

make probably visits moni’s apartment the most out of 127, he likes to come visit after a long day when he needs to just power down and be in silence for awhile. moni always lets him crash in her bed and let him relax….she will usually just sleep on her couch or spend time in her studio. she will always make him breakfast before he leaves too! moni will always understand and let him come over when he needs to be alone…but he also comes and visits and watches movies with her! he tolerates her movies as long as she makes him food 🥺

HAECHAN

haechan will harass moni just like he will the other members, but moni just smiles and pats his head in response. moni will always have a soft spot for her younger members, and they can’t help but crumble under her love <3. moni will always be there to gently pat his head and tell him it’s okay…which causes him to be even more chaotic 💀, haechan just sticks his tongue out at moni and carries on

but haechan loves loves loves moni, he will always hug her and cling on to her, and moni just smiles and wraps him up in her arms. she took care of him and the dreamies a lot during training days because they were so young…so moni is lowkey haechan’s 2nd mom. haechan always knows he can rely on moni to save him whenever he is loosing or getting picked on too!!! moni will defend haechan until the day she dies <3

tags :: @yjjnfied

[the-hellhounds]

Happy Birthday, Donghyuck(Haechan)!

Haechan smiled as he came to the view of the party his friends and family had thrown for him.

"You guys really shouldn't have," He grins, carrying his son over to see the birthday cake from one of his fellow friends had made for him.

"Beaw!" Minjun points with his little finger. The toddler excited to see bear themed macaroons.

"They are bears," Haechan laughs, kissing his sons cheek.

"We wanted to celebrate both of you since things have been hectic after recovering the pack," Kun says as he stood by Ten.

"Plus, why not have a double birthday party?" Mark smiles. A party hat with bear ears sat on the top of every hounds head.

"Thank you," Placing Minjun down for him to run off to see the wrapped presents, Haechan stops as he turns to see Taeyong talking to Sua.

"I thought I told you to leave and not come back." The leader lowly growls at the omega who tried to stand her ground.

Thinking no one could hear them as music played and everyone chatted away, Taeyong held Sua by the upper arm as he glared her down.

"Threatening me to leave my mate and son wasn't going to keep me away forever." Sua whispered back as she struggled in Taeyong's grip. "Besides... it wasn't my fault that my heat spiked when Hyuck was away on a mission. If anything, you should've made Mark leave that night."

Walking over to them, Haechan stares at them with an unreadable look on his face. His fists clenching at his sides as he asks, "You threatened my mate to leave me?" Turning his head slightly to find Mark. He sees him slowly hiding behind Kai and Lucas who chatted away. "And what does Mark have to do with any of this?"

Taeyong having dropped Sua's arm, and he looks away from the intense look Haechan gave them. He knew deep down he would have to tell him what happened when he had left one day to accomplish a mission he had sent him across the country. "The night when I sent you and the team to help out San..." He breathes shakily, afraid of his reaction. "Mark... he... he took advantage of Sua when I should've been keeping an eye on her like you asked." He says. "Lola came to visit, and I thought Sua was going to be okay with her heat alone... but I forgot Mark had never been near her when she was on her heat."

Avoiding his eye contact, Sua felt like breaking down all over again as Haechan stared at her with sadness in his eyes and a tear escaping his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" He says softly to the omega. "You know I love you."

"B-because I was scared..." Sua answers back, quickly composing herself as she sees Minjun run over to them with a big smile on his face.

"Mama, mama!" The toddler screamed as he lifted up another firetruck set. "Look!"

"That's awesome, baby," Sua smiled as she bent down to pick up her son. Taking him away from Taeyong and Haechan before anything else was said to make her burst out crying again.

Looking up, Haechan finds Taeyong staring back at him in concern. A leaders look he knew so well. "Is he really my son?"

"He is." Taeyong tells him. "I checked immediately when he was born. I wasn't going to let Mark ruin your happiness over having a baby." Bringing in his young hell hound, he hugs him, rubbing his back to calm him down. "I know you want to shred Mark to pieces right now. I know I did when I came back to find Kai choking him outside of your house. That's why he wasn't around when you got back."

Chuckling out over his shoulder, Haechan smiled a bit. Knowing that his best friend had suffered at the hands of his friends. "Next time something like that happens... don't threaten her again to leave. Threaten Mark instead or I'll do it my way."

And the drama continues 💀 : @badbf-cb ( lisa ♥︎ ) - @fantasyaespa ( ningning ♥︎ ) - @fallenangel-oc-deactivated20240 ( staci & alya ♥︎ × ♥︎ ) - @lovesick-hyuck ( ♥︎ ) - @witch-renjunnie ( ♥︎ ) - @raiden-oc ( 🌺 ♥︎ ) @monsterhigh-cb ( jaemin ) - @livealittleoc-cb ( jay & ace ★ × ♠︎ ) - @multi-esme

[mod-kyoko]

school au headcanons!! pt. 3

fandom: danganronpa: killing harmony

type: hcs, non-ultimate au

a/n: just how the characters would be if ultimates didn't exist

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

shuichi saihara

fucking mock trial kid if not debate

the shy but smart one

the one that the popular girls mess with like he's a little social experiment

his teachers love him because he always behaves in class and has amazing grades

kaede akamatsu

piano accompanist for the choir and theatre

in all honors classes and the honors society

perfect life?? does not struggle ever?? (seemingly)

the one girl as school who always looks held together and you've never seen her look anything less than happy and healthy and you're like please how

orchestra kid also (plays violin)

keebo

in robotics

kind of unnoticed

incredibly socially inept-

has the stereotypical small set of "nerd" friends that all sit on their computers at lunch and talk about video games and coding

kokichi oma

fucking theatre kid

class clown

some people hate him some people love him

some girl always humbles him when he gets too roudy in class

kind of the teacher's nightmare

ran cross country

rantaro amami

sk8er boy

every girl ever has a crush on him??? (but he's gay-)

secretly dating a soccer player

effortlessly popular somehow

honors classes

plays dungeons and dragons

kaito momota

the kid who carries a bluetooth speaker through the hallways-

p.e. is his favorite subject

runs cross country

the one who befriends the teachers that everyone else takes advantage of/teases

tsumugi shirogane

literally goes to school then goes home???

spends all her time in the library as an aid

self-sabotages her own social life

never ever goes to big school events but sometimes enjoys watching the play and musical

in the anime club

himiko yumeno

dnd player

people think she's weird but no one has beef with her

in quiz bowl 💀 (competitive trivia basically)

always participates in the school's talent show

band kid (trumpet)

maki harukawa

the girl that fucking hates everyone

always shows up to school just looking absolutely done

super quiet in class and does really well

her counselor tried to get her to join some extracurriculars so she decided to join cross country

takes her anger out in p.e.

gonta gokuhara

the kid with the kindest heart but suffering grades that the bullies love to target for some reason

does track and field

volunteers for so many organizations

he eats lunch in his favorite teacher's classroom

spends a lot of time studying but often cuts it short because he's so frustrated

angie yonaga

art club, art classes, lives and breathes art

always drawing during class and there are always people asking her to draw them

her art is always earning those rewards and being displayed throughout the school

friends with all the other art kids

kind of weird and accepts all the other weirdos of the school

the one kid that gifts drawings to their teacher that they hang up around the classroom

miu iruma

slacks off during group projects and in p.e.

just as unfunny as "the boys" of the class but no one cares because she's a girl

no one has ever told her to shut up

is in robotics competitively

makes fun of theatre and band kids

ryoma hoshi

everyone calls him emo (even though he is literally not) because he keeps to himself and wears dark colors

on the tennis team but doesn't really participate in any other school activities

wears his tennis jacket to school 24/7

gets lowkey bullied but always gets cold, quiet revenge rather than fighting back

kirumi tojo

always making conversation with the teachers and hanging out with them even though she has plenty of student friends

cleans up after everyone

is in student government

never ever dresses comfortably, always shows up to school dressed up

korekiyo shinguuji

the weird kid

everyone makes fun of him because he still wears a mask years after the covid pandemic ended

is on the quiz bowl team (100%)

model student and in the honors society

teachers dread him because he raises his hand just to add info to the teachers lecture either to correct them or because he thinks people want to know

tenko chabashira

fucking tryhard in p.e.

track and field

biggest school spirit at every rally

always yelling at the boys who mess around in class

is part of the GSA and acts aggressively gay whenever homophobes are around

[didalexiabreakupwitholgayet]

As a Brazilian, I wonder how the Spanish national team and especially Jenni will be received at the 2027 World Cup here in Brazil.

After Hope Solo's comments making fun of the Zika Virus in Brazil, (at the time there was an epidemic of the disease in our country) during the games every time she touched the ball the whole crowd shouted loudly "ZIKAAA", as well as booing her every touch of the ball at the 2016 Rio Olympics.

For context: https://youtu.be/_cy3tGrUdF4?si=wKEoLdPTCf51pBsD

For many who think that whether Brazil wins or loses something will improve (regarding the comments), whether they win or not, it won't.

And about the World Cup in Brazil: It's going to be something like Hope Solo's, but since the comment was directly about the Brazilian team, I think it's going to be a lot worse 😭😭💀 but not to the level of violence or anything like that.

If you're fed up now, and rightly so, I can't stand the comments either, imagine the World Cup 💀💀

As a fan of Alexia and Marta, i just wanted a picture of them together 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🇧🇷

yeah, that is going to be an interesting tournament. given the expanded qualification and increase in teams, i have to imagine that spain will qualify for the group stage. the question is how many players will make it to 2027 for spain and whether brasilian fans will focus on certain players or the entire spanish team.

but i have to imagine there will be at least friendlies played between the two countries before then. either way, like i said before, we need more intense rivalries in the international game in women's football and this is a good one! 🙏🏻

oh for sure. there's so much to learn even from the rivalries and derbies in one country's league let alone across international football as whole. it's super interesting for history and anthropology nerds like me, especially when we get into the different styles of football and what it and is not a part of footballing culture, as we see from the spain v. brasil backlash.

[bigbumder96]

account introduction thing!!!??

ngl i feel a bit goofy doing this🙁forgive me if this is weird, im used to getting attacked on tiktok for literally nothing (i rarely use tumblr)

general:

name: darcie

age: im a minor😭

gender: girl (she/her :3 )

sexuality: lesbian

from/live in: england unfortunately😣 east london specifically, or essex depending on if u focus on the postcode or the london borough😭 officially its east london tho

interests:

tv shows:

- the inbetweeners

- white gold

- station 19 (still have to catch up on the latest episode lmao

- 9-1-1 (also still have to catch up one episode😭)

- fresh meat

- ted lasso

- heartbreak high (both the old version and the reboot !!! i dont prefer one over the other, although i do tend to post about the 90s one more lmaooo)

- friday night dinner

- this country

- call the midwife

- ackley bridge

- baby reindeer (i wouldnt exactly call it an interest, this show fucking traumatised me, but i watched it like last week😭)

- phoenix rise

- moment of eighteen (a k-drama btw!!)

- move to heaven (also a k-drama!!)

- there she goes

- benidorm

- skins (only gen 2 tho im afraid😞)

- the inBESTigators (dont judge lmfao😭😭😭)

- little lunch (i cant theyre js both such good shows)

- dodo (a cartoon)

- taskmaster (only season eight tho for the icon joe thomas‼️)

- mr bigstuff

- supacell

im currently watching derry girls and jamie johnson atm !!

films:

- the shawshank redemption

- the green mile

- goodbye charlie bright (my absolute fav omg)

- the business

- the football factory (theyre making the sequel to this at my school im so happy i love nick love films😍i didnt see nick love himself tho💔)

- good will hunting

- bohemian rhapsody

- dead mans shoes

- ferris buellers day off

- harry brown

- little miss sunshine

- the inbetweeners movie

- the inbetweeners 2

- white chicks

- the basketball diaries

- mid90s

- spiderman: into the spider-verse

- spiderman: across the spider-verse

music:

- alex g (fav song: too many to put here, but if i had to pick then prolly the whole race, trick, and rules album😭)

- tv girl (fav song: better in the dark, louise, and daughter of a cop)

- the fratellis (fav song: i honestly dk, i havent gotten that much into them yet😣i js listened to one of their albums and played fifa)

- the killers (fav song: read my mind and andy youre a star)

- the smiths (fav song: girl afraid, bigmouth strikes again, and this night has opened my eyes. guys i swr i liked them songs before they got popular im acc rly annoyed at the tiktofication of bigmouth strikes again and this night has opened my eyes😣)

- queen (fav song: spread your wings and long away)

- the stone roses (fav song: i wanna be adored and made of stone. basic i know😣😣)

- the jam (fav song: down in the tube station at midnight, david watts, and man in the corner shop)

- oasis (live forever. icba to type ‘fav song’ anymore😭)

- mac the knife (here to stay)

- mitski (why didnt you stop me, goodbye my danish sweetheart, me and my husband, your best american girl, once more to see you, etcetera…)

extras:

- im into football and i am a big arsenal fan !!!! my fav player is def martin ødegaard, and i may or may not be one of those deluded emile smith-rowe fans who think that hes gonna have a huge comeback and be like he was two seasons ago🤫🤫🤫

(edit: im gonna kms he left arsenal🙁)

i also support england as a country (obviously) plus a tad bit of dagenham amd redbridge, because they are my local ! (before you call me a glory hunter, ive supported arsenal since i was 3 because thats what my mum and grandparents support!!! also its a bit hard to support your local when not all the games are televised and you cant afford a season ticket, not to mention i had no clue who dagenham and redbridge were when i was choosing a football team, because i had no clue how leagues worked and i didnt gaf about football tbh💀)

- i like webtoons! my fav is jacksons diary, our walk home, and crystal city killers😱 (please does anyone have any cute wlw webtoon recs im so desperate)

- in year seven my drama teacher made us watch a play (on the screen, not irl) called slowtime but we didnt get to finish it💔my teacher spoiled the ending but i didnt care and tracked down the rest of that video bcs slowtime is such a good play i love everything abt it😍

- last year i was obsessed with this book series called football academy (written by tom palmer) and it was genuinely so good but there was nobody myp age cuz it was for kids💔i dont rly read them anymore, but the interest is still there if someone by chance has read them please contact me and have a conversation with me about it🙏🙏🙏

- i also have a very obscure interest about london boroughs??? like i dont even know a lot about them, i just love talking about/watching videos about london boroughs... i blame the lb guy on tiktok

i apologise as this was very long, and i probably wont even post that much😭 sorry for the yapping tho🙏🙏🙏

[lookismaddict]

List of Possible Future Lookism Stories/Scenarios (FREQUENT UPDATES)✨

These are the ideas that I have so far! I intend to write about these sometime in the future, but I’m still deciding.

The list is organized from top (will surely write about it) to bottom (considering on writing about it). Red = In the process of writing

If you want to give some feedback, lmk! I appreciate all your thoughts and comments about them. 😁

Goo One-Shot (REQUESTED; in the process of writing)

Jake x Samuel One-Shot (POPULAR REQUEST; in the process of writing)

Gun x Goo One-Shot (POPULAR REQUEST; in the process of writing)

Gun Park’s Classroom (Due to you guys liking my dream, I’ll be making this fun little mini-series! 💀 POV of this story will be from you, who is one of Gun’s students. This story will take place in the future, kinda like a sequel to Rendezvous. I like to keep their worlds connected somehow, just because I think it’s fun that way.)

Jake Kim x Fem! Reader (MC is known to be a head detective/team leader of a police station at Gangseo who all gangsters feared. She despises all gangsters and will do everything in her power to put every gang member in jail. With hard work and determination, she became a detective due to mysterious personal reasons and will eventually meet Jake Kim, starting off as enemies because he’s Big Deal’s leader.)

DG/James Lee x Fem! Reader (MC was a first-Gen fighter who was close with James Lee back in the day. One day, MC gets a mysterious text message for her to meet up at a certain location at a certain time. She decides to go because what is there to lose? When she shows up, she didn’t expect the famous k-pop idol, DG, to appear in front of her, only for him to reveal that he’s ACTUALLY James Lee, her old and once close, friend. DG gives MC an interesting offer, which was to become his manager, since he’s a k-pop star. While doing so, he wants her to be his eyes and ears to investigate what’s behind the scenes, in which the k-pop industry will now become connected to gang related affairs.)

Samuel Seo x Fem! Reader (MC is a retired female gang leader who now spends time in the casino ran by Workers as a consistent casino winner addicted to gambling. She then gets kidnapped by the Workers, taking her to the back room and Eugene offers her to work for them, since Eugene needs her sharp wits and tricky tactics while already aware of her forgotten background. Eventually, she was assigned by Eugene to become Samuel’s secretary/assistant which sparks the start to their working relationship.)

Vasco x Fem! Reader (MC is a new student who suddenly transferred to Jaewon High School from a different country. She’s pretty and a lot of guys would fawn over her, but she’s tired of getting the same treatment wherever she goes, so she feels lonely since she doesn’t really have any real friends. All she wants is to be treated normally and to be left alone. Until one day, she secretly goes outside during lunch to escape her admirers then caught Vasco outside working out. She comes to see him every lunch everyday, but then she ends up getting caught by him one day, and she slowly started hanging out with the Burn Knuckles crew.)

Eli Jang x Fem! Reader (MC is an ordinary student at Jaewon, who saw Eli with Yenna one day while she got out of work at a convenience store after working day shift. Eli wants to keep his personal life private, so MC agrees to keeping Eli’s secret. In exchange, Eli needs a babysitter during times when he works so MC becomes Yenna’s babysitter. This could be a one shot? Because I can’t think of anything else to add on for this scenario.)