#probably took out competition 💀

[wolfcutboyfriend]

this is absolutely amazing! so so happy with how this turned out and the vibes are immaculate 🥺 giggling and kicking my feet fr 🥺💖

commissioned this from @marudyne 💖 reposting with permission

[fizzydrink698]

conflict, conceal, confess | minho

kinktober day 31: thigh-riding

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 18.1k (💀)

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

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

summary:

“Why don’t we call a truce?”

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

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

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

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

“Your brother is such an asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet boy. Sweet, innocent, oblivious boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. Funny how things come full circle like that.

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

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

I just thought you’d do better than that.

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

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

Whatever. It was ancient history.

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

And that…

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

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

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

Ugh. Asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course he was.

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

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

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

“…Mm-hm. Me too.”

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

Scroll through your e-mails, and wait.

For him.

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

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

Fuck, it was freezing.

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

You

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

Lixie

…

i mean

…literally you last week

You

OK first of all

That was a fucking Guillaume Van Bebber seminar

The man has a Nobel prize

Second of all

That wasn’t a Monday

Third

Shut up

Lixie

ok no cookies for you

You

Wait no, what??

I take it back.

Take it all back.

You’re my bestest friend in the whole world.

Bestest and smartest.

Waittt

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

You did, however, notice a familiar voice.

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

Cool, even more waiting.

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

Towards you.

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

Like, ­fuck-you money.

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

Well, Minho’s fucking tree trunk thighs.

Which you also hated.

With a passion.

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

You know what?

Didn’t matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You opened your mouth instinctively, before pausing.

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

Minho kept staring, looking…strangely expectant.

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Fuck, OK, they did look pretty good.

Still, the principle of the matter remained.

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

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

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s always bitter.”

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

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

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

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

“How are you and Felix even related?”

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

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

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seungmin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was kind of a dumb question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The speech.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who would?” Minho remarked, deadpan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…What? What the fuck was happening here?

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

What the fuck was in this coffee?

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

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

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

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

You could be professional.

You could be insanely fucking professional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Yep.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

“…Good.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

A challenge.

Minho was absolutely trying to get you to chicken out.

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

“Great, I’ll let them know.”

“Looking forward to it.”

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

Yeah, this truce was definitely going to last.

This was a terrible idea.

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

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

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

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

OK.

Breathe.

Go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

And he…

He looked…

Holy fucking shit.

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

Fuck, those were leather pants. Skin-tight.

Oh, you had to leave right now–

“Hi,” you said, standing your ground.

“You’re late,” Minho noted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’ll win.”

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

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

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

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

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

Felix hesitated. “…Actually, maybe I–”

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

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

Right. OK. Alone with Minho.

Cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words should have sounded patronising.

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

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

“Minho!”

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t working.

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

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was…

Was that…?

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

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

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

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

Of course he has a balcony.

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You point-blank refused to dwell on it.

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

…Yeah?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, do I?” You remarked, bitterly.

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

And it made you feel so…small. Pathetic.

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

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

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

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

“What? Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “…What?”

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

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

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

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

“What? When?”

He didn’t know?

How could he not know?

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

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

Oh.

Yeah, he really didn’t know.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Embarrassment?

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

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

“And a little pathetic.”

“Good, go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

You softened, just for a second.

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

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

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

“If you kept being an asshole?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What else would it be?”

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

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

This was just…exhausting, sometimes.

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

Maybe it was time for you to leave.

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

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

You stopped.

You stared.

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

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

He just…looked at you.

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

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

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

Minho had been absolutely, undeniably, checking you out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed to ask. You needed to say it.

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

“Are you…attracted to me?”

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

Except Minho didn’t say ‘no’.

He didn’t say anything.

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

…Oh.

That…

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

Minho found you attractive.

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

Huh.

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

Which would be a terrible idea.

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

He…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did neither of those things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be inside Minho’s bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes dropped, and his expression changed.

“Oh, wow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They are stupidly tight.”

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

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

And then, he asked. “Bed?”

You stilled, hesitating. “…Bed?”

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

He wasn’t fooled. “Is something up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucker.

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

“I figured as much.”

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

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

Honest.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Minho stilled, staring at you, eyes widening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was…nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was hard, very obviously and very painfully hard.

And all of that was because of you.

Because he wanted you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minho.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You buried your face in his neck, panting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a sight, you thought. Pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you’d done.

What had you done?

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

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

What the fuck had you–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would Felix say?

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

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

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

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

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

A…

Well, whatever Minho was.

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

He paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho paused. “…Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stopped.

“And…?” You asked.

His mouth opened. Closed. And opened again. “…I…you don’t have to go.”

You felt something warm unfurl in your chest. “Minho, do you want me to stay?”

“…Yes.”

You took a step forward, tension melting from your shoulders, replaced with a new curiosity. You couldn’t quite believe this was happening, and yet…

Well, you couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Yes, what?”

He exhaled, making a sound almost akin to a huff. You recognised that sound, you knew it from debating, from arguing, from whenever you caught a weakness in his defence and pressed him on it. “Yes, I want you to stay.”

You took another step. “Why?”

This time, he scoffed, as if it could hide the slow flush of pink making its way up his neck. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and wow, this was fun. “Yes, you do. You’re too smart not to.”

You grinned. “Thanks, but no. You’re going to have to say it.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I am,” you said, without shame, and added. “You’re into that.”

He sighed, and gave in. “Yes, I am.”

“Well done,” you laughed, finally drawing it out of him. “You’re into me.”

Minho eyed you for a second, still just a touch out of reach. Like he’d done it on purpose, kept just enough space to protect himself.

You watched the way he hesitated, and for once, his mask slipped and his face gave away just a peek into what he was thinking. You could see the thoughts warring within his head, the way he hesitated before committing.

“…More than just that,” he said – he confessed – softly.

Just four words, but the meaning behind them was loaded. They hung in the air, obvious, weighty, vivid.

You froze, taking them in. You didn’t know why, you didn’t know how, but despite everything that had occurred tonight, Minho still had the ability to surprise you.

More than just that.

More than just…

Oh.

That was all your brain – your proudest attribute, your big, university-educated, sharp-witted genius brain –  was capable of thinking.

Oh.

“So…” Minho said, before trailing off, watching you, and eventually forcing the smallest of shrugs. “Don’t go.”

You were still reeling. You tried to make it all fit, every piece of information you had. The gentleness he’d held you with, the strange softness he’d had, the look in his dark eyes when you threatened to find someone else to kiss, the way he smiled sometimes when you were trying to piss him off, the way he just…watched you in conversations, in arguments, like he was just as interested seeing you think as he was countering the words that came out of your mouth.

When you laid it out like that, when you visualised it like points in a debate – with so many in the for argument and frighteningly little in the against – it seemed so obvious.

“I…” your words came out hoarse, dazed. “…Yeah, I can…not go.”

Minho’s eyes searched every inch of you, trying to figure out what exactly you were thinking.

“…You look like you’re about to pass out,” he observed, bluntly.

“You just said you like me, can you blame me?” You asked, hysteria close to creeping into your voice.

Minho didn’t reply for a second, still watching you. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” you blurted out, instinctively, until you took a second to actually think about it. “…No? Yes and no? I don’t…you’re, like, annoyingly hard to read.”

“Am I?” Minho asked, but the corners of his lips were twitching, suggesting he already knew the answer to that. “I’d say the same about you, but honestly, sometimes you’re an open book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Especially when you stare at my mouth.”

Your eyes snapped up back to his, blinking, caught. There was definitely amusement in his gaze now, a glimpse of relief creeping in.

You scowled, face beginning to heat. “You’re enjoying this.”

He smiled, not a trace of hesitation behind it, a real and genuine smile, and finally stepped towards you. “I absolutely am.”

“Assho–”

You were cut off, as Minho ducked his head down to kiss you, and you couldn’t even pretend to do anything other than respond eagerly.

The next time the two of you got coffee, on another cold autumn morning when you were ten minutes deep into a squabble over geopolitics that you were determined to win, Seungmin had the grace to at least act surprised when Minho bought you a muffin and slipped his arm around your waist.

“Wow,” he murmured, deadpan, watching the way you relaxed into Minho’s side, even as you unpicked every thread of his argument. “Gee. Who would have guessed?"

taglist: @buntrsh​ @liz3056​ @sunnyville36​ @sleepylixie​ @healinghyunjin​ @aliceu​ @laikaya​ @the7thcrow​ @lynx-paw​ @mainexiii​ @springdeity​ @bettyschwallocksyee​ @kawaiiayasan​ @tae-kook-lover​ @itshoonie​

[kairoot]

can I please request something along the lines of playing hide and seek with Ateez and how each member would be -- like where they'd hide and if you'd even manage to find them,, I need a good laugh 😭

꒰ఎ 에이티즈 + HIDE ‘N’ SEEK

⟢ pairing : ateez x reader ➖ genre : fluff, established relationship ➖ requested : yes ! ➖ warnings : none that i know of

🧩 — ; hongjoong .

would definitely hide in his studio

you’re gonna find him. 100%.

his #1 hiding spot

AND HE NEVER CHANGES IT LIKE YOU’RE GONNA FORGET THAT THATS WHERE HE HIDES EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

he’s one of those players that are in denial

“joong, honey, i see you.”

“no you don’t.”

“but i do..”

“but you don’t tho.” (his feet are sticking out from the spot under his desk)

🧩 — ; seonghwa .

you’re probably not gonna be able to find him for a few minutes

ngl he’s a pretty good player

hides in one of the bottom cabinets in the kitchen

don’t ask me how he fit in there..

he finds simple spots but also ones you wouldn’t really think of checking

and it’s usually some tiny space in the house

“hwa, how did you even manage to fit in here..”

“well, you see-“

🧩 — ; yunho .

ULTIMATE HIDE AND SEEK PLAYER YOU’RE NOT FINDING HIM

he finds the most outrageous hiding spots ever idk bro

you’re definitely gonna find him in your car or something

falls asleep on the car floor because of how long it took you to find him

like HELLO????

this is why you never play hide and seek with him

“YUNHO WTF-“

“huh?- what?”

“literally what kind of hiding place is this..”

🧩 — ; yeosang .

yeo is actually not bad at this game

but he doesn’t really use any technique so he chooses simple places

he’s still pretty good tho!

he’d probably hide in your coat closet :((

he’s just so cute

🧩 — ; san .

sans pretty good too

but he’s also very competitive..

IN DENIAL PT2

he’s so “i wasn’t even playing fr” coded

im ngl, you might find him in your bathtub.

“san..” *pulls back curtain*

“WAIT- NO, THAT WAS JUST A PRACTICE ROUND.”

🧩 — ; mingi .

im sorry but my baby is the worst at hide n seek

you’re gonna find him..

he’s most likely hiding behind or on the side of the couch or something 😭

he’s definitely the type to be confused on how you found him cause he thought his hiding spot was like the best

in denial pt3

🧩 — ; wooyoung .

honestly i don’t think wooyoung even tries to get a good hiding spot

he wants you to find him

picks the simplest hiding spots ever

purposely makes noises so it’s easier for you

idk this just makes sense to me cause it’s wooyoung

“woo, i found you. you kept stomping so loud-“

“oops..? 🤭”

🧩 — ; jongho .

jongho is literally the best at this game

probably better than yunho

jongho probably hides at your nearest grocery store

ITS OUTRAGEOUS I KNOW BUT HES VERY COMPETITIVE

you literally have to call him because you can’t find him ANYWHERE 💀

･:*:･.★

milan’s note: im sorry this was so short, im not feeling well

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz — message or comment to be added

[l3viat8an]

Hiii! I love your posts, so here is some food for thought. How would the boys react if you came up to the and just bit them affectionately?

Hihi thank you!!! ‘n can I just say I love this idea sm!!!! Biting is my favorite love language lolol

Lucifer

The first time you did it Lucifer just stared at you for probably a good five minutes like ‘Why?’ before he could decide if he actually wanted to ask you why-

Just explain that it’s a way humans show affection! Tho he’s still going to ask you to explain better then that-

Honestly he would prefer kisses if you want to show him affection….but he won’t stop you from biting him.

Unless you’re in public. Lucifer ends up developing a sort of sixth sense and just looks at you to say, “Remember, no biting in public MC.”

Really tho he just likes to keep it private, just between the two of you.

Mammon

Screamed the first time you bit him- (a really high pitched one too) looks at you like you’re insane. Also asked if you have rabies or something 💀

After awhile he gets used to you just randomly biting him.

He fuckin’ loves it. he just doesn’t want to say it-

Likes to bite back!! Usually bites you on your cheek.

Levi

Screamed pt.2 he was playing games and you genuinely caught him off guard-

Eventually he gets used to you just biting him out of nowhere.

It’s an easy way to turn him into a stuttering mess :)

Wants to bite you back, but always hesitates.

Satan

Cat affection?? Cat affection!!!

Bites back.

Not really surprised either.

All in all he’s just enjoying it.

Asmo

Giggles and asks if there’s anywhere else you’d like to bite him~

Likes to bite back when he can.

Honestly it somehow turns into a competition of sorts between the two of you.

Basically trying to see who can catch the other off guard and bite / leave more marks.

Beel

He probably nibbled on you first and it was probably an accident.

Asked if you were hungry the first time you bite him….tho it took him a few minutes to actually noticed- your bite really didn’t feel like much.

Belphie

Why?? Just why?

Tries to hide how much he enjoyed it by saying he’d rather have kisses. He’s lying

After the first time you bit him, he’s taking it as an invitation to bite you whenever he wants.

[cambion-companion]

bestie your aemond fics make my brain function but only for aemond like my brain will throw out different ideas and they’ll only be for aemond 💀

that being said, i’m picturing a very sweet, kind lady-in-waiting to helaena. insults don’t really get to her, she just says thank you and moves on. she appears dumb, but in reality, she’s actually very intelligent and calculated, she just doesn’t think she needs to waste air on people who have nothing better to do than insult her. she saves that for people who insult helaena or aemond, but she does it in such a way it seems almost like a compliment until the person really thinks on it. i personally think aemond would be the only one to see that though, since he’s so silent and observant. like imagine a lady of the court calls helaena an idiot when she isn’t near to defend herself or hear and this lady-in-waiting is so quick to helaena’s defense. so quick. like she just murmurs to herself “takes one to know one” and aemond just can’t help but chuckle as he overhears. like this lady is SO quick-witted. she probably gives aegon a hard time too especially when he treats helaena like shit.

aegon: *openly flirting with a servant in front of EVERYONE*

helaena’s lady: *murmuring under her breath* it would be a miracle if you could even get your cock hard enough after the thirteen goblets of wine you’ve had, your highness.

aemond: *choking on his wine*

helaena’s lady: *placing a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles and to hide her reddening cheeks bc she’s a little embarrassed aemond heard her*

"Checkmate!" Helaena giggled, sitting back in her cushioned armchair triumphantly.

"You really are terrible at this game." Aegon observed helpfully from over your shoulder. "Quite the critical thinker. It's not as though you've tough competition."

"I don't see you winning any matches." You snapped back. "Or doing much of anything useful, really."

"Lady Y/N makes a good point, brother." Aemond chimed in from where he reclined by the fireplace, book in hand.

"Let's face it." You continued. "Helaena is just too smart for all of us."

The princess beamed at you as Aemond chuckled softly. Aegon rolled his eyes, huffing before slumping into his own chair gracelessly. "Where's the wine?"

"You drank it all." You, Helaena and Aemond spoke at once, glancing at each other in amusement.

Helaena laughed again, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "Another round, Y/N?"

"I might be the one in need of some wine if we are to continue, princess." You looked at her fondly.

"Excellent!" Aegon clapped for the servants. "Bring us more wine!"

"I'll fetch us a different game, Y/N" Helaena rose and hurried out of the room as several servants entered.

Full goblets were distributed to all of you sitting in the drawing room, Aemond took his glass not looking up from his book and Aegon eagerly tipped his own to his lips.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as the elder prince caught the wrist of one pretty serving maid. "Why don't you stay a while? Your lovely face pleases me."

"I'm surprised you can tell a man from a woman in your current state." You quipped, frowning in distaste at the inebriated prince.

Aegon ignored you, tugging the maid closer. "Come, sit on my lap. I have a little problem I could use some help with."

"Please." You sneered. "As if you could get your cock hard after all the goblets of wine you've had."

You heard a splutter as Aemond choked on the sip of wine he'd just taken. Your face warmed as he coughed, still laughing at your boldness. He turned in his seat to face his brother. "Leave her, Aegon."

"I don't answer to you, Aemond."

"Then I suppose I shall report to mother how you continue to harass the serving girls even after the last incident." Aemond's voice was cool and even, but you could hear the undercurrent of rising anger.

"Oh fine. The lot of you are no fun." Aegon released the girl, who looked at you with gratitude before hurrying out of the room just as Helaena returned.

The princess placed a complex looking board game on the table before you, smiling, oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

You felt Aemond's eye upon your face, tactfully avoiding his gaze as Aegon pouted in the corner. Helaena spread out the game, chattering animatedly as she explained the rules to you. Feeling the blush still upon your cheeks you turned your face, your eyes flitting to glance at Aemond. He was observing you, a small smile upon his lips. He gave you the slightest of nods before returning his attention back to the book in his lap.

You looked quickly away, Helaena trailing your line of sight with a knowing look. She leaned forward clasping your hands in her own. "The dragon's fire is not always to be feared." She lowered her voice so only you could hear her next words. "Not when the dragon falls in love."

[derangedanomaly]

how about Bad sanses x Artist male reader?

Yay! Sure thing :D

BAD SANSES X MALE!ARTIST READER

(Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror, Cross, Error)

Nightmare:

Nightmare was the last one to find out about your hobby, and that's just because he's too busy to notice. :(

He was about to tell you about some important mission, when he bumped into you drawing a portrait of him.

He couldn't even speak at that time, he was so... confused. But also felt prideful you were drawing him.

Definitely takes it to his room so he could stare at it longer.

"You have a great talent Y/n, such a beauty should be hanged so it could be admired by many." Himself. He was talking about himself. "Do you mind if I took it with me on the way out?"

If you answer positively, he'll just take it. No questions asked. But if you answer negatively... he'll just steal it behind your back. 💀

Look, he just really likes whatever stuff you draw, and the fact you drew him, awoken something in him. He needed to take the portrait with him! (Bro is thirsty as hell 😂)

In all seriousness though, he really admires your skills. Even though he never really says it.... The portrait you drew of him is his motivation, which he also won't admit. Since positivity doesn't do him any good....

Killer:

Loves to watch when you draw. But wait...you thought he was looking at what you're drawing? Nah.. he's looking at YOU.

In his words, he finds you more breathtaking then any artwork. But it's not like he doesn't like your drawings! He loves them, he just loves you more. ;)

He thinks your face looks really mesmerizing while you're drawing.

Sometimes likes to give you 'some tips'. (Don't listen to him, his tips are actually really bad 😨)

"Use black for shading, it's gonna look amazing! I'm speaking from experience." He's not. Literally has zero experience, just said that so he would impress you. 💀

Sometimes sneaks up on you and runs away with your art supplies. (Annoying as hell.)

Overall a pain in the ass most of the time, but he's your ass. 😂

Dust:

Admires your talent, and wants to know everything about it. 'What things do you usually draw? What type of artist are you? Can you show him some of your artwork?' he's actually so cute...

After he learned about your talent, he returned day after to your sleeping quarters, and showed you his new knowledge, about your hobby, last night.

Also gives you tips, but unlike Killer, Dust's are actually useful.

You actually learn many new things/tricks that you never knew about!

He's a total sweetheart, keeps checking on you to make sure you won't get lost in your hobby too much. He knows how easy artist's get taken lost in their artwork and don't sleep or eat.

If you'd ask him to model for you, he would in a heartbeat. But it would probably be the most boring pose ever.

Hands in his pockets and shit. 😂

Gets irritated by Killer's wrong tips, and immediately leaves the room once he starts spitting them. He just can't stand the stupid bullshit Killer says every time. 💀

Horror:

"Oh, you can draw? Can you draw food too?" Was his first question when you told him about your hobby.

He's always hovering over you when you draw, which can be nerve-wracking at times...

So to get him distracted, you suggested that he could draw with you. After thinking your question over, he decided to try it out, so he agreed.

After this, he found out that drawing with you made him relaxed....so he made it his daily activity with you!

He doesn't mind how his drawing looks like a child drew it compared to yours. He isn't really competitive when it comes to these type of things.

He just likes spending time with you ^^

Likes to ask tons of questions. (He finds your voice soothing)

Overall, he just found his excuse for spending time with you! (And a way for him to relax)

Cross:

Your hobby reminds him of Ink... which he shudders at and... avoids you for awhile. 😢

But you could always sense that he, more than once, glanced at your art.

After getting over his emo sappy phase, he finds the courage to talk to you again.

Wants to compliment you so bad, because it actually looks great, but he's just...shy.

He doesn't know much about your hobby, so he won't give much tips. But if you ask him for an honest opinion, then you can count on that!

He's just a sweet little guy 🥰

Error:

His immediate response to your hobby is just: "Oh great...another Ink!"

He isn't exactly 'thrilled' about it. But he doesn't mind it, as long as you don't bond with Ink over it. (Jealous)

Doesn't know much when it comes to creation, but he likes to knit next to you while you draw. It brings you two closer! ^^

Definitely defends you though when someone insults your artwork. Deems that it's just cause you both enjoy artistic hobbies. (Knitting and drawing) but he's really just a big fan of you and your awesome abilities!

If you need any art supplies, they would already be waiting for you on your desk by tomorrow morning. (Stole them from Ink 💀)

Doesn't like it when you're being pessimistic about your skills. He thinks you're awesome as hell!! Why're you bringing yourself down?

He's overall just happy to be able to peacefully enjoy his hobby next to someone he can trust. (Cutie patootie ❤️❤️)

[tonixe]

Playing basketball with the spider characters

n.o.t.e.s - I don't even know at this point 💀

w.a.r.n - crackfic, idefk, this before miles got hunted down by grown adults and children. Not proofread because it's 3 am, and I just listen to pinktape 💣.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - various!spider-verse characters x reader

w.c. - 1.4k

It all started with a simple game of basketball on the court of the Spiderman HQ, practicing some passes with miles, as he looked a Gwen, accidentally getting slammed in the face with the basketball.

"Oh shit, sorry miles!" you piqued, as you put your hand on the side of your head, bending over to help him up from the ground.

"Shouldn't have been staring at Gwen for too long" you snickered, while you grabbed the basketball from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah" Miles groaned, rubbing the place he got hit, "Now, let's play some basketball, gotta get your head cleared" You threw him the ball with some force, placing your foot on the court before he bounce the ball on the court.

"Come on, miles. Your knew the guy, people said you were good and tough" you teased, "I wonder if you got weaker," you said.

"Yeah, yeah get into the game," Miles said back before he dribbled the ball before you chased by the court, swiping the ball from him and shooting a 3-pointer, as Miles fails to smack the ball away from you.

"You said you gotta better Miles, what happened" you laughed, before dribbling the game, swerving your body away from Miles intercepting the ball from you, just to score on him again.

"That was just round 1," Miles said, before stretching his arms, before he looked at Gwen.

Gwen just looked at Miles, shaking her head with a laugh

"Better not lose, your girlfriend here" you said.

"SHE NOT MY GIRLFRIEND, yet" yelled out, mumbled the last part.

"Yea sure" you spat.

Before you knew it you manage to make the score 18 to 7.

"Come on, miles, why are you so tired" you teased, as you looked at his tired hunch back form, "Just give me a minute" he wheezese.

"Been 2" you said, before bouncing the ball around him. As you looked at his form running to sidelines as Gwen gave him water to drink.

"Come miles, where was all the talk" You gave him a smug grin, as he chugged down the water.

Before you turn around to see Hobie and Pavitr walked into to see the noise, as you bounced the ball onto the ground mocking Miles.

He glared back at you, "Oh, Hey Hobie, hey pavitr! Wanna join the game" you exclaimed. Pavitr immediately said no, knowing he gets crushed by you. It was infamous that you know to get a little competitive when you play any type of sport or do a challenge with anyone.

"No thanks Y/N, just trying to see what was happening" Hobie took his hand out of his pockets, walking towards you.

"What happened to Miles" he questioned you, knowing what probably happen.

"He challenge me to baseball, so I did" You gave me a cheeky smile.

"Oh, I see. Well, Miles, it was good to know you" Hobie came up to him a pat his back, putting his hand into his pocket as he sat next to Pavitr.

"Come on miles, time is ticking," you said before Miles walked into the court. Not some long, you scored on him more and more. And the loud noise of the buzzer got more of the attention of the Spiderman variants, walking into the court, as miles scored against you, soon more and more people came crowding near the court.

"Oh man, this is rare" Peter walked into the court with Mayday, as Mayday got out of her sling. Crawling to Hobie, as hobie place her into his lap.

As he sat down, "Miles you better win this" he shouted out.

Earning looks from miles.

"Come on Y/N, where was all the smoke," he said, with a smug smile.

"Don't get too cocky, morales" You seethe, catching the game he three at you, before dribbling and scoring it in.

The whole court seemed to get crowded as people started betting on who was going to win. Hobie started to sell tickets to get inside to see the game. The whole crowd was getting loud.

----

Miguel walked down the hallways of the HQ, "Where is everyone" Miguel hissed out, as Lyla's hologram figure spawned.

"It seems like they're at the basketball court" Lyla responded by checking the loading of some screen panels, "Seems like it's almost to max capacity".

"What are they even doing there," Miguel said looking at Lyla, "Their game is being held there" she utter out.

"Between who?" he turned around to Lyla's hologram form, "Miles and Y/N," she said with excitement, "Oh that's gonna be fun".

"Well, can you call everyone back to get to work, there whole multiverse worth dealing with" Miguel said before looking at lyla's missing form, she was long gone.

"Oh for god sake" Miguel cursed, walking towards the court.

..

"Hobie, what are you even doing" Miguel crossed his arms, "Selling tickets boss," Hobie said while leaning on his chair, doing a salute at him.

"Besides wouldn't you not want to watch game, Y/N is absolutely crashing miles, it game you can't skip mate" he beckoned, Miguel raised his eyebrows at him, cocking them.

"You can get in for free, since your a big boss," Hobie said, "besides Y/N playing," Hobie said, looking straight into Miguel's blank stare, "What is that supposed do with me?"

"Just get in there" Hobie pointed at the doors, as Miguel shrugged getting into the packets room, seeing you stealing the ball from Miles.

Before he started pushing some variant out of his way before making his way into the court, interrupting the game before you and Miles stopped. "What the heck, Miguel" you exclaimed, pointing a him.

The whole court was silent, as Miguel turned around.

"Are you guys serious, you guys are all here while there a whole multiverse in danger?!" Miguel yelled out, earning some mutters from the crowd.

You placed your hand on your hips as you held the basketball in your other hand.

"Miguel do you ever shut up" you snapped at him, Miles immediately side-eyed you, as Miguel looked at you with a glare, "Excuse me"

"Your excused" You smiled at him, cocking your head to the side.

As Miguel hissed at you, "What if I make you a deal" you proposed, Miguel cocked his eyebrow at you listening, "Play a round of basketball with me, if I win nobody here has to listen to you for a week if you win, then everyone has to obey your command and ill even listen to you" you listed the bet.

"Sure" Miguel agreed.

"Miles, off the court," you proclaimed, "Hey!" he exclaimed.

"Off the court" you repeated to him again, taking a glance at him, as you bounce the ball onto the ground. The sound of the whistle echoed throughout the room, "Well, this going to be interesting" Hobie walked into the crowd where gwen and pavitr was sitting.

"Definitely is," Gwen said, before snacking on some popcorn, as she gave some to mildly upset Miles who sat down right next to her.

"Major" Pavitr said, as he leaned out of his seat.

Soon the game started, and then the score started to begin to tie up, turning into a close game. "Oh jeez, it's a close game," Miles said out, leaning back in his seat.

The time of the final game closed up to seconds, as it was from inception to inception, you were getting tired, as you heaved out. "Y/N, don't tire on me now" Miguel gave you a smug smile while dribbling the ball.

Getting out back into the court, as you took the ball from his ball incepting the throw, as you dribble the ball from him. Swerving your body away from the steal, you dribbled the ball to the hoop.

As a huge, tall Miguel block your view from the hoop, before you curve yourself jump onto him, and dunk the basketball into the hoop forcefully, breaking the backboard. Glass shattering onto the floor, glass going everywhere.

"Oh my days" Hobie stared in disbelief, Pavitr clasping his hand to in mouth in what just happen.

Gwen and miles looked at each other in disbelief, Lyla recording everything that just went down.

Peter just finishing his Spiderverse whopper. Mayday just clapped in excitement, babbling incoherent things.

It was silent before loud cheering was heard.

"RAHHH" you yelled in front of Miguel face shocked face, "Miguel losing was a canon event" pavitr yelled.

"I guess no more listening to you," you said, giving him a big smile, as you stick your tongue at him.

"-For a week" he muttered.

"I can't believe that just happen, Miguel losing" Lyla started laughing.

"You should have seen your face, Miguel, priceless" she cried out.

Miguel just stare at her with a blank expression.

As you danced around Miguel, gloating with excitement.

[i-willstealyourtoes]

YOU

can i have

houston x reader x hoxton headcanons

where the reader gets easily flustered [specifically by the two]

and both of them take notice and are like

“hey i bet i can fluster them more”

and it becomes like- a competition

bonus if it becomes spicy 👁👁

I AM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG 😭 Ur girlie was going through it with writers block and so forth

Houston + Hoxton flustering their s/o

- Okay starting off, I totally think pre-relationship they were at each other's throats (more than usual, I mean)

- It took a lot of convincing (on your side) for them to eventually agree with a polyamourous relationship

- And even after they agreed, they still fought

- Yo ass ain't winning 💀

- But whilst it was usually them sabotaging eachother pre-relationship, now it's just them trying to one-up one another

- Expect at the start of the relationship for them to be rather clingy, with Houston's arm around one side of your waist and Hoxton's round another (yes, it was really awkward but also funny)

- Both of them make it a competition to see who can make you fold faster

- Which I relatively easy, considering you might as well be an omelette the way you fold (as requested by crunchy)

- Hoxton would slide beside you on the couch and wrap an arm around you, using that voice (you know what I mean) to get you blushing

- "Hello, love. How're you doing?"

- He would purposely move the hair behind your ear (if that isn't possible, he'd probably just caress your face a little)

- Houston would notice this, and sit on the other side, completely ignoring Hoxton and putting all his attention on you

- "Hey babe. Look at me, would you?"

- They would totally eye eachother (the girls are fightingggg)

- Houston would use his finger and glide it across the underside of your chin, guiding you to face him

- "That's my girl/man/partner."

- (AAAAAAAAAAA)

- Hoxton sees the way you blush strongly, and while he does revel in your flustered expression, he also grumbles in annoyance knowing that Houston won this time

- Don't worry, he'll win the next time ;)

- A few days later, he comes up to randomly whilst you're working at your desk and just pulls you up by the shirt and pushes you against the wall

- (Fictional men RAHHHHH)

- "Did you think I'd let him win? I thought you knew me better, love..."

- Houston was literally about to go flirt with you again when he saw you and Hoxton

- He definitely left trying to think about what to do to one-up this

- Hoxton passed by him a few moments later, his hair a little messy and his tie a little out of place (if you wear lipstick then he definitely has some marks on him now)

- "Beat that, wanker."

- By the end of the week, you had both of them pinning you to a wall, Hoxton on one side and Houston on the other

- "Come on love, come with me..."

- "I could treat you so much better, baby..."

- Hoxton would glare at Houston, and Houston would do the same

- "Don't listen to him, love, you know I'd give you a good time..."

- "I'd have you screaming within minutes, you know that, babe..."

- You manage to push past the extreme flustered feeling to remind them that they're both with her, and they shouldn't be fighting (though it is quite amusing)

- They would argue and say something like 'he started it', but they know that'd be unfair and they did agree to this

- They'd stop trying to compete... for like a week

- Expect your life to be a roller-coaster of romance and slight competition for your love (even though you can give it to them both)

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Now I’m wondering if he drinks or smokes in the present era, like we’ve already established that he may of done that in the past plus some more 💀but I wonder if he socially drinks or smokes when he’s stressed. For some reason I get the vibe that he doesn’t only because he may want to leave all sort of intoxication in the past but also he wants to maintain his youthful looks. What are your thoughts? (Also I’m sorry if you’ve already spoken about this in a previous post, I’ve got goldfish memory)

He drinks socially, but he doesn't smoke anymore. Yves now associates smoking with filth and it reminds him of his past. You would find that Yves is very picky when it comes to his alcohol, he would only drink the finest champagne and aged wines. You would find that he has an aversion to Vodka, even though he could down a shot of it without making a face.

Yves would pour a decent amount in his wine glass and swirl, he drinks so eloquently and at a specific pace, you think that he's an expert in alcohol tasting. Although he drinks little at a time, it comes as a surprise to know that he can never get drunk anymore. A little buzzed after his twelfth bottle of whiskey, but he cannot get blackout drunk.

If you try to get him in a drinking competition with you, he will say no. Not because he thinks he will lose, it's because he knows you probably won't back down even past the point of liver damage. You wouldn't stand a chance with his metabolism, you cannot kill him with alcohol either.

Other than socialite parties that he occasionally attends with you, he barely drinks. You don't even know where he keeps his booze, you know he owns some around the house because if he wanted to make the night romantic, he would pull out a beautiful bottle of expensive vintage champagne. Though, there is a possibility that he bought it on that day, but you know his bottles are notoriously hard to obtain.

If you smoke, he will do everything in his power to make you quit as soon as possible. Try all you want, he won't be swayed by the bliss of marijuana. He doesn't derive any high from any of it's fumes. You can't make the argument that he shouldn't say it's bad unless he tried it, because he did. And nothing good came out of that, it will only destroy your lungs and brain.

Maybe you would rebut, saying that he claim to have tried all, but he's still here. Healthier than ever, having the lung capacity of a horse.

Well, you can't compare yourself to someone who inhaled copious amounts of Asbestos and lived, and breathe much deeper than the majority of the population. You are not like him.

He took advantage of your confusion and snatched the cigarette from between your fingers. Yves went ahead and destroyed it under his heel.

[lunathebee]

THE MOON BOYS REACTING TO HORROR VIDEO GAMES

Warning: none, except cursed words and not 100% proofread 🤷🏻‍♀️

A/n: this is just a silly little idea that I think about so I just have to write it out!

🍓 STEVEN GRANT 🍓

His motto would be "When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear!" (I can already tell).

Read the instructions out loud and wants to make sure he is doing everything correctly.

Also the type to lean in closer to the screen because "it's too dark" and then gets jumpscared 💀

When he screams, he screams with all his body and might tbh.

I can see the scenario of you making a video with him playing horror games, posting it on the internet for fun and then it blows up because everyone is obsessed with him.

*pressed many random buttons out of fear*

*somehow defeat the monster and even get a new highscore*

"WAGWAN! HAHA YOU MESSED WITH THE WRONG PERSON MATE, YOU JUST GOT PLANTED"

I feel like people would want his merch and he would be like "mer- merch? Is that a Latin word?".

Overall, please don't tell him to play horror video games anymore. It's tempting, but he would probably pass out from having heart attacks.

Bonus: Steven would prefer Animal Crossing or puzzle games, you know those type of games like ball sort or move the block? Yea he probably have them in his phone. He is like Sherlock Holmes but in a quirky way

🍓 MARC SPECTOR 🍓

It took him a long time to figure out how to move the protagonist around cuz he refused to read the instructions.

"So what? You just go and kill the evil guy, done" Like no Marc there is a plot-

He isn't that scared like Steven. Marc wouldn't scream, but he would get started.

And say stuff like "Oh shit-"

He is also very competitive and will only quit until he wins. He saw the ghost so many times, to the point if he saw it again he would be like "Not you again, MOVE *shove the ghost away*"

He have dem quick thinking skills so I believe he would try speedrun

Have the most potential out of the moon boys to have the title "gamer bf" 😩😩 His angry looks is 👌👌

Overall I would give Marc a solid 8/10, he is open-minded when it comes to horror video games, people wait for his review whenever a new one got released

Bonus: Marc is an old-fashioned man. He never lets anyone touch his phone because it has Ninja Fruit and he doesn't want to be made fun of 💀💀 I can't blame Marc, he rarely ever uses his phone and just needs to find something entertaining enough for 5-10 min (because that's all the free time he got).

🍓 JAKE LOCKLEY 🍓

How you even convinced him to actually sit down and play the game is a mystery (and a miracle).

He thinks video games are for kids.

Therefore it's pointless to him.

Jake aren't afraid of jumpscare, jumpscare are afraid of him. He is very verbal when he gets started (Spanish mixed with English curses would fill the whole room)

Would definitely run head in to the serial killer on purpose just so he could tell you the game end and he gets to leave 💀 If not then he would just sit and refuse to move the character to go anywhere; it would just stand there.

I can't possibly think of anything else because he is not a fan of horror video games (or any video games).

Overall, not a good experience, do not tell him to sit down and play horror video games (or any games) cuz he will give you a death stare.

Bonus: If Jake ever took an interest in something, it would be racing games, but he need the real deal, like this ⬇️, he won't hold tiny phone.

KHONSU?

Wait what are you doing here?.

You're not in the list.

"I want to try peasant's entertainment".

Khonsu: *look at screen and see the monster* "OH MY, WHAT HORRENDOUS CREATURE IS THAT? IT LOOKS EVEN UGLIER THAN YOU WORM".

You: Istg- 😃😃😃🔪🔪

[nsb-rkive]

If it’s possible two nsb reactions? Nsb reaction to you being a baddie and nsb reaction to you being a gamer god/godess/royalty. love your writing btw 💕

(sorry if I took a lot, hope you like anyways<3)

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨/𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧🎮

PAIRING(S):: nsb x reader

GENRE(S):: soft/fluff, reaction, req

W.C:: 0.9k

WARNING(S):: none

NOT CHECKED TWICE

AU:: hi everyone im back!! Sorry for being dry, but i was on vacation and I’ve also done a few things so I didn't have so much time to post, sorry:// Anyways hope you enjoy! <3

🎮 | Oliver

So, Oliver doesn't play video games that much as the other ones do, but I don't think that would be a big deal if his s/o was a gamer. Of course he’d rather spend time with you as much as possible, so he might interrupt and distract you from your games, but I don’t think he’d turn it into a big problem, yk. “Babe can we go out?” “Babe i want your attention, you’ve been playing for 2 hours straight now” and ofc, as a good simp, you would stop playing and start giving attention to your boyfriend. He’s a really sweet guy, he would do anything for you, so when you’d ask him to play valorant with him, he’d hesitate at first but accept it. He looks so cute while sitting between your legs, with you behind him explaining and helping him with the game I'M SOBBING.

🎮 | Kane

Kane doesn't really mind, tbh. I think he’d just lay on his bed and watch anime till you’re done playing. Otherwise, he’d watch you playing and try to learn more from you. “OMG HOW DID U DO THAT” “Damn my girl is a pro AHAHA” bet he would say things like this. I think he’d also try to challenge you “We all know i am going to win, come on” then lose IM LAUGHING SO HARD PLS- as we all know, he hates losing even tho he always do LMAO so i think he’d get “mad” at you for laughing and making fun of the words the said earlier. Just know that everything has a consequence, so be ready for a revenge cuz this boy ain't letting you rest

🎮 | Justin

Oh lord, Justin won't leave you alone, especially after you started playing valorant. He’d ask you to play with him whenever you both are free, it’s so cute of him😭 “Fuck y/n did you train or something? How come you are beating me at killing??” He’d start bragging about how good you are at playing and this shit. Probably you would go to one of those computer cafeterias for some gaming date or to relax after watching a movie or sum. Just go play with him when u can, he loves to see your concentrate face while u play HE IS SO CUTE PLEASE

🎮 | Regie

He wouldn't believe you at first, but after you showed him your skills at playing valo, he immediately changed his mind. I dont think he plays valo that much, but Dota, so he’d probably ask you to play with him. If you dont know how to play it, he’ll teach you how to do it. Same as Oliver, but this time you are sitting on his legs while he leads your hands on the mouse and keyboard. You’d get excited because you are slowly learning and he cant help but giggle and smile while thinking about how cute you are. The urge to punch him for being so pretty and adorable damn it

🎮 | Ryan

So, as we know way too damn well, Ryan is a gamer, so bet he’d be more than happy to have a partner who’s too. He would ask you to join him to play valorant together. Ofc you’d play other games too, like Fall Guys or League of Legends, but he just finds it so cute how competitive you become while playing. You two would yell so loud that even the neighbors would come to your place to complain abt it LMAOAOAOAO DEF ME. It seems all cute but man don't be fooled by his rbf, ryan could get pissed if u win the game PLS💀💀 “Babe what’s wrong?” “Nothing sigh” you can clearly tell he is pissed so let him win the game so mf doesn't complain that much😭😭😭 He’d probably download and buy more games just for you to play together AWWW MY BABY

🎮 | Darren

As much as he likes playing video games, I don't think Darren plays that much tbh, but still he thinks it’s really cool that his s/o is a gamer. Like Justin, he’d probably go around and brag abt u being a gamer. Sometimes he’d look at you while playing, but usually he prefers lying down and putting his head on your tights while looking at his phone. BIG ASS HEAD BEING SO CUTE HELP After you are done playing he’d probably take you out for an ice cream or something. Make sure to give him a lot of attention tho, or mf will interrupt you in the middle of the game to kiss your lips fight me darren🤺

🎮 | Sebastian

Like Oliver and Darren, Seb doesnt play that much, maybe less than Darren, but still it doesnt bother him if you were a gamer. He’d let you play as much as you want, and while you do so, he’d work or watch Netflix. “What game is this? Oh I've never played it before, can I try?” such a cUTIEEEEE CRYING He can be annoying as HELL sometimes, but he just loves you a lot, and he wants to keep you as close as possible because you are his first partner (cap), or at least he considers you as it. He be trying to interrupt your game but fails miserably, like many Kane’s pranks😭😭😭 Sometimes you are too focused on your game, that you dont even notice that he went for a motorcycle ride like 2 hours ago 😭 PLEASE THIS IS SO ME💀💀

[eilidh-eternal]

funny story about caffeine induced insomnia...

when I was in high school (specifically when I was a junior/11th grader) I was in four AP classes and was also in a program that let juniors and seniors go to a tech school part time...so needless to say, I was a busy little bee.

Well, when you're a busy little bee and midterms and finals come around...time is a very precious commodity. so myself and a bunch of the other AP juniors came up with 2 very distinct drinks.

The suicide shot and insomnia chaser.

the suicide shot was coffee, as strong as you could get it, mixed with a redbull, you'd chug it, then take a 5 hour energy as a chaser.

this drink got me through every midterm, final, and project that year. I'd stay up for 3 days straight finishing projects, assignments, and studying. By the end of the 3 days of no sleep I'd be practically smelling colors, and normally I'd pass out for at least 24 hours once it finally wore off.

but sometimes, for some reason, the effects wanted to last longer than 3 days. so, because we weren't completely stupid (we were. this entire system is probably gonna be what kills me in 20 years lol) we came up with something to take after 3 days if we needed a swift end to our misery.

the insomnia chaser.

the insomnia chaser was less intense but just as effective in its desired purpose. you can choose your preferred sleepy time tea (mine is chamomile) mix in a large dose of nyquil, and pop one tablet of benadryl before drinking the tea. it was recommended you drink the tea while in bed because someone (not me for once) actually passed out standing up and got a concussion.

both the parents and teachers eventually found out about this, but were never able to stop it. we were too strong, and under too much pressure to succeed in an academic system that had failed us.

Anyways don't do any of this, but maybe pop a benadryl to help you sleep tonight. ily 💖💖💖

Definitely not, no…. Totally not gonna try that….

Eilidh lore below the cut🖤

Surprise, surprise…Eilidh was/still is a band kid lol

So, I was in colorguard, orchestra, AP and dual enrollment classes, and had a job junior and senior year in hs💀

Most of the other band kids had similar schedules, and we had a particular time of year that we lovingly referred to as Hell Week

Hell Week took place in early April and consisted of the following:

School as usual

25 hr/wk colorguard rehearsals as usual

SCGC Champions and WGI Regional Championships—semi-finals Saturday and finals Sunday—both held the same weekend in two different states. We would be at school Saturday at 6 am and get home at 1 am, then back by 4 am to rehearse before finals, usually over around 1 am lol (award ceremonies are ridiculously long)

Local middle school exhibition/recruitment show

Exhibition/recruitment show for our school

An Orchestra/Concert Band competition that I cannot for the life of me remember the name of

And the following weekend is WGI World Championships, 3 grueling, challenging, exhausting days of comp but so so soooo worth it

Happy Hell Week🙃

(I learned to function on about two hours of sleep since sophomore year and have since then never gotten more than about 4 hours a night💀)

[f3r4lfr0gg3r]

just right [goldilocks general headcanons] 🐻🍯

(art cred to Zac Retz)

cw; some angst but that's about it :^

author's note; Sorry this took so long! 🙇‍♀️ ty to those who waited

General

From what can be seen in the movie, I definitely perceive Goldi as someone who doesn't have much sense of belonging as an orphan and in a family of literal bears and actively searching for a connection with someone she can highly relate with. She's seemed to yearn for normalcy for years and part of me thinks a small part of her is insecure, comparing her life to the stories of what "just right" or "happily ever after" seems to be.

As the perfectionist I interpret her as, it would be reasonable for her to reach out to these conventional standards for families as the right way to do things– in the process ignoring what she had right in front of her. Despite the amount of conventional social norms in fantasy she breaks just being herself, I assumed she clinged onto the family ideal as a way of coping as an orphaned child.

Dreaming of the perfect family, and this feeling of everything being just right all the time…when in reality families aren't truly like at all. I think that's what she learned in the film's ending. But anyways enough analysis of Goldi and her behaviors– onto the headcanons!

- She refuses to let anyone touch her hair but herself and sometimes Mama Bear due to trust issues.

- Continuing on the topic of hair, with the amount of curls on her head it knots up easily. Every night she has to brush out curls that are tangled together.

- She styles her hair primarily out of convenience because her hair gets too wild when it's down and makes it hard to see or do things (part of me thinks her current hairdo is a product of her having too much hair to put into two buns and improvising)

- Very acrobatic as can be seen in the scene of her climbing on the bears

- Many kids were scared of Goldi when she was younger because she tended to get into fights and played rough (always been a biter)

- Goldi just seems like a picky eater to me, very particular about what she eats

- With her need for things to be "just right", Goldi is a definite perfectionist when it comes to many things as I've mentioned above in my analysis

- She has a habit of not asking for help when it's needed (Probably due to her having to become pretty independent from a young age)

- I believe she already had a bit of a criminal record and was a street urchin before meeting the bears, so I bet she's a pro at pickpocketing by now

- Smells like grass and honey with a hint of bear, which is surprisingly comforting

- Has a habit of correcting people when they speak about her interests (totally not projecting )

- Likes messiness but in an organized way if that makes sense-

- A very stubborn person!!!!

- Goldi loves fantasy stories, has a stash of them in her room (her taste changed a bit as she got older though so while I believe she's still a sucker for fairytales, she also likes a good novel on pirate adventures at the moment)

- When playing games she can be both a sore loser and winner 💀

- Let's be honest, Goldi is competitive...to a really high degree. She can make anything into a competition-

- Concerningly good hearing, the type of person who'll hear you whisper something across the room

- Secretly pretty good at drawing, but Goldi never talks about it because she never thinks her drawings are good enough to her ridiculous standards

- idk why but I feel like she'd really like sea shanties and idk why (pirate obsessed goldi???)

- Really protective of the bears, especially Baby– just those older sister instincts ifykyk

- Why do I feel like she'd just be a big fan of apple flavored stuff-

- I get sapphic vibes from her idc what anyone says! (I'm writing gn reader for her but still >:D)

- Along with that I feel like if Goldi truly found someone she thought of as cool she'd try to play it cool but stumble over her words the second they compliment her (gay panic for the winnn)

- Seems like the type to unknowingly ramble about stuff she's passionate about (those people>>>>>)

- Tries her best to hide vulnerability as she's someone who sorta views vulnerability as weakness when it comes to herself

- From their interactions, it's safe to say Goldi's closest to Mama Bear

- Part of me thinks Goldi tried for years to imitate the bears when she was younger, trying to be one of them so they could be somewhat of a "real family"' (But when it wasn't working out the way she hoped, Goldi just began wishing for a human family– maybe even her biological parents)

- Very well read, and knows alot of fun facts despite keeping it to herself

- She's really good at climbing trees and hunting, looking at where the bears live it's safe to assume they live off the land around them

- Never has her hair down around other people (it's embarrassing in her as bc it's so messy)

- A horrible singer but knows it, and loves to sing because of how much it annoys others around her (finds it funny)

- That walking stick she has, I think it may have been a gift from Papa Bear (he just has the vibe of someone who widdles/carves things idk why)

- Goldi definitely tried archery before (kinda gives me Merida from Brave vibes so...yeah)

- Stronger than she looks, I don't care what you say Goldi has some muscle to her

- Forgets her own strength occasionally and accidentally broke a few things because of it

- I feel like she makes her own clothes, they just seem handmade

- Very random, but Goldi does parkour, urban climbing, or both

- Goldi's favorite color is definitely always changing around, one day it's orange and then another day it's purple– just seems like the type of gal to appreciate vibrant colors

- Definitely has loads of random shiny trinkets she's stolen in a box

- As an older sister, I definitely know that Goldi and the family are the only ones allowed to insult Baby, as that's how they show love- if anyone else did it they're asking for a fight

- She's not touchy in a conventional way, instead opting to playful wrestling and things of the such to show physical affection at first (lowkey a softie for hugs in secret tho)

- Not the best at opening herself up, Goldi always seems to be a bit guarded so it definitely takes her quite a while to warm up to people

- Winter is her least favorite season because that's hibernation time, aka the time where she feels the most alone

- Because despite how much of a front she puts up sometimes, she loves her family with her entire heart and is highly affected by the sudden quietness that fills their home

made by @f3r4lfr0gg3r with the help of @saplingofspunk, go follow her for togachako content! Thanks you bestie for helping me with this <3

Taglist: @zenmieisaa

[mycomicbox]

Random Thoughts on Persona 5 Royal - Part 3

[Progress: October 13th, 5th Palace conquered]

<<< Part 2

I've been thinking a lot about what it'd be like if I were a Phantom Thief. Perhaps I'll draw that sometime.

God damn, this game is long. I consider myself someone with pretty good JRPG stamina, but I'm about 103 hours into this game and I'm nowhere near the finish line. For reference, my Persona 4 Golden playthrough maxed out at 100 hours.

It took me far too long to notice that the letters on Caroline and Justine's hats spell out "oxymoron".

The Doraemon reference in the movie theater got a chuckle out of me.

I like the little quips from your party members while exploring Mementos. One of my favorites is Morgana complaining about the tiny school desks in the suggestion box.

Ryuji and Yusuke's Showtime attack is the funniest shit I've ever seen.

The fact that Futaba's All-Out Attack splash screen says "Git Gud" is pretty indicative of when this game initially released. If the game came out now, it'd probably say "Skill Issue" or something.

Haru's Phantom Thief costume is probably my favorite. Hats with feathers in them are guaranteed to look cool.

Add Futaba to the list of characters who desperately need a hug. I like the idea of someone willingly asking for their heart to be stolen. After all, the Phantom Thieves don't just beat the shit out of scumbags: they help those who can't help themselves.

I also like how Futaba's awakening is somewhat of a callback to Persona 4, as she awakens to her Persona by facing her Shadow directly (no face-bleeding required).

How is she so goddamn short (then again, I guess being a shut-in could've stunted her physical growth)

You can tell that I have some stuff to say about Futaba. Yusuke has some competition for favorite Phantom Thief.

Another Persona game, another awkward beach scene... (except for Yusuke's lobster gag, that amused me).

TANAKA IS BACK, LET'S GOOOOOO

Why did Ryuji think that Los Angeles was the United States capital? Is he stupid?

HOLY SHIT, MAGICAL GIRL

Shadow Okumura needs to speak up, man. It's like they lowered his volume compared to the other characters (which kind of makes sense with the space helmet he's got on, but still).

Unfortunately, I have been spoiled as to the Black Mask's true identity. I don't care how old this game is, tag your damn spoilers!

When I was in middle school, I went to a water park on a school field trip, and the county schools rented it out for the students. I thought that alone was magical. Imagine getting a whole Disney park rented out just for you and your homies.

With the death of President Okumura, and the tanking of public approval, the Phantom Thieves' resolve is starting to waver...

The sixth calling card is addressed to Sae Niijima. I can't wait to see how this story will unfold.

⚡️Confidant Lightning Round

Beep boop.

My man Sojiro going through it...

With the way that Futaba peppers her speech with video game references, I see a bit of my 15-year-old self in her. I've noticed references to Pokémon, D&D, and RPG terms in general (EXP, trash mobs, etc.).

Imagine meeting a cute nerdy girl and the first thing she does is ask if you're a NPC 💀 poor Mishima, I would've never recovered from that

I like Iwai's little quips about gun terminology.

Takemi please step on me

You're telling me that the Get Smoked hat was from this game!?

I would do anything for a politician like Yoshida.

As I have discovered, there are some unused voice lines implying that Sae was planned to be a romance option at some point. That would've been one hell of an enemies-to-lovers (even if it wouldn't make sense narratively).

Well, I've gotten the Faith and Councillor Confidants to their proper ranks before their deadlines. I guess I'll wait and see what happens next.

[cyanichexanthine]

4, 5/Prime, 9

Thanks for asking anon 😊🩵 sorry it took me so long to get to this one.

4. Is there a popular pairing you don't necessarily dislike but aren't too invested in? 

I’m sorry, this is a big one I know, but I’ve never really felt much for BirdRick... I don’t hate it, I even like some of the art and writing I’ve seen for it but idk it just doesn’t hit the vibes I enjoy in a ship? So I’m just kinda…indifferent. I don’t actually ship much tbh (might sound bizarre for anyone who has observed my brainrot) but I’ve only had like 3 ships in my life so far and they tend to be all consuming 💀 I’m all or nothing for them, no half way like stuff haha

5. Out of all your fanworks that include [Prime], which is your favourite?

Anon you’re making me choose something of mine… that I actually like lmao 💀

Idk for my writing it should probably be something I had the most fun writing Prime in it (which if that’s the case it would probably be my soon to be uploaded multichapter or maybe reconstruction) but actually, I have a really special place in my heart for Titration because that was just so fun to write. The concepts just came together so well and I had a lot of fun with the descriptive language and scene plotting too, just a genuinely good time writing start to finish.

For my art? Honestly? I know this is a kinda half assed answer but a lot of my favourite Prime pieces are actually in my abandoned WIPs, they’re messy and a little wonky but I like them, idk they just were for silly fun and practice and I think that’s why I enjoy them the most.

9. Write a recommendation of someone else's fic you enjoyed!

I love a lot of them tbh, my bookmarks are a collection of these, and this question pains me so so much because one of the fics I’d recommend the hell out of got deleted 🥲 that fic lives on in my head 💔 but for this question I’m going to suggest two newer ones that I think are a fun read and deserve some love 🥰

1. IQ test by Potetosarada

Ok, there’s something about these little scenes of them goofing off and being silly and competitive that warm my heart, and Poteto writes this SO well, the writing style is lovely and the scenebuilding is perfect. I adore all the little details like the bad chair continuity (and the comment about it lmao) and the concept of them doing a test to “prove” who is smarter and the ending lmao. Love it. It’s so cute, and I eat it up. 🫠🩵

2. Heartless by Anon

This fic, the descriptive language and the concept are chefs kiss, I’m a big fan of uh, the intimacy of the flesh, so this hit that so well. Also the line “I'll make you eat it again until you learn to keep it down." god damn lives in my head, haha it’s so nasty in all the right ways for their toxic messy fallout and so so petty. Big love 🫠🩵

Thanks again for asking anon 💞

[xjumbled-up-brainx]

OCTONAUTS SEASON 5 EPISODE 1 BLUEFIN TUNA SPOILERS THERE WILL BE PICTURES‼️‼️‼️

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I DUNNO IF THIS IS THE CUTOFF OF THE POST BUT IF ITS NOT JUST SCROLL RLY FAST ALRIGHTY

Ok so things I noticed:

Hehe smol peso :3

-Shellington saying “no worse for wear” HELP adorable ✨

-This had me CRYING CAPN WHAT WHY 😭💀😭💀

-The bluefin tuna remind me of the siblings from Ponyo AKNDJSJSND terrifying💀

-Kwazii was so salty in this episode I kinda loved it, I adore Tweak and Kwazii competitive banter cause they give me sibling vibes I love their dynamic sm💙 I think Kwazii had a right to be salty cause of emotional attachment to the Gup B, she (pretty sure Kwazii called her, “she”) has literally been with him forevsies since joining the octonauts and is probably like a rly important outlet for his energy, painted the teeth on himself, something special just for him to go zoom in, now Gup R is here tryna take that place🤨🤨🤨 And Gup B solos Gup R any day of the week💅💅💅✨✨✨ Also love that calico jack and Kwazii both thought to call it “Gup arrrrr” haha same braincell moment

-Also can we talk about how fatherly and praising shells was about the vegimals in this episode??? Like YAY but so random XD they had like 3 scenes and two of em Shellington introduced them by saying “Tunips wayyy ahead of you captain!” like it’s so out of character??? but I love it at the same time like yes worlds best dad beside barnacles but like ??? Ok dude XD

-Also Barnacles was so surprised when Tunip was waiting outside the door with the fish biscuits just as he was asking, almost like he didn’t expect they could anticipate needs before he took command. I dunno, I think this season is definitely leading up to their more independent and grown roles in above and beyond, and Shellington knows they are maturing. BUT THANK THE PIRATE KING THEIR VOICES ARE STILL NORMAL AND NOT PUBERTY 💀💀💀

-Hehe Tina the Tuna og Ryguyrocky daycare fans will get that one💀💀💀 #rockarmy4life ok I’m done JSKSK-

-On the subject of Tuna WHO IS FISHING??? I BEG THY PARDON?!?! TINA BARELY ESCAPED?!? CIVILIZATION LORE LETS GOOO!!! Also I agree with Tina a “hook-ectomy” sounds fkin horrifying😭💀

-Kwazii and Shellington struggling to rig up a hose is so real💀

-Finally, anyone think the bubble engine is gonna cause problems later on down the line of episodes?👀👀👀

And to whoever posted the episode on YouTube, Thank you SO much, May Almighty Brendon’s Powers Be Bestowed Upon Thou For All Eternity ✨💙💺 In the chair we trust amen /j