#and without fail it just absolutely flops

[theodorenmyth]

hiya, sneaking into your inbox to ask for a fluffy piece about mattheo sneaking out of his dorm at night to go cuddle with his snarky, prefect bf (also a slytherin) or them generally just sneaking around bc the relationship is relatively new and matty is super needy

Sleepy Cuddles

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; In the early stages of a secret relationship, Mattheo Riddle can't help but sneak into his snarky Slytherin prefect boyfriend’s bed for late-night cuddles. Needy, clingy, and absolutely obsessed, Mattheo refuses to let go—even when duty calls. What starts as a sleepy cuddle session turns into a battle of affection, stubbornness, and sleepy kisses, with Mattheo pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline while you halfheartedly try to escape. Despite your protests, it’s obvious: you’re already wrapped around his finger… literally.

A/N ; hi I came back from the dead.. I missed u guys :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 2.2k+

The first time Mattheo snuck into your dorm, it was at least a little justified.

Midnight.

Cold.

Thunder rumbling low outside the castle walls. He’d claimed he "couldn’t possibly survive alone with all that weather threatening to murder him in his sleep."

You, being the soft idiot you were when it came to him, had let him crawl into your bed without a word.

But now?

Now it’s a perfectly clear night, barely a breeze outside, and the bloody idiot is shimmying through your door again like some overgrown, desperate cat.

You sit up in bed, squinting at the figure tripping over a chair and nearly flattening himself against your dresser.

"Mattheo," you hiss, dragging a hand down your face, "what the fuck are you doing?"

He straightens up, hair a mess, wand clenched between his teeth for Merlin-knows-what reason. He pulls it free with a sheepish grin.

"Needed to see you," he says simply, shameless as ever, like that explains everything.

You glare. "It’s one in the bloody morning. Tomorrow is patrol night, and if you get caught here, I lose my prefect badge."

Mattheo shrugs, moving toward you anyway. "Worth it."

"Mattheo—"

He flops onto your bed beside you with a dramatic groan, burrowing under your green Slytherin blankets like he owns the place. His hand immediately finds your waist under the covers, clinging to you like you're some sort of anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

"You’re so warm," he mumbles, already curling into your side, as if he hadn’t just committed a thousand violations of school rules and common sense. "You smell good too."

You thump him lightly on the head. "You’re impossible."

"Mm." He grins against your shoulder. "You love it."

Unfortunately, he’s right.

With a long-suffering sigh, you shift so he can tuck himself more comfortably against you. His hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles closer, his fingers lightly stroking up and down your side, slow and almost absent-minded.

"You’re needy as hell, you know that?" you mutter.

Mattheo snickers. "You're lucky I'm only this clingy with you."

"That’s not reassuring."

"Should be." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, tracing lazy circles against your skin. "Means you’re special."

You try (and fail) to suppress the heat creeping up your neck. "Says the guy who nearly broke my door sneaking in like a damn burglar."

"It’s not breaking if it’s romantic," he says smugly.

"You are a menace."

"I’m your menace."

You finally laugh, low and reluctant. "Unfortunately."

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. The castle seems to exhale around you, torches flickering in the corridors beyond your room. Mattheo’s breathing slows, matching yours, a steady rhythm that tugs at something deep in your chest.

And then, because he’s Mattheo Riddle and incapable of letting a peaceful moment stay peaceful, he mumbles, "You should let me move in."

You snort. "Move in? You have your own bed!"

"Your bed’s better. Smells better too." He inhales dramatically. "Like books and peppermint."

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious," he insists, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair falls into his eyes, soft and messy, and you hate how stupidly fond you feel.

"Mattheo—"

"Please?" His voice drops to a near-whine, shameless. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll even make the bed in the morning. I’ll..." he trails off, smirking wickedly, "repay you with affection."

You raise an eyebrow. "Affection, huh?"

"Endless affection," he promises solemnly. "Cuddles. Kisses. The works."

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, Mattheo shifts closer, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your jawline. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes your whole body tense.

Then he presses another kiss a little lower, right where your jaw meets your neck.

And another.

And another, softer still.

You feel your heart stutter like a traitor.

"You’re unbelievable," you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

"You’re in love with me," he whispers, lips brushing your skin between every word. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"Debatable," you manage, even as your hand slips into his messy curls without thinking.

He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "Very debatable," he murmurs. His breath sends shivers down your spine.

You shove his face away with a hand, earning a huff of laughter.

"Alright, shut up," you say, trying not to grin. "You can stay for a bit."

Mattheo beams, victorious. "You love me."

"You’re on probation," you correct, lying back and letting him tuck himself under your arm again. "One wrong move and you're back to your own bed."

"Sure, sure." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I’ll be on my best behavior."

A moment later, he adds, "Mostly."

You sigh. "You’re going to get us both expelled."

"You’d miss me," he says smugly.

"You have too much faith in your own charm."

"And you have no poker face," he shoots back, laughing softly when you flick his ear.

After a beat, he quiets. His fingers absently trace the stitching on your pajama shirt, slow and aimless, like he’s memorizing every thread. His hand feels almost reverent against your chest, grounding you, soothing you.

"You know," he says, voice low and strangely tentative, "I like this."

You glance down at him, hand still resting lightly on his head. "Cuddling?"

"Yeah. And you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. "Feels...good. Safe."

You soften immediately, cursing him and yourself in the same breath. You lift your hand, threading it deeper through his hair, feeling him melt under the touch like wax.

"I like it too," you admit quietly, your chest tightening with the honesty of it.

He tilts his head up, grinning that boyish, almost shy grin he saves only for you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." He smirks, cocky again, but there’s a gentleness behind it now. "Means I can keep sneaking in then."

You groan. "I’m creating a monster."

"You’re just mad you love the monster."

"Go to sleep, Mattheo."

"Yes, Prefect."

He snickers against your skin, obnoxiously pleased with himself. But his breathing evens out soon enough, his weight warm and solid beside you, one leg tangled lazily with yours like he never plans to let you go.

You lie awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist.

You know you’re doomed.

Utterly, irreversibly doomed.

But somehow, with Mattheo curled against you like this—needy, reckless, yours—you don’t really mind.

In fact, you think you might love it.

The first thing you become aware of when you wake up is the distinct sensation of being completely, utterly trapped.

And no, it's not a nightmare. It's Mattheo.

His body is draped over you like a human blanket, arms wrapped around your torso in a way that suggests he never plans on letting go, and one of his legs is tangled in yours, pinning you to the bed.

You blink, squinting at the light creeping through your curtains. It's still early, and you can hear the faint echoes of other students beginning their own early mornings.

But here you are.

Mattheo Riddle has infiltrated your bed again. And there’s no way to escape.

"Mattheo," you croak, voice a little too rough from sleep. "You’re crushing me."

He makes an unintelligible noise against your neck, burrowing deeper into the crook of it like you’re the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying your best to shove him off, but he’s clingy as hell and stronger than you remember.

"Mm?" he hums, still not bothering to lift his head. "You smell good."

"What?" You sputter, utterly flustered despite the situation. "That’s it? That’s your response?"

He just sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. "Mm. You smell like peppermint and... books. My favorite."

You fight the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know." He nuzzles even closer, pulling your arm tighter around him like he’s some kind of needy puppy. "Now stay. You’re warm. I’m tired."

You groan, pulling your other arm out from under his grasp to check the time. "Mattheo, please. I have rounds in less than fifteen minutes, and if I’m late—"

"I don’t care," he interrupts, voice muffled as he drapes himself more heavily on top of you. "You’re not leaving me."

You try to sit up again, but his body is like dead weight on top of yours. You give a half-hearted tug on his arm, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out an exaggerated whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into your chest.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying to wiggle your way out from under him, "I have responsibilities!"

"You’re not getting out of this bed." He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes heavy with sleep but mischievous all the same. "I’ll do anything. Just don’t go."

"Anything?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I could be late, you know. You’ll be late for classes."

He shrugs, unbothered, and his lips curl into a small, smug smile. "Nah. Who needs classes when I’ve got you?"

"Mattheo..." You huff, trying to pull yourself out from under him, but he's like a sticky spider, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter, refusing to let you escape.

"You're so warm," he mumbles, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who’s definitely in the wrong.

You’re about to protest again when you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck, lingering a moment before nuzzling against your skin.

"What are you doing?" you ask, half-indignant, half-amused.

"I’m trying to convince you to stay," he mumbles, voice drowsy but still so damn smug. "It’s working, isn’t it?"

Your mind goes blank for a second as his lips leave another soft kiss on your throat. And then, another one just under your jaw. His lips are warm, soft, and... distracting.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from shifting slightly, making more space for him, despite your best efforts.

"You love it," Mattheo says matter-of-factly. His hands sneak up to your back, pulling you closer until you’re practically sandwiched between him and the mattress.

"I’m serious, Mattheo," you say, your voice losing its sternness in favor of frustration and something else that feels suspiciously like affection. "I have to get up."

Mattheo glances up at you, looking far too content with his position. "You’re always so serious. Just relax. Let’s just... stay here a little longer." He presses his lips to your jawline, soft and slow. "I promise I’ll let you go soon."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, but you don’t move.

You can feel Mattheo smile against your skin, and it’s a feeling you know all too well—the warm, self-satisfied grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

And he has.

Again.

You sigh, finally giving in to the inevitable. "You're fucking impossible," you grumble, sinking deeper into the sheets, despite the nagging voice in your head that keeps reminding you of your prefect duties.

Mattheo hums happily, nuzzling into your neck again, completely satisfied. "I love you."

"I love you more." You shift, letting him pull you into a more comfortable position. "But I’m still going to be late if you don’t let me up soon."

"Then be late," he whispers, his voice full of drowsy amusement. "You can’t possibly want to leave me now."

The next thing you know, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck again, his kisses slow, deliberate, and so soft they make your heart race. One kiss lands just below your ear, and another trails along the side of your jaw.

"Mattheo..." you start, but your voice cracks. You have to swallow hard to keep it from betraying you, your stomach flipping.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, but the look on his face is soft and entirely too affectionate for your own good. "I’m not letting go," he says, voice hushed and serious now.

You know he’s joking.

Mostly.

But damn it, there’s something in his gaze, something warm and tender that leaves you speechless.

"I’m going to get in so much trouble," you mutter, knowing full well that you don’t really care.

"Good," Mattheo says with a sleepy grin. "You’ll be in trouble with me, and I can make it worth your while."

You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’ve already given up.

Mattheo presses a sleepy kiss to the side of your throat, so soft and slow you almost melt right then and there.

Then another, a little higher.

And another, just under your jaw.

"You're evil," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mm," he hums, sounding very pleased with himself. "Your evil."

You thump your head back against the pillow, officially resigned to your fate.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this bed without a serious fight—and honestly, you’re not sure you even want to.

Instead, you sigh, reaching down to pull the blankets higher around both of you.

"Five more minutes," you mumble.

Mattheo grins against your skin, victorious.

"Knew you'd cave."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy curls. "Shut up and go back to sleep, menace."

As Mattheo settles against you again, breathing deeply in contentment, you try once more to fight the pull of his affection, the warmth of his body.

But in the end, it’s no use.

You're already lost.

[eleniel-starlight]

i use this blog for a multitude of things but one of those things is ranting about whatever fandom I'm currently devouring without regard to my well being and as my anniversary and RoTS rerelease coincided on the same day and i have caught up on Andor with my amazing husband who listens to me rant about this franchise daily

i am going FERAL over Andor right now. like absolutely clawing at the WALLS where is the hype y'all???

total spoilers going forward btw sorry :/

this show does SUCH A GOOD JOB at NOT holding the audiences hand, but at the same time if you go back to rewatch you can totally catch all the little hints and straight up telling the show does without it making it seem like a kids show. it trusts its audience to find their own footing, and even if you don't catch every single little thing? doesn't matter! you can put the pieces together later because the amount of discussion you can have about it just OOZES!!!

mon mothma. holy. fucking. shit. it's been said to death but HOW COOL IS SHE??? THIS is the Padme we should've seen in RoTS. relentless, secretive, putting EVERYTHING on the line, even her own daughter, to take down the Emperor. this is a woman who knew what she needed to do, and then went another mile all while making me ashamed to say i wear clothes because omgs this woman's WARDROBE???

gonna go with Kleya here bc yes i love seeing Luthen on screen, Stellan kills as always, but Kleya is a huge mystery. like yeah we know p much jack shit about Luthen but what do we really know about Kleya? i don't think she's an Empire operative at all, but she clearly has her own motivations and i kinda wanna know what they are ? and it certainly feels like she's kind of a counterweight to Luthen's unbridled passion for the Rebellion, she's put him in his place several times and i want to know why/how that dynamic came about

bix and cassian. i love cassian endlessly. im in love. head over heels. a lover forced to fight and now he's making smart moves instead of acting on pure desperation. loved seeing how he handled himself with the Ghormans, THAT is the Cassian that will show up in Rogue One. a leader, well aware of the strengths and flaws of those around him, and who will leap into action without thinking about himself first.

and Bix. oh Bix. ive kinda hated the trauma wheel that she's been on, but it was SO cathartic to see her put Gorst through exactly what she went through. fantastic. no notes. but i have a heavy heart in saying i think she's going to die before the end. possibly in the next act, as i just dont see Cassian moving on from her if she's alive, and we all know how Rogue One went.

dedra and syril together too, but i couldn't find a gif of them lmao. but honestly? i fucking hate them as people, but hubby and i could not stop laughing at their relationship it's genuinely so comical. the shot of Syril flopped on the bed? flawless. Dedra ORDERING HIM TO TURN THE LIGHTS OFF? we had to pause and just laugh for like ten minutes bc honestly yeah girl i wouldn't wanna look at him while i pegged him either.

but on a serious note, i find it increasingly interesting to see the Empire and Rebellion playing each other simultaneously and also failing. just shows how realistic this portrayal of a fractured Rebellion is and how arrogant the Empire is to assume that everything is being coordinated. LOVE the complexity but also i need Tony Gilroy to stop giving me an aneurysm every week bc i am STRESSED about these characters!!

[syn-odics]

i just have to face up to the fact that no one gives a shit about your OCs if you cant draw

[stxxrlights]

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

500 followers special

husband!nanami who brings you delicious pastries and a big bouquet of your favourite flowers every week without fail because he loves you oh so much. he loves how you always say thank you to him and appreciating him in ways he had never been appreciated before.

husband!nanami who opens the car door for you before you get on or of. he has to be the gentleman he promised to be so don't you dare touch the door, he'll quickly get out of the car and go to your side and open the door for you and offers his hand to help you out too

husband!nanami who carries your heels in his hands as well as your purse because yours tired and your heels are killing you. he always has a pair of flip flops with him just incase this happens which is almost all the time, but he doesn't mind. not one bit

husband!nanami who likes to have you in his arms while he's reading a book. either you're sleeping or on the phone he doesn't care. he claims that he focuses better on the book knowing that you are right next to him in his arms.

husband!nanami who gets flustered when you brush his neck, especially the part closer to his undercut. his neck and ears flashing red and he's unable to look you in the eyes because of your teasing.

husband!nanami who loves to walk up behind you and circle his arms around your waist and rest his cheek on your shoulder as you cook. not speaking a word after a long tiring day of work, he just wants to feel you on him in silence and be happy that he made such an excellent decision of marrying you.

husband!nanami who ends up talking a lot about you to his coworkers when they ask about anything that's related to you. "your lunch looks good. did you make it?". "it was my beautiful wife actually. she'll be pleased to know you said that". just looking for any excuse to show you off.

husband!nanami who is loved by your parents. he makes meaning conversations with your dad and is a help around the house without being asked which your mom absolutely adores. "you should be more like him", your mom says for the hundredth time you've visited them while nanami's washing the dishes.

husband!nanami who let's you know how much he loves. either through words of affirmation, spoiling you with gifts and just doing acts in your favour. you're his favourite person and he wants you to know that making it evident in his words and his actions.

comments and reblogs are appreciated

[cressidagrey]

Lessons in Math (and Humility)

Welcome to Mysterious Mrs Piastri's Mondays. Apparently this is a thing now. (Ever since I hear that interview where Kimi was asked which subjects he's scared off an the answer was Math, I knew I was gonna write this.)

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Kimi Antonelli thought he could handle anything — race cars, pressure, a wet track…but his math homework may destroy him. Enter Bee Piastri. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Kimi Antonelli didn’t ask for help lightly.

Especially not with math.

He was a racing driver, not an idiot. He could handle telemetry, fuel loads, braking calculations, tyre degradation graphs — all of it — without blinking. He’d memorized braking points at Spa, figured out fuel maps on the fly, and survived radio calls with engineers who thought “you’re fine” covered every possible scenario.

He was good at numbers. At racing numbers.

But this assignment?

This nightmare of partial derivatives and matrix transformations?

It stared at him from his tablet like a personal attack, every line of notation a new insult to his intelligence.

After twenty minutes of glaring at it — tapping his pen, checking his notes, checking them again as if they might have magically rewritten themselves — Kimi finally let out a groan of pure, unfiltered despair.

He flopped face-first onto the hospitality couch, tablet slipping from his hands onto the seat beside him.

Without lifting his head, he announced, voice muffled against the cushions: “I’m going to fail math and bring shame to the entire grid.”

The nearest breathing human — unfortunately — was Ollie Bearman, who looked up from where he was very happily slurping a suspiciously neon smoothie.

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

Kimi lifted one arm limply and waved the tablet in the air like a white flag of surrender.

“This. Derivatives. Partial equations. I don’t know. Numbers are evil.”

Ollie blinked once. Then grinned — the kind of grin that meant he was enjoying Kimi’s suffering way too much.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Arthur Leclerc almost failed stats back in F3.”

Kimi turned his head enough to squint at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Like, barely passed.”

Kimi perked up slightly, seizing onto the news like a lifeline. If Arthur — who had a literal racing dynasty backing him — struggled, maybe there was hope for the rest of them.

“How’d he survive?” Kimi asked, sitting up slightly.

Ollie’s grin widened.

“Oscar.”

Kimi stared at him. “Piastri?”

“Yep. Quiet nerd back at Prema. Absolute lifesaver. Helped Arthur cram for finals and everything.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. He thought about Oscar: quiet, steady, terrifyingly good at everything he touched, like someone had programmed him in a lab.

Of course Oscar would have hidden superpowers. Of course.

Kimi hesitated, pride warring with desperation.

And then sighed dramatically, letting his head thunk back against the couch.

“Fine,” he said. “Find me Piastri. I have no pride left.”

Which was how, ten minutes later, they ended up with Oscar Piastri sitting cross-legged in the McLaren motorhome, frowning deeply at Kimi’s tablet like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Oscar muttered, squinting, “it’s not impossible. It’s just badly worded.”

Kimi leaned forward, full of hope — desperate, grasping hope.

Maybe this would be fine. Maybe Oscar Piastri — quiet, unflappable, secret nerd of Prema lore — could fix this disaster.

Five minutes later, that hope was dead.

Oscar exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be honest with you, mate: I have no idea what they’re asking for.”

Kimi flailed, waving his hands like he could physically summon better news. “But you saved Arthur! You’re the math guy!”

Oscar held up a hand, grimacing. “That was basic stats, Kimi. You know, averages. Standard deviations. This—” he pointed at the tablet like it might bite him, “—this is multivariable calculus meets actual sadism.”

Ollie Bearman, who had been perched nearby pretending not to watch the trainwreck unfold, snorted into his water bottle.

Oscar sighed again, this time reaching for his phone.

“No—” Kimi said, panicked, feeling his dignity slipping further into the abyss. “Don’t call someone. Don’t bother anyone. I’ll just fail and move to a cabin in the woods, it’s fine��”

Oscar was already dialing.

“Relax,” he said, calm as anything. “Felicity’s here. She likes this stuff.”

Five minutes later, Felicity Piastri wandered into the motorhome.

Kimi had seen her around the paddock plenty of times over the last year.

The first two things he’d learned about Oscar’s wife were simple:

1. She was tiny and startlingly pretty — the kind of pretty that could probably kill a man if she wanted to.

2. If Felicity Piastri was somewhere, Bee Piastri, Oscar’s terrifyingly adorable four-year-old daughter, was never far behind.

Today was no exception.

Bee marched in beside her mother, two neat pigtails bouncing with every step, each tied with papaya-colored bobbles (a detail that felt almost aggressively on-brand). A stuffed frog plushie dangled from one hand, like a trusted battle companion.

Both of them — Felicity and Bee — looked unfairly bright and well-rested for how emotionally wounded Kimi felt.

Oscar, completely unbothered by the incoming reinforcements, handed Felicity the tablet without preamble.

She glanced at it. Paused. Then blinked slowly.

“You’re all stumped by this?” she asked, her voice dripping with mild disbelief.

Kimi wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“It’s the notation!” he blurted defensively. “And the question’s vague! And the examples were misleading!”

Felicity tilted her head, looking at him with the kind of fond pity reserved for particularly slow puppies. “It’s literally just a chain rule application with a matrix shortcut.”

“That’s not helping!” Ollie said, muffled into the crook of his elbow where he was laughing himself into an early grave.

Meanwhile, Bee had clambered neatly onto Oscar’s lap without hesitation, perching herself like a queen surveying her court. Kimi noticed absently how Oscar automatically shifted to make room for her — steadying her with one hand, pressing a soft kiss to her temple like it was muscle memory.

“Mama, is it hard?” Bee asked, peering at the tablet with great seriousness.

Felicity smiled. “Not really. But it’s annoying.”

Bee thought about that for a second. Then squared her tiny shoulders like she was preparing for battle.

“Can I try?” she asked.

Oscar sighed deeply. “Bee, it’s complicated—”

But Bee was already moving, plucking the tablet from his hand like it was no big deal, mumbling to herself under her breath.

“Okay, so you take this one first because it’s inside the brackets... and then you swap the middle bits because that’s the rule from the blue notebook... and then you put it all together and it looks like a frog but it’s actually a plus sign.”

Kimi blinked.

Ollie blinked.

Oscar just shook his head like a man who had accepted the chaos a long time ago.

Three minutes later, Bee beamed, handed the tablet back to her mother, and swung her legs happily.

“There,” she said proudly. “Now it’s not grumpy anymore.”

Felicity leaned over, checked the solution... And grinned.

“She’s right,” she said brightly. “Great job, sweetheart!”

Oscar gave a low, half-proud, half-resigned chuckle. “Welcome to my life.”

Kimi stared at the screen.

A four-year-old. A four-year-old had solved the math problem correctly in under three minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He had heard rumors last year — something about Bee spotting an issue with a McLaren suspension load calculation before any of the engineers did.

But seeing it in real time?

Devastating.

Absolutely devastating.

“I— how did you—?” Kimi stuttered, still struggling to comprehend reality.

Bee shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mama says numbers are friends. You just have to make them sit next to each other nicely.”

Kimi blinked down at the tablet, then at Bee, then back again.

Maybe... maybe racing cars was safer. Maybe he should stick to corners and apexes where the worst that could happen was a spin, not having his soul annihilated by a toddler.

Felicity kissed the top of Bee’s head and said entirely too casually, “There you go. Courtesy of a four-year-old.”

Oscar smiled and held out a hand. “Great job, Bumblebee.”

Bee high-fived her father so hard the smack echoed around the motorhome.

Kimi slumped back into his seat, utterly defeated.

Maybe he had brought shame to the grid after all.

Later, Kimi found himself slumped in the corner of the McLaren motorhome, a half-crushed juice box in his hand — courtesy of Bee, who had handed it over solemnly “for bravery.”

The worst part?

He genuinely needed it.

He sipped the apple juice in silence, staring into the middle distance, quietly reconsidering his entire academic career.

Maybe he could just... never open a math textbook again. Maybe he could live the rest of his life solely calculating apex speeds and brake bias. Maybe if he was fast enough, no one would ever ask him to solve another derivative.

Maybe.

Across the room, Felicity leaned against the table, arms folded, smiling sweetly — the kind of sweet that definitely had shark teeth hiding underneath.

“Bee’s better at recognizing patterns than most adults,” she said casually, like she wasn’t casually shattering the egos of Formula One drivers before lunchtime. “She’s been beating Oscar at card games since she was two.”

Oscar, sitting beside Kimi and munching on a cookie he definitely hadn’t earned, patted Kimi’s shoulder with exaggerated sympathy.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said, trying — and failing — not to laugh. “She inherited her mother’s brain.”

Kimi just groaned into his hands.

It didn’t help that Bee chose that exact moment to skip past them, Button the Frog tucked securely under one arm and a packet of glittery frog-shaped stickers in the other.

She looked so pleased with herself. Completely oblivious to the devastation she had left behind. Or maybe — horrifying thought — not oblivious at all.

Kimi made a note to himself:

Never challenge Bee to anything involving numbers.

Never doubt Felicity’s terrifying brain ever again.

Maybe just stick to driving cars really fast. It was safer for his dignity.

Probably.

Maybe.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!

satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.

you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.

too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.

and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.

simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.

you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.

“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.

“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”

“i’m not stupid!”

“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”

“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”

very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.

“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”

“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”

“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.

“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”

“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.

satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.

“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.

“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.

“i’ll be lonely!”

“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”

“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.

“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”

“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.

“you said that last time.”

“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”

“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.

he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.

it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.

evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM

baby boy 💋:

you left without a goodbye kiss???????????

are you ignoring me????????????

baby

sweetheart

sunshine

angel

peaches

i know you’re reading this.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM

mrs. gojo ❤️:

please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today

this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful

[valkyriexo]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Late night thoughts 007☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You okay back there, sunshine?” Felix x Reader

Felix sits behind you on the couch, his legs framing yours as he gathers a small section of your hair in his hands. His fingers fumble as he tries to separate the strands, and you can already feel the hesitation in his movements.

“You okay back there, sunshine?” you tease, peeking over your shoulder.

Felix lets out the most dramatic groan known to mankind, flopping against your back. “Why do you have so much hair? This is unfair. I’m being set up to fail.”

Without missing a beat, you start singing, “My life is so unfair....”

Felix freezes. “No.”

You grin, turning your head slightly. Felix lets out an even louder groan, dramatically dropping his forehead against your back. “I knew you were gonna do that.”

You giggle as he grips your shoulders like he’s in actual pain. “You set yourself up, babe.”

“This is worse than the braid,” he mutters.

You giggle, reaching up to pat his knee. “It’s just a braid, babe. You got this.”

He huffs, but his determination is cute,his lips pressed together, brows furrowed in deep focus as he attempts to cross one strand over the other. He stays silent for a good thirty seconds before suddenly whining, “Wait, I lost a piece...w-where’d it go?!”

You burst into laughter. “Lix, it’s attached to my head.”

“I know that!” he groans, completely unraveling whatever attempt he just made. “I just—I don’t know how it got so tangled!”

You smirk, turning your head slightly. “You giving up already?”

His hands immediately shoot up to gather your hair again. “Absolutely not.”

You laugh. “It’s okay, Lix. Braiding is kinda hard if you’ve never done it before—”

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, voice full of mock offense. “I have built IKEA furniture without instructions—this should not be harder than that.”

With newfound determination, he grabs your hair again, mumbling to himself. “Okay. Three strands. We’ve been over this. Three. Not four, not five.....wait, where did this extra piece come from?!”

You’re already shaking with laughter as he wrestles with the strands once again. “Babe, if it’s too hard—”

“Shh!” He leans in, squinting like that’s somehow going to help. “I am so close.”

“Lix, you just tied it into a knot.”

“…That was on purpose.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

You let him keep going, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he grumbles, mutters, and at one point even threatens your hair like it’ll listen. Eventually, he ties off the end with a triumphant noise and throws his hands in the air.

“DONE!”

You reach back, feeling what can only be described as a mess of loops and twists. “…Felix.”

“NO. DON’T JUDGE YET. LOOK AT IT FIRST.”

You turn around, barely holding in your laughter as you catch sight of his work—if you can even call it that. “Lix… this isn’t a braid.”

Felix flops onto the couch with a groan. “I give up. Your hair wins. I lose.” Then he perks up dramatically. “But at least I went down fighting.”

You giggle, leaning over him. “Don’t worry, sunshine. You do have other talents.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Like?”

You tap his lips. “Being kissable.”

He immediately brightens, wiggling his brows. “Oh? Well, if that’s the case—” Before you can react, he grabs your waist and yanks you down onto him, smirking. “I think I should really play to my strengths.”

You shriek, laughing as he smothers you in kisses. And honestly? Letting him lose was so worth it.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[okaysonny]

happy new years!! just stumbled on your latest post and i absolutely adore the way you portrayed jake❤️❤️

Can i request for Jake kim x reader where they are similar to sinu han and yeonhui’s relationship and how they act

like yeonhui trying to hit sinu many times but fails miserably (im sorry if you don’t understand my request i cant construct well since english is not my 2nd language 🥲🥲)

smack me if you can ╏ jake kim

★ summary: a bet with jake turns into a week long quest to beat his reflexes.

★ details: fluff, f! reader, established relationship, spoiler free, jerry appearance! he always shows up when i make jake fics i'm crying

★ wc: 920

★ A/N: thank youuu for your kind words! 🫶🏽 happy new year :) you probably mentioned yeonhui hitting sinu as an example, but...i took it and ran 🤫

anon is talking about this post btw, if you haven't seen it 👅

as jake quietly slurps his noodles, you sneak up behind him, winding your arm back for the perfect smack on his cheek. just as you’re about to make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist mid swing.

jake blinks at you, visibly confused. “uh…did i do something wrong?”

you huff and shake your head. “of course not! i was just testing something!”

“testing what, exactly?” he asks, raising a brow. but his lips twitch, holding back his amusement.

you glance away, a little sheepish. “i saw yeonhui try to slap sinu earlier, but he dodged it like it was nothing. i just wanted to see if you’d do the same”

jake stares at you for a second, then shrugs. “when you've been fighting for so long, dodging stuff like that becomes second nature. it’s just instinct”

you nod absentmindedly, muttering. “yeah...of course”

but as you turn to walk away, you spin back abruptly and take another swing at him.

he dodges — easily.

your jaw drops. “are you kidding me?”

jake chuckles now, clearly entertained. “told you. you’re not gonna land that slap”

“you little—” you stop yourself, gritting your teeth. “i definitely will”

jake grins, thoroughly enjoying this. “i bet you can’t slap me by the end of the week”

you scoff. “you’re on. and if i lose, i’ll buy you that special chocolate cake you devour like a pig. for a whole week”

his eyes light up at the mention of it. “deal. and when i win, don’t forget to tell everyone your boyfriend has ninja reflexes”

you roll your eyes. “whatever jake. i'm winning this”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍰 ⋅ ☆

Monday

“woah, look over there jake!”

he glances in the direction you point.

gotcha! you raise your hand.

SLA-

without missing a beat, he dodges, turning back to you with a smirk. “nice try”

you groan.

Tuesday

feigning a pout, you sigh dramatically. “jake…i don’t feel so good. can you check if i have a fever?”

he leans forward, pressing his palm lightly to your forehead.

perfect. you aim for his cheek once more.

SLA-

but jake dodges effortlessly again, pulling back with a chuckle. “you’ll have to try harder than that”

you flop onto the couch, glaring at him.

Wednesday

while eating dinner, you point at jake’s face. “you’ve got sauce on your cheek”

he raises a brow. “do i?”

“yeah, let me get it for you” you say sweetly, reaching out.

too easy. as your hand inches closer, you shift suddenly.

SLA-

jake leans back smugly. “i thought you were more creative than this”

you stab at your food with a fork, fuming silently.

Thursday

desperate times call for desperate measures. you corner jerry in big deal's supply closet, shutting the door behind you.

jerry looks alarmed. “w-what are you doing?” he squeaks. “i don't know what you're planning, but i would never betray jake like this—”

“what? ew! this isn't even close to that!” you snap.

you exhale deeply, composing yourself. “jerry...how would i sneak up on jake and catch him off guard?”

jerry’s eyes light up with pride. “ah...boss jake could never be caught off guard. his reflexes are unmatched, his instincts sharp as—”

“alright, relax. who’s dating him, me or you?” you mutter, already regretting this. before he can continue singing jake’s praises, you shake your head and leave. “never mind...i should solve this on my own”

“where are you going?” jerry asks in confusion.

as you leave the supply closet, you pause, clenching your fist in the air — like some sort of revolutionary leader. “this isn’t just for me. this slap…is for womankind”

you march off with purpose, leaving jerry staring at you, baffled.

Friday

jake is casually scrolling through his phone when you lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he glances up, pleasantly surprised, a smile spreading across his face.

“what’s this for?” he asks, his voice laced with affection.

“just...for being the best boyfriend” you reply softly, taking the phone from his hands and setting it aside.

jake tilts his head, watching you curiously as your thumbs brush over his cheeks. his smile lingers as you lean in close, and he lets his eyes flutter shut, his lips parting slightly.

and that's when you strike.

SLAP

your hand connects with his cheek, the sound echoing through the room.

jake’s eyes fly open, wide with disbelief. “what the—”

you burst out laughing, triumphant. “i did it! i won!”

jake starts laughing too, shaking his head. “using kisses to win? that’s dirty”

you grin, running off. “i don't care! i’m telling jerry you got slapped by someone with zero combat experience!”

jake blinks as he watches you bolt out the room.

you burst into the room where jerry is, huffing victoriously. “jerry! i did it! i slapped him!”

jerry stares at you, gobsmacked. “no way...you actually slapped boss jake?”

“yes!” you announce proudly, before heading for the door. “and now i'm going to the bakery! i'll be rewarding myself with chocolate cake!”

jerry finds jake on the couch, who's chuckling quietly to himself. “boss… did she really slap you off guard?”

jake leans back, a fond smile on his face. “what do you think? of course not. it was so obvious”

jerry furrows his brows. “then why did you…”

jake watches you tie your laces as you hum a little victory tune, grinning to yourself. his expression softens.

“look how happy she is” jake says, his tone warm. “losing was totally worth it to see that smile”

divider: @thecutestgrotto

[botchedsundoll]

hi ong are your requests open? was gonna ask for some early morning/late night fluffy HCs with RE men because honest to god my insomnia actin up and i'm craving some lazy fluff to read...

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; late night/ early morning hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none!

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; i wanna gts SO bad but have ro wait dor mt washing to finish 2 put it in the dryer, this is late sos lolol

C. OLIVEIRA

if it’s his day off, this guy is sleeping in. he genuinely doesn’t care

you will definitely have to wake him up, which will take a bit considering this guy can sleep like CRAZY if he feels like it

once you do succeed in waking him up, he’ll most likely just stare at you blankly - eyes still half lidded and lips apart as he wonders why the actual fuck he’s up at a time like this. but considering it’s you, he’ll put up with it

most likely wrapping his arms around you, trying to coax you back to sleep - if that fails, he’ll just listen to whatever you’re saying to him, giving a response here and there till his body fully wakes up and is coherent enough to maintain the conversation normally

late nights and you not being able to go to sleep? this guy will try his hardest to get you to sleep. whether it be going for a run to wear you out, snuggling together on the couch whilst watching a movie or running you a nice relaxing bath - anything to tire you out, atleast a bit

if all that fails? he’ll settle on just cuddling on the couch whilst a movie plays in the background and having a conversation about practically anything - most likely ends up in him asleep and snoring

L. KENNEDY

lets be real, this guy barely sleeps anyways

but he’s a bit of a hypocrite, constantly on your ass about how unhealthy it is for you and how you should go to bed. he cares about you, he wants you to get your rest!

he’ll most likely try to coax you into bed with whatever means possible but when that fails, he just accepts it and stays up with you

whilst constantly grumbling under his breath about how you should go to sleep. but he understands

early mornings? the feeling of your hand shaking him awake is enough to cause him to wake up (on the occasion he does manage to go to sleep..)

probably just ends up in him getting ready for work, you following him around like a lost puppy talking his ear off about whatever - the last couple minutes before he has to leave for work is spent with him trying to get you to get some shut eye, tucking you into bed and running his fingers through your hair whilst murmuring softly to you

C. REDFIELD

he might not sleep very often, but god does he like his sleep

it’s an absolute PAIN trying to get him to wake up early in the morning sometimes, him snoring whilst your just trying to shake him awake

once you manage to do so, he’ll probably think it’s an intruder or something and instantly be on high alert - there were a few instances where he’d gotten you into a headlock without realising it was YOU waking him up

flops back into bed once realising it’s you, pulling you down with him and grumbling something about you needing to go to sleep

but eventually he will get up. only because it’s you asking him to do so

he stays up late with you sometimes if he knows he doesn’t need to wake up early the next day - the time is usually spent doing something you’d suggested

baking one night, working out together the other, watching one of your tv shows the other

he doesn’t necessarily mind, he really enjoys spending time with you - he’s a bit of a pessimist okay, he always has that thought in the back of his mind that he’ll loose you

bless his heart give this man a hearty meal and a few kisses

[buddies-bitch]

Dating Evan Buckley Headcannons💕

Mostly SFW but a couple of NSFW

SFW

He gets jump-scared easily so you love to scare him

Like those compilations of people constantly scaring their spouses is totally something you would do

Whether that be yelling when he comes around a corner or hiding underneath the bed to grab his ankle. And it never fails to make you laugh until you pee

He’s so dramatic it’s insane

Like flopping onto every available surface like a faintly Victorian woman with that cute little pout of his

Puppy dog eyes GALORE

He will try and guilt you into things (like wanting to do something for you without your involvement so you can relax) with those goddamn eyes and fuck if it doesn’t work every. single. time.

He loves having you in the kitchen while he’s cooking/baking-as long as you’re not in his way

Luckily for him you’re much more content to just sit on the counter and watch him cook. Inbetween tasks dragging him between your legs for a quick smooch

He gets you tattoo pens so you can straddle his waist while he lays down and draw him new tattoos, usually incorporating his lightning scars-kissing all the while

He loves looking up at your focussed face and loves the feeling of being beneath you. He also loves the feel of your hands on him no matter what you're doing. 3/4 of the time this leads to sex

Occasionally you’ll do his makeup (you’ll always do his skincare) and you always make sure to accentuate his birthmark

The first time you did, all you had was a glittery pink and when you showed him, he hugged you and cried-no one had ever seen him before the way you did

You love finding new nicknames to call him or ways to hit on him that make him blush and stutter

You greeted him one time with a small “hi gorgeous” and he stuttered so bad he just walked away

“Gorgeous”, “baby boy”, “sweet boy”, “stunning”, “sweetheart/ness”, “blue eyed wonder”, “firehose”, “pumpkin”, “honey” literally anything and everything, progressively getting more wild at times just to make him laugh and blush

Buck absolutely has some kind of slutty thigh tattoo (I have nothing else to add to this but I feel like I should share)

He finds it strangely endearing at the amount of time/effort you put into doing physical therapy for his leg, even years after the accident

Plus, always making sure to put sunscreen on him as well as ointment for his scars because you know he’ll forget

Doing hair masks and getting new products for him to protect/define his curls

He's such a cuddle bug it can get annoying on hotter nights but you love him too much to move him

He doesn't mind being big spoon or little spoon but most of the time he pretty much just lays on top of you, having thrown himself over you haphazardly as if to protect you in his sleep

He loves it when he reads to you because you'll play with his hair till you fall asleep, AND he gets to yap to his favorite person.

Because he has adhd, when he reads to you he’ll get distracted and go off topic at some point and just winds up becoming a personal podcast

NSFW

PRAISE KINK

He’s such a vocal bitch

Moaning and groaning constantly, he loves to let you hear him

When drawing on him turns into sex, he LOVES to mark your body with hickeys the way you marked his with ink

He is such a muncher

Like actually drowning himself in your cunt ‘cause he refuses to come up before you come til you physically can't anymore

He likes to tease you until you're begging him to fuck you

He LOVES when you scratch your nails through his hair, especially when you pull it harder the closer you get to coming

He takes SO much pride in the scratch marks up and down his back

^hickeys too, much to your embarrassment sometimes

Anytime you wear lingerie, it gets torn to shreds. But its ok because Buck will happily buy you a new pair so long as he gets to do it again

Buck is absolutely a power bottom. He loves to be in charge but he also loves you on top of him

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅷ: Clowning Around

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

THE SHRIEK OF THE SMOKE ALARM jolted Iseul upright. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she blinked blearily at the ceiling, disoriented.

Then came the shouting.

“YAH, FELIX! TURN IT OFF!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO! I WAS JUST— I WAS MAKING EGGS—”

“HOW DO YOU BURN EGGS?!”

From somewhere down the hall, Jeongin’s voice cut through, slightly muffled but alarmed. “Uh, guys? I think I’m stuck.”

Silence.

Then Minho’s deadpan voice. “Stuck where?”

“…The bathroom.”

There was a loud bang, followed by a dramatic wail. “THAT’S IT. I QUIT THE GROUP.”

Iseul sighed, running a hand over her face. Hyunjin.

She forced herself out of bed, slipping out into the hallway just as Chan stormed past, looking like he was two seconds away from actually quitting too. His hair was a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the way his jaw clenched told her he was fully awake—whether he liked it or not.

She caught sight of Jisung, still curled up on the couch, mumbling half-formed song lyrics in his sleep. Meanwhile, Minho sat on the floor, lazily stretching, dark circles under his eyes. He looked completely unbothered by the absolute catastrophe unfolding around him.

“What happened?” Iseul asked, suppressing a laugh.

Changbin breezed past her, tossing an apron over his head like he was about to personally save the kitchen. “Felix tried to cook.”

“Correction,” Seungmin called from the doorway. “Felix failed to cook.”

“Guys,” Jeongin’s voice echoed from the laundry room. “I’m still stuck.”

Minho sighed, finally pushing himself up. “If I help you, will you stop screaming?”

“…No promises.”

Chan pinched the bridge of his nose like he was reconsidering all his life choices. "You know what? I don't care. Figure it out yourselves."

Hyunjin flopped onto the couch dramatically, clutching his foot. “No one’s even concerned that I almost died stepping on a Lego.”

"Hyunjin, I swear," Chan said, exhausted, "if you don't get up in the next five seconds—"

“Then what, Christopher? You’ll fire me?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his hands balled into fists. “You know what? Yeah. You’re fired. Congrats. Pack your things.”

"Great," Hyunjin groaned, flopping onto his back. "I didn't wanna be in this group anyway."

Iseul rolled her eyes, stepping around him on her way to the kitchen. Changbin was already at work, salvaging whatever was left of breakfast.

She lingered at the doorway, watching the boys move around each other in their usual, chaotic rhythm.

It was easy to get caught up in moments like this—to feel like she was really part of them.

But then there were moments when they, without meaning to, forgot she was there.

They made plans without telling her, rushing out the door in a flurry of noise, leaving Iseul standing in the hallway. Or they’d huddle together to review choreography, instinctively forming a circle she wasn’t always included in. It wasn’t malicious—just a habit they hadn’t broken yet.

Still, it stung.

She would force herself to shake it off, pretending it didn’t matter. But some nights, when the boys passed out in front of the TV or scattered into their rooms, Iseul stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, overthinking her place in the group.

The dorm was full, but her room felt empty.

“Did anyone actually get Jeongin out?” she asked, shaking herself out of her thoughts.

A brief pause.

“Oh, right.”

“GUYS.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Minho muttered, disappearing down the hall.

Iseul chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned against the counter. Changbin turned absentmindedly, passing her a plate without looking, like it was second nature.

Like she belonged.

She hesitated only a second before taking it.

The dorm was too small. Too loud. Too chaotic.

It wasn’t built for nine people.

But slowly it was starting to feel like home.

The front door slammed open with a heavy thud, followed by the sluggish shuffle of eight exhausted bodies dragging themselves inside.

No one spoke. No one had the energy.

Felix collapsed onto the couch face-first with a dramatic groan. Hyunjin barely made it to the floor before dropping like a puppet with cut strings. Jisung leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded as if he might just fall asleep standing up. Even Minho, usually composed, had his hands on his hips, breathing hard.

Chan was the last to enter, rubbing a hand down his face before shutting the door behind him. His hoodie was damp with sweat, his hair a mess, and his usual leader mode had been dulled by sheer exhaustion.

Iseul stepped aside as the boys trudged past her, feeling that familiar twinge again. The exhaustion was mutual, but somehow, she still felt a step behind—like she wasn’t weighed down by the same years of effort, the same unspoken understanding they shared.

No one really acknowledged her presence. Not on purpose. They were just too tired.

She trailed behind them into the living room, where Hyunjin was now sprawled across the floor, Felix had barely mustered the energy to kick off his shoes, and Jeongin sat slumped against the armrest, blinking dazedly at nothing.

“This comeback is gonna kill me,” Jisung mumbled, rubbing his face as he slumped next to Felix.

“Not if Chan hyung kills us first,” Seungmin muttered.

Chan made a vague noise of protest from the kitchen, where he was digging through the fridge for something—probably one of his weird energy drinks.

The comeback was creeping closer, and every day, their practice schedules had only gotten more intense. Rehearsals stretched late into the night, choreography revisions stacked up like a never-ending cycle, and the pressure to perfect every single detail weighed on all of them.

Then Minho clapped his hands once.

“Movie night.”

A chorus of groans followed.

“You’re kidding,” Hyunjin mumbled from the floor. “I physically cannot move.”

“Movie night,” Minho repeated, unbothered. “We need a break.”

Felix barely lifted his head from the couch. “Hyung, I think my soul left my body back at the practice room.”

“Good. Less complaining.” Minho nudged Hyunjin’s leg with his foot. “Get up.”

Hyunjin flopped onto his side. “No.”

Iseul blinked. “Do we even have the energy for a movie?”

“No,” Chan said immediately.

“Yes,” Minho said at the same time. He crossed his arms, giving everyone a pointed look. “Look, we’ll all just crash if we go to bed like this. You know what that means? Stiff muscles. Soreness. Regret.”

“We already regret existing,” Jisung muttered.

Minho ignored him. “A movie will help us relax. Besides,” he added, glancing at Iseul, “we should probably do things as a group more often.”

Iseul paused.

She knew what he meant. The past week had been… difficult. The boys weren’t being cruel, but they were used to being just eight. They didn’t always remember to include her, and she didn’t always know how to insert herself.

But now Minho was actively making sure she felt part of them.

She swallowed past the sudden warmth in her chest.

“I’m in,” she said.

Minho smirked. “See? Iseul gets it. The rest of you, get up.”

There was some more whining, but slowly, the boys started moving. Felix rolled onto his back, dramatically sighing before pushing himself up. Jisung slumped into the couch, still half-asleep, while Jeongin blinked blearily, confused but willing to participate.

Seungmin, ever the realist, muttered, “If the movie is boring, I’m leaving.”

“Noted,” Minho said, already queuing up the TV.

The movie wasn’t boring. If anything, it was the opposite of that. The opening credits rolled in long, eerie waves of flickering images, casting jagged shadows across the room. The kind of music that crawled up your spine and clung to your skin like a chill, winding its way into your bones with every passing second.

The unsettling, rhythmic beat echoed through the room, distorted clowns leering from the screen. The kind of thing that made you second-guess your own reflection in the dark, every creak in the house suddenly louder

It wasn’t the horror that had Hyunjin on edge—it was the proximity.

One second, he was sprawled comfortably on the couch, arms tucked behind his head, determined to avoid moving for the night. And then, like a swift, silent shift, Minho had nudged Iseul toward him, and suddenly, she was sitting there beside him.

Too close.

Much too close.

Iseul was next to him, her warmth radiating through the thin space between them. He hadn’t even noticed how much closer they were than before, until now. Every shift, every subtle movement of hers made his pulse spike. Her knee brushing against his—just a slight nudge—but it made his breath hitch every time.

It wasn’t even a full touch. It was just the shared proximity, the way their legs pressed so close it was almost impossible to ignore. But to Hyunjin, it felt like an electric jolt each time. And that was the problem.

He tried to adjust himself, shifting his legs a little, hoping it would ease some of the tension gnawing at him. His body ached, muscles sore from a long practice, and all he wanted to do was sink into the couch and forget about the world.

But no.

Not with Iseul next to him.

Not with her scent lingering in the air, her presence so familiar yet so distracting.

He could feel the quiet way she was shifting beside him, a soft rustle of fabric as she tried to get comfortable, but every slight movement made her knee brush against his, her shoulder brushing his in the process. Each time it happened, his pulse skipped.

His mind screamed at him to focus. To pay attention to the movie. To ignore the distracting flutter in his chest. But it was no use.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked over to the screen—jagged images of a twisted, grinning clown with hollowed eyes and sharp teeth leering out from the TV. It should have made his heart race with fear. But the sudden shrill, warped sound of the movie only heightened the awareness of the girl beside him.

And then he heard it—just a soft, barely audible intake of breath from Iseul. It was quick, sharp, like she was trying to hide it, but Hyunjin caught it. He could always hear her better than anyone else, the subtle shifts in her breathing, the almost imperceptible changes in her body language. And he noticed that right now, she seemed… tense.

His lips curled into a slow, teasing grin.

“Iseul,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear over the movie. “Are you scared?”

Her head snapped toward him instantly, eyes flashing wide with a mix of surprise and defense. “No.” Her answer was quick, too quick, too defensive.

Hyunjin bit back a laugh, his grin only widening. “Oh really?” he teased, leaning back slightly, careful not to brush too close to her as he settled into the couch again. “You sure about that?”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, her gaze flickering back to the screen, but Hyunjin could see the way her fingers gripped her knees tighter, the way her shoulders tensed. She was lying, and he knew it.

“Oh my god,” Han gasped loudly from the other side of her. “She is.”

The entire room went silent, as if the air itself held its breath in disbelief.

Then came the chaos.

Felix immediately shot up, his eyes wide with shock as his popcorn spilled over the couch. “Wait, wait—are you actually scared of clowns?” he asked, voice thick with excitement.

“She totally is,” Seungmin confirmed, his finger pointing at Iseul like he had just discovered a hidden treasure. “Look at her face.”

Iseul’s face flushed a deeper shade of crimson, and she scowled. “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, voice barely louder than a whisper, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

“Oh, this is spectacular,” Jeongin said, his grin widening, clearly having the time of his life. It was only a matter of seconds before the teasing began in full force.

“You should’ve said something,” Minho added, leaning in with his signature smirk plastered across his face. “I thought you were so tough.”

“I thought I could handle it,” Iseul mumbled, her arms tightening around her legs as she sank further into the couch, trying her best to shrink into the blanket of humiliation.

Hyunjin bit back a laugh. He wasn’t sure what was funnier—the way she tried to act unbothered or how clearly out of her element she seemed. And the fact that she was trying to hide her embarrassment only made it even more endearing.

With a sense of amusement bubbling up in his chest, Hyunjin grabbed the blanket draped over the couch and tossed it over Iseul’s head, all without a word. The whole room froze for a second, before everyone, including Iseul, realized what just happened.

Iseul, who had been so tense just moments before, now sat perfectly still under the blanket, the only thing visible being the small opening for her eyes, which blinked in bewilderment. Her expression was a mix of surprise and slight exasperation.

For a long, awkward moment, there was nothing but silence. Hyunjin felt heat creep up his neck, suddenly self-conscious, but he kept his gaze locked firmly on the TV, pretending not to care. “There,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice casual, “now you’re safe.”

And then—

Changbin howled with laughter.

“Oh my god—that was so stupidly soft—”

“I literally cannot believe what I just witnessed,” Chan groaned, shaking his head in disbelief, clearly trying to suppress his own laughter.

Hyunjin’s face burned. “Shut up,” he grumbled, turning away from the group, hoping to hide his embarrassment behind the facade of a fake scowl.

Under the blanket, Iseul’s body finally relaxed. Hyunjin couldn’t help but notice the way her shoulders sagged, the tension melting away as she let out a quiet snort. The sound was almost like a release—like she couldn’t hold the act of being unfazed any longer.

For a brief second, it hit him.

This, right here, with her tucked away under the blanket like some shy little creature, was a side of Iseul he’d never seen before. Normally, she was so composed, so sure of herself in everything she did. But here, she was embarrassed and flustered—completely human.

Her fingers clenched the fabric of the blanket, pulling it tighter around her. And when her eyes met his, he saw something behind her gaze: a mixture of annoyance and relief, like she was just waiting for the teasing to die down.

“Oh, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Han wheezed, still wiping tears from his eyes as his laughter subsided. “You actually made her hide under a blanket, Hyunjin, what the hell?”

Hyunjin, unable to resist the pull of Iseul’s unexpected softness, found himself watching her more than he should’ve. The blanket may have been hiding her from everyone else, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the way her lips tugged into a subtle, embarrassed smile.

Maybe it was the way she had let down her guard, or the way she had trusted him, even in this silly moment, to do something that made her feel a little less exposed. Hyunjin wasn’t entirely sure why it made him feel so… connected to her.

Still, he couldn’t stop looking.

For once, Iseul wasn’t the strong, stoic girl in training. She was just a person, vulnerable and human. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that made her even more captivating.

“Look at that,” Seungmin teased again, poking Iseul gently with his foot, making her wince. “You’re all curled up like a little scared bunny.”

“Shut up,” she muttered again, though this time it was softer. She didn’t pull away from Seungmin’s teasing as quickly, and the subtle shift in her posture told Hyunjin everything. She wasn’t so bothered anymore.

The teasing from Han and Seungmin continued to echo around the room, but the boys’ playful jabs were suddenly interrupted by a loud gasp from Han.

“Wait!” Jisung’s eyes went wide with realization. “There’s no snacks left!”

The room went silent for a moment, as if the collective craving for junk food was just too much to ignore. Then chaos erupted once more.

A collective groan filled the room.

“You just realized that?” Minho deadpanned.

“I was too busy laughing at Iseul.”

“I will end you, Han.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll add that to the death threats list,” Han waved her off. “More importantly, what do we do?”

Minho stretched, standing up. “Simple. We make a snack run.”

“At this hour?” Hyunjin frowned, glancing at the time. “It’s almost 2 AM.”

“Exactly,” Felix grinned. “The best time.”

Iseul groaned. “Can’t we just—I don’t know—starve?”

Jeongin gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Noona, that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

“Are you scared?” Seungmin smirked.

She stiffened immediately. “No.”

“Really?” Chan grinned. “Because someone’s been extra jumpy ever since you-know-who appeared on screen.”

“Don’t say his name,” she muttered, shuddering.

“Penny—”

“STOP.”

The boys burst into laughter.

Felix clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s go before Iseul dies of stress.”

Hyunjin could barely focus on the conversation around him as they made their way to the convenience store. Iseul had unconsciously moved closer to him as they walked, her pace matching his without either of them realizing it. He could feel the slight brush of her sleeve against his arm every few seconds, and though it should’ve been nothing, it felt too much in the best and worst way.

There was something about the way she held herself, the way she hesitated, like she was trying to shrink into the hoodie Minho had thrown her way. He couldn’t stop looking at her as she pulled it over her head, the sleeves swallowing her small frame. For a second, all he could think about was how it made her look even more delicate, and then that damn hoodie—his hoodie—caught his eye.

Wait.

His hoodie.

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped.

She was wearing his hoodie.

The one he always grabbed when he was cold.

The one he’d worn on lazy days when he didn’t care to impress anyone.

The one he’d never imagined seeing on someone else.

Especially not her.

Iseul was walking beside him, unaware that his mind was spiraling. He didn’t know if he should say something or just keep walking.

He had to stop thinking about it. He wasn’t that guy, was he? This was just a hoodie, a simple, random exchange. But it didn’t feel simple anymore.

A shiver ran down her spine as a gust of wind cut through the streets. He could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, the way her fingers tightened around the sleeves.

"Hwang," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know what she expected from him, but he couldn’t help himself. He glanced down at her, trying to mask how much her proximity was affecting him.

"Yeah?" His voice came out quieter than he intended.

"Do you think clowns really hide in the sewers?" she asked, her voice tremoring, more from fear than curiosity.

He froze for a second, blinking as he processed the question. A soft laugh escaped him, but it wasn’t teasing, not in the slightest. “I don't know. Why?”

She winced, shuddering as she quickened her pace, the oversized hoodie practically dragging behind her. “I just... keep thinking they’re waiting for me. Or, like, they’ll pop up when I least expect it.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little protective of her. Despite the weird situation of her wearing his hoodie, he wanted her to feel safe. The tension in her shoulders was evident even in the moonlight. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he said, his voice softer this time. “There’s no clown lurking around here. Just us.”

She didn’t respond right away, but he saw her nod slightly, though it didn’t do much to alleviate the anxiety that was building in the air between them.

He stepped a little closer, his arm brushing against hers by accident. She didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in her paranoia, but the second their skin made contact, something jolted inside him. He could feel the warmth of her, the way she instinctively leaned into his presence just a little. Her steps were now in sync with his, her rhythm matching his every move.

And it didn’t escape him that she hadn’t noticed how close they were walking, not once.

He tried to breathe normally, but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t just the hoodie. It wasn’t just the fact that she was visibly rattled. It was the way she looked when she wore it—like she belonged here, next to him.

Hyunjin glanced down at her again, his gaze lingering on the way she adjusted the sleeves, pulling them over her hands as if they were too big. It was ridiculous how much he was focused on something so small.

Then, Jeongin called out, and Hyunjin’s chest tightened when he realized what the younger boy had just noticed.

“Wait, Hyunjin hyung,” Jeongin said with a grin. “Is that your hoodie?”

His gaze flicked to Iseul, and her reaction—flustered, embarrassed—was immediate. She tugged the hood tighter around her face like she could hide from all of them. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way she tried to brush it off, the way she didn’t want anyone to notice. She was trying so hard not to show how awkward it made her. And that made him feel something strange.

Something protective.

Iseul stuttered, her face flushing instantly. “What? No, I—”

The realization was hitting her now, the connection made, and Hyunjin could practically feel the heat rising in his face as well.

“Ohhh,” Seungmin chimed in, a sly smile spreading across his face. “I knew you two were close, but this? Wearing his hoodie now? That’s a whole new level of comfort.”

Iseul looked absolutely mortified, like she wanted to disappear. And honestly, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He knew Minho had tossed her the hoodie for no reason other than to mess with her. But now it felt different. It felt… intimate.

His hoodie on her? No one should have that right.

Iseul’s stomach twisted. “It’s not like that,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, but the boys were already having too much fun with it. The teasing was just beginning.

Hyunjin glanced down at her, his chest tightening, not entirely sure how to handle the situation. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that she looked so comfortable in his hoodie, or the fact that everyone was pointing it out, but something about it didn’t sit well with him.

Minho, ever the instigator, was grinning from ear to ear. “Comfortable there, Iseul?” He leaned in, voice dripping with mischief. “You sure you’re not getting too cozy, huh? Or maybe you just like the way he smells?”

The words hit her hard, and before she could even stop herself, Iseul shot back, defensive and flustered, “It’s not like that, oppa.”

The second the word slipped out, the entire group fell silent. Iseul’s eyes widened in shock. She hadn’t meant to say it, but now that it was out, she couldn’t take it back. Her hands instinctively flew to her face as she groaned. “I did not just say that.”

The boys were in complete chaos. Han was laughing so hard he almost fell over. Jeongin and Seungmin were grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

“Oppa?” Minho gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. “Oh, you hear that, Hyunjin? Looks like Iseul’s already picking favorites.” He winked at Iseul, clearly enjoying how flustered she had become.

Iseul shot him a glare, embarrassed but trying to keep her cool. “Please shut up,” she muttered, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

Hyunjin, despite his own discomfort at the teasing, couldn’t help the tiny spark of jealousy that flared up at the sound of her calling Minho “oppa.” It was so natural for her to say, so casual. And now, for some reason, it felt like a mark of something important—something he hadn’t even realized he wanted until now. The jealousy was quick, but he forced it down, trying to act like it didn’t bother him. It shouldn’t.

Chan on the other hand looked absolutely betrayed.

He let out the biggest sigh, shaking his head like he was carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. “No, seriously. This isn’t fair. I deserve to be called ‘oppa’ first.”

Iseul shot him a withering look. “Not you too. Please—”

“No, no,” he cut in, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “Think about it! Who was the one who personally talked to your mom one-on-one that day?” He pointed at himself, eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief. “Me. Who was the one constantly looking after you when you first got here? Me again.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tensed at that.

Because, yeah. Chan was always looking after her. Always making sure she was okay. And Hyunjin? He had spent so much time pushing her away that by the time he’d realized he didn’t want to, it felt like she was already slipping through his fingers.

And now, she was leaning on him like it was the easiest thing in the world. But it wasn’t easy. Not for him.

Because the longer she stayed close, the harder it got to ignore the way her warmth pressed against his side, or the way she smelled like vanilla and something faintly floral. Or the way she’d called Minho ‘oppa’ so effortlessly—like she trusted him. Like she saw him.

Hyunjin swallowed.

He didn’t want to care about something as stupid as a nickname. But Minho got an ‘oppa.’ Chan got to be her protector.

What did that make him?

And why did that thought make his chest feel so damn tight?

Meanwhile, Chan was still rambling. “Honestly, I should be first in line. I mean, if anyone here gives off protective older brother vibes—”

Minho snorted. “Older brother?”

“Don’t even start,” Chan shot back before dramatically turning back to Iseul. “Look, Iseul. I’m not asking for much. I’m just saying—if you’re gonna hand out ‘oppas’ like candy, maybe I should get one too?”

Iseul, still reeling from the absolute chaos she had unleashed, groaned and buried her face in her hands again. “I swear to God, if I say it, will you all shut up?”

Jeongin and Seungmin exchanged a look before nodding. “Probably not,” Seungmin admitted.

“Yeah, but we wanna hear it,” Jeongin added.

Iseul exhaled sharply, looked straight at Chan, and with the most deadpan expression she could muster, muttered, “Fine. Oppa. There. Happy?”

Chan immediately turned smug, tossing his arms behind his head like he had just won the lottery. “That’s all I wanted.”

Hyunjin clenched his fists. He had no right to be mad. None at all.

But he was seething.

Not visibly, of course—he had too much pride for that. But internally? Oh, he was livid.

Because now Chan had an oppa. Minho had an oppa. And him? Nothing. No title. No special nickname. Just Hwang.

He sat there, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Chan bask in his victory. The actual audacity.

“Oh wow, Chan-hyung, congratulations,” he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You must feel so accomplished.”

Chan, ever the shameless one, just grinned. “You wouldn’t get it, Hyunjin. It’s a privilege.”

Hyunjin wanted to knock that stupid smug look off his face. Instead, he leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “I mean, I get it. Really, I do. But oppa?” He shot a look at Iseul, tilting his head. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much? Chan’s more like a… I don’t know. A dad.”

Chan choked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, think about it,” Hyunjin continued, fully embracing his pettiness now. “He nags, he worries, he’s always giving inspirational speeches no one asked for—he’s basically the team ahjussi.”

Minho cackled. “He’s got a point.”

Iseul, clearly regretting all of her life choices, rubbed her temples. “I hate this conversation.”

Hyunjin smirked. “What? You started it.”

Her glare was sharp, but he wasn’t fazed. Good. If he was suffering, so was she.

“Oh, Iseul~” Changbin sing-songed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, now that you’ve said it for Chan and Minho-hyung… doesn’t it feel unfair if you don’t say it for Hyunjin-hyung too? After all he looked after you and protected you from your imaginary clowns the whole night.”

Hyunjin stiffened. His heart, against his better judgment, leaped.

Iseul, however, scoffed. “Hyunjin? As oppa? Yeah, no.”

Hyunjin froze.

For a second, he was convinced he’d misheard her. Maybe she’d said it wrong. Maybe she’d meant something else. But the teasing lilt in her voice—the absolute finality of her words—made it clear. She meant exactly what she said.

Yeah, no.

The group erupted into laughter, Minho clutching his stomach, Jeongin practically wheezing, and Chan wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Han gasped between laughs. “That was brutal.”

Even Seungmin, who usually preferred to play the instigator rather than react, had to cover his mouth, shoulders shaking with amusement.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was going through it.

Not that he would ever show it, of course. He was Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin. He didn’t get worked up over stupid things like nicknames.

But still.

Yeah, no? Really?

Of all the ways she could’ve rejected the idea, she chose that?

Hyunjin scoffed, rolling his eyes to mask the sting. “You’re acting like I’d even want to be your oppa.”

“Oh?” Iseul raised a brow, folding her arms across her chest. “So you admit it bothers you.”

“I never said that,” he shot back too quickly.

“You didn’t have to,” she said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She was enjoying this. That little glint in her eyes, the way she tilted her head ever so slightly—she knew exactly what she was doing. And the worst part? It was working.

Hyunjin should’ve let it go. Should’ve just shrugged it off, acted like he didn’t care. But something about the way she looked at him, so completely unbothered, made his competitive streak flare.

“Oh, Iseul,” he drawled, mirroring her smirk. “You act like this is some huge loss for me. Please. I’d rather be called Hwang than have the same title as these guys.”

Minho snorted. “Good save.”

Iseul rolled her eyes. “Right. Because you definitely aren’t sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You’re sulking right now.”

“I am not—” Hyunjin stopped himself, inhaling sharply. No. He wasn’t going to let her win. He was better than this.

Chan, who had been watching the entire exchange with far too much amusement, finally clapped his hands together. “Alright, children. Let’s move before the convenience store closes.”

Iseul, looking far too pleased with herself, turned on her heel and started walking. Hyunjin let her go ahead, watching as the oversized sleeves of his hoodie swung at her sides.

He wasn’t sulking. He was just… processing.

That’s all.

And if he happened to catch Jeongin grinning at him like he’d just uncovered the greatest secret in the world, well—

Hyunjin would deal with that later.

The convenience store was a brightly lit oasis in the quiet night, its neon sign buzzing softly against the silence of the street. As soon as the automatic doors slid open, the group spilled inside with a mix of laughter and chatter, scattering almost immediately in different directions like unsupervised children.

Iseul had barely taken two steps when a familiar presence appeared beside her. She glanced up to find Hyunjin, his expression still unreadable after the whole hoodie ordeal. She wasn’t going to think about that, though.

Nope. Not at all.

Jeongin was the first to disappear, heading straight for the snack aisle with Seungmin hot on his heels.

Changbin and Han darted toward the chips section, their voices already rising in a passionate debate.

"Original is superior," Han argued, spinning a can of Pringles between his fingers with a dramatic flourish.

Changbin looked offended. "No, sour cream and onion is the king of Pringles."

"You’re lying to yourself."

"You’re lying to the world."

"You’re ugly."

"Your entire bloodline is ugly."

Chan, standing a few shelves away, muttered, "Why does every conversation in this group escalate like this?"

Han ignored him. "Say it to my face, Seo Changbin."

Changbin squared up, gripping his can of Pringles like a weapon. "I am saying it to your face."

At this point, Iseul had joined Jeongin and Seungmin in the snack aisle, where they were already strategizing their selections. Jeongin had a bag of honey butter chips in one hand, a shrimp-flavored snack in the other, and a contemplative expression on his face.

Seungmin, meanwhile, had to comment on Iseul’s first choice.

"Are you serious?" he deadpanned, eyeing the pack of yogurt drinks she had immediately grabbed.

Iseul clutched them protectively. "Do not start with me, Kim Seungmin."

"You're actually insane," he continued, undeterred. "You walk into a store full of actual food, and the first thing you go for is yogurt?"

"First of all," Iseul shot back, "it’s not just any yogurt, it’s strawberry-flavored probiotic perfection."

Seungmin made a gagging noise. "You sound like a cult member."

"Iseul’s Yogurt Cult," Jeongin mused, barely containing his laughter.

"Jeongin, I thought you were on my side."

"I never said that," Jeongin said, popping a chip into his mouth.

"Traitor," Iseul muttered, shoving another pack of yogurt drinks into their basket.

Seungmin stared at it. "Are you stockpiling for the winter?"

"Mind your business."

Jeongin leaned in, smirking. "She’s probably stressed."

Iseul blinked. "What?"

"Because of a certain someone sulking near the drink fridge."

Seungmin and Iseul turned in unison.

There he was. Hyunjin.

Standing near the refrigerated section, looking way too broody for someone in a convenience store.

Seungmin’s lips curled. "Oh, he’s pouting."

Jeongin grinned. "It’s spectacular."

Iseul shot him a look. "Don’t use that word against me."

Jeongin just wiggled his eyebrows.

Meanwhile, Felix had also noticed Hyunjin’s mood and, because he was Felix, he had to poke at it.

"Hyunnie, why do you look like you just lost a fight?" Felix teased, slinging an arm around Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Hyunjin exhaled sharply. "I didn’t lose anything."

Felix’s gaze flickered toward Iseul—toward the hoodie she was wearing—and his mouth twitched. "Are you sure?"

Hyunjin tensed immediately.

Felix gasped, eyes widening like he had just cracked a case. "Wait. Are you jealous?"

Hyunjin’s expression shattered into pure offense. "Why the hell would I be jealous?"

"You tell me, sulky boy."

"I’m not sulking."

Felix grinned. "You’re totally sulking."

Iseul turned back to the shelf, grabbing another snack in an attempt to ignore this conversation. She was not involved in this. She was not thinking about the hoodie. She was not thinking about Hyunjin.

But Jeongin and Seungmin?

They were thriving.

"This is the best drama I’ve seen all week," Jeongin murmured, popping another chip into his mouth.

"I feel like I should take notes," Seungmin added.

Felix, meanwhile, was having too much fun. "Hyunnie, do you want a hug? Iseul wouldn't mind giving you one."

Hyunjin’s glare could have melted the ice cream section.

Meanwhile, over by the register, an entirely different kind of chaos was unfolding.

Chan, standing in front of the impulse buy section, had picked up a pack of random trinkets.

"We need these," he announced.

Minho glanced over. "No, we don’t."

Chan held up a tiny portable fan. "But it’s cute and useful—"

"Put it back."

"What about these—look, Minho, tiny screwdrivers. You never know when we might need them!"

"Are you planning on repairing a car mid-tour?"

"You’re not getting it."

"No, I understand perfectly," Minho deadpanned. "I understand that you have no self-control."

Chan scowled but reluctantly put the tiny fan and screwdrivers back. But just as Minho turned his attention away, he grabbed something else.

"Minho," Chan called sweetly.

Minho sighed, already done. "What now?"

"Look."

Minho looked.

And froze.

In Chan’s hands was a sheet of cat stickers.

Minho’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need them."

Chan smirked. "You sure?"

Minho’s gaze flickered to the stickers, then back to Chan.

A pause.

Then—defeat.

"... Get two."

Chan burst into laughter, throwing an arm around Minho’s shoulder. "Knew it."

Just then, Seungmin and Jeongin arrived at the register with an absolutely ridiculous amount of snacks, piling them onto the counter with zero shame. The cashier—who had likely seen far worse at this hour—didn’t even blink as they rang everything up.

The total price flashed on the register, and Chan, ever the responsible leader, took one glance at it and immediately turned to the younger members. "Alright, who’s paying?"

Everyone, without hesitation, pointed at him.

"Unbelievable," Chan muttered, pulling out his wallet. "One day, you guys are gonna be rich and famous, and I’m gonna make you pay for everything."

"Sure, hyung." Jeongin grinned, already tearing open a pack of chips. "Sure."

Once they stepped outside, the cool night air pressing against their warmed faces, Iseul sighed in relief, adjusting the plastic bag in her hand.

Then, suddenly—something soft brushed against her fingers.

She blinked, looking down.

A lollipop.

Iseul stared at the lollipop resting against her fingers, its bright wrapper crinkling under the soft pressure of her grip. The warmth of Hyunjin’s touch still lingered, barely there, but enough to make her pulse stutter for half a second too long.

She swallowed, willing herself to play it cool.

"Seriously?" she muttered, turning slightly toward him. "A lollipop?"

Hyunjin didn’t look at her. He just shrugged, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, gaze locked straight ahead like she wasn’t standing right next to him, holding undeniable evidence of his random act of kindness.

"Thought you liked sweets," he said, voice too casual.

Iseul frowned, staring at the candy. "I do, but—"

"Then eat it."

She blinked. "Are you—are you giving me orders now?"

Hyunjin sighed, finally glancing at her. "Just—" He gestured vaguely at the lollipop. "Take it or don’t. Whatever."

Felix, who had been watching everything from behind them, covered his mouth to muffle his very obvious giggle.

Jeongin, on the other hand, had no such restraint.

He leaned in, grinning like he had just been handed a new piece of gossip to wield against them. "That’s not just any lollipop, you know."

Iseul narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"It’s Hyunjin’s favorite flavor," Jeongin sing-songed.

Hyunjin whipped around, face immediately burning. "Shut up."

Felix gasped dramatically. "He gave you his favorite flavor?"

Seungmin popped up out of nowhere, as he often did when chaos was brewing. "That’s, like, the ultimate sacrifice," he mused, fake-serious. "Hyunjin never gives up his favorite snacks. It’s unheard of."

Hyunjin was two seconds away from shoving Jeongin into oncoming traffic. "You guys are so annoying."

Jeongin just grinned wider. "I prefer the term spectacular."

Iseul turned the lollipop between her fingers, staring at the wrapper as if it held some kind of secret she wasn’t meant to understand.

Something about this moment—this tiny, insignificant moment—made her chest feel warm in a way that unsettled her.

It was nothing. Just a lollipop.

And yet.

She unwrapped it, popping it into her mouth without thinking.

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered to her, lingering for a second too long before he cleared his throat and looked away again, fast.

Felix nudged him, his smirk pure evil.

"Feeling generous tonight, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin groaned, pushing past them toward the street. "I hate all of you."

Jeongin threw an arm around Iseul’s shoulder, completely ignoring him. "So, tell me—on a scale of one to ‘this is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,’ how touched are you right now?"

Iseul shoved him off. "Oh my God, shut up."

But as they walked down the quiet street, Hyunjin a few steps ahead of them—his head down, hands still deep in his pockets—she couldn’t help but press her tongue against the candy in her mouth, her thoughts tangled in a way she wasn’t ready to face yet.

She could still feel the ghost of his fingers brushing against hers.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound,

STORY HINT: Hyunjin's favourite flavour of lollipop is grape. It’s a little dramatic, just like him. Some people love it, some people hate it, but it’s a bold choice. Plus, it has that deep, rich flavor that sticks around.

And THAT, ladies, gentlemen, and yogurt enthusiasts, is what happens when you let Stray Kids loose in a convenience store at 2 AM. The maknae trio? MENACES TO SOCIETY. Felix, Han, and Changbin? Should be banned from public spaces. Chan and Minho? The worst responsible adults I’ve ever seen. Hyunjin? Sulking so hard he might develop permanent frown lines. Meanwhile, Iseul’s yogurt addiction is thriving, Jeongin is collecting blackmail material, and Hyunjin, in his infinite stupidity, has decided that sneakily giving her a lollipop is the best way to process his growing crush. Let’s all take a moment for Hyunjin, who is currently in denial. He will stay there for a while. Pray for him. (AFTERALL DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT) Anyway, RIP to the store employees, pray for Hyunjin’s sanity, and as always, leave likes and comments. Comment down below your favourite part or I’ll steal all your yogurt. Stay safe!! ~Candy

[grieferkisser]

𓎟𓎟 reader x gr13f3r　morning　 ◞ ◟

ꔛ word count: 1172⠀╱⠀established relationship 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀ars came back with more griefer and forgot the milk, hes just clingy yall anyways makes out w him,,sigh i love griefer smsmsm

Griefer absolutely hated waking up early. It didn’t help that you insisted on waking him up every morning, right before heading to "work," just to say goodbye. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture—he knew it was sweet, that you cared enough to make sure he got a kiss and a “see you later.” He loved that about you, really. But waking up early? That was the part he could do without. It was torture for him. You could always tell how much he despised it by the way he’d barely open his eyes, the faint scowl on his face giving him away every single time. Sure, your barrage of kisses helped soften the blow, but still, he was a grumpy idiot in the mornings. A stupid, lovable moron.

This morning wasn’t any different. Griefer’s room was its usual chaotic state—clothes strewn across the floor and bed, a pile of tangled sheets barely covering the two of you. You were snuggled together, limbs tangled up as usual. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, snoring softly, still deep in sleep. Your legs were draped over his waist, holding him close. He loved when you wrapped yourself around him like that; it made him feel like you were never going to let go.

But, of course, you were awake before him, trying to slip out of his grip without disturbing him too much. You moved carefully, whispering softly for him to wake up. You managed to free yourself just enough to get out of bed before Griefer stirred. He let out a groggy groan, rubbed his eyes, and blinked them open, his face immediately scanning the room for you. When he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed, his first instinct was to pull you right back in. He wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you down into the sheets once more, his voice still thick with sleep.

“UHG, B4B3, D0 Y0U R34LLY H4V3 T0 G0 T0 W0RK T0D4Y? C4N’T W3 JUST SL33P 4 L1TTL3 L0NG3R?”

His voice was deeper than usual, that groggy morning tone he always had when he just woke up. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sleepiness while you explained, as gently as possible, that yes, you really did have to go. Griefer groaned in frustration, pulling you even closer as if that would convince you to stay.

“G0SH, C4N’T Y0U JUST N0T G0 T0D4Y?”

It was painfully obvious that Griefer didn’t fully understand how much of a responsibility your job was. Every day, without fail, you left for work, and every day, he sulked about it. Sure, you always made it back home by 3 o’clock, sharp, to spend the rest of the day with him, but that didn’t stop him from wishing you could just spend the entire day together, morning included. Maybe it was selfish, but he just wanted you around. Griefer was a goofball, really, always playing up this bad-boy act to seem cool in front of you. But beneath that exterior, he was soft—he just wanted to be close to you.

“Y0U 4LW4YS L34V3….1 W4NN4 SP3ND TH3 WH0L3 D4Y W1TH Y0U,” he mumbled, his face still pressed into your neck.

When you teased him, saying he was just going to miss you, you saw the immediate regret on his face. His cheeks flushed as he buried his head deeper into your shoulder, trying to hide the embarrassment. Damn, you really knew how to make him nervous, and he hated how easily you could fluster him. You started to move again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but Griefer wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“C0M3 0N, B4B3…” he whined, his voice soft but persistent. “D0 Y0U R34LLY PR3F3R TH0S3 P30PL3 4T W0RK 0V3R M3? S3R10USLY?”

As cute as his pleading was, it didn’t work. You still slipped out of bed, leaving him there, staring at you as you moved around the room gathering your things. Defeated, Griefer flopped back onto the bed, sulking as he watched you. When you disappeared into the bathroom to change, he waited like a lost puppy, head propped on his hand. When you finally came back out, looking all put together and professional, he cleared his throat again. His eyes followed your every move, and when you looked his way, he couldn’t help but think how stunning you looked.

“Y0U’LL C0M3 B4CK 4T TH3 USU4L T1M3, R1GHT?” he asked, his tone softening as he stretched his back with a wince before getting up and walking over to you.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. He was still just wearing his usual pair of sleep shorts, his body warm and clingy. Griefer had this way of sticking to you in the mornings, like glue. Imagine if his gorilla pet saw him—good luck he got it a new place when you moved with him. You tried to move, but his grip stayed firm. He snickered at your failed attempts to shake him off—what an absolute jerk—and didn’t loosen his hold one bit, even as you struggled.

But when you started teasing him again about how clingy he was, his demeanor shifted. The playful, needy guy from a moment ago was gone, replaced by his “bad guy” persona. He huffed, finally letting you go, crossing his arms defensively. A faint pink blush dusted his cheeks, betraying him.

“I’M N0T 4CT1NG L1K3 TH4T,” he said with a pout, his voice trying to sound firm but wavering slightly.

You teased him again, and Griefer’s blush deepened. “WH-WH4T? N0! 1’M JUST…” he trailed off, stumbling over his words, flustered beyond belief.

He had no comeback, just stood there, a blushing mess as you grinned at him. Once again, he’d been defeated, and he retreated to the bed with a frustrated sigh, pulling the sheets over his head in mock embarrassment. It was the second defeat of the day, and it wasn’t even 8 AM.

After a few minutes, you were fully ready to head out, but Griefer hadn’t moved from the bed. He was lying there, scrolling through his phone, but as you approached the bed, he set it down and turned his attention back to you. His eyes softened as you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss. His hand instinctively reached up, fingers running through your hair as he returned the kiss. When you pulled away, he shyly gave you one more quick peck, looking away as his cheeks turned pink again.

“JUST…D0N’T C0M3 B4CK L4T3, 0K4Y? L0V3 Y0U,” he mumbled, still looking off to the side.

You told him you loved him too, which earned you a soft smile from him. As you made your way to the door, Griefer watched you go, his head sinking back into the pillow with a long, drawn-out sigh. You were going to be the death of him, no doubt about it. He could handle almost anything, but your teasing? That was his ultimate weakness.

wrote this at 2am btw

[inspectori]

PLEWSE OIKAWA ONESJOT I BEG OF YOU. Like he tries to impress you but in reality it comes off more as desperate and pathetic. (Pushing the loser oikawa agenda). LIKE HE TRIPS AND FALLS IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN HES TRYING TO BE SMOOTH AND RAGHHHHSISHFIWHWFFE

And you think he's some kind of playboy so you don't fall for it at first then warm up to him hehe...

(YESSS I LOVE THIS BRO 😈)

- LOSER AT HEART -

You’re halfway through taping Hanamaki’s fingers when you hear it—

“Y/N-chan~ You look absolutely radiant today.”

“Kill me now,” you mutter under your breath.

Without looking up, you deadpan, “I hope you realize I’m currently holding a roll of athletic tape and a grown man’s sweaty-ass fingers.”

“But you do it so gracefully,” Oikawa coos, leaning against the table like he thinks he’s on the cover of Vogue. He throws in a wink for good measure.

Matsukawa sighs loudly. Hanamaki grins, already bracing for impact.

“Three… two… one—”

THUD.

Oikawa’s body hits the floor.

And all you hear is Maki’s and Matsu’s loud ass cackles.

You finally glance up. “I’m sorry, what the hell was that? Did you seriously just eat shit?”

“No!” Oikawa groans, face still mashed into the floor. “I meant to sit. Gracefully. With style.”

Hanamaki chokes on air. “BYE. BITCH. YOU WERE STANDING.”

Tooru scrambles upright, trying to play it cool like he didn’t just get humbled by gravity. “It was a tactical flirtation maneuver.”

You narrow your eyes. “Get the hell out of my personal space, Tooru. Before I ‘tactically’ throw this tape at your damn head.”

And that’s the thing about Oikawa Tooru.

You know exactly who he is—Mr. Perfect Hair, Mr. ‘I flirt with anything that breathes.’ And as the team’s manager, you are not here for it. You’re already babysitting a whole squad of volleyball crashouts; the last thing you need is their dumbass captain trying to flirt like he’s in a shoujo anime.

But he doesn’t stop.

He brings you drinks from the vending machine—always with an exaggerated “For you, my love.”

He tries to offer you his jacket when it’s literally 75°F.

He once looked you dead in the eye and said, “Your handwriting could rival ancient scrolls of beauty.”

(You were writing stats. On a clipboard. With a chewed pen.)

Every time he tries to be cool, he fails spectacularly.

He once flipped his hair too hard and smacked himself in the face.

Another time, he tossed you a towel with a “Here, love”—only for it to flop into a puddle with a sad, wet slap.

You stared him down and said, “Wow. Great job Tooru.”

And yet… he keeps going.

At first, you’re convinced it’s just a game to him. A way to pass time. A new victim.

But then—one day—you forget your umbrella.

Everyone’s gone. The gym’s dark. Rain’s falling in sheets, drenching the pavement like some moody romance movie backdrop.

You’re two seconds from saying “screw it” and walking home soaked when you hear frantic footsteps.

Oikawa.

Soaked. Out of breath. Holding an umbrella.

You blink. “You’re already drenched, dumbass.”

He grins—tired, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to him. “Doesn’t matter. You weren’t gonna walk alone.”

You just… stare. “You ran back in that? For me?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Might be an idiot, but I’m… serious, y’know?”

For once, he’s not smirking. Not winking. No theatrics. Just a soggy boy with the dumbest heart you’ve ever seen.

You sigh, grabbing the umbrella. “Fine. But if you get sick, I’m not making you tea.”

His grin is immediate. Genuine. Kinda dazzling, in a “wow I hate that you’re actually cute” way.

And you think—ugh. Maybe the loser act isn’t an act after all.

Maybe you do kinda like him.

Just a little.

Maybe.

(perchance gave the reader iwaizumi’s attitude 😭😭)

[rayyanishere1]

"Studying? Yeah, Totally."

A Short FiddleStan Oneshot

(Part of the Loser Ford AU, but isn't relevant to the lore whatsoever lmao)

One night, Ford announced that he'd be at the library for a couple of hours.

"Knock yourself out, Sixer."

Once he left, Stan and Fiddleford looked at each other.

"Wanna..?"

"You don't even have to ask."

Stan led Fiddleford to the couch with only one motive in mind.

Forcing him to watch trashy television! They spent good money on that TV, and by God, they were gonna use it.

"Ladies and Gents, welcome back to 'Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong!' The show where you don't win prizes, but you don't get punished, either. I'm your host, Zain Squalus—"

Ah, yes, gameshows. The peak of entertainment.

"Is this really what you wanna watch?"

"It's either this, weird chick dramas, or the news."

Welp, can't argue with that.

Fiddleford tried many times to make a move; pretending to yawn to wrap his arm around Stan's shoulder, not very subtly inching his hand towards Stan's thigh. Hell, he tried to go in for a kiss at least 3 times!

Without fail, something would make Stan dodge his advances. Oh, he suddenly has to shift a little in the opposite direction to grab something, oh, something shocking happened and he needed his whole body to react to it.

Seems fate was planning on cockblocking Fiddleford today. Not cool, man. Not cool.

During a commercial break, Stan left to get some snacks. That gave Fiddleford some time to think.

It was obvious that subtlety was getting him absolutely nowhere. He just had to be a little more direct, right? Yeah, that's definitely it.

Stan returned with a bowl of chips and sat back down. Now was time for Fiddleford's master plan.

He used every tactic he knew all at once. Wrapping an arm around Stan's shoulder, leaning in closer. Maybe he should also try getting Stan's mind off of this weird gameshow he was so invested in...

"You know, Stanley, we're home alone."

"I would hope so, yeah."

"And we aren't doing anything."

"Yes, we are! We're watching Your Guess Could Be Royally Wrong, the totally original gameshow based in Oregon."

"I just thought that, with Stanford gone, we'd be doing something else."

"...I don't follow."

That's Stan Pines for you, folks. The dumbest genius on Earth.

"Stanley..."

Fiddleford didn't know if he wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. Instead, he decided that his plan of being direct was the right way to go.

"Stanley Pines."

"That's my name. Am I in trouble?"

"You're going to be if you don't kiss me right now."

"Haha, what?"

∆∆∆

The TV buzzed on in the background as they practically devoured each other's faces.

"Fidds, if you were this—hah—pent up, you could've just told me.."

"I tried to! For an entire hour!"

"Wait, really?"

"Lord, yes! I suppose something was keeping you from noticing."

"Uh huh.."

Deeming the couch to be too uncomfortable, Fiddleford took it upon himself to bring them somewhere more suitable for their.. Activity.

He picked Stan up like he weighed nothing and carried him to the bedroom.

Many kisses later, the two were shirtless and all over each other. It was like they were trying to fit multiple days worth of making out into one session. To be fair, though, it wasn't often that they had alone time like this.

Stan pulled away for a moment, much to Fiddleford's dismay.

"Ford's been out later than usual. He could come back any minute..."

Just as he said that, they heard the front door open.

Oh, God.

They rushed to put something on, not bothering to check what they had grabbed. If Ford saw them like this, in their shared space, Lord knows they'd never hear the end of it.

"Wait, are you wearing my—"

Too late to change now!

A few lazy knocks came from the door before Ford went in. He didn't even look at them, he just dropped his bag on the floor and flopped face first onto his bed.

Stan sighed in relief. It was a good thing that Ford was so tir—

"Wait."

The couple tensed up, expecting to get berated for their "inappropriate behaviour." Instead, Ford just took his glasses off and put them on his side table before promptly passing back out.

That was close...

[joyswonderland1108]

Imagine having a massive fandom and still flopping at basic strategy.

I can't believe i'm making yet another post about this but here we are.

You know what's absolutely wild to me? The fact that Jimin fanbases are now out here joining forces with other fandoms because BTS's own damn fandom couldn't get their act together when faced with the simplest test: two members in the same poll.

Like... Hello? How is it that a fandom famous for being "so big" and "so organized" suddenly can't manage basic strategic thinking? Where did all that OT7 brainpower go? Took a collective nap?

Let's be real, we all KNOW there are solos out there voting for either Jimin or RM. That's whatever, solos will solo. But the rest of you, the so-called OT7s.. Where the hell were you? Sitting there frozen because you "couldn't decide"? Babe. It's called splitting your votes evenly until the deadline is near, and THEN throwing your full weight behind whoever needs the push.

It's not rocket science. It's literally common sense. Balance. Logic. Teamwork makes the dream work. Heard of it?

But nooo, instead we get this situation where an actual BTS member's fanbase has to go BEGGING other fandoms for help, because "ARMY" were too busy being indecisive or messy.

Tell me that's not the most embarrassing thing ever. I'll wait.

Honestly, the fact that this is even needed to be said..

Embarassing is not even strong enough. Tragic.

Let me just drop a tutorial based on the current events:

How to lose a poll in 3 easy steps: a Masterclass by OT7s Step 1 : Have TWO members in a poll. Panic. Forget how voting works. Become a "deer in headlights" for 5 business days straight. Step 2 : Let the solos do all the work while the so-called "OT7s" sit there twiddling their thumbs because "OMG who I pick?? both are precious uwu. But do you think RM deserves the win this time? Or is it Jimin?" (Spoiler: you pick BOTH if you're that indecisive and not trying to be shady with one member. You divide your votes evenly. This is preschool-level math.) Step 3 : Watch one fanbase realize the Titanic is sinking and have to go beg OTHER fandoms for help because BTS's own fandom was too busy being confused or forcing others to vote for one member instead of letting people do whatever the fuck they want or at the very least come up with a fair strategy. Congratulations, you played yourself.

Meanwhile, a logical person seeing this mess:

For those not wanting to choose between the two, vote 50/50 until deadline approaches.

See who's closer to winning.

Dump all votes there.

Go outside and touch grass because it's literally not that hard.

But no, let's make it humiliating! Let's make it so bad that ARMY, the fandom known for eating awards, has to phone a friend because they couldn't handle a poll with two members without self-destructing, failing miserably at finding the best fair and square strategy. (Again this is not about solos who are already decided on who to vote for, or those who individually already decided who to go for, i'm talking about stupid ass OT7 accounts who are creating division in the fandom, forcing others to vote for who THEY decided is best suited or according to them is best deserving to win this time. Bfr)

Honestly, peak comedy. I would laugh if it wasn't so secondhand embarrassing.

[justalia]

creation is finished

this is probably the most important teaching of all and understanding this truly will help your journey.

understanding that creation is finished is vital to your law of assumption journey.

i’m sure most of you have been stuck in a cycle of trying and/or exhausting yourself by trying to maintain the state of the wish fulfilled.

what you desire already exists

the only reason why you have this burning desire towards something is because you are meant to experience it, and by meant i mean that you wouldn’t desire it if it wasn’t already within you waiting for you to realize it is already yours.

what you desire already exists!

there are infinite versions of you within your imagination waiting on you to believe them into being. they already are so! they already are who they want to be and have what they want to have and are not doing anything to try and get it.

it’s important to understand that when you imagine and decide to return to the state of the wish fulfilled you’re NOT doing it to make something happen in the 3D.

my mistake

the main thing i was doing wrong while studying and starting to apply the law was failing to truly internalize the fact that my outer reality is not my true reality, imagination is.

(my advice to everyone is to just apply without being judgmental with yourself, start applying and understand what works for you and what’s easier because this is how i learned how to properly apply the law without necessarily popping a vein)

this is a very common mistake and something you truly need to sit with in order to make your journey of self easier.

i was (as most of you probably are) stuck in a trying cycle, i understood imagination was the creator but i didn’t sit with the knowing that everything is already created in imagination and i don’t have to do anything to make it so.

for some reason seeing imagination as a creator (which is true) made me focus on creating my desire with the use of imagination instead of actually understanding that imagination is my only reality and everything is already so in there.

i’m not gonna lie to you, i was seeing movement because i was in the state of having my desire but i was extremely anxious about it, i was too focused on the movement i was getting and that lead to manifesting more movement instead of my full manifestation which obviously led to my desire taking more time to materialize.

the time it takes is absolutely irrelevant and i want the focus for you to be on how miserable i was while getting that movement, me being so focused on the movement made me rely completely on the 3D.

i was doing all of this to get my desire instead of accepting it fully in imagination. i was flip-flopping between states.

had i actually sat with the knowing that while imagination creates the outer world it is also the only reality out there and everything is already created in imagination i would’ve had a much pleasurable journey, because i am not supposed to create it, it already is!

you’re not making it happen!

for some reason even while actively studying the law and understanding it i was applying it in a way that was driving me insane in the long run, i hadn’t fully detached from the 3D so my results weren’t even long lasting because the moment something weird happened i would be deeply affected, and even when only favorable things were happening i was extremely focused on that.

“you don’t imagine for it to be so, you imagine it being so!” -EA

this is key!!!

please understand that while imagination creates the outer world you don’t have to turn it into a manifestation machine.

you tend to return to the state because it creates the outer world and therefore fall into the trap of doing things to get and constant trying.

you’re supposed to return to the state because why on earth would you think something isn’t yours when it actually is?

how would you react if i told you the phone you’re reading this post on isn’t yours??

“the fuck is she talking about, this is my phone”

well, yeah this is how i want you to think about imagination. it is your only reality and you should treat it as such.

there is nothing other than imagination, your desire comes from imagination and the fulfillment of your desire happens in imagination and there you also always experience it.

even when it materializes you are always experiencing it in imagination.

true fulfillment comes from imagination, if you don’t fully internalize that you will struggle!

i’m sorry, hate to break it to you, but you’ll never be satisfied in this world if you don’t understand where the fulfillment truly takes place.

as within, so without

take this seriously!

this phrase is the basis of the law: what you plant within your imagination will be expressed on the outside simply because imagination is the creator of your whole existence.

you need to understand that this isn’t something new you’re doing, you’re always giving something to yourself in imagination whether that be good or bad.

you’re not supposed to work for the wonderful things you want expressed.

you already have them! that’s the only thing you need to realize!

you already have them in their full potential, you’re not building your desire step by step.

the outside world will mold to you because it is the only thing it is able to do. do not worry about the outside, do not worry about others.

the outside is not your true reality. it not your true self.

“as within so without” doesn’t mean “let me change this inside so it gets reflected”.

it means “let me focus on my inner world cause that is all that exists, and by default the outer world follows.”

it seems similar but it is not, because the first one implies doing something to get what you want which necessarily implies not having it, the other ones implies acceptance that you already have it.

if you don’t accept that you are the inner man and not the outer man you will continue flip flopping between states, getting little to no movement and getting frustrated because of that.

you cannot change the outer world

you will never be able to change the outside if you don’t change SELF first.

all the things you try to do will never result in a change in the outer world if you don’t understand that you need to drop it completely.

you can’t have something and still desire/need it in the 3D.

you will be unsuccessful if you try that and most of all you will drive yourself crazy and be exhausted. because changing the outer world is never your job, the outer world changes itself.

when you understand this and you start living inwardly (consciously, because we all already do this, but unconsciously) you will not be affected by what happens outside! because that’s not your true reality, you will walk with complete stillness knowing the outer world molds to you and not the other way around.

you’re not shifting your state to make it express, you are shifting your state because you understand that the outer world is not your true reality and why would you believe in something that’s not true? why would you want to believe in something that is a mere reflection and not the actual reality?