niya1cold

[sebsxphia]

.

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. I)

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

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

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

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

♡ Word count: 16.4k

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

part II →

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is why you don’t date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It seems like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel the pinwheel twirl inside your chest again.

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

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

“I will not,” You chuckle.

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

“Their lemon cake is my favorite.”

“The lemon cake is what made me—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like, in a romantic sense?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is?”

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

You freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, you are a messy painter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you think I’m right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this was all you had ever known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

はい (Hai)

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

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

To say Minho is nervous would be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he really liked you, didn’t he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck, that’s my co-worker.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t make me call you noona.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You sputter, “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho is definitely intruding on something private.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

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

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

Minho takes that as his cue to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe love can be bad, after all.

Minho feels stupid.

This has become a constant in his life.

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

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

Until he fell for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“I will change your mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chan affectionately calls them Waste of Time Dates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Agree to disagree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he needed to know.

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

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

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

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

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

Because it was stupid.

But love is stupid, and he is in love.

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

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

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

// NOTE: Minho will fix this.

[biggie-chcese]

Why I think Yomi Hellsmile should've died in Chapter 4

(this essay isnt what you think it is. spoilers for the whole game btw)

Alright so let me preface this by saying that this is not a Yomi Hellsmile hate essay. I like Yomi. He's my favorite peacekeeper. He's funny, he's entertaining, and he makes for a very effective antagonist. So why have him die? Well, for the same reason I wouldn't have Yakou live: I think it makes for a better story.

So here's the true title of my essay: A Critique of how Rain Code's Narrative Handles the Peacekeepers (and by Extension, Yomi) and their Downfall

Let's start with Yomi's downfall in canon. Yuma and Vivia find out his role in Huesca's murder and, ultimately, Yakou's death, and are angry beyond belief. But they're also helpless to do anything as they escape the labyrinth with vengeance on their minds. Of course, this gets shut down immediately, and then Makoto ex machina comes in with Martina in tow to arrest Yomi for his money laundering and bribery. And right then and there, in one fell swoop, the peacekeepers are completely eliminated as a threat in the story to be replaced by Makoto.

But okay... isn't that super underwhelming? The peacekeepers and Amaterasu corp have been the main driving force of the game's primary conflict, and yet somehow they are completely eliminated as a threat because Makoto grabbed a few files off screen. And also, this brings me to my first major issue I have with this ending:

Part 1: Why the fuck do they care?

No I'm serious. Why do the peacekeepers care? So what if Yomi bribed his way to the top? You mean to tell me that the cops who spent the entire game assaulting and antagonizing civilians give a shit? They're never shown to have any sort of problem with their corruption. They send people to be executed on whims and knowingly, regularly falsify evidence on murder cases. At best the peacekeepers are indifferent to the suffering they cause, and at worst they are gleefully complicit in it. So, again, why do they care about Yomi's money schemes? In fact, they only benefit from Yomi's rule because he gives them the power to freely instill fear in Kanai Ward's citizens. The game never, at any point, has an "are we the baddies?" moment from them nor does it ever even try to have at least one peacekeeper question Yomi's authority, even when he's throwing them under the bus. Throughout the whole game, they stand as a completely one-note, cartoonishly evil representation of police corruption.

So why the sudden heel turn? The resolution of chapter 4 feels so jarring to me because the game has zero buildup to it. This also applies to Martina's return. Actually let's also talk about her.

Part 2: So... Martina's return lowkey is kinda lame

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty hype when she came back. But also, the magic wore off pretty quickly for me because I didn't understand why she was suddenly a whole different character. I suppose her brush with death gave her some time to contemplate her actions, or perhaps she felt indebted to Makoto and asked him what she should do, or maybe Makoto held her life over her head and told her to change her act or he's letting her get cubed. Who knows? We get nothing expanding on this so it could be anything.

I feel like people kinda forget that Martina was just as corrupt as Yomi? Like, she is not his helpless victim. I'd even argue that their relationship isn't abusive. Martina is in it with her own interests in mind in addition to just being a massive sadomasochist. I cannot stress this enough: whatever tf she and Yomi had going on, she was completely into it. Even at the end of chapter 2, she was drooling over him and the idea of punishment... until Yomi crossed a line.

Y'see, Martina thought she was special. She thought that whatever punishment Yomi had for her Aetheria Academy blunder, she'd come out of it alive, because she's his beloved right hand. Yomi then showed her that she's just as disposable as the rest of his underlings by ordering her to be brutally executed. That is when she becomes a victim.

Anyway, I'm saying all this to make a point that Martina hasn't shown any interest in being an honest cop until chapter 4. It's completely out of nowhere, just like with the other peacekeepers.

"But Biggie," you may be thinking, "why would Yomi dying fix these issues?" Well I'm so glad you hypothetically asked!

Part 3: We love missed potential, baby!

Kodaka sometimes does this thing where he introduces an interesting concept that plays with the rules of the game... and then doesn't commit to it. Think like the double murder clause in Danganronpa V3 chapter 3, where they mention that if two separate murderers act in the same day then only one of those murders counts. Then they do nothing with this, and instead create a very weak chapter.

This is a similar problem I have with the tail end of chapter 4's mystery labyrinth, which is a really amazing labyrinth that introduces a really amazing concept: taking down a secret mastermind. After reaping the culprit's soul, they have this cool, brand new secret area that... does nothing. No, I'm serious. Nothing happens. All it does is piss Yuma and Vivia off and waste everyone's time. They find out Yomi's involvement in the case, but they still don't do anything with that. Sure it brings a whole new feeling of hopelessness, but doesn't that make Yomi's downfall literally five minutes later through the mundane actions of someone else off screen seem all the more underwhelming? From a gameplay and storytelling standpoint, I think this is just... a cop-out. I think it'd be cool if he was involved enough in Huesca's murder to count as an accomplice, then with Vivia and Shinigami at his side, Yuma reaps Yomi's soul. It's a decent payoff for the NDA and the player while supporting the game's message about the importance of finding the truth. And god does the game need support in that regard, because the Mystery Labyrinth almost never helps and Yuma instead gets saved by someone else (which would've been nice to expand on if we go this route bc there's something interesting about Yuma calling for the labyrinth to kill people for ultimately no reason, but they don't do anything with that and that is a WHOLE other essay lol).

But this is not my main reason that Yomi should've died here. I wouldn't feel so strongly if that was the case. No, my problem lies with a character that isn't Yomi, and what is part of the entire reason Rain Code's plot exists.

Part 4: Is Makoto fucking stupid?

"/lh" by the way. Makoto is my second favorite character in this game behind Yuma, and I adore him. His story, his motivations, his undying will to be a protector of a people that no one else will protect, by any means necessary... he is such an incredible character and antagonist and I genuinely adore him. But I have one eensy weensy, teeny weeny little issue with him:

Why did he need the detectives to oust Yomi?

Makoto claims in the ch 5 labyrinth that the reason the detectives were brought over was to oust Yomi, which leads me to believe the command for the detectives to come to Kanai Ward was his work, not Number One's, then Number One simply caught onto this and took advantage of the situation to sneak in. Though, that's just a guess on my part, mind you. So I suppose he was just desperately hoping at least one of them would take care of Yomi, but isn't that weird?

The detectives don't ever find the evidence of Yomi's money laundering and bribery. Makoto does. The detectives don't ever bring Yomi's corruption to light. Yomi... already does that without their help. Actually, why didn't he secretly team up with the Resistance for that? Too busy ignoring Dohya District's glaring issues, Makoto? Too busy turning a blind eye to your people's suffering?

Uh. Anyway, the only detective that actually does something beneficial for Makoto and kills Huesca is Yakou, who was already in Kanai Ward. And don't tell me that Makoto accounted for Fubuki and Desuhiko's fortes here because that part of the plan was all Yakou's idea. If Makoto could've predicted this, he would've just called the detectives necessary to this plan instead of luring in a bunch of them at once to get slaughtered.

Tons of detectives died coming to Kanai Ward to do... what? Distract Yomi? Could the World's Greatest Mind truly never come up with a better distraction for a guy who didn't even realize his Martina Cube™ order never came in? Yomi isn't shown to be some sort of hypervigilant supergenius nor is he nearly on Makoto's level. Could he truly not have outsmarted Yomi and led him astray long enough to grab a little binder of paper?

So, once again, you may be wondering how Yomi's death would fix this. Well, Yuma, a detective, is the one who kills Yomi.

Makoto is well aware of Yuma using the Book of Death at this point. So what better way to get rid of Yomi than to carefully manipulate the detective who has the Perfect Criminal Murder Tool™? Makoto can't just assassinate Yomi himself- that would make him the main suspect and he'd have to do a lot of PR maintenance to get the rest of Amaterasu Corp off his back. But Yomi mysteriously dying of a heart attack while Makoto isn't anywhere around... well, that's different.

"But wait," you may be thinking, "doesn't Makoto want to keep Yomi alive because he's a Kanai Ward citizen, and he loves Kanai Ward?"

Good point! But doesn't that also apply to Yakou, whom he also had a hand in manipulating into that crazy sui-homocide of Dr. Huesca? Or, what about Fink? Remember him? Makoto killed him for "knowing too much." I know that information is missable, but it's there. And don't tell me it's just because he's a hitman and has killed other Kanai Ward residents, because Yomi has sent many residents to their deaths without trial... not a huge difference. So a body count isn't really on Makoto's "should I kill them" conditions, it seems.

If Fink gets killed for "knowing too much," then Yomi shouldn't be exempt from this, especially when he was leaking homunculus information to the outside world. That goes far beyond "knowing too much." It just doesn't make sense.

But you know what does? Makoto actually using the detectives to wipe his hands clean of Yomi's mess. Yakou is used to take care of Huesca, Yuma is used to take care of Yomi, and Makoto gets to sit back, relax, and watch everything play out just as planned.

And later, in the next chapter, when Yuma learns about Makoto using him like this, he realizes that he's truly been had.

Part 5: How I think it should play out

I'm not being a hater. In fact, I deeply love this game and have a lot of respect for Kodaka and the writing team, so please don't take my little rant as some sort of effort to bash on my favorite video game because that's not what this is. I'm not gonna prop myself up as a better writer than anyone on the team because I'm not, but I'll still try my hand at rewriting this scene to fit my personal taste. So I would like for you to imagine with me, the end of chapter 4...

Yuma and Vivia find the secret area of the labyrinth and find out that Yomi has been masterminding Huesca's murder. Shinigami points out that, hey, that's why the labyrinth is falling so slowly: we haven't finished it off! Vivia stands by Yuma's side, and all of them, driven by their rage and desire to see justice be done, reap the soul of the true mastermind through one final strike of the solution blade. Labyrinth collapses, snap back to reality, oop there goes gravity, oop there goes Yomi, who collapses on the ground.

The peacekeepers are surprised and approach the body. They find that Yomi is dead. They're shocked, and as this is happening, Yuma isn't sure what to feel. Is he glad that he managed to avenge Yakou? Not quite, because Yakou is still gone, the hitman is still out there, and everything still hurts. But a part of him feels... vindicated. Vivia seems to have equally complicated feelings about this. For once, it was... kind of worth it to find the truth, even if a bit messy.

Well now the peacekeepers confirmed Yomi is dead, but now they're accusing the detectives of this. And they're honestly kinda right. Yuma and Vivia realize that they're in kind of deep shit, but the sound of Martina's voice comes from off screen asking what on earth is going on here, making everyone freeze.

Enter her, Makoto, and Seth (I'll say why he's here too in a moment). They're surprised at the sight before them, but Makoto only pretends to be. Then you see it... Martina and Seth go from visibly suprised... to relieved. And there's something oddly triumphant, yet a bit chilling about Makoto and the two people we've witnessed Yomi throw under the bus standing over his corpse. It feels thematic now, as if righteous judgement has come. And... it also solves the "what happened to Seth" question, lol.

Makoto shakes his head and sighs, stepping over the corpse and approaching Yuma and Vivia as he comes up with an excuse: "I always told him that those temper tantrums weren't good for his blood pressure. I guess his heart couldn't take it anymore."

He then nods to the others. Seth instructs the peacekeepers to clean up the body, as they rot quickly in this city. There's this foreboding feeling in the peacekeepers' obedience and efficiency, and Yuma begins to wonder if he did a good thing. Did his actions change the peacekeepers for the better, he asks himself, or did he simply shift the power over to someone worse? Shinigami tells him she doesn't know.

Makoto approaches them with good news: they found and arrested the hitman! Yuma, frightened, does not address that and instead asks him why the other high ranking peacekeepers are here. Makoto says that they... owe him a favor. Martina expresses her gratefulness for him stopping her execution order and asks if they can do anything else, to which Makoto replies telling her no, they're doing an excellent job. After some more conversation, Seth, Martina, and the peacekeepers then leave with Yomi's body to let Makoto talk privately to Yuma and Vivia. Makoto apologizes for their loss of Yakou and offers some faux sympathy. They're both... still conflicted about this conclusion, but Makoto tells them they're free to go, so they'll think about it later. Oh, but before they leave, he gives Yuma a little gift: a suspicious black box. Of course, Yuma can't open it just yet- it's a surprise!

Then the rest could play out pretty much normally (though an encounter with zombie Yomi chapter 5 seems inevitable and also awesome).

I think this alone would solve every issue I addressed before. The peacekeepers do not change out of nowhere. They simply reallocate power and there's still this feeling of them being a threat as they're now directly connected to the game's true antagonist. There's now a theme to Martina's return with Seth's presence as well. There's now a narrative purpose to that final section of the mystery labyrinth with proper payoff. And, most importantly, Makoto's motivations to use the detectives make more sense.

By the way, if any Yomi lovers think that he should stay alive for a potential return in the sequel... isn't it such a blessing that Yakou's DLC introduced this pretty neat little pill that could still make that possible? Just saying.

So yeah. Yuma, for the sake of narrative payoff and character writing consistency, please kill this clown. Thanks for reading <3

[myfandomrealitea]

Was your Safe Spaces post discord-(or any closed forum I guess) specific, or do you think the same should go for fandom-themed blogs on tumblr? Like, if I follow someone for Doctor Who content, I'd rather they didn't put real world issues on my dash, but otoh, it's their blog and they get to decide what they post on it (preferably tagged so I can curate). I've observed that people that run themed blogs that become popular often seem to feel an obligation to use their platform for activism (or, in the case of crypto-radfems, deliberately built their platform to recruit), and it stresses tf out of me for the reasons you mentioned, but it's not like the maintags are much safer because there will be spam relating to real-world issues, or antis trying to relate fiction to real world issues.

Realistically; the same outlook can and could be applied to any social setting. Be it online, private, public, face to face, ect.

Your point about obligation in terms of platform scale is something I've also noticed and have been dabbling about raising. Mostly because you see it a lot with celebrities or public content creators who receive a large following. Its often less that they feel obligated and more than they're usually bullied into it.

For example; I follow a trans (FTM) vlogger on Instagram. His entire online presence is based around being trans and helping to educate people and support people in regards to learning about being transgender, transgender health, his personal transitional journey, ect.

He's got a modest following, nothing ridiculous but I think right now he's sitting at around 75,000 followers.

And as of late, there are random people who don't follow him and aren't at all interested in what he has to say flooding his comment section with things like:

Why didn't you mention anything about Gaza?

All these followers and no shout outs for smaller creators?

What are you doing to raise awareness for X?

All these views could've been used to raise awareness for X.

And its fucking ridiculous. People are pressuring a middle class trans man with 75,000 followers to accept responsibility for counter-responding to a literal war when there are actual celebrities and billionaires with both the actual reach and money to make a difference who simply refuse to because they won't personally benefit from it.

I used to run a really popular fandom blog here on Tumblr. For an actual fandom, not just what I do here and now. It started off small, but I eventually grew it to the point where my follow count was creeping toward 10,000. Which for Tumblr and for a fandom-specific blog was not at all insignificant.

And the moment my notes count started going up, the demands started flooding in. People expecting me to reblog their donation links, demanding I share their friend's aid post, asking why I wasn't reblogging awareness posts or donation drives, ect.

Its largely because its easier to harass accessible people over it than it is to harass someone like Kim Kardashian, but its also because again: we have such a skewed understanding of what is actually effective in terms of activism and circulation of information.

Most of it comes down to shaming people and trying to assert that they're a bad person for having the privilege and benefits of a large following but not doing anything for other people or to 'deserve' that following. They're 'a bad person' for having 75,000 people's attention and not using it to force them to be aware of X.

A good example of proper audience targeting and activism is the page We Rate Dogs.

We Rate Dogs will share awareness posts and donation drives.

About dogs.

Because their followers are there for the dogs. Their followers like dogs. They want to enjoy dog content and help dogs.

If they started sharing posts about war and death and rape, the people who are following them to see cute dog videos will simply unfollow them.

They're using their targeted platform properly.

[ceratedfish24]

I saw a post that was like “Scott’s sacrifices aren’t actually selfless cause he always forces it upon his allies and he just wants to control them :/“

?????

I’m so fucking sorry that, under the stress of being chased down on his last hearts, Scott’s prey instinct is to deliver the resource that he considers his life to be to a member of his own team??? Is it about control? Sure, but not over his teammates. It’s a control over resources. Do you really think that in his final moments he thought to himself “I can get something out of letting Gem take my final life”? No! He doesn’t get pride or attention and he clearly doesn’t get respect.

“He phrases it like he knows better than his teammates” I’m so sorry that you think that his first priority while he’s being hunted is his wording. If you’re the type of person who talks and talks and thinks and thinks to make sure that your ally understands that you have complete and utter respect for their autonomy, you’re not a good ally under pressure. You’re wasting precious time. Also, you’re assuming that Scott’s teammates aren’t allowed to say “no”. If they don’t think it would be more beneficial than harmful to them, they would say “no”. Pearl told Scar to kill her so that he’d have a better chance against Gem, and he said “no”. No one says Pearl is selfish, because she isn’t. That’s a strategy move. Besides, Pearl and Scott didn’t want to win again. Do you know how much you people would cry and moan if Scott had won a second time?

“But when he blew himself up for Pearl-“ Do you really think that it would’ve been more exciting for Scott and Pearl to have fought to the death? Where Scott might get the last hit? Where Scott wins two seasons in a row? You wouldn’t’ve been happy with anything he had done.

Furthermore, “always forces” is a huge stretch. There are three times when Scott offered someone his life when he wasn’t stressed, and two of them didn’t benefit him. His offer to let Cleo kill him did not benefit him. They were already his ally, and she wasn’t particularly needy for time at the moment. His second offer was to Jimmy, who has made it very clear that he will never do anything for Scott in the Life Series.

I’m so fucking sorry that Scott maximizes his resources in a competitive environment in a way that is so absolutely INSANE that we have to call him self-sacrificing because all fucking 3 of his lives were given away in Secret Life. I’m so sorry that you think that people need to act perfectly selfless in competitions. Is Scott perfect? No! But neither is anyone else and I only see people getting on Scott’s case.

“No, I like Scott. I’m just saying-“ you are applying a character’s traits in a competitive environment to the identity of a real person. Go touch grass. Talk to real people. Learn to have some respect.

[kimberlyannharts]

Ultraman: Rising!

Sure we all know the Power Rangers reboot has been passed on at Netflix but instead we have this hot new piece of toku instead: Ultraman: Rising! And I finally got the chance to check it out last night.

I know Ultraman is one of the big toku/kaiju genre staples but it's never really been on my radar of things to watch. I'm not sure why! I guess Super Sentai/Power Rangers just has more of the it factor that appeals to me. So because of that I really have no context to the story besides it's a guy who can turn into a giant silver superhero that beats up kaiju.........or maybe it's an alien who looks like a human and the silver superhero is his true form? or maybe the human and the silver superhero are two separate beings that share the same body? idk. It's probably all three of those things depending on the series. But this film was marketed as a standalone that new fans could enjoy AND....the big one.....it's ANIMATED, so I felt more inclined to check it out.

And it was really really good!! I enjoyed it a lot!

Spoiler-ish thoughts on the film below:

= Let's get this out of the way: the biggest draw to this was the animation and art direction, and yeah, it slaps. The textures and stylization (always love 2D painted effect animation on explosions and things) and lighting were a full-course meal and the scenes where they focused on Ultraman's shining eyes staring through a window or computer screen were just SO striking. To the point where I feel that if I got around to watching the actual live-action Ultraman, it might feel a little underwhelming in comparison. Oops

= It does kind of fall in the cliches of the "selfish guy learns maturity by having to be a father" plot (with bonus "son is estranged from his dad and mom is missing but they work to improve their relationship" sprinkled in) which makes me appreciate The Return even more (sorry, I'm still Returnpilled) but it's still charming and I can hope if we get more movies they give a little more focus to Ami and Emiko (speaking of which, I know they weren't doing a romance this movie, but Ami having a daughter and the movie being about Ken raising a daughter? oh you know it's happening and I'm here for this because they're both so hot)

= I think Ken is also a better example of the "showboating egotistical hero who learns to mature" than most because the movie isn't afraid to show him vulnerable even before his character development. I was genuinely surprised at that scene where he starts crying out of the stress of balancing his baseball career and figuring out Emi

= Apparently there was some discussion that the movie didn't bring up Ultraman's origins which, as someone who knows next to nothing about Ultraman, that didn't really bother me? Obviously I can still give more benefit of the doubt than people who don't know much about the tokusatsu/kaiju genre to begin with, but even so, I was still pretty down with the concept of "this guy has the ability to turn into a giant silver superpowered man and passed the ability down to his son" - and I think in the age of superhero blockbusters in general the idea isn't that farfetched that it requires more explanation. In any case it's a bit of a moot point since future movies are clearly going to talk about Ultras and their origins more, based on the stinger.

= Is Emi a clear kid-appeal character meant to be shown off in marketing and merchandising because of how squishy and cute she is? Yes. Is she just so fucking squishy and cute and my newest baby child? YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES. I am not immune to monster baby. I think it helps that I always found the old monster screeches cute and applying them to a baby babbling was kinda genius in its execution. And I'm glad they kind of got the obligatory "haha babies poop and are smelly and gross" jokes out of the way early (yeah they had the whole "acid reflux" thing in the second act but I've seen way worse in other media)

= The subtitles calling Sato's Ultra form "Ultradad" and his Ultra mustache were both really funny

= Obviously I knew Ken wasn't going to die when he threw himself on Dr. Onda's mech (btw the mech was sexy) but I definitely expected a little more than just a busted arm with how they were building up how the blast would have "destroyed them all" kdjkfdj maybe they cut to after he had recovered a bit. Though in general I'm not quite sure of how durable Ultraman is

= Kind of a milf. reblog

[apuckishwit]

Interlude: The Besties Conspire

A preview of chapter 28 of Rolled a 1 on the Check, Rolled a 20 on the Save on AO3

All told, living with Steve turns out to be one of the best decisions she and Vickie have ever made.

There are a few hiccups and minor squabbles of course. Going from living alone (or with just his significant other) to having three roommates is an adjustment for Steve. Despite knowing it’s a good idea that will benefit them tremendously in the long run, it is kind of a weird dynamic to be letting Steve pay the entirety of the rent and just pitch in for groceries and utilities. Logically, she knows he can well afford it and he’s doing it out of love and a desire to help pull her, Vickie, and Chrissy up into the place of financial stability his grandparents’ trust fund let him achieve…but it’s still kind of weird.

They work through it, and within a few weeks, it’s smooth sailing. Chrissy throws herself into interviewing for a teaching position in and around her hometown, with her student teaching coming to an end in another month. Robin and Vickie start talking about Vickie maybe quitting her job over the summer so she can apply for some of the internships her marketing professor talks about. It’s never been an option for them before, but it could really help Vickie land a good job when she graduates next year. Then she can support them while Robin finishes her linguistics degree. Steve starts classes and he and Chrissy often spend the evenings bent over his notes and books, going over things while he finds his stride in school again.

After about his second week of classes, it’s Chrissy who sits down with him and asks very nicely if he’s ever been tested for any learning disabilities. “You kind of remind me of some of my kids with ADD, but honestly, the way you describe things, you might just have a general processing delay. Your brain works just fine, it just takes a little longer to digest everything.”

“A few of my teachers wanted to have me tested over the years, but my parents never allowed it. I got by. I was thinking of going to student services and seeing what I’d have to do to get some kind of accommodations, but I got distracted getting registered and moving apartments and everything.”

“If you stop by the student services office and get the forms, I can help you fill them out and make an appointment for the testing. In the meantime, I really think it’d help you if you recorded your lectures instead of trying to take notes. That way, you can highlight the really important stuff as you go, and then come back for anything you missed later.”

Steve looks so stunned at the idea Robin has to laugh a little, even as her heart aches for the thought of her best friend struggling more than he had to, with parents who never cared enough about him to help.

Well fuck it, Steve’s got a whole new family now. One that absolutely will never leave him struggling by himself.

And it’s because he’s got a whole new family that will never leave him struggling, of which Robin is one of the chief parts if she does say so herself, that she and Vickie are determined to help him solve The Eddie Problem. All joking about emotional support lesbians and community bi laws aside, Steve’s her best friend. Her best friend who has made her and her girlfriend’s lives an order of magnitude less stressful, who she loves like a brother, and who she wants to see as deliriously happy with his partner as she is with hers (sue her—she’s happy and in love and she wants to spread that shit around like peanut butter on a slice of bread). And Steve seems pretty fixated on Eddie Munson, but utterly unconvinced that he has a shot.

Which is why she and Vickie are currently perched on the couch on either side of Steve, a huge plate of pulled pork loaded nachos (with the warmer weather, Steve’s cooking class has been doing barbecue lately, and it’s the best thing ever) balanced on Steve’s lap and his laptop set up on the coffee table in front of them. They’ve been watching recordings of this Eddie guy’s streams on and off for about a week now, a few hours at a time, and the number of times she and Vickie have exchanged loaded looks over Steve’s head is ludicrous.

A tilt of Vickie’s eyebrow as Eddie calls Steve some sappy pet name for the umpteenth time: Are you hearing this?

Robin presses her lips together and widens her eyes: He’s not being even remotely subtle.

Robin jerks her chin and shrugs a shoulder when Steve laughs a little too loudly at some joke Eddie’s just made: I can’t believe the dingus ever questioned if he was bi.

Vickie waggles her eyebrows: Right?

Robin sucks her cheeks in like a fish and rolls her eyes heavenward: They’ve got it so bad for each other, it’s making me physically ill.

Vickie smacks her lips and flutters her eyelashes: These nachos are incredible.

“Oh my God, they are!” Robin says out loud, prompting Steve to shoot her a confused look. Robin just ruffles his hair and stuffs another tortilla chip loaded down with pulled pork, barbecue sauce, melted cheese, red onions, and sour cream into her mouth. After a moment, Steve gets distracted by something on the stream, pausing it and rewinding it a few seconds only to listen to the same description of some guard tower in some town before letting out a triumphant hah!. He doesn’t elaborate though, and so Robin pays it no mind. She’s got bigger things to think about.

Like the fact that Eddie Munson has been heavily flirting with her best friend for literal months. Like, it’s not even “I want to get in your pants” flirting, they’re well into “I want to marry you and have your babies, shall we adopt or get a surrogate?” territory. But Steve…her dear, sweet dingus who is somehow simultaneously one of the most mature and emotionally intelligent people she knows and a completely oblivious idiot…will never believe her and Vickie if they tell him that.

She’s going to have to get creative.

She glances down into the chat window displayed at the bottom of Munson’s stream. She and Vickie both clocked the little tally game some of Munson’s regular viewers have going every time he and Steve do or say something that reveals how goddamn down bad they are for each other. And she’s also noticed that one of them in particular seems to be someone who knows Munson in real life, if the side comments he makes to the commenter on mic are anything to go by.

She looks over at her girlfriend and wrinkles her nose, slanting a look down at the chat window where Gare-Bear-Stare has just made another tally mark after Munson took actually kind of an absurdly long time describing Steve’s character’s muscles flexing as he helped heave one of the boys’ characters out of a river crossing: We should talk to this guy.

Vickie gives her a discreet thumbs-up: Absolutely.

Then she presses her hand to her bosom and swoons back against the couch: Seriously, this sauce is to die for.

“It is! I’d eat this on a floor tile!” Robin replies.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Steve asks.

[bots-and-cons]

This is just me ranting about my money situation and such, so no need to read if you don’t feel like it.

I have 77 euros on my bank account and that’s supposed to last me for the rest of the month. I probably should cancel all my subscriptions like disney+ and youtube premium, but that would probably take the last of my will to live so I refuse to do so. I paid for those this month already though so not really use anyway for this month.

I kinda need a new hoodie which would be 30e +delivery so I’m considering that, because I can pay it next month when I hopefully get money, or pay it in parts. The ones I ordered earlier this year weren’t correctly sized on the website, so I gave them to my brother. Too small for me you see. I owe him 300 euros too, so I hoped I could buy some patience with the hoodies, and I guess I did, because he hasn’t asked for his money. In this case I’m talking about my brother E who is away studying in another town.

I have one good hoodie that I wear basically all the time. I just wash it on the weekend or when I don’t need to go anywhere. I would like something to keep me warm in the winter because it’s starting to be pretty old and worn. I don’t really have many thick shirts and it was like -5 degrees celsius today and it’s just going to keep getting colder. I’m obviously not walking around without a winter jacket but still.

I’m trying to manage my money, but you know a 45 euro insurance bill kinda fucked my shit up, because I wasn’t expecting it until the end of the year. It’s paid though. I don’t really need money for other than food for the rest of the month, but fucking hell next month? Oh boy.

I can’t take money from anyone either, unless it’s cash, because otherwise it will show on my bank account. I’m basically living on benefits from the government, housing money and enough so I barely get by. I’m hoping to get on a sick pay of sorts, like the thing they pay you if you’re not able to study or go to work, but that’s not guaranteed since I need a doctor’s note and shit. Then they have to evaluate my ability to work and then they decide if I get money or not. The reason I’m hoping to get on the sick pay thing, is because the government is gonna stop paying me that other benefit I was on, that I was getting by on. The sick pay thing would only be for December hopefully, because I’m hoping to get to school in January. The schools are taking applications next week, and I’m applying to four places, because that’s basically as many as there are for what I want to study at this time of year.

Then there’s of course the issue with the school payment but I’m not gonna worry about that before I even know if I got in. Or I tell myself I’m not gonna worry and then have major stress about it anyway.

My brother T, who lives with me, has been a bit stingy with his money that goes towards our shared expenses. He’s got like 2500 euros saved and he’s supposed to pay me 200 euros a month as rent and for food. BUT my rent is 467e and on top of that there’s a 40e water bill and a 75e electricity bill, so I feel like he should pay me even more, but he doesn’t want to and I’m tired of arguing about it with him so I just settled for the 200e a month. Granted he doesn’t currently have an income, but he’s supposed to start a sort of rehabilitation program soon, during which he will receive financial aid from the government or whatever. He’s 17 and our parents are supposed to pay me because he lives with me and I pay for pretty much all the everyday things, which is like 400e a month. And that’s not even counting electricity. Our mom does pay, dad though? Not so much.

I just filled out an xmas aid application for our local congregation’s xmas aid program thingy, so I’m hoping I can get some help from there next month. I just need to go give it to the deacon of our church or drop it in the church’s mail box. I’m not a religious person or anything, but since I’m in the workshop that's for young unemployed people, they just gave all of us who were there an application, because basically all of us are struggling.

[torturedpoetdean]

How did you become a flight attendant? What do you like about the job, and what don’t you like about it?

i get this question every time i post about my job hskdbskdnfnnfmsms i literally just applied yall it’s so easy!! Just apply!! Especially now literally every airline is hiring!!

i tell everyone to apply always!! i complain a lot but i fucking love my job!! I love how easy it is, a lot of the time it’s literally just serving coke and ginger ale to about 100 people then getting to sit for hours scrolling tumblr and then you get to see THE ENTIRE WORLD. Also the flight benefits, that’s literally my number one favorite thing about my job.

my least favorite part is when it isn’t easy, when something goes wrong during a flight it’s truly so stressful, i have anxiety dreams about medical and mechanical emergencies. Sometimes also the passengers are too much, you really learn a lot about society seeing them cram into a metal tube to travel at 30000 ft in the air, and let me tell you people kinda suck, not always, but when people go to the airport it’s like their asshole switch is turned on once they get through tsa and they take it out on their flight attendants who definitely do not get paid enough to deal with it.

But overall this job is amazing and im so thankful for it, half the cool shit I’ve gotten to do in my adult life has been because of this job. I’ve been to every continent and I’ve seen all 50 states and i got to live in new york city for 8 years!!!! if you had told 18 year old me this would be my life at 28 i would not believe you also I would burst into tears and die probably

[juukai]

cool, coolcoolcool. I had a big post explaining a lot of things but tumblr ate it for some goddamn reason and I’m. I’m so fucking stressed and tired and defeated, whatever. 

I need help. desperately. my water will soon be shut off, I have about $40 to my name and I have so many bills past due and my mortgage due in a few days. I’m unemployed, I am driving for delivery apps as I can but that barely puts food in my mouth and keeps my pets fed, and I am applying for any job I’m remotely qualified for and plenty that I’m not. my roommate is unemployed and doing the same as me. I’ve tried offering commissions where I post my art, but only a single scammer has contacted me. I recently spent a night in the er and got a fun shiny new diagnoses that’ll keep costing me money and has been known to kill poor people who can’t keep up with the raising costs of medications and supplies. 

so here I come, hat in hand, not sure what else to do. I’ve already been filing for unemployment, they haven’t made a decision. ebt finally decided I qualified for emergency funds, then didn’t send out a card for me for over a week and a half and recently decided any benefits are on hold anyway because they don’t want to overpay me. I haven’t even gotten the card yet, not sure why they’re already worried about that and also I promise the small amount you approved me for isn’t a gross over-allowance of benefits. 

anyway anything is appreciated. I’m not asking for help for free, I will draw you things if you even want it. I thought about a patreon but like. I can’t even get commissions so what would be the point. here’s my insta and my paypal.

paypal

instagram/pinned commission post

[dragonsatmidnight]

CN: SI

I'm very tired of my brain. And being disabled. And bureaucracy.

I got a car recently because I haven't been able to reliably get myself to medical appointments using the Idaho medicaid transportation system, thinking that because my section 8 benefits would allow me to get an apartment at 935 rent and my current apartment is 795 a month, I could budget for and shop for a car. Except apparently the 935 also has to include all of the utilities they expect me to pay, so they're denying my application because I can't pay enough of a percentage of the rent to qualify for the voucher program.

I've been told there's no way to appeal, and no way for me to reapply with a higher income. So either I try to think of ways to appeal, or ways that I can try to find loopholes, or whatever else, and maybe make headway and get my section 8 benefits, or maybe I just end up putting in a ton of work only to need to subject myself to several months of deeply crushing poverty. Or I don't try and subject myself to deeply crushing poverty.

Which is making me struggle with SI, because poverty that crushing is exhausting, dehumanizing, and you know, miserable. One of the biggest things that can trigger my SI is shit like this. I was living in an abusive situation for literal years, because I didn't think I could tolerate the financial instability of living on a fixed income, unable to have enough money to comfortably feed and clothe and toiletry myself without massive amounts of stress. I got evicted, I went through apartment hunting and moving, I spent months trying to get everything sorted, and I thought I had gotten a handle on things, gone through all of the social programs, and put my brain and body through fucking hell, to realize that I probably needed to move out years ago, and I was in the process of getting my social assistance programs moving, and I could see the light at the end of the jumping through flaming hoops stress tunnel.

Only to get denied based on an overestimation of the utilities I pay, and not being able to just pay another 72 dollars a month so I'm not relying on my parents temporary help to have housing security.

I'm tired of fighting, I'm exhausted, every single thing about being disabled is turning life into this massive fight.

I want to sleep indoors, have a nice computer, have enough clothing to get by, have the accessibility equipment I need, and have enough to eat. The fact that I have to fight like hell in order to get these very, very basic things is exhausting and it makes me want to give up on life. But I can't even do that, because trying to kill myself has mostly resulted in more chronic health issues. And I can't handle any more chronic health issues without shattering the rest of my sanity.

I'm tired of obstacles making me want to die. I'm tired of obstacles. I'm tired of having a brain and body that barely function, only to have to somehow force my brain and body to function if I want to have anything in life.

I don't know if anyone in this void I'm shouting into would have constructive feedback, or how I would feel about it when all I want to do is lie down and give up.

I'm waiting on emails tomorrow to see what's going on, and I'm going to continue to try to talk with the woman at HUD to see if there's anything I can do here.

I may be able to try to apply for adult disabled child benefits when my step dad applies for benefits come July. I may be able to get an increase allotment because I need a ground floor unit and I couldn't find any in my town.

Do I have hope? Not currently. Do I want to try to force myself to have hope? Not especially.

I know I want to be done. I know I want to lie down and not worry about anything. There's a voice whispering in the back of my head that if I died, my partner would have a bunch of their debt forgiven. I would want them to have my car, but honestly I don't know what happens to a car you're making payments on when you die. Does the bank get it?

I know they'd rather have me. I'm just so tired. And I'm exhausted. and I'm tired of having to deal with all of the hoops, and the SI on top of the hoops.

I'm sleep deprived and rambling now, so I'll try to call it there. This is just depressing and demoralizing.

[the-kipsabian]

im just gonna complain idk

but like. i applied for payment helps last week. i got a message back today that apparently between receiving my application and working on it to make decisions, some law changes happened and now they are enforcing the preset cost of living limit harder than before when applying for these things before they make decisions on whether or not you qualify for this kind of help or not

this thing is already incredibly difficult to apply for properly and to get in sums that actually help much of anything. previously if your living costs were above the limit, they just shrugged it off depending on the sum and just deducted that from the amount they paid to you. this has never been an issue for me before, ive been applying for this every few months while being unemployed for years

with this new change, however. my living costs are 27.65 euros above the limit. twenty. fucking. seven. and they are making an issue out of that. and by making an issue out of it, it not only delays them making decisions on my application (and me getting money which at this point and around this time of year is not only fucking irritating but also affects like everything else going on rn), but with the new law it apparently comes with a requirement for me to either offer reasoning why im living in an apartment "above my affordable living costs" OR they are gonna cut my benefits and force me to look for a cheaper apartment for a few months until i can prove its impossible (this is literally one of the cheapest one bedroom apartments in this entire city. what in the fuck. we looked around with friends this morning when i broke the news and the only places that are under the 498€ cost limit this city has for some fucking reason are in places that no unemployed carless person - that i am - will be able to live in. but nooooo i have to keep looking)

im just. this whole thing makes no sense. its so fucking stressful. they keep the preset limit the same throughout the years but dont count in the fact that not only are small, cheap apartments more and more difficult to find every fucking year, but that the actual cost of living and rent and shit keeps going up all the time. im literally only applying for this payment help cause im out of everything else. the rent is not the fucking issue here, its literally everything else. me having to suddenly try to find a new apartment and move (which, ofc, they wouldnt help me with at all. cause obviously) is not going to fucking help, cause all they are gonna do with that is cut my pre-existing rent help to match that rent price and im still out of fucking money

im stressed out, im exhausted, i woke up to this fucking mess after barely sleeping for a few hours, im in both mental and physical pain rn and im just. im so ready to give up if they dont accept my explanation on how i need this place and these payments in full cause theres literally no other feasible options in this city for me without it making me physically and socially separated from everything and everyone which will be disastrous for my mental and physical wellbeing. im so fucking tired

merry christmas to me or whatever i have never wanted to kill myself more than i do right now sorry

[mistywitcher]

okay hi hello. what is going on? good question.

i have read 9 books this month and i have decided that no, that is not healthy, that is not “good for mental health”. it is in fact bad, as i have basically dissociated for the last 26 days and now i have to face reality and cannot FUNCTION.

the chronic fatigue and pain is getting to be a lot now, i hate leaving the house, i hate seeing people, i hate getting dressed. every single task is monumental, eating is hard, showering is hard, the only thing I am good at is sleeping or chain smoking cigarettes while reading.

I have bailed on the last 5 social events I was invited to.

my body aches, constantly.

i am 22, not able to work, barely functioning, living on benefits and having to apply for more. My mum has had to get a job to support me AT 22 YEARS OLD WHEN I SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THAT MYSELF.

and worst of all, I try to tell myself this isn’t my fault, that I’m doing my best, that I am not a complete and utter waste of an existence, but I don’t truly believe that. I cannot. Not when my self worth is so down the drain that I can’t stand to see myself in a mirror or go out and have anyone else look at me.

My job was literally performing/presenting and now I can’t even look at myself. I cannot cope with anyone looking at me.

I have given up thinking I can love someone, or can be loved. Sure my friends and family love me. But real love, it doesn’t fucjing exist, at least not me for. I cannot feel it, I want to so bad but I can’t. And I fucking know that no one will feel it for me, as I will never be able to return it. I am a cursed aromantic hopeless romantic and that’s just brilliant isn’t it?

I am worried. They’ve done tests and I am a lab rat for a bit. It looks like they found out what’s wrong with me too. The first test has come back saying I make 6 times the amount of cortisol (stress hormone) than I should be, which is FUCKED and no wonder I am feeling so horrendous. But now I’m stressed. What if all the other tests I now have to do come back fine and this was my fault for being lazy and just mentally ill?

There is literally nothing I can do until the doctors get more results. I have never been more hopeful to be diagnosed with a rare disease (Cushings) and a potential tumour lol. Because if it is, then it’s treatable. But if it’s not then it’s just back to square fucking one again.

I’m just fucking over it. I’m over this. I am not living. I am existing. And not even because I want to, but because I have to for everyone else. It’s not even something I get a choice about. I’m just fucking stuck here taking up air for no reason.

Mum booked me therapy for Tuesday lol. No fucking wonder.

sorry for the rant but I literally needed to just write down what is swirling in my hear every fucking day all the time that I can’t share because no one needs to fucking hear how shit I feel all the time.

[theluxuriansecret]

Dear Diary 05072023

1123 pm

I'm sad. I have been feeling all these things different things lately and I've been trying to let things rock and just move along with them as I go. I don't when I need to let things rock or when to take control. You can't have control of things all the time, and you can't predict the outcome of things, unless you take control and ruin and or sabotage them, but does it have to be sabotage or can I not comprehend it in a way where the rejection is helpful?

Anyway. I have been incredibly stressed. I have these summer classes coming up that are incredibly expensive. I need to find a new dentist and cancel my wisdom tooth removal because I want a second opinion. I need to find this perfume my mother wants for mothers day and actually plan her mother's day. Mother's days is always so incredibly stressful to me. I have an exam tomorrow and it will literally make or break my grade. As of right now, I'm jobless and I've applied to soooo many jobs and internships and haven't head anything back, which is incredibly frustrating. And lastly, the guy I've been dating was really weird today, and I really don't like that.

I've been dating this guy for only two months, but it has felt like fucking forever. I honestly know that I don't like him as much as I initially did after he hd sex with me on his phone and wouldn't tell me what it is. I feel like ever since then I have tried to reinstate these feelings, but it is absolutley not happening, which is why I asked early when is it "letting things rock" and when is it "i'm being controlling". I think at this point he is definitely guiding the relationship. I don't assert myself because I feel like I'm too clingy but then I feel like it makes it seem like I don't care and I don't put in real effort. I think these are all things that should be discussed but I guess in writing this the real answer is I'm letting it rock because I don't know what I want. I don't know if I'm ready to commit. Even though I basically am not seeing (/dating/talking to /having sex with) anyone else. And although thought entertaining this relationship would benefit me and keep me from making bad decisions all it's done was make me question myself, in good ways though!

[fingertipsmp3]

Anyone else having an absolutely unhinged week or is that just me

[fweasleyswhore]

Commitments - Smut

pairing: Oliver Wood, Fred Weasley, George Weasley x fem!reader (no incest just sharing)

a/n: I would like to do a pt 2 to this because I just have so much more I can fit into this dynamic and I like it (hornhee disease really takin over)

word count : 4.9k

warning: smut, 18+ themes, face fucking (male recieving), oral and fingering (female recieving), unprotexted sex -wrap before you tap kids-, choking, dom/sub themes, slight bdsm themes, subby reader, titles are given, its pure filth, friends with benefits relationship

mature readers only, this has heavier themes in it and i only want people who are completely ok with those themes reading

My head pounded and my stomach growled. It was the first feeling I registered as I opened my eyes. I was cold, hungry, and in pain. I blinked a few times, pulling my head up from its position on the table where I had been napping. I focussed my eyes on my unfinished potions essay. Groaning I rubbed my eyes. Not only did I not finish it, but I also fell asleep. It was due in two days and I had barely started. I still needed to-

Quidditch Practice. The potions essay fell to the depths of my mind as I scoured the library walls for a clock. Unsuccessful in finding one, I decided I was probably only late. Shoving my papers into my bag I ran out of the library, ignoring wandering stares from students I made my way to the changing rooms.

The door flung open and slowed down for the first time, panting slightly I made it over to the lockers, ready to get out my equipment. I picked up my shaky hands to do the combination when a voice interrupted me.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Oliver spoke. Based on the volume of his voice and the slight temperature change in the air, he was right behind me. Pulling my bottom lip between my lip I turned around, his toned chest was dripping, a towel hung low on his hips and his hair was ruffled slightly and damp. Our bodies were merely inches apart and I could see the anger in his eyes as I looked up at him.

 “Ollie…” I tried but my nickname for him only caused an annoyed look to grace his features.

“Don’t,” His voice was stern and it made me feel cold. “You knew how important practice was today but you skipped anyway. We play Slytherin in two days! Where were you? Giving our play strategies to Adrian Pucey probably.” He rolled his eyes and walked next to me. He turned his attention to his locker, presumably to get clothes as I was left there with my mouth feeling dry and a ball of guilt in my stomach replacing my hunger.

“I fell asleep in the library, I don’t have an excuse,” I spoke truthfully and watched my hands as I spoke afraid to meet his gaze. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately and I dozed off. I really am sorry.”

He sighed and I wished at that moment I could crawl inside myself and disappear. “L/N, I don’t play favorites, you know this, but you are an essential part of this team. In this practice, we were working in groups, Fred George and I practically sat there the entire time because you were missing from our group. The other chasers were running well-needed drills and we had devised a strategic plan that would push not only you but the three of us too and you weren’t there. Today’s practice was a waste of time for us.” His words hurt me, they were filled with anger and it wasn’t a feeling he had ever directed at me.

“Ollie I truly am so sorry. I know this and I wish there was anything I could do to make it up to you. I know how stressed you are about the game, I just, I’m so sorry.” I finally looked up and he was facing me again, his locker forgotten. He was close to me again, his body heaved as he breathed heavily.

“Stress relief?” He asked, causing me to furrow my brows. Before I could ask him what he meant he spoke again. “You are right, I am stressed, that’s why I’m asking if you will help me with stress relief.”

I nodded understandably. I couldn’t fight the smile that found its way to my face as I realized what he was asking for. “You want me to massage your shoulders Wood?” I asked teasingly. He let out a short breath before taking a step forward. He toward over me, our chests almost flush as his hand caressed my cheek. His touch was sending shivers down my spine and butterflies to erupt in my stomach. Oliver was a good friend of mine, I always left my lingering eyes on him for too long but never admitted my feelings for him. I wasn’t sure if they were real feelings or pure lust. Being on the quidditch team I was never sure if I liked him or seeing his half-naked body as he ran down drills.

“Not what I had in mind,” I bit my lip as the nerves began to build up. His hand trailed down my cheek and under my jaw which he grasped semi firmly, pulling my face up to his. Our lips met in a messy heated kiss. I gasped into his mouth as my hand found its way to his neck pulling him closer to me. His legs parted my own and he pushed his hips flush against mine. An unintentional moan slipped from my mouth at the contact but that didn’t stop him, if anything it fueled his motions. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, it was a short fight that he quickly won. He pulled away suddenly, my face remained in his grip, the stern hand he had on my face caused my lips to part slightly. I looked up at him, blinking my lashes and grinding my hips softly onto his leg that was positioned in between my legs.

“I want this but I need to know you do too.” His voice was usually cheery but now it was stern and low, a side of him I had never seen and god I wished I did sooner. I pushed my hips down with more force, the friction finally hitting where I need it most and I moaned.

“Godric, yes Oliver, yes, yes, yes.” His gaze was cold and his face didn’t change when I gave my answer, instead he pushed his thigh harder into me, adding pressure I didn’t know I needed. “Fuck.” I whimpered shutting my eyes.

“Tsk, Tsk,” He tutted, pulling my eyes open I looked up at him. “If you continue to have a dirty mouth like that I’ll fill it up. Understood?” Growing wetter at his words I nodded feverishly. “Words darling.” He pushed his thigh into me harder. I let out a short breath, trying to compose myself.

“Y-Yes Sir.”

“Good girl. Keep being good maybe I will forget about the punishment I had planned for your absence.” I let out a whimper at his praise, the promise of punishment striking my core, had he thought of this before? He smirked down at me as I began to rut my hips against his thigh. Occasionally he would pull his leg back causing me to whine only to push it back with more force than before causing my legs to lose feeling as the pleasure built up. We were so wrapped up in our display we didn’t hear the two prominent footsteps grow closer until they were right next to us.

“Bloody hell.” Geroge’s voice interrupted. I opened my eyes and pulled Oliver against me to shield myself, in doing so I could feel the prominent bulge that formed under his not so restraining towel. “We heard Y/N came to the locker room and Fred and I were half sure you were killing her, not…” He trailed off and I watched as his eyes looked me up and down, my hair was no doubt a mess and Oliver’s leg was still in between mine applying a wonderful but also horrible pressure to my clit.

“Glad you’re not dead Y/N, but if getting off is what you wanted you could have always just come to my dorm,” Fred spoke from beside George. Leaning against the other row of lockers he looked significantly more comfortable than George, his trademark smirk plastered his face and his eyes kept flickering to where Oliver’s leg was positioned. I grew hot at his words as I looked between the twins. My eyes flickered up to Oliver who was giving both boys, especially Fred, a hard glare. Before I could protest Oliver’s hand found my hip and he pushed my hips into his thigh, pulling me forward into a rocking motion. I reacted by throwing my head back and letting out a moan, the feeling was too good to hide it. I didn’t let myself get too lost in the pleasure as I remembered our audience. Pulling my head back I eyed the boys with half-lidded eyes. Oliver was still guiding my hips against his thigh, his eyes were trained on my face as I whimpered trying to blink and focus on what was happening, my brain was fighting not wanting to stop but also worried about Fred and George’s presence.

Fred’s eyes were wide and hungry, he was still leaning against the lockers but his eyes were trained on the way my body moved. George was too watching, he took his brother’s stance, leaning on the lockers next to me. I could see two significant tents forming in both of their trousers, George’s hand slid into his pocket and he silently palmed himself at my display.

Seeing that they were enjoying themselves I let my worries dissipate, throwing my head back I moved my hips in time with Oliver’s guiding hands. Oliver ducked his head and began sucking on my neck. Rutting my hips faster I became more vocal, Fred and George let out small grunts here and there that I assume was due to their hands work which only egged on my ministrations. Soon enough the feeling became too overwhelming to bear, my legs began to shake and my breathing was becoming labored. “Ollie please, I need to-” My words were cut short as Oliver harshly nipped at my neck causing me to gasp.

“That’s not my name.” He whispered in my ear. I felt his arms stop their guidance slowing me down.

“Please Sir, please let me cum.” I begged submissively, not worried about the whine in my voice but rather the orgasm that was so close which was starting to vanish.

His hands grasped my hips with a different purpose now and he brought me back to the same speed that had me whimpering and moaning a few seconds ago.

“What do you think guys? Shall we let Y/N cum? Has she earned it?” I snapped my eyes open looking between the three boys frantically, letting out whines as Oliver applied more pressure with his thigh.

“I’m not sure she has,” Fred spoke up, he had a drunken look of hunger that made me shiver.

“I don’t think so.” George agreed.

“What a shame,” Oliver said looking down at me. “Guess you have to wait, darling.” With those few words, he held my hips firm and removed his thigh from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if his thigh had gotten wet through my trousers but I was too upset to be concerned with that at the moment. I whined lightly at the loss of contact and tried to stabilize my shaky legs.

“How can I earn it?” I looked between the boys who all adorned with wide grins. When I got no response I decided to push a little. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just get myself off.” All three boys lost their grins, not completely but their eyes went dark at my words, and they stood up straighter, they watched my hands as they trailed down to my trousers, popping the button.

“Brats don’t get rewards,” George said softly from next to me. His hand grasped mine and halted my motions, his grip was iron tight as he looked down at me. I angled my body so I was facing him, with my free hand I cupped him through his trousers.

“Then tell me what to do, sir.” I looked up at him with the most innocent face I could muster, cocking my head to the side slightly. I’m sure the markings on my neck from Oliver ruined the innocent facade a little bit but watching George swallow hard and breathe heavily through his nose was enough to tell me it was working.

“On your knees, now.” His voice was firm and it sent shivers down my spine as I sunk to my knees. My face was level with George’s clothed cock, I placed my hands behind my back and looked up at him waiting for permission. He brought his hand down, pulling my head up from my chin, he swiped my bottom lip with his thumb. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

I smiled at the name, undoing his pants with ease I heard a slight groan as I pulled them down freeing his erection a bit. He was big, much bigger than I’ve had before. I tried to swallow my nerves as I pulled him out and stroked him slowly. I wrapped my lips around his tip, circling the tip with my tongue that elicited a moan from above me. I smiled and began to take him, or as much as I could. He hit the back of my throat before I got to his base, I gagged lightly and began to bob my head, stroking what was left with my hand. I felt a foreign hand in my hair, straining my eyes I looked up to see Oliver pulling some strands of my hair back. I rubbed my thighs together my arousal building to extreme heights.

“Fuck,” George moaned. He pulled out enough so his tip rested against my lips. “Do you think you can take all of me?” I stroked him slowly as I thought to myself.

“Will it get me my reward,” I asked in a sweet tone. He opened his mouth to reply so I kitten licked his tip, twisting my wrist as I continued to pump him. His words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as he hissed.

“Definitely, and if you stop being a brat it will probably get you two.” I smiled at his response and pulled back my hand, opting to rest both of them on my thighs. Opening my mouth I relaxed my jaw and stuck my tongue out. George took his dick and slapped my tongue with it a few times.

“Such a good girl, so ready for me aren’t you, whore?” He asked with a devilish smirk. I nodded and let out a small involuntary whine at his words.

“Such a little slut, you’re gonna let him use you like that?” Fred asked. He walked over, his dick now free from its restraints he pumped it slowly. He ran his fingers through my hair, grabbing it tightly and pulling my head back to face him, his harshness made me whine and I squeezed my thighs together, growing wetter. “You like this don’t you? Such a dirty girl.” He let go of my hair and my head fell forward, George’s dick slapping my cheek lightly in the process.

“Our dirty girl.” Oliver praised smoothing my hair. I smiled before opening my mouth again, making eye contact with George to let him know I was ready. He smiled and slid in slowly, I wrapped my mouth around him and tried to maintain my composure as he began to slide down my throat. I gagged lightly which caused him to groan and go deeper. I breathed out through my nose as my eyes began to well up, I closed them and focussed on keeping my throat open for him.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my thigh, opening my eyes, blinking some tears away. I could make out Fred smiling as he kneeled next to me. I shut my eyes spreading my legs for him. He dipped his hand into my trousers tracing my lips from outside my panties. I moaned at the contact around George making him groan.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you, completely soaked for us,” Fred whispered in my ear pushing my panties to the side. I moaned again which caused George to pick up his pace. I was gagging and tears were streaming down my face but I was enjoying it so much. Fred circled my clit with his nimble fingers making me gag and moan more but I didn’t care. George’s thrusts were becoming erratic and I knew he would come soon. Purposely swallowing around him caused him to meet his end. He buried his dick inside of my throat, my nose pressed up against his abdomen I moaned, swallowing his cum that shot down my throat. He pulled out of me, a trail of spit followed connecting us until it broke, slapping against my chin. Panting, I gasped for air and leaned my head on Fred’s shoulder. Fred picked his speed up on my clit causing me to yell out his name. He continued his brutal pace and I felt my orgasm catching up to me yet again.

“Please, George,” My words were cut off by a moan and I jerked my head back. “Please I’m going to cum I need your permission.” Fred was chuckling in my ear from my desperation but I couldn’t care right now. My legs were shaking and my abdomen was cramping up as I continued to fight it off.

George knelt in front of me, grabbing my neck with a strong hand he pulled my head forward. I fought against my body to open my eyes and look at him. “Cum for us, cum like the whore you are.” As he spoke he increased the pressure on my neck. My eyes rolled back as my orgasm washed over me, I shook violently, screaming out I felt myself release. Fred didn’t stop his fingers, they continued his brutal pace and his smirk grew as I began to shake from overstimulation.

“Good whore.” Fred whispered pulling his hand away from my core. I leaned back against Oliver’s leg and watched as Fred sucked his fingers clean. Oliver looked down at me with his dark eyes, filled with lust and hunger. Fred linked his arm around my waist and pulled me up. We walked over to a bench at the end of the row of lockers, he laid me down on my back. I giggled to myself watching him struggle to pull my trousers off. My laughter was cut short as he landed a short slap to my bare pussy, I moaned at the harsh contact.

“Don’t be a brat.” He warned and I nodded. I pulled my shirt off and unhooked my bra. Fred inserted a finger inside of me, slowly he began to pump in and out before adding another one, I moaned at the light stretch as he pumped faster, curling them to hit my G-spot.

“Such pretty moans.” George praised. He was knelt beside me and began to massage my breasts. I gasped as he began to suck on my nipple. Pulling my hands up I ran my fingers through his hair. Oliver stood on my other side, he was slowly pumping his cock at the scene below him. I felt Fred pull his fingers out and I whined at the loss. Fred spit directly onto my clit, I felt the liquid drip down and mix with my own juices.

“Spread your legs for me, darling,” I did as he said and opened my legs for him. “So pretty, princess, are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” I whined out. George was now attacking my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh that took my breath away. I stopped breathing completely as Fred pushed into me. Slowly he filled me to the hilt, he had to be the same size as George. I felt him bump my cervix when his hips met mine. My mouth was open in a silent scream as he let out a slow groan. He stayed there for a moment, letting me get used to the stretch that came with his impressive size. When he felt me relax he began to slowly thrust in and out of me.

“Faster, fuck, please faster.” I moaned out. He quickly obliged by setting a ruthless pace that had my brain cloudy with the pleasure I was feeling. Oliver leaned down, kissing me roughly, our teeth clashed due to my shaking from Fred’s pace but that didn’t stop either of us.

“Such a whore, putting this show on for me, is this supposed to make me forgive you?” He asked, one of his hands trailed down my torso, he left feather-light touches on my breasts.

“Y-Yes all for you.” I struggled out. He suddenly pinched my nipple, pulling it lightly causing me to moan out loudly.

“Hm, all for me? You let them down too, it’s not very kind if it’s all for me now is it?” I nodded in agreement unable to speak as Fred propped my leg onto his shoulder, the new angle intensifying the pleasure I was feeling. “What are we going to do about that then?” Oliver asked.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. I couldn’t conjure up a sentence much less a viable answer that would satisfy him as my orgasm steadily approached.

“What a shame, it looks like I will have to punish you after all.” He whispered in my ear. I moaned at his words. Fred continued to hit that spot deep inside me that sent me closer to heaven and hell at the same time.

“I need to, please, I-” My words drowned out into a moan as Fred thrust harder.

“You need to cum, slut?” Fred asked, words spaced out with his thrusts. His hair was dripping with sweat, his chest was glistening with sweat, somewhere in the process he had lost his shirt.

“Yes, yes please!” I begged.

I could hear the smirk on his face as he replied. “Cum for me princess.” My second orgasm washed over me. My legs shook and I tightened my walls, screwing my eyes shut I let out a long moan as Fred continued to pump in and out of me, riding out my orgasm. His hips began to slow and he stopped, flush against me I felt his dick twitch, shooting long ropes of cum painting my insides.

Fred’s hands rubbed up and down my thighs, soothing their shaking. He kissed my knee and unhooked my leg from his shoulder, gingerly pulling out, I whined feeling sensitive and empty at the loss. Fred walked to the side of me, replacing Oliver who was now out of sight. He kneeled beside me and stroked my hair. “You did so good.” He praised.

George hummed softly, his head rested on my stomach under my breast where he was leaving soft kisses earlier beforehand. “Such a pretty slut for us.” He added.

“She may be pretty but that’s not going to make up for what she did.” Oliver said, he was circling his hands on my thighs, his towel now long forgotten, his erection was prominent and it prodded my legs as they shook. His tip was red and needy with precum, I could only assume how much it ached.

“Hm and what did she do?” Fred asked, feigning confusion, a slight smirk on his lips. Oliver had a smile playing on his lips as his hands trailed toward my core. He started to tease my folds, rubbing around spreading the shared release between me and Fred everywhere except my throbbing clit.

“She skipped practice, you know that.” Oliver growled.

“I didn’t mean to-” I trued but Oliver suddenly slapped my pussy, the harsh contact with my clit made me moan.

“You skipped.” He said sternly. I took that as a signal to shut up so I nodded, feeling the excitement buzz in my veins. My pussy throbbed in anticipation as his fingers ghosted over my entrance and up to my clit.

“Hm, I didn’t think about that, should I have punished you princess?” Fred asked. Before I could answer George attached his lips to my nipple, he lapped it and bit it lightly causing me to gasp. He pulled off with a pop, grinning.

“I should have bent you over my knee, showed you who you belong too.” George purred, he trailed up so his breath fawned over the shell of my ear. “Would you have liked that sweetheart? Being so marked and bruised you can’t sit straight? Everytime you sit down you will be reminded of the little whore you are for us, how you bent over willingly, swallowed my cock and came on Freddies fingers. You would like that wouldn’t you?” His voice was deep and it sent shivers through me and took the air from my lungs.

“I think she likes that George.” Oliver said grinning. “Shes practically dripping.” Suddenly he inserted two fingers into me, pumping at a relentless pace. Sounds of squeltching filled the air as he began to hit that spot inside of me, over and over again. I screwed my eyes shut feeling blissed out as George nipped my ear whispering small taunts while massaging my breasts, Fred on my other side whispering praise and playing with my hair.

“You like being used don’t you?” Geroge would ask, licking the shell of my ear.

“Such a good girl, you gonna moan princess?” Fred would add, kissing my cheek.

They continued the process until I was a writhing mess. I was about to ask for permission to cum when Oliver wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking and flicking it with his tongue that just sent me over the edge. I came for a third time, shaking crying out, I felt a few tears fall from eyes as he didn’t slow down until I was convulsing and my eyes were rolled back in my head. Oliver pulled back and I gasped for air now that I was given a slight break. Suddenly he slammed into me, his dick stretched me in a delicious way. I yelped at the sudden contact. He didn’t give me time to adjust like Fred, instead he pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back into me.

“O-Ollie.” I moaned out throwing my head back.

“What do you call me?” He growled, slapping my clit lightly and thrusting in forcefully. He halted his motions for a moment, grinding his hips into me and it felt heavenly.

“I’m sorry Sir! Please keep going!” I whined.

“Good girl.” Oliver praised pulling out an slamming back into me. He continued his relentless pace, slapping my clit and tits, pinching my nipples, occasionally leaning over to nip at my leg. I alternated between kissing Fred and George who whispered dirty things to me and swallowed the moans I left in their mouths. I felt Oliver speed up and I felt yet again that I was teetering on the edge.

“Sirs, please I need to cum,” I whined looking between all three boys. Fred and George nodded with cheeky grins and my gaze fell forward to Oliver between my legs. Oliver grabbed my hip with one hand, reaching down and grabbing my neck with the other in grip that could bruise.

“Cum then, cum on my dick slut.” Oliver grunted tightening his grip on my neck. I gave in, letting go and cumming harder than I have before. I let go, squirting onto his torso. Oliver kept pumping into me riding out my orgasm until he pulled out, cumming on my pussy, throwing white ropes on my glistening cunt. I was breathless and lightheaded, Oliver let go of my neck, my head fell back against the bench and I panted. Oliver spread my legs whistling lowly to himself.

“So pretty.” He muttered before ducking his head down and running a long stripe up my folds with his tongue. I jolted at the feeling, my body spasming as his tongue hit my clit. I felt him suck lightly and I whined. That’s when he pulled his head up, and leaned over me, his lips were in a tight line and his body caged me. He took one of his hands and placed two fingers on my chin, applying light pressure signaling for me to open my mouth. I did, sticking my tongue out as I made eye contact with him. He spat our combined juices into my mouth, some of it getting on my chin. He used his thumb to lap it up, wiping it on my tongue.

“Swallow it.” He commanded. I did as I was told, opening my mouth to show him when I was done. “Good slut.” He praised.

“Beautiful.” George added.

“Breathtaking.” Fred quipped. I felt my cheeks heat up at their praise.

“T-Thank you.” I said timidly. Oliver smiled, it was his usual soft smile that made me melt. He stood up, offering a hand I gladly took and stood with him on my shaky legs. I slipped slightly and George stood on my side grabbing my hip. I felt Fred’s gentle hand on my back offering his support should I need it.

They cleaned me up, offering support and praise every second of the way. The game with Slytherin went well, Gyrffimdor won by a landslide, and once again we found ourselves in the locker room together celebrating.