#going to commit sin and crime

[amaterasu-masami]

Crowley: We could have been us.

Me:

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I just saw one of those “Jesus wanted everyone to love each other” asks where the Christian pile-on gotcha answer was, and I’m going to oversimplify it, “Jesus was actually murdered because he was a brutally honest dick” and you know, sure, people throw out that “hey you’re not being very loving as I understand love for being a member of the love religion, why aren’t you behaving how I want you to behave” gotcha a lot, often that kind of statement is made in exceeding bad faith by someone who has nothing but deep contempt for religion, and further, we all make God in our own image and I can’t help but feel like people who feel compelled to point out what an abrasive and combative person Jesus was are themselves—but I digress

I’m not sure how to articulate this

Jesus is more severe than people who think he was some kind of 1960s free love hippie like to imagine, but I can’t help but think that the people who are a little too happy, gleeful even, to shove the perception in the opposite direction are also missing something

Whose is the greater sin? Do we prefer to stand before God accused of being too tolerant or too legalistic?

I’m not sure, but, I think that people who are incapable of squaring the circle of Christ preaching love AND being crucified, and think therefore he must have been incredibly abrasive, are underestimating how angry you can make some people by being, say, extremely merciful

[poorlymadesockpuppet]

A woman I work with, who is from Britain, just got her US citizenship. It took her and her husband, two fairly well-off people with savings and financial stability, a year to complete her citizenship. She said it was expensive and incredibly complicated, and something she was so relieved to finally have behind her.

When people say that illegal immigrants need to "get legal or get deported", they are speaking from a place of absolute ignorance as to how (intentionally) broken the system has become. For a "respectably" employed white British woman who speaks fluent English and has a degree (someone people may be more biased toward admitting in the first place), the process still took a year. Imagine a family struggling to learn a new language, a new job, new social expectations, trying to get on their feet so that they can even afford to begin that costly and time-consuming process. Without resources to help them untangle the complicated paperwork in a language they may not be fluent in or speak at all. Trump is getting rid of the few resources that did exist to help them enter LEGALLY, because the first elected felon does not care about the law, only that there are brown people in "his" country that he wants out.

Please don't speak out of ignorance. Have compassion for the courage these individuals and families have to venture into something so dangerous and uncertain for their futures and the futures of their children. The united states is not the promised land. These people are risking death to be humiliated and looked down on by people who haven't ever been asked to do something so brave for their own families.

I have never been asked to do anything half as courageous as my abuela did when she was fifteen years old traveling to a new world all alone. Can you imagine being looked down on, screamed at, talked to as if you're stupid simply because of the color of your skin or the language you were speaking? All of these things, she endured, and I wouldn't be alive if she hadn't. The courage of immigrants is a gift from God, a beautiful reminder of human perseverance. We see others who are willing to work hard and to fight for their families futures and it makes us ashamed of our complacent selves. Trump took advantage of that shame and fear and said to put it on our neighbors instead, but I will never be ashamed of the courage of the people who came before me, and I want to tell you that you shouldn't be ashamed of them either. Be proud to have so many beautiful languages in your streets! Be proud to have so many kinds of people in your cities! That's a gift from God, and nothing less.

"The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God."

Leviticus 19:34

"‘Cursed is anyone who withholds justice from the foreigner, the fatherless or the widow.’ Then all the people shall say, ��Amen!’"

Deuteronomy 27:19

I am a Christian, and my conviction is that we as Christians are meant to follow this message, it is the word of God. Loving our neighbors and dying to your own desires daily has never been easy work; nevertheless, God did not give us permission to ignore His commands and deny the humanity of His children, made in His image just because loving them the way he told us to love was too inconvenient.

[mister13eyond]

🍦

name three good things about a character you hate

oh god when thinking "characters I hate" i can only think of ONE example: this motherfucker

i so rarely hate characters, even ones that are meant to be disliked, because i usually appreciate their presence in the story and how fun it is to dislike them, but joshu.... joshu is another story entirely. so uh, challenge mode, here we go:

i think nut king call genuinely has a really interesting power and design

the way he's written makes it really clear just how much of him being Like That is a result of his messy family situation and intergenerational trauma, and i really appreciate the nuance to show that sometimes well-intentioned families can fuck their kids up

[PART 8 SPOILER] giving yasuho his arm was nice i guess, shame about the Entire Rest of that scene

[punk-with-glasses]

You’re re welcome

Photos that belong together

[laixe]

you ever think any of those repent ads actually work...

[hotvampireadjacent]

My people in the homeland are dying and suffering from the heat. Mexico has always been hot but climate change is making it unbearable. The people of the global south are not the cause of climate change [not that we don’t have pollution or local pollution issues, but not to the degree of rich nations. I am specifically speaking of Mexico here] but they are made to pay the costs, the ultimate toll.

61 lives this month alone. This is not natural. What’s scary is today I saw an article questioning what are the limits of heat a human body can sustain. This is not normal!

What did these 61 humans do? What crime did they commit to be punished for the sin of global pollution. I promise you they must have been the most poor. Who couldn’t afford ac and maybe not even afford an electric fan.

The rich countries pollute and pollute while the global south suffers

The animals are dying, and it’s not good, but it just feels like insult to injury to see a bunch of results over the animals before as many about my dead countrymen.

Brown bodies died. The rich European countries do not care. India, too, is suffering from climate change.

You don’t even hear about the people dead in India unless you go out of your way to seek news about climate change.

The global south burns to death, the poor are the most affected for a crime and sin they had no part in. My heart aches for my Mexico, and all other global south nations disproportionally effected by climate change

[infamousbrad]

I warned you.

About 15 years ago, I had a minor moment of Internet fame when I wrote a lengthy essay series on LiveJournal called "Christians in the Hand of an Angry God." In it, I argued that right-wing evangelical "Christianity" was literally Satanic by scriptural standards, was literally the cult of anti-Christ that Jesus prophesied in Matthew 25:31-46, that they were literally worshiping a made-up guy with the same name to justify cruelty, just like Jesus predicted they would the week before the crucifixion.

And at least half of the people who read it and praised it called it excellent satire. They saw my point, thought I was onto something, but couldn't take seriously that I literally meant what I literally said.

"Do not commit the sin of empathy."

Jesus' prophesy that these people were coming was not especially miraculous, in hindsight. No philosophy or theological movement becomes a large organized church, let alone a majority faith of a nation, without needing rich people's money, and/or government funding, to pay for it all.

And rich people in general, and right-wing governments in general, get to be the way they are by believing that the poor and the down-trodden can never be shown anything but cruelty, should never be rewarded, or else they'll lose all motivation to obey, to work hard, to be good. (By contrast, they believe that the same thing would happen to rich, powerful, popular people if they were ever punished in any way, if they were ever anything but rewarded.)

And rich people and governments are not going to subsidize your church foundation funds, your church repair funds, et cetera if you tell them that they're evil. But someone definitely will come along and offer to take that money. The people who take that money and conform won't even all be lying psychopaths; if you truly believe that your organization matters, is doing irreplaceable good in the world, you'll sacrifice any principle of your faith to keep the bills paid, you'll look away from or excuse any sin. It's that or see it all shrink and crumble into irrelevance.

I've come to the conclusion that it may not actually be possible to be a good person while practicing the majority faith of the land you live in. Or, if it is possible, well, like the man said, "straight is the gate and narrow is the way, and few there be that find it."

The Episcopal Church has its own legacy of sin, they've long overlooked a laundry list of crimes to pay their own bills, so don't rush to congratulate a mainline bishop for preaching mainline Christianity or take too much pleasure from Trump and his fascist followers being surprised that that happened. But do remember this:

From the mid-1970s to the present, right-wing billionaires have poured a LOT of money into church expansion and maintenance conditional on them distorting the Bible's teachings to make it appear that Jesus was pro-fascist. "To deceive, if it were possible, the very elect." So when honest theologians tell you that this is literally anti-Christ, literally checks every box in the Bible's description of the future cult of anti-Christ, you need to hear us.

The modern book and movie image of "the Antichrist" was a well-funded propaganda campaign to distract you from the plain language of the scriptures. The biblical anti-Christ is not some socialist liberal peacenik. The biblical anti-Christ is everyone who tells you that Jesus wants you to be cruel to "the least of these, my brethren" so that they'll straighten up and fly right.

[pixiefelixie]

⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM CRACK: KIM SEUNGMIN (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: kim seungmin x brat fem!reader and lee felix x reader : ̗̀➛ word count: ~9k

you swore seungmin never wanted you like that. you were so sure. so your boyfriend, felix makes a bet: if seungmin really doesn’t want you, then he won’t crack—no matter how hard you push. felix is sure he will. you’ve got three days to prove him wrong.

author's note: the long-awaited part two is finally here 😭 thank you so much for being patient. this is the filthiest thing i’ve ever written and i apologize…but please read part one if you haven't already. enjoy! ♡

part one: make him snap

warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ warnings: harddom!seungmin, sub!reader, consented infidelity, oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected sex, hair pulling, exhibitionism, degradation (again ik) threesome themes, getting caught

you knocked once.

the door opened before your knuckles even pulled back.

and there he was.

felix stood in the doorway wearing a white silk button-up that clung to his chest like sin and shimmered faintly every time he moved. the top two buttons were undone and his hair was swept back in that effortlessly perfect way that made you want to scream into a pillow. or maybe into his pillow.

“hi,” he said, smile soft and sunshine-warm.

you smiled so fast it hurt. “hi.”

and then you kissed him.

quick, light, full of something you were trying very hard to pretend wasn’t giddy joy. his hand found your waist the way it always did—steady, reassuring, like he couldn’t help pulling you in closer. you let him.

“i missed you,” you murmured against his cheek.

“you saw me yesterday.”

“and?”

felix grinned. “i missed you too.”

he stepped aside so you could slip inside, your hand lingering in his for just a second longer than necessary. the apartment was warm and smelled faintly like bergamot and something earthy—his body wash, maybe. the air settled around you like a hug.

normally, he’d pick you up for dates. always showing up at your door, walking you to the car like he was escorting you to prom. but tonight’s dinner spot was closer to his place than yours, so it made more sense for you to come here.

but you weren’t mad about it.

there was something about walking into his space that made you feel like you belonged there. like your toothbrush could be in his cup and your hoodie could be on his chair and it wouldn’t be weird at all.

“you look beautiful, angel,” felix said, his voice soft in that way that always made you melt a little in the knees.

you leaned in, fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt, flattening a wrinkle that didn’t really need fixing.

“and you look handsome,” you let your palm linger over his chest.

felix leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “i’m gonna grab a few more things and then we’ll go, okay?”

you nodded as he padded down the hallway, disappearing into his room. you stayed by the door, fidgeting with your dress, a smile still ghosting across your lips—until you heard it.

a voice.

muffled, but sharp. coming from the living room.

you turned, stepping lightly until seungmin came into view—half-slouched against the edge of the couch, phone to his ear, brows drawn in that low, annoyed pinch he always wore when he was trying very hard not to care about something that was obviously bothering him.

“i told you i didn’t want that. from the beginning. don’t act surprised now.”

there was a pause. a sharp sigh.

then, “alright. goodbye.”

he hung up and stood still for a beat, shoulders rigid.

then he turned and nearly jumped when he saw you standing there.

you raised an eyebrow. “you good?”

“peachy,” he muttered, slipping his phone into the pocket of his hoodie as he stepped toward the entryway.

you tilted your head, watching him reach for his sneakers. “you’re going out?”

“apparently i'm emotionally unavailable and it's suddenly a crime to not want commitment,” seungmin said dryly, crouching down to tie his laces. “so i thought i’d go for a walk.”

you blinked. “that didn’t sound like a walk kind of phone call.”

“it’s either that or drink half a bottle of soju and regret spending that night with her.”

her?

“maybe if you stopped fucking around with people, you wouldn’t have to walk it off every time one of them gets feelings.” you said, leaning against the wall with a shit-eating grin. 

he stood up slowly, brushing imaginary lint from his hoodie. “is there a reason you’re always in my business?”

“is there a reason your business is always messy?”

just as he was about to reply, felix came around the corner, adjusting the watch on his wrist.

“ready to go, love?” he said, stepping beside you.

“she’s bullying me,” seungmin announced, pulling his coat on.

“sorry,” you teased.

he rolled his eyes but—there it was—that barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll live,” he muttered, zipping his coat halfway up. 

as you stepped into your shoes, felix held the door open for both you and seungmin, who’d shrugged into his coat and was now pulling his hood up.

felix locked the door behind the three of you. “you going far?” he said out loud to seungmin.

“just around,” seungmin said as he paused at the edge of the sidewalk and shoved his hands into his pockets. “have a good night, you two.”

felix gave him a warm nod. “bye, min.”

you lingered for a second, eyes meeting seungmin’s just as he glanced at you. you watched him for a beat, the curve of his shoulders as he turned away to walk. he didn’t look back.

felix’s fingers slipped between yours.

you turned to him, and without a word, he lifted his eyebrows slightly.

shall we?

you smiled, breath curling in the cold air. 

“we shall.”

clink.

your glasses touched with a soft chime, the candlelight bouncing off the rims and catching in felix’s eyes like glittering dusk. you took a sip of your wine—warm, smooth, just sharp enough to wake your cheeks with a pleasant burn—then set your glass down and reached across the table for his hand.

felix didn’t hesitate. his fingers curled around yours instantly, thumb brushing soft circles into your skin like he’d been waiting all night to touch you properly. you turned his hand gently, letting your lips graze over his knuckles.

you watched his hands, the careful way he moved, the way he always did everything with intention. his rings caught the candlelight again, the silver warm with reflected gold.

and maybe it was the wine.

or the fact that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet.

but your mind wandered—back to that night. that split-second where he paused, where his hands tightened on your hips and everything shifted. the tension that flared the moment seungmin slipped into the room—not physically, but in suggestion, in the space between you and felix.

you still didn’t know what kind of tension it was. good or bad. sharp with jealousy, or with something darker. felix lived in that gray space—between obsession and ownership, between fear and fascination with what you’d do next.

all you knew was that it broke him—and then made him touch you like he’d never get the chance again. the memory flickered through you like heat. the way felix had grabbed your wrists, the way his breath had gone rough and uneven, the way his voice had dropped.

your thighs pressed together under the table, and you shifted in your seat like that might help. it didn’t.

“felix,” you said quietly.

he looked up instantly.

“yes, love?” he asked, voice soft, thumb still stroking yours.

you opened your mouth, but you weren’t sure what you meant to say. his gaze stayed on you, calm and kind, but his fingers didn’t stop moving—small, deliberate circles across the back of your hand, tracing the place your pulse was skipping under your skin.

you hesitated. “does it bother you?”

his expression shifted—barely. 

“what?” he said gently, like he hadn’t heard you right. 

you glanced down at your joined hands, your voice barely above the soft clink of cutlery and the low hum of conversation around you.

“i just mean… seungmin. and i know we bicker.” you swallowed. “i just… i don’t know. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it after that night with you.”

there. you said it.

not the full thing. not the part where his name had been on your lips at the wrong moment, or the way seungmin’s eyes lingered when they shouldn’t.

you ran your thumb along the side of his, nervously.

“i don’t know if you seemed bothered by it,” you said quietly. “or if you were just talking about seungmin in the moment. as part of the, you know… act.”

felix didn’t speak.

his thumb stilled.

and your heart sank just a little.

“but just so you know, seungmin and i spoke to each other the next morning.” you added quickly. “trust me, there is nothing you should be worried about. he told me that himself.”

felix stayed silent.

too silent.

his eyes didn’t leave yours, but he didn’t nod. didn’t speak.

all of the sudden, he let out a soft laugh under his breath.

you looked up fast. “why are you laughing?”

he leaned in a little, lips tilted in that warm smile—but his eyes were still on you like he was reading a book only he understood.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

his eyes searched yours. then finally—

“you know i have every reason to be worried, right?”

your breath hitched, but he shook his head, just once.

“it’s okay,” he said softly. “i’m not mad.” he never is.

he let his thumb drag across your knuckles again, slow and deliberate. 

“but you have to stop pretending,” felix murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “that seungmin doesn’t want you.”

your heart stumbled. “what?”

felix looked up at you again, this time with a softness that hurt more than it helped.

“y/n,” he said, patient but firm. “come on.”

you blinked, hard. “he doesn’t,” you said, maybe too fast. “seungmin doesn’t want people. you’ve seen him—he barely tolerates women unless they’re his mom or his sister.”

“or you.” felix added.

you stared at him, throat tight. “this is crazy.”

felix still didn’t flinch.

he just watched you.

and you hated that part of you—the smallest, traitorous part—that wasn’t sure if you were trying to convince him. or yourself.

his expression didn’t change. “is it?”

you sighed, fingers curling tighter around his. “look. i’ll admit there’s something between us. okay? a pull, maybe. i don’t know. but seungmin? he’d never admit that. not to me, not to you, not to anyone. he doesn’t do that.”

felix’s smile returned then—soft, but unreadable. “doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“felix,” you said gently, “he actively looks like he wants to jump into traffic when i talk to him.”

his voice was quiet, but too clear. “and he also actively looks at you like he wants to fuck you.”

your eyes widened. your whole body jerked slightly, not from shock at the statement—but from how casually he’d said it.

you immediately looked around the restaurant. candlelit tables. a couple two seats over. someone’s mom having a birthday behind you. there are too many people in this room for him to talk like that. you leaned in fast. 

“he’s too blunt,” you said. “also stubborn. i could show up naked and he’d probably throw a blanket at me and tell me to get therapy.”

felix tilted his head. “wanna bet?”

the word made something stutter in your chest.

your mind pulled back—just for a second—flashing through another bet. another night. the morning after. seungmin sliding sixty bucks across the counter.

your heart skipped. “what kind of bet?”

felix sat back slightly, finally releasing your hand only to reach for his wine. he took a slow sip, then set the glass down with precision.

“you push. just a little. if he cracks, i win.”

you stared. “and if he doesn’t?”

“then you were right,” he said simply. “and i’ll never bring it up again. either way, you’ll still get what you want. you wouldn’t mind the prize of losing either.”

your brow creased. “which is…?”

felix’s thumb brushed slow over your knuckles. his gaze didn’t waver.

“to fuck him.”

your heart lurched so hard you swore the wine in your glass rippled. your mouth opened—some reflexive denial hanging on the tip of your tongue—but nothing came out.

you went silent.

felix watched you. not smug. just certain.

“i know it,” he said gently. “you won’t say it. you won’t even admit it to yourself. but it’s there. i see it, angel.”

your skin was suddenly hot. you never wanted to admit it fully—not out loud, not yet. but the second felix had said it, something inside you had twisted tight, like your body had been holding the truth longer than your mouth could.

you wanted to see seungmin lose control. just once. wanted to know how he’d sound when he cracked. wanted to know how far felix would let this go.

you already knew the answer. as far as you wanted. as far as you needed. because felix would never say no.

he leaned in closer, voice barely above the ambient hum of the restaurant.

“and you know i’ll give you anything you want,” he murmured. “like always. right?”

you swallowed.

hard.

your brows pulled together. “what do you get out of it?”

felix tilted his head, fingers brushing gently over the top of your hand.

“seeing you happy.”

he meant it. that was the problem. he always did.

“how can you be okay with this?” you asked finally. it came out smaller than you meant it to.

felix didn’t answer right away.

instead, he reached across the table and gently took both of your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your skin like it was delicate, precious, breakable.

“angel,” he said, voice low, “look at me.”

you did.

“i trust you,” he said. “so much.”

your throat tightened.

“whatever happens,” he continued, “whatever this is, i trust you.”

his hands squeezed yours gently, like he could feel the shake in your bones even if you weren’t showing it.

god. you loved him.

it hit you all over again, crashing through your ribs like a wave—how good he was, how much he gave without ever asking for anything in return. how he held you like you were the only person in the room, even when you were confessing something that should’ve ruined everything.

“i love you,” you whispered, because there was nothing else left to say. “you can trust me.”

felix smiled, eyes softening, voice barely above a breath.

“i know,” he said. “i love you too.”

then, with a small smile, you reached for your glass. “it’s settled.”

felix followed, his fingers brushing yours as he lifted his.

a soft clink echoed between you.

that evening, after the bet was sealed, you and felix spent the rest of dinner going over the rules. his terms were thoughtful, complex—laid out like a strategy. seungmin’s bet had been simple. blunt. a single dare and a deadline.

exactly like the two of them.

felix thought in layers. seungmin struck straight at the center.

sixty bucks was on the line—same amount as last time, because felix was sentimental like that. or maybe he just liked symmetry. 

the rule was that once seungmin kisses you, it’s over.

that was the clear marker. if seungmin’s mouth touched yours with intention, felix won.

you had three days to get seungmin to crack.

three days to find out if felix was right.

the next day, you were at dance practice, watching felix from the couch like you always did when you had a free hour and he didn’t.

he loved it when you were there. said it made him move cleaner. said it made the counts feel softer. you weren’t sure about all that, but you knew his eyes flicked to you between sets.

after an hour of relentless choreography, felix finally stepped off the floor, tugging his hoodie off his head and shaking out his hair.

he slumped onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh and dropped his head back against the cushion, breathing hard, chest rising under the thin fabric of his shirt.

“dead,” he muttered.

you turned toward him, trying not to be affected by the way his hair clung to his forehead, the way his collar was stretched slightly, the way his entire existence was just too much up close.

“you look it,” you said, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

felix cracked one eye open. “compliment me better.”

“you look hot,” you replied, immediate. then, with a smile: “literally.”

he smiled. “that’ll do.”

you reached for his hand, and he let you take it, fingers still warm and damp from practice. he looked ruined in the best way—sweaty, flushed, glowing under the dim studio lights.

felix laced his fingers with yours, still breathless but smiling, his eyes glittering beneath the studio lights.

“you ready?” he asked, voice low.

your gaze flicked—just for a second—toward the door.

that had been the plan. after his practice, you’d head down the hall. seungmin’s favourite studio was three doors over.

he squeezed your hand. “you still wanna do this?”

you looked at him. 

at the flush in his cheeks. the sweat on his temple. the way he was holding you like you weren’t about to walk away from him for another guy—for a bet. and still, he smiled like he wasn’t scared.

you nodded. “yeah.”

felix grinned, eyes crinkling as he leaned in and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your mouth. his thumb brushed against your jaw like he was memorizing it.

“for luck,” he murmured, lips still against yours.

you kissed him one last time—gentle, lingering—and then stood up.

your heart was already racing as you opened the door. you slipped out into the hallway, trying not to let your nerves catch up with you.

the quiet between studios was broken only by the occasional echo of music behind thick doors and the soft hum of air conditioning overhead. you walked slowly—past mirrored practice rooms, dim rehearsal spaces—until you found it.

the recording studio.

the light above the door was red. he was in there.

you hesitated for half a second, then raised your hand and knocked. just twice. soft.

the light flicked off. a shuffle of movement. then the door cracked open, and there he was.

hoodie sleeves shoved up, hair a little messy, earbuds still dangling around his neck. he looked flushed in that way he always did when he was mid-verse—sharp focus still clinging to his features.

the second he saw you, his entire body stilled.

“oh no,” he said teasingly, as he lifted his head up.

you smiled. cheeky. 

“hi, seungmin.”

he stared at you like you were a walking hazard.

“what do you want?”

you slipped past him without answering, stepping into the small recording space like you owned it. warm lights. mic still set up. monitor screen still active. his voice was probably still ringing in the headphones he’d dropped on the chair.

“felix is too busy right now,” you said, casually wandering over to the console. you didn’t look at him when you said it—just ran your fingers lightly along the edge of the soundboard. “so i thought i’d come by.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow, still standing near the door like he hadn’t decided if he was letting this happen.

“does he know you’re here?” he asked.

you glanced over your shoulder. “does it matter?”

that earned a reaction. he let out a quiet breath—something between a laugh and a scoff—and looked away, smiling to himself like he couldn’t help it.

“i can leave,” you said, feigning politeness. “if you’re busy too.”

you already knew what the answer would be. he’d never tell you to leave. not when he didn’t know what you were doing. not when he wanted to know.

“you’re fine here,” he said after a beat, tone unreadable.

you nodded once and walked toward the small couch in the corner, dropping into it and tucking your legs up underneath you.

seungmin had settled in by the console again, clicking through takes with practiced indifference. his eyes flicked to the screen, then to the levels, then—briefly—to you.

your voice was calm when you asked, “what are you working on?”

seungmin didn’t look up from the monitor. “something you wouldn’t understand.”

the words were clipped, automatic, like muscle memory.

he waited for it—the jab, the comeback. the usual volley you always threw back with precision. his lips even curled slightly, like he was preparing for your argument.

but you didn’t bite.

you just hummed, light and easy. “still sounds good from here.”

he paused.

only for a second—but you saw it. the faint flicker of confusion that passed over his face like a shadow. his hands stilled over the keyboard. then he exhaled through his nose, trying to brush it off.

“it’s a demo,” he said, eyes fixed on the monitor again. “one of my solo things. chan and i are piecing it together soon.”

you leaned your cheek into your palm, voice still soft. “that’s cool. i didn’t know you wrote on your own.”

“don’t get too impressed,” he muttered with a tune at the end.

you smiled. “wanna play it for me?”

he stared at you for a beat longer, then clicked something on the keyboard. the track played—soft at first, then heavier. clean vocals layered over a slow beat.

you listened. 

when the first verse faded out, he clicked the spacebar and glanced at you again.

“i like it,” you said with a sweet smile. “you’re good at what you do.”

“great,” he sighed, lips twitching. “now i need to rewrite the whole thing.”

you laughed.

seungmin narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze flicking over your face like he was dissecting something. calculating. then—

“you hit your head on the way here or something?”

you blinked at him, all faux innocence. “why?”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “because you’re being… nice.”

you tilted your head. “i’m always nice.”

“no, you’re not,” he said flatly, like it was fact. “you’re annoying and opinionated and loud.”

you tilted your head, pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. 

“and you’re giving me those eyes,” he said flatly.

you blinked. “what eyes?”

he turned in his chair to face you more fully, elbow propped against the armrest, expression cool—almost amused.

“the ones you give felix,” he said.

your lips parted slightly. 

you blinked once. then, carefully: “i look at felix a lot of ways.”

seungmin let out a soft scoff. “you know what i’m talking about.”

for a second, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. his expression was unreadable, but his eyes stayed fixed on you. slow. intent.

“you must want something pretty bad to come here like this.” he murmured.

you hadn’t even noticed it—when he rolled closer, when the space between you shrank like it’d always meant to. but now he was there. close. you could still pretend. there was still distance. technically.

but the placement was deliberate. he was leaned back in his chair like he wasn’t doing anything at all—but his legs were spread just enough to keep you boxed in, and his gaze hadn’t flickered away once.

you glanced at the door. just for a second. just long enough to remember why you were here. seungmin’s gaze tracked yours before turning to look at you again.

then, gently, he nudged your knee with his. it was barely a touch. just pressure. but it sent a shiver straight up your spine. because seungmin didn’t touch you. not ever. not even in passing. for obvious reasons. and now he had.

his voice was quiet. low. “what is it that you want?”

you met his gaze. let the silence stretch for one breath. two.

then you leaned forward.

just a little.

just enough to close the gap that he’d left open on purpose. your fingers found the edge of his sleeve—brushed lightly against the skin of his forearm, right where it met the crook of his elbow. barely there. a whisper of a touch.

but it was enough to make him still.

“i thought it would help,” you said. “making felix snap. hearing him say those words. letting him… do those things.”

your eyes flicked up to meet his. steady. careful.

“maybe it wasn’t him i needed to hear it from.” you whispered. 

seungmin smiled. a little too calm.

he reached out and took your wrist. 

“you’re sick,” he said, voice like silk wrapped around a knife.

and then, still watching you, he slid your hand off his arm and set it down on your lap like it didn’t belong to him. like he was returning borrowed property.

“don’t do that,” you said, voice steady. “don’t act like this is nothing.”

seungmin didn’t flinch.

“you and i…” you started again, slower, willing him to look at you, to hear it the way you meant it. “there’s something here.”

he just nodded. once. small.

“i know,” he said simply.

you froze.

that wasn’t the answer you were ready for. not that easy. not that fast.

you opened your mouth—but nothing came out. because what the hell were you supposed to say to that? seungmin looked at you like he’d already made peace with it. like knowing was the problem.

and then he turned away.

“i think you should leave, y/n.”

the words landed like cold water.

your chest pulled tight. “what?”

his back was to you now, already returning to the console, like the entire conversation had just been a brief distraction between takes.

“i have a bridge to finish,” he said. 

you exhaled slowly. a soft, frustrated sound that barely made it to him.

then you stood. your feet felt heavy. you couldn’t do it. not this time.

you reached the door, hand on the knob—and paused.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, seungmin.”

he didn’t answer. even after the door shut.

the next day came slower than it should have.

not because time dragged—but because your thoughts did. through every class, every errand, every moment you found yourself alone. they looped like static.

maybe he really won’t crack.

it wouldn’t be the worst thing.

you were the one who bet against the possibility. you’d get your sixty bucks for the second time, felix would wrap his arms around you and say something like, “guess i was wrong, huh?”—and he’d mean it softly, not bitterly. you’d curl into him and pretend this whole thing didn’t matter. like it wasn’t keeping you up at night.

it wouldn’t hurt. not really..

but if it had just been about winning, you wouldn’t be thinking about the way he looked at you yesterday when you were speaking to him. you wouldn’t be remembering the way he’d leaned forward—like if he moved any closer, he might forget himself.

your phone buzzed beside you. tonight’s plan was rolling.

felix: seungmin told me he’s on his way home. you’ve got him alone for at least an hour. you got this angel.

not even five minutes later, you heard the sound of the door unlocking. the quiet creak of hinges. the soft thud of shoes meeting the floor.

your heart jumped. immediate.

you straightened on the couch, as you heard the unmistakable shuffle of seungmin’s footsteps.

then—

“y/n?”

his voice.

you turned, slow, casual. like you hadn’t been listening for it all night.

“hi,” you said, voice light. innocent.

he blinked at you from the hallway entrance. hair a little messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times. 

“you’re here,” he said flatly.

you nodded, tucking your legs a little closer into the couch. “felix said i could stay until he got back. hope that’s okay.”

“yeah,” seungmin muttered, voice low as he stepped further into the room. “it’s fine.”

he didn’t look at you. just dropped his bag near the door, kicked off his shoes, and made his way to the couch. he collapsed beside you. dropped down like gravity had yanked him too hard, head thrown back against the cushion, long legs spread carelessly in front of him.

you stayed quiet for a second as your eyes trailed his body. from the visible bulge outlined by his grey sweatpants to the thin layer of sweat on his neck. you watched the way his chest rose and fell. the way his jaw clenched. the faint crease between his brows that hadn’t eased since he walked in.

“…are you okay?” you asked.

he didn’t answer right away. just reached up and dragged a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his eyes like he could scrub out the entire day.

“no.”

you blinked. that was rare. seungmin didn’t do no. 

he didn’t do honest.

you shifted toward him slightly. “do you wanna talk about it?”

“no.”

okay, so not that honest.

you waited. let the silence stretch, let the question hang in the space like a hook. you knew he’d bite eventually.

and sure enough, a few seconds later:

“am i manipulative?” he asked, bluntly. 

you hesitated. “i… don’t think so?”

he didn’t look convinced.

“i showed up to fuck, and she started talking about feelings again. i said i didn’t want that, and she said i’d led her on.” he said. 

you stilled. the girl. the one from the phone call. the one you’d overheard him arguing with the other night.

“i said i didn’t want that from the start,” he said, sharp now. “she asked me to come over. i didn’t chase her. i never promised anything.”

his fingers flexed against his thighs, knuckles pale from tension. he was still staring at you—jaw set, eyes sharp—but something in the way his hands twitched told you he was barely holding himself together.

and maybe it was awful, maybe it made you just a little bit cruel, but—god—he looked good like this.

you’d always known seungmin was attractive in that quietly devastating kind of way. not the type to flaunt it. not the type to notice it. but it hit harder when he was like this—on edge, breathing hard, frustration leaking out of him in little cracks that let you see what he usually kept hidden.

he was always so composed. always in control.

but now?

now he looked like he wanted to break something. or someone.

and your stomach flipped at the thought that maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t mind being the thing he lost it on.

“you were clear. that’s not manipulative. that’s just… knowing what you want.”

he scoffed, dry and bitter. “yeah, well, apparently that makes me an asshole.”

“only to people who think they can change your mind.”

his jaw twitched. 

“i think,” you said carefully, eyes trained on the tension in his fingers, “you need someone who respects that you don’t want any strings attached.”

once he heard your words, his hands finally unclenched. then—he moved. he turned to face you fully, his upper body propped up on his arm that is behind your head.

he’s going to crack tonight.

you knew it with the kind of certainty that hit low in your stomach. he was too wound up from whatever that argument was. he hadn’t even gotten the sex he wanted, and now all that leftover tension was sitting under his skin, burning holes through his composure.

and you were right here. in front of him. saying the exact things he didn’t know he wanted to hear.

his eyes flicked down your face, landing on your mouth for just a second too long. when he looked back up, something in him had shifted. still calm—but only on the surface. below that, he was simmering. mad. worked up. and probably half-hard just from frustration alone.

“you’re good at pretending you can handle things,” he said. “but i don’t think you really know what you’re doing.”

“then show me.”

his jaw flexed, like he was trying to bite down the part of him that wanted to respond. but he didn’t pull away. didn’t call your bluff.

you reached out—slow, deliberate—and placed your hand on his chest, right over the thin fabric of his shirt. he sucked in a breath so sharp you felt it beneath your palm. his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw clenched like he was trying not to let it show how much that one touch rattled him.

but it did.

you were doing something to him.

he opened his eyes again, darker now, pupils blown. his hand lifted and curled around the back of your neck, fingers warm and steady, grounding you—but also pulling you in. his gaze dropped to your lips.

then back up.

he was going to kiss you.

he leaned in—closer, closer—until your noses brushed, until you could feel the heat of his mouth hovering a breath away from yours. your lips parted. your pulse screamed.

he stopped.

“we can’t,” he muttered, low and strained.

you blinked, confusion punching through your haze. “what?”

“we can’t,” he said again, eyes locked on yours like he needed you to believe him. like he didn’t believe himself. “you’ll regret it.”

frustration surged in your chest. you could see it—he wanted this. he wanted you. he just couldn’t let himself fall first.

so you moved.

you climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs, straddling him with quiet defiance. his breath hitched immediately, hands flying to your hips like instinct.

“then stop me,” you whispered, cupping his face gently. “tell me you don’t want this.”

his eyes darted across your face, his jaw tightening again like it hurt to stay still.

“you can’t,” you added, voice barely above a breath. “because you do.”

his hands tightened just slightly on your hips, enough to make you feel the restraint buzzing beneath his skin. his gaze didn’t leave yours, but the heat in it dulled, shaded by something heavier. guilt. conflict.

“i’m not doing that to felix,” he said finally, voice low and tight. 

the words hit harder than you expected. not because he was rejecting you—but because you knew he meant it. because even like this—left frustrated, horny, with your body pressed against his—he still respected his best friend too much to cross the line.

if only he knew this was a bet made by said best friend. 

your fingers slipped from his face, settling against the base of his throat instead, your thumbs resting gently there as you searched his expression.

“what if…” you started carefully, “what if it wasn’t felix?”

his brows lifted just barely. “then you wouldn’t have to try so hard.”

you blinked.

you stared at him for a long beat. at the lips you wanted. the eyes you couldn’t read. the softness in his hands, even as he held you still. his heart was thudding beneath your palm, loud and uneven. just like yours.

“i won’t tell him,” seungmin said quietly. “this stays between us.”

“you won’t?”

he shook his head, gaze steady. “no.”

then, softer—warning:

“but if you do this again…” his hands slid just barely along your sides, almost like he couldn’t stop himself. “if you get this close again, i won’t be able to hold back.”

you were fine with that.

you had one night left.

one night before the bet ended. before sixty bucks went into your hands. before you were supposed to laugh it all off and say well, that was fun after having failed to seduce kim seungmin.

you didn’t care about the bet anymore.

you hadn’t for a while.

you wanted seungmin to crack.

tonight was your last shot.

this time, you went straight to the dorm.

you knocked once.

it was late. the kind of late where the hallway felt too quiet and your pulse was too loud in your ears. you didn’t tell felix. didn’t plan anything. just showed up.

the door creaked open.

and there he was. hair wet, still towel-draped across his shoulders. a muted blue t-shirt clinging a little at the collar, grey sweats riding low. 

seungmin’s eyes swept over you once. then again, slower. then he leaned against the frame like he was already tired of whatever this was.

“felix isn’t here,” he said flatly.

you didn’t answer right away.

he knew what this was.

“but he will be,” seungmin said eventually, voice quieter now, like he was warning you. or warning himself. “you should come back later,” 

his voice didn’t match the words. it was too soft. like a door half-closed, not locked. his eyes didn’t leave you. didn’t flick to the clock or the hallway. they just stayed on yours—dark, unreadable, and a little too steady for someone who wanted you gone.

you didn’t move.

then, without looking away, he stepped back.

you stepped in.

the air shifted the second you crossed the threshold, as if the room itself braced for impact. you heard the soft thud of the door clicking shut behind you, and you stood there—just for a moment—so close to him now it made your skin buzz.

“y/n.”

his voice was low. too low. careful in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“yeah?”

seungmin didn’t answer right away.

“does felix know you’re here?”

the same question as last time.

and before you could even open your mouth to throw up a dodge, he added—

“don’t give me that indirect shit again.”

you froze.

his eyes were on you, dark and direct, gaze locked like he’d been building to this. there was something in it that looked almost like fear—coiled under the frustration, under the sharp jaw and the tense shoulders. he looked so hot like that—torn between doing the right thing and wanting to be selfish.

you exhaled, voice small. “no.”

seungmin didn’t move. his jaw clenched.

then he nodded, slow and sharp, like he’d known the answer already and just needed you to confirm it. 

“right,” he muttered.

and then he reached for his phone.

you reacted instantly.

your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could unlock the screen.

“wait.”

seungmin stilled. his thumb hovered over the button. his gaze didn’t lift. “i’m gonna call him.”

“no,” you said, fast, breath catching. “don’t.”

your fingers curled around his wrist, tight.

“i love felix,” you said suddenly.

seungmin blinked, something in his face tightening like he hadn’t expected that. like he didn’t know what you were about to do with it.

you didn’t either.

“i do,” you repeated, slower this time, like you were trying to convince yourself. “he’s good to me. sweet. kind.”

seungmin stayed quiet, but his jaw set, and you could tell he was waiting. bracing.

“but you,” you said. “i hate the way you look at me. i hate the way you talk to me like i’m a child who doesn’t know what she wants.” you took a step closer, your voice low now. “but maybe you were right.”

seungmin didn’t flinch.

“maybe i am sick,” you said. “because felix is soft and patient and perfect—and you’re not. and that’s why i’m here again.”

you were close now. 

“maybe i don’t want sweet right now,” you whispered. “maybe i need someone who can ruin me a little.”

his breath hitched.

“why do you think i enjoyed it so much,” you murmured, eyes locked on his, “when felix was mean to me that night?”

seungmin’s gaze sharpened like a blade drawn too fast.

“you think that’s something to be proud of?” seungmin said, voice low, biting.

then he stepped toward you.

once.

twice.

and you stepped back on instinct until your spine hit the wall with a soft thud. the air thinned immediately, like it couldn’t squeeze between your bodies anymore.

his eyes were burning into you now. sharp. angry. too full for someone pretending not to care.

“you’re pathetic,” he muttered. “you show up here, say you love him, say you hate me, and now you want what—pity? attention? to get fucked by the guy you can’t stop pushing?”

you didn’t flinch. just tilted your chin up, gaze steady. 

you smiled. it was the kind of smile that came from knowing exactly which wire you’d just cut, and hearing the bomb tick faster.

because seungmin had cracked.

the second his composure slipped—when the line in his jaw tightened, when his voice dropped into something raw and reckless—you knew.

you’d broken him.

and now he was right in front of you.

towering.

his chest rose and fell fast. his shoulders were tense, caging you in like he didn’t trust himself to move. his eyes were unreadable now. burned out from trying not to feel and failing anyway.

“you’re so mad at me,” you said, voice quiet but taunting. “you look at me like you hate me, but you keep getting closer and closer to me. isn’t that a little…”

you smiled, just enough to sting.

“manipulative?”

that broke something.

seungmin surged forward, his mouth crashing into yours without warning. the kiss was messy, hard, teeth clashing—and you gasped into it, breath catching in your throat as his hand tangled in your hair and pulled, just enough to make you feel it.

you’d done it.

even if you lost the sixty bucks—this was what you wanted.

him, like this.

you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, lips swollen, eyes wild, and seungmin’s hand still fisted in your hair like he wasn’t ready to let go.

felix got you what you wanted. god, you loved felix. 

but seungmin was here. right now. and you were past pretending that didn’t matter.

his mouth was still hovering near yours, breath ragged. you were still panting, your chest brushing his with every breath, drunk off the taste of him—head spinning from how hard he’d kissed you, how deep the pull in his voice had gotten.

and then, because you never learned, you pushed again.

“you suck at commitment,” you whispered, just loud enough for the words to crack between your bodies.

his eyes lifted. sharpened.

“so of course the thing that gets you off is fucking your best friend’s girl.” you murmured, that bratty smile creeping back, slow and venomous. 

his jaw flexed, and his grip in your hair tightened, but firm like he was warning you not to push further.

you pushed anyway.

“you’re just waiting for him to fuck up so you can sweep in and take whatever’s left of me, aren’t you?” you tilted your head, voice like silk-wrapped poison. “or maybe you just like being the one thing i’d never admit to wanting. the one i should stay the hell away from.”

“shut the hell up.”

you barely had time to blink before the hand in your hair yanked, sharp enough to drag a breathless gasp out of you, neck craning with the force of it. his other hand gripped your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your hip as he pressed in closer, until there wasn’t a single inch between you. 

“you think i’m here because i want to be some dirty secret?” his voice was a low, guttural rasp, so close to your ear you felt it more than heard it. “you think i give a fuck about winning you over? i’m here because you won’t fucking stop.”

he twisted your hair tighter. you whimpered.

“you come to my door, night after night, eyes all big, talking about how much you ‘love’ felix while you practically beg me to wreck you. you play innocent until i call you out, and then you play victim when i do.” his breath was hot against your neck now, mouth brushing the skin there, just barely. “you want to be used. you want to be put in your place.”

your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, stubborn even now, even as your pulse skittered like a cornered thing under your skin. you knew the look in his eyes. knew what came next. but you still couldn’t resist the bite.

“you think i’m begging for you?” you breathed, voice laced with mockery, the kind of tone that always made his temper spark. “you’re the one holding me like you’re about to come in your pants.”

he didn’t say a word.

just slid one hand down your thigh, slow and deliberate, then bent his knee and shoved it up between your legs.

your breath punched out in a shocked whimper as his thigh pressed firm against your core, forcing your hips to roll against it. you bucked without meaning to try to chase the pressure.

“mmhm,” seungmin murmured, his voice dark and low, head tilted so his mouth brushed your temple. “that shut you up.”

you made a small, desperate sound, your forehead falling forward, burying in the crook of his neck as your fingers fisted tighter in his shirt. 

“you’re so loud until i do something about it,” he said, voice vibrating against your skin, his arms tightening around you. “that bratty little mouth just runs and runs—but look at you now.”

he shifted his leg just enough to drag it against you again. the friction sent another whine crawling out of your throat—high and pathetic—and your hips jerked, grinding down on instinct.

he exhaled a laugh, mean and quiet.

“that’s what i thought.”

you tried to lift your head, tried to snarl something back—anything—but he beat you to it, dragging his lips down the side of your face in a taunting, too-soft kiss.

“don’t start,” he warned, just above a whisper. 

then his hands were back on your waist, strong and certain, and before you could even protest he hoisted you up—effortless—like you weighed nothing at all. you gasped, arms looping around his neck, legs instinctively locking around his waist as he walked you across the room.

he dumped you onto the couch and the cushions barely bounced before he was on you again.

seungmin climbed over you, arms bracketing your shoulders as his mouth descended. his lips crashed into yours, breath hot and wild, tongue slick as it parted your mouth and stole the air from your lungs.

you moaned into it as his hand found your jaw, thumb swiping your cheekbone as he tilted your head just the way he wanted. 

and then you were moving.

your fingers fumbled at the hem of your shirt—thin, soft cotton stretched from how tightly it clung to you. you broke the kiss for only a second, just long enough to yank the thing over your head. you dropped the shirt somewhere and lay back in just your bra, chest rising fast, skin flushed and exposed.

seungmin’s eyes dropped immediately. his breath caught. his hand followed, dragging from your throat down between the swell of your breasts, pausing over the center of your bra. his thumb brushed the fabric, then pressed—slow, heavy—watching the way you squirmed beneath him, lips parted and eyes half-lidded.

“you know how long i’ve wanted to see you like this?” he muttered, voice dark with hunger, words rumbling low in his chest as he leaned in and kissed just above your heart, then down, slower, pressing his mouth to the tops of your breasts like he wanted to memorize the way they rose under him. “fucking teasing me for days—saying things like that. all those stupid little games.”

his fingers found the clasp of your bra like he’d done it a hundred times in his head—deft, practiced, no fumbling. just a subtle flick and it came undone, the straps slipping from your shoulders like silk unraveling.

seungmin exhaled like the sight of you finally, completely naked from the waist up had knocked the breath clean out of him. his hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. and then he leaned in again, mouth hot and open as he kissed between them, then circled your left nipple with his tongue, teasing and wet, before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked.

a sharp gasp cracked out of you, and your fingers twisting in the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging.

he pulled off your breast with a soft pop, breath damp against your skin. “why so impatient?” he murmured, almost amused.

“i want your cock,” you said, no shame, voice breathy and sharp, like it hurt to wait anymore.

his lips quirked into something wicked. “yeah?”

you nodded, hard, grinding your hips up into him as your hand finally slipped under the waistband of his sweats. he hissed the second your fingers brushed him, already thick, already hot and twitching against his stomach through his boxers. but before you could go further, he grabbed the hem of his shirt behind his neck and pulled—one smooth motion, the fabric dragging up and over his body.

your mouth went dry.

toned, tight muscle rippled under taut skin, the faint sheen of sweat catching in the low light, highlighting his collarbones, the sculpt of his chest, the sharp cut of his abs. 

you surged up before he could say another word, catching his mouth in another kiss. your hand curled into the back of his neck, pulling him down as you rose onto your knees, chest to chest, skin flushed and searing. the contact made you whimper—fuck, you could feel how hard he was against you, thick and pulsing through the last thin layer of fabric between you.

seungmin kissed you back just as fiercely, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself or risk unraveling completely. but then you felt his hand shift—lower—and a second later, you heard the soft rustle of elastic being dragged down.

your breath hitched.

you broke the kiss and looked down, watching as he palmed himself once through his boxers, then pushed them down and freed his cock.

long. hard. already leaking at the tip.

your lips parted in a soft, unintentional moan. but you didn’t wait.

you kicked your shorts the rest of the way off, now in just your panties, the wet cotton clinging to the slick heat between your thighs. then you pushed at his chest with both hands and he let you, letting his body fall back against the couch, legs spread wide, arms resting on the back like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t completely at your mercy.

you slid down between his legs.

he blinked. “what are you—”

you didn’t answer.

just wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock, firm and slow, watching his reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. his breath stuttered the second you touched him—his hips jerked slightly, thighs tightening—and then you leaned in and licked a stripe up the underside, from the base to the leaking tip, slow and wet and intentional.

his whole body flinched.

“shit—”

you smirked against him.

and then took him into your mouth.

the groan he let out was sharp and low, a barely-muted “fffuck,” as your lips wrapped around the head and your tongue swirled, tasting the salt and heat of him. his hand flew to your hair immediately, not pushing, not guiding—just holding, fingers flexing tight like he couldn’t believe you were really doing this.

you bobbed your head lower, taking more of him in, your jaw stretching around the length, spit slicking your lips as you hollowed your cheeks and moved slow, teasing. he was big—thick, veiny, and already twitching—and every time you slid down farther, his head tipped back just a little more, breath coming harder through clenched teeth.

his fingers tightened in your hair—and then he moved. just slightly at first, a nudge, then a firmer grip as he began to guide the motion of your head, not gently anymore. his other hand came up, threading in from the opposite side, both fists tangled in your hair now like reins. he didn’t ask. he just took control.

“that’s it,” seungmin muttered, voice gone thick and gravelled with lust. “look at you.”

you moaned around him, mouth stuffed full, throat tightening as he eased you lower, deeper, until your nose brushed the skin of his abdomen. your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, fingernails digging into hard muscle as your body worked to adjust to the pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming heat of him.

“sick little slut,” he said, dragging you off slow just to watch the string of spit stretch from your lips to his tip. “you love this. love how wrong it is. god, it’s fucking wrong—and you’re making me love it too.” 

he slapped his cock against your tongue, twice, the sound slick and sharp. and then he shoved you back down.

his breath started to hitch—just barely at first, the rhythm of his hips losing their even tempo, those slow, punishing thrusts breaking into shallower, hungrier jolts. you felt him twitch against your tongue. heard the roughness crack into his voice when he breathed out, “shit… fuck…”

your gaze lifted, watery eyes blinking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“keep looking at me,” he growled. “fuck—don’t you dare look away.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t.

not when he looked like that—hair messy, chest heaving, sweat beading at his brow, so close to breaking. he was so fucking hot when he lost control. even hotter trying not to.

“your throat’s so perfect,” he moaned, low and wrecked, a sharp breath hitching through his chest. “i’m gonna come—fuck, i’m gonna fucking come—”

you moaned around him, squeezing your thighs together, letting him hold you down on his cock as the tension in his body snapped taut.

“take it. all of it,” he panted, staring you down, voice ragged.

his hips bucked once, twice—deep—and then he groaned, a sharp, guttural sound that punched out of him as he came. the heat of it flooded your mouth in thick, pulsing waves, and his grip stayed firm, keeping you down, watching as you took every drop just like he told you to.

he looked divine like that—head tipped back slightly, mouth open, moaning low as he spilled into you, owning you completely.

and even when his grip loosened, even when he finally let you breathe, he didn’t stop looking at you. watching. daring you to spit it out.

you didn’t.

you swallowed. every drop.

you pulled off slow, lips dragging over the sensitive head, tongue giving one last lazy swirl as he twitched again, shivering with the aftershocks. your mouth parted, a slick strand of spit and fluid stretching between your lips and the tip of his cock.

seungmin’s breath hitched.

his hands slid from your hair, but only to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he could see the mess he’d made. his eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to the string still connecting you, lips swollen, chin wet, throat flushed.

“holy fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. “you’re unreal.”

he groaned again—softer this time, a sound dragged from deep in his chest—and leaned forward, hand still at your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. you smiled and he kissed you hard, tasting himself on your tongue.

his mouth was still on yours, when his hand drifted lower—tracing the curve of your jaw, down your neck, over your chest, sliding across sweat-slick skin until it gripped your hip again with a kind of lazy command that made your stomach flip.

then lower.

his fingers found the waistband of your panties, still clinging to you, soaked through from everything he hadn’t even touched yet. he hooked them slow, curling his fingers into the fabric at both hips, and when he pulled, it wasn’t gentle.

they peeled down your thighs until you kicked them off completely, bare now—finally, fully—for him.

seungmin’s eyes raked down your body, slow and consuming, breath still coming hot from the kiss, lips slick from where they’d just tasted everything you gave him. his hands braced on your thighs, spreading them wider as he knelt between them, eyes locking on the soaked, glistening heat between your legs like he hadn’t just come down your throat.

“fuck,” he muttered, almost breathless, one hand dragging down his own stomach as he stared. “look at you.”

you were laid bare—flushed, panting, legs open and trembling slightly from the weight of everything that had already happened. but none of it compared to the way he looked now—his cock thick and hard again, already red at the tip. he gripped the base with one hand, slowly stroking, lazy and threatening, letting it drag against your folds—just enough to make you gasp, hips twitching toward him.

“you want this?” he murmured, low and sharp.

you nodded, fast. “please.”

he raised a brow. “please what?”

“please fuck me,” you said, voice shaky.

that crooked smile returned, pure smug satisfaction curling his mouth as he pressed the head of his cock just barely inside, enough to make your breath catch and your thighs clamp tighter around his hips.

“you’re dripping,” he muttered, leaning over you again, one hand catching the back of your knee and pushing it higher so he could slot himself closer, deeper. “haven’t even put it in yet and you’re this messy for me? where’d all that attitude go, huh?”

you gasped as he pushed in just an inch and then stopped, holding there, watching your face twist, your fingers clawing at his back.

“thought you were a brat,” he teased, biting down gently on your earlobe. “now you’re just some ruined little thing that can’t even pretend not to want it.”

“please,” you whimpered again, thighs trembling. “please—seungmin—just—”

then, a sound hit like a gunshot through the haze.

click. the distinct metallic thud of the front door unlocking.

seungmin froze.

his cock was still buried barely an inch inside you, his body caging yours, breath hot against your throat—but now he wasn’t moving. his fingers clenched reflexively around your thigh, and his head whipped toward the sound—eyes wide, jaw tight, every inch of him tensed like a predator caught mid-kill.

“fuck,” he whispered, sharp and guttural.

and then felix stepped into the room.

he stopped dead.

you tilted your head, still panting, still flushed, and looked straight at felix with a sweet, soft smile—like he’d just come home early from work and not walked in on you mid-fuck with his best friend.

“hi,” you breathed, syrupy, warm.

felix stared.

not at you.

at seungmin.

his gaze was unreadable for a second—stone still, lips parted just enough to show how hard he was breathing. his eyes dropped, scanned the scene: your bare thighs wrapped around seungmin’s waist, the blanket crooked and useless, the telltale sheen of sweat across your chest and collarbones. and then up—past the terror in seungmin’s jaw, past the panic in his shoulders—to the guilt smoldering behind his eyes.

“i knew you liked her,” felix said finally, voice low. too calm. “didn’t think you’d actually end up fucking her.”

seungmin’s mouth opened—but nothing came out.

felix took a slow step forward, arms relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable. his voice didn’t change, but his eyes… those burned. you sucked in a breath, but felix didn’t look at you. not yet. his eyes were locked on seungmin like a predator closing in.

“i didn’t think you’d ever give in,” he murmured, tone going cold. 

seungmin started, low and hoarse, like he couldn’t stand the fact that felix was seeing this. “i didn’t mean for—”

“didn’t mean for what?” felix cut in, still moving, slow and casual, until he stood right at the edge of the couch. “didn’t mean to let her suck you like a fucking plaything?”

seungmin’s fists clenched in the blanket.

“you were supposed to resist, man,” he said, eyes narrowing as he took another step closer. “that was the whole point. she comes to you, she tests you, you turn her away—and then we laugh about it later. that was the game. right?”

seungmin’s eyes finally dropped to your face.

and something in them changed.

because he saw it.

the tilt of your head, the shine in your eyes—not guilt, but delight. your lips parted just so, chest rising soft and slow beneath the half-thrown blanket, fingers tangled in seungmin’s hair like you were comfortable. like you’d planned to be here.

he blinked once. slowly.

and then again, faster—realization crashing over him like cold water doused on a flame that had never stopped burning.

“you…” his voice broke off, low and rough. “you set me up.”

you looked up at him through your lashes—wide, sweet, the perfect picture of breathless innocence twisted by the filth still dripping between your thighs. and then you turned your head to felix, eyes glinting, lips curling into something soft and fake and begging.

“felix…” you whined, the kind of pretty pout that always got you whatever you wanted. “he’s so big…”

felix exhaled—his hand dragging up the side of his neck like he was trying not to smile.

you squirmed under seungmin, hips rolling just enough to feel the stretch of him again, and seungmin’s breath stuttered. your eyes fluttered closed as you sighed, like your own body was confirming the betrayal.

“feels so good already.” you whispered, and then looked back at felix. seungmin’s fingers dug into your thigh. hard. “i know you’ll let me,” you breathed. “please… don’t stop him.”

that did it.

seungmin swore under his breath, low and feral, staring down at you like he didn’t know whether to fuck you harder or get the hell out of his own skin. but his hips moved.

slightly. just once.

felix sat down in the armchair across from you both, legs spread, eyes dark and burning with something closer to pride than rage.

“go on then,” he said, voice low and satisfied. 

seungmin’s eyes never left felix, rage flaring behind them so fierce it looked ready to combust.

“you fucking knew,” he growled, voice a snarl through clenched teeth. “you knew she’d do this. you let her.”

felix didn’t flinch. just sat back, calm, the barest hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “i wanted her to.”

that was it.

seungmin’s control snapped like a wire pulled too tight—and he slammed into you, hard, burying himself to the hilt with a brutal snap of his hips that drove a loud, shocked moan from your throat.  “this what you wanted to see?”

his grip locked on your thighs, hauling your hips up as he fucked into you again, and again—deep, fast, punishing. the couch jolted beneath you with each thrust, your hands scrabbling against his arms, his shoulders, nails sinking into sweat-slick skin as your back arched and your mouth fell open.

felix’s gaze slid from seungmin’s face to yours. his smile widened.

“she’s so loud when she’s getting what she needs, isn’t she?”

he slammed into you again—harder. you cried out, head tipping back, the sound raw, obscene.

“you’re both fucked,” seungmin snarled, but his voice cracked mid-word because of the way your cunt clenched around him.

you couldn’t speak—couldn’t think—every inch of you reduced to a moaning, shaking mess under him. your legs locked around his waist and your fingers clutched his back, your breath coming in broken sobs of pleasure as he drove into you like he hated you.

you barely noticed felix moving—until he was closer. right at the edge of the couch, one hand wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking as he stared down at you. his eyes never left your face—how your lips parted with every thrust, how your gaze trembled between him and seungmin like you couldn’t decide where you wanted to be more.

“god, look at you,” felix murmured, voice dark with want.

you blinked up at him, lips glossy, eyes dazed but hungry.

“feels so good, lix,” you gasped, barely able to speak between the rhythm of seungmin pounding into you.

felix’s hand slowed for a second, breath catching.

felix’s voice dipped closer, the edge of amusement curling around the heat in it. “yeah?” he murmured, eyes dragging down your body like he owned it—like he always had.

you nodded, lips trembling, breath shattered. he leaned in, and his mouth caught yours—hot, hungry, tasting every broken moan that seungmin fucked out of you. his tongue tangled with yours, messy and deep, just as seungmin’s hand slid down your front, his palm pressing into your lower belly, fingers slipping lower until they found your clit.

you cried out against felix’s mouth, legs twitching, hips bucking, body burning from both ends. the kiss broke with a wet gasp, your head lolling back against the couch as your eyes rolled slightly, your moans loud and unfiltered now.

felix chuckled low, wiping a strand of spit from your chin with his thumb. “you’re such a fucking mess,” he said, voice rich with amusement.

seungmin let out a laugh as well—dark, breathless, as he ground into you harder, fingers relentless on your clit. his cock slammed into you, thick and unrelenting, the heat of him spreading molten through your stomach with every drag along your inner walls. you were gasping now, clawing at his shoulders, eyes fluttering.

“seungmin, fuck, i’m… i’m close,” you choked out, voice high and shattered.

his gaze snapped down to yours and that smirk came back. “gonna come from this?”

you whimpered, nodding fast, barely able to breathe. “yes, yes—please don’t stop,”

“fuuuck, listen to you,” he hissed, hips slamming forward, burying himself to the hilt again and again. his breath came rough and fast, sweat beading at his temples, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.

you felt yourself shatter, your cries were coming faster now, breathless, frantic, slurred through the haze of pleasure and overstimulation.

seungmin pressed his lips to you, his mouth crashed against yours like he was devouring you, lips bruising, tongue sliding in with filthy desperation. you moaned into him, loud and helpless, your body seizing beneath his as your orgasm hit—white-hot and blinding.

your cunt clenched around him, fluttering tight, wringing every inch of him as your hips jerked, stars exploding behind your eyes. your cry stuttered around his tongue as he swallowed every sound, kissing you through it, keeping you pinned.

above you, felix groaned.

his hand was tangled in your hair now, stroking the strands as his other pumped his cock in long, slow strokes. he watched you come undone with his eyes half-lidded, jaw slack, breath stuttering as his thumb traced lazy circles against your scalp like you were some obedient pet.

“fuck, you look perfect like this,” he muttered. “ruined and full…”

seungmin grunted, low and desperate, hips faltering as your walls kept clenching around him. his rhythm stuttered—and then he pulled out fast, a gasp torn from his throat as he wrapped his hand around his cock.

he jerked once, twice—and then his cum spurted hot across your stomach, up across your ribs, warm and sticky against your skin. his moan was deep, feral, drawn-out as his eyes rolled and hips twitched.

you lay there, panting, dazed, your body still twitching from the aftershocks—and then another groan.

felix stepped closer.

one hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lips as he stroked himself with the other, his cock thick and glistening. he looked down at your face—flushed, breathless, mouth wet from seungmin’s kiss—and that did it.

he came with a snarl, thick white ropes streaking your cheek, your lips, your chin—painting your flushed skin like he owned every inch of it. his hand stayed on your face the whole time, thumb rubbing over the mess like he was proud of it, eyes fixed on you like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

“good girl,” felix murmured, voice low and warm as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, so gentle it felt obscene. “fucking masterpiece.”

your lips parted around a shaky breath, cum dripping in slow, glistening rivulets down your chin and throat, pooling at the hollow of your collarbone. felix’s thumb smeared through it absently, still caressing, like he couldn’t help but admire the contrast—his release shining against your flushed, sweat-damp skin. 

you blinked up at him, dazed, your lashes clumped and cheeks burning. and then, slowly, you smiled.

seungmin let out a breath, still catching himself, sweat dripping from his brow as he looked down at the mess he’d left across your stomach—his cum still warm where it streaked your skin. 

you tilted your head, lips still slick, and felix groaned again, this time softer, almost reverent.

“my goodness, angel,” he whispered.

you hummed low in your throat, half-purr, half-taunt.

then, finally, your head tipped back onto the couch cushion. your eyes fluttered shut. the smile stayed—lazy, satisfied, gleaming.

like a girl who knew exactly what she’d done.

the sheets were still warm.

felix had you wrapped up tight, one arm snug around your waist, the other curled beneath your neck, fingers brushing your hair like he couldn’t stop touching you. you were tucked under his chin, his bare chest rising and falling steady against your back. his nose nuzzled into your hair with lazy affection, lips brushing soft against your scalp.

you stirred, eyes fluttering open to sunlight spilling through the blinds, thin golden lines stretching across the floor and up the rumpled duvet. your legs were tangled with his. 

and then— mwah a soft kiss to your temple. mwah another, to the edge of your jaw. mwah one on the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers swept your hair away.

“morning,” he whispered, voice sleep-rough and sweet, like honey dripped over gravel. “you’re so pretty like this.”

you hummed, face buried into the pillow. “it’s too early for this.”

“uh-huh,” felix said without shame, lips trailing along your shoulder blade now, down the dip of your spine. 

you laughed into the sheets, sore in all the right places, a soft ache between your thighs reminding you of exactly how ruined you’d been. his hand found your stomach, palm wide and splayed, thumb brushing the bottom of your ribcage in slow circles.

“you okay?” he murmured against your skin. 

you twisted in his arms just enough to meet his gaze—his eyes, glassy with sleep, crinkled at the corners with that barely-there smile that made your heart go stupid.

“i’m good,” you whispered. “better than good.”

he leaned in, kissed your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. quick, playful. like he couldn’t stop. like every inch of you deserved a thank-you.

you furrowed your brows, reaching for the edge of the blanket. “by the way, where’s my bag?”

felix blinked. “huh?”

“my bag,” you said again, starting to sit up. “where is it?”

he pointed lazily, chin barely tilting. “nightstand, baby. why?”

you leaned over, the sheet slipping down your back, and grabbed the small crossbody. felix’s hand instinctively landed on your hip to keep you steady as you rummaged through the front pocket with a purpose. a second later, you turned and slapped bills into his chest.

his brows shot up.

“you win.”

felix blinked down at the money like you’d just handed him a dead bird.

he didn’t take it. of course he didn’t.

instead, he plucked the bills from his chest, slow and deliberate, and shoved them right back into your bag without a word. then he zipped it shut, dropped it on the nightstand, and flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh, one arm draped over his eyes.

“you’re actually insane,” he muttered. “you think i’d ever take your money?”

you crawled over to him confused, settling on his chest. “we made a bet.” you said, like maybe he’d forgotten. 

felix let his arm fall to the side so he could wrap it around your waist and pull you in, skin to skin, like your weight on him was exactly where it belonged.

“yeah and i won, but you keep your money,” he said finally, voice all lazy warmth. 

you groaned, shoving your face into his chest like you could physically block out how disgustingly sweet he was being.

“felix.”

“hmm?”

“you are so annoying.”

“i know,” he said, unbothered, brushing his fingers up and down your spine. “and romantic. and incredibly sexy.”

you lifted your head just enough to squint at him. “you forgot modest.”

“oh, shush you,” felix said, grinning as he dragged his fingers up your spine in a slow, teasing stroke that made you giggle. he kissed your shoulder with a soft hum, like your laughter was his favorite sound in the world. 

felix kissed your shoulder one last time before murmuring into your skin, “let’s talk to him.”

your body stilled slightly, then you nodded. because you knew it was time.

felix slid out from beneath you, grabbing the shirt you’d tugged off of him sometime last night and pulling it over his head. you reached for the discarded tee you’d been wearing, padding across the room barefoot as felix opened the door.

the hallway was dim and still cool from the night air, but there was light coming from the kitchen. you could already hear it—the quiet clink of a mug, the scrape of a chair against tile.

of course he was up.

seungmin was always up earlier than you two. he didn’t believe in sleeping in. said it made his thoughts sluggish. said it let the day get too far ahead.

when you turned the corner into the kitchen, you found him exactly as expected—sitting at the table, coffee in hand, earbuds in but not playing anything. he looked up the moment he heard your footsteps, gaze flicking to you, then felix, then back to the mug in his hands like he already knew why you were there.

felix was the one who spoke first. “hey.”

seungmin didn’t answer. just took a slow sip, then set the mug down and pulled out one earbud.

you stepped forward. slowly.

he looked back at felix, then raised an eyebrow. “so. who’s idea was it?”

felix didn’t even hesitate. “mine.”

seungmin let out a short laugh, quiet but sharp, like a puff of air he didn’t plan on releasing. he leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out under the table, and shook his head. “of course it was.”

“you’re not mad?” you asked carefully.

he sipped his coffee again. “i’m annoyed i got turned into a fucking science experiment, but i’m not mad.”

you tilted your head, smile pulling sharper as you crossed your arms and leaned against the counter. “well, good. because with your horrible commitment issues, it’s not like you’d want strings attached anyway.”

seungmin raised both brows, smirking now. “no strings attached, huh?”

you shrugged. “why? you suddenly want some?”

he scoffed. “god, no.”

“perfect then,” you said, biting back a grin.

seungmin lifted his mug in mock salut

you rolled your eyes, stepping toward the hallway with felix’s hand brushing yours again. “later, min.”

“later, trouble.”

you leaned in close to felix, barely loud enough for him to hear as you whispered, “come on.”

felix grinned, eyes flicking to yours with that lazy warmth that always made your stomach flutter. but before he followed, he reached over and ruffled seungmin’s hair. seungmin swatted him off with a dramatic groan. 

felix just chuckled and turned to follow you, letting the hallway light fall behind him as the two of you disappeared into the room. you didn’t say anything at first—just tugged him by the fingers until the door clicked softly shut.

then, without a word, you turned.

your hands slipped up his chest, your mouth already finding his, slow and sure. he kissed you back immediately, all lips and warmth and the quiet hum in his throat that made you feel like you belonged right there—tangled up in the soft hush of morning after chaos.

you smiled against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“you okay?” you whispered.

felix nodded, brushing his nose against yours. “yeah,” he murmured. “everything’s perfect.”

and with that, you kissed him again—deeper this time—and let the door seal the rest of the world out.

[quitefair]

anyway. 'thedas is on the cusp of revelation and the brink of damnation?'

my sister in andraste, you should've said that about inquisition.

[silkythewriter]

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

[kxsagi]

helloo ! im the anonymous from before who requested bllk boys reaction to reader opening her new bikini nd it's js a piece of string 😭😭 can i req it again^^ ?

thank youuu !! also any character is fine but pls pls add sae 🙏🙏🙏

“𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲)”

a/n: thank you for requesting again!!! i was sad that i couldn’t do it because my requests were closed at the time, but you waited patiently and requested this funny idea when my inbox reopened! i appreciate the commitment lovey 🫶🏻

suggestive content inside! 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, ness alexis, niko ikki

isagi yoichi

you’re sitting on his bed, all excited, waving a tiny shopping bag in your hand like it’s your latest victory. 

“yoichi, look! my new bikini came in!” 

he perks up immediately, abandoning whatever training video was on his laptop because his sweet girlfriend in a bikini? that’s his roman empire. 

but then… you pull it out. 

silence. 

he blinks. once. twice. 

“… where’s the rest of it?” he finally asks, voice cracking like a teenage boy who just hit puberty again. 

you hold up the two triangles and the criminally thin string that could barely qualify as shoelace material. “this is the rest.” 

isagi actually stares at it like it’s a bomb about to go off. 

he scoots back on the bed like it might attack him. “that’s not a bikini, that’s a… a dental floss cosplay.” 

isagi.exe has stopped working. 

“yoichi,” you grin, “you don’t like it?” 

he looks personally victimized. “i love you, but if you wear that to the beach, i’m legally required to throw myself into the ocean.” 

the poor guy starts googling full-body swimsuits with UV protection and built-in armor. 

itoshi rin

you excitedly say, “look what i bought!” 

and rin – stoic, cold, emotionally repressed rin – glances up from his phone expecting to see maybe a cute summer dress. 

no. it’s a string. a single, sentient-looking string that threatens his blood pressure. 

he stares. hard. 

his soul momentarily leaves his body. “what the hell is that.” 

you blink innocently. “a bikini?” 

“a war crime,” he corrects. 

he actually gets up and walks around the room like he’s processing grief. “i can’t do this. you’re not wearing that in public. you’re not even wearing that in a mirror.” 

you tease, “what if i wear it just for you?” 

he stops walking. the flush creeps up his neck like a thermometer in hell. “don’t say things like that, ever again.” 

you swear you see him whisper a prayer. 

man’s out here suffering and it hasn’t even touched his skin yet. 

kaiser michael

“liebe, what’s in the bag?” 

“my new bikini!” 

he smirks, smug and cocky, already imagining you in something glamorous and gold. 

then you pull it out. a thread. a thread masquerading as a swimsuit. 

his grin falters for a half second. just one. 

“… that’s your bikini?” he repeats, voice slightly higher than usual. 

you nod proudly. “isn’t it cute?” 

he chuckles, slightly unhinged. “sure, if you’re planning on getting arrested.” 

kaiser crouches down next to you, holding the bikini like it’s some rare artifact. “you’re going to cause a riot in this.” 

he gives it a little tug. “do i tie this? or just whisper my sins into it?” 

but the second you say “i’m wearing it to the beach,” he turns into a clingy, jealous guard dog. 

“okay, well, guess i’m canceling practice. and becoming your personal umbrella. and maybe handing out blindfolds.” 

suddenly he’s emailing ubers, “hi, can we change venues to antarctica where no one will see my girlfriend’s ass? thanks.” 

shidou ryusei

you pull out the bikini, and he is already doing backflips. 

“hell YES,” he roars, snatching it from your hands like you just gave him front-row tickets to chaos. 

he holds it up like he’s just won the world cup. “this isn’t a bikini. this is ART.” 

he’s biting his lip, already imagining the crimes he will commit just thinking about you in it. 

“wear it now. now now now now now–” 

you say, “it’s for the beach, dumbass,” and he gasps. 

“in public? oh, babe. we’re gonna get kicked out. i’m gonna get kicked out. i’m gonna kick myself out.” 

if someone stares? he’s already shirtless, barking, “you like eyeballs, punk? wanna lose one?” 

later at the beach, he’s sitting next to you like a guard dog with rabies, grinning as people trip over themselves staring. 

“yeah, she’s hot. yeah, she’s mine. yeah, i’ll fight you.” 

he’s loving it. and also ready to commit 47 misdemeanors in your name. 

mikage reo

he’s so excited when you mention a bikini. he’s got visions of you lounging in a luxury cabana, sipping coconut water, wearing something pink and cute. 

you open the bag. pull out a suspiciously small bundle. 

reo leans forward. then leans back. then stares at the material in your hand like it just insulted his ancestors. 

“… babe. are you punking me.” 

you hold it up proudly. 

he whispers, “that’s not clothing. that’s a dare.” 

he begins calculating how many islands he can buy to create a private ocean for you. 

offers to take you to a resort where the only other guests are penguins. he’s sweating and smiling at the same time. 

“you look amazing,” he says, voice strained. “but also… jail. i’m going to jail just thinking about this.” 

you wink. “worth it?” 

he slaps a hand over his heart. “debatable.” 

nagi seishiro

he’s lying face-down on the couch when you drop the bikini next to his head. 

“what’s that?” 

“my new swimsuit.��� 

he rolls over slowly, squinting at it like it personally offended him. “… you’re gonna wear that? in public?” 

you nod, grinning. “yep. thoughts?” 

he stares longer. “i’ll have to stand up and fight people,” he says flatly. “that sounds annoying. you know i hate cardio.” 

but when you try to joke about not wearing it, he immediately whines: “wait, no, i didn’t say don’t wear it. i just– ugh. i’ll bring a stick or something. smack anyone who looks too long.” 

he pulls a blanket over his head. “wake me up when the swimsuit’s illegal.” 

itoshi sae

you pull out the bikini. 

sae looks up. and then… back down. and then back up again. slower this time. 

his mouth opens. no words come out. 

finally: “absolutely not.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “you don’t like it?” 

he doesn’t blink. “no, i love it. and that’s the problem.” 

he stares like he’s calculating every man who will be breathing in your radius. 

“what do you expect me to do, sit there like a monk while you parade around in dental floss?” 

you grin. “so i shouldn’t wear it?” 

sae sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “… wear it. whatever. just make sure your will is updated.” 

he’s grumbling the whole drive to the beach. “can’t believe i have to punch people for this. i have delicate hands.” 

aiku oliver

he hears the words “new bikini” and immediately beams like a new trailer for GTA 6 just dropped. 

“babe, let me see. i bet it’s sexy–” 

you hold it up. he pauses. he squints. then squints harder. then physically recoils like you just showed him a haunted doll. 

“... what the hell is that?” 

you smile innocently. “it’s a micro bikini! it’s trendy.” 

oliver stares at the thin straps like they owe him child support. “that’s not a bikini. that’s suggestive yarn.” 

he laughs, but it’s the nervous laugh of a man who knows he’s about to enter the gates of hell. 

“okay, yeah, real hot. super cute. very illegal. you gonna wear that in public? where other men have eyes?” 

you: “yeah!” 

oliver, five seconds from calling the coast guard: “cool cool cool. guess i’ll just stand behind you with a megaphone yelling ‘DON’T LOOK’ every five seconds.” 

he pulls out his wallet mid-sentence. “you want a cute cover-up? a towel? a parka? my entire body as a shield?” 

man’s about to go full defender just to body block ogling strangers. 

karasu tabito

you show him your new bikini while he’s mid-sip of his energy drink. he chokes. 

“is that a swimsuit or a shoelace?” 

you hold it up proudly. “this string is going to change lives.” 

he coughs harder. 

“change my blood pressure is what it’s gonna do.” 

karasu stares at the bikini like he’s trying to disarm a bomb. “i don’t even know how to tie that. is it origami? a puzzle? a lawsuit in fabric form?” 

he keeps trying to joke, but it’s masking how panicked he is. 

“are you planning on wearing that in front of people? like, real people? with eyes? and hormones? and no self-control?” 

you nod, smiling. 

he immediately starts pacing like a sitcom dad. “i’m gonna have to fight someone. i’ve never fought anyone at a beach before, but i guess i’m gonna find out how fast sand slows down a punch.” 

you: “you’ll be fine.” 

him: “oh, i won’t. they won’t. you might. i won’t.” 

karasu’s just dramatic enough to fake faint to get you to change. 

ness alexis

you call him over with a little grin. "nessie bear, look at my new bikini!" 

he turns to you, already smiling like a golden retriever with a crush, until you hold it up. 

his smile falters. “… is that the… full set?” 

“yeah! isn’t it cute?” 

ness stares. not blinking. his polite smile twitching like it's buffering. he looks at the two strings and one triangle you’re calling a "bikini" like it personally threatened his family name. 

“i-i love that you're confident. really. i do. but–” he gestures vaguely at the offending garment like it just insulted him in fluent french. “this is barely a swimsuit. this is... minimalist hazard tape." 

you laugh. “come on, it’s fashion!” 

he nods, still looking at it. “no, yeah. it’s nice. great. just enough coverage to keep from getting arrested.” 

his eye twitches as he imagines anyone else seeing you in it. 

then he gets very still. “… you’re not wearing that in public, are you?” 

you: “i was gonna wear it to the beach.” 

ness, smiling but clenching his jaw so hard it’s an olympic sport: “wonderful. i’ll just bring my shovel in case i have to dig a few graves.” 

you giggle. “ness.” 

he leans in real close, voice sweet, barely above a whisper: “i’ll support you wearing whatever you want, angel. but if a single guy even glances in your direction like he’s thinking sinful things, i will kindly ask him to meet me behind the snack shack and throw hands with a smile.” 

then he kisses your cheek and goes back to scrolling through his phone like he didn’t just make a passive-aggressive murder threat. 

he’s your #1 fan. but that bikini? public enemy #1. 

niko ikki

you pull out the bikini and niko immediately short-circuits. 

he stares at it for a full ten seconds like it’s a new species. “... that’s… that’s your bikini?” 

“yup!” 

“… where?” 

you hold it up again. niko’s entire soul flatlines. 

“no no no. you can’t wear that. what if it unravels? what if the wind blows? what if physics stops working?!” 

he starts to go down a rabbithole. “you’re going to the beach like that? where there’s sand? and men?? and sunlight??!” 

he’s panicking. visibly. “you could get sunburned! or worse… catcalled.” 

he’s now googling ‘how to stop time’ and ‘can i cancel summer.’ 

you laugh. “so you don’t like it?” 

he turns red. “i do! i just… don’t want to die of jealousy. or rage. or both.” 

poor baby’s trying to be supportive while having a heart attack at the same time. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[cruel-seduction]

Mattheo Riddle Headcanon

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Mattheo's love might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

Mattheo Riddle

౨ৎ 6’2 | He’s not as tall as Theo, but you wouldn’t dare mention that unless you want to end up against a wall (and not in the fun way—well, not just the fun way). He’s tall enough to tower over you, and honestly, that’s all he needs.

౨ৎ Built to fight | Mattheo doesn’t have the lean elegance of Theo or Draco. He’s solid—broad shoulders, strong arms, and that delicious combination of athletic and dangerous. (He’s fought more boys in Hogwarts hallways than you’ve taken exams, and every single one of them regretted it.)

౨ৎ Hands? MADE FOR SIN. Big, veiny, and calloused from Quidditch and street fights. He’s got a grip that can pin you down or pull you close—whatever mood he’s in. (He could choke you mid-argument, and you’d thank him afterward. RESPECTFULLY.)

౨ৎ He doesn’t work out for fun—he works out to survive. Fistfights, dodging hexes, getting thrown into detention every week; it’s all part of the “Mattheo Maintenance Plan.” (He calls it cardio; we call it hot as hell.)

౨ৎ Face? Pure trouble. Mattheo’s got that sharp jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass. Dark, stormy eyes that smolder like embers, framed by lashes so long they should be illegal. He’s always got a cut or bruise somewhere on his face—his version of an accessory. (You just want to kiss it better, don’t lie.)

౨ৎ Hair? CHAOTIC. Dark and curly, it looks like he ran his hands through it during a fight and then just left it that way. It’s thick and soft, and you know it’d feel like heaven wrapped around your fingers. (Or gripping your thighs while he devour —anyway.)

౨ৎ That smirk. It’s a weapon. Crooked, cocky, and knowing, it has the power to make you forget how to breathe. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he throws it your way. (And you hate yourself for falling for it every single time. But not enough to stop looking.)

౨ৎ He doesn’t just walk; he prowls. There’s a predatory grace to the way Mattheo moves, like he’s always two seconds away from either a fight or dragging you into a dark corner. (You wouldn’t mind the later one, do you?)

౨ৎ Voice? A slow burn. Low, raspy, and smooth, like he’s smoked one too many cigarettes but still has you hanging on every word. When he whispers, it’s game over. (He calls you “trouble” in that tone, and suddenly you’re ready to commit a crime.)

౨ৎ Anger Management Issues | Mattheo doesn’t yell—he doesn’t have to. His rage is cold, quiet, and calculated, which somehow makes it ten times scarier. He’ll get even, and he’ll do it in a way that leaves scars. (Emotionally and physically.)

౨ৎ Fight first, ask questions never. Mattheo’s solution to any problem is his fists. Someone looked at him wrong? Fight. Someone disrespected Theo or Draco? Fight. Someone dared to breathe near you? FIGHT. (And he’ll win, obviously. Look at him.)

౨ৎ Slytherin Prince energy. He doesn’t care for titles, but people gravitate to him anyway. He’s magnetic, exuding a dangerous charisma that makes you want to follow him—even if it means walking straight into hell.

౨ৎ Soft spots? Hidden under lock and key. Mattheo doesn’t open up easily, but when he does, it’s devastating. A rare, crooked smile or a quiet laugh, and suddenly your whole world tilts. (We LOVE a secretly soft bad boy.)

Would you let Mattheo Riddle ruin your life? Absolutely. Would you thank him afterward? Also yes. (No notes. Just him.)

Mattheo Riddle | Personality

౨ৎ He’s loud but in that dangerously calm way when it matters most. Mattheo knows exactly how to push buttons, whether it’s with a smirk, a biting remark, or just the way he looks at you like he knows all your secrets. (Spoiler: he probably does.)

౨ৎ The type of person who thrives in chaos. He’s not a troublemaker by default; he just is trouble. People either avoid him completely or flock to him like moths to a flame—usually the latter. (WE LOVE A MAN WHO IS THE RED FLAG AND THE WHOLE DAMN CARNIVAL!)

౨ৎ Reputation? Notorious. Everyone knows Mattheo Riddle. Maybe it’s because he’s always at the center of some scandal, or maybe it’s just because you can’t not notice him.

౨ৎ Manipulative, but make it hot. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or even argue much. Mattheo knows how to twist words and situations until you’re the one apologizing to him. (And then he has the audacity to smirk about it.)

౨ৎ Fights aren’t something he picks—they’re something that find him. But once he’s in one? All bets are off. "You wanted this. Don’t start crying now."

౨ৎ Unlike Theo’s quiet menace, Mattheo fights loud. He taunts his opponent with sharp quips and cruel laughter, the kind of guy who’ll land a punch and then casually fix his hair like it was nothing.

౨ৎ Obsessive tendencies galore. When Mattheo decides something—or someone—is his, it’s game over. He doesn’t just like you; he fixates. (Good luck trying to shake him off because you’re not going anywhere.)

౨ৎ Affection? Worship disguised as possessiveness. He’s the type to follow you around like a shadow, making sure everyone knows you’re off-limits. His jealousy? Immediate and obvious. "If you wanted to make me mad, congratulations, princess. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

౨ৎ He’s a natural flirt, but it’s not rehearsed. Everything about Mattheo is raw, instinctive, and dripping with confidence. (The man could make tying his shoes look like foreplay. It’s unfair.)

౨ৎ Smirks more than he smiles, and every single one is lethal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you rethink your life choices. (Like why you aren’t currently pinned against a wall by him.)

౨ৎ His anger is a wildfire—hot, destructive, and consuming. But what’s scarier is the moments right before he snaps, when his voice lowers and his eyes darken. That’s when you really start praying.

౨ৎ Chaotic protector energy. Mattheo doesn’t have many people he’d go to the ends of the earth for, but if you’re one of them? He’ll burn the world down to keep you safe. (And he’d make it look sexy while doing it.)

He’s not just passionate; he’s intense. Whether it’s fights, emotions, or sex, Mattheo doesn’t do anything halfway. He’s all-in, all the time. (Exhausting? Yes. Worth it? Also yes.)

Would you let Mattheo Riddle ruin your day, your life, and your sanity? Absolutely. Would you regret it? Never.

౨ৎ Layers of chaos. On the surface, Mattheo looks like he’s got everything under control—swagger, confidence, and a devil-may-care attitude. But under all that? Oh, he’s a mess. Overthinks everything, but you’d never know it because he masks it with a cocky grin and impulsive decisions. (SOMEONE GIVE THIS MAN A THERAPIST, BUT ALSO LET HIM KEEP THE TOXIC EDGE. WE LOVE IT.)

౨ৎ Moody as hell, but in the hot way. You’ll know when he’s upset because he gets too quiet, that jawline clenching just so. He won’t lash out; instead, he’ll brood in the corner until someone’s brave enough to poke the bear. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? *Smirk.* " (Sir, that smirk says you’re about to burn the whole castle down.)

౨ৎ Impulsive to the core. Plans? Never heard of them. Mattheo acts on instinct—whether it’s throwing a punch or dragging you into an empty corridor because he needs you right now. It’s a miracle he hasn’t landed himself in Azkaban.

౨ৎ Organized chaos. His notes are scribbled, his robes are half-untucked, and yet he’s always prepared. Somehow. He doesn’t stress about the details; he just wings it. (And annoyingly, it works out every time.)

౨ৎ Languages? Oh, he knows a few. His Italian is rough but so hot, especially when he’s muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite catch. And Merlin help you when he growls something in Parseltongue. (THE THINGS WE’D LET HIM DO IN THAT LANGUAGE.)

౨ৎ Smart but reckless. Mattheo doesn’t study much, but he’s one of those annoyingly brilliant types who can pick up a spell by watching someone else do it once. He’d ace every class if he cared enough to put in the effort.

౨ৎ Social butterfly with teeth. He thrives in social situations—not because he’s polite, but because he’s got the charisma of a goddamn snake. Everyone either loves him, hates him, or fears him. Sometimes all three at once. "Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t think I’d catch you looking, but here we are." (Boy, nobody was looking. But now we are.)

౨ৎ Driest sense of humor. Mattheo’s sarcasm is so sharp it could cut glass. Half the time, people not sure if he’s joking or insulting them.

౨ৎ But according to him you look good in everything. Wearing a garbage bad? "Oh baby, You look like goddess"

౨ৎ Drinks tea like an old man. (Yeah, you thought he’d be a whiskey guy, didn’t you? Nope. Earl Grey, no sugar, no milk. Deal with it.)

౨ৎ Parties are his stage. Mattheo doesn’t just attend parties—he owns them. Whether he’s in the center of a fight or the middle of the dance floor, he’s the one everyone’s watching. And if he’s not? He’ll make sure he is. "Draco’s drunk, Theo’s being boring, and you’re coming with me. Now."

౨ৎ Protector vibes, but make it chaotic. Mattheo will fight anyone, anywhere, at any time if they so much as look at his friends the wrong way. But he’s not the silent type—oh no, he’s the guy yelling insults mid-fight and making sure the whole room knows why this person deserved it.

౨ৎ Would you trust Mattheo Riddle to make a single responsible decision in his life? No. Would you follow him into the chaos anyway? Absolutely.

Mattheo Riddle | Boyfriend

Oh, dating Mattheo Riddle is like dating a thunderstorm: chaotic, intense, and utterly mesmerizing. He’s a mix of reckless devotion, gentlemanly gestures, and just the right amount of toxic edge to keep things interesting.

౨ৎ The Fighter You Can’t Stay Mad At:

Let’s get this out of the way: Mattheo is always getting into fights. Whether it’s over you, his friends, or just because someone looked at him wrong, his knuckles are perpetually bruised.

You’ve become an expert at patching him up, and even though he winces when you clean his wounds, he sits still because you’re the one touching him.

But the second you start crying while bandaging him up? Oh, his heart shatters. He’d rather die in the ring than see tears in your eyes. "Baby, please don’t cry. It’s just a scratch—I’m fine, I promise." (Spoiler: It’s not just a scratch, but he’ll never admit it because he can’t stand upsetting you.)

౨ৎ The Open Book:

Mattheo tells you everything. Even the dumb stuff that doesn’t matter.

He’ll burst into your room with stories about the dumb prank Theo pulled or the argument he had with Draco over which Quidditch team is better.

It’s not just oversharing—it’s that he wants you to be part of every aspect of his life. You’re his person, and he doesn’t hold back. "Guess what? Draco tripped on his robe this morning, We saw his penis, and Theo nearly died laughing. You should’ve been there—it was glorious."

౨ৎ Your Number One Listener:

If you’re a talker, Mattheo listens like your words are the most important thing in the world. He’ll nod, ask questions, and remember everything.

You’ll mention something in passing—like wanting to try a new dessert—and two weeks later, he’ll surprise you with it.

And if someone interrupts you while you’re talking? Oh, they’re about to meet a very pissed-off Mattheo. "She wasn’t finished speaking. Shut up and wait your turn."

౨ৎ Gentleman With a Hint of Chaos:

Despite his bad-boy demeanor, Mattheo has a surprisingly soft, thoughtful side.

He carries pads or tampons for you, keeps a hair tie around his wrist just in case, and always has a water bottle on hand because you forget to stay hydrated.

He’ll open doors, walk on the side closest to the street, and make sure you’re warm when it’s cold. (But let’s be honest, he’ll also yank you into a broom closet mid-conversation because he needs to feel you right now.)

౨ৎ Hopelessly Devoted (But Low-Key Toxic):

Mattheo worships the ground you walk on, but don’t mistake that for him being easygoing. Oh no. His loyalty comes with a dark, possessive streak.

He’s not the type to tell you who you can or can’t talk to, but rest assured, anyone who crosses a line with you will regret it.

You can do anything, like literally anything. You can kill a guy and all Mattheo would do is kiss your forehead and hide the body. According to him you are never wrong. You can slap him, punch him, or worse kill him he would still justify it saying there must be a reason behind this.

He’s subtle but scary when it comes to protecting you. A cutting glare, a whispered threat, or just his mere presence is usually enough to keep people in line.

౨ৎ How He Fell in Love:

Mattheo thought he was immune to love. Sure, he flirted and hooked up, but real feelings? Nah, not for him.

Until you came along.

It hit him during one of his usual brawls. He glanced at the crowd, and there you were, looking so worried. And suddenly, getting punched didn’t matter—making sure you never had to worry about him like that again did.

Afterward, he was awkward as hell trying to tell you how he felt. He didn’t have Theo’s calculated charm or Draco’s smoothness. Instead, he just blurted it out one day while you were laughing at some dumb joke he made. "I love you. Like, I think I’d die if you ever left me, so… yeah."

Your stunned silence nearly killed him, but then you kissed him, and he knew he’d never want anyone else.

౨ৎ Ride or Die Energy:

Mattheo isn’t just your boyfriend; he’s your partner in crime.

Whether it’s sneaking into the Restricted Section, hexing someone who pissed you off, or just holding your hand while you rant, he’s always got your back.

He might be reckless, dramatic, and a little toxic, but he’s also fiercely loyal, endlessly devoted, and absolutely crazy about you.

Dating Mattheo Riddle? Exhausting. Chaotic. Perfect.

Mattheo Riddle | Affection

Mattheo Riddle isn't the type to pour out his feelings in grand speeches or dramatic gestures—no, he's far too intense and possessive for that. But when it comes to affection? He’s got a way of showing it that’ll make you never doubt how much you mean to him.

౨ৎ The Quiet, Intense Affection:

Mattheo is a man of action, not words. He won’t always tell you he loves you, but his touch? Oh, it says everything.

His hand on your waist when you walk through crowded hallways. The way his fingers graze your back when you’re standing too close to someone.

In public, he’s cool and calm. But when it’s just the two of you? He’s all about that quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

If someone tries to flirt with you? He’ll just stand there, leaning against a wall with a smirk, eyes dark and unreadable, watching. He doesn’t need to say a word; everyone knows you’re his.

౨ৎ Praise Kink, Because Why Not?

Mattheo lives for praising you, but not in some sugary, over-the-top way. No, his words are quiet, almost off-handed—but they hit like a freight train.

"I don't know how you make doing nothing look so fucking sexy."

“You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole school eating out of the palm of your hand, and I love it.”

He’ll say things that seem like offhand compliments but are actually his way of making it clear you’re the most important thing in his life. You’ll think about it later, and that’s when it hits: he means it.

౨ৎ Acts of Service—Mattheo Style:

Mattheo won’t jump up and start fussing over you the second you’re upset. He’ll do it in his own way—quietly, but with a look that says he’ll take care of you.

He won’t tell you when he’s bought your favorite candy or snuck into the library to grab the book you mentioned once.

"You said you were feeling stressed, so I already cleared your schedule for the week," he’ll say, as though it’s no big deal. (It’s a huge deal, but he’ll never admit it.)

If you’re tired and need a break, you can bet Mattheo will be the one to drag you out of the common room for a walk, simply so you can breathe without all the chaos.

౨ৎ Possessiveness, But Make It Sexy:

Mattheo doesn’t have to raise his voice or throw punches to show how much you’re his. His possessiveness is felt—a deep, simmering intensity that wraps around you.

At parties, his hand is always on you. Resting on your back, on your thigh, on the curve of your waist. Every touch is a claim, subtle but strong.

He doesn’t need to make a scene when someone flirts with you. Instead, you’ll see him lean in, whisper something in your ear, and the person who was trying to flirt with you? Suddenly, they’ll lose interest.

"I believe you’re standing a little too close to her," Mattheo will say, his voice smooth, and then? Instant silence. You’ll never see that person again.

౨ৎ The Soft Side of Mattheo:

Don’t be fooled by his hard exterior—Mattheo has a surprisingly soft side, but only when he’s with you.

He loves wrapping you up in his arms, his strong hands gently cradling your head as he runs his fingers through your hair. The moment the world is quiet, Mattheo will pull you closer, murmuring things only meant for you.

"You’re the only one who can make me feel like I can finally breathe," he’ll whisper, kissing your forehead like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

He’s the type to hold you while you fall asleep, his hand resting on your back, as though he’s terrified of letting you go.

౨ৎ Mattheo Riddle, the Perfect Boyfriend:

He’s everything you didn’t know you needed. Intense, protective, and slightly toxic, but in the best way possible.

He’ll fight for you, adore you in his own way, and make you feel like you’re the only one in the world.

It’s the kind of love that burns, but in the most thrilling, heart-stopping way possible.

Because, at the end of the day, Mattheo Riddle isn’t just your boyfriend—he’s your protector, your love, your obsession.

And honestly? You’d never want it any other way.

(So yeah, you might occasionally hate how possessive he is, but you love it. Let’s be real, you know he’s all yours and you wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Mattheo Riddle | Obsessive Devotion

If Theodore is calculated destruction, Mattheo Riddle is reckless chaos. He doesn’t just want you to fall apart; he wants to be the reason you can’t put yourself back together. With Mattheo, it’s raw, unrelenting intensity—the kind that leaves you breathless, marked, and utterly ruined.

౨ৎ The Firestarter:

Mattheo thrives on tension, but unlike Theo’s slow burn, Mattheo’s approach is an inferno. He’ll corner you in dark hallways, his hands caging you against the wall, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs something filthy.

"You think you can tease me like that and get away with it? Oh, sweetheart, we’re far from done."

He doesn’t do subtle. His need is primal, immediate, and entirely consuming. If you’re within reach, you’re his—whether it’s in the privacy of his dorm or against a cold stone wall in the dungeons.

౨ৎ Possessive Chaos:

Mattheo doesn’t just want to own you—he needs to make sure everyone else knows it.

He leaves marks on purpose, smirking when you try to cover them up. "Don’t hide it, baby. Let them see who you belong to."

He’ll pull you onto his lap at parties, his hands gripping your thighs possessively, his dark eyes daring anyone to come close.

౨ৎ Praise Me, Baby:

Mattheo isn’t shy about telling you exactly how much he wants you. His words are rough, filthy, and laced with need, but they always leave you trembling.

"You’re a fucking goddess, you know that? Look at you, taking me so perfectly."

He thrives on your reactions—every gasp, every moan, every arch of your back. It’s his fuel, his addiction.

And if you praise him back? If you tell him he’s good, that he’s making you feel amazing? His restraint snaps. He becomes desperate, almost feral, to prove that he can give you everything you want and more.

౨ৎ Control Meets Chaos:

Mattheo loves being in control, but he’s also unpredictable. One moment, he’s guiding you with a firm, steady hand; the next, he’s pinning you down, his lips bruising yours as he loses himself in the heat of the moment.

He’s rough but never careless. Every grip, every bite, every growled "mine" is deliberate, a testament to just how much he adores you.

Push him too far, though—maybe tease him with a sly smile or brush your fingers against his neck when you know he can’t do anything about it—and you’ll unlock a side of him that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

"You want to play games, sweetheart? Fine. But don’t think for a second you’ll win."

౨ৎ The Edge of Obsession:

Mattheo isn’t just devoted—he’s obsessed. He memorizes every little thing about you—your favorite scent, the way your lips twitch when you’re amused, the soft sounds you make when he kisses that spot just below your ear.

He carries your favorite snacks in his bag, not because you asked, but because he noticed you skipped lunch one day.

౨ৎ Endurance King:

Mattheo doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, breathless, and begging for mercy. Even then, he’ll push just a little further, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he watches you fall apart beneath him.

"One more, baby. Just one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?"

And when you think you’ve reached your limit, he’ll hold you close, his voice soft and soothing as he helps you come back down.

౨ৎ Switching It Up:

Mattheo loves being in control, but when you take charge? Oh, it drives him wild. The second you push him onto the bed, straddle his hips, and demand that he behave, he’s putty in your hands.

"You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind, baby."

Watching you take what you want from him—feeling your nails dig into his skin, hearing the way you gasp his name—it’s enough to make him come undone every single time.

౨ৎ The Vulnerable Side of Mattheo:

As intense and chaotic as he is, Mattheo has a softer side that he only shows to you. After the fire has burned out, he’ll hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispers things he’d never admit in the light of day.

"You’re everything to me, you know that? I’d burn the whole world down for you."

He loves running his fingers through your hair, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he listens to your heartbeat. It’s in those quiet moments that you see the depth of his devotion—the way he’s completely, irreversibly yours.

౨ৎ Mattheo Riddle, The Lover You’ll Never Forget:

He’s fire and brimstone, chaos and passion, but beneath it all is a man who would do anything to make you feel loved, desired, and protected.

With Mattheo, every touch, every word, every moment is a whirlwind of intensity that leaves you craving more.

Because once you’ve been loved by Mattheo Riddle? No one else will ever compare.

[faiszt]

⠀

⠀⠀⠀ .⠀⠀⠀˚⠀ ⠀⋆⠀ ⠀ROBERT REYNOLDS IN⠀⠀:⠀⠀♥︎︎

01.⠀PROLOGUE⠀꒰ summary ꒱⠀ ❛❛ good men die too, so i’d rather be with you. ❜❜ he looks like he works with his hands and smells like marlboro reds⠀⠀ ─── ⠀⠀never be tempting, never show more than you should, never stop being modest and respectful, the words you heard daily from your mother. you did all that, you were everything your parents polished, until he came into your life. the pastor’s son, robert—or, as he was affectionately nicknamed, bob. the kind of trouble your mother warned you to stay away from, but what could you do when trouble had such a pretty face?⠀ ⠀⠀PLAYLIST

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀contains⠀:⠀mentions of religion / god topics. age gap ꒰ all characters are of legal age ꒱⠀mentions of cheating. mommy issues. pastor’s son!bob x younger naive!reader.⠀no use of y/n ⠀·⠀ꕀ⠀·⠀ wordcount⠀:⠀2.2k.

·⠀୨୧⠀·⠀diary notes⠀:⠀this is inspired by “ the starling girl ” and i think it’s pretty easy to notice it. ⠀ anyway, this is also my first time writing a series, so... enjoy it! ♡

my masterlist and the guidelines! !! NEW CHAPTER

YOUR EYES were so fixed on the pastor that you didn’t really listen to him, you just stared at him, without blinking, your mind was somewhere else, although your body was there. sitting next to your mother in the church pew, you sighed, noticing how it felt like a sin to think about what you were thinking.

god knows how you would never be a bad girl. the crosses scattered around your house reminded you of who you would always be: a good christian girl, the one who listens to her parents, who respects the laws of christianity and who makes her life a temple of worship for the lord. there was nothing beyond that, or maybe they didn’t want you to know whether there was or not.

it doesn’t matter. what will you do? run away to another state? how? taking a train should be hard enough.

but, since he came into your life, your instinct to escape from the customs has practically become null. robert reynolds, the reason you prayed for god to take away the temptation. wanting a man you couldn’t have not even in your dreams was like wishing you could have bitten into the forbidden fruit.

sin.

your thoughts were thrown into disarray when you felt icy fingers pinching your arm, your mother looking at you as if you had committed a crime by simply staring. “blink your eyes, it’s rude to look at people like that.” she whispered, trying to make you understand what was right—although different people had different concepts of right or wrong, you didn’t, your mother knew what was best for you.

you did it, you blinked and looked away. looking at your feet and the little heels you wore, the highest allowed, just enough to make you look like a well-behaved and demure young lady with your dress below the knees and covered at the shoulders. no low-cut tops, shorts, tight or ripped clothes, there was nothing more important than looking respectful inside and outside the lord’s house.

if it weren’t a little strange it would be funny that you don’t know many people your own age, or even many people outside the community. no way, what could you learn from people like that? just friends from church, your parents made it clear. which, in a nutshell, meant you didn’t have many friends.

at least, you could say that the old ladies talked to you often when they weren’t trying to marry you off to some boy who made your stomach turn just by looking at him.

“mrs. reynolds would like your help in choosing the choir songs for next weekend. go talk to her, yes?” the cold fingers that your mother had always had now gently tapped your shoulder. it wasn’t a request, but an order. go and do it, that’s it.

and again, you did it. if it weren’t for the fact that mrs. reynolds loved to talk, and she talked too much, more than her mouth could handle, probably, since she always had to stop talking and take a sip from her water bottle. this forced you to walk home alone, in the cold, because you left your jacket in your father’s car. great.

you sighed, looking at your feet again, before walking out of the church with your arms crossed and a bored expression, even though that was basically your resting expression.

“are you really gonna go home alone? brave girl.” for a moment, you were startled and turned around with your eyebrows raised, a little confused, until you saw bob come out from behind his car. he was in the shadows, watching you silently until he decided to speak and come closer, he didn’t say much—the problem was how much this only increased your curiosity to understand him, when you should have stayed away.

“i guess i have no other option.” you managed to answer him after a few seconds, looking away immediately when you noticed he was looking directly at you.

bob crossed his arms over his chest, he continued to stare at you in silence as he leaned back against his car. “come in. i’ll ride you home.” it sounded like an offer, but surprisingly he seemed to use the same tone of voice your mother used when she told you to talk to mrs. reynolds, not a request, but an order.

but, you could almost hear her voice telling you not to get into a man’s car alone with him, especially at night. could it be a sign of concern? yes, but it wasn’t. mommy just didn’t want the family name to be tarnished because you decided to be the mistress of some engaged man. she was always expecting the worst from you even without any reason to.

“you don’t have to, i can walk.” you denied his offer profusely, swallowing hard again to the point where you thought he might have heard the slurred noise your throat made. “but... thank you, anyway.”

your stubbornness didn’t please him much, maybe because he could see right through you and you didn’t want to walk alone, just as you didn’t want to be seen inside his car. your concern made sense, the point was that he wouldn’t let you walk alone to your house—which he knew wasn’t as close as it seemed. “i didn’t say you had a choice, but i did said i’m gonna ride you home... so, come in.” he said a little more harshly, opening the passenger seat door as he waited for you. “i won’t park in front of your house if you don’t want me to.”

the last sentence came out as you were approaching him and makes you stop walking, thinking about how he had noticed you were thinking about it when you hadn’t said anything at all. you could have questioned, but you just nodded and got into his car, snuggling into the passenger seat, a little uncomfortable and uncertain about it all.

as the engine roared to life, you took a moment to sigh again, leaning back into the leather seat as you turned your face slightly to face the view outside the window. maybe it was easier to keep your distance from him as much as you could, you found him interesting because you felt you should, not because you knew him.

“older sister?” his voice reappeared beside you after what seemed like less than three minutes of silence, pulling up a conversation, which only makes you look at him with a confused expression. “the bracelet on your wrist... i always see you with two little girls.” oh, the beaded bracelet on your wrist that one of your little sisters had made for you, of course he would notice that, you thought.

it was a bad idea to have a conversation with him, but it was also rude to simply not answer him when you could hear all his words. “oh, yeah... yes, i’m the older sister.” you answered him, looking directly at the bracelet on your wrist as you ran your fingers over the beads gently.

“that’s nice... i really wanted to have sisters, but i only have brothers.” bob looked away from the road for a moment, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as his eyes dropped to the bracelet you were also now looking at. “and i’m not even the oldest son, so... i guess you’re the lucky one here to be the oldest and have two little sisters.”

you felt bad that you couldn’t say anything, but you really couldn’t say anything, especially when your mind was spinning around the fact that you didn’t want to be going through this. how bad would it be if someone saw you getting out of his car and it became gossip? then, your mother would find out, and...

“did you like today’s sermon?”

your thoughts trailed off when he spoke to you, again, he’s a little pushy, you thought. on the contrary, he only noticed that you were silent when you were thinking too much—he noticed every little thing in your behavior: the way your feet started moving, you stopped blinking and were breathing as if you were asleep awake, it wasn’t his insistence, it was just a remark.

“yeah, that was a good sermon... the pastor is... really good with words.” you didn’t even know what you were talking about, maybe because you didn’t remember a single word the pastor said, nor what he was talking about the whole sermon. your words made a short laugh escape bob as he ran his hand over his chin, brushing his long, calloused fingers—where you could see his engagement ring shining—against his freshly shaved beard.

he just found it funny how you seemed to barely know how to talk sometimes. “but, i’m the one who gave the sermon today.” the seriousness in his tone of voice made you raise your eyebrows, thinking that you had really been caught not paying attention to anything, so he laughed a little more amusedly. “i’m messing with you. it was my dad who gave the sermon, but you really didn’t pay attention, huh? you weren’t even blinking.”

as soon as he talked about the fact that you weren’t blinking almost the entire sermon and even imitated the way you were staring at the pastor, you laughed for the first time around him and he appreciated it more than he should have. “oh, you laugh... good to know you’re not in a bad mood all the time.” bob teased you again before his eyes returned intently to the road. “i started to think i’m a terrible driver.”

“terrible driver or not, i’m sure you’re much better at driving than i am.” you were actually talking to him, not just talking, but banter with him. your walls were really down and that was a huge problem, he was observant, more than you could notice.

bob kept that amused expression on his face, although he was keeping his eyes fixed on the road as a precaution, it was not uncommon for animals to try to cross the road at night. “don’t say that, you can’t be that bad with a steering wheel, can you?” he questioned. “maybe i’ll let you drive my car one day just so you can remember what it’s like. if you’re anything like you say, i bet your dad doesn’t trust you to drive his car.”

another laugh escaped you and you nodded, it wasn’t a lie, your father preferred you stay away from the wheel of his car. “you shouldn’t trust me so much.” you smiled, lips parting lightly when you noticed that you weren’t as anxious as before—but, that same anxiety slowly returned when you noticed that you were in your neighborhood.

“i can always give it a try.” he said, returning your smile as he parked his car under a tree about four houses down from your house. “is it okay to park here?”

you looked out the window for a moment, no neighbors around, just the streetlights illuminating the street and the tree above the car blocked the light from reaching the two of you. “yes, thank you for the ride. i owe you one.” you replied, ready to get out of the car as you took off your seatbelt, but bob grabbed your wrist. “is something wrong?”

he sighed when he saw what he did, quickly letting go of your wrist and bringing his hand to his hair, combing it back like he did quite often. “no, no... i just wanted to say goodbye, see you at church, yeah? my mom said you’re going there tomorrow to help her organize the choir song.” he said and you remembered, of course, you helped mrs. reynolds choose the song and would also help her organize everything.

“yeah, that’s right...” you nodded, still a little taken aback by the fact that he had grabbed your wrist earlier.

“i can come pick you up. i have things to do at church tomorrow too, do your parents mind? i can talk to them.” bob didn’t know how harmless this idea was, but he suggested it anyway, perhaps because he himself was only doing what he wanted to do, and not what he was supposed to do.

your breath caught in your throat at the suggestion, it definitely seemed like something you weren’t sure of his intentions for. it didn’t matter, he was just a man trying to be kind, you hoped he was. “no... no need to talk to them, just park here at 2pm and i’ll... come. they won’t mind.” lie. they would care, especially your mother, but it was just... they shouldn’t know, bob seemed so nice, you didn’t want to lose that right now when you could have someone. a friend, just a friend.

he nodded, almost giving a smile, though he suppressed it by just pressing his lips into a line. “fine, 2pm, i’ll be here.”

you got out of his car with calm steps, avoiding making unnecessary noises before crossing the street and walking slowly to the door of your house. for one last time, you turned around and saw him there, watching you from inside the car, just to make sure you were okay.

to be continued...

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[heirloomgem]

Serendipity Series

Summary: (AU) In every lifetime, Sung Jinwoo will make sure to leave a mark on your soul. To always accompany you as your devoted husband to his lovely and cute wife, no matter what...

Watching from a distance, Sung Jinwoo slowly savoured the taste of the wine in his glass, his fingers clenching the fragile stem. He restrained his anger as he witnessed your betrothed humiliate you and revoke your engagement for his mistress. Painting you as a villain to everyone as that foolish of a man flaunts his infidelity called 'love'.

Sung Jinwoo couldn't help but sneer at them and find fate laughable.

He has always been determined to have you as his wife, no matter what. However, fate has a twisted sense of humour. It seems, that in order, for him to have you, you must first endure humiliation and a broken engagement.

If fate is going to play its hand, then don't blame him if he turns the situation to his advantage and claims you as his own. And as for those who have wronged you, they will face the consequences of his wrath.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: Romance, AU, drama, broken engagement, Yandere (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1 - Stupidity

In a banquet hosted by the royal family in the palace, your betrothed, the crown prince hugs his first love protectively in his arms and condemns you without hesitation in front of all the nobles in the kingdom.

A smug smirk on his lips as he looked down on you while you, on the other hand, glared up at him.

The anger that has built over the years was on the verge of breaking as your supposed fiance embarrassed not only you but your family with the breakdown of your engagement.

Your name is Eliana Anderson. You are the eldest child of the Anderson household and the prestigious and precious daughter of the Primes Minister Anderson of your kingdom.

Ever since you came of age, you have been betrothed to the crown prince by the king without your father's approval.

You're the only daughter in your family and your father has always doted on you so of course the matters of your betrothal have been a sensitive and meticulous topic to your father. Not wanting to give his precious daughter to some boorish, unruly bastards.

And so receiving a marriage decree from the king, accompanied by a threat to your family, made your father furious beyond belief that you and your mother worried he might faint from anger.

Your father protested with all his might to deny this engagement, knowing how corrupt the current royal family is and how uncontrolled and malicious the current crown prince is but to no avail; the king ignored him.

In the end, you didn't have a choice but to follow, not wanting your family to end up in a difficult situation by opposing the king.

The crown prince does share the same sentiment on not wanting this engagement; however, that didn't stop him from showing his disgust at you. In fact, he seemed to revel in the opportunity to humiliate you whenever the chance arose.

The torment he has shown you since the first day of your engagement has never ceased, and continues even to this day.

And now he's hellbent on not only humiliating you but also destroying and smearing your family's reputation through the mud.

Letting out a breath, you calmed yourself, knowing that acting hysterical wouldn't benefit you nor save your family from the predicament this prince has thrown at you.

However, the urge to slap this idiot prince was so dangerously tempting that you had to close your eyes, and instead, a cold smile appeared on your lips and looked at your 'fiance'.

"If I may ask Your Highness, what crime have I committed that warrants you painting me as a malicious villain in front of everyone?" You coldly asked, your smile darkening as your hand clenched tighter on the fan you were holding.

Suddenly, a coquettish voice interrupted, "Lady Eliana, please stop lying and admit to your sins. Please don't make this harder than it is."

It was the woman whom your fiance had 'fallen' for. A woman who has brown shoulder-length hair, dopey downturned eyes and dressed in a white gown that accentuated her slim figure.

She has that pure, innocent beauty that always seems to attract men who want to unconsciously protect her.

It was the crown prince's 'first love', Amy Wilson, the illegitimate daughter of Baron Wilson, who was currently nestled in your fiance's arms.

Cowering and trembling as tears gathered in her eyes, looking like a small doe in front of everyone as she tried to confront you, earning her sympathy and pitying looks especially the crown prince and his stupid group of cronies.

You, however, were given a dark and condemning look from them.

You couldn't help but spit in disgust in your heart as you coldly looked at her.

She's a woman completely opposite of you, who has sharp and cold eyes, and whenever you look at the crown prince, a lingering disgust shows in your eyes.

Your once slender and petite frame is now tall and lean, the result of the training you have suddenly undergone to learn self-defence as you were pushed as the crown princess.

Truly a complete opposite from your past self. No more the naivety and joy in your once soft features.

Hearing her words, you sneered.

"As far as I know Lady Tr- Lady Wilson, I have only given you fair warnings on your behaviour and to maintain your distance as Your Highness is my betrothed. As for the accusations of harming you, unfortunately, I do not know of them nor have I done them."

You said as you gave them a cold smile behind your fan, patting yourself for catching yourself from calling that woman 'trash'.

That right, you have labelled that woman 'Trash' the moment she seduced the crown prince and tried to harm you.

Why, you ask?

It's not because you love that rotten bastard but because, in your eyes, the crown prince is a rotten garbage. And since there is a rotten garbage, it only makes sense that it has to be thrown in the trash and that trash is none other than Amy Wilson.

Hiding behind the crown prince's arms, that trash gave you a sly look.

You couldn't help but feel a disgusting chill run down your spine as an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach.

As far as you know, your actions thus far have been appropriate as a crown princess. Neither have you crossed the line of letting your feelings interfere nor have you remained ignorant of the situation to let it escalate.

You didn't hurt this woman in any form, only giving her a fair warning and if you did, you have your servants to witness it. As for the 'evidence' they have presented earlier, if experts, the kings and higher people in ranks were to investigate it, they would know it was nothing but fraud.

It's nothing but false evidence made by both the crown prince and his stupid group of cronies who were supposedly the next heirs to some of the most influential families in your kingdom and yet have been seduced so easily under such a contemptuous woman.

Regardless, they were nothing but brats who only rode their family's coattails and were nothing but a nuisance, using their power to abuse those who were weak and under them.

Thinking so, you curse them again in your heart and tried to calm your nerves as cold sweat still continues to run down your back.

"We have given and presented undisputable evidence, Eliana. Stop your nonsense and admit to it." The crown prince spoke with impatience in his voice, shaking his head as if he were speaking to a child.

Your eyebrow twitched hearing him calling you by your name so directly with such audacity.

If it were any other situation, you would have refuted him without reserve however since you were in such a situation, you can't do so recklessly or else your entire family would be dragged further than it already is.

Suddenly, the crown prince caught your eyes and gave a malicious smirk before declaring.

"Since your actions show just how much of an unreasonable and vile you are. How could I accept you as the crown princess and be the future mother of the kingdom! Hence, as of today, Eliana Anderson, you are stripped of your title as the crown princess and from now on Lady Amy Wilson will be the crown princess. Guards! Arrest her and throw her into prison for the crime of harming the crown princess."

You stared, speechless, at the crown prince at such absurdity.

That is when the unsettling feeling you have since you entered this ball completely grasps your whole being as if a slap hit you on the face. A whisper in the back of your mind becomes louder and louder as you feel something within you is on the verge of breaking.

You have always known that the crown prince was a good-for-nothing bastard. A spoiled bastard who only does whatever he pleases but it wasn't to the point of complete idiocy especially when it comes to you as your betrothal was one of the stepping stones on why he became the crown prince however it seems you have overestimated him.

Feeling your arms being restrained by the knights, you struggled. Your control over your emotions slowly slips as your frustrations and anger show.

You tried to regulate your breathing as you looked at the bastard before you, smiling mockingly as you gradually cracked under him.

He turns his head to look at your father who is now being restrained by the knights also when he tried to charge in your defence. A sickening smile on his lips as he taunted your father.

"Ah, Duke Anderson, unfortunately, you'll have to step down from your position as well since the evidence of your embezzlement and illegal actions have been presented to the king. The king has also decided that Marquis Henlyn will be replacing you as the Prime Minister."

Hearing this you curse the crown prince at such an abrupt accusation.

Your father with embezzlement?! Illegal actions?! being replace?!

Such stupidity!

Your father has been nothing but upright and loyal to the kingdom and its people. If it wasn't for him, this kingdom would have long fallen because of its corrupt royal family!

And now he's being falsely accused!? And on top of it, your father is being replaced by Marquis Henlyn who has been rumoured to have smuggled weapons and slavery between your kingdom and the other countries!

Just what kind of parasite is in that bastard's head to have allowed this especially the king!

You gritted your teeth as you yelled, "Your Highness, do you even realize what you're doing?! If you allow this, not only you and the imperial family will be implicated but the kingdom and its people as well! You say my father has done illegal doings and yet haven't you heard that Marquis Henlyn has smuggled not only weapons but has done illegal trading of slavery of our people! My father has been nothing but loyal and honest! Evidence?! It is nothing but a farce! "

Surely even this prince knows how impossible it was to replace your father as his hard work is more evident than this so-called ' evidence'.

Your father's power and authority are the sole reason he's the current crown prince. Removing you and your father would be a foolish move even the king knows this thus the reason he has given that marriage decree without your family's permission and yet why this?!

However, it seems not only have you overestimated the prince but that of the king as well as the prince laughed at you and leaned down as he whispered.

"Do you really think my father cares about your family now that your father has crossed his line? Not only has your father obstructed the royal family again and again, but this time, my father has had enough and since I have gained your father's authority and power, I no longer have any need of your family and my father wholeheartedly agreed to it."

Realization dawned on you as your eyes widened at the truth. A small yet audible sound of snapping resounded in you.

Suddenly a loud heartbroken cry erupted in your throat as you struggled fiercely, no longer caring for anything or your appearance.

Annoyed by your resistance, one of the knights kicks the back of your knees, resulting in you slamming your kneecap onto the floor.

Pain shot through your body. Your eyes reddened and tears welled up, not only from the pain but your control over your bottled emotions have now dissipated.

Gone! Everything you have worked hard for is now gone!

You shook your head and bit your lips until it bleed.

No, this can't be happening!

Even if you hated the crown prince, your position as the crown princess was the only thing that you couldn't let go of.

After all, because of the marriage decree these unscrupulous, unreasonable people have shoved down your throat, you have no choice but to let go of him. Someone so important in your life was exchanged for something you didn't want.

Feeling your cheeks wet, you realize that your tears have finally fallen.

Regret fills you to the point of suffocation as your mind unconsciously remembers the young boy you adored the moment you met him.

How you wish to have held his hand longer...

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay. A relative of mine has passed away and it has been stressful and with work thrown in. It had been chaotic instead which made it harder for me to write and edit.

Though I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the Serendipity Series! If it's not too much, please comment on your thoughts. Thank you!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Are the means of computation even seizable?

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH in TOMORROW (May 15) at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Something's very different in tech. Once upon a time, every bad choice by tech companies – taking away features, locking out mods or plugins, nerfing the API – was countered, nearly instantaneously, by someone writing a program that overrode that choice.

Bad clients would be muscled aside by third-party clients. Locked bootloaders would be hacked and replaced. Code that confirmed you were using OEM parts, consumables or adapters would be found and nuked from orbit. Weak APIs would be replaced with muscular, unofficial APIs built out of unstoppable scrapers running on headless machines in some data-center. Every time some tech company erected a 10-foot enshittifying fence, someone would show up with an 11-foot disenshittifying ladder.

Those 11-foot ladders represented the power of interoperability, the inescapable bounty of the Turing-complete, universal von Neumann machine, which, by definition, is capable of running every valid program. Specifically, they represented the power of adversarial interoperability – when someone modifies a technology against its manufacturer's wishes. Adversarial interoperability is the origin story of today's tech giants, from Microsoft to Apple to Google:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

But adversarial interop has been in steady decline for the past quarter-century. These big companies moved fast and broke things, but no one is returning the favor. If you ask the companies what changed, they'll just smirk and say that they're better at security than the incumbents they disrupted. The reason no one's hacked up a third-party iOS App Store is that Apple's security team is just so fucking 1337 that no one can break their shit.

I think this is nonsense. I think that what's really going on is that we've made it possible for companies to design their technologies in such a way that any attempt at adversarial interop is illegal.

"Anticircumvention" laws like Section 1201 of the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act make bypassing any kind of digital lock (AKA "Digital Rights Management" or "DRM") very illegal. Under DMCA, just talking about how to remove a digital lock can land you in prison for 5 years. I tell the story of this law's passage in "Understood: Who Broke the Internet," my new podcast series for the CBC:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/08/who-broke-the-internet/#bruce-lehman

For a quarter century, tech companies have aggressively lobbied and litigated to expand the scope of anticircumvention laws. At the same time, companies have come up with a million ways to wrap their products in digital locks that are a crime to break.

Digital locks let Chamberlain, a garage-door opener monopolist block all third-party garage-door apps. Then, Chamberlain stuck ads in its app, so you have to watch an ad to open your garage-door:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Digital locks let John Deere block third-party repair of its tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

And they let Apple block third-party repair of iPhones:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/22/apples-cement-overshoes/

These companies built 11-foot ladders to get over their competitors' 10-foot walls, and then they kicked the ladder away. Once they were secure atop their walls, they committed enshittifying sins their fallen adversaries could only dream of.

I've been campaigning to abolish anticircumvention laws for the past quarter-century, and I've noticed a curious pattern. Whenever these companies stand to lose their legal protections, they freak out and spend vast fortunes to keep those protections intact. That's weird, because it strongly implies that their locks don't work. A lock that works works, whether or not it's illegal to break that lock. The reason Signal encryption works is that it's working encryption. The legal status of breaking Signal's encryption has nothing to do with whether it works. If Signal's encryption was full of technical flaws but it was illegal to point those flaws out, you'd be crazy to trust Signal.

Signal does get involved in legal fights, of course, but the fights it gets into are ones that require Signal to introduce defects in its encryption – not fights over whether it is legal to disclose flaws in Signal or exploit them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

But tech companies that rely on digital locks manifestly act like their locks don't work and they know it. When the tech and content giants bullied the W3C into building DRM into 2 billion users' browsers, they categorically rejected any proposal to limit their ability to destroy the lives of people who broke that DRM, even if it was only to add accessibility or privacy to video:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

The thing is, if the lock works, you don't need the legal right to destroy the lives of people who find its flaws, because it works.

Do digital locks work? Can they work? I think the answer to both questions is a resounding no. The design theory of a digital lock is that I can provide you with an encrypted file that your computer has the keys to. Your computer will access those keys to decrypt or sign a file, but only under the circumstances that I have specified. Like, you can install an app when it comes from my app store, but not when it comes from a third party. Or you can play back a video in one kind of browser window, but not in another one. For this to work, your computer has to hide a cryptographic key from you, inside a device you own and control. As I pointed out more than a decade ago, this is a fool's errand:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

After all, you or I might not have the knowledge and resources to uncover the keys' hiding place, but someone does. Maybe that someone is a person looking to go into business selling your customers the disenshittifying plugin that unfucks the thing you deliberately broke. Maybe it's a hacker-tinkerer, pursuing an intellectual challenge. Maybe it's a bored grad student with a free weekend, an electron-tunneling microscope, and a seminar full of undergrads looking for a project.

The point is that hiding secrets in devices that belong to your adversaries is very bad security practice. No matter how good a bank safe is, the bank keeps it in its vault – not in the bank-robber's basement workshop.

For a hiding-secrets-in-your-adversaries'-device plan to work, the manufacturer has to make zero mistakes. The adversary – a competitor, a tinkerer, a grad student – only has to find one mistake and exploit it. This is a bedrock of security theory: attackers have an inescapable advantage.

So I think that DRM doesn't work. I think DRM is a legal construct, not a technical one. I think DRM is a kind of magic Saran Wrap that manufacturers can wrap around their products, and, in so doing, make it a literal jailable offense to use those products in otherwise legal ways that their shareholders don't like. As Jay Freeman put it, using DRM creates a new law called "Felony Contempt of Business Model." It's a law that has never been passed by any legislature, but is nevertheless enforceable.

In the 25 years I've been fighting anticircumvention laws, I've spoken to many government officials from all over the world about the opportunity that repealing their anticircumvention laws represents. After all, Apple makes $100b/year by gouging app makers for 30 cents on ever dollar. Allow your domestic tech sector to sell the tools to jailbreak iPhones and install third party app stores, and you can convert Apple's $100b/year to a $100m/year business for one of your own companies, and the other $999,900,000,000 will be returned to the world's iPhone owners as a consumer surplus.

But every time I pitched this, I got the same answer: "The US Trade Representative forced us to pass this law, and threatened us with tariffs if we didn't pass it." Happy Liberation Day, people – every country in the world is now liberated from the only reason to keep this stupid-ass law on their books:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/15/beauty-eh/#its-the-only-war-the-yankees-lost-except-for-vietnam-and-also-the-alamo-and-the-bay-of-ham

In light of the Trump tariffs, I've been making the global rounds again, making the case for an anticircumvention repeal:

https://www.ft.com/content/b882f3a7-f8c9-4247-9662-3494eb37c30b

One of the questions I've been getting repeatedly from policy wonks, activists and officials is, "Is it even possible to jailbreak modern devices?" They want to know if companies like Apple, Tesla, Google, Microsoft, and John Deere have created unbreakable digital locks. Obviously, this is an important question, because if these locks are impregnable, then getting rid of the law won't deliver the promised benefits.

It's true that there aren't as many jailbreaks as we used to see. When a big project like Nextcloud – which is staffed up with extremely accomplished and skilled engineers – gets screwed over by Google's app store, they issue a press-release, not a patch:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2025/05/nextcloud-accuses-google-of-big-tech-gatekeeping-over-android-app-permissions/

Perhaps that's because the tech staff at Nextcloud are no match for Google, not even with the attacker's advantage on their side.

But I don't think so. Here's why: we do still get jailbreaks and mods, but these almost exclusively come from anonymous tinkerers and hobbyists:

https://consumerrights.wiki/Mazda_DMCA_takedown_of_Open_Source_Home_Assistant_App

Or from pissed off teenagers:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/29/23378541/the-og-app-instagram-clone-pulled-from-app-store

These hacks are incredibly ambitious! How ambitious? How about a class break for every version of iOS as well as an unpatchable hardware attack on 8 years' worth of Apple bootloaders?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/25/mafia-logic/#sosumi

Now, maybe it's the case at all the world's best hackers are posting free code under pseudonyms. Maybe all the code wizards working for venture backed tech companies that stand to make millions through clever reverse engineering are just not as mad skilled as teenagers who want an ad-free Insta and that's why they've never replicated the feat.

Or maybe it's because teenagers and anonymous hackers are just about the only people willing to risk a $500,000 fine and 5-year prison sentence. In other words, maybe the thing that protects DRM is law, not code. After all, when Polish security researchers revealed the existence of secret digital locks that the train manufacturer Newag used to rip off train operators for millions of euros, Newag dragged them into court:

https://fsfe.org/news/2025/news-20250407-01.en.html

Tech companies are the most self-mythologizing industry on the planet, beating out even the pharma sector in boasting about their prowess and good corporate citizenship. They swear that they've made a functional digital lock…but they sure act like the only thing those locks do is let them sue people who reveal their workings.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/14/pregnable/#checkm8