#he’s not the type to exaggerate either so like

[db0xtae]

Winning the Breakup | Chapter 2

- Minho (Xo Kitty) X Reader

𝜗𝜚⋆ Summary : Y/N, a talented and athletic after an intense breakup, Y/N reluctantly agrees to fake date Minho, to make their exes jealous. What begins as a mutual arrangement soon turns complicated when their fake relationship starts to feel all too real. With humor, bickering, and tender moments, Minho and Y/N's journey proves that sometimes the best way to heal from heartbreak is to allow yourself to fall in love.

𝜗𝜚⋆ Warnings : None

𝜗𝜚⋆ Word Count : 858

𝜗𝜚⋆ Chapters : 1

𝜗𝜚⋆ A/N : Hope you guys enjoy!!!

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Chapter 2: The Rules of Engagement

The next morning, Y/N regretted nothing—well, almost nothing. She wasn’t entirely sure agreeing to Minho’s plan was the best decision, but the image of Alex’s dumbfounded face as she and Minho danced at the social was enough to keep her second thoughts at bay.

It was Saturday morning, and the KISS campus was quiet. Most students were either still asleep or lounging in their dorms, but Y/N was already up and dressed, sitting at a small café table in the library courtyard. She was sipping on a latte and going over her notes for an upcoming quiz when a familiar, annoyingly confident voice interrupted her focus.

“Morning, darling,” Minho said, sliding into the chair across from her.

Y/N didn’t even look up. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? We’re dating now,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that smug grin she was already tired of seeing.

“Fake dating,” she corrected, finally meeting his eyes. “Let’s not forget the fake part.”

“Details,” Minho said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we need to set some ground rules.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Rules?”

“Obviously,” Minho replied, pulling out his phone. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need to be on the same page. Can’t have you ruining my image.”

She snorted. “Your image? Please, enlighten me.”

Minho ignored the jab, opening a notes app on his phone. “Rule one: public displays of affection. We’ll need to sell the relationship, so a little hand-holding, hugging, maybe the occasional kiss—”

“No,” Y/N cut him off, her tone firm. “We’re not kissing.”

He looked up, feigning disappointment. “You wound me. What, you think I’m a bad kisser?”

“I think I don’t want to catch whatever inflated ego disease you’re carrying,” she shot back, smirking when Minho gave an exaggerated gasp.

“Fine,” he relented, typing something into his phone. “No kissing…unless absolutely necessary.”

“There will be no ‘necessary,’” Y/N clarified.

Minho shrugged. “We’ll see. Rule two: we text daily. It doesn’t have to be anything deep, but it’ll look weird if we’re not in constant communication. People will notice.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “But no texting me at 2 a.m. with some nonsense about how amazing you are.”

“I would never,” Minho said, looking offended.

Y/N gave him a flat look.

“Okay, I would,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’ll restrain myself.”

“Good. Next?”

“Rule three: we go on at least one ‘date’ per week. People need to see us together outside of school events. And no ditching me halfway through because you get bored,” he added, pointing at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Like I’d be the one ditching.”

“Trust me, darling, I’m a delight,” Minho said, flashing his most charming smile.

“Stop calling me that,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Rule four,” Minho continued, ignoring her complaint. “We don’t tell anyone it’s fake. Not even our friends.”

Y/N hesitated. “Not even Kitty?”

“Especially not Kitty,” Minho said firmly. “She has the biggest mouth at KISS. She’d blow our cover in two seconds.”

“She’d probably make a PowerPoint about it,” Y/N murmured, earning a chuckle from Minho.

“Exactly. So, we keep it between us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she said reluctantly.

“Great,” Minho said, setting his phone down. “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use,” Y/N muttered, taking a sip of her latte.

By lunchtime, news of Y/N and Minho’s “relationship” had spread like wildfire. As they walked into the cafeteria together, side by side, the stares and whispers were impossible to ignore.

“You’d think people have never seen two attractive people together before,” Minho said, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

“Subtle,” Y/N muttered under her breath, elbowing him in the side.

“What? I’m just stating facts,” he said with a grin, guiding her to their usual table.

Kitty was already there, along with Dae, Yuri, and Q. The moment they sat down, Kitty leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Okay, spill,” she said. “How did this happen?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Minho beat her to it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “She couldn’t resist my charm.”

Y/N shoved his arm off. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“What’s there to regret, darling?” he teased, winking at her.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “You two are…dating?”

“Yep,” Minho said confidently.

“Since when?” Dae asked, looking genuinely confused.

“A few days ago,” Y/N lied smoothly. “It just…happened.”

Kitty frowned, clearly trying to piece things together. “But you’ve always been at each other’s throats. What changed?”

Minho leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “She finally realized how amazing I am.”

“I realized you’d never shut up about it if I didn’t give you a chance,” Y/N shot back, earning a laugh from Q.

“This is going to be interesting,” Yuri said, smirking as she sipped her drink.

That evening, Minho texted her.

Minho: “Tomorrow. 2 p.m. Meet me at the park.”

Y/N: “Why?”

Minho: “Date #1, duh. Don’t bail on me.”

Y/N sighed, tossing her phone onto her bed. She had a feeling this was going to be a long few weeks.

[twst-drabbles]

How about yandere with either cater or vil (maybe both if you dont mind) trying to fight for you anyway they can. Id love if there were tears, bruises and a lot of nsfw if thats alright ¤v¤

Cater 5

Summary: You really should've blocked Cater the moment he sent you those pictures, but there's a morbid part of you that's curious. And so, you end up wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine.

(Got struck with an idea that I thought was neat. Got pretty long so I couldn't stuff as much nsfw stuff as I could've wanted. The stuff that is there is... well it painful nsfw stuff, you'll see what I mean. Either way! Enjoy!)

You've come to know Cater as a liar. A fun liar, the drama queen type that likes to exaggerate things for the sake of either getting more views or just get more engagement out of people. He stretches out stories in such a weird way that it entertains you.

As such, when he texted you that he got his ass beat from trying to "clear your name," or whatever, you thought it was just another one of his stories. Perhaps he got slapped to kingdom come, or his clothes or hair got damaged. The students here in this college are prissy like that, preferring less the messiness of physical fighting and more the magical variety.

Then he sent you a selfie. Took a picture of himself in front of a mirror, shirt open as if to entice you, with belt loose and everything. "Like what you see?"

You never took him for a masochist, but the evidence was all on display.

Dark purple bruises littered his ribs, torso practically warped with those swelled up lumps of skin. The knuckles of Cater's hand were scrapped, a large blister over his forearm, and a long cut that traveling from his wrist all the way to his elbow.

He should be in the hospital, but he was smiling with bitten lips and red eyes, as if nothing is wrong with the world. It was painful to look at and you texted as such.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad! You should see what I did to the other guy. Lookie here!"

…there was exposed bone, glittering with it's drying viscera as the sun laid its gaze upon it. Two of Cater's clones grinned with missing teeth, giving peace signs to the camera as a body laid prone on the grass, face twisted away all the way around into the ground.

Sometimes, you forget how dangerous magic is, and how fatal it can be when combines with the brutal need to hurt and maim.

You did not ask Cater to do this. You're in a college as a magicless half-student, filled to the brim with people who's egos are constantly on the hunt for something to feast on. You happen to be a rather perfect target, a person that everyone can talk shit about because what are you gonna do? You have no magic, no family, no nothing in this world, so therefore, no standing or power to ever defend yourself with.

Naturally you had to complain, and who better to have listen than Cater? He's always hungry for drama and you certainly had a lot to give.

That and you were always under the impression that he wouldn't do anything drastic, at least, wouldn't kill someone.

"Now you don't have to worry about this little hater for a bit, okay? See you tomorrow, love ya!"

…so, what do you do? Simple. You go to sleep, and pretend that he doesn't exist. Because you know what happens when you try and tell the teachers anything? Crowley gets a whiff of it somehow, then silences the situation until things are back to normal. Normal, at the expense of you.

Again, what can you do? You just do what's in your power. Ignore, ignore and ignore.

This college was always strange. You never should've made the mistake of trying to find any sort of familiar comfort here.

Days passed and more photos were sent. You didn't reply, but you always saw because you couldn't keep your curiosity at bay. A cycle of Cater getting himself hurt on his hunts, then him showing off the injuries to you in the form of a collage of selfies in increasingly salacious poses.

In one picture, he was straight up grabbing himself. On that day, you didn't look at his texts at all. And so, he begged you to not block him, to at least mark his messages as read so he can cling onto the fantasy that you're looking at him, you got an idea.

"Send me a clone. One clone. And it better be a clone and not you."

It was the middle of the night, you should've waited until after class to send the text. But oh well, the clone--probably--is here, happy and waiting. Looks pretty bright-eyed and bushy tailed for someone that keeps getting beat up for the sake of your attention.

It was… annoying, irritating.

You didn't wait. You stabbed him with the skewer you forgot to put away, right on your front porch. He fell upon the rotting wood floor and curled over his stomach. His eyes were wide, tears leaking out from the pain. Now if only his mouth would stop those yearning moans.

"Quiet, Grim's sleeping." You tried stabbing his spine but bone is a lot harder to pierce through. Instead, it sank between a rib and through a lung. And Cater, listening to you, covered his mouth. "Hold still."

You didn't like him looking at you, so you grabbed his hair and forced his head to bow at your feet. His throat bobbed, and you stabbed that too. It… wasn't as messy as you thought it would be. There was blood, there was gurgling, but it wasn't a gash.

When you were done, when this clone became a still body, you brought out your phone and took a picture. You sent to Cater without any words.

Thirty minutes later, Cater sent you a voice message. You knew that if you clicked it, you would be subjected to a disgusting session of self pleasure.

"Thank you," he texted, as if you gave him something most delicious. How gross.

"Send me another clone tomorrow." Because, as messy as it initially was, it was fun. And, the clone was self cleaning.

[lewmagoo]

thoroughly freaked because my brother told me he saw what appeared to be a faceless man in the pitch black woods last night. why can’t normal things happen to us lmao it always has to be something strange

[faaun]

im actually becoming a littol bit annoyed by smn 😭

[sunderwight]

Cumplane where Airplane, in a fit of either bravery or insanity or positive or negative self-esteem (he's not totally sure) decides to cosplay as Luo Binghe and post the pictures online.

Of course, he doesn't do it as "Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky", he knows he has some questionable fans and doesn't really want to hand them a picture of his face. So he posts the images under one of the pseudonyms he uses for lurking around the comment section and social media tags. It's just a handful of images of him looking like the protagonist in his head, attempting to strike cool poses in a wig and some period clothes (he rented both).

The reception is... mixed. Airplane does not have abs, after all, nor a flawless complexion or much skill with makeup. He is fat, freckled, and awkward. The PIDW readership is not known for being particularly supportive either. In fact they're mostly a crab bucket of negativity and masculine posturing, so he gets a lot of mean-spirited commentary.

It's fine. Nothing he hadn't expected. Really solidifies for him that posting was a fit of madness, actually! What did he even expect? He's bracing himself for the worst when he sees that Peerless Cucumber, notorious hate-reader and defender of Luo Binghe's honor, has commented. Ah, shit. He's probably going to rip into Airplane for daring to sully his precious Binghe's reputation by dressing up like that, isn't he?

The comment is long, too. Fuck. Airplane's not sure if his self-esteem can take a comprehensive beating from the champion hater himself, but he's too curious not to look.

Shen Yuan, in the meanwhile, is just pleased that there has FINALLY been a Luo Binghe cosplayer who looks the part. Of course Luo Binghe wouldn't have exaggerated muscles, those are just a product of dehydration. Binghe spent most of his disciple years running around chopping wood and hauling laundry, and then later doing whatever he could to pack on the calories in order to make it through the Abyss. A hefty workman's build would only make sense for him, anything else would be nonsense. Airplane also described Luo Binghe as having a beautiful face, which Shen Yuan won't blame most cosplayers for not being able to just make happen, but a beautiful face doesn't mean "covered in so much makeup it looks like an anime character"! When would Luo Binghe have the time or inclination to put on makeup? A natural beauty with some inevitable blemishes would make more sense and be much more appealing, and this "Airplane Crashing to the Ground" (funny play on the author's name, Shen Yuan approves) has very pretty features! Everyone hating on this cosplay is just an idiot, the only actual problem is that his wig is poorly fitted.

So in true Peerless Cucumber fashion, he lays this all out.

This gets him embroiled in arguments with several other fans, who even accuse him of actually being the guy in the photos, claiming that there's no other reason why he would defend them. Shen Yuan doesn't care if people think that's him, because that's still the best Luo Binghe cosplay he's ever seen, but he doesn't want them doubting the sincerity of his arguments. So, he decides that the only reasonable thing to do is dress himself up in cosplay as well and then post the actual photos of himself.

While he'd like to dress up as one of Luo Binghe's allies like Mobei Jun, or maybe someone cool like Yue Qingyuan, he is too pedantic to think he could pull that off. Those guys are all strong warrior types, and Shen Yuan is a scrawny pale rich kid who looks like he'd probably lose a fight with a wet paper towel. The only characters he could plausibly pull off would be some of the more consumptive members of Binghe's harem and maybe, maybe, one of the weaker villains like Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan is NOT posting pictures of himself crossplaying to the central nexus of toxic masculinity itself, so... Shen Qingqiu it is!

Poor Airplane has to go sit and stare at a while for a while. Peerless Cucumber likes his cosplay. Peerless Cucumber, ardent defender of Shang Qinghua's sellout crappy main character mary-sue, thinks Airplane is good-looking enough to cosplay as him. And said so. Repeatedly. And then posted borderline thirst-trap villain cosplay of himself, inadvertently revealing in the process that he is hot.

What the. What. What?!

Anyway, Shen Yuan suggests that they attend the next convention both cosplaying together because Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky is supposed to be doing a meet & greet at that one, and wouldn't it be fun to go as a pair? And Airplane agrees before his brain catches up and he realizes that might present a problem.

[angelfic]

— IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU BABY

pairing: mattheo riddle x nott!reader

summary: you weren't quite used to the attention of other boys, and it seems your brother's best friend isn't too fond of it either

warnings: brother's best friend trope!! swearing, kissing, not much else, very much unedited

author’s note: i don't tend to stray outside of the marauders era characters buuuut i've been a bit obsessed with mattheo and theo recently so this was for my own selfish needs lol as always let me know what you think!!

He had barely looked away from you all evening.

You knew the only reason Mattheo’s eyes had been fixed on you for the entirety of dinner was because of a certain type of attention you had unconsciously garnered on your first day back at school. Particularly male attention. It wasn’t any less disconcerting, however, knowing that your brother’s best friend was prepared to fist fight any potential romantic advances towards you because he was just as protective as your actual older sibling.

Your brother Theodore is no better, a displeased frown appearing every five minutes when he looks over to where you sit at the Gryffindor table.

“Merlin, boys are pathetic,” Ginny mutters, spearing a potato with her fork. “You go away for one summer and come back slightly prettier and they flock to you like bees to honey!” You’re about to weakly protest that she’s exaggerating, but at that exact moment you’re interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

You slowly turn on the bench, reluctantly lowering your goblet of pumpkin juice to face Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw boy who you’d only ever spoken to when he was going out with Ginny.

“Hi, Michael,” you sigh, offering him a bland smile.

“Hello, Nott,” Michael replies, with what he probably thinks is a winning smile. “Had a good summer? I was just going to ask if you wanted to go on the first Hogsmeade visit of the term with me.”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Er- well, as… nice as that sounds,” you say slowly, not meaning a word. You glance at Ginny as pointedly as you can manage and raise an eyebrow. “I don’t quite relish the idea of going out with my best friend’s ex.”

“Oh! I, erm, I didn’t actually see you there, Ginny,” he stammers, laughing sheepishly. “My mistake.”

“Quite,” Ginny says drily, turning back to her plate of food.

“Well, er, see you later then,” Michael mumbles, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes back to the Ravenclaw table.

You bite your lip to stifle your giggles but it’s not long before you catch Ginny’s eye and the both of you erupt into fits of laughter.

“I can’t believe I ever went out with him,” Ginny groans, wiping her eyes.

“Was he always such a tosser or is that new?” you ask, snorting at the way Ginny scrunches up her face in embarrassment.

You’re still laughing when your eyes happen to pass over the Slytherin table just to focus on Mattheo.

You notice with a jolt that he’s looking at you again. This time, his eyes flick over to the Ravenclaw table for a second where Michael has settled back onto, then back to you and he quirks a brow quizzically.

Frowning, you mouth at him to stop in hopes that he ceases his scrutiny, just for him to roll his eyes and return to whatever one-sided conversation Blaise Zabini was attempting to engage him in. You hope you don’t look as flustered as you feel after realising Mattheo has just witnessed such an embarrassing encounter, but you’ve found over the years that you’re not the best at hiding the effects he has on you. Theo has never mentioned it in front of Mattheo as far as you’re aware, but he definitely hasn’t shied away from teasing you about the childhood crush you have on your brother’s closest friend. Not that you’ve ever admitted it to him anyway, and you’ve gotten a lot better at hiding it since nothing could ever come of it.

“Your brother and Riddle have been looking like they’re ready to halve the male population of Hogwarts since we got on the bloody train,” Ginny says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, cutting into your carrot a little more viciously than needed. “They keep looking over at our table. I feel like I’m on one of those Muggle reality television programmes Hermione was telling your dad about the other week.”

Arthur Weasley was absolutely transfixed when he was learning about reality television from Hermione during breakfast the week you both stayed at The Burrow, and although you zoned out after his sixteenth question about a singular programme, you feel as though you caught the gist of it.

“Hm,” Ginny agrees, grimacing at the memory. She had nodded off at the table during that conversation and fallen asleep on her slice of toast. “In fairness, that’s not really a new thing.”

“What, being watched by my two guard dogs?” you ask in a mock-serious voice.

“Yeah, but…” Ginny chews thoughtfully for a second before answering. “I’m not just talking about today, or even recently. Your brother mostly minds his own business. I’m talking about Riddle. He’s always looking at you, I noticed it last year. Wherever we are, kind of like he’s checking up on you,” she says like it’s common knowledge, shrugging. “It’s sweet, I guess.”

You blink at her, a little speechless.

“What?” Ginny frowns after a few seconds of your silence. You look at her with raised eyebrows, not really taking her seriously. In your first few years at Hogwarts, you had confided in Ginny regarding your silly, little girl feelings for Mattheo and she would read into every action he took towards you in an attempt to prove he liked you too. Obviously, he saw you as nothing but a younger sister figure and once you grew up a bit, Ginny had let it go too.

Ginny reads your dubious expression now and sets down her knife and fork to cross her arms. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m serious! I’m not just saying it because you were helplessly in love with him until you were, like, fourteen.”

“Shush!” you hiss, thwacking her arm. “Why don’t you just get up on stage with Dumbledore and ask him to include that titbit of information for the entire school to hear in his speech!”

“Good idea,” she says, nodding seriously and starting to get up. You know she’s just teasing, but you start spluttering and frantically grab at her sleeve to sit her back down, causing her to topple onto you slightly. This sets you both off laughing again and you find it hard to stop for the rest of dinner and desert, thankfully staying far away from the topic of Mattheo. You also pointedly avoid looking at him again.

Once dinner is over, you head to the Gryffindor common room with the rest of your house and catch up with everyone for a while. After a couple hours of socialising and fifteen minutes of helping Neville Longbottom search for his pet toad, you head up to your dorm with Ginny and Lena, one of your other dormmates, to unpack.

As soon as you open your luggage, you search for your pyjamas and immediately change out of your robes and into a t-shirt and baggy shorts for comfort. You’re in the middle of unpacking some textbooks when you hear Lena whistle from behind you.

“I do not remember those pyjamas looking like that,” Lena comments, grinning at you. Rolling your eyes, you comply with her request to do a little spin and you can’t help feeling pleased when Lena and Ginny start whooping and hollering. “You’ve always been gorgeous, but you really grew up this summer, huh? Look at those legs!”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny pipes in, flopping down on her bed and abandoning her unpacked suitcase. “She came to stay for a week and Mum looked like she was going to cry every time she saw us. Something about ‘blossoming into young ladies’ or whatever bollocks.”

“You ‘blossomed’ last year,” you point out, and Lena hums in agreement. “I haven’t forgotten how Zacharias Smith fell off his broom trying to wave at you during Quidditch practice.”

Ginny groans and starts ranting about teenage boys again. Lena joins in and starts teasing her about how Harry Potter is the only boy she hasn’t complained about and you’re about to set down your belongings to help Lena dodge the pillows Ginny is throwing at her when a flash of green and silver in your suitcase catches your eye.

“Shite, I have Theo’s uniform,” you huff, grabbing the clothes out of your suitcase and sliding your slippers on. “That means he has mine and I am not dealing with this at seven in the morning. I’m gonna go drop this off, be back in a minute.”

Ginny says goodbye before resuming her pillow attack on Lena as you make your way out of the room and down into the common room. It’s nearly empty, with most people having gone to their rooms to pack and a quick glance at the clock tells you its past curfew. You decide to take the risk since you have a reasonable excuse, but you hope that if you do get caught, it isn’t by Filch or Snape.

By the time you’ve reached the dungeons, you thank Merlin that Theo had the sense to tell you the password for the Slytherin common room before dinner in case of emergency.

“Pureblood,” you mutter, fighting the urge to scoff when the door swings open. You enter the common room and brighten up when you see that the only students still hanging around are Theo and his friends. Your brother seems to have already started unpacking since he’s standing and holding your uniform, presumably about to come and find you. His friends all mumble polite ‘hello’s and he walks up to you with a smile.

“Oh, hey, I was just-” Theo cuts himself off when he properly looks at you and frowns. “Wha- Why are you wearing pyjamas out and about?”

“You’re wearing pyjamas too!” you exclaim, slightly embarrassed that your brother is doing this in front of your friends. They all turn to look at you again, hearing the indignation in Theo’s voice and you notice Mattheo suddenly sits up straighter. Suddenly aware of your bare legs, you tug down the material of your shorts, despite the fact they aren’t even very short to begin with.

“Oi. Stop looking at my sister!”” Theo snaps, glaring at Blaise, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. You know the only reason they glanced at you in the first place is out of curiosity regarding Theo’s question, but Theo and Mattheo scowl at them all the same and they all start sputtering, Draco in particular when Pansy narrows her eyes at him. Theo sighs at you, quickly exchanging your uniforms. “Just- at least take something to cover up back to your room.”

“I’ll walk her back,” Mattheo says, out of nowhere. He stands up and makes his way over to you, face carefully blank. Theo nods, agreeing quickly before he ruffles your hair goodbye to go and finish packing. You’re too surprised by Mattheo’s offer to protest until you’re already out of the Slytherin common room.

“I don’t need someone to walk me back, you know,” you mumble after a minute of charged silence.

“It was either me or Theo,” he shrugs, completely unapologetic when his mouth quirks up in a smug smile. “And I know you prefer me.”

“You’re both equally annoying,” you say, rolling your eyes, happy that he’s talking to you like normal again. You hated it whenever Mattheo was serious – it was rarely ever towards you and you much preferred when his whole face lit up with a smile. He begins to tease you about your bunny rabbit slippers and you’re in the middle of pretending to be irked when you both run into Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff prefect doing patrol duties.

“Hey,” Ernie offers you a friendly smile and gives Mattheo a brief, slightly nervous glance. While you prefer not to get into trouble for breaking curfew, Mattheo clearly couldn’t care less and his relaxed, yet intimidating stance must be off-putting to Ernie. Thankfully, you’re on friendly terms with the Hufflepuff and you give him an even brighter smile to make up for it, to which he beams at. “How was your summer?”

“Good, yeah! Erm, listen Ernie. We didn’t mean to be out at this time, it’s just that I accidentally had my brother’s uniform and needed to-”

“Oh, forget it. Don’t worry, I won’t dock you any points,” Ernie reassures you, waving off your excuses and you instantly relax. Ernie gives Mattheo another unsure glance before leaning in the tiniest bit closer to you. You try not to pay attention to how Ernie has been glancing at your legs and how Mattheo tenses up when Ernie starts speaking again. “I was actually wondering if you were available next weekend…?”

Ernie trails off when you don’t show any indication of replying straight away and you snap out of your surprise to say something, but Mattheo beats you to it.

“She’s busy then,” he says coldly, working his jaw. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late. Kindly get lost.”

“Wha- Matt!” you hiss, smacking his chest to which he barely flinches, nor does he look at all apologetic. “Ernie, I-”

“Never mind,” he says quickly, seemingly eager to just leave. “I’ll, er, see you later.”

You stand frozen in shock while Ernie rushes down the corridor and turns the corner, leaving you and Mattheo alone. Turning slowly, you look at him with barely contained anger.

“Why the hell did you do that?” you demand, voice sharp as nails. If it weren’t past curfew and you weren’t in the middle of a school corridor, you would most definitely be yelling. Mattheo stands with his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw and his silence makes you even angrier. You accepted long ago that you’d never have a chance with him, but now he was getting in the way of you having a chance with anyone. It was completely unfair. “What if I actually wanted to go out with him?!”

Mattheo scowls at this, but his impossibly dark brown eyes flash with a hint of uncertainty. “Did you?”

“What?” you ask, impatient.

“Did you want to go out with him?” he says, voice low and dangerous. He walks forward, towering over you and you refuse to be intimidated so you start walking backward until your back is against the wall. Despite having cornered you, he maintains a fair amount of distance between you, leaving plenty of space if you want to move away. You don’t.

“That’s none of your business,” you say stubbornly, raising your chin and trying your best to keep your voice steady. Mattheo narrows his eyes and reduces the distance between you ever so slightly with another small step. You nervously keep talking. “I can go out with whoever I want.” Another step. “And you can’t just-” One more step. “Matt.” His shoes are flush with your slippers.

“What?” he whispers, tilting his head and looking at you calmly, while you feeling anything but calm. “I can’t just… what?”

The previously respectable distance has gone out the window and instead you barely have space to breathe with the way Mattheo is leaning in, head dipped toward you but never touching, hands resting on the wall either side of you. He leans in, eyes dropping to your lips and your heart leaps in your chest with anticipation, but he ghosts his lips over your jaw instead and the barely-there contact has you breathing unevenly.

“You can’t…” you exhale, trying to finish your sentence with some dignity and failing miserably. “You can’t just scare people off like an overprotective older brother.”

Mattheo stills, lifting his head enough to meet your eyes, but making no move to distance himself any further. He scoffs quietly. “Brother,” he says the word with a mildly disgusted scowl. “Is that what you think I want to be?”

“I- I don’t…”

“You don’t know,” Mattheo finishes for you, the corners of his mouth turning up, yet his expression is devoid of humour. “No, you don’t know how badly I wanted to hex Macmillan just now. How badly I wanted to try out some new, experimental spells on that fucking Ravenclaw earlier. But none of that had anything to do with brotherly feelings.”

“They were just being nice,” you say stupidly, with not a clue in the world as to why you’re defending them right now. If anything, you’re just confused.

Mattheo quirks a brow, tongue pressing against his cheek as he considers your words. “That Ravenclaw from earlier was talking about you on the train. He said he was going to ask you out at dinner because you’d ‘gotten hot’ over summer,” Mattheo sneers, like he’s suddenly regretting not hexing Michael Corner in the Great Hall. “They weren’t being nice.”

All of a sudden, you feel irritated because you have no idea why Mattheo is telling you any of this. “What’s wrong with a boy finding me attractive? Is that such a crazy idea?” you demand, part of you not wanting him to answer.

“Merlin, do I seriously have to say it?” he groans, sighing when you glare at him. Mattheo takes a breath, meeting your eyes and you marvel at the sincerity you see when he speaks. “You didn’t ‘get hot’ over the summer. You’ve always been beautiful and they’re idiots for not paying attention then.”

Your breath catches in your throat, whether it’s from emotion or from the close proximity with Mattheo, you aren’t sure. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Mattheo nods, leaning back in to brush his nose against your own, his breath mingling with yours. “Always have.”

You take this as a cue to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in and the next thing you know, his mouth is firm against yours, and his hands are finally touching you, grabbing you by the waist and sliding up your back to hold you closer. You’ve thought about kissing Mattheo before, but the thoughts feel utterly stupid compared to the real thing. Mattheo kisses you fiercely, mouth sliding hot and wet against your own making you come alive and weakening you at the same time. He nips at your bottom lip and you gasp, causing him to smile into the kiss. Your hands are sliding up his chest to snake around his neck when a thought suddenly occurs to you and you pull away abruptly.

“Oh my God, Theodore,” you hiss, covering your mouth with your hand. Mattheo furrows his brows, looking a little dazed and confused. “What are we going to tell him?”

 “He knows I’ve loved you since we were kids,” Mattheo says flippantly, waving you off and impatiently starting to lean in again, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “What?”

“You’ve loved me since we were kids?” The words hardly register, but before you can feel any sort of elation, you mostly feel pissed off that your brother has clearly had his fun with the situation for years. “And Theo knows?”

“Yes,” Mattheo says slowly, as if he were talking to a child. He brushes the hair out of your face and his gaze turns a little uncertain when he speaks. “Er, this is hopefully the part where you say you feel the same way.”

“Well, of course I feel the same way,” you huff, still thoroughly annoyed at Theo. “He knew I was crazily in love with you too and the bastard was so irritating about it!”

You’re about three quarters of the way down a list of ways you want to get back at your brother when Mattheo gently turns your face by the chin to look at him. “As much as I’d love for you to plot against your brother right now, it’s kind of a mood killer thinking about him when I’m kissing you.”

“Sorry, sorry. Continue with the kissing.”

“How romantic,” he says drily. His smirk turns smug, however, when he processes your previous statement. “So… you were in love with me too. What was the word you used, again? Crazily? Crazily in love…”

“Don’t make me take it back, ‘cause I swear I will.”

© angelfic 2023.

[lawchwan]

do you like the sound of the music? (law, ace, sanji, zoro, kid)

summary: how the boys sound when they're getting pleasured. reader: gn!reader genre: smut disclaimer: not super detailed smut, but a grave detail on how these fine men sound like a/n: I know I haven't done an a/n, but it has been a minute since I posted here. I have been preoccupied (thanks to being a senior at uni) but now that I am done with everything, I hope I have more free time to post some fics and reignite my love for writing. I won't bore you much and we will proceed with more content (also my fem!law fic is in the works and it'll be put out sometime soon)

crossposted on ao3

Law

as much as i'd like to advocate for the whimper-whiny-loud-subby!law agenda that i have been adapting to my psyche while i was gone, he seems like the quiet kind while he's pleasuring you.

obviously not the type to be overtly silent to the point you won't hear a breath out of him. he's just simply a grunter and a light growler. he won't be very vocal unless you want him too.

when he comes, thats when you hear the magic beautiful sounds. it depends on the type of sex, dynamic, and/or pace you two have set in, he’ll either grunt a dragged deep moan or a slight whimper that cascades into your ears as he spills out his load onto you.

“mm, shit, fuck, y/n, you feel so fucking good…fuck~”

ace

oh that loud ass motherfucker. if you expect him to quiet down, well you’re out of luck. even if you placed a gag on his mouth, he’ll still spill out the loudest moan any human could produce (please gag him, he actually loves it).

ngl he kinda is the type to give exaggerated noises, like im talking those very exaggerated moans that you would hear in those shitty pornos (that ace may or may not unironically enjoy).

if you want to illicit the most hottest whimper that spills out of his mouth, simply just stroke and tug on his wavy locks—he will definitely go feral over this simple manuever. his mouth would probably be wrapped around your nipples, and his muffled moans could be heard on the outside, disturbing whoever’s nearby.

“mm—pfah! you think you can cover my mouth, baby?! huh?! think again—oo FUCK!~”

sanji

another loud boy. maybe not as loud as ace, but definitely can be loud if he needs to be.

he’ll honestly let out the most cutest and hottest moans any person can produce, it can even border into whimpering. he does get embarrassed when he gets super loud though, so keep a gag nearby if needed.

he’ll, however, take pride that only you can push him into the edge and let him produce music to your ears, much to the dismay of the crew. he’ll sometimes purposely moan out loud if it means to piss off zoro and keep him up from his slumber, leaving the green mosshead disgruntled and disgusted.

“oh~oh my god! y/n! you feel so—fuck!”

zoro

zoro’s a grunter. next.

no but in all seriousness, he does seem like a grunter and the type to give you dirty talk. he, like law, is not that talkative but he’ll say the most filthiest of shit in your ears that will leave you melting under his touch.

he’ll also maybe taunt you by groaning along with you with a smirk as he looks down at your wet parts.

“aww, you want my cock that badly?… well you might have to beg for it”

kid

jesus this man is crazy in bed. he strikes me as the type to be a growler. he seems to me to be very animalistic as he rails you like there’s mo tomorrow.

i can see him pinning your hips down as he thrusts himself into you, throwing his head back, letting out the loudest growls and groans as he speeds himself up. he’ll probably start talking in haste manner as well as soon as he feels himself getting closer to let his waterfall out.

“c’mon.. fucking, c’mon! you better come for me. come for me. come for me. come for me—grrr FUCK!”

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[thedensworld]

Illogical Project | C.Sc

Pairing: Ceo! Seungcheol x reader

Genre: fluff, humor, stranger to crush

Summary: It was just a project to get rid of a side chick, but Seungcheol fall. Deeply.

I was having so much fun writing this! Part 2 yall ask is here

Seungcheol didn’t have to do this. But he needed to do it. Logic flew right out the window the moment he’d typed your name into the company group website. Imagine his surprise when your profile popped up, revealing you were part of the marketing team—under his own label, no less.

The woman sneaking around with his cousin’s fiancé was one of his employees?

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. Well, this just got interesting. It shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of you.

It has been two years since Jiyeon, his cousin, and Jeonghan got engaged. Their engagement had been more of a business deal than a love story. And although Jiyeon’s engagement to Jeonghan was supposed to be purely transactional, it had been a lifesaver for Seungcheol. Thanks to her, he no longer had to endure his grandfather’s endless nagging about getting married.

But then, yesterday happened.

“Jeonghan’s been cheating on me!” Jiyeon had wailed, storming into his office like a whirlwind. Seungcheol hadn’t thought much of it—Jiyeon tended to exaggerate. He’d been about to brush it off with some nonchalant comment until she hit him with: “I think I’m going to call off the engagement.”

Hold up. What?

That wasn’t part of the plan. Jiyeon couldn’t break off the engagement! Without it, Seungcheol’s peace and freedom would go down the drain. He’d be right back to enduring those endless blind dates set up by his grandfather. Dinners with girls whose names he’d forget before dessert even arrived. Absolutely not.

Which led him to this moment, finding you—Jeonghan’s secret girlfriend. His smirk widened. If cutting you out of the picture meant keeping Jiyeon on board, then so be it. He’d convince you to take your cheating ways elsewhere.

Who would’ve thought his biggest problem was one of his own subordinates?

If anyone could see him now—Seungcheol, the company CEO, scrolling through employee profiles like a suspicious boyfriend—it would be mortifying. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. And there was no way he was letting his hard-earned freedom slip away because of Jeonghan’s wandering eyes and your sneaky rendezvous.

*

"Mr. Choi has been acting strange lately," your manager said as she returned from his office, a puzzled look on her face.

"He’s refused every ad plan we’ve pitched to him. And now he’s specifically asked for you to handle it."

Your brows shot up in surprise as you pointed at yourself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. He wants you in his office in ten minutes—with the best idea you can bring to the table.”

“Wait, ten minutes?!” You shot up from your chair, scrambling to find the folder you always kept at your desk. Panic set in as you grabbed your iPad—your lifeline filled with every concept, draft, and half-baked idea you’d ever had. “Why are you just telling me this now?”

Ms. Shin shrugged nonchalantly, already turning her attention back to her own tasks. “It slipped my mind. Good luck!”

You let out a frustrated sigh. Typical Ms. Shin. She was a perpetual headache wrapped up in business casual attire. Just yesterday, she’d dumped her entire presentation prep on you, claiming she was “too busy” to handle it herself. Never mind the fact that you were the one who’d developed almost every campaign concept the department had used for the past two years.

But still, you remained a shadow. Despite your efforts, you were practically invisible in the department—overworked and unnoticed.

As you rushed to the elevator, the thought crossed your mind: Why did Mr. Choi want to see you now?

Was he starting to see through Ms. Shin’s facade and realize where the real work was coming from? Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. This could either be a breakthrough… or a complete disaster.

Jeonghan used to tell you a lot about Seungcheol, his college friend. From what you’d heard, Seungcheol was the embodiment of professionalism. He wouldn’t judge you for staying in the shadows to support your boss all these years, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. The truth was, you didn’t know him well enough to understand what went on in his mind.

To you, Mr. Choi was just your boss’s boss—the executive you occasionally spotted from a distance as he strode through the office with that air of authority and responsibility. He was the face of Heidos Food, a man who commanded respect and led by example. His dedication and work ethic were part of the reason you’d decided to join this label among the Heidos Group’s many subsidiaries.

Taking a deep breath, you managed a smile at his secretary. “Mr. Choi is expecting me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The secretary gave a curt nod and led you to the door. You couldn’t help but feel small as you stood before it, staring at the imposing wood panel. The secretary knocked gently and stepped aside, motioning for you to enter.

This was it—your first time stepping into the office of the man who practically ran the entire division.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

What could he possibly want from me?

"It was disappointing, Ms. Ji."

Your heart sank as Mr. Choi’s voice sliced through the silence after you wrapped up the impromptu presentation.

“I don’t see your idea being as innovative as I expected. The format feels repetitive—similar to every program the marketing department has produced over the past few years.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to argue. How could you not? Internally, you were screaming. Of course, everything looked the same—they were all your ideas! Yet, it wasn’t like you could point that out to him.

Instead, you forced yourself to respond with a calm, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Choi tapped his pen thoughtfully against the desk, his gaze never leaving your face. “But,” he continued slowly, “it does have potential. It just needs a bit more… observation and refinement. Do you think you can handle this project, Ms. Ji? It’s rather risky.”

His question caught you off guard. Risky? Since when did Mr. Choi—who typically preferred playing it safe—assign risky projects to subordinates? Still, you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

“I’m confident I can handle it, sir. If you trust me, I’ll deliver.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he nodded. “Good. In that case, pack some clothes. We’re going to Singapore for a seminar tomorrow.”

What?!

You blinked at him, stunned. Singapore? Tomorrow? You hadn’t even processed what just happened before he dismissed you, turning his attention back to his paperwork as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

*

Seungcheol had no idea where your confidence came from. He’d incidentally overheard your phone conversation with Jeonghan earlier, and it was all sweet and annoyingly romantic.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t exactly accidental. Maybe he intentionally eavesdropped—just a little—but who could blame him? He couldn’t believe how bold you were to have such an intimate call with Jeonghan right in front of him.

So, people are right when they say love is thrilling when you’re playing with fire, he mused, his annoyance growing.

"You should pay attention to her more," he heard you say, your voice dropping to a softer tone that made Seungcheol’s scowl deepen.

Then you added, with a laugh that sounded entirely too carefree, "You’re right, I’m the better companion."

He felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Companion, huh? The nerve of you—being all cozy with Jeonghan right under his nose. He was already irritated by this whole situation, but now he had to endure your lovey-dovey chatter too?

“Alright, I gotta go. Bye... Have a nice day!” you finished, your voice as sweet as honey.

The moment you hung up, Seungcheol snapped himself into a more composed posture, acting as if he hadn’t just been caught leaning against the wall, listening like a gossip. He made a show of dropping himself onto the couch in front of you.

To his further irritation, you looked up with an even brighter smile.

“What should I do today, sir?” you asked, voice cheerful and professional, as if you hadn’t just been caught cooing over the phone.

Seungcheol had to think. There was really nothing too strenuous on the agenda for you today, but a part of him—call it the vindictive part—wanted to see you squirm, especially after witnessing your little show of affection for Jeonghan.

“Take notes on everything,” he ordered, watching your expression closely. “Mingle with everyone. Join every discussion. Since I’ll be attending a separate meeting, make sure you don’t make a fool out of our company. Got it?”

You nodded and jotted everything down like the diligent employee you were. “Okay, noted, sir.”

Seungcheol let out a sigh, not quite satisfied with the reaction—or lack thereof. “Can I trust you with this?”

Your smile remained unwavering as you met his gaze. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Something about your calm composure only made him want to push you further.

How could you be this unbothered?

On the last day of the seminar, Seungcheol could hardly believe it when his company was presented with an award of appreciation—all thanks to your hard work over the past few days. He had known you were good, but he hadn’t expected you to exceed everyone’s expectations this much.

But what truly grated on his nerves was the way people kept talking about you: “That woman with brains, bravery, and beauty,” they said, almost in awe.

Is this a business seminar or some kind of beauty pageant? he grumbled internally, irritated by how many times he’d heard those words. Every time someone praised your creativity and wit, it felt like another jab. Yet, even he couldn’t deny you deserved the recognition. The achievement might have been unexpected, but it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Now, he found himself sitting at a high-end restaurant for lunch, just hours before their flight back to South Korea. You sat stiffly across from him, clearly uncomfortable. After refusing his invitation five times and trying to hitch a ride to the airport with his secretary instead, here you were—reluctantly.

“You can choose whatever you’d like, Ms. Ji. You’ve earned it,” Seungcheol said, not looking up from his menu as he spoke.

You mumbled a polite acknowledgment, your gaze glued to the menu. Seungcheol raised his hand to call the waitress over and glanced at you, waiting for your order. His eyes widened in surprise when you rattled off your request in perfect, fluent Malay.

“Wait—you can speak the language?” he asked, caught off guard.

You nodded casually. “Yes, I studied and graduated here.”

“Hmm,” Seungcheol murmured thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers against the table, considering your response. “With that kind of portfolio, you could easily settle into a bigger company. Why stay at Heidos Food?”

To his surprise, you shook your head, rejecting the notion. “No, Heidos Food is the perfect fit for me.”

Seungcheol raised a brow. He couldn’t tell if you were just being polite or genuinely meant it. “And why is that?”

You paused, looking a little hesitant before speaking. “Five years ago, I had just graduated, and I attended the company’s anniversary event with someone I knew. I saw your speech there—it was incredible. It motivated me to become a part of Heidos Foods. I applied several times, went through multiple interviews, and finally got my position three years ago.”

Seungcheol didn’t like the way your story painted him as an integral figure in your career choice. He didn’t want to think he was that important. And yet, there was no denying that something about the way you spoke made him pause. He found himself strangely flattered—and maybe a little more intrigued than he wanted to admit.

He glanced away, clearing his throat. Stop it, Seungcheol. She’s not special.

But the thought wouldn’t leave him. He kept stealing glances at you, wondering how he had overlooked these little details about you. Maybe there really was something to what everyone kept saying: brains, bravery, and beauty—all rolled into one package.

No, he told himself sternly. Focus.

Slowly, Seungcheol found himself losing sight of his initial motive for getting to know you better—the desire to uncover the truth behind your connection with Jeonghan. As he spent more time with you, your charm and intelligence began to weave a spell around him, shifting his focus from suspicion to genuine curiosity.

The more he learned about you, the more he realized how difficult it was to see you as just a subordinate or a rival in Jeonghan’s affections.

He hadn’t planned on feeling this way, and it unsettled him. What started as a calculated move to monitor your interactions had transformed into something entirely different.

Seungcheol caught himself daydreaming about your conversations, replaying moments that made him smile. He was drawn to you in ways he hadn’t expected, and that realization left him both exhilarated and confused.

As his initial purpose faded into the background, a new question took root in his mind: What if getting close to you had become the most intriguing project of all?

*

“Can you send Ms. Ji to my office after this? There’s something I need to discuss with her.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she just left the building a few minutes ago due to personal business. She didn’t provide any details.”

Seungcheol nodded in frustration as Ms. Shin, your manager, wrapped up her paperwork. It had been two weeks since the two of you returned from the business trip, and he still found himself at a crossroads. He was working diligently to create a void that would justify getting rid of you, especially concerning your relationship with Jeonghan.

Alright, if he could be honest; he didn’t want to lose a gem like you from the company. The idea of you being Jeonghan’s “side chick” was almost infuriating, especially given your intelligence and undeniable beauty.

Yeah, Seungcheol couldn’t deny that your beauty truly shone when you were focused on your work, and he found it charming every time he handed you a new challenge.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a call from Jiyeon, his cousin. He picked it up, immediately greeted by her sobs.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, his protective instincts kicking in.

“Jeonghan…” Jiyeon cried, her voice trembling as she choked out his name.

“What did that bastard do now?”

There was no immediate response, just the sound of her muffled cries. Then, through the tears, Seungcheol finally heard her say, “He had a car accident after we fought. He’s in the hospital now.”

Within moments, Seungcheol found himself standing outside the operating room with Jiyeon by his side. To his surprise, he spotted you sitting quietly in a corner, clearly distressed. So here you were, the “personal business” Ms. Shin had mentioned.

“Let’s get you something to drink,” he said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Jiyeon’s shoulder and guiding her away from the waiting area. He handed her a can of soda as they sat down together.

“We fought on the phone,” Jiyeon explained, her voice still shaky. “I mentioned his side chick, and he denied it. He said he had no one besides me. I didn’t believe him, and then he said he would explain everything when he came to my office, but he got into a car accident.”

Seungcheol nodded, processing her words. “Y/N was there,” he said, gesturing toward you in the corner. “Y/N. She’s the one Jeonghan was supposedly seeing,” he added, his voice laced with confusion.

Jiyeon’s brow furrowed in frustration as she shook her head. “No, they are siblings. They have the same mother,” she sobbed, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions.

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? They’re siblings?”

“Yes,” Jiyeon replied, her expression a mixture of sadness and relief. “That explains everything. I thought he was cheating on me, but it turns out he was just trying to protect her.”

The weight of this shocking revelation shifted the tension in the room, leaving both of them momentarily speechless. Seungcheol leaned back against the wall, trying to digest the news.

Jiyeon wiped her tears, glancing toward you again. “I need to talk to her,” she said, determination filling her voice. “She deserves an explanation.”

Seungcheol nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Maybe this would clear the air and mend the rift between you.

*

"Has she done this a lot to you?" Seungcheol heard your voice coming from inside the room as he and Jiyeon were about to enter. Both of them paused instinctively, hovering just outside the door.

"She accused you of cheating. She put you in this situation!" Your tone was laced with a rage Seungcheol had never heard from you before. There was an intensity, a fierceness in your voice that was completely unfamiliar to him.

"I could’ve lost you…”

Jeonghan’s voice was soft, barely audible, as if trying to calm you down. “I’m fine, Y/N. I promise. It’s not her fault.”

Jiyeon, who had been poised to enter the room, suddenly froze, her eyes widening in realization. She glanced at Seungcheol, and he could see the confusion and guilt reflecting in her gaze. Before she could turn away, you stepped out of the room, your eyes red and swollen. The sight of Seungcheol and Jiyeon standing there, having clearly overheard the conversation, caught you off guard, but you quickly composed yourself.

You cleared your throat and walked past them with your head held high, your expression a perfect mask of indifference, as if you didn’t realize—or perhaps didn’t care—that they’d been listening in.

Seungcheol watched you go, his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the college days when he and Jeonghan had shared a dorm room. As the only Korean students on campus, they naturally gravitated toward each other. He recalled Jeonghan often mentioning his younger sister—a sibling from the same mother who was in middle school at the time. Seungcheol had never met her, but from Jeonghan’s stories, it was clear how much he treasured her.

"I get a headache every time she doesn’t pick up my call!" Jeonghan would grumble late at night, throwing his phone down in frustration. “She’s so stubborn, but she’s all I’ve got.”

And now, it all clicked into place. The sister Jeonghan had spoken of so fondly, the one he worried about constantly, was you. You, the woman who had captivated his attention with your intelligence and charm, were Jeonghan’s sister. Someone who had been right under his nose this entire time.

*

The hum of the office printer was the only sound in the room as you carefully gathered the documents you needed to submit. Steeling yourself, you walked to Seungcheol’s office and knocked gently before stepping inside.

Seungcheol glanced up from his computer when he heard the door open. The usual lighthearted banter that had developed between the two of you was noticeably absent as you approached his desk and placed the file in front of him.

“Here’s the proposal, sir. It needs your signature,” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the document and not on him.

Seungcheol picked up the pen, his gaze shifting between the file and your calm, composed demeanor. After scribbling his signature on the dotted line, he cleared his throat, an awkward tension hanging between you two.

“Is… Jeonghan doing better?” Seungcheol asked cautiously, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice finally holding a hint of warmth. “He’s recovering well. The doctors said he’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

Seungcheol nodded, a small wave of relief washing over him. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad he’s getting better. If you need more time off, just let me know. I know you’ve been the one taking care of him.”

You shook your head gently. “No, thank you. There’s already an assigned nurse for him. I’ll be back to work as usual.”

The air between you two was thick with unspoken words and awkwardness. Seungcheol felt the weight of everything he had said and done, of the suspicion that had once tainted every interaction he’d had with you. He knew it was his fault the dynamic between you had shifted so drastically, and now, he was fumbling, unsure of how to bridge the gap he had created.

“I—” Seungcheol hesitated, his usual poise and confidence faltering. “I know I messed up… and I don’t blame you if things don’t go back to the way they were. I just… I miss the way we used to work together, the way we used to talk.”

You blinked, taken aback by his admission. But even then, you didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm you used to. Instead, you offered him a small, understanding smile.

“Thank you for understanding, sir,” was all you said before you excused yourself and walked out of his office.

Seungcheol watched you go, the emptiness in his chest expanding. He had been wrong—terribly, embarrassingly wrong—and now he was paying the price for his foolish assumptions. He had shattered the easy camaraderie that once existed between you, and now, he was left with the cold, polite exchanges that felt more like a punishment than anything else.

You were here, right in front of him, but you felt more distant than ever.

*

You knew exactly what had been happening to you, but you tried to deny it until it finally affected you like it did today. Ms. Shin had already lectured you with words you never imagined she would use, all because of a rare moment of clumsiness that you didn’t even see coming. You had too much on your plate, and the project Mr. Choi had assigned to you was nearing its deadline. In the midst of it all, you accidentally forgot to send an anniversary message to one of your most loyal clients, and Ms. Shin had to do damage control.

“They were very offended, Y/N,” Ms. Shin snapped, her voice carrying throughout the office as she reprimanded you in front of everyone. You stood there, hands clasped in front of you, listening to her and internally cursing yourself for letting things slip, all because you couldn’t get Mr. Choi’s words out of your mind.

“I miss the way we used to work together.”

“I miss—”

“I’ll be reporting this to HR. I can’t handle this kind of negligence anymore.” Ms. Shin concluded sharply, her words reverberating through the office. A collective gasp came from your colleagues, who were too stunned to react.

Later that day, you found yourself sitting in the HR director’s office, replaying Ms. Shin’s words in your mind. You expected another round of the same scolding, but what came next blindsided you completely.

“We’ve received reports about you neglecting your responsibilities over the past three months, and unfortunately, we can’t tolerate this any longer. Please clear your desk before the workday ends,” the HR director said, his tone dismissive.

“What?” The shock was apparent on your face. No warning letter, no opportunity to explain—just an immediate termination.

“You’re firing me?” you whispered, still in disbelief.

“Effective immediately.” His tone was final, and there was no room for negotiation. You were jobless. Just like that.

You felt a scream building up inside you, a storm of emotions you didn’t know how to release. Anger, frustration, betrayal—every word they’d said felt unfair, and you were powerless to fight it. Who were you to contest it? Just another employee, replaceable, forgotten.

By the time you made it home, Jeonghan was the first to greet you, his face lighting up in surprise. “You’re home early?” he chirped, clearly not expecting you at this hour. Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, he had been staying at your place, recovering until he could get around without any help.

His smile quickly faded when he noticed the cardboard box in your hands. His expression crumpled with worry as you dropped the box onto the table with a heavy thud. “Are you… fired?” Jeonghan asked hesitantly, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

You nodded, letting out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, they fired me. Fuck Heidos. I’m going to start my own advertising company!”

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard by your outburst. “Alright, slow down. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but what happened?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

You shrugged, collapsing onto the couch in exhaustion. The last thing you wanted was to relive today’s events by recounting them to your brother. You just wanted to forget.

“Does Seungcheol know about this?” Jeonghan pressed on, not noticing how drained you were. “He told me you were handling a project together. Was this his decision?”

“Do you need a marketing staff?” you deflected, throwing the question back at him, trying to steer the conversation away.

“No, I don’t. But if you’re interested, I can make some room for you.”

You shook your head immediately. The last thing you wanted was to work for your brother’s company out of pity or nepotism. It wasn’t like you hadn’t considered it before, but joining his business now would feel like a defeat.

“I told you, you could’ve joined my company from the start,” Jeonghan murmured softly, his tone far gentler than before. “The Heidos you were so proud of has finally turned its back on you, huh?”

You groaned and stood up abruptly, your heavy steps echoing through the small living room as you stormed off to your bedroom. You slammed the door behind you, cutting off whatever else Jeonghan had to say.

“Yeah, Heidos finally threw me out,” you muttered bitterly to yourself as you leaned against the door. The company you had dreamed of working for, the place you’d given your blood, sweat, and tears for over the years—had thrown you out without so much as a second thought.

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest. This was the company you had stayed up nights for, the one you’d gone above and beyond for every single day. You’d fought your way in, made a name for yourself, only to be discarded like you were nothing.

And all you could think about was how everything had spiraled ever since that conversation with Seungcheol. How his simple words had shaken your confidence, distracted you, and caused this downward spiral.

But the worst part?

You still cared what he thought.

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the wall as Jeonghan's words replayed in your mind, taunting you.

Heidos finally turned its back on you.

Was that it, though? Was it really the company you were angry with? Or was there something more?

Your gaze dropped to the floor as a bitter realization crept in. Were you really interested in Heidos all along? Or was it Mr. Choi?

You closed your eyes and let out a slow breath, your thoughts drifting back to the first time you saw him in person. It was during Heidos’s anniversary gala, a grand event that showcased the company's milestones.

But there he was—Choi Seungcheol, the CEO’s son, standing on the grand stage, delivering a speech with the kind of charisma that made everyone hang on to his every word. He talked about vision, about passion, about how Heidos wasn’t just a business—it was a dream they all built together.

You remembered the way his eyes scanned the room as if acknowledging everyone’s efforts personally, his voice carrying conviction and authority. He seemed approachable yet untouchable at the same time. There was a spark in him that drew you in, like a flame you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by, even if it meant risking getting burned.

When he mentioned the value of individual contributions, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself as one of those valued employees he spoke of. That night, you had felt an overwhelming sense of pride, a hope that you, too, could be part of something bigger. Part of his vision. It made you work harder, push through every obstacle, and make a name for yourself in the company.

But what if, beneath all those aspirations, it was his approval you were really after?

Had it always been about earning a place at Heidos, or had it been about being acknowledged by him? Did your heart race because of the accomplishments, or was it because of the fleeting interactions you had with him?

You tried to shake off the thoughts, but the memories kept flooding back.

There was the time he complimented your work during a company meeting, the way he’d asked for your opinion during a discussion, and, of course, the project where you saw a different side of him—where he was more than just the stern, high-and-mighty executive everyone knew him as.

"I miss the way we used to work together."

His words echoed in your mind, laced with regret and something you couldn’t quite place. Had you let those words affect you more than they should have? Had you crossed a line somewhere between professionalism and personal admiration?

You huffed out a breath and rubbed your face with your hands. It was hard to admit, but maybe you were chasing after more than just a career.

Maybe it was a person.

“Are you really that naive?” you muttered to yourself, almost laughing at how pathetic it sounded. “You got yourself fired because you couldn’t get over a few words from Choi Seungcheol. Great job, Y/N.”

What had you been thinking? That you meant something more to him? That the way he looked at you was anything other than superficial interest? Maybe you’d been reading into things too much, letting your emotions cloud your judgment.

After all, the way he’d treated you—suspicious, distrustful, wary—it all pointed to how little he thought of you. You were a pawn in his game of protecting Jiyeon. The only reason he ever looked your way was because he thought you were a threat.

And yet… you wanted to believe there had been something more. Something genuine. But now, everything felt tainted.

Because if Heidos was no longer an option, then you’d just have to prove to yourself that you could rise even without the company’s name backing you up.

But first, you’d have to figure out a way to keep your heart in check—especially when it came to him.

“Forget it, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, staring at your reflection in the bedroom mirror. “Forget about Choi Seungcheol. He was never part of your plan, anyway.”

*

It was his first day back in the office after a week-long business trip, and Seungcheol finally had a chance to sit down and get back into his routine. His secretary entered the room with his usual coffee, already prepared with a list of updates and meetings for the day. He rattled them off efficiently, detailing every appointment and task Seungcheol needed to be aware of.

“I want to know the update on the project Ms. Ji is handling,” Seungcheol said, glancing at the folder in front of him, half-expecting to see her familiar name.

There was a brief pause, and when his secretary responded, the answer was something Seungcheol never anticipated.

“She’s no longer part of our staff, sir.”

Seungcheol frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, the question carrying a sharp edge.

“She was terminated a week ago due to negligence in fulfilling her responsibilities,” the secretary explained carefully. “The report came from Ms. Shin, and HR approved it immediately.”

Seungcheol’s scowl deepened, the irritation evident in the tightening of his jaw. He leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Ms. Ji was managing a critical project with me,” he said, his voice lowering. “Her status required my approval. How is it possible I wasn’t informed about this?”

His secretary’s shoulders tensed, and he hesitated before replying, “I’m terribly sorry, sir. You were occupied with meetings and engagements throughout the week, and I only received the details two days ago myself.”

“Busy or not, I should have been notified immediately.” Seungcheol’s voice was dangerously calm. He glanced at the stack of files on his desk, his mind already racing to piece together what could’ve gone wrong. “I want Ms. Shin and Mr. Kim from HR in my office—now.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied quickly, bowing slightly before leaving the room to carry out Seungcheol’s orders.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to the half-empty coffee cup, his thoughts a blur of anger and disbelief. Fired? For negligence? That didn’t add up. He knew you weren't perfect, but you were dedicated and thorough. You had handled complex projects before, and while you had your flaws, negligence was never one of them.

Something wasn’t right.

The door opened again a few minutes later, and Ms. Shin walked in, followed closely by Mr. Kim. Both looked apprehensive, likely sensing the storm brewing from the tension in the air.

“Explain,” Seungcheol said without preamble, his eyes fixed on Ms. Shin. “Why was Ms. Ji terminated, and why was I not informed?”

Ms. Shin cleared her throat, meeting his gaze with a strained smile. “Sir, there were multiple instances where Ms. Ji failed to meet her deadlines and deliverables, which impacted the team’s performance. I reported this to HR, and after reviewing her recent performance records, they decided to let her go.”

“And whose idea was it to keep this from me?” Seungcheol’s voice was low and dangerous.

“We didn’t intend to keep it from you, sir,” Mr. Kim interjected cautiously.

“The decision was made quickly due to the urgency of the situation. Given that you were away and Ms. Shin was the acting supervisor for that period, we thought it best to handle it internally until we could brief you properly.”

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted between the two of them, his displeasure evident. “I don’t appreciate decisions being made without my knowledge, especially when it concerns a project directly under my supervision. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered in unison, looking visibly uncomfortable.

“Ms. Ji was fired without a formal warning or disciplinary review?” Seungcheol continued, his voice hardening. “Was she given no chance to explain herself or defend her performance?”

Ms. Shin shifted uneasily, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Sir, she had been making several mistakes, and her focus seemed to be elsewhere. It was affecting her work quality. We couldn’t afford to let it slide any longer.”

“Was this decision truly about her work, or something else?” Seungcheol pressed, his gaze narrowing. “Because from what I’ve seen, she was one of the most consistent performers on the team. I want a full report on the matter by the end of today.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Kim replied quickly, while Ms. Shin’s jaw tightened, her frustration barely masked.

“Dismissed,” Seungcheol said curtly, waving them out of his office.

*

You practically jumped out of your bed when you saw an incoming call from Mr. Choi flash across your phone screen. Heart racing, you scrambled to sit up straight before answering.

“I’m outside your place.”

What?

You blinked, staring at yourself in the mirror in disbelief. Just moments ago, you had been in a post-drama-marathon daze, slouched in bed after indulging in a series binge you could never afford the time for before. And now, the very man who occupied your thoughts far more than he should—the Choi Seungcheol—was calling to announce that he was outside your apartment?

“Uh—can you give me ten minutes? I’m not exactly looking presentable at the moment,” you stammered, glancing down at your wrinkled pajamas and messy hair. Your reflection screamed “I-just-woke-up” and “don’t-look-at-me”.

“I—what I mean is!” You quickly corrected yourself, flustered. “I just woke up, so I might look a little… disgusting.”

The last word fell out awkwardly, and you cringed inwardly. Of all the words you could’ve chosen…

“Take your time, Ms. Ji.” His voice was calm, almost amused. You heard the call click off, leaving you in stunned silence.

Oh God, what was he doing here?

You dashed into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and washing your face in record time. The face staring back at you looked different now—the long hair you used to style meticulously was gone, impulsively cut to shoulder length last week in a fit of frustration and exhaustion. You sighed and brushed it diligently, making it look as presentable as possible. Changing out of your pajamas into something more decent—a casual blouse and jeans—you took a deep breath before heading outside.

Stepping out of your building, you spotted his sleek car parked along the road, and there he was—slipping out of the driver’s seat, looking effortlessly handsome despite the casualness of his attire. His usual sharp suit was gone, replaced by a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Even without the formal suit jacket, his presence seemed to dominate the entire street. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, struggling to reconcile this man’s unexpected appearance outside your home with the same person you admired from afar at work.

Focus, Y/N.

“How are you?” Seungcheol asked, his gaze soft as it met yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer verbally, so you just nodded stiffly, offering a tight smile. The truth was, you weren’t okay—not even close. And a part of you wanted him to understand that without you having to spell it out. But another part of you was wary, unsure how much he even knew or cared about what happened.

“I just found out about your termination this morning,” he began, and you blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected this to be the topic of conversation. “I’m so sorry.”

You stood there, rooted in place as you stared at him. What was going on?

“I shouldn’t have let Ms. Shin handle things like that,” he continued, voice low, the frustration evident in his tone. “I knew she’s been trying to drag you down all this time. I knew you were the one carrying the department, handling all the toughest projects… That’s why I’m sorry.”

The Choi Seungcheol, the man who exuded confidence and charisma at every turn, now looked uncharacteristically small and uncertain standing before you. The apology caught you off guard. You had prepared yourself for cold professionalism, or maybe even indifference. But not this.

“I won’t force you to come back to the company,” he said gently. “That’s entirely your choice.”

He paused, looking as if he was weighing his next words carefully, then took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to lose the chance to tell you…”

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making it hard to breathe.

“I might like you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. “Romantically.”

What?!

The world seemed to freeze around you as you stared at him, your mind racing to process his words. Seungcheol… liked you? The very same Choi Seungcheol who spent years being distant and impossible to read? He liked you, romantically? This couldn’t be real.

“I—I don’t know when it happened,” he continued, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. “But somewhere along the way, I realized I was looking forward to seeing you every day. You were more than just a competent employee; you were someone I admired. And then… I started to miss you.”

The sincerity in his words left you speechless. You glanced down, unable to meet his gaze as you tried to figure out what to say. Was it possible that you hadn’t just admired him from afar but had harbored deeper feelings too?

“I understand if this is too much for you right now,” he said softly, stepping back as if to give you space. “I just needed you to know… I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when I should’ve been. And I’m sorry that you had to go through all of this because of me.”

His voice was gentle, and for a moment, the street around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you standing there, suspended in this unexpected moment.

What could you possibly say? Words failed you, so you did the only thing you could—you nodded, acknowledging his apology and his confession, still unsure if you were dreaming or awake.

“Thank you… for telling me,” you managed to say quietly.

Things could never go back to the way they used to be.

[syluslnd]

hii i have a few requests i hope you dont mind 🥺🫶 feel free to pick to do any if they have not been done yet, they are kinda mostly prompts though 😭

sylus with a streamer/gamer s/o. like those fics where the fans go crazy when sylus shows up in the camera out of nowhere or hearing his voice. and sylus just being supportive about their hobby 😞❤️

sylus reaction when they have a cosplayer s/o, especially when they come home every day and they meet a new character daily or every other day 😭🤣

sylus reaction when s/o gets period stains during their date

sylus with s/o who cant cook but not the those exaggerated types where they burn the whole kitchen, they just didnt learn how to cook, but can do the bare minimum of helping like slicing and stuff and very easy recipes (projecting because i can't cook but am helpful 😭)

when you get your period mid date

The evening had started off perfectly. You and Sylus were sitting across from each other in one of the fanciest restaurants in town, your skin-tight dress fitting you like a glove. The low lights, soft music and clinking of glasses around you added to the elegance of the night. Sylus looked especially handsome tonight, his gaze on you steady and smoldering and his signature teasing smile made your heart flutter.

Everything was going smoothly—that is, until you felt that familiar pang low in your abdomen. You froze, hoping it was just nerves. But then, you felt a sinking dread as the sensation intensified. Trying not to panic, you excused yourself, offering Sylus a nervous smile. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Take your time, sweetie” he replied with a slight smirk. “Don’t go missing me too much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a quick wave before heading to the bathroom. But once you were inside, your worst fear was confirmed: a noticeable stain had appeared on the back of your dress. Panic bubbled up in your chest as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, mortified. This wasn’t just any dress, either; it was a pale color, practically a magnet for accidents.

Not knowing what else to do, you took a shaky breath and pulled out your phone, dialing Sylus’s number with trembling fingers. He picked up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” His voice was laced with humor, but you could practically hear the smile on his face.

“Sylus” you whispered, cringing at how shaky you sounded. “Can you… um… can you come to the bathroom? I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

There was a beat of silence. “Are you hurt, kitten?”

“No! No, not hurt” you stammered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Just…my period..I’m stained!”

“Got it. Stay right there, I’m coming.” He hung up and you leaned against the counter, waiting anxiously. But as the seconds ticked by, you began to feel more and more self-conscious. What was taking him so long?

After what felt like an eternity, the bathroom door finally opened and there stood Sylus—with a designer shopping bag in his hand. You blinked, trying to process the sight.

“Sylus, what…?” You trailed off, completely baffled.

He smirked, holding up the bag. “What? Did you think I was going to leave my sweetie hanging?” He stepped forward, setting the bag down on the counter. “Got you a new dress. I figured you wouldn’t want to be seen with… you know.” He gestured vaguely, clearly trying to spare you any embarrassment.

Your jaw dropped, both at his thoughtfulness and at the brand-name logo on the bag. “Wait, you actually bought me a new dress? From there?” you asked, pointing out the door, toward the designer store just across the street.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the right call. Plus, I got to take my time picking something pretty for you.” His smirk widened. “Had to make sure it’d look perfect on my kitten.”

You let out a small laugh, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, though your cheeks burned at the thought of him going out of his way for this. “Sylus, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“How about you say you’ll wear it and let me get back to showing you off to the rest of the place?” he teased, handing the bag to you.

You reached for it, heart racing as you peeked inside. The dress was stunning, a rich, deep color that would look amazing on you, with a soft fabric that looked comfortable enough to help you feel more at ease.

“Sylus” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss over your forehead. “Anything for you, sweetie” he replied, his voice softer, his teasing tone gone for just a moment.

You felt your chest warm and you tried to look away, but he gently turned your face back toward him. “Hey, don’t get all shy on me now” he said, his smirk returning. “It’s cute, though. Didn’t know I could get my girl so flustered.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed and half-touched and stepped back toward the stall to change. “I’ll be right back” you promised, disappearing inside and slipping on the new dress. When you stepped out, you felt a little self-conscious, smoothing the fabric over your hips.

Sylus’s gaze met yours, his eyes lighting up with admiration. “Beautiful” he said simply, letting his gaze linger as if he were committing the sight to memory.

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze but a smile crept onto your face as you looked at him. “Think we can go back and pretend like none of this happened?”

He chuckled, offering his arm with a grin. “Of course, kitten. I’ll even let you hold onto the bag—it’s yours, after all.”

You laughed, taking his arm, feeling a surge of confidence as he led you back to your table. Sylus didn’t just make you feel taken care of; he made you feel cherished, like every little detail about you was worth his time.

And as you settled back into your seat, he gave you a wink. “Next time, just call me sooner. Anything to keep my kitten comfortable, you know?”

You smiled, knowing he meant every word. The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, stolen glances, and soft whispers and for the first time, you didn’t feel an ounce of insecurity—you were just glad to have Sylus by your side

[mostlysignssomeportents]

They were warned

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

Truth is provisional! Sometimes, the things we understand to be true about the world change, and stuff we've "always done" has to change, too. There comes a day when the evidence against using radium suppositories is overwhelming, and then you really must dig that radium out of your colon and safely dispose of it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/19/just-stop-putting-that-up-your-ass/#harm-reduction

So it's natural and right that in the world, there will be people who want to revisit the received wisdom and best practices for how we live our lives, regulate our economy, and organize our society. But not a license to simply throw out the systems we rely on. Sure, maybe they're outdated or unnecessary, but maybe not. That's where "Chesterton's Fence" comes in:

Let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, "I don't see the use of this; let us clear it away." To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: "If you don't see the use of it, I certainly won't let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G._K._Chesterton#Chesterton's_fence

In other words, it's not enough to say, "This principle gets in the way of something I want to do, so let's throw it out because I'm pretty sure the inconvenience I'm experiencing is worse than the consequences of doing away with this principle." You need to have a theory of how you will prevent the harms the principle protects us from once you tear it down. That theory can be "the harms are imaginary" so it doesn't matter. Like, if you get rid of all the measures that defend us from hexes placed by evil witches, it's OK to say, "This is safe because evil witches aren't real and neither are hexes."

But you'd better be sure! After all, some preventative measures work so well that no living person has experienced the harms they guard us against. It's easy to mistake these for imaginary or exaggerated. Think of the antivaxers who are ideologically committed to a world in which human beings do not have a shared destiny, meaning that no one has a moral claim over the choices you make. Motivated reasoning lets those people rationalize their way into imagining that measles – a deadly and ferociously contagious disease that was a scourge for millennia until we all but extinguished it – was no big deal:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Measles:_A_Dangerous_Illness

There's nothing wrong with asking whether longstanding health measures need to be carried on, or whether they can be sunset. But antivaxers' sloppy, reckless reasoning about contagious disease is inexcusable. They were warned, repeatedly, about the mass death and widespread lifelong disability that would follow from their pursuit of an ideological commitment to living as though their decisions have no effect on others. They pressed ahead anyway, inventing ever-more fanciful reasons why health is a purely private matter, and why "public health" was either a myth or a Communist conspiracy:

https://www.conspirituality.net/episodes/brief-vinay-prasad-pick-me-campaign

When RFK Jr kills your kids with measles or permanently disables them with polio, he doesn't get to say "I was just inquiring as to the efficacy of a longstanding measure, as is right and proper." He was told why the vaccine fence was there, and he came up with objectively very stupid reasons why that didn't matter, and then he killed your kids. He was warned.

Fuck that guy.

Or take Bill Clinton. From 1933 until 1999, American banks were regulated under the Glass-Steagall Act, which "structurally separated" them. Under structural separation, a "retail bank" – the bank that holds your savings and mortgage and provides you with a checkbook – could not be "investment bank." That meant it couldn't own or invest in businesses that competed with the businesses its depositors and borrowers ran. It couldn't get into other lines of business, either, like insurance underwriting.

Glass-Steagall was a fence that stood between retail banks and the casino economy. It was there for a fucking great reason: the failure to structurally separate banks allowed them to act like casinos, inflating a giant market bubble that popped on Black Friday in October 1929, kicking off the Great Depression. Congress built the structural separation fence to keep banks from doing it again.

In the 1990s, Bill Clinton agitated for getting rid of Glass-Steagall. He argued that new economic controls would allow the government to prevent another giant bubble and crash. This time, the banks would behave themselves. After all, hadn't they demonstrated their prudence for seven decades?

In fact, they hadn't. Every time banks figured out how to slip out of regulatory constraints they inflated another huge bubble, leading to another massive crash that made the rich obscenely richer and destroyed ordinary savers' lives. Clinton took office just as one of these finance-sector bombs – the S&L Crisis – was detonating. Clinton had no basis – apart from wishful thinking – to believe that deregulating banks would lead to anything but another gigantic crash.

But Clinton let his self interest – in presiding over a sugar-high economic expansion driven by deregulation – overrule his prudence (about the crash that would follow). Sure enough, in the last months of Clinton's presidency, the stock market imploded with the March 2000 dot-bomb. And because Congress learned nothing from the dot-com crash and declined to restore the Glass-Steagall fence, the crash led to another bubble, this time in subprime mortgages, and then, inevitably, we suffered the Great Financial Crisis.

Look: there's no virtue in having bank regulations for the sake of having them. It is conceptually possible for bank regulations to be useless or even harmful. There's nothing wrong with investigating whether the 70-year old Glass-Steagall Act was still needed in 1999. But Clinton was provided with a mountain of evidence about why Glass-Steagall was the only thing standing between Americans and economic chaos, including the evidence of the S&L Crisis, which was still underway when he took office, and he ignored all of them. If you lost everything – your home, your savings, your pension – in the dot-bomb or the Great Financial Crisis, Bill Clinton is to blame. He was warned. he ignored the warnings.

Fuck that guy.

No, seriously, fuck Bill Clinton. Deregulating banks wasn't Clinton's only passion. He also wanted to ban working cryptography. The cornerstone of Clinton's tech policy was the "Clipper Chip," a backdoored encryption chip that, by law, every technology was supposed to use. If Clipper had gone into effect, then cops, spooks, and anyone who could suborn, bribe, or trick a cop or a spook could break into any computer, server, mobile device, or embedded system in America.

When Clinton was told – over and over, in small, easy-to-understand words – that there was no way to make a security system that only worked when "bad guys" tried to break into it, but collapsed immediately if a "good guy" wanted to bypass it. We explained to him – oh, how we explained to him! – that working encryption would be all that stood between your pacemaker's firmware and a malicious update that killed you where you stood; all that stood between your antilock brakes' firmware and a malicious update that sent you careening off a cliff; all that stood between businesses and corporate espionage, all that stood between America and foreign state adversaries wanting to learn its secrets.

In response, Clinton said the same thing that all of his successors in the Crypto Wars have said: NERD HARDER! Just figure it out. Cops need to look at bad guys' phones, so you need to figure out how to make encryption that keeps teenagers safe from sextortionists, but melts away the second a cop tries to unlock a suspect's phone. Take Malcolm Turnbull, the former Australian Prime Minister. When he was told that the laws of mathematics dictated that it was impossible to build selectively effective encryption of the sort he was demanding, he replied, "The laws of mathematics are very commendable but the only law that applies in Australia is the law of Australia":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/07/australian-pm-calls-end-end-encryption-ban-says-laws-mathematics-dont-apply-down

Fuck that guy. Fuck Bill Clinton. Fuck a succession of UK Prime Ministers who have repeatedly attempted to ban working encryption. Fuck 'em all. The stakes here are obscenely high. They have been warned, and all they say in response is "NERD HARDER!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

Now, of course, "crypto means cryptography," but the other crypto – cryptocurrency – deserves a look-in here. Cryptocurrency proponents advocate for a system of deregulated money creation, AKA "wildcat currencies." They say, variously, that central banks are no longer needed; or that we never needed central banks to regulate the money supply. Let's take away that fence. Why not? It's not fit for purpose today, and maybe it never was.

Why do we have central banks? The Fed – which is far from a perfect institution and could use substantial reform or even replacement – was created because the age of wildcat currencies was a nightmare. Wildcat currencies created wild economic swings, massive booms and even bigger busts. Wildcat currencies are the reason that abandoned haunted mansions feature so heavily in the American imagination: American towns and cities were dotted with giant mansions built by financiers who'd grown rich as bubbles expanded, then lost it all after the crash.

Prudent management of the money supply didn't end those booms and busts, but it substantially dampened them, ending the so-called "business cycle" that once terrorized Americans, destroying their towns and livelihoods and wiping out their savings.

It shouldn't surprise us that a new wildcat money sector, flogging "decentralized" cryptocurrencies (that they are nevertheless weirdly anxious to swap for your gross, boring old "fiat" money) has created a series of massive booms and busts, with insiders getting richer and richer, and retail investors losing everything.

If there was ever any doubt about whether wildcat currencies could be made safe by putting them on a blockchain, it is gone. Wildcat currencies are as dangerous today as they were in the 18th and 19th century – only moreso, since this new bad paper relies on the endless consumption of whole rainforests' worth of carbon, endangering not just our economy, but also the habitability of the planet Earth.

And nevertheless, the Trump administration is promising a new crypto golden age (or, ahem, a Gilded Age). And there are plenty of Democrats who continue to throw in with the rotten, corrupt crypto industry, which flushed billions into the 2024 election to bring Trump to office. The result is absolutely going to be more massive bubbles and life-destroying implosions. Fuck those guys. They were warned, and they did it anyway.

Speaking of the climate emergency: greetings from smoky Los Angeles! My city's on fire. This was not an unforeseeable disaster. Malibu is the most on-fire place in the world:

https://longreads.com/2018/12/04/the-case-for-letting-malibu-burn/

Since 1919, the region has been managed on the basis of "total fire suppression." This policy continued long after science showed that this creates "fire debt" in the form of accumulated fuel. The longer you go between fires, the hotter and more destructive those fires become, and the relationship is nonlinear. A 50-year fire isn't 250% more intense than a 20-year fire: it's 50,000% more intense.

Despite this, California has invested peanuts in regular controlled burns, which has created biennial uncontrolled burns – wildfires that cost thousands of times more than any controlled burn.

Speaking of underinvestment: PG&E has spent decades extracting dividends for its investors and bonuses for its execs, while engaging in near-total neglect of maintenance of its high-voltage transmission lines. Even with normal winds, these lines routinely fall down and start blazes.

But we don't have normal winds. The climate emergency has been steadily worsening for decades. LA is just the latest place to be on fire, or under water, or under ice, or baking in wet bulb temperatures. Last week in southern California, we were warned to expect gusts of 120mph.

They were warned. #ExxonKnew: in the early 1970s, Exxon's own scientists warned them that fossil fuel consumption would kick off climate change so drastic that it would endanger human civilzation. Exxon responded by burying the reports and investing in climate denial:

https://exxonknew.org/

They were warned! Warned about fire debt. Warned about transmission lines. Warned about climate change. And specific, named people, who individually had the power to heed these warnings and stave off disaster, ignored the warnings. They didn't make honest mistakes, either: they ignored the warnings because doing so made them extraordinarily, disgustingly rich. They used this money to create dynastic fortunes, and have created entire lineages of ultra-wealthy princelings in $900,000 watches who owe it all to our suffering and impending dooml

Fuck those guys. Fuck 'em all.

We've had so many missed opportunities, chances to make good policy or at least not make bad policy. The enshitternet didn't happen on its own. It was the foreseeable result of choices – again, choices made by named individuals who became very wealthy by ignoring the warnings all around them.

Let's go back to Bill Clinton, because more than anyone else, Clinton presided over some terrible technology regulations. In 1998, Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, a bill championed by Barney Frank (fuck that guy, too). Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, it's a felony, punishable by a five year prison sentence, and a $500,000 fine, to tamper with a "digital lock."

That means that if HP uses a digital lock to prevent you from using third-party ink, it's a literal crime to bypass that lock. Which is why HP ink now costs $10,000/gallon, and why you print your shopping lists with colored water that costs more, ounce for ounce, than the sperm of a Kentucky Derby winner:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

Clinton was warned that DMCA 1201 would soon metastasize into every kind of device – not just the games consoles and DVD players where it was first used, but medical implants, tractors, cars, home appliances – anything you could put a microchip into (Jay Freeman calls this "felony contempt of business-model"):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

He ignored those warnings and signed the DMCA anyway (fuck that guy). Then, under Bush (fuck that guy), the US Trade Representative went all around the world demanding that America's trading partners adopt versions of this law (fuck that guy). In 2001, the European Parliament capitulated, enacting the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 is a copy-paste of DMCA 1201 (fuck all those people).

Fast forward 20 years, and boy is there a lot of shit with microchips that can be boobytrapped with rent-extracting logic bombs that are illegal to research, describe, or disable.

Like choo-choo trains.

Last year, the Polish hacking group Dragon Sector was contacted by a public sector train company whose Newag trains kept going out of service. The operator suspected that Newag had boobytrapped the trains to punish the train company for getting its maintenance from a third-party contractor. When Dragon Sector investigated, they discovered that Newag had indeed riddled the trains' firmware with boobytraps. Trains that were taken to locations known to have third-party maintenance workshops were immediately bricked (hilariously, this bomb would detonate if trains just passed through stations near to these workshops, which is why another train company had to remove all the GPSes from its trains – they kept slamming to a halt when they approached a station near a third-party workshop). But Newag's logic bombs would brick trains for all kinds of reasons – merely keeping a train stationary for too many days would result in its being bricked. Installing a third-party component in a locomotive would also trigger a bomb, bricking the train.

In their talk at last year's Chaos Communications Congress, the Dragon Sector folks describe how they have been legally terrorized by Newag, which has repeatedly sued them for violating its "intellectual property" by revealing its sleazy, corrupt business practices. They also note that Newag continues to sell lots of trains in Poland, despite the widespread knowledge of its dirty business model, because public train operators are bound by procurement rules, and as long as Newag is the cheapest bidder, they get the contract:

https://media.ccc.de/v/38c3-we-ve-not-been-trained-for-this-life-after-the-newag-drm-disclosure

The laws that let Newag make millions off a nakedly corrupt enterprise – and put the individuals who blew the whistle on it at risk of losing everything – were passed by Members of the European Parliament who were warned that this would happen, and they ignored those warnings, and now it's happening. Fuck those people, every one of 'em.

It's not just European parliamentarians who ignored warnings and did the bidding of the US Trade Representative, enacting laws that banned tampering with digital locks. In 2010, two Canadian Conservative Party ministers in the Stephen Harper government brought forward similar legislation. These ministers, Tony Clement (now a disgraced sex-pest and PPE grifter) and James Moore (today, a sleazeball white-shoe corporate lawyer), held a consultation on this proposal.

6, 138 people wrote in to say, "Don't do this, it will be hugely destructive." 54 respondents wrote in support of it. Clement and Moore threw out the 6,138 opposing comments. Moore explained why: these were the "babyish" responses of "radical extremists." The law passed in 2012.

Last year, the Canadian Parliament passed bills guaranteeing Canadians the Right to Repair and the right to interoperability. But Canadians can't act on either of these laws, because they would have to tamper with a digital lock to do so, and that's illegal, thanks to Tony Clement and James Moore. Who were warned. And who ignored those warnings. Fuck those guys:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

Back in the 1990s, Bill Clinton had a ton of proposals for regulating the internet, but nowhere among those proposals will you find a consumer privacy law. The last time an American president signed a consumer privacy law was 1988, when Reagan signed the Video Privacy Protection Act and ensured that Americans would never have to worry that video-store clerks where telling the newspapers what VHS cassettes they took home.

In the years since, Congress has enacted exactly zero consumer privacy laws. None. This has allowed the out-of-control, unregulated data broker sector to metastasize into a cancer on the American people. This is an industry that fuels stalkers, discriminatory financial and hiring algorithms, and an ad-tech sector that lets advertisers target categories like "teenagers with depression," "seniors with dementia" and "armed service personnel with gambling addictions."

When the people cry out for privacy protections, Congress – and the surveillance industry shills that fund them – say we don't need a privacy law. The market will solve this problem. People are selling their privacy willingly, and it would be an "undue interference in the market" if we took away your "freedom to contract" by barring companies from spying on you after you clicked the "I agree" button.

These people have been repeatedly warned about the severe dangers to the American public – as workers, as citizens, as community members, and as consumers – from the national privacy free-for-all, and have done nothing. Fuck them, every one:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Now, even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and not every one of Bill Clinton's internet policies was terrible. He had exactly one great policy, and, ironically, that's the one there's the most energy for dismantling. That policy is Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (a law that was otherwise such a dumpster fire that the courts struck it down). Chances are, you have been systematically misled about the history, use, and language of Section 230, which is wild, because it's exactly 26 words long and fits in a single tweet:

No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.

Section 230 was passed because when companies were held liable for their users' speech, they "solved" this problem by just blocking every controversial thing a user said. Without Section 230, there would be no Black Lives Matter, no #MeToo – no online spaces where the powerful were held to account. Meanwhile, rich and powerful people would continue to enjoy online platforms where they and their bootlickers could pump out the most grotesque nonsense imaginable, either because they owned those platforms (ahem, Twitter and Truth Social) or because rich and powerful people can afford the professional advice needed to navigate the content-moderation bureaucracies of large systems.

We know exactly what the internet looks like when platforms are civilly liable for their users' speech: it's an internet where marginalized and powerless people are silenced, and where the people who've got a boot on their throats are the only voices you can hear:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

The evidence for this isn't limited to the era of AOL and Prodigy. In 2018, Trump signed SESTA/FOSTA, a law that held platforms liable for "sex trafficking." Advocates for this law – like Ashton Kutcher, who campaigns against sexual assault unless it involves one of his friends, in which case he petitions the judge for leniency – were warned that it would be used to shut down all consensual sex work online, making sex workers's lives much more dangerous. This warnings were immediately borne out, and they have been repeatedly borne out every month since. Killing CDA 230 for sex work brought back pimping, exposed sex workers to grave threats to their personal safety, and made them much poorer:

https://decriminalizesex.work/advocacy/sesta-fosta/what-is-sesta-fosta/

It also pushed sex trafficking and other nonconsensual sex into privateforums that are much harder for law enforcement to monitor and intervene in, making it that much harder to catch sex traffickers:

https://cdt.org/insights/its-all-downsides-hybrid-fosta-sesta-hinders-law-enforcement-hurts-victims-and-speakers/

This is exactly what SESTA/FOSTA's advocates were warned of. They were warned. They did it anyway. Fuck those people.

Maybe you have a theory about how platforms can be held civilly liable for their users' speech without harming marginalized people in exactly the way that SESTA/FOSTA, it had better amount to more than "platforms are evil monopolists and CDA 230 makes their lives easier." Yes, they're evil monopolists. Yes, 230 makes their lives easier. But without 230, small forums – private message boards, Mastodon servers, Bluesky, etc – couldn't possibly operate.

There's a reason Mark Zuckerberg wants to kill CDA 230, and it's not because he wants to send Facebook to the digital graveyard. Zuck knows that FB can operate in a post-230 world by automating the deletion of all controversial speech, and he knows that small services that might "disrupt" Facebook's hegemony would be immediately extinguished by eliminating 230:

https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/zuckerberg-calls-changes-techs-section-230-protections-rcna486

It's depressing to see so many comrades in the fight against Big Tech getting suckered into carrying water for Zuck, demanding the eradication of CDA 230. Please, I beg you: look at the evidence for what happens when you remove that fence. Heed the warnings. Don't be like Bill Clinton, or California fire suppression officials, or James Moore and Tony Clement, or the European Parliament, or the US Trade Rep, or cryptocurrency freaks, or Malcolm Turnbull.

Or Ashton fucking Kutcher.

Because, you know, fuck those guys.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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/2025/01/13/wanting-it-badly/#is-not-enough

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

PUSH AND PULL

a/n: Hey! Sorry it's been a long time, but rn I have a lot of exams… While I finish them, here's something I've written before.

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: they fight but happy ending! long af

summary: In love, mess is inevitable—especially when you're as stubborn as Jude and you. A fight breaks out, and with it, comes chaos. But instead of facing it like adults, you both become kids again, unable to stop poking at each other and pushing each other's buttons. Whether it's a teasing remark, a too-close-for-comfort touch, or a pointed silence, you both dance around your feelings, caught in the tension of unspoken frustration. However, when the stubborness between you becomes unbearable, one kiss shatters the walls you’ve both carefully built.

The flat was a battlefield of silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the sharp-edged, suffocating kind, where every creak of the floorboards sounded like an accusation. Jude sat sprawled on the couch, legs wide, one hand gripping the remote. The TV played highlights from some old match, but you could tell from the way his eyes lingered on the screen without focus that he wasn’t watching.

You also sat on the couch, cross-legged, your laptop balanced on your thighs. With the television humming faintly in the background, you pretended to be engrossed in your laptop, fingers brushing aimlessly over the keys. Your hair fell over one shoulder, hiding the way you glanced at him every so often, wondering if he would break the silence. He did not. What he did, was catching you once, his dark eyes locking with yours for a brief moment, before you both looked away as if burned.

The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the air itself refused to move. Neither of you dared to take the first step to break the silence, which stretched between you like an invisible wall. The funniest part was that, in a house so vast, the two of you had ended up in the same room, sharing the same couch, barely a few inches apart. It was almost ridiculous. Tho, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. Internally, you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

The fight from last night sat heavily between you. It was the kind of argument that left no room for winners, only wounds. You weren’t even sure how it started. He neither. A jab here, a poorly timed comment there, and before you knew it, the words turned sharp, biting into places neither of you wanted exposed. And now, all that was left was this: icy silence and the simmering frustration of two people who loved each other too much to let go but were too proud to make the first move.

Jude turned up the volume on the TV—just a notch higher than necessary. A small, petty move, but you caught it. You gritted your teeth and opened another tab on your laptop, pretending to type while your jaw clenched.

He leaned back, draping an arm casually across the back of the couch, his shirt hitching up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. A silver of his abs. You noticed—of course, you noticed—but you stubbornly refused to let your gaze linger. He was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The smug bastard.

To be fair, you weren’t entirely innocent either. You’d been wandering around the house all day without a bra, and you were well aware of how his eyes occasionally darted toward you before he quickly looked away. It wasn’t overt, nothing you could call him out on, but you could feel his awareness of you, just as you were hyper-aware of him.

In retaliation, you slammed your laptop shut, regardless of the tabs you had open. The noise echoed through the room, over the loud volume of the TV, and for a moment, Jude’s eyes met yours. There was a challenge in his gaze, a slight arch of his eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. Then, as if nothing, you opened the device again.

After a while, your boyfriend, decided that now the couch was not as comfortable as it was minutes before and went to the kitchen. In there, Jude’s movements were deliberate, exaggerated in a way that felt almost taunting. He opened the fridge with more force than necessary, the door creaking loudly, and lingered there for what felt like forever before finally pulling out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap with unnecessary force, the crack of the seal piercing the silence.

“You could’ve done that quieter,” you muttered, not looking up from your screen.

He snorted, the sound low and derisive. “You’ve been so sensitive later.”

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Instead, you tapped harder on your keyboard, the clatter of the keys a pointed counter to his earlier disruption. It was petty, childish even, but you couldn’t help yourself. If he was going to be difficult, you could be too. You knew he hated that, and when you turned back, you caught the briefest twitch of his lips, as if he was holding back a smirk.

The audacity of him almost made you snap again.

The minutes dragged on, and the uneasy rhythm of your coexistence continued. Jude eventually moved to the living room, sprawling across the other end of the couch. His long legs stretched out, nudging your thigh as he adjusted his position. It wasn’t accidental—you could tell by the faint smirk that tugged at his lips when you glared at him.

“Can you not?” you snapped, shifting slightly away from him. Honestly, even when you were angry, you still liked the warmth of his contact, but you knew that pulling away would bother him.

“What? I’m just sitting,” he said, his tone infuriatingly casual. But then he moved his leg again, deliberately pressing it against yours, skin against warm skin. This time, you didn’t move, choosing instead to act as if you didn’t notice at all.

“Sitting doesn’t involve invading someone else’s space.”

He didn’t respond, but the smirk on his face only deepened, as if he found your irritation amusing. Leaning further back into the couch, he made himself completely comfortable, clearly unbothered.

You turned your focus back to your laptop, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like you were getting any actual work done.

When he grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels, the sound of the TV growing louder with each change, you shot him another glare. He didn’t acknowledge it, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he couldn’t feel the weight of your annoyance.

“Are you trying to be obnoxious, or does it just come naturally?” you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally turned to look at you, annoyed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, but neither of you said anything more. Instead, you both retreated into the silence, your mutual frustration simmering just below the surface.

By early afternoon, the passive-aggressive dance had reached new heights. You were in the kitchen, making yourself a coffee when he got up moments later, brushing past you as he headed to the sink. You could have moved, made it easier for him, but you didn’t. Neither did he. Your shoulders bumped, and you felt a spark of irritation—at him, at yourself, at the situation.

“Excuse me,” he said finally, his tone clipped but low, his breath brushing your temple as he reached over you for a glass. You stepped aside, not because you wanted to but because your pride wouldn’t let you linger there like some lovesick fool.

He filled the glass with water, the sound of it cascading against the sink somehow louder than necessary. His presence so close to you was suffocating, but you refused to move too far. He stood there for a moment with heavy eye contact after taking a sip, leaning against the counter like he was waiting for you to react.

You didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it, appearing uninterested. You saw him glance at you from the corner of his eye, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw amusement flicker across his face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way—sharp glances, clipped words, and small actions that seemed designed to provoke the other. When Jude left his empty glass on the coffee table instead of taking it to the sink, you picked it up with exaggerated care, your movements pointedly loud as you placed it in the dishwasher. When you adjusted the thermostat without asking, he changed it back moments later, the beep of the controls echoing like a challenge.

This repeated a few times.

Neither of you said what you really wanted to say. The words hovered in the air, unspoken but undeniable, like a ghost haunting the space between you.

As the night deepened, the tension between you became almost unbearable, thick and suffocating in the dimly lit room. You lay curled up on the bed, your fingers mindlessly scrolling through your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your face. At the other end of the mattress, Jude sat hunched over his own device, the faint light from his screen carving sharp shadows across his features. His face was drawn tight, his brows furrowed in a way that made the lines of worry and frustration painfully obvious. You couldn’t help but wonder if you looked the same—tired, distant, and weighed down by the silence hanging between you.

You despised this chasm that had grown between you, the quiet hostility that lingered unspoken in the air. The silence wasn’t a comfortable one—it was filled with an unrelenting tension, an undercurrent of anger and hurt that felt alien and wrong. This wasn’t what you had envisioned. It wasn’t what you wanted. You loved him, even now, even through the haze of pain and frustration that churned within you. That love was still there, steady and unwavering, but it felt harder to reach, buried beneath the heavy layers of everything left unsaid.

Jude shifted slightly, his movement breaking the stillness. His fingers brushed against your arm, light as a whisper, a touch so brief it was almost nothing—but it wasn’t nothing. The contact jolted through you, surprising in its warmth and its ability to remind you of what once felt so natural. For a moment, you both froze. The touch lingered, suspended in time, carrying more weight than such a small gesture should. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, he pulled his hand away, retreating back to his side of the bed.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

The bed had grown colder as the hours ticked on, the tension between you and Jude acting like an invisible barrier, keeping you both firmly planted on opposite ends of the mattress. Sleep came to you first, though not peacefully—it was the restless kind, with the occasional shuffle and murmured sigh as your body sought the warmth that your pride kept you from asking for.

Jude stayed awake longer, his phone abandoned on the nightstand. His gaze flickered toward your sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders pulling at something deep inside him. Even in sleep, there was a tightness to the set of your jaw, a lingering sign of the frustration that had consumed the day. He wanted to reach out, to smooth the lines away with his thumb, to press a kiss to the crown of your head like he always did when you argued. But the memory of your sharp words, and his own stubbornness, kept him still.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted off into a restless slumber.

Next morning, the dim light of morning crept through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Jude stirred first, his body stiff and warm under the tangled sheets. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, until he became acutely aware of two things: the faint scent of your shampoo and the fact that his arm was draped securely around your waist.

His heart thudded once, heavy and slow, as the realization hit. Sometime during the night, you two had moved closer, the invisible wall of your argument forgotten in sleep. Your back was pressed against his chest, your legs loosely intertwined, his nose buried in the crown of your hair. It felt impossibly natural, like the way you used to fit before the fight. His hold on you was firm but careful, as if even his sleeping self knew you were something precious, something not to let go of.

Jude’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles before his pride crept in, whispering to him that this was just a fluke. He wasn’t supposed to be happy about this, was he? You were still angry—still caught in the push and pull of your unresolved tension. But damn it, holding you like this felt good. Really good. It felt right. He allowed himself one more selfish second to savor the moment before you stirred.

Your soft murmur pulled him from his thoughts. You shifted slightly, pressing closer to his chest, your body melting into his as if seeking his warmth even in sleep. His heart ached, and a wave of affection so fierce it startled him coursed through his chest. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you he was sorry for the things he said, the things he didn’t say. But pride anchored him in place, so instead, he lay there, pretending he didn’t feel anything at all.

You woke to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the unmistakable weight of his arm around you. For a moment, still caught in the haze of sleep, you sighed contentedly, nestling closer to the warmth behind you. It felt safe, familiar, and so achingly right that it made your chest tighten.

But then, reality crashed in like a bucket of cold water. You froze, eyes flying open, as you realized exactly where you were—and who you were with. The fight, the tension, the stubborn refusal to bridge the gap between you—it all came rushing back, drowning out the soft thrum of happiness that lingered from waking in his arms.

Still, you didn’t move immediately. Instead, you let yourself linger for just a moment longer, feeling the solidness of him behind you, the warmth of his breath against your neck. Your heart ached with love, raw and unrelenting, a stark contrast to the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. How could you feel both so intensely at once?

You wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and let the love you felt show on your face. But the pride that had fueled your argument held you still. You couldn’t be the first to crack—not after last night. So, you did what you always did: you pushed the feelings down, buried them under a layer of indifference, and carefully shifted away.

You swung your legs out of bed, avoiding Jude’s gaze as you reached for your robe. He remained lounging on his side, his dark eyes tracking your movements.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. It wasn’t quite warm, but it lacked the sharp edge from yesterday.

“Morning,” you replied, fastening the belt of your robe with deliberate nonchalance.

As you padded to the kitchen to start the coffee, Jude followed, his footsteps soft but noticeable. He leaned casually against the counter as you worked, his arms crossed over his chest. The silence between you hung heavy but was no longer suffocating—just thick with the remnants of stubborn pride.

“You’re not going to make me a cup too?” he asked, arching a brow when you filled a single mug. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Yep, that early in the morning.

You turned, lips also twitching. “Last I checked, you have two hands and know where the mugs are.”

That smirk persisted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t mocking—it was teasing. “Wow. So generous this morning.”

You shrugged, raising your mug to your lips. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Jude shook his head, stepping forward to grab his own cup. You moved to lean against the counter opposite him, your mug cradled in both hands. He stood closer than necessary, the distance between you shrinking inch by inch as the minutes passed.

“You were hogging the blanket last night,” he stated suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me? I was hogging the blanket? You’re the human furnace who takes up three-quarters of the bed.”

He scoffed, setting his mug down. “Three-quarters? Dramatic much? You sleep like a starfish.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it—a real, unguarded laugh that felt like a balm to the tension still clinging to the edges of the morning. Jude’s lips quirked into a grin, the kind that softened the sharp lines of his face and made your heart skip despite yourself. You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

The teasing was lighthearted, a refreshing shift from the icy tension of the previous day. But underneath it, the stubbornness remained—a silent promise that neither of you would be the first to openly admit you wanted peace.

Jude leaned against the counter, his coffee in hand, watching you with that maddening smirk. It wasn’t just his expression; it was the way he stood, as if the entire kitchen belonged to him, as if he were perfectly at ease and you were the one who had to figure out how to navigate the unspoken rules of this little game.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your coffee calmly.

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Can you blame me? You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“Oh, please,” you retorted, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. “I’m not in the mood for your cheesy one-liners. They are not working.”

“It wasn’t a one-liner. It was an observation,” he replied smoothly, taking a step closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, “And besides, it’s not my fault you look cute when you’re grumpy.”

Your jaw tightened, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward for just a moment before you caught yourself. “I know you miss me, but this is not the way of fixing things.”

“Miss you?” he shot back, leaning closer, his proximity making your heart stutter. “I woke up with you cuddling against me so…”

You rolled your eyes and turned away, feigning nonchalance as you began to tidy the already clean counter. “That’s not how... forget it,”

The morning passed in a steady rhythm of petty jabs and fleeting touches that neither of you could resist. When you walked past him to grab something from the pantry, his hand brushed lightly against your lower back—just enough to make your skin tingle. You shot him a look over your shoulder, but he was already looking elsewhere, as if the contact had been incidental. You knew better.

Later, as you stood by the sink rinsing your mug, Jude joined you, crowding your space under the guise of washing his hands. The sink was large enough for both of you, but he leaned in anyway, his arm brushing against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“Do you mind?” you asked, tilting your head to glare at him.

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You huffed, turning to move away, but his hand darted out to catch yours. The suddenness of it made you freeze, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the air thickening between you. Jude’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a simple, unassuming touch that sent shivers racing up your arm.

But just as quickly, he released you, his smirk returning as if to mask the moment of vulnerability. “Don’t trip over your own stubbornness,” he said, stepping back.

You bristled, turning sharply to face him. “Me? Stubborn? That’s rich coming from you.”

The tension that had been simmering all morning suddenly flared, sharp and electric. That was what you both needed. “You’ve been impossible since yesterday,” he shot back, his voice rising just enough to match yours. “I’m not the one slamming laptops shut and stomping around like a child.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you took a step closer, your chest brushing against his as you jabbed a finger at his chest. “And I’m not the one deliberately trying to piss the other off!”

Jude tilted his head, his smirk fading into something darker, more serious. “Oh, you think I’m the one pushing buttons here? Newsflash, love—you’ve been just as bad.”

“Love?” you repeated, your voice dripping with incredulity. “Don’t you dare—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jude’s hands moved, quick and decisive. One slid to the small of your back, the other cupped your ass firmly, and in one smooth motion, he pulled you against him and lifted you off the ground. A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was swallowed almost immediately as his mouth crashed against yours.

Finally, you thought to yourself, something you would never say out-loud.

The kiss was hot and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongues that mirrored the intensity of your earlier fight. Jude’s lips moved against yours with a ferocity that left no room for argument, his grip on you possessive and unyielding. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding purchase in his neck as you pulled him closer.

For a moment, you forgot everything—the fight, the pride, the stubbornness. All that existed was the heat of his mouth on yours, the solidness of his body pressed against you, and the way his hands gripped you like he never wanted to let go. It was messy and desperate and so painfully raw that it left you breathless.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red and swollen, his breathing uneven as he stared at you with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something softer. “You argue too much,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You blinked at him, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened. “And you—”

“No no, shhh,” he interrupted, his mouth crashing against yours again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. It was an apology, a truce, and a declaration all rolled into one.

When he pulled back this time, his hands lingered, one sliding up to cup your cheek while the other stayed firmly at your waist. His thumb brushed lightly across your skin, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. His chest was heaving, just like yours, as if the kiss had stolen the air from both of you.

You stared at him, the heat of his touch grounding you even as your heart raced. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence thick with everything that had just been said without words.

Finally, you broke it, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “For… being difficult. For letting it drag on like this.”

Jude raised a brow, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “Oh, so you can apologize,” he teased, though the smirk on his face softened at the edges.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched despite yourself. “Juuude, don’t ruin the moment,” you warned, your tone light.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Keep going, come on, I want to hear you say how wrong you were.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and you swatted lightly at his chest. “Don’t push it.” But then your smile faded, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I really am sorry, baby.”

His teasing faded as he looked at you, the sincerity in your voice settling over him like a balm. “Yeah, well,” he began, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you just a little closer. “I’m sorry too. For being a stubborn ass. And for… picking fights when I should’ve just talked to you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “We’re a real pair, aren’t we?”

His thumb traced circles against your hip, his touch impossibly warm. “We’re kind of great, though,” he whispered, his voice almost teasing. “When we’re not driving each other crazy.”

You let out another soft laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re not wrong.”

The air between you shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper. Your lips hovered over his, your breaths mingling as the tension built again, electric and magnetic. You kissed him this time, slow but deliberate, pouring every ounce of affection and apology into it. His grip on your waist and ass tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his heartbeat echoed yours, fast and unsteady.

When you finally broke apart, his lips were slightly swollen, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazed down at you. “You’re a tease, you know that?” he muttered, his voice husky.

You smirked, the heat still thrumming through your veins. “Only for you.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, his tone both teasing and sincere. Then, without warning, he bent slightly, sliding his hands down to your thighs and hoisting you up effortlessly. A surprised laugh escaped you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Jude—what are you doing?” you asked, though your tone betrayed more excitement than protest.

“Making up properly,” he replied, his voice low and rough in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “No more interruptions.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands threading through his hair as he kissed you again, his lips stealing every thought from your mind. Whatever tension had lingered between you melted away completely, leaving only warmth, laughter, and the undeniable pull of each other.

[taro-pdf]

Humans are Space Orcs: Disability in Aliens and Humans

All language is Universal Interplanetary Language unless otherwise specified. Written like a play.

[Kell, human, in the staff break room of a planet-sized spacecraft where they work as a technician. An alien walks in and jumps. Kell doesn't notice.]

Alien, under their breath: what the fuck since when did we have a human on board?? I thought we employed fynta as security…

[Kell turns around and sees them. They wave. The alien stares. Kell puts down their cup and types something on their watch.]

Kell (text to speech, aka TTS): hey, what's up? can I help you?

Alien, under breath: jfdklas;jdjdfls what am I supposed to say to a human???

Kell (TTS): Kell, human, they/them, I've been on board three orbits and I haven't hurt anyone yet. I you can relax.

Alien: Um, Neka, sateen, he/him. And you relax can as well. Human voices aren't harmful to my species.

Kell (TTS): kind of you to offer, but I don't speak, and I can't hear either. My glasses are transcribing your words for me.

Neka aka alien: Oh neat!

[Kell looks at him in suprise.]

Neka: I mean, a lot of my species is deaf. Our world's pretty loud, and hearing is a recessive gene. My parents sent me up for adoption when they realized I wouldn't be able to do anything on-planet because the noise literally hurts, but at least they did't operate to "fix" me.

Kell (TTS): My parents tried to "fix" my hearing but it didn't work out. I can speak with my hands though. [signs in ASL, then types] like that. It's one of the human sign languages.

Neka: WHAT I speak a sign too! [signs in Sateen] You probably don't know that one, but I can do a bit of Universal Traders' Sign as well. it cool I have something in common with one of the scariest species in galaxy!

Kell (traders' sign): Nice to meet you. I promise not all humans are the fighting machines we are said to be.

Neka (traders'): It's been to long since I spoke anything close to my first language. um... you're the first human i've see off a security team and not holding weapons... can you tell me about like everything about humans? I've heard so much.

Kell (traders'): Of course! A lot of it is exaggerated, but there's always some humans who live up to the stories. Let me tell you about them.

[starrydali]

Center of Attention - Percy Jackson

✧˖*°࿐*✧. ┊Percy Jackson had always been confident—flirty, loud, and completely shameless. He was the type of guy who loved attention. He learned from a very young age girls couldn't say no to him, and god did that feed his ego. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite: shy, quiet, and never one to stand out. So, why did it seem like Percy couldn’t leave you alone? Maybe he was just being the usual flirt. Or maybe, for some reason, he found you interesting. ✧. ┊ 

The training field was buzzing with energy as Percy Jackson—undeniably the loudest person in camp—was in his usual element. Sword clashing, campers shouting, and laughter echoing around. You, however, preferred the quiet. You weren’t bad at sword fighting, but you weren’t one to show off either. So, you kept your distance, practicing on your own and staying out of the spotlight.

But of course, Percy noticed.

“Hey, Y/n!” Percy’s voice rang out like a bell, and you froze mid-swing, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped when you heard it. Percy walked over with his usual grin plastered on his face, completely oblivious to the fact that you were desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

“You’re being all quiet over here,” he teased, leaning his sword on his shoulder and giving you an exaggerated pout. “Don’t you know it’s way more fun when you’re with everyone else?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, glancing at the ground and your shoes, cheeks turning pink. “I like it better here.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Really? You sure? Or are you just trying to avoid me?” His tone was light, but you could see that playful glint in his eyes that told you he wasn’t letting this go anytime soon.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you muttered, wishing he would just stop looking at you like that.

“Oh, but you’re definitely avoiding something,” he said, walking closer. “You’ve got that whole ‘mysterious, quiet, I don’t need attention’ vibe going on, and I don’t buy it.” He circled around you, teasingly inspecting you like you were some kind of puzzle he needed to solve.

“I’m just… practicing,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant as you gripped your sword a little tighter from your spot on the bench.

He smirked and leaned in putting his hand on the bench behind you, way too close for comfort, tapping the tip of his sword lightly against your head. “Practice, huh? Is that what we're calling it? You sure you’re not just avoiding me ‘cause you can’t handle how good I look when I’m fighting?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swore you felt your face burning. “What?” you squeaked, eyes wide.

“Come on, admit it,” Percy teased, his grin growing. “You’re a little intimidated by me, aren’t you?”

“No!” you said quickly, turning your head away from him.

Percy chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. He leaned back on his heels, giving you a lazy wink. “Yeah, you are. I get it. I’m just that good.”

He stepped closer again bending down, so close that you could feel the heat of his presence. “Tell you what—let’s see what you’re really made of. You and me, right here. I’ll even let you take the first swing. If you land it, I’ll stop teasing you. If not… well, you’re gonna owe me.”

“Owe you what?” you asked, a little hesitant.

“If I win, you owe me dinner,” he said, leaning in as if this was a grand deal. “And you're gonna really owe me because we both know I’ll win. But hey, I’ll be gentle. I promise.” He winked at you like you already lost.

“I’m not—” you started, but before you could protest, he grabbed your waist in that way that was somehow both too confident and way too casual.

“Let’s get you moving,” Percy said, lifting you off the bench in one swift motion like you weighed nothing. He set you on your feet with a small, playful pat on your head. “There you go. See? Not so bad.”

You blinked at him, flustered. “I didn’t agree to this,” you muttered, trying to stay steady on your feet.

He smirked, the playful glint never leaving his eyes. “Didn’t need to. You’re doing it anyway.”

A few moments later, you were in the sparring ring with Percy Jackson, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

“You ready for this?” he asked, twirling his sword in a way that made you question how anyone could be this cocky and still be this charming.

“Why don’t you just let me win?” you mumbled, not feeling confident in the slightest.

“Ah, see? There it is.” Percy grinned, his eyes lighting up. “I knew you’d get all shy on me, but that just makes this more fun.”

“You’re annoying,” you said, trying to focus on your footing and not the fact that Percy was looking at you like you were his next great adventure.

Before you could even move, Percy was already at your side, his sword grazing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s okay,” he teased, his voice smooth like honey. “You don’t have to be so modest. I know I’m amazing. Let me show you.”

He stepped aside, giving you room to strike. You swung your sword at him, but of course, he dodged it with ease.

“Come on,” he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You can do better than that.” He then flicked his sword toward your arm, not to hit you, but just enough to make you flinch.

“Stop that!” you protested, trying to regain your composure.

Percy just laughed, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You can’t fight me if you’re not looking at me.” He winked. “Look at me, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you muttered, swinging your sword again.

But before you could do anything, he slipped past you with ease, suddenly behind you. You felt a light tap on the top of your head. “See? You’re too easy. I’m gonna make you work for this.”

“Not fair!” you yelped, trying to turn around to face him.

Percy, not missing a beat, caught your wrist in a gentle but firm grip. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned in so close that his breath brushed against your ear, making your heart race. “You’re way too cute when you’re all flustered. I gotta keep messing with you.”

Eventually, Percy “accidentally” knocked your sword out of your hands and won the match with a light tap to your shoulder. He held his sword up, grinning like he’d just claimed victory over an entire army.

“I win,” he said smugly, tossing his sword aside and looking you over with a gleam in his eye. “So, I’m taking you out to dinner. You owe me now.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath from the whirlwind of his teasing.

“Oh, you definitely owe me,” Percy said, stepping closer again and tapping your nose lightly. “I’ll let you pick the dessert, though, since I'm such a gentleman,” he smirks patting your head.

You rolled your eyes, trying to stay cool, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible,” you said, though there was something softer behind the words.

“Impossible to resist, you mean,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow. “See you at dinner, cutie," he winks.

As he walked away, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing. Percy Jackson might have been flirty and infuriating, but there was something about him that kept pulling you in.

✧. ┊ Send requests! :)

[literatureloverx]

this might sound odd or silly but i have always thought that a person’s sleeping position tells a lot about them - and since you’re very good with fedya and have a good grasp of his character i’ve been wondering; how do you think him and his darling sleep? does he let you cuddle up to him? does he spoon you? does he prefer keeping his space? or does he want to feel his darling close even during sleep?

Wow, such a thrilling request. ♥️

I made this for all the BSD men I’m currently writing for because I could already sense the requests that would come in if I only wrote for Fedya…

So, enjoy, my dear. ♥️

some BSD men being big babies (Dazai), some suggestive undertones, fluff.

BSD MEN x sleeping positions with their darlings

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I can totally see him as the dominant, protective type of big spoon.

He’d hold you close, his beloved princess, with his arms wrapped around you, burying his nose into your fresh-scented hair and neck.

The sound of your steady breathing would be so adorable and soothing to him.

He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he loves doing it with you.

He always feels more refreshed sleeping by your side than alone.

Having never been used to a clear routine, his cold heart warms at the sense of peace and consistency he finds with you—sleeping together being one of those cherished moments.

I don’t see him being strictly against cuddles, but he definitely likes to be in control of the situation and values his personal space.

That’s why he prefers being the big spoon—it gives him a sense of comfort and control. It would also be more comfortable for him if you didn’t overwhelm him with cuddles, allowing him to initiate physical affection on his terms.

He’s a very quiet and still sleeper, preferring when you stay in your place, right where you belong, close to him.

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the kind of man who GLOWS under your affection, radiating a feeling that might even come close to a will to live—or maybe not.

If you want to cuddle him, he’s all in, making the most adorable and exaggerated noises when you shower him with love before bed.

Most of the time, I see him as the little spoon, soaking up your warmth.

But when the day—or Dazai—has exhausted you, he’d switch to being the big spoon, extra clingy, hugging you from behind (especially if you’re trying to escape his endless affection).

Then there are those days... when he trusts you more deeply, when his heart aches silently, when his depression weighs on him.

When he’s afraid but doesn’t show it, feeling empty, but you’re the one keeping that emptiness at bay.

On those nights, he’d want to face you, watching you intensely as you sleep, making sure you won’t disappear like Odasaku did.

He’d stay awake all night, keeping an eye on you, unable to rest until you wake up and coax him into sleep with melatonin spray and soft, loving kisses.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya loves holding you close, but what he loves even more is feeling like your big, tall, strong man.

He still makes you feel completely protected.

That’s why he’d either be the big spoon or have you sleep on his chest, the latter being more likely.

His strong arms would wrap around you possessively while your head rests on his chest, moving gently with each breath. He adores watching you fall asleep and only rests after seeing you completely relaxed. He’s entirely captivated by you, loving every second.

When spooning, his face is buried in your neck, breathing in your scent with possessive tenderness.

Occasionally, he might nip or kiss your neck, not to tease but simply because he can’t resist the urge.

He sleeps quietly, barely moving, and keeps the AC on just so you cling to him more—he loves every bit of it.

He’s all in for you, and in private, you have free rein to do whatever you like; he's always happy to be close to you.

Nikolai Gogol

Nikolai thrives on surprises and excitement, making sleep a challenge when he’s around.

He finds sleeping dull and would rather engage in playful antics with you.

When you lie down, expect a mischievous smirk on his face as he tries to keep you awake with jokes, riddles, and philosophical debates.

His presence will be impossible to ignore—whether he's spooning you or not, your legs will always be intertwined.

He’ll roll around in bed, pulling you close and protesting dramatically if you try to move away.

Nikolai’s antics ensure that you can't escape his playful demands.

Just give in to his whims and enjoy the playful chaos, and maybe he’ll eventually get bored and let you sleep.

Akutaga Ryuunosuke

He is distant, even when he wishes that he could be less stiff at your side.

He sleeps motionless, without cuddling you, spooning you, or doing anything else. He just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

If you wish to cuddle him, I see him being totally okay with that because you’re in private, in your shared bed, and he actually does love it—he’s simply not good at voicing his true feelings.

He loves it when you cuddle him and spoon him without him having to ask or face you while you’re sleeping.

He won’t tell you that, but it won’t change the fact that he prefers sleeping with you rather than by himself.

[munsonluhvr]

can you make a virgin! Eddie x experienced ! reader smut plsssssss I’ve been wanted to read to read a good story abt something like that yk 🙈 but ima not be picky sooo anything Eddie x reader would be good 😋

Ty I love your stories 💙💙💙

ANATOMY LESSON

contents: virgin!eddie munson x experienced! reader. smut! 18+. Eddie reveals to you, his best friend, that he's a virgin and you offer him a little lesson - but the lesson turns into a lot more then either of you expected. word count - 3.5k

notes: dear requester - I love you for requesting this. There were sooo many different scenarios I thought of writing for this request, and I totally ignored the pile of homework I have to do to write this immediately, but I hope everyone enjoy this. It was awfully fun to write.

“Wait, what?” you say, a laugh lacing your tone. You lay on Eddie’s bed, your sock covered feet digging into his bedsheets. “You’re so lying, you haven’t done it yet? How did I not know that?” 

Eddie doesn’t turn to look at you, obviously embarrassed by his admission. Finally, Eddie shrugs, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess we never talk about our sex lives with each other.” 

“Well, yeah, because there’s clearly not much going on in that department in either of our lives, but I did assume you’ve had sex for the first time by now.” You say, leaning up on your arm to look at Eddie. You were honestly shocked by the admission; how had Eddie not had sex, especially since he’s two years ahead of you? 

It’s the wee hours after you and Eddie have been released from school, opting to, as usual, spend time with each other. You and Eddie had been best friends for as long as you could remember, always bound at the hip. When you were younger, your parents had been friendly, pushing you and Eddie together. When Eddie’s parents left Eddie with Wayne, his uncle, your parents were quick to absorb Eddie into your family. However, you always made the distinction that you didn’t see yourselves as essentially siblings, everyone certainly knew that you two were the best of friends. Any free time you had you spent with Eddie, every secret you had Eddie knew. Eddie was your other half, and you were his. 

Again, Eddie shrugs. “Consider that assumption wrong,” Eddie says, turning away from you.

You can’t help but snicker. Eddie was the coolest, most confident person you know. He never cared about what others thought of him, he owns the title ‘freak’ that Hawkins titled him with utmost pride. Sure, Eddie had never had a girlfriend but that doesn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t had sex. 

“Do you want to?” You say, curious. Didn’t every young male want to have sex? 

Eddie lets his eyes flick to you; he frowns. “Y/n, I don’t want to talk about it, especially with you.” 

You gasp in an exaggerated fashion, leaning on your arm to place your free hand over your heart. “Why not? We talk about everything with each other.” 

Eddie rolls onto his side, facing you, mimicking your position. He shakes his head. “This is different. Guy and girl best friends aren’t supposed to inquire about each other’s sex lives.” 

You scoff. “That’s bullshit, it’s not a big deal, Eddie. It’s just sex, it seems ridiculous to make that the one topic we don’t talk about with each other.” 

Again, Eddie shakes his head, looking off into the distance behind you. “I don’t know, it’s just weird.” 

You can understand how Eddie must feel - embarrassed. For some reason, having sex, or talking about it in society is shameful but at the same time not having done it at all, especially as teenagers, is shameful. You decide to joke and make it lighthearted to encourage him to lighten up. It truly wasn’t a big deal. 

“Eddie Munson, are you the waiting until marriage type?” You say, laughing as you shove him lightly. 

Eddie groans, burying his face into his tattooed covered bicep. “Y/n, stop. Trust me, not having had sex yet isn’t a choice; I would have done by now if the opportunity ever occurred.” 

“Is there someone you want to do it with?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. Eddie hadn’t recently expressed having a crush on anyone at school but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a girl he has his eye on. 

“No,” Eddie says. He peeks up at you from his arm. “Okay, fine, yes.” 

“Eddie, what the hell,” you exclaim. “Are we even best friends if you keep all these things from me?” 

“I’m telling you now,” Eddie says, sitting back up. “It’s embarrassing; I like this girl but have no experience in that department whatsoever. I wouldn’t even know what to do if I got her back home.” 

You are dying to know who Eddie likes, knowing that whoever she is, she’s lucky. You’d love nothing more to encourage Eddie to pursue this girl, but you know asking who she is might be a bridge to far for Eddie in this moment; you decide to stay focused on the topic at hand. 

You’re silent for a minute, thinking over tips to help Eddie in the moment where he would have a sexual encounter with a girl – then a wild idea comes to your mind. 

“I’ll help you,” you say, sitting up. “I’ll teach you what to do.” 

Eddie frowns. “What? How would you teach me to have sex?”

You laugh, knowing what you’re about to say will shock Eddie. “I’ll have sex with you,” you say nonchalantly and as if Eddie should have understood that right away. 

“Y/n,” Eddie says, jolting up from his spot on his bed. “Have you lost your mind?” 

You shrug, starting to peel off your jacket you’re wearing. “Like I said, sex is no big deal. I can walk you through what to do so you know what to do when it happens with the girl you like.” 

Eddie crosses his arms, sliding himself off the bed to pace at the foot of his bed. Your head goes from side to side as you watch your best friend walk from one side of his bedroom to the other side. “No, I can’t have sex with you, you’re my best friend.” 

You hum. “To me, that’s exactly why you should have sex with me. Think about it Eddie, we have been in each other’s lives for as long as we can remember, we’ve done everything together and know everything about each other. We’ve always been there for and supported each other in any way the other needs; teaching you how to have sex is just another way I can support you.” 

The idea to have sex with Eddie, with the end goal being that Eddie is more confident with a girl, sounded insane to begin with and even suggest, but as you explain yourself– it didn’t sound that insane at all. 

Eddie laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair then crossing his arms over his chest. “This is a joke, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, it’s not. Here, I’ll prove it: I’ll show you my tits.” You say, tucking your hands underneath your t-shirt and letting your fingers dig underneath the band of your bra. 

Eddie yelps, covering his eyes. “No, y/n, don’t. Okay, I believe you.” 

You laugh, dropping your hands into your lap. “I’m serious, Eddie. We can take it slow; I’ll teach you everything and answer any questions you have.” 

Eddie glances at you, maintaining eye-contact as he mulls over a response to your question. Eddie is twenty years old, far passed the average age everyone at Hawkins has sex for the first time. Always, but more recently, he’s been worried about how his performance might be for the lucky lady and how she might expect him to be more experienced considering his age. Although he finds your proposition jarring, he decides to put the awkwardness aside and take up your offer. “Okay,” is all Eddie can manage to say. 

You clasp your hands, happy that your oh so thoughtful offer was accepted. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Are you ready?”

“You want to do it right now?” Eddie says, his eyes growing wider. A hot wave washes over him, instantly becoming nervous. 

You give him a curious look. “I mean, there’s no better time than the present, plus we didn’t have any other plans for later.” 

You watch Eddie as he turns into a nervous wreck, his fingertips digging into his already crossed arms. You can imagine how being told you’re going to have sex on the spot can make someone feel, so you lean forward on the bed, outstretching your arm to grasp onto Eddie. “It’s okay, we’ll take care of each other,” you say, offering a small smile. 

In response to your touch, Eddie lets his arms drop to his sides. He moves from the end of the bed to the side you occupy, getting several feet closer to you. “Okay, right now it is then,” Eddie says, nervousness lacing his words. 

And you begin your lesson. 

“Okay, so. Say you just took this mysterious girl that you like out on a date and things went so well, which she’s on a date with you so of course it would, that you take her back to here.” You say, gesturing towards his bedroom that you both stand in. “Once she gives you that look, a look that says, ‘I want to have mind blowing sex with you have to set the mood immediately.”  

“Set the mood?” Eddie says. 

You roll your eyes. “Kiss her. You have to start kissing her, Eddie. Feel her up a little, don’t be coy, I know you’ve watched porn before.” Eddie’s cheeks flush with embarrassment but you continue on. 

You scoot over on the bed, allowing space for Eddie to sit. You pat the open space, tugging Eddie to sit next to you. “When you start with kissing, it makes it easier to transition to stripping clothes off and ultimately have sex, you know?” 

Eddie nods, crossing his arms across his chest. You’re quick to uncross them, scooting closer to Eddie, the side of your leg touching his. “Okay, go, kiss me.” 

Eddie’s mouth opens and the closes, his mind drawing a blank. “Okay, no, that is a bridge too far.” 

“Eddie, did you really think I’d just let you dry fuck me without any foreplay? Foreplay is the most important part.” You exclaim, shaking your head. 

Eddie looks away and then complies. He leans in, his hands placing themselves on your cheek, drawing you closer to him. Your lips meet, letting your mouths intertwine with each other, tongues beginning to dance. You thought Eddie would pull away quickly, but he doesn’t, letting your mouth stay connected to his. You can feel the eagerness in his mouth, every movement begging for more. You take your lesson to second base. 

Swiftly, you lay back on Eddie’s bed, Eddie following you down. With ease, he arranges himself over you as you part your legs to let him rest on top of you comfortably. You lean your head back, letting your lips break away from Eddie’s. “Very good, now is when you start taking her clothes off – and yours.”

Eddie squirms nervously on top of you and you’re sure you feel his arms lightly tremble. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Never been surer about anything, Munson.” 

Eddie sighs, leaning back onto his knees. His fingers tempt the end of his t-shirt, lifting it up and off of his torso. You watch, looking at his tattooed covered body and noticing the necklace that has a guitar pick as it’s pendant that hangs around his neck. You roll your eyes; He loves that thing.

Eddie goes to unbuckle his belt, but you gently kick his leg. “Don’t take off all your clothes and then mine; make it a back-and-forth thing. You take your shirt off, then take mine off. It’s a joint effort, let her do some of the work too.” 

Eddie considers this, coming to an understanding on your principle. He places himself over you, his fingers twitching as he plays with the hem of your shirt, beginning to lift it up and off your body too. 

Eddie has never seen you naked, not fully at least. Sure, there was that one time you got caught in the rain and your shirt was so soaked that you stripped it off once you got to his house, opting to borrow one of Eddie’s shirts. He had seen your bra then, the way your breasts settled in your bra nicely, the raindrops dripping down your chest. There was also that other time he realized how comfortable you were with him when you stripped down to your underwear and bra on a hot Indiana summer day, unable to bear the feeling of your clothes on your body or against your skin. Eddie had tried, in both of those instances, to give you your privacy and not stare at your assets – but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were drawn to your silky, supple skin, your curves, and the way you were so close to being naked, revealing your most intimate parts to him, but he didn’t let himself think about you in that way – at least not then. 

Eddie tosses your shirt on the side of his bed, letting it drop to the floor. He realizes he’s holding his breath as he’s looking at your breasts, one of your nipples poking out from behind the bra. You notice that he’s analyzing you, taking in your bare skin. You don’t mind, you find yourself comfortable under his gaze. 

“Keep going,” you say, though it comes out as a whisper. Your hands travel to his crotch, your fingers beginning to unzip the fly of his pants. Once his jeans are unzipped, you and Eddie work together to shrug his jeans off. You kick his jeans to the side of the bed, letting the piece of clothing fall next to your shirt on the floor. Eddie is quick to attend to your pants, his fingers enveloping the band of your jeans, pulling your bottoms off swiftly. Your hands find their way to his biceps, steadying yourself as Eddie works to pull your clothes off. 

Eddie feels himself getting hard against your thigh, his arousal growing stronger but he’s quick to try and hide that fact. You lean up, your front pressing into Eddie as you reach behind yourself, unclipping your bra. Eddie almost cums in his boxers as he watches your breasts bounce out of your undergarment. Eddie doesn’t know what to do next, his mind in a whirlwind. He closes his eyes, looking away from you as he shrugs his boxers off, his cock bouncing out of its restraint, showcasing his arousal. 

You swallow hard, eyeing his larger-then-you-imagined cock. Eddie has never known if his cock is a decent size, never having anything to compare it to or someone to tell him so, but by the look on your face, he knows he’s just fine. 

Eddie waits a beat, waiting for you to pull your panties down but you don’t move. You want him to take them off. Eddie catches on eventually, hooking his two fingers on either side of your hips, pulling your panties off with ease. Deep inside, Eddie’s sexual hunger grows, wishing he could do away with your rules, letting his primal nature guide the exploration of your body. But he restrains himself, waiting for your instructions.  

You part your legs, revealing your most sensitive part and now it’s Eddie’s turn to swallow hard, beginning to imagine what’s to come. 

“And now?” Eddie says, his fingertips brushing your jaw as he pushes a strand of your hair that clings to your face. You watch him intensely, feeling the tension grow between you and Eddie rapidly. A pit grows in your stomach, the stimulation of Eddie de-clothing you causing a rush of emotions. You’re hoping this doesn’t turn out to be a mistake. 

You clear your throat. “I have a feeling you know what to do now.” In response, Eddie offers you a small smile, re-positioning himself on top of you. 

Eddie lines himself up with you, cock in his hand, and he inserts the tip in, pushing himself into you slowly. You gasp, biting your lip as you let your head fall back; the feeling of Eddie pushing himself inside of you igniting a strong sense of pleasure throughout your body and limbs. 

Eddie thinks back to the porn he’s watched, though he knows that’s not an accurate representation of sex or how girl want to be treated. He mimics some of what he’s remembered seeing, rolling his hips so that he pulls himself in and out of you rhythmically. 

You let your legs wrap around Eddie’s waist; Eddie glances down, noticing how he’s drawn into you further when your legs attached to him – he wishes he could have your legs around him forever, holding him in place. He shakes his head at the thought. 

“What’s wrong?” You say, your hands finding their way to Eddie’s face. Eddie continues to move in and out of you and a soft moan escapes your lips. 

“Oh, uh – nothing.” Eddie says, adjusting his arm that rests next to you. His new position brings you and Eddie’s chests closer, your nipples brushing his bare skin. Eddie finds himself not being able to concentrate. 

 Your hands move from his face, moving them to let your fingertips brush Eddie’s back. His skin his warm, your body feeling cold and exposed. Your body heats up when you acknowledge how Eddie’s cock bulges inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt to allow him inside of you. You had already had sex before, with two or three guys, but no guy was as big as Eddie – of course Eddie would have the biggest cock out of all the guys you’ve slept with. 

 While you’re thinking about how Eddie’s cock is painfully, yet pleasurably, big - Eddie is staring at your tits, wondering how they’d fit in his mouth. Just then, Eddie has no idea what comes over him. He suddenly has no regard for the concept of your ‘anatomy’ exercise, attempting to teach him how to have sex as his best friend – Eddie just wants to fuck the shit out of you. He wants to fuck his best friend. 

Eddie dips down to your chest, his large, ring-covered hand, clasping your breast. His mouth engulfs your breast, his lips puckering around your hard nipples. Eddie lets his tongue flatten against you, roughly licking your tits. You gasp again, your body arching in response to his bold act. Instantly, your fingers lace into his hair, pushing him further down against your chest. Eddie, emboldened by your response, moves to your other breast, copying what he had done just seconds before. 

Once he finishes with your second breast, Eddie keeps his mouth to your sternum, placing a trail of kisses from your chest up to your neck, leaving soft kisses underneath your ear. 

“Go faster,” You say, your thighs clenching around him. You knew it was wrong, the feeling you have growing inside of you as Eddie thrusts in and out of you. You wanted him bad, in ways you knew weren’t the ways you should think about your best friends. 

Eddie obeys, making his movements quicker, his thrusts rougher. Eddie loves the way he feels in this moment, the trembling of yours legs around him and the way your fingertips grip the roots of his hair. He never wanted this to end. 

“Am I doing it right?” Eddie says, mumbling into your neck. 

“You’re doing so good, that girl, whoever she is, is so lucky.” You say, a moan parting your sentence. “Fuck, this feels good.” Eddie smiles against your skin at your answer, his body moving smoothly against yours as if you’re two perfect fitting puzzle pieces.  

Eddie feels a burning sensation growing inside of him, his skin beginning to flush. He was about to finish. Obviously, Eddie had jerked off before, a lot actually, so he knew what feeling close felt like but this time feeling like he’s about to come while inside of you feels a lot different – it feels so much better. He doesn’t want to stop, enjoying the way he’s come to having sex with ease, as if he’s a natural at it, but he knows the inevitable and not something he can control entirely. 

 You, being just as wild as Eddie, pull his mouth back to yours, enveloping your lips on his. The action made everything much more intimate, so much deeper than just helping your friend out. Your lips nip at his, begging to be paid attention to. Eddie leans on one arm, letting his hand trail to your face, his large hand cupping half of your face. He leans into the kiss, glad to pay attention to your mouth. Eddie feels the intimacy grow between you, making his arousal even stronger, and he comes – instantly. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Eddie whispers, separating his mouth from yours. He looks down, noticing how specks of his semen are splatted across your inner thighs.  

You laugh softly, secretly wishing you could go for a second round. You mauver your body under Eddie’s top sheet, hiding yourself from Eddie. “And that’s how you have sex. I’ll give you an A-, you should pay more attention to foreplay when the real thing happens.” 

Eddie follows you, submersing himself under the sheets. “So, you’re saying I could use more lessons with you?” 

You frown, looking over at Eddie. “What? You want to do this again?” 

Eddie looks away, staring at his guitar that hangs on his mirror. His guitar is his prized position, a material object he finds so much confidence and security in. Eddie realizes it’s time to confess. “You know the girl you asked me about?” Eddie asks you. “Well, that girl is you.”

[michuga]

see both sides like chanel

summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).

pairing: jeongguk x fem reader

content: best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease

warnings: cursing, (it gets steamy)

wc: 2k

you and jeongguk have been friends for the past seven years.

jeongguk has only ever dated boys.

does that a gay man make? no! of course not, you knew this. it is the big year of 2025 after all. sexuality is a spectrum; and you were never one to judge.

leaning in, jeongguk brushes his lips against yours.

and that's how you ended up kissing your very gay best friend.

or, not? i guess?

you don't know if it was because he was your best friend; instantly crossed off as a potential lover in your mind anyway, or because he was always sporting a new shiny boy toy every couple of weeks. or the crop tops he wore all throughout high school. or the sexy fireman posters plastered all over his dorm room walls in college! either way; you never would have expected to end up bent over on his couch on a random tuesday afternoon.

but one thing is for sure.

you were stupid.

oh so very stupid.

you're probably wondering how you got here.

well, let me walk you through it.

it all started with an incident that happened a few months ago.

your best friend, jeongguk, was on your bed, ranting to you about his new fling.

"i can't believe i ever thought jimin and i could work," he complains.

grabbing the hem of your blouse, you lift it up and off your body, tossing it across your room.

left in your black lacy bra, you scour your closet for something to wear.

a minute or so passes, and you finally notice the silence that falls upon the room. you turn around to find him visibly preoccupied, going through his phone.

"you were saying..?" you tap his shoulder.

clearing his throat he continues, maintaining eye contact with his phone, "i just don't think he's the one for me. he's too.. flaky?"

you've always found it adorable how jeongguk got shy at times like these. it's been seven years and he has remained ever the gentleman, never taking advantage of your friendship or abusing the amount of trust you put in him. you never had reason to doubt him anyway, it's not like you were exactly his... type, per se.

"i agree, babe. you deserve way better than that," you say, returning to the agonizing task at hand; finding an outfit amidst the chaos that is your closet.

finally picking one out, you hold up the hangers against your body, standing in front of your full length mirror to see how it would look on you.

"what do you think of this?" you ask, lost in thought.

"your black skirt would go along better," jeongguk mumbles from your bed.

"right? i thought so too." putting the hangers down, you bend over to grab said skirt from your bottom drawer.

from an outside perspective, one could consider you shameless.

from jeongguk's perspective, he found you amusing.

and from your perspective.. well, the most complicated thought in your mind right now was putting together a damn outfit.

an hour later, you and jeongguk sit at your table eating the brunch he cooked you, catching up on your busy lives; as was your routine together.

"and this girl i was fooling around with at the time-"

your brain short circuits.

"come again?"

"what?"

"sorry, i thought you said girl." you say with a dismissive laugh, "imagine that."

"i did." he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and an amused smile.

the entirety of your coffee is wasted in your spit take.

you wish you were exaggerating.

cleaning up the mess you made on the table, you backtrack.

"you like girls???"

"..yes?"

looking at him suspiciously, you scramble to find your words. you didn't want to offend him, but he had caught you very off guard.

"did you think i was gay?" he asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, fully dumbfounded this time.

"i've just.. you've always.. i've only ever seen you with guys?"

"well yeah, those are just the ones i've encountered, i guess."

"you're telling me we've been friends for the past seven years, and i'm just finding this out now?"

"damn. when you put it that way, you sound like a real bad friend, you know," he says with a chuckle, casually gulping down the rest of his coffee.

oh. oh.

helikesgirls

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounaked

helikesgirlsandhe'sseenyounakedonmultipleoccasions

with a small smirk and a tilt of his head, he gets up and walks up to you. "don't worry, you're still not my type." he whispers in your ear.

"if you need me, i'll be with the community dick!" he yells out as he walks away, taking your dignity and your pride with him; the last of it escaping with the final click of your apartment door.

"god how stupid am i?" you complain, rather dramatically, to your other best friend, hoseok. "i mean, how could i just blatantly assume he was gay? what if i made him uncomfortable before and he never told me? i'm a terrible friend!" flailing your arms, you ignore the dirty looks from onlookers passing by.

"i'm sure if you had made him uncomfortable, he would have told you. this is jeongguk we're talking about? are you trying to tell me he has any sort of filter?" he jokes, trying to cheer you up.

repeatedly bumping your head into the wall in front you, you surrender to the sea of embarrassment you found yourself drowning in.

"you should have seen my face. as if i wasn't stupid enough already, i made things awkward and rethought every interaction we've ever had, like, right in front of him. you could literally see the gears turning in my brain. i probably looked like a bloated pufferfish blowing bubbles. stupid, stupid, stupid," you repeatedly smack yourself in the face.

"wait. you're gay though, right??" you ask, suddenly feeling as insecure as ever.

"yes babe, i came out to you in the 12th grade. still as straight as rupaul." he says with a chuckle, finding your meltdown completely adorable.

reaching behind you, he takes hold of your seatbelt and fastens it.

you can't help but burn bright red. what the fuck is wrong with you? what ever changed? he's still jeongguk. your jeongguk. the same jeongguk whose clothes you helped clean from vomit, after he got drunk one too many times back in college?

you feel like ripping all your hair out.

maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

jeongguk had picked you up from work, and you were on your way to his place to hang out, as usual.

"so it's either that or fried chicken.. what do you think?"

"huh?"

"i said what do you want to order??"

"oh.. anything is fine, thanks," you say awkwardly, clearing your throat.

"okay then?" he says as he starts the car.

a few hours later and the evening was going smoothly. perhaps too smoothly.

mishaps forgotten, you and your best friend sit in his living room, eating, laughing, and watching desperate housewives. just as you always have been for years.

"i'm gonna go get us some more drinks," you say as you get up, making your way over to his kitchen.

"he's such an idiot," you mumble to yourself as you chuckle, remembering the joke jeongguk had cracked a minute prior.

initially you open the fridge to check for beer, but there wasn't any; so you resort to plan B: the fancy wine he stores in his top cupboard.

you stand on your tiptoes and extend your arm up, trying to reach the wine bottle.

suddenly you feel a prescence behind you. last time you checked, brick walls can't move. so if 1+1 equals 2; then warmth, musky vanilla and hard equals jeongguk.

you see a bigger arm reach up and get the job done. "here, let me."

"thanks.." and just like that, the strange feeling is back.

you knew there was no way the evening could go smoothly. no, you're never that lucky.

pulling away, jeongguk pops open the wine bottle, pouring crimson liquid in two glasses.

you jump up to sit on the kitchen counter.

"have you picked out an outfit for the gathering yet?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine.

"nope," you say with a sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. "it seems like everything i try doesn't look as good on me as i imagine in my head."

"but everything looks good on you, doll."

"are you putting the moves on me, jeon?" you say, jokingly; waiting for him to laugh along.

inching closer, closer, closer.. he stops and situates himself between your legs.

"and what if i am?" he mutters with a deep hushed voice. "am i making you nervous?" mere inches between your faces laced with thick, undeniable tension. he dare not raise his voice a single octave; for that could ruin the intimacy of it all.

whether it was something in the air or the liquor in both your systems, something between you had shifted.

this was not your gay best friend.

this was someone much more dangerous.

"we really.. really shouldn't.." voice barely above a whisper, you manage to let out with every remaining ounce of self-control you have. a feather light hand on his chest, you fruitlessly attempt to push him away; physically melting into his touch instead.

grabbing your hand, he holds it in his.

"do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drove me all those times, stripping half naked right in front of me?" he starts, voice raspy and full of need, slowly tracing his finger along your thigh, going up, up.. "mindlessly running your mouth, bending over in your tiny panties.. when all i wanted to do was bend you over myself, and put you in your place? my best friend of seven years, assuming my sexuality.. tsk tsk.."

ghosting a hand over your throat, he firmly grips your chin, lifting your head up to meet his gaze.

"do you want me to show you.." with a sinister smirk he breathes into your ear, "just how much i love women?"

your breath catches in your throat.

it was at that moment he leaned forward and crashed his lips against yours, closing the gap between you.

78% nitrogen and 21% oxygen in the atmosphere, but right in this very room and in this very moment; it's 100% you, jeongguk, and your breathless pants. a different third gas; the kind that smells like blurring the lines between you and your best friend. potentially damning a solid friendship, and throwing years down the drain. not 1% was spared for rationale.

both of you are forced separate, bound by your human bodies, in need of air.

ravenous, you grab his shirt collar and shoved him right against your face, devouring his lips once more.

with a groan, his free hand grabs your calf, hitching your leg against his hip. you wrap it around his waist, while the other hangs low; your heels hanging poorly on your foot and finally dropping to the floor with a clank.

both of you move rhythmically at first, then it gets sloppy; a sense of urgency overwhelming you. your lips move together with hurry, adrenaline coursing through your body; as if replacing the very blood that flows through your veins. chasing his lips, you just about swallow him whole.

not that he minds, he seems adamant on doing the exact same.

tangling your fingers in his hair, you angle your head better to ensure your prey is perfectly trapped. an act of cannibalism.

it was primal in the most natural way, finally letting go after an entire night of need and clouded lust.

"mm'not.. here," you mumble in between kisses.

finally picking you up and wrapping both your legs around his waist, he wastes no time leading you to the nearest surface he could find. well, as good as he can see, anyway.

and that's the story of how you hooked up with your bisexual best friend.

you learned the hard way.