#I'm surprised so many of these have titles tbh

[spittingspite]

10 first lines fanfiction game

Rules: share the first line of the last ten fics you wrote and tag some people

I was tagged by @cryptid-crawly

OwO now I get to root through my fics and remember how I really need to write more fhsfffjgh

1. Diagnosis: Phantom Lovestruck, chapter 3

The day hasn't even started, and Shouta is already regretting agreeing to discussing the upcoming trip in person rather than over email.

2. Untitled

Consciousness cradles Shouta almost as tenderly as sleep does, coaxing him awake before he can have the presence of mind to refuse it.

3. Smile At Your Discretion

Shouta doesn't look in the mirror often.

4. The Bonuses of Coworkers, chapter 2

Toshinori stumbles into the teacher's lounge half asleep, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.

5. Knock Knock

Toshinori's breath is hot on his skin, every brush of his lips a whisper of a promise.

6. Push 'Til I Shatter And You'll Bleed From My Shards

"Remember," Dabi's voice warns him through the receiver, "we can't help you once you go in."

7. Tied Up With Want

Toshinori wasn't sure what to expect from Aizawa's apartment.

8. Untitled

The room is silent aside from their heavy, trembling breaths, intertwining in the air to create a breathy duet for just the two of them.

9. Untitled

The warehouse the police have been led to is dirty, crumbling, and overgrown with weeds.

10. Let Me Be Your Wings, chapter 5

It's not the first time Crowley's seen the bookshop after the fire, but looking up at it now, towering tall and proud over the Bentley like nothing ever happened to it, still feels weird.

And I tag @fghtinus because I love you and your writing ❤

[ayselluna]

Spawn Astarion Recommendations!

So I heard you guys want Spawn Astarion Recommendations too! I heard you :) Apologies if it took awhile it got hard to compile everything I read.

I honestly have read more one shots Spawn Astarion than series tbh. but here are some series I love! These are Astarion x Tav / You / OCs following the story from the game! I'll be happy to make another list for AU's! Another Ascended list is on the way too~ :))

I DEFINITELY RECOMMEND FOLLOWING THESE WRITERS TOO as they have really great HCs and One Shots!

The Arrangement by @fangswbenefits - This is one of the first ones I've read and how she wrote Astarion is just so ASTARION! The lines, the slow burn and the smut are exquisite as hell. I do suggest reading her oneshots too! Her smuts are so good I suggest reading it ALONE. XD ONGOING!

The Fangs Between Us by @feyascorner - Not your typical Lovey-dovey Astarion and Tav. Astarion actually felt betrayed and actually tried killing you! Can love still blossom? is it still there? Would you guys even be friends?! So much angst and but oh so goooood! ONGOING!

Shadows of the Past by @pastshadowsff-blog / PallidMoon - What's an Astarion story w/o the angst? I would definitely be devastated the moment Astarion left me! The process of healing and loving, the confrontations here are soooo on point! Have a good gale on the side too~ ONGOING!

Love at First Knife by @bg-brainrot - DEFINITELY A FAVORITE! Aside from the romance from Astarion and TAV you get the WHOLE GANG TOO! I'm a sucker on everything on this series! I can't count how many times I've re-read this while I wait for my other fics to update. ONGOING? I'm not sure but it gets updated!

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by @bg-brainrot - okay another one from the same author, at this point just read everything!! okay, but what if TAV died and got reincarnated?! If you got an elf TAV this is definitely one for the books! I LOOOOVE this one a lot. Getting your memories back and seeking your lover out, would it be the same? Would he even remember you?! Surely he will right?! but what if he don't? hmmmm READ IT! ONGOING!

Astarion Talks In His Sleep by  @littlejuicebox - This is a short series but this was just memorable coz WE'LL LOVE EVERYTHING in it. It's one of the happy endings you'd totally wish for and how this story got me gasping and giddy was just chef's kiss! You'll love her DADSTARION series too! I LOVE THIS FAMILY A LOT. :))

Cursed To Put My Hands On Everything by @maladaptive-menace - I recently found this and I got hook immediately on the concept! I also love the titles on this series, as the title says~ :)) So imagine you're doing your mundane things IRL and one tiring night you found yourself Isekaid IN the GAME?! You know you're effed up, how would you survive?! well at least you got your dream come true of meeting the gang in the flesh…specially the Pale Elf~ ONGOING!

Winter Holiday Challenge Fills by @justporo - So this is an all fluff from the Winter Holidays! I know it's not christmas anymore but if you missed it during that time who cares?! READ IT! Get all the fluffiness you need from this series! Check that full masterlist on their profile too while you're at it~ :)) FINISHED!

The Currents of Destiny by @lendeah - You and Astarion fights after he didn't go with the Ascension, left and scorn you to die screaming! But what if he sees all the what if that could happen?! Would his decision stay the same? FINISHED!

An Adventure in Making a Life by @redlittlefoxari - okay something different but maybe a PREGNANCY fic anyone? :D This was one of the fastest story I binged! You both just learned you're pregnant but an invitation from a friend comes forth! Maybe keep it a surprise for the gang? How would this pregnancy on the road takes you? ALSOOOO FREAKING LOVIING HUSBAND ASTARION UGGHH i can't~

I have more authors to recommend but we'll keep this list for now! I urge you to follow these authors too and check their other works.

Let me know if you guys are up for more recommendations! I have more to share! <3 Hope you enjoy reading them as I did! More reading buddies!

[moni-logues]

What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST 

“Why don’t you fuck off?” 

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it. 

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.  

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.  

“I want you to fuck off.” 

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.” 

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.  

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.  

“What if I want to fight you for her?” 

“What if I told you she’s not legal?” 

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle. 

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.  

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.  

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at? 

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you. 

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening. 

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something. 

And then this guy showed up. 

“I was about to.” 

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.  

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option? 

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.  

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were. 

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.  

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards. 

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?” 

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.  

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him. 

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall. 

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?” 

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned. 

“I’m sixteen!” 

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.” 

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet. 

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?” 

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.  

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway. 

“Dead.” 

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap. 

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”  

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.  

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.  

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.  

“And what are you, my hero?” 

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.” 

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.  

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.  

“That’s exactly what a child would say.” 

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care? 

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?” 

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.  

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”  

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.  

His face and tone were flat when he responded.  

“There are things worse than death.” 

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.  

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect. 

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up. 

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.  

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you. 

“I’m walking here.” 

“Stop following me.” 

“I’m not following you.” 

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.  

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“ 

“I don’t have a fucking father.” 

He scoffed. 

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.” 

“I’m not sixteen!” 

He frowned. 

“That’s what you told me.” 

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?” 

“Old enough to know better.”  

“What does that mean?” 

“Go home, Sixteen.” 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“Well you can’t have mine.” 

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.  

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?  

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.  

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.  

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.  

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…? 

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.  

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force. 

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty. 

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.  

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho. 

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.” 

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat. 

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I really wish you would.” 

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.  

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.  

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.” 

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again. 

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”  

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.  

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.  

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now. 

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.  

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.  

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.” 

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.  

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.   

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you. 

“Turn around.” 

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Just turn around.” 

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already. 

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.  

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.  

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.  

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.  

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads. 

Minho pointed to the sofa.  

“There,” was all he said.  

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.  

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.  

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little. 

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.” 

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.  

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.   

SECOND 

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!” 

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.  

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.  

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.  

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.  

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.  

“I thought I was Sixteen?” 

He shrugged. 

“You do still act like it.” 

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back. 

“Shut up, Minnie.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.  

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.” 

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood. 

“BYE, Sixteen!” 

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.  

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.  

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.  

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.  

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.  

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.  

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.  

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.  

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.  

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.  

“Entertain me, I’m bored.” 

“It’s your party.”  

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.  

* 

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.  

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.  

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t. 

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?” 

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?” 

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.  

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.” 

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.” 

“You would know.”  

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.  

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”  

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.  

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.  

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”  

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.  

“No idea of what? What?!” 

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.  

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.  

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down. 

“You going to give me one?” 

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.  

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.  

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees. 

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.  

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.  

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much. 

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said. 

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.  

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it. 

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?” 

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly. 

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could. 

THIRD 

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.  

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.  

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.  

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.  

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you. 

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed. 

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.  

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.  

“His loss,” was what he said. 

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.  

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.  

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt. 

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.  

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.  

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.  

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth. 

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always. 

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.  

Then the front door slammed hard. 

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.  

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.  

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.  

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.” 

FOURTH 

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.  

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.  

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.  

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.  

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.  

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.  

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse. 

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.  

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and- 

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.  

“Nope!” 

“Want me to make you?” 

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.  

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.  

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.  

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point. 

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space. 

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.  

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.  

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad. 

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.  

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”  

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you. 

And you were bored.  

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.  

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that. 

“We’re on a job.”  

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.” 

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you. 

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?” 

“Stop calling me Sixteen.” 

“I always call you Sixteen.” 

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.” 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then why won’t you fuck me?” 

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.  

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.” 

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” 

“Well then, shall we?” 

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.  

“We’re on a job.” 

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.  

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands. 

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?” 

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything. 

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.  

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.” 

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.  

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse. 

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.  

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth. 

“Mouse...” 

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.  

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan. 

You both froze.  

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?” 

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.  

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.  

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.” 

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”  

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.” 

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you. 

FIFTH 

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.  

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.  

* 

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.  

Minho didn’t need telling twice.  

“Where to?” 

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge. 

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.  

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.  

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.  

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.  

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.  

Junho grunted. 

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.” 

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.  

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.  

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.  

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.  

“You ok?” 

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.  

He nodded then turned to you. 

“You?” 

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain. 

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.” 

He laughed too and nodded again.  

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.  

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.” 

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.  

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?” 

“Sixteen…” 

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.  

“Mouse…” 

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.  

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.  

“We’ve got to get out of here.” 

* 

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too. 

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home. 

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.  

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.  

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.” 

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.  

“Come here.”  

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.  

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.  

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.  

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.” 

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.  

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.” 

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.  

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.  

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.” 

FIRST 

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.  

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.  

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.  

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.  

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now. 

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.  

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.  

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.  

You thought only of Minho.  

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door. 

“Stop fucking ignoring me!” 

You hadn’t meant to shout.  

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything. 

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

“You think this is easy?”  

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.  

“You think I want it to be like this?-” 

“I don’t know what you fucking want!” 

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it. 

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-” 

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”  

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping. 

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!” 

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-” 

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!” 

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.  

“You don’t get it and you never have.”  

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.  

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.” 

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.  

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it. 

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”  

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.  

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.  

“Mouse...”  

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.  

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.  

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.  

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.  

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.  

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.  

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.  

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.  

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.  

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.  

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!” 

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.  

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.  

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you. 

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards- 

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom. 

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.  

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.  

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head. 

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.” 

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.  

“Do that again.” 

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.  

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.  

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”  

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.  

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.  

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.  

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”  

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head. 

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”  

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all. 

* 

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.  

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him. 

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.  

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.  

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.  

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.  

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.  

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.  

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow. 

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.  

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.  

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.  

As it had always been.  

* 

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.  

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?” 

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.  

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.  

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.  

“Fucking finally!”  

“You mean, they finally fucked?” 

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word. 

[itz-mfkn-de]

\\ALWAYS YOU//. M.R

warnings— OOC MATTHEO, Im a sucker for toxic boys but I made him extra sweet in his one idk why, uhhh not many tbh, cussing, kissing, smoking, that’s all I think.

summary— Mattheo was your best friend, always had been, but was the title of ‘friend’ enough?

-my first work for Mattheo! I will eventually get a master list going once I get more comfertable posting on here. This is a repost of one of my works on wattpad, just with some tweaks bc that work was olldddd-

You sat against mattheos 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 out of his dorm window.

"You know, some times, I'm worried for you. You just stare at things, it's weird." He snickered  as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You looked at him and scoffed, "Sometimes I'm worried about your lungs, you're bound to get some type of problem with all that's smoking you do." You half-joked, glancing at him.

He rolled his eyes, tilting his head up and blew the smoke out of his mouth.

"Seriously Mattheo, that stuff is absolute horse-shit for your body." You stated, accompanying your words with a sharp glare.

"I don't do it that often, just when I'm stressed." He muttered, taking his feet off of his desk and turning his body to face you.

"What happened to the whole 'I don't give a fuck about anything or anybody but myself' thing?" You said, mocking him to the best of your abilities.

"First of all I don't fucking sound like that," he laughed and squinted at you "second, just stressed about life, nothing in particular." 

You softly chuckled at his reaction. His eyes broke from yours, looking at some papers on his desk. Your eyes, however, never left his frame. You could stare at him for eternity, everything about his face seemed so perfect, almost as if it were meant to be admired.

You soon realized your staring and quickly averted your gaze towards the window again.

"You gonna go to the Yule ball this year?" You broke the silence, you knew Mattheo hated those things, he hated having to be around a shit ton of people and act like he enjoyed their company.

"Probably not." His demeanor changed, his tone became short, almost snappy.

"Oh, I'm probably just gonna go with Becca." You mumbled, knowing that if no guy was to ask you, Becca had your back.

"Hm." He nearly laughed at your remark.

"What? What's so funny?" You asked, looking back at him, his back still facing you.

"Just surprised you aren't going with a random slytherin guy or something." He answered, but the way he had said it has a strange undertone that you weren't sure how to feel about.

"Well I mean I don't know, I haven't been asked yet." You stated truthfully.

"Ah, I see." He murmured, soon after taking another drag of his cigarette.

You felt tension building in the room, suffocating tension. You weighed your options out, but you decided it would be better to give Mattheo some space, for what you were unsure of.

"Well, Becca and Emma told me they wanted to go dress shopping earlier so I think I'm gonna head over there so we can solidify our plans." You announced while picking up your books and putting them in your bag. 

"Bye Mattheo." You said while walking out of his dorm, expecting a response.

You shut the door when you got nothing, you mind raced with the possibilities on what could've caused mattheos strange behavior.

Maybe he'd just had an off day? No that couldnt have been it, he was fine moments before his attitude took a turn. 

Perhaps he was just having mood swings, you wouldn't be surprised with all the trash he puts in his body.

You stuck with that story and walked back to your dorm, which was on the other side of the slytherin tower. 

You reached it, setting your things down, then quickly turned around and nearly raced to your friends dorm.

The second you reached it, You waisted no time to jump on her bed, causing her to jump. 

"Yes, of course you can come into my room unannounced and lay on my bed." Becca said sarcastically. She had been digging through her closet in an attempt to find a dress. 

"Sorry, I just need to vent." You said while propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Go ahead." She sighed and laid her body weight 

"Okay so, there's this guy. He's like my best friend, but.."

She raised her eyes brows, signaling you to continue.

"But I want us to be more, or atleast I see him as more than a friend. I just feel like no matter how hard I try I can't get him to open up, he just.. won't."  You groaned.

"And everytime I get this sliver of hope that I've made progress, he just completely shuts down, leaving me in the dark confused and a little bit heartbroken!" You borderline screamed, your face shoved into her mattress.

"Okay, uh, let's calm down. If he's not showing any signs of being interested maybe you should just, move on- well attempt to at least." Becca stated ,rubbing your back.

You shut your eyes, truly taking in your friends words.  “hey Yknow what will make you feel better?” She nearly jumped with excitement. “Going to look for a dress in town.”

You knew she only had good intentions but the words kept echoing through your head. The thought of keeping Mattheo as a friend hurt, but it seemed to be all you could do at this point without ruining your friendship.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe you needed to accept Mattheo 

was just a friend.

-

All you could think about was the Yule ball. Over the next few weeks the days flew by, the anticipation growing larger with each one passing.

Of course you had been asked by some sweet guy from the Ravenclaw house, and, taking Becca's advice, you said yes.

There was nothing wrong with him, he just..he wasn't him.

You had decided to get ready alone, slipping into a beautiful green dress you and Becca had picked out. You finished your hair and makeup, looking into your vanity mirror.

You felt beautiful.

You smiled softly at how well you had dolled yourself up.

Glancing up at the clock, you rushed out of your dorm room, realizing it was the time you and your date had agreed to meet at the entrance by. 

You walked gracefully through the halls, a large smile adorning your face. Your heels tapped softly against the ground. You neared the entrance, your breath becoming shallow from the nerves. 

Then you saw Becca, she was wearing a beautiful Maroon dress. She looked absolutely breath taking.

"Hey!— oh my gosh." Becca looked at you, her jaw dropping. 

"You look stunning! Like some type of goddess...." She said barely above a whisper.

"Becca! Stop, you can't be talking, I forgot how to breathe the moment I saw you." You hugged her.

You were about to continue praising her and her beauty, but before you could comment you heard someone call your name.

"Y/n..wow.." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.

You turned around to see your date, who was wearing a very clean red and black suit. 

"Oh my gosh hi! Sorry for being a tad late, I lost track of time while getting ready!" You made your way next to your date, not before Becca gave you a sly smile and a push, leaving to go with her specimen she had chose for the night 

"It's okay.., you look amazing." He had said, taking your arm into his. He began to lead you into the ballroom.

"Thank you, I must say, you cleaned up nice." You smiled sweetly at him.

You and him entered the large room full of people, everything was elegant and royal, not a single speck of dust on anything.

You looked around the large room as your date led you down the stairs, you couldn't lie, you felt like a princess. The beautiful architecture of the room, complimented by your stunning dress, felt like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Once you had made it to the bottom of the staircase, you excused yourself away from your date in an attempt to go find Becca again. 

You stumbled past groups of people, many of them were couples having a romantic moment. 

You tried your best not to run into anybody, you dodged dancing bodies and nearly jogged across the dance floor.

You almost missed him.

You almost walked right by him.

You almost could've saved yourself the heartbreak.

But no you saw it—him with some random Hufflepuff girl. 

The way he whispered in her ear, the way she giggled a little too sweetly, everything. 

It all made you wanna cry—or throw up, which one that would be you weren't quite sure about yet. 

"Y/n?" Theodore came beside you and patted your back.

"Theo-Theodore, I thought Mattheo wasn't coming to the dance?" You struggled to get your words out as your eyes darted between the scene before you and Theodore. 

"Oh—uh yeah, he wasn't gonna originally, but some girl asked him and I guess he took a liking to her because usually he just brushes everyone off." Theo answered.

"Oh, I see, I just came to say hello. I'll be on my way now." Before Theodore could argue with your strange behavior you turned your back and walked as quickly as you could back to were your date was. 

You abandoned the idea of going to find Becca, you couldn't accidentally run into Mattheo and his.. friend again.

Instead you decided that distracting yourself with your date would be the best thing for your heart at the moment.

"Hey, sorry , I just saw a friend and got distracted." You said, out of breath.

"Oh. Don't even sweat it, I'm just glad you didn't run away and not come back." He joked, dragging you towards the dance floor. You couldn't help but laugh at his bubbly personality. It was a nice change of speed.

"I hope you like to dance." His hands fell onto your hips, yours made their way to his shoulders.

"I actually hate it." You smiled at him. 

"How unfortunate." Your smile grew when he matched your energy. You nearly forgot what you had seen a couple moments ago.

But alas, you didn't.

You could feel your chest tightening up, the tears bordering you waterline. Just thinking about him touching that girl in any way made you want to breakdown.

"Ex.—excuse me." You tried to excuse yourself as politely as you could. 

You didn't want your date too see you like this, vulnerable, heartbroken.

You urgently walked towards any door in your line of sight. When you finally found one, you ran through it. 

You just couldn't escape him, no matter how hard you tried. He was at every single corner you turned.

You nearly groaned when you saw him propped up over the balcony, smoking of course. 

He hasn't seemed to notice you, still looking out at the stars. 

You couldn't do it anymore, you couldn't spend one more fucking second acting like you weren't in love with him. 

The sad part was you'd rather be his friend than him hate you and be nothing at all. As long as he thought about you, you'd be okay. 

That's what you had been telling yourself, but you couldn't hold onto that lie anymore. 

"Mattheo." You croaked out behind him.

His head shot to the side, looking you dead in the eyes. 

"Angel… what're you doing out here."  He looked back out to the stars, unable to make eye contact. 

"I can't do it anymore."  You said shakily.

He turned his full body around this time, his eyes a dark brown. He blew the smoke out of his mouth, the wind pushing it in the opposite direction.

"I can't keep pretending I don't feel this way.., do you know how hard it was to watch you talk to that girl?" You nearly cried out.

"All the girls you fuck with and then bring them to shit like this, I cant keep lying to myself —wishing that it was me instead of her."

You were on the brink of gasping for air, your head pounded. You couldn't believe you had suppressed these emotions for so long. Every single time you went to Mattheo's dorm, you could barely restrain yourself from kissing him. 

Before you could continue on with your speech 

Mattheo had forced you against the wall. 

His lips met yours in a harsh collision. In an almost immediate reaction, your body responded to his actions, kissing him back with just as much need and hurry.

"You don't get to fucking do that."  He pulled back from your lips, still making sure to keep his face mere inches from yours.

"Every single day, I'd sit there and watch you talk to this new guy, I couldn't do shit about it— I wouldn't let myself do shit about it."

“I knew you deserved so much better than some lousy asshole like me, angel.” His hand held a firm grip on your hips, his other still had its place on the stone wall. 

"It took everything in me not to punch that fucker in the face when I saw him look at you, but I knew you wouldn't want that." You melted beneath his gaze.

His kisses trailed down your jawline.

"During second year, when I went to the dance, I saw you there with Draco, I nearly killed him right after. I couldn't bear to see you with anyone other than myself.. so I wouldn't go, I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it so I never went to another ball again." He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Until this year." He mumbled softly in between the kisses he was leaving on your neck.

He brought his face back up to yours, his eyes stormy and clouded with something darker than just simple need.

"What'd he say to you? What did he call you?" Mattheo asked with a dark shimmer in his eyes, one you were hoping was just from the moon.

You swallowed harshly, you hadn't realized how dry your mouth truly was. 

"He just said I looked nice—" 

"Nice? You look fucking ravishing. I've never met a girl as beautiful as you, never once in my life seen a girl who could compare anywhere near you...That's why I call you angel you know...,because even if an angel walked by, my eyes would still be glued on you."

His gentle voice tickled your ears, and your cheeks warmed up beneath him.

"You are my angel."

He kissed you again, only this time it was more gentle. His lips held no rush, they were soft and comforting. 

You were the one to pull back this time, smiling sweetly up at him. He pulled you from against the wall, leaving the two of you in the center of the balcony, under the sparkling stars.

"I can't believe we've been friends all these years, and neither of us made a move."

He spun you around under the moon light, the beautiful sky knocking the breath out of you.

"Hey matty..?”You whispered once he had began to hold you in his arms gently.

"Yes angel?" He matched your tone, the sweet nickname you gave him made his chest tighten up.

"I love you." You closed your eyes, shutting them slowly.

"I love you... I always thought I'd never be the type to say that so freely, guess I just needed to meet the right person." He swayed the two of you lightly, finding a rhythm in the midnight winds. 

"Of course it's you... 

It's always been you."

[drivestraight]

☕️ norstappen

preemptively making a cut because i know i'm going to write an embarrassingly long treatise

first of all... i said this earlier this morning but literally baby's first f1 ship... let's go on a norstappen journey.

from 2020... my gamer boyfriends

the infamous call of duty stream where max fell down the hole lkdjf;lkdsajf. also lando who used to be a part of redline before the red bull association (before max was even part of it!), lando who spontaneously joined the imola stream, because he could. because he's just. red bull adjacent tbh. thinking about all the times last year red bull congratulated lando on his podiums. max's team personally congratulating him. like they're close close.

also. that one time in 2020 when lando was calling a bunch of drivers and max was one of the only ones who picked up (thinking about carlos not having lando's number saved and asking who it was) 💔

lando who gets along with baby P... max's FAMILY.

and like. this. the fact that lando's only 2 years younger than max but they looked like. This.

and the way that! lando has always been a max defender:

like they're friends friends. real friends.

and then whole you should see us in monaco. WHAT GOES DOWN IN MONACO??? COME ONNNNN

little gay boy with his hands over little lando norris...

it endears me how at the start of 2021 lando was always pretty vague about max vs. lewis because #british. but then by the end of the year he was fully like. yeah go max!!! thinking about how before dando got close they both clearly liked max more than each other...

and we can never forget. Congrats World Champ. I got you, don't cry:

and lando who genuinely goes out with max outside of races.

also their shared wag martin garrix.

and their??? shared matching necklaces with KYGO?

it's so deeply funny to me how these two are like. in the DJ-in crowd. genuinely deep in it.

like they just share so many friends and genuinely seem to really like and support each other. max who literally looks the happiest on the podium when lando is there. we cannot forget how happy max was last summer when lando was literally always on the podium with him. the little jokes about the broken trophy, the british grand prix, how happy he was that lando was there with him, lando's surprise front row at the spanish GP, max doing a double take.

lando is literally max's favorite driver it kills me. lando wishing max a happy bday on instagram, because they're close like that. max who called lando his best friend on the grid and lando getting all snappy about it dj;lfjsa kills me. the whole: "friends again?" "we're always friends."

max and max and lando. Always Very important.

they're party friends. they lied about it being fewtrell's birthday so they can embarrass him with cake. they're grid friends. max genuinely believes that lando can win a world title, that lando's one of the best drivers on the grid ("28 race wins between us today" "i have to stock up before you start stealing them from me!"). they have such similar humors.

anyway. i think they really like each other.

[cielles-random-vault]

falling asleep with hobie brown! (sfw)

huge thanks to @michelleart8 for helping me choose

huuhhh title pretty self explanatory lmao

idk if i'll make this with other characters but like

yea :3

(half fully written fic half headcanons ?) (yknow what i'll do both)

bit of hurt comfort towards the hug scene? idk

also reader and hobie are in an implied established relationship

(word count: 250/300)

it was one of the many nights you spent waiting for hobie to come back home. with the two of you being spider people, you had a very few moments together.

but it didn't stop you from being in love.

coming home later than your boyfriend, or at least you thought you did, you took endless precautions to not make any noise. (which tbh doesn't make any sense tbh let's js say you're a quiet person)

just in case, you know, he did come home earlier than you...

the first thing that hit you as soon as you entered your appartment was that the window - which you often left open when you sleep so that your boyfriend could sneak in without waking you up - was closed.

you didn't pay it no mind as you thought it was the wind.

you headed to the bathroom to get into your pyjamas, where actually were one of hobie's old t'-shirts- which smell reminds you of home.

you then go to the kitchen to get a midnight snack, your all time favorite.

as you turned around, you notice the presence of your boyfriend.

"hobie? is something wrong?" you ask as you run to hug him.

he gave in the hug, shoving his head into your shoulder.

"so... tired... " he mutters, "glad i'm home..."

it was no surprise: the pressure of being a spider-person was extremely high. even though hobie tried his best to hide it, but even he needed to let it out sometimes.

(time for hcs bc idk how to truly describe the scene + it'll be easier)

i feel like he takes all the room there is on the bed like he'd be in some starfish position

somehow you're always touching him whether he's the big spoon or with your head on his chest or his arm around your shoulders

if you're scared of storms he would hug you close and confort you

"it's ok honey, it can't hurt you as long as i'm with you"

he plays with your hair when he can't fall asleep and wonders how non black people's hair work

if you're black/ a person of color he'd go like "ooo their hair is so cool :0

he secretely likes being the little spoon but he never asks for it

"ya can't sleep huh? want me to sing a sothing melody for ya?" (don't judge i have no idea how british people talk)

he always asks you if he can move if you're laying on him - if you're asleep he just doesn't

I KNOW HE WOULD CONFORT YOU IF YOU HAD A NIGHTMARE

"y'had a bad dream ? c'mhere i'll comfort you"

he braids your hair when he can't fall asleep

idk i feel like he only feels at peace in smalls moments like this when he's with you

also when the two of you can't sleep he plays you songs on his accoustic guitar (idk i feel like he's been given one when he was a kid and that's how he started learning)

maybe holding hands under the blankets? also you conforting him after a very tiring day he'd have his head on your lap and he'd fall asleep like that

he probably pushed you out of the bed more than once

"what the fuck are you doing on the floor??" but then he'd know it's his fault and js laugh about it

that's all i got for now i think i'm v tired atm i'll probably edit this later or do a part tO but like xdd hope you enjoyed ;3

[austenhowe]

jess madsen as cressida cowper

I would just like to extend my love and appreciation for jessica madsen's performance as cressida this season. Initially, I didn't care much for her character—tbh I didn't care much for the show outside of kate, anthony, and benedict—but what was a controversial choice for the writers, pairing her up with eloise, ended up as such an interesting and promising plot point and it got me hooked.

She gave such a layered performance and committed fully to her character knowing what would happen at the end. She portrayed aching vulnerability, fear, desperation, adoration, hurt, and many more with just her eyes and micro expressions (jaw clench, furrow of an eyebrow, subtle shaking in her shoulders to show her fear and nerves). Her acting felt natural and her chemistry with her screen partners (particularly, eloise and her mom) was organic and always rooted in the present.

It would've probably gone better for the show imo (in terms of audience response to cressida's ultimate fate) if she played it less sympathetically—bitchier, meaner, whatever other adjective people use to justify laughing at her terrible prospects. Alas, her kicked puppy and, somehow at the same time, grumpy cat expression always won me over.

I didn't even know that she had this range. They always wrote her as a one-dimensional character. I guess given a storyline with some meat in it, it was no surprise that she was gonna eat it up. I was really rooting for her and I have to credit it to her very sympathetic portrayal.

Shout-out to claudia jessie too for her performance! Not your fault the writers don't care about your character beyond being penelope's bestie, as if your last name isn't the one in the title of the show. Lots of collateral damage in terms of other characters' development in this season when I think about it (god I really was so close to stanning eloise, then they took her from me *sigh*).

I know it was her job to act so I shouldn't really be so impressed but there were some performances this season that I found to be absolutely charmless and devoid of any natural feeling (robotic, monotonous, bland, rehearsed, stiff) that I felt bad for the people they were performing with. If I'm being honest, it really was just one person. Pissed me tf off too, but I digress.

Anyway, thank you jessica madsen and keep up the good work!

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately #2 (m) | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately​ chapter title: #2 - right here​ pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: after the events from friday night, you are trying to grapple with the newfound reality you find yourself in with Yoongi, and simultaneously trying to hide it from everyone in the Beta Tau Sigma house. When you seek Hwasa for advice and have an encounter with JB, you leave with a sudden epiphany on how to move forward. warnings: pwp, semi-public sexual activity (in a Professor's office), blowjob, handjob, cum-swallowing, ALMOST getting caught, hungover namjoon, jimin is sus, tbh not many warnings THIS TIME note: lol im sorry i'm always late at posting but here it is. s/o to @daegudrama for editing total word count: 6.8k drop date: september 20th, 1:00pm pst cross posted on AO3 here ← #1 | Series Masterlist | #3 → October 6th (Saturday)

The soft rays of the morning sun creep through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You are still asleep, lost in a peaceful slumber that offers a respite from the whirlwind of emotions that consumed you the night before.

In your dreams, your thoughts and feelings dance in a realm of their own, untouched by the waking world.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen downstairs, a figure moves with purpose, the clinking of pots and pans punctuating the otherwise serene atmosphere. Yoongi stands by the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. His movements are precise, each action a deliberate step towards his goal.

He glances at the clock on the wall, noting the early hour. It is unusual for him to be up and about so early, but he has a reason—an unspoken promise to take care of you after the night you both had. He knows that the morning after could bring with it the unpleasant aftermath of a hangover, and he wants to make sure you are comfortable and well-fed.

The scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon wafts through the house, mingling with the memories of the previous night. As he continues his cooking, a soft smile tugs at the corners of Yoongi's lips. He finds solace in the simple act of making breakfast for you, a way to convey his care and concern without needing to put his emotions into words.

Just as he finishes up, the front door creaks open. Yoongi's ears perk up at the sound, and he turns to see Jimin entering the house. Jimin's hair is slightly disheveled, a telltale sign of a night spent elsewhere. He is wearing a white oversized t-shirt with black basketball shorts. He blinks in surprise when he sees Yoongi in the kitchen, fully engaged in cooking.

"What's all this?" Jimin comments, his voice laced with curiosity. He takes a seat at the dining table, eyeing the spread of food on the counter and then back to Yoongi, with a puzzled look. "Hyung, you're looking a little different this morning,"

Yoongi turns to face Jimin, his usually calm expression replaced with an uncharacteristic cheeriness. His gummy smile is on full display, a sight that Jimin rarely witnesses. It usually comes out when he’s drunk or trying to act silly. But this smile right now is a smile that speaks of contentment, as if a weight has been lifted from Yoongi's shoulders.

"Just felt like making breakfast," Yoongi replies nonchalantly, flipping another pancake onto a plate. "Thought it'd be nice."

Jimin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Yoongi is one of the main chefs of the Beta Tau Sigma house, but he usually wouldn't bother to make anything if the whole gang isn't home. It is almost as if something significant has happened to prompt this change in behavior.

As Jimin settles into his seat, he can't help but prod further. "Seriously. You're acting... different, Hyung. Are you sure you're okay?"

Yoongi chuckles softly, the sound carrying a hint of mischief. "I'm perfectly fine, Jiminie. Just in a good mood, I guess." Yoongi using Jimin’s cute nickname? Oh there is definitely something off.

Jimin eyes him suspiciously, his intuition telling him that there is more to this than Yoongi is letting on. "You're hiding something, are you?"

Yoongi's expression remains unchanged, a master of concealing his thoughts. "Why would I keep something from you, Jimin?"

Jimin's gaze narrows, studying Yoongi's face for any signs of a crack in his facade. He can't shake the feeling that there is something important that Yoongi isn't sharing, something that has prompted this uncharacteristic behavior. Did he get laid the night before? The only memorable time Yoongi has acted uncharacteristically giddy like this is when he lost his virginity during his junior year of high school to Ashley, who is a year younger than him. Well that and the times when he won Varsity basketball tournaments.

"Hyung, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Jimin's tone is gentle, his concern evident.

Yoongi's smile doesn't waver, but his eyes hold a hint of scorn. "I appreciate that, Jiminie. But sometimes, it's better to keep certain things to myself." 

Jimin sighs deeply, his brows furrowing as he gazes at Yoongi, who seems unusually tight-lipped about the events of the previous night. A small pang of worry tugs at his heart. He's well aware of Yoongi's penchant for privacy; it's one of the things that he respects about his best friend. In a world where secrets are sometimes shared like K-Pop idol photocards, Yoongi has always been the reliable vault, guarding his innermost thoughts and emotions with a steadfast determination.

While Yoongi might have an open and straightforward demeanor, he understands the gravity of the situation. He can't simply tell his other best friends that he broke their unspoken pact, that he fucked their sole female best friend in the quad. It's not just about secrecy; it's about a complex tangle of emotions, loyalties, and unspoken rules that bind their tight-knit group together. Yoongi knows that revealing this secret could potentially rock the foundation of their friendship and the overall house dynamics, and he's torn between wanting his friend to know the truth and protecting the bonds they've built over the years.

Just as Jimin is about to speak again, Yoongi turns his attention back to the food, effectively closing off any further discussion. Jimin watches him for a moment, a mixture of confusion and further concern swirling in his mind. He can't shake the feeling that something has shifted, something that he isn't fully aware of.

With a sigh, Jimin pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on his plate of food. He knows he’s been hanging out with Irene a little too often and missing out on fun stuff with his friends. He is starting to get tired of his relationship. He would much rather hang out with you, Namjoon and Yoongi or Taehyung and Jungkook…everyone in the house actually. But the sex with Irene isn’t too bad, and it satisfies an urge that has been frustrating him for months, possibly years. Only Taehyung knew of this truth besides him.

You are still asleep upstairs, your dreams blissfully unaware of the conversation outside of the door. Yoongi, with his unspoken secret and newfound cheerfulness, continues to carry the weight of his emotions in silence, determined to protect the fragile balance that exists within your group of friends. 

With a soft yawn, you stretch and sit up in bed, letting out a groan as your head protests the sudden movement. It doesn't take long for the events of the previous night to flood back into your mind—party hopping, laughter, and a moment of unexpected intimacy with Yoongi.

As you mull over the memories, a wave of embarrassment and excitement washes over you. The realization of what transpired between you and Yoongi sends a flutter of nervous anticipation through your chest. You know you'll have to face him soon, but first, you need to shake off the remnants of your hangover.

With a sigh, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, steadying yourself for a moment as your head spins. Gathering your resolve, you make your way to the bathroom, where you spend a few minutes brushing your teeth and splashing cold water on your face.

Feeling slightly more awake, you decide to head downstairs to the kitchen in search of a much-needed cup of water. As you descend the staircase, the aroma of breakfast hits you, and your curiosity piques. Yoongi rarely cooks this early, unless...

You step into the kitchen and are met with a sight that surprises you. The kitchen island is laden with plates of blueberry pancakes, sausages, omelets, and more. It's a feast fit for a king, and your stomach grumbles in response.

"Morning," a familiar voice greets you from the dining table, and you turn to see Jimin there, already tucking into his meal.

"Hey," you reply, rubbing your eyes as if it would clear away the remnants of sleep. Your gaze drifts to the spread of food, and then to Yoongi's back as he continues to work in the kitchen.

"He's been up for a while, making all this," Jimin says with a nod towards Yoongi.

You walk over to the dining table and take a seat across from Jimin. "Yoongi made all of this?"

Jimin chuckles, his mouth full of food. "Yeah, it's a bit unusual, right? Must be in a good mood or something."

You watch Yoongi's movements, the way he works with a focused determination. There's a sense of purpose in his actions, as if he's trying to convey something through his cooking.

"I'm not complaining though," Jimin continues with a grin, taking another bite of his pancakes.

You give a small smile in response, your mind still slightly foggy from the remnants of your hangover. As you take a sip of water, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of you is grateful for Yoongi's thoughtfulness, for taking care of you after a night of drinking. But there's also a sense of unease, a nagging fear of the consequences of what happened between you two.

As you pick at your food, you steal glances at Yoongi, wondering if he's feeling the same way. His demeanor is calm and collected, a mask that conceals the true depths of his thoughts. A mix of uncertainty and curiosity churns within you, but you push those thoughts aside when Jimin decides to break the silence.

"Hey, so how did game night go yesterday?" Jimin asks, his gaze shifting between you and Yoongi.

Yoongi's lips curl into a small smile, a subtle hint of satisfaction in his expression. "Went well, we went over to the River Court dorms with the big lounge. I won game night for the first time." This was definitely alluding to something else. Though for Jimin, these dots connected to answer the concern he had earlier. Still feels like some important information is still missing from it, he thinks.

You manage a nod, trying to keep your composure. "Yeah, it was a close game! Really thought Soohyun or Yijeong would win that, but unexpectedly, it was Yoongi!" You laughed, probably not because of what you said, but the ridiculousness of the situation you are currently in.

Jimin arches an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Really? That's interesting."

You decide to change the topic to ask Jimin about his events from the night before. “So, how was your night with Irene?”

Jimin's expression momentarily shifts as you bring up Irene, and he forces a smile. "Oh, you know, the usual. We went to that new Italian restaurant downtown after her fall rush activities. It was... nice." He tries to sound enthusiastic, but there's a subtle undertone of fatigue in his voice.

Yoongi, ever perceptive, raises an eyebrow as he takes in Jimin's response. "Nice, huh? Sounds thrilling." There's a hint of sarcasm in his words.

Jimin shrugs, not meeting anyone's gaze. "Yeah, well, you know how it is, trying to keep things exciting with Irene."

The room falls into a momentary silence, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery as you all continue to eat. It's evident that Jimin is grappling with something, but he brushes it off. You would want to question if he’s doing okay, but you’re already treading on harsh waters with Yoongi so to add Jimin to the mix would make this worse.

The conversation continues with a few more remarks exchanged, but the air is tinged with an underlying tension that you can't quite shake. Despite Yoongi's attempt to appear nonchalant, you can tell that he's carefully choosing his words.

As the three of you eat in silence, the awkwardness becomes palpable. You find yourself fidgeting, your eyes darting around the room as you try to avoid Yoongi's gaze. The events of the previous night are still fresh in your mind, and the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you two.

Suddenly, you decide that you can't bear the awkwardness any longer. Pushing your plate away, you clear your throat. "Hey, guys, I need to go to the library this morning. Hwasa wanted to study together."

“Studying? On a Saturday morning, beansprout?” Jimin looks at you in disbelief and laughs.

“Beansprout!?” You look at him all confused at the new nickname. “Uh, yes! We got midterms coming up in a few weeks and I’ve been avoiding looking at my class lecture notes like the procrastinator I am.” You sigh.

Yoongi's eyes briefly meet yours as he goes to wash the dishes, seeing a flicker of understanding in his gaze that this is indeed an excuse to go clear your head. You're grateful that he doesn't push the elephant in the room, and that he knows you need time to process what happened. Maybe some studying and talking with Hwasa could help you decide what to do next.

"Then you better go, study and not fail out of college in your 2nd year here," Jimin replies reassuringly, giving you a knowing smile. "We'll catch up more later."

You get up from your seat, taking your dishes to the sink. As you reach out to place your plate down, your hand brushes against Yoongi's briefly, sending a shiver down your spine. It's a simple touch, but it's enough to remind you of the lingering connection between you two.

Without saying a word, you turn and make your way to your room to change. You opt for a comfortable outfit—jeans, a soft oversized sweater, and sneakers. It's a look that makes you feel at ease, even as your thoughts whirl with uncertainty.

Exiting your room with your backpack, you see Jungkook come out from his room next door. When did Jungkook get here? You say good morning to him, but with his airpods in and eyes trained on something on his phone it seems like he can't hear you as he walks into the bathroom.

You tell the two men in the kitchen you’ll be back later and head out. When you open the door, you catch a glimpse of Hoseok helping a clearly hungover Namjoon through the front door. You offer a small wave and a quick hello, not wanting to get caught in any further awkward interactions. Unfortunately, that does not happen.

“Y/N, where are you going?” Namjoon asks, causing you to turn around. You sigh inwardly but put on a friendly smile to respond to Namjoon's inquiry. "Hey, Namjoon, just heading to the library to study with Hwasa."

His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he studies your face, and you can tell he's being overly cautious. "The library, huh? You sure about that?"

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance bubbling beneath your polite exterior. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Your response sounds a little defensive, feeling a headache coming in from all the eggshell walking this morning.

Namjoon's protective instincts are on high alert, and he glances back at Hoseok for support. "No reason, it's just... you know, it's good to be careful, especially with JB around."

Your annoyance grows, but you keep your tone measured. "Namjoon, I appreciate your concern, but you know I can handle myself. And I'm not hanging out with JB, if that's what you're worried about."

Namjoon seems unconvinced but doesn't press further. "Alright, just be safe, Tiny. Call one of us if you need anything, okay?" 

You give him a reassuring nod before walking away to the library. You can't help but roll your eyes internally at Namjoon's overprotective nature, especially considering his own involvement with Jihyo. Nonetheless, you appreciate his concern, even if it's a bit misguided.

As you walk, you keep replaying the events of the previous night in your mind. The memory of the passionate kiss, the mix of emotions, and the unspoken words—all of it weighs heavily on your thoughts. Part of you knows that you need to have a conversation with Yoongi about what happened, to clarify your feelings and understand his intentions.

You make your way a few blocks to campus and enter the university library. The scent of books and hushed whispers surrounds you, creating an atmosphere of studious concentration. You're in dire need of a revitalizing tea, so you head to the library cafe to order one. While waiting for your tea, you call Hwasa, your trusted confidante, telling her that it's a "CODE RED," an urgent matter that requires her immediate attention. You know she's probably still in bed, but you can't wait to discuss this with her.

“Huh…Code Red?” Hwasa responds in a daze, words slurred. You think it's adorable.

"Ahn Hyejin, I need you to come to the library right now," you say, your voice carrying a mix of stern excitement and nervousness.

"Hmm? Addressing me with the govy name?! What's going on? Is this about some Harry Potter fanfiction again?" Hwasa's voice is groggy, clearly woken up by your urgent call.

"No, it's not about the Draco fic!...And that was ONE TIME! It's about... something else." You bite your lip, glancing around to make sure no one's eavesdropping on your conversation.

Hwasa, sensing that you are definitely serious about this code red call, responds with a more serious tone, "Alright, give me a second. I'll be there as soon as I can."

True to her word, Hwasa arrives shortly, looking a bit disheveled in her gray sweatpants and hoodie, but fully awake. You quickly fill her in on the events of the previous night, recounting everything you're able to remember—even the smallest details, thanks to your surprisingly sharp memory even when you're tipsy.

Hwasa's eyes widen with shock as she listens to your story. "Oh god, finally."

Confused, you raise an eyebrow. "Huh? What do you mean finally?"

Hwasa lets out a chuckle and shakes her head. "Honey, I'm gonna be honest with you. This man is clearly head over heels in love with you. Have you not seen the major heart eyes Min Yoongi has been giving you since I met you last year at the Fall Club Fair?"

Heart eyes? You're taken aback by her words, your mind racing to remember any instances where Yoongi might have displayed such feelings. Then you remember meeting Hwasa at the Fall club fair last year when you started college. Namjoon and Yoongi, both a year older than you, had been showing you and the other maknae line members around. Jimin and Jungkook had gotten caught up watching Hobi's street team dance performance. Namjoon, Jin, and Taehyung had been munching on food at some of the stalls. Meanwhile, Yoongi introduced you to the multicultural club booth, where you met Yijeong, Jieun, and Hwasa, who were giving away Korean goodies. You distinctly recall Yoongi wiping away some crumbs at the corner of your lips, an innocent gesture that Hwasa had clearly interpreted differently. For you, this was typical Yoongi showing his love language for his friends.

Hwasa grins mischievously as she continues, "Ever since then, I've seen the way he looks at you. Spring Fling too! Trust me, girl, those heart eyes don't lie."

You're a mix of emotions—surprised, flustered, and admittedly a little giddy. The idea that Yoongi might have feelings for you is both exhilarating and terrifying. You haven't allowed yourself to entertain such thoughts before, but now they're impossible to ignore.

Before you can say anything else, Hwasa leans in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Your heart races as you contemplate the question. What are you going to do about it? It's a decision that could change the dynamics of your friendship with Yoongi forever. Not just him, but everyone in the house! As you sit there, lost in thought, you realize that you need more time to process everything that's happened. You look at Hwasa with a determined expression.

You hesitate, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. "I mean, what would you do if you were in my position?" you finally ask, genuinely seeking her advice.

"Uh, date him?" Hwasa suggests with a casual shrug, as if it's the most obvious solution in the world. “There’s nothing stopping you from this, or is there…?”

You blink at her, your heart rate quickening. "Date Yoongi? But what about Jaebeom? I still am very much attracted to that man!" The idea seems both tempting and terrifying. There are so many reasons why it can't happen, with the main one being your lingering crush on Jaebeom. The other being related to two people you don’t want to think about much. 

Hwasa rolls her eyes, clearly unconvinced by your argument. "Oh, you're still hung up on that? Honey, have you not been listening to me? That guy is only looking to get his dick wet!"

You let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and denial. "How sure are you about that? What if he actually likes me?"

Hwasa raises an eyebrow at you, her expression telling you that she's not buying your doubts. "I doubt it. Trust me, he doesn't do relationships from all the info I’ve heard. It's all about fun and games for him."

You press your lips together, torn between Hwasa's words of caution and the possibility that there might be more to Yoongi's intentions. It's a risk you're not sure you're ready to take, especially when your heart still flutters at the thought of Jaebeom.

Hwasa leans back, studying your conflicted expression. "Look, Honey, I'm not saying you should jump into anything. Take your time, figure out what you want. But don't dismiss Yoongi either. Sometimes, the best things are right in front of us, and after all that bullshit Joon and Jimin are pulling with the girlies they’re with…that thing you need might be Yoongi."

Her words resonate with you, and you sigh, nodding slowly as you hear her out. "Maybe, you're right. I'll take some time to think about it."

Hwasa smiles and pats your hand reassuringly. "That's all I'm asking for. Just promise me you won't close yourself off to these possibilities. And remember, I've got your back no matter what."

You manage a small smile in return, grateful for Hwasa's unwavering support. As you continue to chat, sharing your thoughts and concerns, you start to feel a bit more at ease. While the path ahead is uncertain, at least you have someone who's willing to listen and provide guidance.

As the conversation continues, you find yourself growing more introspective, contemplating the complexities of your feelings for both Yoongi and Jaebeom. It's a conversation that leaves you with a lot to consider, and as the afternoon sunlight filters through the library windows, you feel a renewed sense of clarity.

Eventually, you part ways with Hwasa, promising to keep her updated on any developments. Leaving the library, you take a deep breath of fresh air, feeling a bit of weight lifted off your shoulders. 

+++++++++++++++++++

October 8th (Monday)

On Monday, you walk into your Finance class, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. As you enter the classroom, your eyes immediately search for JB. He's sitting in his usual spot, looking engrossed in his notebook. Taking a deep breath, you decide to sit next to him, despite the awkwardness you feel.

The lecture proceeds, and you find yourself trying to focus on the material, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the conversation you had with Hwasa. You're determined to be more present in the moment, but it's difficult when JB's mere presence beside you sends your heart racing.

Finally, the class comes to an end. As students start packing up their belongings, you take a deep breath and muster the courage to speak to JB.

 "Hey, JB," you begin, your voice a bit shaky. "I wanted to apologize for leaving you behind that night at the party. I wasn't feeling well, and Yoongi took me away to check-up on me."

JB glances at you briefly before shrugging nonchalantly. "It's whatever," he replies, his tone indifferent.

You're taken aback by his lack of reaction. You had expected some kind of response, maybe even a hint of annoyance, but his words are surprisingly dismissive. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was intentionally blowing you off or anything."

JB raises an eyebrow, as if sizing you up. "Look, it's fine. I'm not really interested in talking to you anymore."

His words catch you off guard, and a strange mix of relief and disappointment washes over you. "Oh, um, okay then."

"Yeah, I figured you're probably busy with other stuff," JB says casually, as if he's already moved on.

“Other stuff? What are you talking about–”

JB doesn’t let you finish your question and instead, stands up, gathering his things. "Anyway, see you around."

You feel a pang of something – disappointment, perhaps – but it's not as sharp as you thought it would be. Maybe it's the newfound clarity you gained from talking to Hwasa, or maybe it's the fact that you've realized there was nothing truly tangible that could happen with JB. Though you are still confused by what he meant by that last remark, you decide to ignore it.

As JB walks away, you find yourself feeling strangely liberated.

After that interaction with him, you can't help but feel a newfound sense of empowerment and clarity. The conversation with Hwasa and the way JB's dismissal rolled off your shoulders made you realize that it's time to take control of your own feelings and decisions. With this determination in mind, you decide to follow Hwasa's advice and text Yoongi after your class.

You: Where are you right now?

 You type quickly, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a response. 

Yoongi: At Professor Kang's office, grading papers. He had to step out for a department meeting just now.

You: Stay where you are. I’m coming over there.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your things and head towards the Social Sciences building where Professor Kang's office is located. 

+++++++++++

You knock on the door, your heart beating faster as you wait for a response. The door opens, revealing Yoongi on the other side.

"Hey," you say softly, meeting his gaze.

"Hey," he replies, and you can sense a mixture of anticipation and something else in his eyes.

"Can we talk?" you ask, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

Yoongi steps aside, gesturing for you to enter the office. You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, the latch clicking softly, cocooning the two of you in this small space. Papers and books sprawl across the cluttered desk, lending the room a cozy, but somewhat chaotic, atmosphere. The soft, golden sunlight filtering through the outside trees adds a touch of tranquility to the space, as though it's caught in a moment of serene contemplation. 

You take a deep breath, facing Yoongi. "I've been thinking a lot about what happened on Friday," you begin, choosing your words carefully. "And I realize that I need to clarify my own feelings and thoughts."

Yoongi nods, his expression serious. "I've been waiting for you to bring this up," he admits. "I didn't want to push you into a conversation you weren't ready for."

You appreciate his understanding, and it gives you the courage to continue. "Thank you, Yoongs,” you say with a warm smile, your voice soft as you gather your thoughts. "I want to start by saying that I really enjoyed spending time with you on Friday," your cheeks flushing slightly with a delicate pink hue.

His eyes, like warm pools of caramel, meet yours, and he smiles. "I did too, probably the most fun I’ve had since the beginning of this semester." His voice is low and soothing, like a comforting melody in the background.

Your fingers trace patterns on the hem of your top, a nervous habit of yours activating as you are about to potentially initiate something you cannot change. "And after a lot of thinking," you begin slowly, "I wanted to ask you if we could start something…"

His curiosity piqued, Yoongi leans back against Professor Kang’s desk. "Spit it out, Sunshine," he encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Like friends with benefits!" you finally let it out, the words hanging in the air, their weight palpable in the room. You can feel the soft breeze from the open window, a gentle reminder of the world outside, but for this moment, it's just the two of you, suspended in time.

Yoongi exhales, and moves to sit at the TA desk by the window.

 "Not what I thought you would say, but that doesn't sound like a bad idea given our circumstances."

You nod in agreement, feeling relieved that Yoongi is open to the idea. "I just think it could be fun and beneficial for both of us before we think about stepping into something more complex, y'know!" you say, trying to downplay the nerves that are still bubbling up inside of you.

Yoongi studies you for a moment, his eyes flickering with something you can't quite decipher.  “What about your crush on Jaebeom? Not trying to get with him anymore?” He asks.

“Well, he hates my guts since I left standing there on Friday when you dragged me away…so that’s done.”

He laughs lowly, “Well, I'm definitely interested if he’s not," he says and pauses briefly before saying the next thing on his mind. "But we should establish some ground rules first."

You nod again, eager to hear what he has to say. "Of course, whatever you think is necessary. I haven't done something like this since high school and you know how that went." 

You laughed nervously, recalling your unestablished situationship with Yeonjun that very much did not end well. You came crying to Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi that night when everything crashed down and they took you out for rolled ice cream.

Yoongi leans forward, his gaze intense. "First, we have to be completely honest with each other. If either of us starts to want something more from each other, we need to speak up immediately and decide what to do."

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his words. "I agree, communication is key! What else do you think we should establish?"

"Second, we have to be safe," Yoongi continues, his voice serious. "We'll use protection when penetrating always, no exceptions. And we'll both get tested before we start anything."

You nod again, feeling grateful for Yoongi's responsible approach to this situation. "That makes sense, and I completely agree. Is there anything else?"

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his gaze flickering over your body. "Lastly," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We have to be completely open with each other about our desires and boundaries. And we have to be willing to explore and experiment with each other."

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words, your body responding to the promise of intimacy with Yoongi. "I am willing to do that," you reply, your voice husky with desire.

In that moment, your impulsive thoughts start advising you to do something you thought you would never do, and you listen. You walk towards Yoongi's desk and get on your knees in front of him, feeling emboldened by the conversation and agreement made. You realize what you're about to do is incredibly risky, but if you don't solidify this agreement now, when could you really? 

You reach for his thighs, your eyes never leaving his. Yoongi's gaze is intense as he looks down at you, your fingers gripping his thighs tightly.

"You’re really about to do this…right here?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure about that?"

You nod, feeling a wave of desire wash over you. "I've never been more sure of anything," you reply, your fingers moving to the button of his jeans.

Yoongi lets out a low growl as you begin to unzip his pants, his eyes dark with desire. You take him in your hand, feeling him harden under your touch.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath as you begin to stroke him slowly. "You really drive me crazy.  You know that, Sunshine?"

You smirk up at him for using your everyday nickname in this context, feeling a sense of power as you pleasure him with your hands. He's never been more vulnerable than he is right now, sitting in his Professor's semi public office trying to control his heavy breathing with your hand wrapped around his cock slowly stroking.

"Well this is my favorite way to drive someone crazy," you say as you lean forward and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, his taste and smell is more intoxicating than expected. His hands immediately fall to your curls, gripping them tightly as you take him deeper into your mouth.

You begin to move your head up and down, your hand still stroking him in rhythm with the movement of your mouth. You feel him harden further, his cock twitching in your hands and his moans filling the air.

You pull your head back, your lips wet from his glistening precum. "But I can think of a couple of other ways as well."

Yoongi's eyes are dark with lust, his breathing ragged. You move your hands to the waistband of his jeans and underwear, pulling them down his hips and freeing him from any constraint. He kicks off his shoes and lifts his feet so you can pull his pants all the way off, your eyes never leaving his.

You take him in your mouth again and begin to suck him in earnest, feeling your own desire growing between your legs. You're not sure how much longer you can last before you need him inside of you. You can't do that here though, no matter how much your inner whore wants you to risk it all. Your tongue continues to dance around him, exploring every inch of his cock with new enthusiasm. Yoongi's fingers dig into your scalp again as he struggles to control his low moans, his legs shaking every time you flick your tongue against the head of his cock.

This is definitely the most interesting place you’ve ever given a blowjob.

Yoongi's hand leaves your scalp and moves down to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as he moves himself deeper into your mouth. His cock throbs in your mouth as the first wave of his orgasm overtakes him, strings of his glistening cum shooting into your throat and coating your tongue. The flavor of Yoongi’s cum on your tongue is salty and tangy, like a citrus cocktail with a kick. The taste and sensation of it is addicting. Being in the public place you are in, you decide to swallow his load down your throat and you continue to suck him until he is finished. Leaving no evidence of the events taking place.

Yoongi pulls you off of him gently, his lips curled up in a smirk. "I think you really need to stop now, or else I'm going to lose control," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Don’t worry! That's it from me," you reply, your words muffled slightly by the fact that Yoongi's cock is still partially in your mouth. "I just wanted to give you a taste of what's to come with this agreement."

You stand up and help him straighten his shirt, then you help him put his pants back on and button them up. He stands as well, his hands still shaking as he tucks himself back into his boxers.

Yoongi begins chuckling suddenly, "Yeah, we definitely can’t tell anyone about this too," he regards, his voice strained. He looks just as desperate as you feel.

You nod, still feeling lost in lust. “Absolutely not.”

"We're still friends at the end of the day and I don't want this to ruin that.” Yoongi nods, his expression serious. “We can't let this affect our group dynamic or make things awkward when we're all together."

You nod again, taking in his words. "Of course, taking this secret to the grave with you, bestie Yoongs.”

You grab some of the hand sanitizer on Professor Kang's desk and apply it to your hands covered in spit residue. You are going to wash your hands once you step out of this room and reflect on this insane action you just did here, you think to yourself. 

In the moment you're about to ask Yoongi about something related to your arrangement, you hear a knock at the door, startling you. Yoongi looks over at you with panic, his eyes wide. He signals you to sit in a nearby chair and walks toward the door. He opens it to find Hoseok holding a stapled paper stack.

"Hey Hyung!" Hoseok says with his characteristic low yet excited voice. "Just wanted to come by to drop off one of my assignments for Professor Kang. I wanted to come earlier, but I got sidetracked by the dance team..." Hoseok's words drift away as he look behind Yoongi and sees you sitting down.

"Oh, Honey?" Hoseok calls out using your household nickname. “You're here too?" 

"Yeah…Just came by to drop off an iced americano for Yoongi to motivate him to finish his TA duties." You brush off the obvious lust on your face and try to look like you're not involved in anything. You sit there upright, hoping Hoseok would go with the flow. But he continues to be lost in thought. “I gotta go meet up with Jungkook, so I’ll excuse myself!” 

You get up from your seat and scurry out of the office without Yoongi getting the chance to say ‘see you at home!’

After a bit of silence, Hoseok's attention whips to Yoongi, a stern expression on his face. "So what's going on here, Yoongi?"

“Nothing related to whatever you’re thinking.”

Hoseok's eyebrows raise, his expression becoming more serious. "Really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like something's been going on. You've been acting different, and her being in Kang’s office all alone with you and then she runs off?” He laughs, “Hyung! I've known you for years. You can't hide much from me."

Yoongi lets out a deep sigh, realizing that Hoseok won't be easily brushed off. He leans against his desk, arms crossed. “Hope, It's not like that.."

Hoseok nods knowingly. "Complicated, huh? Does it have anything to do with why you've been looking so love-struck lately?"

Yoongi's cheeks flush with embarrassment, however the setting sun radiating shades of red and orange into the office manage to camouflage the blush. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Hoseok chuckles, clearly enjoying teasing his friend. "Come on, Yoongi. You’ve been acting a little too excited since your Saturday morning breakfast feast? That was definitely meant for us."

Yoongi rubs his temples, a sign that he's growing frustrated. "Hoseok, can we not do this right now?”

Hoseok sighs, his playful demeanor softening into genuine concern. "Alright, Hyung! I won't push you further. Just remember, I'm here for you if you ever want to talk about it. And, you know, I can keep a secret."

Yoongi manages a small, appreciative smile. "Sure, Hope. I appreciate that."

Hoseok claps him on the back and back out the door way. "No problem, hyung. Just take your time, but don't take too long. Life's too short to be indecisive. He might decide to actually take her if you don’t."

Confusion clouds Yoongi's expression. "What? Who are you talking about?"

Hoseok grins mischievously as he opens the office door. "Oh, you'll figure it out, Hyung. Just remember what I said." With that, he exits the room, leaving Yoongi to ponder his cryptic words.

As the door closes behind Hoseok, Yoongi can't help but replay the events of the past few days in his mind. Hoseok's words about his own behavior and the warning about someone elses’ interest in you adds another layer of complexity to an already tangled situation.

 Is it about Namjoon? He thinks back to Saturday morning when Hoseok brought back Namjoon from wherever he was last Friday night. Namjoon ate some of the breakfast he made and didn’t come out of his room the whole weekend. Jimin doesn’t seem to be much of a concern right now despite him being suspicious of him too. Yoongi doubts anyone in the house would be trying to make a move on you. Well, there is Jungkook who is clingy to you on a normal basis but that doesn’t seem likely.  While Yoongi has been wanting this for a long time, was this agreement a bad idea after all? With a sigh, Yoongi returns to his desk, knowing that he has a lot to think about.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

reposting one i read on reddit that got removed but i just need to know what tumblr thinks:

AITA for finishing in my girlfriend during the full moon, thinking it was not possible for her to be fertile?

I know the title sounds weird, but I promise this isn't a shitpost, metaphor, or a joke. I (20M) was raised by a single dad, never knew my mom who left me as a baby, and growing up I didn't really have many female (or male, tbh) friends.

The reason I say this is that I don't know all that much about female anatomy; yes, I had sex ed in school, but seriously don't remember anything except "wear a condom", basically.

I met my girlfriend "Beth" (21F) in college and she's the best. It's my first relationship, her second. We've been together for a little more than a year now, and had sex for the first time about half a year ago. After the first couple times, Beth told me that she has a really regular and average period that she's been keeping track of with an app since she was literally 14, plus in the last few years she also started taking her temperature to get even more accurate results; I didn't understand exactly how this works, but she was so reassuring and confident I didn't question it.

Ok, now this is where I might start sounding like an idiot... So she told me her period is an extremely regular 28 days, and she has literally only strayed from this pattern once since she was 14. I also am aware that moon cycles are 28 days. (Correction here: since this incident, I Googled and it's actually about 29 days... but that's besides the point I guess.)

Women tend to be associated with the moon, like Artemis; I truly, deeply believed that the moon phases and all women's menstrual cycles were inherently connected, but just like, different women had their more fertile days with full moons whereas for some it corresponds to a different moon phase, like the new moon, and this is why women differed.

So the reason Beth told me about her period being super regular is that she was confident she knew when she was or was not fertile, and told me she wanted me to finish in her on safe days. We've been having sex like this for the last four months where she tells me the window of time she's safe, she's happy, I'm happy, it's working fine.

I started noticing that the moon tends to be really full and bright every time we have unprotected sex, maybe not necessarily always on a "true" full moon, but definitely around that time. I made a mental note that my girlfriend is a "fertile during a new moon (when you can't see the moon)" sort of girl. If you're wondering why I never just outright asked her about this, it just seemed really obvious to me and I didn't see the point in talking to her about something potentially a little embarrassing for no reason.

June 3rd was the most recent true full moon, and I decided to sort of surprise her by inviting her to my apartment and just pouncing on her wordlessly as soon as she came in. She was into it, we had sex, I finished inside her, she didn't complain or stop me at all.

While cooling off, she remarked that she didn't remember telling me about her safe days in a while, so I must be tracking her period, which she actually thought was sweet lol. I said, "well of course it's a safe day, the moon is so bright". She asked me what I meant, and I said something like "I know you can't possibly get pregnant during a full moon".

She seemed really confused and started getting a bit tense, questioning me more, and I, also confused, started explaining to her about the moon cycle thing I fully believed up until that moment.

This is where she freaked out completely, jumped up and asked me if I was a complete moron. She started yelling at me and freaking out about how insane and irresponsible I was for finishing in her. I was truly shocked I had no idea what to say, especially because it WAS still truly a safe day, but she actually just grabbed her stuff and stormed off before I could do anything.

Well, after she left I googled a bunch of stuff and yep, turns out I'm completely incorrect. That being said, it WAS still a safe day for Beth and she wasn't actually upset about me finishing in her or anything, just the reason I did, I guess. So, AITA?

So generally I don't want to rerun posts from reddit unless it's your own story, but we'll make an exception just this once

What are these acronyms?

[saltynsassy31]

Whats bothering about this grand festival me is the fact it has every reason to be the final fest

But, again, its been promoted as anything but that.

This season's catalogue has "thank you for playing" title. They are soon to release the switch 2, which is more the reason for them to start working on the next game now more than ever (and I am 99% sure we are getting a 4th game for many, many reason, but main one being that Splatoon has become Nintendo's new cash cow). Like the previous two games, it would have finished its 2 year run and they said they only had 2 years of content planned. The splatfest we are having next is the same one (according to a comment, I haven't checked this one yet) that they had in splatoon 1 before the final one.

It makes sense.

But something feels off.

And I'm wracking my brain over not having that final piece of the puzzle. Somethings missing and I can't seem to tell what that something is! Its frustrating, but we'll just have to see.

Because there are also reasons pointing to them doing it for at least another year. Things I found odd when I first noticed. Those being:

Off the Hook was added so much later, they missed better part of the special events like Splatoween and Frosty fest. It would be interesting if they brought it back one more round to see these two beloved characters have their chance to shine. They obviously know Off the Hook's popularity.

They introduced 2 new spaltfest mechanics way too late into the games life span, to the point we've got to enjoy it very little. It is odd also that they didn't add in sooner.

They only said they had two years PLANNED. Some people had speculated that they might do more.

Splatoon 1 only had two years because the Wii U was dying and they needed to quickly move to the next console. Splatoon 2 exists so that they could bring new stuff along side whay splatoon 1 already had. 2 years for splatoon 2 cuz, well, splatoon 2! Splatoon 3 brought in so many new things to the table. It be cathartic to have the final fest happen in the 3rd year of its life, a fitting end.

This fest is being pointed as "Grand Festival" and has only been said to celebrate the game's 2 year anniversary. Never once was it said to be its final.

Now, these aren't reasons enough to say they'll do more splatfests or catalogues. But it's something to keep in mind, at the very least.

The first point is a little iffy because, as much as I'd love to see reruns of it like many others; commercially, they'd want something new. We might be getting new outfits for EVERYONE if they do reruns, of just OtH.

Another theory is that this is technically the "final" fest, or at least the fest which choices affect the next game. But not the final fest of the game, the final fest might compliment this one. (Less likely, but a possibility to keep in mind)

I can't think of much else besides this, tbh. It's really driving me nuts here XD I like to be prepared for everything, so I've calculated this being the final fest since I first got the game 2 years ago. This is throwing me off incredibly hard 😫.

We'll just have to wait and see what they have planned. Splatoon 3 was already a huge change to the game, I wouldn't be surprised if they were trying to do something completely new and different after this Splatfest.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Tbh I think swift adds meaning to her work after it's released. So many of her songs are incoherent to the point that fans think it's some weird cryptic puzzle to solve and have to be super smart to understand the true meaning. I wouldn't be surprised if she did very little work/editing, used a thesaurus to jazz up the lazy lyrics, releases, then waits for fans to make up their own interpretations. She probably searches her name/song titles on twitter to see which fan theories are the most well liked and adopts them for her own, confirming their theories so they can "solve the puzzle." Fans getting validation for understanding mother so well definitely adds to the parasocial delusion, but I think that "understanding" is artificial.

My friend, it would not surprise me in the slightest to learn that Swift just agrees to whatever fan theory she thinks is most interesting.

It removes pressure for her to come up with something cool, and She's pretty lazy so it's just easier to let the fans do the work.

The smug-superiority fans get from being in the "cool, smart popular pop girl fandom" is so egregiously weird, especially considering that Swift dumbs all her lyrics down to the point of nauseum.

I do not believe she is some kind of prophetic genius who is capable of planning hidden messages years in advance. She no doubt threw this latest record together as fast as possible to push it out in time for this year's grammy-noms, and other award deadlines. She wouldn't want to lose the chokehold grip she has on the industry- afterall. Why else would she say that she "felt like she had to put out this record"

I do think she was probably a fan of "Choose-your-own-adventure" stories as a kid. They were enormously popular in the late 80's and early 90's. I think she modeled some of this "trick or treating" style marketing on the premise of "choose-your-own-adventure" books. The hidden clues, secret messages, and question-and-answer style methodology typifies the nature of those books. Obvi- this is my opinion, but I think it correlates rather strongly to how Swift runs her marketing campaigns.

Tbh I liked those books too- but I'm not about to make it my base business model. Why? Because it's intuitively childish.

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: December 2023 ~ 

🎆 Happy 2024!!! 🍾

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 You're My Star (Christmas Special) - December 4th (Philippines)

🌟 Bagan Beginning - December 5th (Myanmar)

🌟 Chains of Heart: The Movie - December 7th (Thailand)

🌟 Cherry Magic Thailand - December 9th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 It's Complicated - December 14th (Thailand) 

🌟 Dear Kitakyushu - December 14th (Thailand) 

🌟 Colorful Melody - December 16th (Thailand) 

🌟 Night Dream - December 16th (Thailand)

🌟 DMD Friendship (reality show) - December 17th (Thailand)

🌟 Scent of Memory (I Feel You Linger in the Air Special Episode) - December 17th (Thailand)

🌟 Dead Friend Forever - December 23rd (Thailand) 

🌟 I Became the Lead in a BL Drama - December 24th (Japan)

🌟 Mr. Nice Guy & the Lonely Man - December 25th (Thailand)

🌟 Love on Lo - December 26th (Thailand)

🌟 You and My Stars - December 30th (Thailand)

Monthly likes/dislikes

❣️ Cherry Magic - It's cute so far, this is the first adaption where I've actually seen the original and I'm pleasantly surprised. The plot is familiar but they're adding things to it which is nice. It's extended and more explorative compared to the OG but in an endearing way. TayNew do the roles justice, I couldn't imagine a better fit tbh. And even Mark and Junior make the side couple likable who I really did not like in the original lol. Thumbs up so far 🫶🏻

New series & movie announcements

🎥 Knock Out (produced by Dee Hup) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 First Time Love - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Perfect Propose - Coming February 2024 (Japan)

🎥 The Fridge - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Caged Again - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Likay The Series/Let Me Into Your Heart (novel adaption) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 The Only One - Date TBA (Taiwan)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ GMMTV's upcoming BL We Are has started filming. The show will be directed by New Siwaj and stars PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawin and more. It is thus the first production from the 2024 lineup to go into production. Aside from that, many other upcoming BLs have started filming including The Trainee, Only Boo and Wandee Goodday.

❗️This year's Y Universe Awards were held on December 11th. The following BL actors & productions won:

Cutie Pie 2 You - Best Series

Moonlight Chicken - Best Series Script

Aof N. - Best Director (MLC)

Gemini N. - Best Supporting Actor (MLC)

Khaotung T. - Best Supporting Actor (MLC)

Fourth N. - Best Leading Actor (MSP)

ZeeNunew - Best Couple

I Feel You Linger in the Air - Best Series Soundtrack, Best Production

Laws of Attraction - Best Social Reflection

❗️The Japanese BL The Man Who Defies The World of BL is getting a third season to air in 2024. Further details are unknown.

❗️After further copyright issues, the Thai remake of the Japanese BL Cherry Magic had to be removed from youtube and will no longer be aired on the site. The show will continue to only be available nationally on VIU. Viewers with a VPN can still access the site, other streaming options are KissKH, Dramacool and KissAsian.

❗️The streaming platform WeTV announced a new original BL titled Caged Again which tells the love story between a penguin and a panther. Both animals transform into humans while travelling between universes and fall in love. The show is set to air in 2024, the cast is unknown.

❗️The Thai BL production company Domundi announced their upcoming project The Next Prince to release its pilot trailer in the first quarter of 2024. The show stars ZeeNunew and others and has a historical theme. Filming will likely begin later this year.

Upcoming series & movies for January

👉🏻 BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank In Hen - January 2nd (Japan)

👉🏻 Ossan's Love Returns - January 5th (Japan)

👉🏻 Refund Love - January 7th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Time The Series - January 9th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Intern in My Heart (BL side couple) - January 10th (Thailand) 

👉🏻 Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka - January 11th (Japan)

👉🏻 I Wish You Love - January 21st (Thailand)

👉🏻 Beside You (mini series) - January TBA (Thailand)

👉🏻 Love for Love's Sake - January TBA (South Korea)

[amid-fandoms]

Can I be honest please don't ban me but tbh u don't want them to hard launch IM SORRYY I'm not hkmophobic i just live the bestfriends but so much im sorryuu

the bestfriends isn't a bit, they are best friends. i said this yesterday but i'll say it again, this isn't the sims and best friends CAN be boyfriends, husbands etc. you're not limited to one title with the person you love, god knows dan has used a thousand

with that being said, you're entitled to your own opinion of course, while many of us would love nothing more than to experience them being more open about it, there's always that underlying fear of the unknown for afterwards. how this will change the dynamic they have (imo it won't like, at all) and how it will change their dynamic with us, their content moving forward etc. i myself am terrified of what's to come, hard launch or not, so i can't imagine people who have worse anxiety than me or fear of change/surprises and how they must feel

i don't know if this is coming from genuine fear or if you're just messing around but whatever happens, don't worry about it. we'll all walk through the same chaos together

[imustbenuts]

Seadall, localization, food, EABS culture, and discussion of Eating Disorder. Trigger Warning.

tl;dr: Seadall is pandering to an East Asian Beauty Standard, technically does not have eating disorder, but is bordering on Disordered Eating, and both the writers and localizers know it.

Our first official male dancer of FE has a bit of a obsession over controlling his diet to a concerning degree. But is it actually an Eating Disorder? No, I don't think so. From my pov, this has everything to do with his job, a Dancer and the dreaded East Asian Beauty Standard (EABS).

EABS idealizes the fair skinned (asian colorism rAAAAGH), the lean and thin. Any level of fats or flaps are no good and is considered undesirable, or worse, a sign of one's gluttonous and even slothful character. IRL, that sentiment has become less pervasive, less judgemental and less awful than 10 years ago, but it's still around. Hell, it's in our Fire Emblems! Average out the body shapes of all dancers or even characters in FE and you'll see what I mean.

(are you in hell yet.)

This EABS is especially prevalent in 1 genre of media that comes pouring out of Japan and Korea... The Pop Idol scene. In Japan, the idol industry can be traced back to the 1960s, and though it has propped up the EABS, this standard's roots goes FURTHER back to even pre-colonialism era, to China and the Tang Dynasty where willowy female bodies were ideal. (That's 618-907AD.)

And when I say EABS, I will include the surrounding countries outside of Japan too. Similarities in culture and all that. Hence East Asian. (Don't be mistaken though. South East and South Asia also has to deal with this shit.)

But hey. I'm still talking about female EABS, right? Where does Seadall fall into this?

Uhhhh. Jumpscare. Surprise K-pop.

(ps i dont know k-pop as well so idk who these ppl are im sorry waaaaug)

Dancers and the Idol Industry

It's easier to see on the female side, but uh, that specific body shape is often achieved through extreme dieting. The body fat % is so low that the dancer's lower ribcage can be seen. Before shooting the dance or a performance, these idol's agencies will notify them to slim down to a certain goal, like say drop 2kg (4.4 lbs) or 4kg (8.8 lbs) in x time, and this is typical. Guys here are no exception.

Weight is manufactured. Looks to some extent (plastic... surgery....). The clothes too, are intentionally picked. Exposing the belly is common since it's the quickest indicator of skinniness.

But hey, I actually lied about the dieting part. It's not really dieting as it's actually straight up starvation, tbh. To lose that weight, the dancers/idols will often eat as little as some protein shake, a few fruits and maybe potato for fiber. Yes, it's as hellish as it sounds, and no, these people are unable to fully function with a calorie intake like this. Source for this claim will be in a video at the bottom of the post by youtuber chaebin n out, titled "How K-POP Destroys Your Body". So.

W̵͓͍̏͝e̴͉̾ḽ̷͈͐ĉ̶̠̝͋ö̶̤́m̷̲̒ê̶̬ ̶̧̅ṭ̷̘͑͑ö̵͇́ ̸̛͖̑h̵̳̿͝ė̶͕͉l̵̜͖̇͗ḻ̶̑!̴̪͊̉

Ok, but that's K-pop. What about J-pop?

Japan, where FE rolls out from, have J-pop, which is slightly different. J-pop idols also suffer from EABS but afaik it's not as extreme. Many contemporary J-pop idol groups like Atarashii Gakko!(left) and Babymetal(right) also Do Not make thinness a major selling point with their costuming. This is usually done through hiding the midriff, where belly fat most easily forms. (EABS is still in effect though, don't be mistaken! There could be just as extreme cases out there I'm not aware of ;_;)

So it seems like people kind of agree that obsessing about weight and developing body image issue is messed up.

Hopefully now I've established what is going on irl for Seadall's influences, and what is considered normal or extreme. Relatively anyway. (I hate EABS so much hhggr)

Let's detour to...

Food! Staples! What's normal?

An average meal in Japan consists of a variety of veggies, tofu and a serving of protein, which results in lower fat intake. Also, RICE is a major staple in these meals, so assuming the writers are approaching it with the best intentions, and how Engage's normal might appear to native Japanese audiences, JP Seadall's worry only seems to be on oily food intake and is not overly concerning to me.

In fact, here is an example of a staple set meal (teishoku) I ate over there last December. Yum yum:

Overall a very lean meal. So it's likely Seadall eats something similar-ish and not just greens.

Another important point is that in (East) Asia/Japan, oily food is seen as unhealthy and contributes greatly to cholesterol. This aversion to oily food is driven somewhat by EABS and... Health. I also promise most people are actually chill about this. ...Most people! Meat is yummy! Gyukaku and Ikinari Steak is popular and popping! That's why Seadall likes it after all.

So this is where Seadall's writing starts to contrast. For the most part in the EN version, he only worries about meat. In JP, it's technically oily food, which meat falls under, and he's worried about putting on weight.

Why the extreme worry tho...?

The logic for why all these matters so much to him is this: if a dancer is surrounded by other dancers who are reinforcing this EABS (mirroring the standards of the real world), then their only choice to stay relevant and keep their job is to commit to the same dietary choice and uphold the same EABS, or even have a EABS outperforming the standard.

Because a Dancer's job, or rather, Seadall's job is to pander to people's ideals of beauty. Hence his supports where hair and skin and food becomes a topic.

If he fails the standard, according to the J-pop and K-pop industry, he kind of fails at his job. Is it fair? Fuck no, but no matter what opinion we may think of the standard as outsiders, it remains that there is a LOT of social conditioning and manufacturing going on leading to... all of that. I scream too. I scream a lot, internally.

So what does Seadall look like to someone in this East Asian sphere...?

To the writers credit, they do push for Seadall to indulge more food that makes him happy for at least his mental well-being through the other characters.

This also happens to fall in line with Engage's low key theme of cherishing the moment.

With all I've explained, Seadall might come across as warning to those who over-worry about oily food consumption and trying to pander to an EABS to... chill the fuck out. That it's ok to just go eat some delicious yakiniku if you want to! Go off! If a female character who is concerned with this comes across as too vain, then let's have a guy do it and hope the point lands for the (potentially female) players.

And with all these missing context, it's very easy for one who isn't clued into this sphere assume that Seadall has some eating disorder or that the writers are advocating it. I don't think that's happening here at all. The localizers likely are aware of this missing context and have toned it down several levels for EN release. Wise move, tbh.

(progressiveness can be relative btw. something to keep in mind @_@)

So, is Seadall coming close to some kind of Disordered Eating? Possible. From what I see I think the writers are trying to push Seadall away from it, and trying to stop it from becoming a full blown Eating Disorder. Personally, again, I don't think he has an Eating Disorder.

However! Your Mileage May Vary. I only hope for my opinion and understanding to help inform others, not override it. What's normal for me isn't for everyone, and vice versa, but it's important to remember where Fire Emblem originates from.

And here's the last thing I promised: the video essay if you really want to dive into it:

And that's about it.

Hope this was interesting! Thanks for reading. 😄

EDIT: the Chinese net sphere is the exception to all of this, EABS is especially bad there

[annicaax]

hi 👋🏼 have you seen the “important notice” in the princess in the mirror regarding the suspension of future updates? i know it didn’t come as a surprise with how little they advertised and promoted the game but it’s happening a lot earlier than i expected. i’m pretty sad about it tbh. i really enjoyed the stories and bonded with the characters 😪

just saw this. so disappointed 😞 😔 😪

truly wish there were new characters routes and yes

wish this whole thing didn't happen

i guess they wanted to do this temporary gig so they could launch bakuten?

I'm always so frustrated with voltage for doing this over and over again

but will I play their next title

I will, because I love their content. God I'm such a goner. to invest my time money and emotions into these otome games this way

yes I too expected, kind of dreaded this might happen but it came too soon. what a let down... wish the company doesn't just drop titles and put in efforts and promote their games better

at least they mustn't disappoint their loyal fan base through their actions like sudden suspensions

as a voltage stan over the years I've seen many players, even the loyal fans straight out abandoning voltage cos there's no guarantee the game will live long

i hope this won't happen with bakuten. it's on par with cod as per design and recent otome trends (like the player experience there might be the most sought one. not saying old otome tropes are bad. mirpri is refreshing but I guess it didn't work for the company financially)

continuing a game in jp ver is tedious so I will accept this bitterness and try to move on. but it's hard tho given how much I was looking forward to dirk, wolf routes, more events of the npcs and sequels. I know they have a ton of content in the jp app. this truly is disappointing but yeah...

sorry for the rant.. it will take me a while to overcome this loss. otome has always been my escape from reality and for some reason I'm more invested in voltage games than any other. truly shame on voltage for doing this to their loyal players and fan base yet again

[phoenix-flamed]

I'd say I'm going to try not to ramble, but that would be pointless, because tbh I think best and most clearly when I'm writing things out. So this post is probably going to be long. (But it's mostly for myself, to reference for writing my dumb(affectionate) blorbo!)

I'm going to try and keep Ultimania stuff to a minimum, aside from regarding timeline stuff, in order to not go insane over the contradictions. This is also me kind of revisiting some other headcanons I had about his parents, and revising them; most notably who the fuck was on the throne before Elwin took it.

Thank you to @warofthebeasts , @stingslikeabee , and @lured-into-wonderland for all of your help! You guys are absolute lifesavers!

Okay, I'm going to try not to flub up these ranks and titles, but there is like a 99.9% chance that I'll do it anyway because I'm cobbling this together through a combination of research and ??????? over the fact that XVI seems to also have cobbled these things together to a degree, at least with regards to Rosaria.

Let me start off by saying my headcanons aren't meant to be 1:1 to the real world. Also that a big thing I haven't been taking into account so far with my other headcanons and portrayal is that you're born into a rank, but you are given a title. I uh, I honestly hadn't even thought of that. Oops.

(In my defense, I never said I was good at this sort of thing.)

Anywho. Okay, so, in terms of real life titles, an Archduke/Archduchess is pretty on par with a king/queen, but below an Emperor/Empress, I think? (You win this round, Sylvestre.) Does this hold true in XVI? I have no idea, but I wouldn't be surprised, all things considered.

The Grand Duchy of Rosaria is, obviously, a bit different from the Holy Empire. Originally, Rosaria was a series of individual nations -- but they joined together to create one unified front, forming the duchy that we all know and love. For my headcanons, the governing body is comprised of representatives from the Seven High Houses; the representatives of each one is the current head of the particular noble house, with House Rosfield being the main house and royalty. Each of these High Houses were the ruling families of the nations that joined with House Rosfield to form the Grand Duchy of Rosaria, so they're a pretty big deal.

I can't stress enough that these families each have a heavy presence in Rosaria's political matters and decisions. The Archduke/Archduchess doesn't rule on their own. I like to go with the idea that the Rosfield on the throne has the final say, but they still have to consult and work together with the other High House representatives.

Kind of like Parliament's House of Lords, in short. Or something.

Then you have the court as a whole, which according to Elwin's will, was pretty fractured by the end of Elwin's reign. And I mean, it does make sense -- you have eight people(the spouse of the one on the throne included in there) trying to push their own ideas. There are going to be disagreements, there's bound to be tension, and there are bound to be those among the court who support the monarch -- and those who support the other political figures. This is the case for the Rosfields, if Elwin's will is any indication. He had enemies within the court at the time of the will's writing, and that isn't even including the issues that cropped up regarding the rumors of Clive's true lineage when Joshua awakened as the Dominant of Phoenix instead.

And considering Anabella herself opposed many of Elwin's decisions, views, and ideals, of course there would be others who felt the same way as her, especially when you factor in that many of Elwin's ambitions for the future would shake up the societal hierarchy.

There was something I was puzzling over, before Kevin helped me out and bapped me over the head to get me to stop overthinking. When Clive was removed from the immediate line of succession by Elwin to try and spare him from the court's bullshittery(at least, according to the Ultimania), he was given the title of "Marquess", as demonstrated in the game by people addressing him when he's younger as... well, "Lord Marquess." In contrast to Joshua being referred to as, "Your Highness" at Phoenix Gate by Sir Wade. So my headcanon has been that Elwin removed him from the line of succession to basically yes, spare him from not only having to deal with the court jeering at Clive and making the poor boy's life a living hell as he grew up, but also so that Clive wouldn't have to deal with them going on to make his life a living hell when he took the throne as well. While I was digging around, I found something to tack onto this headcanon -- that the reason why Elwin did this was not just to avoid Clive getting slammed by backlash from the nobility and Anabella, but also because given that the governing body consists of the other heads of the High Houses as well, they could try and call into question Clive's right to rule due to the rumors and claims that he's an illegitimate child of Elwin's.

Obviously, this is a default for my blog, but if any Clive RPers have different ideas, or want this omitted in interactions with them, please let me know!

As for my Elwin's parents... Okay, I concede, Rosaria is probably male-dominated, at least in terms of the ruling family. The statues of former rulers, at least the ones that we're able to see in the artbook's artwork, are all male. The emphasis is usually on "Archduke"s, even when it comes to mentioning the custom of the Archduke gifting something to the ducal scions when they come of age. So what's my headcanon for why, in the Ultimania, Elwin's parents are both referred to as "Arch"? Archduke, Archduchess? Weeeeell. Odds are that yeah, Elwin's dad was 99.9% likely the one "officially" on the throne. Even in the bedroom scene between Anabella and Elwin, Anabella's like, "you are your father's firstborn son" or something along those lines, so the emphasis is, again, always on the males. But on top of all of these other thoughts and headcanons, I also totally headcanon now that Elwin's parents were joint rulers. They ruled as one. While his father, Alden, was off fighting and dealing with crap away from Rosalith, his mother -- Willow -- was wholly the one on the throne. She ruled in his place, and when they were wed after Alden took the throne, Alden gave Willow the title of Archduchess. This really doesn't change much of anything at all about my headcanons for those two and their relationship + dynamic, in retrospect...

I still headcanon that Alden died first, then Willow died a few years after Elwin took the throne, since the translated Ultimania doesn't mention her except one time, and that's in this sentence: "Since then, while performing official duties as the eldest son of the Grand Duchess, he traveled with Murdoch to various parts of the Wind Continent to deepen his knowledge." So I'm taking creative liberties on that one.

The fact that Willow and Alden were ruling as one is still what gave my Elwin the impression -- and hope -- that he and Anabella would be like that, too. Ruling together as one, always on the same page. A team, through and through. Unfortunately, he was a bit too idealistic on that front(as he was with most things), because what his parents had together is probably not as common as one would hope. Even though Elwin very much views Anabella as his equal, their opinions, views, etc. are too drastically different for that sort of thing.

I don't remember if I covered everything I'd wanted to cover. Er. Well, if I think of anything else, I'll jot it down in another, hopefully less ridiculously long post.