#we need to try to post these types of posts less too

[mxtxfanatic]

this "lan wangji sticks with wei wuxian in his second life, because he failed him in his first life" argument needs to stop because truth be told are we even reading the same story? Lan wangji is able to assure wei wuxian that he's there for him in his second life because the situations are different, because wei wuxian has learned to rely on him. In my opinion he forever wanted to assure wei wuxian that he was there for him even in his first life and only he wasn't able to do so was because the situations weren't the same. Tell me how's a man supposed to change the mentality of an entire cultivation world? How's he supposed to be there with wei wuxian in the burial mound where he can offer no help at all and even he knows that wei wuxian is only using the ghost path to protect those wens, something he'll be unable to do if he gives up ghost path (it's so clearly written in their goodbye conversation). Still some folks want lan wangji to be there for wei wuxian in his first life,abondoning his family behind to go and live with wei wuxian in the burial mound like wtf😭😭

Yes he would live, but will that not count as forcing his presence on someone who's trying his best to keep these weak and elderly people alive through nothing but ghost cultivation? Wei wuxian too didn't want lan wangji to abondon his family and live with him because deep down both of them knew lan wangji alone cannot provide any help, him staying there will not change a thing except for the cultivation world to have another cultivator to slander in their bucket list (he knows lan wangji is righteous, thats why he falls for him. Both these men fall for each other because they're morally alike) my head hurts whenever I come across posts like "lan wangji made mistakes", no he didn't which is why mxtx has stated both wwx and lwj are morally righteous. Lan wangji definitely has his own regrets and one of them is probably not confessing his feelings sooner to wei wuxian, something he does in the aftermath of nightless city.

I don’t know why people have to make Lan Wangji’s motives in Wei Wuxian’s second life out to be different than in the latter’s first life. Lan Wangji sticks by and supports Wei Wuxian in his second life because he loves him. He did the same thing in the man’s first life, just with more physical distance in between them. Like, that’s what people who genuinely love you are supposed to do. I don’t see people doing nearly the same type of reasoning when it comes to why the Wen siblings or Jiang Yanli supported Wei Wuxian despite it being for the exact same reason: love. Lan Wangji being the love interest doesn’t make his intentions any less clear.

On another note, people trying to come up with excuses for “why lwj didn’t do anything” or alternatively coming up with scenarios in which he “could” do something (else) are simply ignoring the situation. It’s not that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have asked for help if he was in a situation where help could be given, and it’s not at all that he somehow values Lan Wangji’s comfort above the lives of 50 innocent genocide targets. He doesn’t ask Lan Wangji to move into the Burial Mounds cause that would be the equivalent of asking your friend to be homeless with you as support because you lost your home. What sense would that make? How does that help you? How would Lan Wangji moving into the Burial Mounds help the settlement??? Whatever “fix it” scenario fandom thinks they’re so smart for having come up with, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian would have both run through those scenarios and realized they were untenable. People really need to go back and reread their final Yiling conversation.

[anomalymon]

I made this as a comment for freezingcoldsystemtakes winning the syscourse brackets and figured it warrants its own post.

Guys the point of syscourse was never to have genuine discussions.

The original blog of the coiner of the term syscourse is still up and if you look at the oldest posts from 2016 it's like yeah, it is pretty much just focused on validity and who can use what term. The point of it about fakeclaiming and gatekeeping from the start, not actual debate.

There are better methods to go for and better ways for systems to talk about and share their experiences. The plural community on all sides has such an issue with people feeling too unsafe to share their experiences outside of fluff like microlabel coining or standing behind textbook definitions. We're in the same boat where we don't feel safe either because of how common syscourse is. Syscourse completely obscured decades of community history and completely set back self advocacy.

We use the syscourse tags for discourse topics, but when it comes to our actual posts talking about our experiences or genuine discussion posts, we don't tag those as syscourse because our experiences and others experiences shouldn't be up for debate by default. If anything some of us would tag it out of spite.

People don't say this type of stuff about ace discourse, kin discourse, and any other Tumblr discourse. Those similarly had massive negative impacts on the community. With syscourse there's a reason why so many systems hate the concept and hate syscoursers, and I think that's one of the reasons why freezingcoldsystemtakes won.

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[anylady-fics]

First | Mingi x F Reader

Cross posted on ao3

Summary: You just wanted to lose your virginity — no drama, no strings attached. What you didn’t expect was for your friend Mingi to make it that good. One wild night, a lot of firsts, and maybe… just maybe, a reason to do it all over again.

WC: 10.5k

⚠️ warnings: smut, first times, virgin!reader, oral sex (f/m), vaginal sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, voice kink (kinda), big dick Mingi (canon, right?)

An: sorry about the wc, I just really like Mingi 🫠

Ⴡ Masterlist

You got dumped again. Yeah, seriously. At this point, it was getting old. But no matter how frustrating it was, you knew exactly what the problem was, and it wasn’t something you could just fix overnight.

You were… inexperienced.

Going to college after a lifetime of being smothered by overprotective parents meant they had successfully sent you off as a virgin. And for a while, that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal—until people started acting like you were some kind of loser just because you hadn’t fucked anyone yet.

And the guys? Every single one you tried dating was the same. Either they wanted to get into your pants before the first drink was even finished, or they pretended to be patient—like they weren’t just waiting for the moment you’d cave. You might be inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid. And as much as you wanted to get it over with, you couldn’t do it with just anyone.

But after getting dumped for the third time in two months, you decided to do something about it. Something had to change. You wished you’d just handled it back in high school like everyone else, but that ship had sailed.

Your friends told you to just ask one of your guy friends to help you out. Which sounded easy enough… until you actually pictured doing it, and embarrassment nearly killed you on the spot.

Still, if you wanted to lose your virginity, your options were limited. The random guys you’d been trying to date were too impatient, too pushy, and way too stupid.

Which meant your only real option was actually asking a friend. But which one? 

You had a few options, but you needed someone who wouldn’t laugh in your face or make things weird. Someone who’d get that this was just a favor, not a relationship.

Okay. That made things a little easier.

Maybe Mingi? You’d been friends for years, you went to the same college now, and he was definitely experienced enough to help. Plus, he already knew you were a virgin, so at least you wouldn’t have to explain that part.

But how were you supposed to ask him?

Like… “Hey, I need someone to fuck me so I can finally lose my virginity and date like a normal person”?

Yeah. That didn’t sound awkward at all. Well, you would have to try. Maybe it would be less awkward if you could text him…

You: Hey! You good? Look… I kinda need to talk to you about something. 

Mingi: Hey, pretty. Long time since we talked, wanna hang out at that coffee place you like? 

You: Sure, we can meet there after class. Byeee, see ya.

Well, if you couldn’t even type the question, saying it out loud was going to be a nightmare. But you had to try. No backing out now.

After class, you went straight to the coffee shop and ordered your usual before Mingi arrived. The second you saw him walk through the door, your stomach dropped, a cold, nervous, oh-god-what-am-I-doing panic settling in. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Hey! Still buried in your books, nerd?”

“Yeah, and it’s been causing me some problems.” Mainly the one you were about to dump on him. “What about you? Still hitting up every party?”

“Not as much. Kinda got tired of it.”

That… was a surprise.

“Oh. Right.”

He ordered his drink, then leaned on the table, watching you. “So… what did you wanna talk about?”

Okay. You can do it.

“Uh… so… I don’t even know how to say this, Mingi.” You took a slow sip of your way too large Americano, trying to find the right words. “I mean, it might be a lot to ask, but I’m kinda out of options.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I got dumped again yesterday. And look, I know these guys are assholes and not worth my time, but it keeps happening because I’m a virgin. And I feel like… it’s really getting in my way, you know?”

“Uh… I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.” You groaned, shifting in your seat. “Okay, what I’m asking… it’s just a favor, that’s all. I really want to lose my virginity, and I really don’t want it to be with those idiots I’ve been dating.”

Mingi blinked. Then blinked again.

“You’re asking me… to take your virginity?” His eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between shock and did I hear that right? “…Is that what’s happening here?”

“Yeah… I mean…” You trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Mingi still looked shocked, but you could tell—this whole situation was doing wonders for his already massive ego.

“I gotta ask… why me?” He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You have a few friends.”

You sighed.

“You already know I’m a virgin. And you also know I’m not an idiot.” You glanced down at your drink, feeling your face heat up. “We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know… I trust you.”

Mingi didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made your stomach twist.

“But if this is too much,” you added quickly, forcing a laugh, “just forget I ever said anything. And then I’ll dig a hole in the ground and hide from you for the rest of my life.”

“Relax, I was just curious,” Mingi said, holding back a grin. “Of course, I can help you with that. I think any guy in the world would.” 

You rolled your eyes. His ego was thriving.

“But,” he continued, tilting his head again, making that cute puppy face at you “I gotta ask… how far have you actually gone?”

You exhaled sharply. Alright. You can do this. You weren’t exactly the type to chat about your sex life — or lack thereof — but considering you’d just asked Mingi to take your virginity, honesty was kinda mandatory at this point.

“Huh… I…”

“Oral? Fingering?” He had zero shame. Which, good for him. Terrible for you.

You cleared your throat.

“No. And… yes.”

“And did you ever… you know, finish from it?”

“Nope. Only by myself.”

That bit of information seemed to stir something in him. His expression flickered between offended and genuinely shocked.

“Damn. So the guys were really that bad, huh?” He shook his head, exhaling like this was personally upsetting. “Yeah, okay. We’re definitely not jumping straight to it, that’d be traumatizing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting…?”

“That we take it step by step.” He leaned in slightly, voice a little lower, a little slower. “I can’t just… do it. I mean, it’s already a painful experience for most girls, and it’d be a hell of a lot easier for you if we… prepped first.”

You were already blushing because of his lower voice. It got worse.

“Oh…OH…”

“Yeah. Well, that’s my one condition if I’m gonna help you.”

“Okay… I guess.” You swallowed, fingers tightening around your cup. “So, uh… when do we start?”

Mingi shrugged, finishing his coffee.

“You can come over tonight if you want. My roommate’s out.”

He set his cup down and looked at you expectantly. You, on the other hand, were frozen.

That soon? 

You did want to get this over with. But you’d kinda imagined having some time to mentally prepare. Then again… maybe not thinking too much about it was the better option. If you gave yourself too much time, you might just chicken out entirely.

“Okay. So…”

“We can go now,” Mingi said, already standing up. “It’s getting dark anyway.” He waited for you to do the same, then tilted his head before asking you. “You’re really sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can ask you to stop anytime, right?”

“Of course.”

You nodded, but your mind was already spinning. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you were about to do — and who you were about to do it with. But the truth was, you had no idea what was actually going to happen. Mingi had been clear, this wasn’t going to be just jumping into it.

So… were you two just going to make out and see where it led?

Jesus. Just thinking about that made your stomach flip.

You hadn’t really considered how weird this could get, but for some reason, you still felt safe about it. Mingi was a lot of things, kind of a fuckboy, sure, but he wasn’t a liar. If something felt off, he’d tell you. You just knew that.

As soon as you got to his place, Mingi gestured for you to sit on the couch before heading to the kitchen. A moment later, he came back with two cans of beer, handing you one. The silence was already killing you.

“Drink,” he said, popping open his can. “Might help you relax. You’re really tense.”

“Yeah, I am… thanks.” You exhaled, cracking yours open. “I was just about to ask for one.”

Mingi smirked before sinking into the couch beside you. “So… tell me more about these guys you dated. They’re really dumping you just because you’re a virgin?”

“Yeah… I mean, they always try to get in my pants, and when I don’t let them, they just… lose interest.” You shrugged, taking a sip. “I don’t even always tell them I’m a virgin. I don’t need that getting around and people making fun of me, you know? So I just let them assume I’m, like, frigid or something.”

“They’re just assholes.” He paused, tilting his head. “But, like… your virginity… it’s not something important to you?”

“Not exactly…” You sighed, swirling the beer in your can. “I just wish I’d gotten over it when I was younger, like all my friends did. But you know my parents.”

Mingi nodded. He definitely knew.

“I just couldn’t do it with some random guy,” you continued. “That would’ve been awful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching you. “I get that.”

“And I know you’re very experienced, so…”

Mingi chuckled, finishing off his beer and setting the empty can on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t say very… Just… enough.”

Oh. His voice. The way he looked at you.

There it was.

That shift in the air, the kind of tension you could feel settling between you. You took a slow, deep breath, then placed your empty can next to his.

“If you say so…”

“So… whenever you’re ready, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped again.

“Can we… kiss?”

Mingi’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. That’d be a great start. I told you… I wanna take things slow.”

You were already sitting close, so all it took was him leaning in, a slight tilt of his head, a shift in the air between you. You mirrored him, your breath catching just before your lips met.

Soft. Damn, his lips were soft… and so plump.

So far, nothing too unfamiliar. You let yourself ease into it, testing the feel of him. But then his tongue brushed over your lips before slipping into your mouth, meeting yours in a slow, teasing slide. And that… that sent a rush of heat straight through you.

In just seconds, that shy kiss turned into something messy, wet, hot, needy. Damn it. You could feel the effect between your legs, heat pooling inside your panties. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Mingi chuckled, that deep, lazy sound vibrating against your skin as he trailed kisses down your chin, your neck. 

“How you feeling?” he murmured against your throat, his voice low, teasing.

“G-good…”

His lips curved against your skin. “Hm… you’re pressing your thighs together.” Another kiss, right under your jaw. “Already horny?”

God. You swallowed hard. Why were you suddenly so shy?

“Uh… yes.” 

Mingi hummed like he expected that answer. 

“Ever dry-humped someone before?”

“No… never.”

Another smirk, he was such a tease… and then, two slow taps against his thigh.

“Come here. Sit on my lap.”

You hesitated for half a second before obeying, standing up just to settle yourself over him. His thighs… fuck. Thick. Comfortable. Solid under you. And even through his jeans, you could feel him. He was hard, very. 

“Good girl.” Those words hit you in a very specific way…

Your hands rested on his broad shoulders as you kissed him again. Embarrassment still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat pooling deep in your core. You let your body take over, responding to him — the kissing, the touching… the way his big hands gripped your waist, strong and steady.

“Come on, baby. Grind on me.”

Oh, fuck.

You felt those words straight between your legs, a sharp pulse of need making you clench so hard you whimpered against his lips.

Mingi groaned, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, guiding you into motion, urging you to move against him. Against his hard cock pressing through his jeans. Against his thick thighs.

“Just like that…” The delicious friction sent sparks up your spine, and soon enough, you were moving all on your own, chasing more of it. “Don’t stop.”

“Mingi… fuck!”

You ground down harder, a little faster, just enough to push you right over the edge. The orgasm hit you in waves, leaving you shivering and whimpering in his lap as his hands held you steady. He murmured soft praises, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that made your toes curl. Wow, that was really fast.

And all you could think was: Holy shit! You just had the best orgasm of your life. From grinding on your friend. And you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about that, but you were just fine for now.

“So… was it good?” Mingi chuckled against your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses back up to your mouth. “You good?”

“Yeah, but… I feel… uh…” You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, to think. “I don’t know. I just came, but I’m still…”

Needy. You didn’t have to say.

His lips curled into a smirk, and you didn’t even know you like that pretty face of him that much.  

“We can keep going if you want to.”

“What would be the next step? Since you wanna take things slow.”

“Hm…” He tilted his head, considering. “Maybe I can make you feel good with my fingers. If you’re okay with that.”

Your brain short-circuited for a second. Because fuck. Your panties were soaked, embarrassingly wet just from kissing and grinding against him. But you were still throbbing, still desperate for more.

So you just… nodded. 

 “Yeah… it’s fine.”

Still perched on his lap, you hesitated before shifting off him, kneeling on the couch beside him. Your legs felt shaky, but not from exhaustion, no. It was pure anticipation.

Mingi followed, sliding down to kneel on the floor in front of you, his eyes dark and hungry as he leaned in.

“You want me to take your shorts off, or you wanna do it yourself?” He murmured the words against your lips, stealing a quick peck before trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-you can do it…”

His touch was slow, deliberate, as he unbuttoned your shorts and slid them down, pushing them aside like they were nothing.

Then, his hands settled on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Wanna keep the panties on?” His voice was low, husky. “I can still make you feel good like this, if you’re not ready to take them off.”

You should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve felt shy about the way he was staring at you, at your pussy, taking in the obvious wet stain darkening the fabric.

But you weren’t.

Because he looked wrecked just from seeing you like this. And you loved that, really turned you on even more.

“...It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can take them off too. I mean… there’s no point feeling shy now, right?” Your breath hitched. “You’re gonna see my pussy anyway…”

“Hm…” He chuckled at your words, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. “So… you told me you’ve been fingered before, right? How was it for you?”

You hesitated for a second before exhaling, remembering the times you let that happen.

“It was always rushed. Like… in the backseat of a car, or some dark corner in a club. Sometimes it just felt uncomfortable. Sometimes a little painful…”

Mingi hummed, his fingers slipping lower, tracing light patterns over the fabric.

“So has anyone actually seen this pretty pussy, baby?” His voice had dropped, thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Am I really the first?”

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, dragging your panties down slowly, revealing your mound first, then the rest as you lifted your hips just enough to help him.

“Yes… you are.”

“Fuck.” His exhale was heavy, like he was struggling. His hands smoothed over your bare thighs, slow and teasing, while you instinctively pressed your legs together. You had just told him there was no point in feeling shy, but still… his eyes on you like that made your skin burn. Mingi let out a soft, amused hum, his lower voice killing you. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, baby.” His thumbs brushed gently along the inside of your thighs. “But I need you to talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to feel any pain.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t done.

“Good girl.” He said that again, making you shiver once more at his words. His lips curled into something dangerously soft, dangerously sweet. “Now… spread your legs for me.” His voice was just sinful, God. “Let me see you.”

Even with a lingering trace of shyness, you spread your legs for him. Mingi let out a sound that looked like a moan, his eyes locked onto your glistening pussy like he was savoring the sight. You knew you were dripping, could feel it pooling beneath you, and the thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for his touch.

“Nah-ah.” His voice was pure, silken dominance. A soft kiss landed on your thigh, his warm palm resting against your belly. “Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see every little reaction. So behave, and look at me while I touch you, okay?”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, blinking up at him, cheeks burning under the weight of his gaze.

Mingi started slow, his fingers first trailing over your mound, teasing, barely there, making you ache for more. Then, with the lightest pressure, he dipped lower, parting your folds, gathering your slick on his fingertips. You whimpered when he finally brushed over your clit, already swollen, already throbbing for him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” His voice was rougher now, and when he pressed down on your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles, your body reacted instantly. Your thighs threatened to snap shut, but his free hand kept you open.

“Talk to me, baby.” He smirked at you, making your cheeks burn again. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yes… feels so good, Mingi…” Your voice was barely more than a breathy moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. God, what was this man doing to you?

“Good…” He kept up the slow, torturous rhythm, circling, sliding, making sure you felt every second of it. And then he smirked again, eyes flickering down between your legs. “I can see you clenching…” His fingers teased lower, brushing over your dripping hole, but never pushing in. “You want a finger inside this pretty pussy, huh?”

“Yes… please.”

You’d never felt like this before. Sure, you’d touched yourself before — your fingers, the desperate grind against your pillow. But this? Craving someone else's touch this badly? That was new.

“Yeah?” Mingi’s voice was warm, teasing, his breath fanning against your skin. “Alright, baby. Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it hurts, I’ll stop right away.”

He played with your clit for a second longer, making you squirm, before twisting his wrist and easing his middle finger inside you. He slid in easily — too easily — because you were already so wet, dripping onto his palm.

“Fuck…” He exhaled, watching the way you clenched around him, his voice thick with something almost reverent. “You’re clenching around my finger so tight, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“Hm… it’s okay. No pain…” Your words were soft, airy, but your body was already responding to him, hips shifting just the slightest bit, searching for more.

“Yeah?” He started moving, slow thrusts, just the tip at first, then deeper, dragging against your walls in slow, deliberate strokes. “You like it like this? Or maybe…” He let his finger sink all the way in, curling it just right, hitting somewhere entirely new inside you.

A moan ripped from your throat before you could stop it. 

Mingi chuckled, clearly pleased. “I think I have my answer… Looks like I just found your G-spot.”

“It’s… embarrassing that I couldn’t find it myself…”

“Mm, it’s fine, baby…” His tone was honeyed sin, smooth and coaxing. “It’s kinda deep, see?” He pushed in again, curling that single finger right against the spot, making your body jolt. “Here… this spongy little place… this is where you’re most sensitive inside.”

Another slow press, another deliberate curl of his finger, sending a shudder down your spine, leaving you gasping.

“Feels… different…”

“A good different? Or do you want me to stop?”

“No… keep going. It’s good… really good…”

“Mm…” He smirked, his free hand sliding down to find your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions while his finger pressed against that spot inside you over and over again. “Like this, baby? Feels good?”

“Yes…” Your voice was breathy, almost desperate. It felt too good — like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You had no idea your body could respond like this, that just one finger could unravel you so easily. But now you knew. And you needed more. “Don’t stop…”

Mingi hummed in approval, his movements shifting, pressing into your G-spot with more precision, rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It was overwhelming, the pleasure washing over you in such an intense way it left you breathless. Your hips had a mind of their own now, rolling into his touch, grinding against his hand as you chased the high building inside you.

“That’s it, baby…” His voice was low, dripping with praise. “Keep riding my fingers like that… fuck, you look so pretty like this…”

You felt something building inside you—something different. A weird kind of pressure you’d never felt during an orgasm before. It made you panic a little.

“Mingi… feels weird.” But it still felt good, so you didn’t stop. You kept grinding against his hand, chasing the high.

“Weird how? Talk to me.”

“Like I’m gonna… pee…” you admitted, your voice small, embarrassed.

“Mmh…” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered. “Wanna try letting go, baby? You might squirt if you do. It’ll feel so good…”

But you couldn’t. The sensation was too intense, too unfamiliar. And the idea of actually doing that in front of him made your whole body tense up.

“I can’t… I just wanna cum, please… make me cum…”

He kissed your thigh again, soft and reassuring, his finger still buried deep inside you. But now his focus shifted. His other hand is working your clit in that perfect way. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, baby… cum on my fingers. Keep moving, just like that…”

You did. And it hit you hard. Your orgasm crashed over you, stealing your breath, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even speak, so you just moaned and whimpered as he worked you through it, drawing it out until you were spent.

Then he slowly pulled his finger out and, without breaking eye contact, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The sight alone made your pussy clench again.

“You taste so fucking good…”

You bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a moan, because fuck. He wasn’t even touching you anymore.

“So…” Mingi sat back down beside you, his tone playful. “How was it for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still recovering. “That was amazing… thank you. Uh—” your hand moved to his thigh, remembering how you’d been grinding on it minutes ago, “—want me to return the favor?”

“Not today, pretty. Tonight was all about figuring out what you like.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Next time we can try adding another finger… if you’re up for it. Maybe I could eat you out, too.”

“You really wanna do that?”

He looked at you like you were crazy. 

“What kind of question is that?” His eyes dropped briefly to your bare skin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know… Some guys just don’t like giving head, I guess.”

“Straight guys? I don’t think I know anyone like that. Shit… were your exes that kind of loser?”

“One of them… maybe two.”

“Yeah, they probably didn’t like girls to begin with.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But me? I love eating pussy. You’re so damn responsive… so sensitive. Probably ‘cause you’re a virgin. Honestly, I had a lot of fun today.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is!” He gave you one of his cutest smiles, like he wasn’t just talking about eating you out a minute ago.

“Wanna crash here or want me to take you home?”

“I don’t know… I think I could stay on your couch.”

“Damn, do you think I’m an asshole or something?” He laughed, but it had a bit of a bitter edge to it. “You can use my bed. I mean, if you want, we can share. It’s big, and I don’t mind. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take the couch.”

“Calm down, Mingi… I just don’t wanna bother.”

“We’re friends, relax. So, bed or couch?”

“We can share the bed, I don’t mind.” You were just a little embarrassed, but it was fine. “Give me one of your shirts or something so I can sleep.”

“Wanna shower?” You did. You were still a mess, sticky and flustered, adjusting your clothes like it would help somehow. “Go ahead, I’ll order some food.”

Mingi was so sweet you couldn’t help but feel safe there, like actually comfortable. That post-makeout awkwardness you usually felt with guys? Nonexistent. Maybe it was because he was your friend, and it really felt like he cared.

You took a long, needed shower, and when you were done, he handed you a pair of boxers, some comfy shorts, and a soft oversized shirt like you’d asked. He’d ordered Chinese, and you ate with him while watching TV like nothing had just happened between you — chatting about college, life, random stuff. At some point, you were barely keeping your eyes open.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s pretty late,” he said, turning off the TV and getting up. “I’m gonna shower. You can go ahead and sleep if you want.”

So you did. You headed to his room, crawled into his bed and immediately sank into the smell of his sheets. That soft, clean scent of his cologne was everywhere. Your brain briefly panicked about what you’d tell your roommate the next day, assuming you’d even tell her anything. But she'd probably annoy you until you did.

You were drifting off when you heard Mingi come in. He had a towel slung low around his hips, and you peeked — just a little — before shutting your eyes again. He changed, then slipped into bed right beside you, and suddenly your heart was racing. He smelled like soap, like shampoo, like everything warm and familiar, and holy shit, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. But you didn’t. You forced yourself to stay still, and eventually, you managed to fall asleep.

But nothing — nothing — could’ve prepared you for the morning.

You woke up to a warm weight draped over your waist. At first, you almost ignored it… until you remembered you weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your room. You were at Mingi’s. And his arm was on your waist.

And then it all came rushing back… the way his finger felt inside you, the things he said, the way you came so hard you couldn’t speak… and now? Now he was pressed right up against you, and very clearly hard. You could feel his cock resting against your lower back, thick and hot even through the fabric, and you really, really didn’t want to freak out.

But fuck.

How?

You shifted your hips, just a little, enough to grind back into him, slow and deliberate, because you wanted to feel him. All of him.

Mingi mumbled something low, half-asleep, and pulled you closer, spooning you tight, his breath warm against your neck. The way it made you shiver? Unfair. You bit back a soft moan, trying to keep it together.

You couldn’t stop wondering… was this just morning wood? Or was he actually turned on?

But the way he was holding you, not moving away, letting your ass press right up against him like that… yeah, it could definitely be both.

“Hey…” His voice was deep and rough, soaked in sleep, and it went straight to your core. “You doing that on purpose?”

“I was just… trying to feel you.”

Your voice came out breathier than you expected. He let out a low groan, somewhere between sleepy and way too sexy for your own good.

“Then why don’t you just touch it?”

“You want me to touch your dick?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but damn.

He chuckled against your neck, his body shaking a little with it.

“You did say you wanted to feel me.” Then he rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, shameless and relaxed. “I’m all yours.”

You could see it. The tent in his shorts, the thick bulge straining against the fabric… and shit, it looked huge.

You swallowed hard, your shaky hands practically begging to touch him.

You sat up on the bed, reached for him, and the second your fingers brushed over his clothed length, you felt it. Hard and heavy, all for you. Fuck. 

“Shit, baby… want me to take it out for you?”

His voice was low and wrecked, thick with lust, and god, he wanted this just as badly as you did.

“I can do it.” Your fingers slid under his waistband, tugging down his shorts and boxers in one go until his cock sprang free. Thick, flushed, and already leaking, smacking lightly against his stomach. “So big…”

“Yeah?” He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow squeeze that made precum beads at the tip. “You like it?”

“Yes…” God, you did. He was pretty, and that wasn't something you'd ever said about a dick before. But his? Fuck, yes. “Let me touch you.”

You weren’t some handjob expert or anything, you’d done it before, sure, but this felt different. Bigger. More intense. More him. Still, you wanted to do it right. You wanted to make him feel good.

Mingi watched you as you wrapped your fingers around him, slow strokes at first, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. His cock twitched in your grip, and that alone made your thighs clench. 

He hummed in approval when you squeezed a bit harder, stroking slowly, getting his tip wetter with precum before you could do it a bit faster.

But you wanted more. 

You didn’t even think, just leaned in and spit on his cock to help your hands glide easier.

The slick sound it made when you started stroking him faster had you biting your lip, and then came his whimper… breathy, needy, absolutely filthy.

“Fuck… you’re good at this…”

Hearing that lit something in you. Gave you all the confidence you needed to keep going.

You spit on him again, not giving a damn about being messy, and the way Mingi moaned for you… it was the hottest sound you���d ever heard.

You were using both hands now; he was big, too big for just one. It made your hands feel small, and the thought of having his cock inside you? Kinda terrifying… but mostly it just made your pussy clench and drip even more.

“Baby… I’m gonna cum—” he panted, voice desperate, eyes locked on you like he was begging you not to stop.

And you didn’t. You weren’t stopping until you felt his hot load spill across your fingers.

He let out a deep, wrecked moan as he came, hips twitching, cock pulsing in your hands. His cum painted your fingers, spilled onto his belly, his pelvis, so much of it.

God, it was so hot.

You loved the feeling, knowing you made him come like that. Make him lose it with just your hands.

“So…” Mingi was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling. “Now you’ve felt me.”

You laughed under your breath. Yeah, the whole thing started with you just wanting to feel how hard he was. But this? This was so much better.

“Yeah… I liked that. And…” You still had his cum on your fingers, warm and sticky. And you didn’t fight the urge anymore. You brought them to your mouth, licking them clean right in front of him — just like he did with you. “I like your taste too.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

He sat on the bed and pulled you closer, kissing you like he needed it. That caught you off guard. You thought most guys would be grossed out by kissing you after you had their cum in your mouth.

But not Mingi.

He kissed you deep, tongue and all, messy and hot, just the way you liked it.

“Can I do something? Please?” he asked, breathless against your lips.

“What?” You were already dizzy from the kiss alone.

“I wanna eat your pussy…”

You felt heat rush through your whole body. You wanted that, bad. Even if the sunlight was peeking through the window, making everything feel more exposed. There was no way you could say no.

“…Okay.”

You didn’t know exactly what to do, but Mingi did. He gently switched your positions, laying you on your back and climbing over you.

He tugged your shorts off and tossed them aside without looking, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your pussy. You were soaked, your arousal shining under the light, and it clearly drove him wild.

You didn’t need to be asked, your legs opened for him on their own, desperate to know how it would feel to have his mouth on you.

He kissed your thighs first, slow and wet, his soft lips making obscene sounds against your flushed skin. You couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

Your eyes locked, and in that second, you knew: if you wanted him to stop, he would. You felt safe. Even with your legs spread wide open in front of him.

Then his lips met your mound. A chill shot through your spine and you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

But Mingi kept you open for him.

He pressed a kiss to your clit first, then started to lick it, slowly, teasing, just getting a taste of you. Watching your reactions.

Your eyes fluttered shut. It was already one of the best things you’d ever felt — and somehow, it got better. He started sucking your clit, flicking his tongue over it, then dipped just the tip of his tongue inside you. Then he was making out with your pussy, completely lost in it.

You wanted to scream. Your whole body was trembling, your chest tight with how good it felt. You couldn’t keep your hips still, you were grinding against his mouth, moaning uncontrollably, fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him even closer.

You were so close. You could feel yourself falling apart.

And when your orgasm hit, it wrecked you.

Your legs trembled, your stomach clenched, and your moans were so loud you didn’t even register them until your body started to come down.

It was hands down the best orgasm of your life.

Fuck.

Mingi kissed your thighs while you were still trembling, then crawled up your body to press soft kisses to your neck and lips.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, that was easily the hottest thing you’d ever done.

“So… did you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Your voice was barely audible. “That was insanely good.”

“I’m glad.” He let himself drop beside you with a satisfied sigh, stretching lazily. “Hmm… I think we should get some breakfast. But… my roommate might be home already…”

What?

Fuck.

There was someone there? And Mingi just let you moan like that?

“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before I screamed loud enough for your neighbors to know your name?”

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t want you to hold back. But relax. If he heard anything, he won’t care.”

“Fuck, Mingi. I’m so embarrassed.”

“There’s no need. He won’t say anything, and he won’t even know it was you. I’m not telling anyone.”

“…Okay then. Thanks. I guess.”

You didn’t stay in bed much longer. Not because it wasn’t tempting, but because you were starving. You changed back into your clothes from yesterday, and Mingi took you out to your favorite coffee shop so you could have your much-needed morning caffeine.

What surprised you most was how easy everything felt. There was no awkwardness between you two.

You talked about college, cracked dumb jokes, and laughed about random stuff like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just made you come harder than anyone ever had.

But then it hit you: a vivid flashback of Mingi’s mouth between your legs, and your thighs clenched on their own. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“What?” he asked, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I…” Why couldn’t you breathe properly all of a sudden? “Sorry, I just…”

“You were thinking about the dirty stuff we did, huh?” He leaned closer, teasing. “I think you might be ready to really do it.”

“I was… and you think so?”

“Yeah. I figured you might be a little traumatized from the other guys,” he said gently, “but you’re doing fine. So, whenever you feel ready… we can.”

You were speechless. Truth was, you’d felt ready the second he first kissed you. He had been nothing but respectful, never pushing, never rushing, and that made you want him even more.

“…Okay, so what do you think about tonight?”

Mingi raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised by what you’d just said. You were surprised, too. You thought it would take longer for you to let go like that. But the truth was… you felt ready. And the best part? Him.

You weren’t going to lose your virginity to some random loser. It was going to be with someone you trusted. Someone who cared about you.

“It’s totally up to you. I’m free tonight,” he said with a soft smile, a sweet one this time. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah… I really want to.”

Mingi smiled wider and, like the absolute prince he was, formally invited you on a date. He said he didn’t want to just take you to his place and jump into bed — he wanted to give you the whole experience. And you kinda liked the idea.

He even walked you home. But the moment you stepped into your apartment, your roommate nearly lost her mind.

“Tell me everything!!! You slept with your hot friend, didn’t you?! I saw you two! Holy shit, he’s gorgeous… you’re so fucking lucky.”

“I didn’t…” you muttered, cheeks burning. “Yet.”

You were way too embarrassed to give her all the details, like how he made you moan louder than you ever had in your life. So you just said one thing led to another… and now you had a date.

That was enough to send her into full panic-mode-on-your-behalf. She practically dragged you out of the house to buy lingerie, insisting that if you were finally going to lose your virginity, you needed something sexy. And you knew that she was right.

You found a few beautiful sets. Lacy bras and panties that made you feel way hotter than you expected. But once you bought them, it really hit you: this was happening. You were finally going to have sex.

Fuck.

You still couldn’t believe it.

Back home, your roommate helped you style your hair and pick out an outfit for the night.

She was genuinely happy for you, and you were getting really nervous. But in the best possible way.

“Listen… it might hurt a little. But it’ll feel good after, okay? Just keep that in mind.”

She wasn’t trying to scare you — she was actually being gentle — but it wasn’t exactly helping. “And he’s experienced, right? That’s a very good thing.”

“I know it’s gonna hurt…” Because Mingi was big. Like, the biggest you’d ever seen. “But I’m not really that scared about the pain. I’m more nervous about… what happens after.”

“Like… things getting weird between you two?”

“I don’t think they will…”

And you meant it. Mingi didn’t make things weird. He made you feel safe.

“Then relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”

That made you laugh, even if you weren’t sure why. Maybe because you were quietly freaking out and laughter was the only thing keeping you from losing it.

And yeah… time was running out. He’d be there any minute, and your nerves weren’t exactly calming down.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was Mingi. You’d already done things with him, intimate things. This was just the next step. You wanted it. And you trusted him. Everything was going to be fine.

Your roommate helped you finish your makeup, soft and glowy, just the way you liked, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Mingi was calling. He was already downstairs, waiting for you. 

When you came down, he was already in the car, parked right in front of your building. As soon as you got in, the scent of his cologne hit you. Clean, expensive, and so him. He looked really good too, even more so in those clothes.

“Hi…” you said, trying not to fall apart while buckling your seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Well… I know you like Italian food, so I picked a nice Italian restaurant.”

“You’re making me really nervous, you know? I…” your voice was shaky, your breathing unsteady. “I just feel a little weird doing this, like…”

Like it was something serious. That’s what you meant.

“There’s no need to be nervous, you know that, right?” he said gently. “We’ve gone out to eat a bunch of times. The only difference is that tonight, I’m helping you with something… personal.” He smirked, starting the car. “Could’ve happened before, if you wanted.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m unsure about this. I want it. I’ve been thinking about it all day, actually… it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” he said, flashing you that same calm, charming smile. “It’s all good. We don’t need to plan every step. Let’s just eat, talk, and see where the night takes us.”

He was right, you knew that. But still, why was your heart racing like that? Damn. 

Either way, you managed to calm down a bit when he let you pick the music.

Dinner was amazing. You ate well, sipped on some very good wine, and Mingi showed you just how much of a gentleman he could be on a date. You’d been out with him before, sure, but it never felt like this. This was different. This was a real date.

A few hours passed in what felt like minutes. Eating, drinking, laughing, talking. When the check came, he grabbed it and paid before you could even peek at the price.

As you were leaving the restaurant, his hand found your lower back — guiding you gently, protectively, until you reached the car. That simple touch made you shiver, even though you were way calmer than earlier.

“So…” he said once you were both buckled in. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

The playful tone in his voice helped a lot. You were still a little nervous, sure, but you knew exactly what you wanted now. You weren’t backing out.

“Maybe your place, handsome,” you replied, matching his tone.

He chuckled, turning the engine on. “Not nervous anymore?”

“Just a little. But I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

You looked over at him while he drove, and damn, he looked so good. So relaxed, so confident. You were on a date with a ridiculously hot guy… and you were going to sleep with him. Silly thoughts, maybe. But you couldn’t stop them.

Not long after you left the restaurant, Mingi was already pulling into the parking lot of his building, and you could feel the thick tension between you as soon as you stepped into the elevator. He was acting all relaxed, but you could tell… he was probably just as nervous as you.

When he opened the door to his apartment, you walked into the living room a little faster than you meant to, maybe driven by all that anticipation building inside you. He locked the door behind you and turned the lights on.

“Do you want something to drink…?”

“Not now, but thanks. I’m kinda nervous…” You bit your lower lip, taking a good look at him. God, he looked so good. So fucking good. “Can we… go to your room?”

“I’m kinda nervous too, to be honest. I’m gonna be your first, and I really don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. I’ll try my best.”

“Mingi, I trust you. I really do. I’m not even worried about that…”

“Good… so, we’re both nervous and in the mood. What are we waiting for?”

You chuckled at his words as he guided you to his bedroom. He had changed the sheets, it smelled really nice in there, clean but still like him. You sat right on the edge of his bed and waited as he closed the door behind you.

When he turned around and looked at you, his gaze was so intense, you could feel he was holding something back. And fuck… you couldn’t wait to find out what he was going to do to you.

Mingi sat right next to you, and after making you squirm under his intense stare, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a rough, hungry kiss. Fuck… it was really happening now. Kissing him wasn’t new, but this time it felt different. It felt hotter, more desperate, like you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Your body was already burning up, and it was like he knew exactly what you needed. Without saying a word, he unzipped your dress and slid it off you like it was nothing, not even giving you a second to overthink it. You let him, kissing him harder, wanting more.

You couldn’t help but silently thank your friend for making you buy that lingerie set, because the second Mingi saw you sitting there in just your bra and panties, he let out the filthiest fucking groan.

He hooked a finger under the strap of your bra, playing with it, before biting your lip and trailing his mouth down your neck. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind you, unhooked your bra with one quick move, and tossed it aside like he couldn’t get it off fast enough. 

He was still fully dressed, it didn’t feel fair at all. So you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. You had to break the kiss for just a second to pull it off, and that gave you a chance to really look at him… his flushed face, his lips already swollen from how hard you’d been kissing him. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to bite them, suck on them, make him feel just as desperate as you did.

You pushed him back until he was lying flat on the bed, and as soon as he hit the mattress, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. This time, it was you who kissed him like you were starving for it, your tongue in his mouth, your hands all over his chest, raking your nails down his skin.

His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping you so hard it almost hurt, squeezing and groping until you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. He pulled you closer, pressing you down against the bulge in his pants, making you grind against him as your bare tits brushed over his chest.

But he wanted more. He pulled you enough to bury his face in your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples, teasing them with his hot tongue until they were aching. He devoured you, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, his lips marking you, claiming every inch of your skin. Fuck, it felt so good you couldn’t think.

You shifted to kiss him again, grinding shamelessly against his clothed cock, your hips moving on instinct as dirty flashbacks flooded your mind. You could already feel how soaked your panties were, though they barely counted as panties at all. The thin, see-through thong did nothing to hide how wet and desperate you’d gotten for him.

“Baby… I gotta…” He grabbed your hips, holding you still for a second as his hands moved down to unbuckle his pants. You hadn’t even realized how tight they were on him. “Let me take these off.”

As soon as he shoved them down and kicked them away, you climbed right back on top of him, grinding against his cock again, slow and needy. He left his boxers on, but you could already see the wet spot spreading there. 

You really wanted to make him feel good, you felt this urge to try something new, it was pulsing inside you. You rested your hands on his chest, slowly breaking the kiss.

“Mingi… can I…” Your fingers slid down to his waistband, teasing, pulling the elastic just enough to catch a glimpse of the neatly trimmed hair there. “Can I suck you off?”

He blinked at you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Of course, you knew you were offering something no man in the world could resist, and you wanted to get that exact reaction out of him. It worked.

“F… fuck. You really wanna do that?” He licked his lips, almost trembling beneath you. “If you really want to… do it. I know I’m gonna fucking love it.”

“It’s my first time…” you murmured, trailing wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, then over his chest and hard abs. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

He just nodded, breath hitching, eyes fixed on you as you slid his boxers down, finally freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, slapping against his lower belly. Your mouth watered instantly. Fuck… you’d never thought about sucking a dick before, but you needed it, craved the taste of him.

You wet your lips first, then stroked him slowly a few times, just to watch the precum bead at the tip. You leaned in and cleaned it up with your tongue. It tasted a little salty, but it only made you crave more. You licked along his length, making him groan again, a sound that you felt deep between your legs as you clenched harder than you thought was possible.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you started sucking on the tip, just like your friends had described before. God, you liked his taste, and you were already making a mess with your spit and his precum.

“Just like that, baby… make it wet. I like messy.”

Fuck, his voice. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were just from sucking him off.

You tried to take more of him into your mouth, and you gagged a little when he hit the back of your throat, but the way he moaned almost made you not care at all.

“You’re so pretty sucking dick, baby… keep going…” He caressed your head, holding your hair to get a better view as you started moving a little faster. “Fuck, yes… use your hand too. Like that… fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You didn’t care if you were choking on his cock or not. You loved being praised like that. You could already feel how wet you were, ready to drip at any second.

You kept using your hand just like he told you to, listening to every instruction, loving how much he kept telling you how good you were at it. You bobbed your head faster, getting used to taking him while jerking him off at the same time. It was hard at first, but now you were doing it easily.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth… let's stop here. Let me eat your pussy now.”

He gently pushed you away, watching as a string of spit kept him connected to your swollen lips.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” He touched your lower lip, running his thumb across it, as if he couldn’t resist praising you. “Lay down and spread those legs for me, huh?”

You used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and happily laid down for him, letting him slide your ruined panties off in a second.

“Fucking God, you’re so wet…” He ran his fingers between your pussy lips, feeling just how slick you were. “Baby got this wet just from sucking my cock?”

Yes, you did. And you were so horny that any trace of embarrassment had already faded. You nodded, spreading your legs a bit more, silently begging him to lick your pussy because you couldn’t wait another second.

Mingi didn’t make you wait. He dived in, eating you out like you were his favorite fucking meal. His groans and moans vibrated against your pussy, his tongue teasing your entrance before he slipped a finger inside, making your head spin. Fuck. You ground down on his face, unable to stop yourself… your whole body was on fire, and you screamed when he added a second finger, the sudden stretch making you shiver under his touch.

There was nothing but pure pleasure. He finger-fucked you so fast and so deep that the obscene wet sounds echoed through the room, proof of how messy and turned on you were.

“Gonna cum… fuck, don’t stop, please…” You clutched at his hair, grinding your pussy against his face, sloppy and desperate. He loved every second of it. So did you.

You tried to close your legs when your orgasm ripped through you, stealing every breath and almost your soul, but he didn’t let you. You whimpered, tried to push him away, but your legs barely worked. He finally stopped touching you, but kept his eyes fixed, watching the way your pussy kept clenching even after you came.

"That was so hot, baby..." When you finally came down from your high, you saw Mingi ripping open the condom and rolling it down his cock. "Ready?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes." You didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but your pussy wasn’t exactly letting your brain make decisions anymore. Your legs were already spread, your body completely relaxed, and you couldn’t possibly be any wetter. Everything was ready.

"Okay, I’m gonna put it in… slowly. Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

He hovered over you, eyes locked on yours, holding himself up with one arm while guiding his cock to your entrance with the other. You felt the pressure, the stretch as he started pushing in—slow, careful. There was pain, but not in a way that made you want to stop. It was… thick. Full. He was big. You knew that. But feeling it? That was something else. And he was barely halfway in.

"God, you’re so big…" You gripped his biceps, biting down on your lip.

"You can take it." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, his voice deep and steady. "It’s just the tip now, but you can take my cock. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?"

You moaned just from hearing him say that. He already knew how much you loved being praised, and when he felt you clenching around him, he groaned.

"Fuck... can I keep going?"

You nodded, bracing yourself, but the pain never got too sharp. He didn’t bottom out just yet, but even half of him made you feel stretched to your limits. Still, the thought of having him completely inside you made your whole body ache for more. You focused on relaxing, breathing slowly.

"Fuck... I want more. Give it to me. Please."

Mingi waited a few seconds, like he needed to be sure you were okay, and then did exactly what you asked. He was so gentle, so patient—you couldn’t have asked for a better first time. And then it happened. His cock slid all the way in, filling you to the hilt.

The feeling was overwhelming. You felt so full, so hot, so incredibly stretched.

"Tell me when I can move."

You pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Move... please..."

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that. Not fingers. Not toys. Nothing. It burned at first, but not enough to stop. You were soaked, and the sounds—wet, obscene, addictive—only made you more delirious. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on how he moved inside you, how deep he was, how thick he felt.

But you needed to see it. You looked down, desperate to watch the way your pussy was taking him.

Mingi got the hint. He sat back on his knees, shifting your hips slightly so you could see it happen—see his cock disappearing inside you over and over.

"Play with your clit for me." He grabbed your thighs, his eyes fixed on where you were connected. "Fuck, you're taking me so well..."

You licked your fingers and started rubbing your clit. It was swollen, hypersensitive, and the added stimulation made you moan like a mess. You didn’t care. You just needed more.

"Feels good, baby?" He held himself deep inside you. "Think you can cum for me like that?"

"Yes..." You looked again, watching how slick his cock got each time he slid in. You didn’t stop rubbing, and soon your hips started moving too, chasing that feeling. You felt everything—his size, his weight, the way he hit that same spot his fingers found before—and it made you dizzy.

"You're clenching... keep going, baby. Use my cock. Get yourself off. Cum all over it."

You didn’t hold back. You rode him the way you needed, chasing your high, grinding and moaning and letting go. It didn’t take long. Your body locked up as your orgasm hit, your pussy squeezing him in waves while you screamed, head thrown back, completely undone. Mingi groaned with you, like your pleasure alone was driving him insane.

Your legs were useless now, limp from the intensity. You were still coming down when he started moving again—this time harder, faster, with no hesitation. All you could feel was pleasure.

"You're so hard... I can feel you. So deep..."

"Didn’t think you’d take cock this well, baby... Can I fuck you harder?"

"Yes... fuck me. Wanna feel you cum too."

For a second, you hated the condom, but it didn’t matter. Not when he started pounding into you like that. It was rougher, and you loved every second. Your body was sore but it felt too good to care. You heard his moans, his breath getting shakier as he got closer. He kissed you, bit your neck, and moaned against your lips when he finally came, filling the condom as his cock throbbed inside you.

God, that was insanely good. 

You were caressing his back while he tried to catch his breath. You had just lost your virginity, and it felt so good you could barely believe it.

“So… good enough for your first time?” He slowly slid out of you, pulling off the condom and tying it up. “I’m really glad you chose me, gotta say.”

“It was amazing. Thank you… really.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I did you a favor, and as you can see…” He lifted the condom, still full. “I had a great time too. Huh… Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. And… you know… is this a one-time thing? I’m sorry for asking that right now, it’s just…” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were—and not just physically. “I… I don’t know. Forget it.”

“It doesn’t have to be. A one-time thing, I mean. If you want more…”

“I was just thinking that maybe next time you could… skip the condom, maybe?” Your voice dropped a little, more nervous now. “I was a virgin until now, and I take the pill. I just… really want to know how that would feel.”

“So… you’re asking me to creampie you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking like the cocky bastard he was. “You know that feels like going to heaven, right?”

He looked so hot saying that, so confident, his body still glistening slightly from sweat. You couldn’t stop staring.

“I can do that, of course. Your pussy’s gonna look so pretty dripping with my cum…”

Your cheeks burned instantly, and you had to look away.

“Hm… feeling shy now? Bit too late for that.” He chuckled, tossing the condom aside and lying down beside you, his fingers lazily exploring your chest, your collarbone, your neck. “Ask me whatever you want. I’ll do it. I can be your first for a lot more things, you know.”

“That sounded like an invitation… want to keep me around?”

You turned to your side, facing him, still trying to process everything that just happened. Your legs were sore, your body still buzzing, and your brain felt like it had short-circuited somewhere halfway through.

Mingi looked over at you with that same cocky, satisfied smile, resting one arm under his head.

“I think I'll.”

A second later, he slid closer behind you, pressing his bare chest against your back and wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. You didn’t answer him, it wasn’t necessary. You just tangled your fingers with his and fell asleep. 

Somehow, the crazy decision that led you to end up naked in his bed turned out to be the best one you’ve ever made.

[littlegrapejuice]

Grid Mum 5 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: The solution when one of your grid kids is sad? Spending some family time together and reassuring him like good parents would do.

Author's Note: this is a alpine/fl*vio bri*tore hate post❤️ justice for jack, and good luck to franco bc it is not going super well for him recently🙃 i promise this is not pure angst lol (y'all have probs realised i am mostly a fluff girly)

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

To say that you were mad would be an understatement.

You were originally not the biggest fan of Alpine – only tolerating the team because it was Jack’s, but now it had gone too far.

It seemed as if the not so French anymore team had taken inspiration from Red Bull, as they decided to replace their rookie driver only a few races after the beginning of the season.

Jack was being switched with Franco, and there was nothing to do to change that.

You were quite neutral about Franco: he seemed like a sweet guy, having charmed half of the F1 fans last year, and he had potential from what you remembered.

But Jack was Jack. He was one of your grid kids. He was kind. He was caring. He was funny.

He wasn’t enough, according to Alpine.

Your train of thoughts was the same as when Red Bull sacked Liam. The teams were forgetting that they had hired rookies. Rookies who were still new to the sport, and still not adjusted to racing in F1. Of course they had to prove themselves and the pressure on them was huge, but they needed to be given time.

The teams couldn’t expect them to be world champions only a few races in the season. Even scoring points would have been a great achievement, but it seemed like the teams were wanting no less than a podium. Teams that honestly had such a shit car, even Max would struggle to bring it to the top five.

You couldn’t even blame Franco for this. It was Alpine’s fault. And they weren’t really respectful to Franco either, to be honest. They had actually announced him as the second driver for only five races.

“Who does that?” You rhetorically asked Max, throwing your phone to the opposite side of the couch.

“Should we even be surprised anymore after the stunt they pulled in Abu Dhabi?”

“I guess not, but that’s still so fucked up. That team is absolutely fucked up.” Leaning back on the couch, you sighed. “It’s like their second seat has become a game of musical chairs.”

Max bit back a smile at your words. It wasn’t a laughing matter when he thought about how Alpine was ruining Jack’s career, and probably soon ruining Franco’s as well. But it was the type of nervous laugh one could let out when the situation was so desperate and seemed out of solutions.

“Maybe after those five races they’ll put you in the car,” Max suggested as a way to try and lighten the atmosphere.

“Max…” You whined, not really enjoying the joke. Thinking for a second, you then considered Max’s idea. “If they put me in the car, I’m definitely running Briatore over.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Max proudly concluded.

You had to admit that his words had put a slight smile on your face, making the frown previously there disappear.

“You know what this means now?” You asked Max, hoping he would read your mind and not hate what you were thinking about.

“Family dinner?” He guessed.

“Family dinner,” you confirmed with a nod before pulling out your phone.

You honestly had no idea whether Jack was alone at home or if his – actual – family was there, but you still texted him to offer him your support and remind him that he didn’t have to deal with this on his own.

Your first message was one filled with love and kindness, with words that were very reminiscent of what you had told him a month ago in Japan – you hoped that he hadn’t forgotten what you had said to him back then. Your second message was shorter, simply asking him if he wanted to hang out as a means to take his mind out of the situation.

It took less than an hour for Jack to text you back, agreeing to your offer. And soon enough, he was back in your home.

It was easy to notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. You frowned when you thought about the toll it had taken on him, offering him a warm hug when he was within your reach. He tightly hugged you back, and you could feel how tense he was.

You motioned for him to come sit with you and Max, hoping that a comfortable setting would make him forget about the situation for a little while.

“How are you holding up?” Max asked Jack, once the Aussie driver had sat down to him.

“Surviving, I guess. Don’t really have a choice but to accept it and move on…”

And that was all the words exchanged between the two of them. You had to admit the atmosphere was quite heavy, and you were about to bring up a more lighthearted topic when Jack spoke again:

“I just feel like shit,” he said with a sigh. “Alpine got what they wanted from the beginning: Franco and his oh-so-wonderful Argentinian fans – fans who are still harassing me even though their beloved driver is finally back on the grid.”

It seemed like Jack was ready to rant about his frustrations, which was definitely something he needed to do. So you just stayed silent, offering him a comforting and supporting hand on his shoulder. It was a way to remind him that he wasn’t alone right now, and that you weren’t going anywhere.

“I’m just mad,” Jack emphasised. “They barely gave me a chance to prove myself, and now I’m back to being a reserve for a guy who’s also a rookie! They won’t have any right to complain when he crashes the car or if he doesn’t score points because the car is actually just shit. I’ve been loyal to Alpine for years – since I was in F2 – and this is how I get rewarded for it.” Jack sighed, before speaking again more slowly as his tone became more desperate.. “What if I never get a chance again to drive in F1?”

Seeing the Aussie looking so hopeless made you want to cry. You could feel your own heart breaking at his question, and wondered how to word your reassurance. It seemed that Max was doing better than you regarding that, as he managed to answer Jack before you did.

“Then you just never forget, for even one second in your life, that you did drive in F1.” Max wasn’t even looking at Jack as he spoke, but his words were impactful enough that the rookie didn’t need more than Max’s voice. “I can’t promise you that you’ll be back in an F1 car. I can’t promise you that Alpine will switch you once again with Franco. Hell, I can’t even promise you that another team will call you to sign you and give you more opportunities. But I can definitely promise you that you had earned your seat, and your place in F1. You deserved to be there – still deserve to be here. And I wish I could tell you that yes, we’ll race together again one day, but that would be wrong of me to give you false hope.”

“So I should just stop hoping, then?”

“It’s more about not giving up”, Max explained as he finally turned sideways to face Jack. “Even if you’re hopeless – and even if you feel like there will never be another chance for you to race in F1, you just never give up. I feel like determination and hope are very distinct, although we group them together very often.”

Jack nodded at Max’s words, trying to process his train of thoughts.

“I feel like it makes sense, even though I have a hard time grasping the difference between the concepts.”

“Just don’t give up”, Max concluded. “You’re a bright kid, with a bright future. And I know you’ll be rewarded for that one day.”

“That I definitely agree with”, you added.

“Thank you guys, really means a lot to me.” Jack was being genuine, truly appreciating the support that you and Max were offering him.

You didn’t have to do that, no one forced you. But still, you were there for the rookie and he would forever be thankful for that.

“Will we keep seeing each other?” Jack eventually asked after a couple minutes of silence, his eyes filled with a need for reassurance. “You won’t replace me with Franco like Alpine did, right?”

“I’d never replace you, sweetheart.” You pulled Jack into a hug as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You’re one of a kind, and nothing will change between us. If anything, we might have more time to see each other during race weekends.”

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Jack slowly pulled back from the hug. A smile had made its way on his face, which warmed your heart. Jack was glad that despite him not being on the grid anymore, you would still be his grid mum. “I’ll sneak you into Alpine and we can steal their food, or something.”

“Sounds perfect”, you agreed to Jack’s idea with a nod.

“Don’t cause too much trouble”, Max warned with a sigh. As usual, he wanted to pretend that he was being serious but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“We would never”, you denied with an innocent grin.

“Yeah! We’ll be so well-behaved, don’t worry.”

Max kind of wanted to add that he wasn’t very convinced with you and Jack, but he let it go. He was glad that for now, the Aussie had a smile back on his face. Wanting it to stay there, Max suggested that they do something productive together and you didn't hesitate to force the two drivers into cooking. Jack immediately said yes, already standing up and walking to the kitchen with you.

Meanwhile, Max realised that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter – especially when you came back to the living-room to grab your boyfriend’s hand and drag him to the kitchen where Jack had begun analysing your fridge’s contents.

Max had never been much of a cook, more than often leaving you free reign in the kitchen. But it seemed that for the rookies, he would keep making an effort. Because for them, he might do anything if it meant that it was putting a smile on their face.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita

Thank you sm for reading<3 likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated if you enjoy this

Writing this was fr making me go :( bc i miss jack sm like y'all can't imagine the amount of times i text my friends "bring back jack" every time franco does a slight mistake😭😭

And i loooove franco, don't get me wrong☝🏻 but alpine is my probs worst enemy rn

So yeah, we might acc see less of jack in da fic but I'll still try to include him from to time bc i like writing him😔

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

[studioeisa]

because/despite 🎸 vernon x reader.

one fine day, you find a list.

★ vernon x rockstar!reader, a.k.a the catch you when i can couple. ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, romance, fluff. set after the events of part five; based on a headcanon from part four. ★ footnotes: happy 0218 day. couldn't let it pass without an ode to my darling couple. 🎸🐻‍❄️

It’s a lazy kind of day. The kind where neither of you have anywhere to be, no pressing schedules or urgent obligations. Just you, Vernon, and the sun filtering through the curtains, painting golden stripes over tangled limbs and soft sheets.

You can’t help the sound of protest that rises out from the back of your throat when Vernon tries to disentangle from you. 

“No need to be so clingy,” he huffs, ruffling your hair as he rises from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach.”

“We were so comfortable,” you whine in protest. 

You’re momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare back as he crosses the room, but even that is ripped away from you too soon. He pulls his shirt back on, and you grumble something under your breath. It sounds suspiciously like selfish bastard. 

Your boyfriend pays you no heed. Go figure. 

“Getting us snacks,” he announces. “Want anything?” 

“You’re the only snack—” 

Your shirt hits you squarely in the face. 

“Hey!” you sputter in between laughter, ready to retaliate with a pitch of your own. 

Vernon is already slipping out, though, leaving the door open a crack behind him. The sound of his chuckles carries over from the next room. It’s the type of moment you used to pray for, isn’t it? 

You flop back down onto the bed. You should get up, but you realize there’s something you want— nay, need— to do. When you reach around the sheets, you’re less than pleased to not have your phone within reach. 

Charging in the living room. Right. 

Your fingers catch on Vernon’s phone, though, and you figure that’ll have to do. 

“Borrowing your phone for a sec,” you holler out to your boyfriend. 

It’s more of a cursory thing; there were no secrets between you and Vernon. His sound of approval from the kitchen is to be expected. Your mind supplies you with the image of what he must look like— barefoot, leaning into your refrigerator, rummaging through all the cans of soda in search for something somewhat substantial. 

Man, the things you’d give up to have this forever. 

You punch in his password and pull up Instagram. Your private, joint couple account has chronicled your relationship since day one, and this is a moment you want immortalized. The sun hitting the bed post just right. The mess of your hair; a product of his restless fingers. The domestic bliss of it all. 

There’s a specific caption you want. Something about laundry and taxes. You let out a low ‘tsk’ as you try to recall it verbatim. It’s a good thing your boyfriend keeps a meticulous note of all his favorite movie quotes. 

Later, you will swear up and down to Vernon that it was looking up at you. You hadn’t gravitated to his Notes app with the intention to pry! You just wanted to be sweet, to be cute. A girlfriend who could accurately quote Everything Everywhere All at Once. 

It tempted you. A locked note, the title nothing but a rock guitar emoji.

You tilt your head. Interesting.

Of course, you try to open it.

It asks for a passcode, and you roll your eyes. Vernon is predictable, so you type in your birthday. Wrong. His birthday. Wrong. 

The name of your secret couple’s Instagram account? 11203km. Bingo. 

The note unlocks, and immediately, the screen floods with words. It takes a bit to load, like the note is bogged down by the sheer amount of content in it. That might be the case, really. After all— as you find out later— the note has been sitting snugly in his phone for years now. 

It’s fairly straightforward. Bullet point after bullet point, all starting with the same four words. I love you because. 

I love you because you hum when you’re tuning your guitar.

I love you because you let me steal your fries even though you pretend to complain.

I love you because my shirts are all a little bit big on you, and it makes you look cute. 

You let out a stuttering breath. The entries are specific enough for you to know they’re about you, but general in a way that you wouldn’t know when or where they were written. It could’ve been on his plane ride here, could’ve been weeks ago, could’ve been just this morning. 

You can’t help it. You keep scrolling, your eyes flitting over the big and small moments that your boyfriend has masterfully kept from you. A dragon hoarding its treasure. And then— 

I love you because even when you said goodbye, I couldn’t stop loving you.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, you’re taken back to the headlines, the time apart, the brief stint at being shitty exes. PLEDIS Confirms SEVENTEEN’s Vernon Has Broken Up With Rockstar Girlfriend. The whole breakup lasted only a couple of months, but it’d felt like the longest few months of your life.

If Vernon’s entries are anything to go by, then he felt the same. 

I love you because I know you thought leaving was the best thing for me. But I wish you’d stayed.

I love you because you perform like you went through a wholeass divorce. Hot. 

I love you. I don’t know how not to. 

You swallow, the lump in your throat thick, threatening to spill over into something heavier— until a voice cuts through the silence.

“You fuckin’ snoop.” 

Vernon stands over the side of your bed, watching you over your shoulder. Damn him and his uncanny ability to move in silence. He sets aside the plate of fruit he’d prepared before plucking the phone from your fingers.

Thankfully, he doesn’t look particularly displeased. The guilty-as-charged expression on your face must be enough for him, because your boyfriend only looks vaguely exasperated. 

“First of all,” he says, “you cracked my passcode?” 

You sit up, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You should really be more unpredictable.” 

“Noted.” Vernon falls back into bed, one of his eyebrows quirking upward inquisitively. “How much did you read?” 

You press your lips together, and instead of answering, you just look at him. Really look at him. He’s teasing, sure, but there’s something soft in his expression. Something open and raw, like he’s challenging you to be as honest as he’s been. You take him up on it. 

“You kept writing,” you say, your voice small and disbelieving, “even when we weren’t together.” 

His teasing edge fades, replaced by something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” 

The answer is so quintessentially him that you can’t help the half-laugh, half-groan that escapes you. His easy grin only widens a bit at your amusement— like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this. 

Something in your chest tightens all over again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s warmth, pooling in your ribcage, spreading through every inch of you. 

You roll over until you can rest your chin on his chest. Instinctively, Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, bracing you against him. He stares down at you with the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you, across the five years of this whole thing.  

That’s what makes it easy for you, too, to blurt out, “I love you, even though you’re shit at peeling oranges.” 

Vernon barks out a startled laugh. “What?” 

It’s the first thing that came to mind; the fruit is peeled haphazardly and plated messily at your bedside, after all. You ignore his confusion, barrelling on. “I love you despite the fact you pet all stray cats, rabies be damned,” you say. “I love you even though it’s absolute hell to take photos of you because you have the same pose for everything.” 

Realization seems to dawn on Vernon. He attempts to pinch your side, but the playful move only has you burrowing further into him. 

“I love you despite your resting bitch fa— hey— ce!” Your words are punctuated by a squeal as Vernon ups his ante, his fingers skating over your sides. 

“Don’t go stealing my gig,” he complains. 

You thrash underneath his tickling, trying, still, to keep going in between breathless giggles. “I love— love’y— even though— even— Hansol!”

He laughs, unrelenting. 

The fruit lays forgotten at your bedside. The sheets are crumpled, twisted between the two of you. The sun sinks; the world goes on without the two of you, just for today.

Vernon loves you because— you love him despite— 

[uncle-fruity]

Damn, can a trans guy make a singular post about his lived experiences without some fucko coming out of the woodwork to put words in his mouth and call him a transmisogynist?

If you think transfeminism is ONLY about trans women, you don't know what you're talking about AND you're actively contributing to the EXTREMELY HARMFUL ERASURE of trans men and transmascs. Our voices fucking matter.

If you think every trans guy who talks about his oppression in the transandrophobia tag or who critiques "transfeminist" theories THAT ACTIVELY EXCLUDES HIM is implying that trans women and transfems are his oppressors & that the criticisms are exclusively directed at trans women, that is demonizing him, erasing the trans men who also have dogshit opinions, and assuming that he can't be trusted to have an opinion on these things.

If a trans guy makes a post about his oppression and never once mentions trans women or transfems and you accuse him of HATING trans women and transfems, I'm sorry but you are maliciously misrepresenting his argument to shut down conversarions about his experiences and to discredit him within the trans community. You are an active contributer to the bigotry he faces and you should feel ashamed and embarrassed.

It is SO transparent to me that these jerks are just trying to sew seeds of discord amongst trans people, and I'm telling you right now that I will NEVER fall for it.

There is NOTHING you can say to me that's going to get me to throw trans women and transfems as a whole under the bus. I KNOW these tactics. Younger or less experienced trans folks might believe that your horseshit opinions which you spout in the name of trans women are actually representative of trans women, but I know too many incredible and inclusive trans women and transfems to fall for it. And hopefully, with time and experience, the trans folks who think other trans people are their primary enemies will wake up to the fact that we are ALL in this together and that we're STRONGER when we stand up for each other and love each other. If the only people you're listening to are assholes, that's the only type of people you're gonna hear from. Y'all cannot throw other trans people under the bus or treat all trans people as a monolith; that is exactly the kind of divisive shit that causes a rift in transfeminist movements and keeps us fighting each other instead of organizing against our REAL oppressors. And if a trans person IS the one who's harassing you, you should block them and forget they exist. You don't owe them an explanation or a defense. They are nothing but an internet stranger who knows nothing about you, and you don't owe them the effort of saving them from their pit of hatred.

I think all y'all who come onto my posts and try to make a transmisogynistic version of me to argue with are miserable little bugs who need to bully people online to feel like you've got power, but you fucking don't have any power over me and I will NOT sit by and let you slander me without a fight.

You think I'm a transmisogynist? I don't give a SINGULAR HOMEGROWN FUCK about your opinion. I'm tight with all the trans women and transfems who actually literally know me, and YOU don't even know my FUCKING name. If you're so fucking upset about the things I say, you are more than welcome to block me. I will continue to listen to the trans women and transfems who know me, who care about me, and who sure as fuck are not afraid to call me out if I ever said anything *actually* transmisogynistic.

Which is how I know these clowns are acting in bad faith. You press them for proof. You say, "Show me where I'm being transmisogynistic. Break it down for me," and they can't. All they have to show for it is a weak argument that you're "implying" the transmisogyny and a bunch of assumptions about you that have nothing to actually do with you. If there was a real critique and they ACTUALLY wanted to support me or educate me on what I did wrong, I would take them a little more seriously. But they never do. They just make 1001 transandrophobic assumptions, show their lack of basic reading comprehension, and have a little tantrum because they made themselves mad about a person who doesn't exist.

I will never stop loving THE WHOLE AND ENTIRE TRANS COMMUNITY. I will never stop fighting for us. I will never stop trying to build community with other trans people, and your exclusionary bullshit doesn't mean shit to me. The world isn't and never will be boys vs girls. Not to me it won't.

I will never stop talking about transandrophobia. I will never shut up about the experiences trans men and transmascs have. I KNOW my theory. I KNOW myself. You are not going to guilt trip me or gaslight me into thinking I'm a bad person for speaking up on my own behalf.

You will have to kill me if you want to silence me, and don't even think I'll let you off easy by killing myself. Y'all are gonna have to work if you want to silence this loudmouth cockroach motherfucking queer.

KINDLY fuck off, rudeass.

[transmutationisms]

you’ve talked about the unquantifiability/immateriality of attention span - thinking about your recent posts against the concept of addition, do you think concepts like compulsion/willpower are measurable/material? thinking specifically in the context of like, a casino or a gacha game, which actively and successfully employ concrete tactics to encourage people to continue playing and discourage them from stopping without altering their autonomy. without overgeneralizing, what might be happening psychologically there - escapism via the adrenaline rush, or…?

it's honestly insane to me how often people mystify gambling like it has nothing to do with any other phenomenon by which people identify that they want something & then try to obtain it. when i run a race im particularly motivated when i reach the sign that says only 2km left, & i expend extra effort sprinting when the finish line is in sight. if im thirsty & someone says maybe there's free water down the hall, i get up & go there to find it. if i live in a society in which i need money to live, & someone says i can obtain a great deal of it by going to a windowless hotel & spinning a wheel, is it really particularly pathological of me to be tempted by the offer?

you can see the same type of behaviour in eg people who get way too invested in the PTA cakewalk or charity raffles or bingo night at the assisted living facility—but these activities are designed to offer limited opportunity for play, & relatively insignificant payouts, plus they're associated w/ middle class suburbanites whose spending habits prompt less social concern in general. gambling on the other hand is advertised to be incredibly opaque about what your actual odds of winning are, & designed so that even when you rationally know those odds you're still being inundated with tempting fantasies that your payout might be juuuust around the corner if you keep at it. it's not really bizarre to me that people respond to this (& to the fear of losing the monetary investment they've already made so far!) by continuing to play well past their means, & even past what they would find rationally acceptable if they were in a low-pressure environment with their material needs already met & with time to think through their decision. pathologising this behaviour as compulsion/addiction/lack of self-control is an incredibly convenient fiction that identifies a subset of the population as psychologically defective rather than identifying an economic mechanism that preys on people.

anyway no i also don't put stock in broader notions of compulsion/willpower, for basically the same reason: they're psychological stories that make people's attempts to obtain things they want/need into individual mental maladies, & specifically maladies framed around the idea of a constitutionally weak/degrading mental faculty of self-regulation. generally i find it much more fruitful to consider what needs aren't being met, & are instead manifesting in a subjective inability to direct one's own impulses/desires: for example, in the paradigmatic case, as a teenager i struggled with compulsions to count things & flick light switches & check door locks not because those objects were exerting some kind of nefarious control over my damaged brain but because i felt (was) unsafe & unprotected in other ways, & i was unable to address those needs due to the constraints of my circumstances, whereas turning the lights off was an action within my control that i was capable of performing. i may know that physically i need to eat more, but be worried about not having enough money to spend on food or about incurring social punishment if i'm perceived as excessively appetitive or if i gain weight: thus, i experience not-eating as an irresistible temptation even though i recognise it rationally as physically dangerous & misery-inducing. &c &c &c.

i fundamentally just don't believe actions we experience as 'compulsive' (particularly irresistible) are mysteriously so, any more than any other actions. indeed the compulsion logic is just tautological if you follow it to its end: every action i have ever taken in my entire life definitionally had to have been one i wanted to take, on some level & in some way, else i wouldn't have done them. yet somehow i do still talk about myself & others as moral agents possessed of self-determination, go figure.

[taintedtort]

Hihii...!!! i really love ur HCs and i wanted to ask if you're comfortable with these types of character writing, what r ur headcanons on kenma, kuro, tsuki n maybe suna would act when they're drunk ? like would they be a bit different than their usual self ? sorry to ask a lot but im more curious on ur thoughts on kenma ;; .. write whatever u can, idm ! thank u ehehe have a good one ! >_< <3

" LET'S GET DRUNK! "

summary. they’re drunk lolz

characters. kenma, kuroo, tsukishima

warnings. afab!reader, drinking/alcohol, post timeskip!!!^^

a/n. yesss i love kenma, many thoughts on him!! he’s my favorite!!! didn’t add suna because i don’t really know his character that well :( added a kenma bonus to make up for it tho!

KENMA

☆ i think he’d be a sleepy drunk. he's out as soon as his head hits any soft surface— maybe even before! i feel like he also acts grumpier, mumbling complaints when you wake him up and try to move him (he was passed out on your shoulder in the car, you have to get him to bed!)

☆ his face gets kinda pink, like he’s blushing. he’s pale, so it’s more noticeable than it would be on someone else. his eyes get droopy and his face sort of relaxes, so he looks mean and tired.

☆ he stubbles slightly, but he surprisingly manages to maneuver himself pretty well for a drunk person. just don’t ask him to do a cartwheel or anything… he couldn’t even do one of those while sober.

☆ he doesn’t drink often, so he’s a light weight… plus he’s skinny and on the smaller side, so he doesn’t have to drink much to get a buzz. he’s usually responsible though, but sometimes he celebrates too hard (with a bit of a push from kuroo)

☆ he doesn’t get any more talkative, but he’s less filtered that normal. i don’t think he’d be too flirty or mean, but if he got drunk enough he may compliment you a couple times.

BONUS:

☆ the type to get so drunk he forgets who you are. you come find him to pick him up after someone called you, and he’s face down on the table. you nudge him, trying to gently guide him to stand, but he’s immediately swatting you away, grumbling about how he has a girlfriend.

"leave m' alone— got a girlfriend already," he slurs, raising his head to drunkenly glare at you. his eyes narrow further when you laugh.

"kenma… i’m you’re girlfriend," you tell him, always finding it a bit amusing when he gets this drunk. he’s not too much of a hassle though, since he usually knocks right out when you get home and tuck him in.

he's silent for a moment, just staring at you up and down. he wears the same expression he has whenever he buys a new video game, excited and in awe.

"really…?" he asks, a hopeful tone in his voice. now that he’s looking at you… you are really pretty. he really hopes you're his girlfriend.

"yes, really. i’m gonna take you home, okay? cmon," you urge, gently grabbing his arm and helping him stand. he complies this time, his eyebrows raising.

"we live together?" he questions, the situation just getting better and better to him.

"we do," you confirm, another giggle leaving you. it doesn’t really hurt your feelings that he doesn’t remember, you find it more amusing and entertaining than anything.

"… im so lucky," you hear him whisper under his breath, looking at you as you guide him to the car.

KUROO

☆ he'd be a funny drunk i think… a bit of a handful, and is entertaining at first, but eventually gets annoying. his emotions kind of double when he’s intoxicated, and he’s also kind of erratic. really energetic after his first few drinks, but if he’s extra drunk, he’s more emotional.

☆ his eyes get a little watery, but that’s about it. he actually looks more lively while he’s drunk, because he makes more facial expressions.

☆ he can’t stand straight at all, especially if he’s had more than a couple drinks. needs support to walk, otherwise he'll fall. he’s heavy though, and puts majority of his weight on you, so sometimes you end up falling anyway.

☆ he can handle his alcohol pretty well. takes him a few drinks to get a buzz, but he doesn’t usually stop there. mostly drinks to celebrate things, or at parties. never drinks alone, that’s just boring and sad to him.

☆ probably asks you random stupid questions like "what number am i?" or "what animal would i be?" (follows up that second question with "would you still love me if i was that animal?")

☆ i think he’s more talkative, but he speaks faster and his words are kinda jumbled, so it’s hard to understand him sometimes. he gets a lot more sappy, constantly complimenting you and telling you that he loves you (he does that all the time already)

"y're sooo pretty, love you s' much."

TSUKISHIMA

☆ not that much different than when he’s sober, honestly. he gets more mellow, surprisingly, though it might be because alcohol makes him a little sleepy, similar to kenma. he isn’t quick to fall asleep, but he’s not energetic and jumping around.

☆ his face is more relaxed, which makes him look even more intimidating and mean. his eyes get a little red around the edges, but that’s mostly it.

☆ stubbles quite a bit and holds things for support. if you try to help him, he’ll snip and you and complain that he doesn’t need your help to walk. (he does, and eventually gives in and leans on you a bit when he almost falls on his face)

☆ also a lightweight. doesn’t go drinking unless he’s invited, and even then he’s usually the designated driver. on top of that, he hates being hung over, and he hates throwing up, so he rarely gets super drunk. kuroo tries to persuade him sometimes, but the most he gets his a little tipsy.

☆ probably gets into debates with people about certain topics that he likes, arguing with them about facts and opinions. he usually wins. even when he’s drunk, he’s still quick witted.

☆ he fights you on everything, insisting he’s fine and "not drunk" whenever you try to help him. you end up ignoring his complaints and just assist him with changing and getting into bed anyway. he’s asleep pretty quickly, especially if you run his back/scalp.

"i don’t need help— i'm not even that drunk!"

[gotta-winwin]

typo and error | SHOWBIZ COLLAB

⭐ starring: joshua hong 💌 genre: fluff, angst | wc: 3.7k

💬 preview: Joshua loves his job as social media manager for The Carat Company, except for one thing: the actress he’s in charge of. you hate his guts, and Joshua swears he returns those feelings with vigor, and yet…forced to work in close proximity, Joshua’s forced to reckon with the idea that just maybe, despite all the animosity, he’s still madly in love with you. 

cw/tw: social media manager!joshua x actress!reader, mutual pining, oblivious idiots in love, enemies to lovers(?), light swearing, bit of crack, miscommunication trope, only one bed, brainrot hoshi, menace jeonghan

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: this is in direct correlation with @straylightdream's fic for the same collab! i feel so honoured to be apart of this wonderful community and i cannot believe it is finally time to share with you all this piece of work-- this collab was the beginning of it all for me: a thousand laughs and inside jokes, found family and forever friends. i am beyond grateful to be standing next to these wonderful writers and people. forever grateful to @studioeisa and @diamonddaze01 for being the tumblr parents i never knew i needed <3

now playing: tonight (i wish i was your boy) by the 1975

new actress y/n violet l/n looks absolutely grotesque in new photos from set. 

Joshua swears on his life and all things good that he meant to type gorgeous. 

He had half the mind to call Apple Services himself and complain about the terrible timing autocorrect had, as he sat in Wonwoo’s office, their company’s stern CEO staring at him from across his meticulously organized desk. 

“You’re telling me you managed to sour our new talent’s name in less than an hour of working her socials.”

Joshua lowered his gaze. “Yes.” 

Wonwoo pinched the bridge of his nose in a twinge of despair with annoyance swimming on his face. “Joshua, I cannot emphasize this enough. Our partnership with Ms. Y/N Violet needs to work. It has to.” 

“And it will.” Joshua nodded vehemently, trying to emphasize his false confidence in the matter. “I’ve got it, boss. Trust me.” Or don’t. Joshua didn’t really know what he was doing. 

Wonwoo sends him out with a few words that borderline as a threat. Words that sounded like don’t fuck this up, please and your job is on the line. 

Joshua swipes into Twitter and sees the amount of people who had screenshotted his mistake and posted it online. 

Poor social media guy, someone wrote. Don’t hate him for his fat thumbs! At least we got a good laugh. 

“Fuck me.” Joshua dials Jihoon’s number and prays the man picks up. “Hey, Hoon. I need a favour.”  

The actress I work for is going to hate me. 

“Hey.” 

It’s awkward when Joshua walks into your trailer on set. You’re poised on the makeup chair, your eyes closed as your makeup artist dusted pale pink shadow over your eyelids. You recognize his voice, and your eyebrows pinch. 

“Mr. Hong. You’re late.” You supposed it was unprofessional of you to still hold a grudge for Joshua’s social media mistake, but you couldn’t help it. 

“There was a hold up at the company.” Joshua tries his best to remain civil. There was just something about your face that infuriated him. It was too…perfect. Too pretty. 

He raises his camera and waits for you to pose in the perfected candid pose every actor and actress was taught. To look just the right amount of ‘caught off guard.’ Joshua snaps a few photos before throwing you a thumbs up. 

You motion for him to leave. “I need to rehearse my lines. In peace.” You add the last part pointedly, glancing at him through the mirror. 

He sits on the couch of your trailer, glasses perched on his nose that he looks at you with. He gives you a curt nod and exits. 

Ever the gentleman. 

But you knew that it was all a scheme. 

y/n violet l/n stuns in new photos captured on set. 

Joshua makes sure to double check, triple check, the caption before sending it out this time. 

He’s tried so hard to be nothing but perfect in the few months he had been working for you, as if each action could make up for the disaster of an entrance he had given you on their company’s social media page. 

Joshua made sure your favourite drinks and snacks were in your trailer before your arrival. He painstakingly edited every minute flaw from your photos. He kept eyeliner, lipgloss and a spare hair tie in his bag. He never complained when you asked him to reshoot a billion more photos. 

Yet for some reason, you were unwilling to forget the incident. It was clear to Joshua that you hated him. 

“Thanks.” You mutter as he hands you your morning cup of iced tea, stabbing the straw into the cup for you, mixing the ice just right. You pretend not to notice how Joshua has somehow learnt all your habits and preferences to a T within just a few months. 

He wordlessly hands you a napkin before you even ask. 

“Hey, Vi. You’re on set in 5.” The 1st AD pokes her head in to call you. 

“Okay, thanks.” 

Joshua takes your cup and napkin flawlessly and helps you down the steps. 

You hate how perfect he is.

He hates how he can feel himself caring about this job more than he should. 

fans rave over y/n violet’s assistant: internet calls him her prince-in-waiting. 

“I feel like you’re being underpaid.” Wonwoo says the next time Joshua finds himself in his office. “I hear from the rest of the staff that you’ve been doing other jobs.” 

Joshua doesn’t know what his boss is saying, and it’s evident on his face. 

“You’re not just Ms. L/N’s social media manager, you’re also her assistant and bodyguard.” Wonwoo explains, and Joshua realizes he’s got a point. 

“Oh.” 

“I’m surprised you haven’t come to me for a raise, Josh.” Wonwoo states quite frankly. “You’ve always been very good at advocating for yourself.” 

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really feel like a job.”

And the look on Wonwoo’s face tells him he’s said too much. 

“Really.” There’s an unmistakable smirk on Wonwoo’s face, the 5 - 9 Wonwoo peeking through the 9 - 5 Wonwoo for just a second. “Taking such good care of her doesn’t feel like a job.”

Joshua’s quick to backtrack. “No, I mean– I like my job.”

“Sure.” It’s obvious he doesn’t believe him.

Fuck me, Joshua thinks silently. 

Joshua can feel himself burning holes into the back of Jeonghan’s head as the man resurfaces from kissing you. 

“Cut!” He can hear the director yelling for the scene to end in the distance, yet all his senses are trained on you. 

How you pressed yourself into Jeonghan’s hold, melted into the kiss, let out the sweetest gasp into his lips. Joshua hated all of it. He hated how it made him feel. 

He watches Jeonghan whisper something into your ear, a hand brushing against your hair. 

Joshua glanced down only to realize he had been squeezing the paper cup filled with coffee in his hands, the contents slowly overflowing and dripping onto the floor. 

He looks back up and catches you looking at him.

“Fuck me.” 

You break away from Jeonghan as soon as you hear the cue from the director. 

“You alright?” Jeonghan’s quick to check in. 

You nod. “You?”

It’s an unspoken thing between the two of you, checking in with your onscreen counterpart in between work days and takes. “I’m good.” Jeonghan glances behind you and bites back a smile. “I’d say your social media guy isn’t though.” 

“Mr. Hong?” You flit your eyes over to the man in question. He’s standing near the side, your afternoon coffee in his hands and a scowl on his face. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“He’s in love with you.” Jeonghan says it as plainly as if he had just stated tomorrow’s weather. 

You choke on air. “What?” 

Jeonghan nears, his breath tickling your ear as he fixes your hair gently. “Look at how he tenses when I near you. How his eyebrows furrow. How he looks like he wants to murder me from across the room.” 

You look, and for a second, you see it too. 

And then you blink, and it’s gone. “You’re imagining things, Hannie.” 

Your social media guy does not love you. 

It’s the dead of night when Joshua lugs your suitcase into your hotel room. He sets it down and pats it awkwardly, scanning the room for any visible threats. He’s grown accustomed to his role in your life. He still hates how it makes him feel towards you– the feelings of love that he continues to push down until they disappear– but he’s content with his job. Wonwoo did end up giving him a raise for it. 

He was now your social media manager/personal assistant/bodyguard. The paycheck was exponentially high. 

“Of course, you forget to book yourself a room.” There’s a light tease in your tone as you stare at the one bed in the giant penthouse suite. 

“Sorry.” Is all he has to offer in response. He had forgotten, in the midst of all the press releases he had to manage with the movie trailer coming out, he had only thought of booking you a room and not him. “I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

You give him a look he can’t decipher. “No.” 

Joshua blinks. “Huh?” 

“I’m not making you sleep on the floor, Hong. We can both sleep on the bed. Just stick to your side.” 

He nods, ignoring the feeling that the two of you had just crossed into some unspeakable, unknown territory. 

He doesn’t know it, but you feel it too. 

It’s strange to see him out of his usual business attire. 

You’re trying not to stare at him from above your computer screen, but you fail, eyeing the casual wear your work counterpart has on. Joshua is concentrating on something on his phone, his lips twitching as his eyes move briskly over its contents.

“Stop staring.” 

You flinch when you’re caught. “I wasn’t.”

He laughs, and the sound startles you. “I can feel your beady little eyes on me, missy.” He teases, smiling at your insulted expression. 

“Do not insult me like that, Mr. Hong– you work for me, remember?” 

“Oh, do I now?” 

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at one another, sharing a secret smile before both quickly turning away. 

He swears at that moment he’s in love with you, and he hates that it’s true. 

You swear you hate him under your breath. You hate how you know it’s a lie. 

The sun begins to set as Joshua hands you your nightly cup of tea. Made just the way you like it, a dash of sugar and a spoonful of honey. 

He sits beside you and turns to look at you with determination on his face. “Can I ask you a question?” 

You frown. “Sure?” 

The question that comes out of his mouth is unexpected and a nice surprise. “Have you always wanted to be an actress?” 

“Yes.” You answer immediately. “Have you always wanted to be a…” You blank at his job title. A personal assistant? A bodyguard? Basically a boyfriend? Instead, you settle with the safest option. “...a social media manager?” 

Joshua thinks a beat too long before answering. “I guess.” 

“That doesn’t sound all too convincing.” 

“I mean– I don’t think anyone grows up wanting to be a social media manager.” 

He has a point. “What did you want to be then?”

Joshua thinks for a bit, as if the memory was already long gone and too distant to recover. “Astronaut, or something silly like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s silly. I mean–” You backtrack. “Everyone told me being an actress was a silly dream, but I’m here now.”

There’s a sour look on his face. “And I’m your social media manager.” 

“Yeah, a fucking good one.” 

He visibly brightens. “Really?” 

“I mean, you did mess up big time on that one post, but–”

“I am sorry about that.” He grimaces, and you know he really does feel bad. 

“You called me grotesque.” 

“I typed it wrong and stupid autocorrect–” 

You laugh at his indignant expression. “I’m joking, Joshua.” 

He joins in, and neither one of you notices how you had just called him by his first name. 

You look radiant in the mornings. Joshua swears on all things good and true that you cannot be real, and that you’re most certainly nothing short of an angel. 

“Good morning.” His morning voice catches you off guard. 

You turn around in bed to face him, momentarily stunned by the limited amount of space between the two of you. His hair is pushed in all directions, his eyes lazy and filled with sleep, yet– 

“Fuck me,” you think to yourself. Your social media guy was hot. But that had to just be the morning delirium talking. 

“You’re staring again.” He comments, his lips quivering into a tiny smile. “You’ve been doing that a lot.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“No.” You deny it once more. “I am not staring.” 

“Sure. Sure.” He reaches a hand over and moves a piece of hair away from your face.

You blink as he moves away. “Shut up.”

The banter comes as easy as hating him once did. And as the two of you watch the sun begin to rise again, you start thinking that maybe loving him can be just as easy too. 

y/n violet l/n eats up the red carpet with new look. 

You’re dazzling on the red carpet, and Joshua spends most of his time trying to stop his mouth from hanging open. 

He raises the camera and waits for you to fix your dress. 

“Is this okay?” You look at him, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, the bodice of your dress cinching your waist uncomfortably. Your movement is limited as you attempt to adjust the fabric of your dress down to cover more of your legs. 

Joshua wordlessly steps in to help. He moves the fabric with practiced precision, his fingers brushing against your upper thigh as he steps away again. 

“It’s perfect.” He reassures you, raising his camera once more. “C’mon, work the camera, pretty.” 

Smiling for pictures comes easy when it’s Joshua behind the camera. 

He hums contently as he studies the photos. “Perfect.” Offering you his arm, Joshua escorts you into the venue. 

Neither one of you comments on the multiple compliments the two of you received throughout the event. How every single person that walked up to you mentioned how perfect he looked by your side. 

The sky is dark and crying by the time you’re ready to leave. 

Joshua holds his coat over your head, careful not to disturb the delicate headpiece sitting in your hair. You watch him study the pouring rain, as if calculating the best way to deliver you to the car. 

“I’m going to have to carry you.” He ultimately decides.

You gape at the suggestion. “What?”

He shrugs, pointing down at your feet and the diamond encrusted heels adorning them. “Neither one of us can afford your shoes getting soaked in the rain— what are those? A billion dollars as footwear?”

He swings you into his arms effortlessly and begins the trek. 

Rain hits his back as he carries you to the car, his hair sticking to his forehead as he blinks rainwater out from his eyes. You can’t help but stare and appreciate the moment for what it is. 

“Thank you, Joshua.” You whisper, as he gently sets you into the passenger seat of your van. 

He shoots you a bright smile. “Anytime. Fasten your seatbelt, princess.” He slides into the driver’s seat, reaching over to fix the tiara sitting in your hair. 

Your stomach flips. Fuckkk. 

y/n violet l/n and her prince-in-waiting spotted in a fairytale moment after gala. 

The headlines are everywhere in the morning. 

“People think we’re together, they’re calling it some fairytale romance come to life.” Your eyes read the comments left by fans faster than your brain can comprehend them. “Are you seeing this?”

You look up to see Joshua staring blankly at his phone. 

“Joshua!” You nudge him from his stupor. “The masses think we’re in love. Do something about it!” 

He blinks. “Like what?”

“I don’t know? You’re the social media guy, don’t you guys have some kind of handbook for situations like this? Release a statement or something–” You point an accusatory finger his way. “I told you carrying me like that last night was a bad idea.” 

There’s a shit eating expression on his face that you urge to smack away. “And what if we don’t?” He tests the waters. Hook, line–

“What?”

“What if we don’t release a statement?” 

“People think we’re in love.” 

“So? Maybe they're right.”

 And…sinker. His heart threatens to jump out of his ass. 

No one had more effectively rendered you silent than Joshua had right now. “I- what?” 

Joshua stares at you for a count of three. The bravery that had overtaken him a few seconds ago was gone now, and he was trying to muster up the courage to say something– anything. 

The first two notes of Bruno Mars’s Just The Way You Are starts playing and Joshua flushes, grabbing his phone to answer the call. “Hello?” 

Jihoon’s voice crackles to life. “You know you need to report this type of shit to me, right? Your HR department? Now– I would recommend you to not date the actress you’re working for, but since that’s already been done–”

Joshua cuts him off. “What– no, we’re not dating.” He darts his eyes to look over at you. You’re pointedly avoiding eye contact. “It’s just internet gossip.” 

“Right.” 

Joshua wonders what kind of things Wonwoo was telling the rest of the department heads if Jihoon also sounded like he didn’t believe him. 

“Well, as long as you’re not dating.” Jihoon concludes the call. “Bye.” 

Joshua lowers the phone to look at you. 

The moment’s over. You both can feel it. 

y/n violet, looking ravishing on set, answers questions at Buzzfeed. 

You don’t see Joshua for the next two weeks. 

He’s still posting snippets from the press tour you and Jeonghan are currently on, busy promoting your new movie, but the man himself has gone radio silent. 

You imagine he’s regretting the last night the two of you had spent together. 

“So? Maybe they're right.” 

You find yourself spinning the conversation over and over in the back of your head, as you rehearse your answers for the next interview. You overanalyze it, again and again, until you can’t tell the difference between what actually happened and what you’ve created in your head. 

It’s the way he had so quickly shut down the idea of dating you to Jihoon that stuck with you the most. The tone. The swiftness of his words. The lack of hesitation. 

Your temporary assistant hands you your morning coffee, and you take a sip. It’s too strong, too murky, not nearly enough ice. 

You find yourself missing Joshua. You recount every little snide comment you had ever made at him and feel that wave of regret, over and over. 

But buried deep within that regret is embarrassment, and it reigns far superior. The little voice inside your head whispers seeds into your mind. He probably hates you now. You’ve been nothing but rude, and awful, and dismissive. 

Your phone buzzes to life, and you see his name on the caller ID. 

You feel like throwing up as you let it ring. 

Joshua stares at the video of your latest interview and lets out a heavy sigh. 

You’ve been dodging his calls. Joshua hates to say it, but he understands. A big time actress, being caught on social media and accused of dating her glorified butler. 

He doesn’t know what possessed him to keep calling you, but he does. Once before clocking in to work. Once clocking out. Once before bed. 

Soonyoung tells him it’s pathetic. It probably is. 

“You need to let her go, man.” Soonyoung tells him as they leave the office building. “Is she really worth all this groveling?” 

“She’s worth everything.” Joshua finds himself admitting. 

“Shit, bro.” Their marketing manager fixes him with sympathetic eyes. “You’re so cooked.” 

Joshua frowns. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Wonwoo made the whole marketing team take this seminar on the new internet codes.” Soonyoung slaps him on the back. “If she’s worth that much to you, then show her.” 

“How? She won’t even pick up my calls. And our schedules barely line up anymore.” 

Soonyoung dangles his phone between his fingertips. “You’re the social media guy, right?” 

There’s a wicked spark behind those eyes. Fuck. 

y/n violet’s prince-in-waiting steps into the spotlight: is this love or just workplace loyalty?

You’re somewhere in Singapore getting ready for another interview when Jeonghan breaks into your trailer with a manic smile on his face. “Look at this article that just came out.” He thrusts his phone into your face. 

You blink at the headline. “What–”

“Your prince-in-waiting just blew up the whole internet.” 

You blitz through the article in record speed, catching snippets and quotes from Joshua. 

Working for her was a nightmare. Violet’s spoiled, high-maintenance, an all around princess. 

You push his phone away. “I don’t want to read all that.” 

Jeonghan groans. “Don’t just glance at it, read it. Like actually.” 

Working for her was a nightmare– I was forced to confront the reality that I wasn’t just doing all of it for the paycheck, I was doing it for her. 

Violet’s spoiled, high-maintenance, an all around princess– but that was okay. I didn’t mind it. I liked maintaining her. 

And finally, the last quote in the article. 

“I suppose when you spend that much time staring at one person’s photos… falling a bit in love with them is inevitable.” 

You blink. “Ava?” 

Your temporary assistant raises her head. “Yes?” 

“I need you to get Mr. Hong on the next flight over here.” 

y/n violet takes movie premiere by storm– bringing her prince-in-waiting as her plus one. 

Despite all that has changed in your relationship with Joshua, these events still remain the same.

He still gets on his knees to take the perfect pictures of you in your dress. He still brings you drinks whenever he notices you’re parched. Still carries your heels for you when your feet start aching on the way home.

Yet some things have changed: like the fact that his hand is now placed possessively on your waist as he navigates the crowd with you next to him. 

“I still don’t like that guy.” He mutters into your ear as you both say goodbye to Jeonghan and his date. 

You laugh. “He’s just Jeonghan.” 

“He’s kissed you.” He hisses, fixing your necklace so it sits perfectly on your collarbone. “And we both know he was cuddling up to you on set just to piss me off.” 

“Maybe.” You admit. “But that’s just Jeonghan.” 

“Whatever.” Joshua throws one last dirty look at the actor before fixing you with loving eyes. “You’re mine now, anyways. Right?” 

You scrunch your nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know, social media boy?” 

He pinches your hip in retaliation. 

The banter still comes easy. And you’re pleased to find out that loving him comes just as easy too. 

[dresshistorynerd]

Overview of Rococo Fashion

I mentioned in a post three god damn years ago I was writing this, but in my defense 1700s was a hell of a century.

18th century was a weird and interesting period of western fashion. It was a time of extreme inequality in Europe and even more extreme exploitation of the rest of the world through massive colonial expansion. Fashion became also extreme. The wealth amassed by the elite translated into diverse styles and complicated dress codes which required multiple changes in clothing thorough a day. Imperialism also meant increasing centralization of power and authoritarianism. In fashion this led to interesting dynamic, where the courts, trying to control the increasingly rich and powerful elite, set restrictive and archaic dress codes, while the aristocrats continued to experiment with new fashions in their casual styles. The cultural capital shifted from formal court events to the casual gatherings among the fashionable aristocrats. Salon parties, picnics, morning gatherings and even dressing up became important social events.

All of this makes the fashion of the period very hard to grasp. I have yet to find any good overview of it. So after trying to figure out this period for a long while now, I will attempt to give my own overview. Like any even remotely succinct overview, it will be incomplete. I'll focus on the high society women's fashion and the two central players in the fashion of this period, France and Britain. I define this fashion period (which is really late Baroque plus Rococo) as starting from the rise of mantua in 1680s and ending to the French Revolution in 1789, but this post will only cover the fashion up to roughly 1770. Things changed a lot during the 1770s in France especially (which was the fashion capital) and numerous new types of fashionable gowns popped up, so this would be way too long (more than it is already) and it's a natural place to split this. (I will make a second part to this but no promises on doing it quickly.) The different types of gowns were used for different purposes and often evolved fairly separately from the other types of gowns, so I will structure this around them. This approach was the only one that made sense to me so I hope it makes sense to you too. I won't go through every single type of gown, since there's too many. For example I will skip all the numerous short gowns and jackets, which were always common informal wear, and I'm focusing less on different types of negligé. Just know they and others were there. I have split this in a very vibes based eras named after the most fashionable thing at the time.

Negligé, dishabillé, half dress and full dress

But first, to understand the fashion of 18th century, we need to first understand the social life of the high society and it's dress codes. The highest level of formality was expected in court, and courts set their own dress code, which needed to be complied with. It functioned as a sort of invitation pass as court was theoretically open, but you needed to wear extremely expensive clothing to get in. Outside court the most formal events were formal balls, in which full dress (formal dress) was used. Full dresses followed fashion and were quicker to change than the court's dress code, so they weren't necessarily the same as court dresses. Less formal events were things like private dinner parties. In those half dress (semi-formal dress) was used. Then there were informal social events, like tea parties, picnics and salon gatherings, where dishabillé could be used. Dishabillé means undress, and while from modern perspective they were fully dressed, at the time it meant a type of informal dress that was used inside the home, but which was not too casual to be improper outside home either. Dishabillé was also used when otherwise going outside, not to an event, but for example visiting a friend or a relative.

At home dishabillé could be used for example to have dinner with family. Dishabillé negligé was an even more informal dress and not used outside home, except for perhaps a private morning walk. Usually it was used in the morning, but could be used till dinner on a quiet day. It could be used to receive guests or sometimes for receiving the small intimate gatherings too. It would be used with stays (could be lightly boned or worn loosely) or jumps and petticoat. Negligé was the most casual wear which was not literally underwear. Negligé was worn over the night chemise, sometimes with minimal structural garments. Negligé was used inside bedchambers or dressing room (usually the same). In the 18th century toilette, dressing up for the day, had become a very intimate social event. The upper class hair especially took quite a while to powder and put up fashionably, so while they were being dressed by the servants, they might just as well receive close friends, family members or even lovers. Sometimes women might receive close friends also when reclining in bed in their negligé.

Only court dress had explicit rules and even those were not always followed, so what was considered full dress, half dress, dishabillé or negligé was not very strict. So when I mention later what type of gown was considered to fit what sort of dress code at different points in time, these are not hard rules and people did bend them based on their taste and even politics. Some day I'll want to go deeper into this and go through some of my research of paintings and fashion plates.

1680s-1710s: The Mantua Era

Mantua gained it's start in 1670s, but became broadly fashionable in 1680s, so that's where I'll properly start. At the start of 17th century first colonial trading companies, the Dutch and the British East Indian Companies, were created and through the century they had been establishing trading posts in Asia. As the century progressed they became increasingly aggressive in their competition over the trade leading to Anglo-Dutch wars. It lead to a race to extend colonial control over the local authorities and in 1680s the British East Indian Company colonized Indian subcontinent. Increasingly available Asian luxury products led to a fascination with Asia. This fascination became justification for colonialism in the form of Orientalism. Orientalism constructs an Orient, which is fetishized, mystical, primitive and barbaric at the same time, to dehumanize colonized people and justify their subjugation. It became a very significant force in the fashion of whole 18th century.

The rigid or stiff-bodied gown

Also known as rode de cour and grand habit in France. Most of the 17th century the basic garment in women's fashion was the structured bodies and a skirt, either attached together or separate as was the case increasingly towards the end of the century. Bodies were heavily structured with boning and the primary structural layer and were used as both outer and under garment. In formal occasions the gown had rigid bodies which could be separate from the skirt but always matching. When mantua became the fashionable dishabillé in 1680s, the more formal gown started to be called rigid or stiff-bodied gown. The new silhouette was conical and stiffer. The skirt had a long trail and was open at the front and pulled to back to expose the usually contrasting petticoat. Later, especially for full dress, petticoat would usually be matching. The petticoat was also fairly conical, narrow and stiff, not full and flowing like in the mid century. It was a sort of return to the Elizabethan aesthetics of mid and late 16th century England and France after the fuller and softer aesthetics of the height of Baroque.

French fashion plate from 1683. Detail from c. 1715-1720 painting "Madame de Ventadour with Louis XIV and his Heirs".

Robe de chambre

Also called wrapper, dressing gown and nightgown. Robe de chambre became the fashionable negligee in late 1600s following the style of men's informal robe, banyan, which had become fashionable in the mid century. Banyan was of Orientalist origin and imitated Japanese kimonos. Banyan name came from Hindu merchants and was also called the Indian nightgown in Britain. In the eyes of Orientalism the whole continent of Asia (and North Africa) were all interchangeable. Banyan represented intellectualism and open-mindedness, connecting to the view that "the Orient" possessed "ancient mystic wisdom", which in the hands of the "Rational Western Man" could be turned into intellectual enlightenment. For example philosophers and intellectuals often got their portraits in banyan. Robe de chambre was like banyan, a long loose gown of rich (often imported) material. As it became more fashionable and more richly made, it graduated to dishabillé negligé. As negligé it was often worn over a night shift, when getting dressed, but as dishabillé negligé it was worn over stays and petticoat. Then it was often belted at the waist to give definition to the silhouette. It could be closed, hiding the stays and petticoat, or they could be left visible, in which case they needed to be fashionable as well. The stays evolved from the undergarment bodies and therefore weren't considered strictly undergarment, like the later corset.

Robe de chambre or dressing gown continued to be used as negligé and dishabillé negligé thorough the century only changing a little (for example in patterns and sleeve shapes) with fashions.

French fashion plate from 1685. French fashion plate from 1695.

Mantua

During 1670s increasingly formal forms of robe de chambre emerged and started to be worn as dishabillé. In addition to being belted, this robe was paired with a fashionable petticoat and the skirt was tied back like the formal rigid gowns to follow the fashionable silhouette and that way making it more formal. It became a new type of dress, mantua. Robe de chambre continued to be used as dishabillé negligé. Mantua was basically constructed the exact same way as robe de chambre, only really differing by having a long train. Early mantuas in 1680s and before were pinned closed at the front to create a sort of closed bodice mimicking rigid gowns. By 1690s though the bodice would be usually left open in a v and a stomacher in contrasting colour would be attached to the stays to cover them or stays of contrasting color from fashionable fabrics were used, usually for more casual cases. By the end of 17th century the petticoat was usually made from the same fabric as mantua, but the stomacher was still often from contrasting fabric. Around that time mantua also graduated to half dress. It was still worn in less elaborate forms as dishabillé though.

Mantua's success arguably laid in it's adaptability. It was loose, simple in cut and didn't need tailoring, so it was quite easy and cheep to make, while it could still be fitted to the fashionable silhouette with pins and belts. This made it very easy to fit comfortably to the changes in body and to other people with different bodies. It could even be fitted to new silhouettes just by changing the structural under garments. The quick and cheap construction also made it possible for rich upper class women to gain very large wardrobe and therefore develop the very complicated dress codes the 18th century would be known for.

British woolen extant mantua from late 17th century (probably around 1680s). French portrait of Anne de Souvré from 1693.

1720s-1730s: The Robe Volante Era

Rococo style started dominating the arts, especially in France, but would influence the whole western world. In fashion it meant brighter colours, lighter and fuller fabrics and lusher details. Because of the rivalry between the British and French empires, the English took a fairly oppositional stance on the very French Rococo style. This led to a gap between French and English fashions. French fashion leaned to the decadent opulence, while English fashion was more restrained and somber. Rococo was a decorational style related to the broader Classicism, and the English fashion leaned more towards "pure" Classicism.

Rigid gown

By 1720s mantua had firmly usurped rigid gown as the fashionable full dress. However, the courts still clinged to the traditional rigid gowns, even though by that point it was clear mantua had come to stay. The roundness had come back to the skirts to display the fullness of the fabrics. The skirt had started growing again in the beginning of the century and hooped petticoats had started to enter back into the wider fashion after almost a century, probably again from Spain, where they had stayed as the stable of court fashion through the whole 17th century. It kept growing through 1730s into massive round cake-like proportions. The sleeves had barely changed at all from previous decades.

Portrait of Maria Lescynska, Queen of France, from 1726. Portrait of Princess Amelia of Great Britain from 1728.

Mantua

As mentioned, mantua had became the full dress. Less elaborate mantua was still also used as half dress, but the dishabillé versions had been usurped by new types of gowns. The formal mantuas had increasingly their pleats stitched to create more fitted appearance. Skirts of the formal mantuas changed along rigid gowns. Hoops (or that large hoop skirts) weren't necessarily used with half dress.

British extant mantua from 1735-1740. Detail from French painting "Adélaïde de Gueidan and her sister at the harpsichord" from 1735-1740.

Robe volante

As mantua was turned into increasingly elaborate and formal gown, a new less formal version was developed from it. Or rather it also developed from a dressing gown as a slightly more formal version like mantua had before it. Robe volante or battante was unbelted mantua. It was closed at the front (usually stitched or closed with buttons) often leaving a similar v as mantua to reveal a stomacher, but sometimes closed so far it mostly covered the stays. It was pleated at the back, but the pleats were left loose, which was called sack back. Overall it was very loose flowing dress and combined with a large skirt the effect, especially when sitting, was like drowning in an opulent sea of fine fabric. In France it became extremely popular first as dishabillé, but eventually it was used as half dress as well.

Today it might feel a little weird that this very covering and not at all formfitting garment was seen as quite indecent in public. But at the time structural garments, especially stays, which shaped the body and concealed it's natural form, was needed to be considered dressed at all. Loose unfitted garments were already associated with negligé, but then covering the fashionable form with a garment like that left it obscured weather they were even wearing stays. The reaction was basically "what if she's naked under her clothes????" This was also of course related to Orientalism. In many Asian and North-African cultures (especially Arab and many other Muslim cultures) women (and everyone else) wore loose covering gowns, and there was fetishistic fascination among Europeans about their "exotic beauty" under the clothes. Both of these associations fed each other. So young fashionable women were then sometimes suspected of promiscuity for wearing robe volante in public. Occasionally these accusations were justified by claiming they could be hiding an extra-marital pregnancy under the loose garment, even though that seems quite impractical.

French extant robe volante from c. 1730. English portrait of Mrs. Elizabeth Symonds from 1740.

English gown

The English upper society, being more prudish and restrained, made their own version of robe volante. It was otherwise basically the same, but the pleats in front and back were pinned like in mantua. Since the skirt portion was closed at the front it was basically round gown. Sometimes belt was also used, or an apron. The v opening on the bodice usually had ribbons, sometimes pleating, to keep the robe in place. This English version was much more toned down than robe volante. It was usually made of plain single color fabric and white neckerchief stuffed under the ribbons of the v-opening or plain, often white, stomacher. There were a little more showy versions of it with elaborate patterned fabrics. For finer dishabillé round gowns the pleats were sometimes stitched to their place like mantua's pleats started to be stitched. The English did still use robe volante, but it seem to have stayed more in the dishabillé negligé (or at most dishabillé) category, while the English version of it was used as dishabillé and half dress.

British extant gown from c. 1725. Detail from British painting "Wedding of Stephen Beckingham and Mary Cox" from 1729.

English nightgown

In 1730s another version of the English gown became popular, it was basically the same, but the skirt was open at the front to reveal simple, often quilted, contrasting petticoat. The terminology is hard to pin down often in this period, but I think this version of the English gown specifically was called nightgown. It was basically robe de chambre, but pinned and belted like the other English gown. It seems to have started as the new dishabillé negligé as round gown was increasingly used as dishabillé, but it would quickly increase in formality.

The English gowns with stiched down pleasts in the back as well, possibly both type of English gowns, came to be known as robe á l'anglaise in France.

British painting "Portrait of a Woman Seated beside a Table" from 1730s. French painting "Le lecturer" from 1725-1750.

1740s-1760s: The Robe á la Française Era

This is the peak Rococo fashion era and is usually what people think when they think of 18th century fashion. Extreme fashions became popular and the gap between the elite and the common people became even more apparent in fashion and in other areas of life. This was fertile ground for political upheaval, and revolutions in US, Latin America and France would follow. The extremes therefore, even in fashion, could not last very long.

Rigid gown

By 1740s rigid gown was well passed it's time as fashionable garment and supplanted from it's place as the court dress in Britain. In France though it continued to be the robe de cour in Louis XV's court till his death in 1774. Louis XV tried to keep control over his aristocracy, even though the center of high society had increasingly shifted to the salons of Paris out of Versailles. Robe de cour adapted to the new fashionable silhouette of the mid century - the extreme wide box-like skirt frame -, but continued to be otherwise very similar in style as earlier in the century.

Portrait of Marie Leszczyńska, Queen of France, from 1747. Portrait of Princess Henriette of France from 1754.

Mantua

The British court had less authoritarian power than the French counterpart, but it was just as conservative, so when it finally accepted mantua as the formal court dress, it was already going out of fashion. From 1740s onward mantua was relegated to court gown. Like the French robe de cour, it also adapted the new fashionable boxy wideness.

British extant court mantua from c. 1750. British painting of David Garrick and Hannah Pritchard from 1752.

Robe á la française

Robe á la française, or the French gown or saque or sack or sack-back gown, replaced robe Volante as the fashionable deshabillé and half dress. Despite it's name, it may have gained it's beginning in Britain in a roundabout way. English gown was a more fitted and conservative version of robe volante, but early in 1740s, when robe á la française had not yet gained popularity, a new English version of robe volante became popularised in Britain. Like in English gown the pleats on the front were fitted, however, the pleats on the back were left unfitted and hence it became a sack-back gown. I'm not sure which came first, the robe á la française in France, which had fitted pleats on the front of the bodice, sack-back and was open at the front, or the English version, which only difference was closed front. I suspect the latter, since I have found more early examples of the closed English version, and it's sort of transitional link between robe volante and robe á la française, and I haven't found any French examples of the closed variety.

Regardless, early on robe á la française was a relatively simple, but it quickly went from dishabillé and half dress to half dress and full dress, making mantua obsolete outside the English court. In 1750s it had become the default formal wear outside courts in both France and Britain and grew increasingly opulent. The sleeves also turned more fitted, while the cuffs grew and gained more layers of ruff and lace.

British portrait of Mrs. Wardle from 1742. French extant gown from c. 1755-1760.

English gown

The open English gown was also adopted by the French as dishabillé and increasingly as robe á la française grew in formality, as half dress, like it was used in Britain as well, though it was more popular in Britain. It followed the same trends too, especially in it's half dress form. Dishabillé version of the garment continued to be quite simple, worn with less structuring and otherwise too quite similar as they were earlier in the century.

Portrait of Sarah Lascelles from 1749. British extant gown from 1770-1775.

Round gown

Closed versions of the English gown were called round gown. It was possibly always called that, but as said multiple times, the terminology of this period is unclear. They stayed fairly similar as they had been since 1720s and didn't really gain popularity in France. I have not seen examples of this early type of round gown from France. The open English gown seemed to have become the more formal version and examples of round gown from 1740s and 1750s seem to be more dishabillé than half dress. Round gown in this form fell out of fashion around 1760, which gets us to the last garment we'll cover in this post.

Portrait of Mrs Iremonger of Wherwell Priory from 1745. British extant garment from 1760-1775.

Close bodied gown

Close bodied gown basically replaced round gown. The unclear terminology makes this especially hard to parse out. It seems to me that after the early version of round gown (open bodice, closed skirt) was replaced with close bodied gown (closed bodice, closed skirt), that was then called round gown as well. The trouble is that close bodied gowns existed alongside round gowns, and not all close bodied gowns even had closed skirt (this applies later as well and I'm not sure weather they were separated in terminology or were both called round gown). Close bodied gowns in fact existed basically during the whole century, but earlier they were used only by underage girls. Main difference to these earlier girl's dresses was that they were closed at the back, while the later close bodied gowns worn by adult women were closed at the front. Some of the close bodied gowns are however constructed similarly to girls' dresses, where the bodice and the skirt are cut fully separately from simple cuts, only difference being the opening is at the center front instead of center back. The close bodied gown, which clearly evolved from the English gown, instead has the distinctive pleated back seams of English gowns. Early gowns like this were clearly constructed as basically the same as the English gown, but the front was not pleated open into a v-shape, instead it was closed over the stays. This close bodied version of round gown would later become very popular casual garment everywhere among all classes and would eventually come to define the Regency fashion which followed after the French Revolution.

British extant garment from c. 1750. Portrait of Anna Dorothean Finney from 1758.

Sources

Patterns of Fashion 1, Janet Arnold

Faction and Fashion: The Politics of Court Dress in Eighteenth-Century England, Hannah Greig

5 Facts About Fashionable, Morning and Domestic Apparel in 18th Century France - MoMu Antwerp (based on a book "Living Fashion: Women’s Daily Wear 1750–1950 from the Jacoba de Jonge Collection" but I couldn't get my hands on the book)

Women's clothing and accessories - 18th Century Notebook

[cavegirlpoems]

So many TTRPG people, like yourself, seem to exist in a world where players don't actually enjoy the campaigns they're in, and don't actually like playing with the people they play with, and your whole approach to game mechanics seems like it's about trying to bribe these people to continue playing at a given table.

i have no idea where you get this idea from, I play a bunch of different games - including freeform text rp, fest larps, parlour larps, regular tabletop campaigns, longform play-by-post games and narrative wargames - and I have a lot of fun doing it. I wouldn't be a game designer if I didn't actually enjoy games. The thing is, if you study game design and ttrpg theory seriously, you think about the intent behind design decisions. Game design doesn't just happen by accident, the designer put a given rule in for a reason. So, you ask yourself why the designer made the game the way it did, and what they were trying to achieve.

A significant tool for game design is considering the feedback the game provides; what behaviours that ruleset rewards and what it discourages. (You can apply this analysis to other games, too, like video games). When I'm talking about a bribe, it's in that context; how does the game reward you for doing things, and what things does it reward. (For example, 'scrabble' rewards you for playing words with weird letters in them by making those letters worth more points.)

The thing is, ultimately, every game relies on a simple proposition; that if you volunterily use its rules, you will have fun. You don't need to follow the rules, and you can have fun without them, but the idea is that using the rules will let you have more fun, or a different type of fun, than if you didn't. (For example, throwing a ball around is a bit fun, but if everybody agrees to follow the rules of basketball, you get a different experience that a lot of people prefer). So, the only bribe you're making on the interpersonal, out-out-of-game level (unless something weird is going on) is "if we play this game it will be fun". When I talk about bribes and incentives, it's *inside* the game, after we've all agreed to the game's proposition of "if you use the rules, you will have fun".

Now, what counts as an incentive varies by game. Some, like Warhammer 40k, are challenge-based, and have ways to keep score of success and victory; here, things that signify overcoming the challenge are your incentives; how you get a high score, how you win, etc. Others, like most ttrpgs, are creative-based. What constitutes an incentive within the game's structure is less precisely defined. By and large, though, these incentives tend to be things like increased agency within the game fiction, space for creative expression, and experiencing and learning about more of the game fiction. (In this structure, 'being more mechanically powerful' can be thought of as a way of granting a player more agency, because their actions are more likely to succeed and result in the outcomes that they want. If the mechanical growth is lateral as well as vertical, then how to get more powerful is - itself - a venue for creative expression in what to prioritise, which is also a reward).

In the same way that you have the adage that 'restrictions breed creativity', the same goes for Fun. Limiting your scope from anything-goes freeform by voluntarily agreeing to use a set of game rules can produce similar results. Voluntarily limiting your agency in the fiction according to a set of game rules produces a friction that players of roleplaying games find enjoyable to push against. In this context, a reward structure within a game serves the useful purpose of signposting which direction you should push to get the fun kind of friction. A game which limits your options, and then gives you more options when you engage with certain behaviours, is telling you that those are the intended behaviours. Likewise, a game that limits your options even further when you do something is encouraging you not to do that. This is because game designs are not neutral and universal, they exist to create specific experiences. A game that rewards you by giving you more space for creative expression when you get in a fight - and gives you less space for creative expression when you avoid violence - is one that wants you to engage in violence, because it's designed to be a game where you have fun by fighting. This isn't bribing the players to sit down at the table and play the game; that has already happened outside the context of the game. They have already agreed to the game's offer of 'if you use these rules, you will have fun'. Rather, this bribing is within the game-space, the games mechanics encouraging the players to engage with it as intended, in the way that will be most fun. IE: these incentive structures are a tool the game uses to achieve the promise it makes; they guide the players towards the fun that they volunteered to have. Hope that makes sense. * * * Now, your initial ask is a weird take that's entirely unrelated to anything I've posted, and - particularly from an anon account- oddly antagonistic. I don't know if you're genuinely confused about game design, or arguing in bad faith. Either way, this probably doesn't merit the small essay I've produced, but have one anyway, it's always fun to clarify my ideas in written form.

[scarletwinterxx]

magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 1/2

buckle up bcs this is going to be a long one, i tried i really did i tried my best writing as much angst as i can. i'm not the best in that genre but i think i like how it turned out... i tried my best to put into words the scenes I had in my head. i needed to make this in 2 parts since it won't let me post all at once😅 so yes THERE WILL BE A SECOND HALF

tbh out of all the stories i wrote here, this one has the most 'me' in it. sad if you realize why i say that but yea😅 in my mind, cheol is the type of man whose love isn't consuming, it just makes everything better, easier, a little less terrifying bcs no matter what you can count on him to be there with you. i guess that's what make me love this story even more. hope you do too!

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve heard it all before. You're too picky. Your standards are unrealistic. Men aren’t that bad.

Lies. All of it.

Men are that bad. They lack common sense, can’t read between the lines, and somehow think saying "you’re not like other girls" is a compliment. You’ve dodged so many disastrous setups that your friends have given up entirely, dubbing you "The Man Hater." 

Until a certain someone crossed paths with you. 

It happens on a regular Friday night. Your group is at some bar Mingyu insisted on checking out, and you're barely listening to Jeonghan talk about his latest situationship when you see him.

Seungcheol walks in like he owns the place. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and a presence that makes women glance up instinctively. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s in a plain black tee, jeans that fit just right, and a watch that looks like it costs more than your rent. The kicker? He doesn’t even try to look hot. He just is.

"Who is that?" you ask, cutting off Jeonghan mid-sentence.

Your friends freeze "Did you just…" Jeonghan starts.

"Who," you repeat, your voice dangerously close to sounding interested, "is that?"

Mingyu, still coughing, thumps his chest. "Choi Seungcheol," he wheezes. "Why?"

"He’s hot," you declare, because there’s no point in denying the undeniable.

"You hate men," Irene reminds you, like you’ve somehow forgotten

"I hate most men," you correct. "That one? I want him."

Jeonghan bursts into laughter. "This is the best night of my life."

You ignore them because Seungcheol is making his way to the bar, completely unaware of the chaos he’s caused. You watch, entranced, as he leans against the counter. When the bartender hands him a drink, he nods in thanks. Polite, effortless. Not once does he scan the crowd for attention like most men do. He knows he has it.

Mingyu, having finally recovered, shakes his head. "No way. Seungcheol turns down everyone."

"Not for long," you murmur, already formulating a plan.

Jihyo narrows her eyes. "Oh my God. You’re serious. You’re actually serious."

"I am."

Irene stares at you, then at Seungcheol. "I give you five minutes before he shuts you down."

"Three," Mingyu corrects.

"Ten," Jeonghan bets

"Have some faith," you scoff, already standing up. "Watch and learn, peasants."

You stride towards the bar, heart hammering, but determination stronger. It’s been years since you’ve been genuinely interested in someone. You’ll be damned if you let this moment pass.

Seungcheol notices you as you approach, and when your eyes meet, he tilts his head slightly curious but unreadable. Up close, he’s even better. You swallow.

Then, with all the confidence in the world, you slide onto the stool next to him before speaking

"So, do we skip the small talk, or do I have to pretend I don’t already want you?"

Seungcheol blinks. Then, he laughs. low, rich, interested and just like that, the game begins. He turns fully to face you, one elbow resting on the bar, drink held loosely in his hand. His gaze flickers over you—assessing, but not in that sleazy way men do when they think they have the upper hand. No, this is different. 

He’s curious.

"That’s a bold opener," he muses, taking a sip of his drink.

You smirk. "I don’t do weak ones."

He hums, seemingly unfazed, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. "And what exactly do you already want from me?"

Your fingers drum against the bar as you lean in slightly, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, then he sets his drink down with a quiet clink and exhales a small chuckle. "You’re not like the others."

"God, please tell me that’s not your usual line," you tease.

His grin widens. "No. Usually, I don’t even entertain conversations."

"Tragic," you say dryly. "You’ve been missing out."

His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, and you swear you see a flicker of actual interest settle in his expression. Then, suddenly, he shifts gears.

"You came over here with a plan," he states, amusement laced in his voice. "Go ahead. Impress me."

Oh, he’s fun. You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Alright. First, we exchange names not because I don’t already know yours, but because manners are important."

Seungcheol chuckles, but he plays along. "Choi Seungcheol."

You extend a hand. "Nice to meet you, Seungcheol" you say his name, telling him yours also

"I know who you are." That throws you off for exactly half a second, and you hate how much you like hearing him say your name. 

"Oh? And how exactly did you hear about me?"

"I have ears," he shrugs. "And friends who talk too much." he looks behind you. You glance back at your table, where your friends are openly staring.

"They bet against you, didn’t they?"

"Obviously." you scowl then turn to look at him again

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," you echo, matching his smirk.

He looks at you for a moment longer, as if weighing his next move. Then, he leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Alright. You’ve got my attention. Now what?"

You don’t get flustered easily. You’ve shut down men with nothing but a raised brow and a well-placed bless your heart more times than you can count. But there’s something about the way Seungcheol leans in, watching you with that amused little smirk, that makes your pulse trip over itself.

"That depends. Are you going to buy me a drink, or am I going to have to suffer through this conversation sober?"

His smirk turns into a full grin, slow and devastating. "So demanding."

"I don’t waste time," you quip

He chuckles, a deep, satisfied sound, before signaling to the bartender. "Get her whatever she wants," he tells them, then glances back at you. "And if you say something ridiculous, I’m judging you."

"Wow," you scoff, placing a hand over your heart. "You don’t even know my order, and you’re already prepared to be disappointed? You really are different."

Seungcheol snorts. "Just don’t tell me it’s some overly complicated drink with eight different ingredients."

You hum, making a show of considering his words before turning to the bartender. "A whiskey sour."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Not bad."

"Did you think I was going to order an appletini?"

"Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you."

You laugh, shaking your head as the bartender hands you your drink. You take a sip, enjoying the slight tang, then tilt the glass in his direction. "See? No judgment necessary."

"I’ll admit, I’m a little relieved," he teases, taking a sip of his own drink.

You narrow your eyes playfully. "So, is this your thing?"

"My thing?"

"Buying girls drinks, making them feel special, then walking away like a mysterious, unattainable dream?"

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. "Not really. Like I said, I usually don’t entertain conversations."

"But you’re entertaining this one."

He tilts his glass toward you in a silent toast. "I am."

You clink your glass against his, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. "I must be special, then."

Seungcheol watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze just a little darker now. "You must be."

You linger at the bar with Seungcheol for a few more moments, exchanging teasing remarks and sidelong glances, but eventually, you decide to leave while you're ahead.

"Well, this has been fun," you say, setting your now-empty glass on the counter.

Seungcheol tilts his head. "Leaving already?"

"What, you want me to stay?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "I wouldn’t mind."

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "Tempting… but I like to keep things interesting."

Before he can respond, you slide your arm across the bar toward him, palm up. His brows raise slightly, but he doesn’t hesitate. He picks up a pen left behind by the bartender and, with deliberate strokes, scrawls his number across your forearm.

When he finishes, he caps the pen, meeting your gaze with a knowing smirk. "Your move."

You glance at the numbers, then back at him. "We’ll see." Then, without another word, you turn on your heel and walk back to your table.

As expected, your friends are staring. The moment you reach the table, Jihyo blurts, "What happened?!"

You take your seat, completely unbothered, and casually extend your arm, showing off the ink on your skin. Silence.

Then

"WHAT THE—?!" Mingyu practically screeches, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. “Wait, wait. So, you—the man hater—just casually waltzed over there, flirted with Choi Seungcheol, and now you have his number?"

"Looks like it." You examine your arm with a smug smile.

Jihyo grips your wrist, eyes darting over the digits. "So? Are you texting him? Calling? When’s the wedding?"

You shrug, retracting your arm. "I’m not texting him."

Jihyo looks betrayed. "Why the hell not?!"

"Where’s the fun in that?" You take a slow sip of your drink. "Let’s see if he texts first."

Jeonghan looks at you before the evil smile shows on his face, “You didn’t give him your number, didn’t you?”

“Nope”

Jeonghan leans forward. "Oh, you’re evil."

You don’t text him that night. Or the next. His number, which you took time to save on your phone, remains stagnant on your contact list. 

You’re lounging on your couch, half-listening to a true crime documentary, when your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. You stare at it for a second, debating whether to answer, before sighing and picking up.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"Was this your plan all along?"

You freeze. That voice is unmistakable. Leaning back against the cushions, you fight the smirk threatening to form. "Choi Seungcheol."

"You remember my name. Good to know," he deadpans.

You hum, inspecting your nails. "You sound a little… frustrated."

"I had to track down your friends just to get your number," he says, and you can hear the irritation laced with amusement. "Do you know how annoying that was?"

You bite back a laugh. "Who caved?"

"Mingyu. He held out for, like, ten seconds."

You laugh, imagining the exact moment Seungcheol probably cornered Mingyu, all intimidating and brooding, while your friend fumbled immediately.

"So," Seungcheol continues, "tell me, was this some elaborate game? Give me your number, wait for me to text, then just ghost me?"

"I didn’t ghost you. I just never texted in the first place."

"Exactly."

You grin, stretching out lazily. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d chase."

A pause. Then, in a tone far too smug for your liking "So you like being chased?"

Your stomach does a stupid little flip, but you refuse to let him know that. "I like seeing who puts in effort," you reply smoothly.

"And? Impressed yet?"

"You’re getting there," you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. "Good. Then meet me for dinner."

You blink. "What?"

"Dinner," he repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, a meal? Where two people sit down, talk, and eat?"

"I know what dinner is," you snort. "I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward."

"You made me hunt you down," he says. "You don’t get to act surprised." Okay. Fair.

"Alright, then," you say, biting your lip to contain your grin. "Pick me up at eight."

And just like that, Choi Seungcheol is taking you to dinner. And at exactly 7:59, your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol: I’m outside.

You glance at the time and snort. Of course, he’s punctual.

Grabbing your purse, you take one last look in the mirror before heading out. As soon as you step outside, you spot Seungcheol leaning casually against his car. A sleek, black beauty that looks just as effortlessly expensive as he does.

His eyes sweep over you as you approach, and he smirks. "You clean up nice."

You arch a brow. "I always look nice."

"Cocky."

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he glances at you. "Comfortable?"

You hum, running a hand over the buttery leather seats. "Not bad. I guess your car is alright."

Seungcheol scoffs. "You guess? This car is a masterpiece."

You grin. "I’m sure it’s great at making up for other shortcomings."

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls onto the road. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

"It’s a gift," you say sweetly.

He glances at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You really made me work for this date."

"You chased," you remind him.

"And you liked it."

You pretend to consider. "A little."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping."

You meet his gaze, and for once, you don’t have a witty comeback. Seungcheol pulls up to a sleek high-rise, handing his keys off to the valet like it’s second nature. You step out, glancing up at the towering building, the city lights reflecting off the glass.

You give him a sideways look. “Fancy.”

He smirks. The elevator ride is smooth and silent, except for the way Seungcheol occasionally glances at you. When the doors open, you step into a dimly lit, impossibly exclusive restaurant. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering skyline, the city sprawling below like something out of a movie.

A host greets you by name before leading you to a table near the window. You raise an eyebrow. “How did you even get a reservation here?”

Seungcheol just shrugs, sliding into his seat. “I have my ways.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He leans back, studying you with that same amused smirk. “You like it?”

It’s stunning, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction just yet. “It’s alright.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The waiter arrives, and Seungcheol orders without even glancing at the menu. You squint at him. “You come here often?”

“Not really. Just know what’s good.”

“So, what, you bring all your dates here?”

Seungcheol sets down his glass, eyes locked onto yours. “No.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the first.”

Your stomach does something stupid and traitorous, but you keep your expression cool. “Guess I should feel special.”

His lips quirk up. “You should.”

And damn it, for once, you do. As the waiter leaves, Seungcheol leans forward, swirling the dark liquid in his glass before giving you an all-too-amused look.

“So, I heard something interesting from Mingyu.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.” 

“Apparently, you have a reputation.”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Do I?”

Seungcheol smirks. “Something about being a ‘man hater,’ quote-unquote.”

You nearly choke. “Oh, for the love of—” You set your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I am not a man hater.”

He rests his chin on his hand, clearly entertained. “Mingyu made it sound pretty serious.”

You roll your eyes. “Mingyu is dramatic. I just—” You gesture vaguely. “—don’t waste my time with idiots.”

“So, most men are idiots?”

You sigh, giving him a pointed look. “Look, I just have high standards. That doesn’t make me a man hater.” You pick up your drink, muttering, “Mingyu talks too much.”

Seungcheol just laughs, looking way too pleased with himself. You lean back in your chair, twirling the stem of your wine glass between your fingers, watching him with a knowing smirk.

"You know," you start casually, "I heard something about you too."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You nod. "Apparently, you’re the guy who turns down women without a second thought."

He hums, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down. "Mingyu, again?"

"Maybe."

He smirks. "He really needs a hobby."

"Don’t change the subject," you tease, tilting your head. "So, is it true?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you for a moment, like he’s deciding how much to say. "Depends," he finally says.

"On what?"

"On what you think ‘true’ means."

You narrow your eyes. "That sounds like something a guy who’s absolutely guilty would say."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, I’m not some heartless bastard. I just don’t waste time on something I know won’t go anywhere."

You cross your arms. "And what exactly makes you so sure it won’t go anywhere?"

He shrugs, voice even. "You can tell when someone only wants you for the wrong reasons."

Something about the way he says it makes you pause. It’s not cocky. It’s just… matter-of-fact.

You watch him carefully. "So, what, they just like the idea of you?"

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "Something like that."

You hold his stare, and for a moment, the teasing dies down, replaced by something heavier. Something real. Then, because you refuse to let things get too serious too quickly, you click your tongue.

"Damn," you say, shaking your head. "And here I was thinking you were just playing hard to get."

Seungcheol laughs, the tension breaking. "And yet, you still showed up."

You grin. "Guess I like a challenge, too."

He lifts his glass toward you in a silent toast.

"Good," he murmurs, eyes dark with amusement. "I’d be disappointed if you didn’t."

The food was amazing, company even better. He’s funny without trying, you don’t think you laughed that much in a while. And a guy being the reason? A miracle truly. 

He’s driving you back home leaning back in the passenger seat, comfortably full from dinner, when his voice cuts through the quiet.

"So." His fingers drum lazily against the wheel. "Why didn’t you text me?"

You glance at him, feigning innocence. "Text you?"

He gives you a look. "You know. After that first night."

You smirk, tilting your head. "Ohhh, you mean when you wrote your number on my arm like some overconfident frat boy?"

Seungcheol scoffs, but his lips twitch. "I was being resourceful."

"Sure." You shrug. "Guess I just wasn’t in a rush."

He raises an eyebrow. "Weren’t interested?"

"I didn’t say that."

"Didn’t not say it either."

You chuckle. "Alright, fine. Maybe I just wanted to see how serious you were."

Seungcheol hums. "So, making me track down your friends and practically interrogate Mingyu was a test?"

You flash him a grin. "And you passed."

He glances at you, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I knew you were trouble."

"You knew," you agree, smirking. "And yet, here you are."

Seungcheol shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the way his lips curl up. "Yeah," he murmurs, like it’s more to himself than to you. "Here I am."

You don’t tell anyone about the dinner. Not because you’re trying to be secretive, but because there’s nothing to tell. At least, that’s what you tell yourself but the others notice something.

"You’re in a good mood," Jihyo says one afternoon, squinting at you suspiciously over her coffee.

You blink. "Am I not allowed to be?"

"You are," she says slowly. "It’s just unusual."

Mingyu chimes in from across the table. "Yeah, you haven’t made fun of me once today. It’s kinda weirding me out."

You roll your eyes. "You want me to insult you?"

"Lowkey, yeah."

Jeonghan, who’s been scrolling through his phone this whole time, suddenly looks up. "Wait. You are acting different."

Irene nods, narrowing her eyes. "Yeah. You’re… less murdery. "You know." She gestures vaguely. "Less I’ll kill a man if he looks at me the wrong way."

You groan. "You guys are so dramatic."

"Okay, so what happened?" Jihyo presses.

"Nothing."

Jeonghan smirks. "That means something." Four pairs of eyes immediately narrow at you.

"Who is it?" Jeonghan adds, grinning like a wolf. "Oh, wait—" His eyes gleam with mischief. "Who’s the poor bastard?"

You roll your eyes. "There is no bastard. Poor or otherwise."

"She’s deflecting," Jihyo announces.

Mingyu leans forward. "It’s Seungcheol, isn’t it?"

You don’t react. Not visibly but the millisecond of silence is enough. Jeonghan’s grin explodes.

"Ohhhh, no way." Mingyu screeches.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. You should’ve known. You deny, deny, deny until they finally give up, though not without a lot of suspicious side-eyes and unnecessary winks from Jeonghan.

By the time they stop prying, you think you’re in the clear.

That is, until Friday night.

It’s just supposed to be a normal night out—drinks, chaos, and Mingyu probably embarrassing himself at some point. The usual.

But then you see him.

Seungcheol.

And he’s not alone. You clock him the moment you step into the bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand, looking ridiculously good in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s mid-laugh, talking to someone. Looks like a close friend. 

You don’t react, keeping your expression neutral, but Jeonghan notices immediately.

"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?" he asks, following your gaze.

And because the universe is cruel, that’s the exact moment Seungcheol glances over and meets your eyes. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips.

Jeonghan watches it all happen. His eyes widen before he turns to you, grinning like the menace he is. "Oh. My. God."

Mingyu, of course, is oblivious. "Drinks first!" he announces, leading the group toward an open spot by the bar.

Irene and Jihyo follow easily, already deep in conversation, but you feel Jeonghan at your side. His eyes are glinting. You just know he’s about to be a problem.

"You know," he says casually, "for someone who ‘definitely did not go on a date with Seungcheol,’ you two sure looked like you have history."

You don’t even blink. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan snickers. "Right. And I’m a law-abiding citizen." You ignore him, signaling the bartender for a drink.

Everything is fine or at least it was until Seungcheol and his friend start making their way over. You don’t react. But you know Jeonghan notices the way you straighten up, the way your fingers tap once against the bar before going still.

His friend gets there first, smiling easily at the group. "Hey," he greets. "Didn’t know you guys were coming out tonight."

Mingyu perks up. "Joshua Hong! What’s up?" He claps Joshua's shoulder, immediately pulling him into conversation.

And that’s when he speaks.

"Small world, huh?"

You refuse to turn your head too fast, refuse to let your body react. Instead, you sip your drink first, then glance to the side. Seungcheol is looking at you like he knows something..

You raise an eyebrow. "Not really. Bars exist."

Mingyu, bless him, is still too caught up in talking to Joshua to notice the undercurrent of whatever is happening here. Irene and Jihyo are watching, though. They’re pretending to be casual, but you can feel their curiosity.

Seungcheol doesn’t drop it. He leans slightly closer, just enough for his voice to drop between the two of you. "You avoiding me?"

"Why would I do that?"

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Maybe because someone went on a date with me and then acted like it never happened."

Jeonghan is eating this up. He’s watching like it’s his favorite drama, sipping his drink with barely concealed glee.

You sip your drink again, unfazed. "Must not have been that memorable then."

Seungcheol laughs like, full-on laughs and somehow that’s worse than if he had been annoyed.

"Oh, this is fun," he murmurs, shaking his head.

"You need better hobbies," you reply dryly.

"You’re right. I should pick up dating mysterious, difficult women who don’t text back."

You glance at him. "So you’re saying I’m a challenge?"

He smirks. "I’m saying I like challenges."

Your lips curve, but you don’t let the smile take over. You turn back to your drink instead and just like that, the moment passes. Instead, he just slides into conversation with the rest of the group like nothing happened. Like he’s not already thinking about the next time he’ll get you alone.

The night goes on as if nothing happened. As if Seungcheol didn’t just throw you off balance with his ridiculous smirk and infuriatingly charming presence. But then, when Seungcheol and Joshua drift off to another part of the bar, Jihyo pounces.

"Okay, explain."

You feign ignorance, sipping your drink. "Explain what?"

Irene scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. You were literally just flirting with him."

You roll your eyes. "I was not."

"That was the most obvious non-flirting flirting I’ve ever seen," Jihyo insists. "And I’ve known Jeonghan for years."

Jeonghan smirks. "She’s right, you know."

Mingyu, now finally catching up, furrows his brows. "Wait. Are we talking about Seungcheol?"

"No, we’re talking about your ability to be dense," Irene says, exasperated

Jihyo leans in. "I thought you wanted him."

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I do."

She blinks. "Then what’s the problem?"

You sigh. "That’s the problem."

Mingyu looks confused. "Wait, I’m lost."

Irene pats his arm. "Sweetie, this is grown-up business." This makes Mingyu glare at him, jokingly pushing her sideways

Mingyu scowls. "I am grown!"

"You’re a puppy," Jeonghan corrects.

Meanwhile, Jihyo is still staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. "So you want him, but that’s the problem."

"Yes."

She stares harder. "You’re gonna have to give me more than that."

You huff, crossing your arms. "Look, it’s one thing to think a guy is hot. It’s another to actually want to do something about it. And it’s another thing entirely when that guy is Seungcheol."

Jeonghan hums. "Because he’s…?"

"Because he’s Seungcheol." You gesture vaguely. "Effortlessly hot. Stupidly charming. A literal menace who just gets whatever he wants without even trying."

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. "And that’s… bad?"

You exhale. "It’s bad because I don’t lose. And I will lose against him."

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jeonghan bursts out laughing.

"Oh, my God," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "This is amazing."

Mingyu blinks. "I still don’t get it."

Irene sighs, shaking her head. "She’s afraid he’s gonna wreck her life."

Mingyu tilts his head. "That’s dramatic."

Jihyo just smirks. "So what’s your plan?"

You sigh. "I don’t have one." And that? That’s the real problem.

It happens when you least expect it. One second, you’re at the bar with Jihyo, fending off yet another round of questioning. The next Seungcheol is there.

"Can I borrow her for a second?" he asks smoothly, voice just low enough that only you can hear the real intent behind it.

Jihyo raises a brow, eyes flickering between the two of you. You can practically hear her thoughts. But before she can say anything, Seungcheol’s hand finds yours then he’s pulling you away.

You follow, weaving through the crowd until he tugs you into a small corner of the bar. A photobooth. You barely register it before he pulls the curtain shut behind you. The space is tiny. Cramped. You can feel the heat of him, too close, too intoxicating.

"You could’ve just asked to talk," you say, leaning against the side of the booth like you’re not at all affected.

Seungcheol smirks, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Your pulse jumps. "You like making things difficult, don’t you?"

"I could say the same about you."

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—steady, knowing, amused as hell—makes it hard to breathe.

"So," he says, voice softer now, more serious, "why didn’t you text me?"

You exhale, meeting his gaze. "Because I knew you’d find a way to track me down anyway."

"You think you have me figured out?"

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch before you answer. "I think you don’t like losing."

Seungcheol watches you for a beat. Then he laughs. It’s soft at first, then full and deep, shaking his shoulders as he shakes his head. "God," he mutters, "I should’ve found you sooner."

Your chest tightens. The photobooth timer starts blinking.

3…

His gaze dips—

2…

You don’t move away

1.

The camera clicks.So does something else between you.

The next day at work, you’re in a mood. You glare at your computer. You glare at your coffee. You glare at the innocent potted plant on your desk. And your friends notice.

Jeonghan doesn’t ask immediately. He waits until you’re both in line at the café, you’re scrolling through your phone, pretending you don’t notice him watching you.

"So," he says casually, "when are you seeing him again?"

You freeze. Your finger hovers over your screen. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his smirk. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan hums. "Sure you don’t."

You take a deep breath. "Nothing happened."

"See, I know that’s a lie," he says, stepping forward as the line moves. "Because if nothing happened, you wouldn’t be acting like a walking existential crisis."

You scowl. "I am not—"

"—a walking existential crisis?" Jeonghan interrupts, raising a brow. "Oh, please. You’ve been glitching all morning."

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. "You’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" He crosses his arms. "Because if I recall correctly, you’re the one who wanted him at first sight."

You click your tongue, shifting your weight. "And that’s the problem."

Jeonghan leans in slightly, intrigued. "Because?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Because I’m hot and cold about this, okay? One second, I want to see where this goes. The next, I’m ready to vanish into the void."

He blinks. "So you like him."

You hesitate. "I—"

Jeonghan’s smirk returns. "Oh, you so like him."

You glare. "I barely know him."

"But you want to," he points out.

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face. "That’s exactly the problem. I don’t get like this."

Jeonghan nods slowly, as if considering. "So what I’m hearing is… Seungcheol has you shook."

You groan, stepping forward as the line moves again. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Debatable."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, you can keep overthinking this, or you can just let yourself have some fun." He tilts his head. "Unless you’re scared?"

You bristle. "I’m not scared."

His smile widens. "Maybe. Or maybe you’ve just met your match." You stare at him, but before you can argue, the barista calls your order.

Jeonghan winks. "Think about it."

"This," you say flatly, "is why I hate most men."

Jeonghan snickers. "Oh, so you admit you don’t hate all men?"

You glare at him over the rim of your cup. "Unfortunately, some of you have managed to slip through the cracks."

He hums thoughtfully. "And would you say Seungcheol is one of those ‘slip through the cracks’ cases?"

You almost choke on your drink. "Jeonghan," you say warningly.

"Just saying," he muses, blowing on his coffee

You scoff. "Oh, please."

But then you hesitate because, damn it, he has a point. You liked Seungcheol immediately. One look, and you wanted him. And that never happens. It’s annoying. It’s unnerving. And the worst part? Seungcheol knows it.

It’s been a long day. You step out of the building, already thinking about what to make for dinner when you see him.

Seungcheol leaning against his car like he’s posing for a magazine, arms crossed, watching you with an amused tilt of his head. You stop in your tracks.

He smirks.

"Busy?" he asks, pushing off the car as you approach.

You narrow your eyes. "How did you know I was here?"

“Mingyu” you mutter under your breath how you’re going to kill the 6 foot tall man tomorrow. 

Seungcheol chuckles. "Be nice. I was gonna find you eventually."

You glare. "That’s not the point."

He tilts his head. "Then what is?"

You open your mouth then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure. Why does he keep coming back? And why the hell do you feel kind of excited that he’s here?

Seungcheol watches you wrestle with your thoughts, then grins. "You gonna invite me up?"

"To my apartment?"

"Where else?"

You fold your arms. "That’s bold."

He steps closer, just enough that you catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. "I don’t like wasting time."

Your heart skips. You should tell him to leave. You should ignore how good he looks in that damn suit. Instead you sigh. "Fine. But if you track me down again because of Mingyu, I’m sending both of you to hell."

Seungcheol grins. "Deal."

The entire drive back to your place is infuriating.

Seungcheol is smiling, smirking, even, like he just won some kind of game. Meanwhile, you’re glaring out the window, arms crossed, regretting every decision that led to this moment. When he finally pulls up to your building, you let out a deep breath, like you’ve just survived something mentally exhausting.

"You always this grumpy?" Seungcheol teases as he steps out of the car.

You shoot him a look. "You always this persistent?"

He just grins. You roll your eyes, leading him up to your apartment. The moment you step inside, you toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto the couch, and grab your phone.

"I’m ordering food," you announce, already scrolling through your go-to delivery app. Seungcheol follows you in, looking around like he’s taking mental notes.

"Nice place," he comments, settling onto your couch like he’s been here before.

You glance at him. "You say that like you weren’t planning to judge it."

And before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Why are you doing this?"

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Doing what?"

You sigh, turning to fully face him. "This." You motion between the two of you. "Showing up. Finding my number. Tracking me down." For a second, he just watches you. Like he’s figuring something out. Then, he leans back, resting an arm over the couch.

"So this is why they call you the man hater."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

“You’re suspicious of a guy just because he likes you?"

You stare at him, trying to come up with a solid counterargument, something to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Weren’t you the one who approached me first?" Seungcheol asks, raising a brow.

You freeze because technically, yes. You were. That night at the bar, it was you who walked up to him. You who spoke first. You who, despite your reputation of never being impressed by men, took one look at him and wanted him.

And Seungcheol, the same man who apparently turns down women without a second thought, didn’t turn you away. And now? He’s here. Sitting on your couch. Acting like this is just the natural order of things.

"You’re twisting my words," you argue, folding your arms.

"Am I?"

You narrow your eyes. "I approached you because I was curious."

He tilts his head. "And now?"

Every interaction with him has been throwing you off your game. You’re used to being in control but with Seungcheol, it’s like every move he makes is intentional, and he’s too good at getting under your skin.

"You’re annoying," you finally say.

He smirks. "And yet, here I am."

You let out a slow exhale, rolling your eyes. "I should’ve ignored your number that night."

Seungcheol watches your expression shift, and something about it amuses him. "You always like this?"

"Like what?"

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fighting yourself."

You stare at him. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupts, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re hot and cold with me, and I think it’s because you don’t like how much you want this."

You hate that he’s right.

"You are so—"

"Annoying?" He grins. "You’ve said."

"Why are you even interested?"

“I like you."

Your heart skips but you refuse to let him see that. So instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you tap at your phone. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you like that," he counters. You pretend you don’t hear him as you place the order.

The food arrives, and you both settle in to eat. Seungcheol sits across from you, comfortably digging into his meal like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t been pushing your buttons all night.

You, on the other hand? You’re still glaring.

He looks up mid-bite, noticing your expression, and smirks. "You always eat like you’re plotting a murder?"

You stab at your food with a little more force than necessary. "Just considering my options."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You should really work on your intimidation tactics."

You huff. "They work on everyone else."

"Ah," he nods, chewing thoughtfully. "So I’m special."

You pause. Damn it. "That’s not what I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. "Don’t worry, I get it. I’m persistent, irritatingly charming, and you don’t know what to do with that."

You scowl. "I know exactly what to do with that."

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You gesture to the door. "Kick you out." Seungcheol laughs. Full-bodied, genuine, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s come across in a long time. You hate how nice it sounds.

"Okay," he says, still grinning. "I’ll leave—after we finish eating."

You squint. "You act like you’re doing me a favor."

He smirks. "Aren’t I?"

You refuse to dignify that with a response. Instead, you focus on your food, pointedly ignoring how Seungcheol watches you with that infuriatingly amused expression, like he already knows he’ll see you again.

After dinner you walk him to the door, arms crossed, your glare still very much in place. Seungcheol, in contrast, looks ridiculously satisfied, like he’s had the best night of his life just bothering you.

You stop at the door, unlocking it before turning to him with a deadpan expression.

"I changed my mind," you announce.

His brows lift slightly. "About what?"

"I don’t like you anymore."

Seungcheol grins. Like full-on, dimple-showing, teeth-flashing grin.

"That so?" he hums, stepping just a little closer, enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

Your jaw tightens. "Yes."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same entertained look he’s had all night.

"That’s a shame," he murmurs.

You cross your arms tighter. "Why?"

"Because," he leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, "I still like you." He pulls back, opens the door himself, and steps out. 

"Goodnight," he says, like this is just routine now. Leaving you standing there, your heart beating entirely too fast, absolutely furious that he got the last word.

The next morning, you stomp out of your building and slide into Jeonghan’s car with more force than necessary.

Jeonghan barely glances at you before pulling out onto the street. "Good morning to you too."

You cross your arms, scowling at the window. "I hate him."

"Who?"

You don’t answer right away, mostly because admitting it feels like a loss. But then, under your breath "Seungcheol."

Jeonghan laughs. "You know, for someone who supposedly hates men, you’re really bad at resisting this one."

"I’m not—" You pause. "He’s just—annoying."

"And yet," Jeonghan drawls, "here you are, grumbling his name first thing in the morning."

You shoot him a glare. "Drive the damn car, Jeonghan."

He grins wider, turning up the radio. "Whatever you say, lovergirl."

You get to your desk, ready to start your day with the same level of annoyance you’ve carried since last night and then you see them. A bouquet. Right there. Sitting in the middle of your desk. Jeonghan, who’s still walking behind you, lets out a low whistle. "Oh, would you look at that?"

You drop your bag, snatch up the little card attached, and read it twice just to be sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Try again. I think you still like me. —S.C.

Your eye twitches. Jeonghan, blatantly reading over your shoulder, bursts out laughing.

"Oh, this is amazing," he says, delighted. "I’ve never seen someone get under your skin this fast."

You slam the card down, glaring at the flowers like they’re the true enemy. "I hate him."

"You’ve mentioned." Jeonghan plucks one of the flowers from the bouquet, twirling it between his fingers. "So what are you gonna do?"

You grab the bouquet with way too much force, march over to Mingyu’s desk, and shove it onto his table. Mingyu, who was minding his own damn business, blinks in confusion. "Uh—?"

"They’re yours now," you say, turning away.

"But—"

"You’re welcome!" you call over your shoulder, marching back to your desk. Jeonghan watches the entire thing with an evil smirk.

"You really think that’s gonna stop him?" he muses.

You drop into your chair, arms crossed. "I don’t care."

Meanwhile, across town Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Joshua with a smirk.

"She gave them to Mingyu?"

Joshua, who had just finished relaying the entire story from Mingyu’s frantic texts, sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She didn’t even hesitate."

Seungcheol chuckles, clearly not deterred. "Figures."

Joshua gives him a look. "You sound way too happy about that."

"Because I am," Seungcheol says simply.

Joshua stares. "You just got rejected via floral delivery, and you’re smiling."

Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered. "She reacted."

Joshua raises a brow. "That’s your takeaway?"

"Of course," Seungcheol leans forward, tapping his fingers against his desk. "If she really didn’t care, she would’ve ignored them. But instead, she marched across the office, gave them to Mingyu, and made sure I’d hear about it."

Joshua squints. "That’s…a reach."

Seungcheol just grins. "Is it?"

Joshua sighs, already exhausted. "Okay, so what’s the plan now, lover boy?"

Seungcheol picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one he had personally gotten from Mingyu last week. Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you glance at it once. Then you freeze because there, bright as day, Seungcheol.

Your fingers twitch. You shouldn’t pick up. In fact, you should do the responsible thing and ignore him completely but then the call keeps ringing, like he knows you’re staring at it, like he’s waiting for you to break.

You almost ignore it..Almost. With an annoyed huff, you snatch up the phone and answer.

"What."

A low chuckle greets you from the other end. "That’s no way to greet your boyfriend."

Your entire body jerks. "Excuse me?"

"Ah," Seungcheol hums, clearly amused. "Too soon?"

"Way too soon," you deadpan. "And completely delusional."

"And yet, here you are, answering my call."

Your eye twitches. "Do you want something, or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Both," he admits easily.

You resist the urge to throw your phone. "Seungcheol."

"Fine, fine," he laughs. "Just wanted to check if my flowers got delivered."

You glare at nothing. "Oh, they did."

"And?"

"And they now belong to Mingyu." There’s a beat of silence then he’s laughing. And you hate it, you hate how good it sounded. 

“You’re so cute when you’re difficult."

You hang up immediately and then proceed to glare at your phone like it’s personally betrayed you. Across the room, Jeonghan watches your entire reaction unfold, smirk growing wider by the second.

"So," he drawls, "how’s your boyfriend?"

You launch a stress ball at his head.

Later that night, Jeonghan is sprawled out on your couch, one arm slung over his face as he lazily kicks at the air.

"You got any more of those fancy chips?" he asks.

You barely glance up from your phone. "Pantry."

"Ugh. Too far."

"You have legs."

He groans dramatically, but he doesn’t move. You roll your eyes and keep scrolling, ignoring him—until his voice turns serious.

"Alright," he says, sitting up. "All jokes aside—what’s going on?"

You pause, side-eyeing him. "What?"

Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying you in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

"You said it yourself that you wanted him," he says, voice softer now. "So why are you acting like this?"

Because you’ve been here before. Because the last time you really liked someone, you got your hopes up, and it all went to shit. Because you’ve learned the hard way that people say one thing and do another, that words mean nothing without action.

Jeonghan knows this. He’s been there through it all—through the flings, the almost-relationships, the guys who were great until they weren’t. He was there when you decided you were done trying, when you shrugged off love like it was an optional extra, not something you needed.

Now, he’s watching you like he’s seeing through you.

"You’re scared," he says simply.

You scoff. "I am not—"

"You are," he cuts in. "And I get it. But you can’t keep pushing people away just because they might disappoint you."

You bite your lip, looking away.

"Seungcheol isn’t them," Jeonghan continues. "And I don’t think he’s gonna give up just because you’re being difficult."

"...Maybe he should."

Jeonghan chuckles, but it’s not mocking. "Too bad for you, I don’t think he will."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "He will."

Jeonghan raises a brow, amused. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "He’s rich, good-looking, and clearly used to getting what he wants. Guys like him don’t chase for long. The second I make it too much work, he’ll move on."

Jeonghan just smirks, shaking his head. "That’s cute. You think you’re hard to want."

You glare. "Don’t analyze me. I am not dealing with another guy who’s all interest at first and then disappears the moment things get real."

Jeonghan hums, watching you for a moment. Then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he asks, "So if he doesn’t disappear?"

You blink.

"If he doesn’t give up," Jeonghan says, leaning closer. "If he keeps showing up, keeps proving you wrong—then what?"

You press your lips together, refusing to answer. Because you don’t know.

Jeonghan’s words replay in your head for the next couple of days. You try to brush them off, but they stick. if he doesn’t give up, then what?

But then, Seungcheol stops contacting you.No texts. No calls. No annoying flower deliveries. And in your mind, you’re like, See? I was right.

You told Jeonghan exactly how this would go. Guys like Seungcheol don’t chase for long. They get bored, they move on, they—

Knock, knock.

Your head snaps toward the door, heart inexplicably jumping. It’s late. You’re already in pajamas, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, halfway through a show you weren’t even paying attention to. The knocking comes again.

Slowly, you get up and pull open the door and there he is.

Seungcheol stands in front of you, looking annoyingly good despite the slight exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark coat over a fitted sweater, and there’s an expensive-looking suitcase at his feet.

And in his hand a snow globe.

You blink. "What…?"

"Hey," he says, Just got back from a business trip."

You stare at him. "A business trip."

"Yeah." He lifts the snow globe slightly. "Paris.".

"You brought me a souvenir?"

Seungcheol smirks. "What, you think I’d go all the way to Paris and not bring you something?"

"I—" You pause, suddenly feeling very warm despite the cold draft from the open door. "I just—"

"You thought I gave up," he says simply.

Your stomach flips. You cross your arms, standing a little straighter. "Maybe."

For a second, neither of you say anything. Then, before your brain can catch up, you reach out slow, hesitant and take the snow globe from his hand.

"...Thanks," you mumble.

Seungcheol grins. "You’re welcome."

You step aside, wordlessly letting him in. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate, walking past you like he belongs there. 

"Why do you always look like you want to fight me?" he asks, amused.

"I don’t," you say flatly.

"You do," he counters, dropping onto your couch like it’s his. "You’ve been glaring at me since the day we met."

You cross your arms. "Maybe it’s just my face."

"It’s cute."

You narrow your eyes. "Don’t start."

Seungcheol laughs, stretching out comfortably. "You gonna offer me a drink or just keep staring at me?"

You inhale sharply, fighting the urge to throw him out. Instead, you turn and march into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses of water. When you return, he’s still lounging on your couch, completely at home.

You set his glass down with a little too much force. "Here."

Seungcheol picks it up, giving you a slow, knowing look. "You’re really bad at this," he says.

"At what?"

"Letting yourself like me." You almost choke on your own water. And Seungcheol? He just smiles.

He takes a slow sip of his water, watching you over the rim of the glass like he’s studying you. Then, like he can read your mind, he says, "Before you start spiraling—I didn’t text because I was busy. Meetings from morning to night, different time zones, clients to entertain. I barely slept, let alone had time to talk."

You blink. "I didn’t ask," you say, defensive.

He smirks. "Then don’t overthink."

You open your mouth to argue because you were not overthinking, thank you very much—but he just keeps going.

"I was in Paris for four days. Mostly business, but I had a few hours to walk around. Thought about you when I saw that snow globe."

Your stomach flips against your will. You grip your glass tighter. "You—what?"

"I thought you’d like it," he says simply. "Or maybe you'd just glare at it. Either way, it reminded me of you."

You stare at him, lips parting slightly because what the hell is he even saying? Because he says it like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s normal to have you on his mind while he’s halfway across the world. So, naturally, you do what you do best—deflect.

"You just showed up at my place," you say, voice carefully flat. "What if I wasn’t home?"

Seungcheol grins. "Then I’d have waited."

"Like a stalker?"

"Like a guy who wants to see you."

Your brain short-circuits.You scramble for something anything to say, but he beats you to it.

"You really don’t get it, do you?"

You frown. "Get what?"

He leans forward, setting his glass down on the coffee table, and your whole body tenses when he holds your gaze. "I don’t do things halfway," he says. "I wanted you from the start. That hasn’t changed."

And suddenly, you’re overthinking again. You fold your arms across your chest, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "You're just saying that because you like the chase."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "And you're saying that because you want me to think you're still a man hater."

"Excuse me?" you say, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "You keep acting like you don’t care, like you’re waiting for me to mess up so you can say ‘See? I told you so.’ But you’re just trying to protect yourself."

He’s too damn perceptive. Too calm, too confident in the way he calls you out.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you mutter, looking away.

Seungcheol scoffs. "I do, actually."

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You liked me the second you saw me," he says, voice lower now, smoother. "And that scared the hell out of you."

Your breath catches because he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And the worst part? He sees it. You don’t answer. That's when Seungcheol does something you don’t expect. He stands up. And just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something steadier. Something serious.

"If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave."

You swallow hard. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. Because this is it. The out you’ve been waiting for. The chance to end this before you get in too deep.

Your voice is quieter than you intend when you say, "If I do, will you leave?"

Seungcheol watches you, his gaze unwavering. "Yes." You know he’s telling the truth. He’s not the kind of guy to stick around where he isn’t wanted.

"You won’t fight for it?" you ask, hating how vulnerable the words sound.

A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I already am."

Your breath catches because damn him. Damn him for saying things like that. Damn him for not pushing, not forcing, just waiting. 

So instead, you exhale, looking away. "Sit down, you’re making me nervous."

Seungcheol smiles and just like that, the tension cracks.

"Yes, ma’am," he teases, sinking back onto the couch like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips betrays you—a slight, reluctant twitch. He sees it, of course. And you don’t miss the satisfied look on his face when he does.

A few days later, Mingyu ruins everything.

“We should go out for drinks,” he says, like it’s just a casual suggestion and not a trap. And like idiots, you all agree. You don’t think anything of it until "By the way," Mingyu adds, far too casually, "I invited Seungcheol."

You freeze.

Mingyu grins, oblivious to the murderous intent in your eyes. "You don’t mind, right?"

Jeonghan snickers. Irene and Jihyo exchange looks.

"Why would she mind?" Irene asks, ever the instigator.

"You’re all insufferable," you mutter, grabbing your drink and pretending you’re unaffected.

You’re going to ignore him. You’re going to sit with your friends, drink, and not think about him. It’s a solid plan.

Then he walks in.

And suddenly, your plan evaporates.

Seungcheol is unfair. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking effortlessly good in the worst possible way. He steps into the bar with Joshua beside him, scanning the room and then his eyes land on you.

You should play it cool. Pretend to be mad at him. Hold onto your last shred of self-respect but the moment you see him, you walk straight up to him, ignoring the way your friends watch with poorly concealed amusement.

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, like he was expecting this. "Hi."

You scowl. "I hate you."

He grins. "You said that last time. Didn’t sound very convincing then either."

You open your mouth to argue—but you don’t. Because damn it, you don’t hate him at all. So you stare at him, arms crossed, and say, “What, you’re too busy now?”

His smirk deepens. “Didn’t know you’d miss me so much.”

You scoff. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “Didn’t I text you?”

Your lips press together. Okay, fair point. He did text. A few times.

A "How was your day?"A "Don’t overthink too much." 

Still, you lift your chin. “Texts aren’t the same.”

His brow arches. “So you’re saying you wanted to see me?”

 “That is absolutely not what I said.”

Seungcheol just laughs. “But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

His grin is downright infuriating. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think you mean it.”

You spin on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

Seungcheol just laughs, completely unbothered, like he already knows you don’t mean it. He slides into the seat beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I was busy because of work,” he murmurs, voice smooth, almost apologetic—but not quite. “Wanted to come see you, but I figured you’d be tired after work, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s your excuse?”

He tilts his head, smirking. “It’s the truth.”

You glare harder, hoping it’ll somehow make him squirm. It doesn’t. He just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a laugh.

“So considerate of you,” you say dryly.

He hums. “I try.” Seungcheol, of course, takes that as his cue to get comfortable. He leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth—not quite touching you, but close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he observes, sounding entirely too entertained.

“No,” you deadpan. “I’m thrilled.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes burning with fresh irritation. “I am not sulking.”

He just grins. “Whatever you say.”

You step out onto the balcony, the night air cool against your skin as you take a deep breath. You just need a moment, one single moment to yourself. Of course, that’s impossible when Seungcheol is involved.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Don’t mind me. I’ll sulk on my own.”

Seungcheol hums as he leans against the railing beside you. “Nah, can’t let that happen.”

You throw him a glare. “And why not?”

He shrugs, watching the city lights with an infuriatingly calm expression. “I’d feel bad.”

You scoff. “Oh, now you feel bad?”

“I’ve always felt bad.”

“You don’t look like you do.”

He tilts his head toward you, smiling slightly. “Alright, what do you want, then?”

You exhale, glancing away. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, but you don’t say it. You’re still you, after all. Instead, you mutter, “For you to stop being annoying.”

A breeze drifts between you, carrying the sounds of laughter from inside. For a second, neither of you speak. Then Seungcheol nudges your arm lightly. “You’re really not gonna admit you missed me, huh?”

You don’t say anything.

His smirk softens into something else. Something dangerous. “I can wait.” He exhales, watching you carefully. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. something real.

Then he says it.

“I missed you.”

The words slip out so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers tighten around the railing. Your brain stalls. Your heart does this stupid little flip in your chest. You finally turn to face him, none of the usual teasing or frustration in your expression is just seriousness.

“If it’s going to be like this,” you say, voice steady, “you disappear for days, then coming back like nothing happened then it’s not going to work.”

Seungcheol’s smirk fades completely. He studies you, really looks at you, and you can tell he understands that you’re not just saying this to pick a fight.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” You cross your arms. “You come and then go, then you just show up out of nowhere. Do you expect me to just—” You shake your head. “I don’t play games, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you don’t.”

You sigh. “Then what are we doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “I didn’t think you’d want me to check in like that.”

You blink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He hesitates. “Because you act like you don’t care half the time.” That stings. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right.

You inhale sharply. “That’s just how I am.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But if I’m going to try with you, I don’t want to be another person you expect to leave.”

Seungcheol holds your gaze, unwavering. “So tell me what you want. What you really want.”

For the first time since this started, you don’t have a comeback. You suddenly feel the urge to leave.

Seungcheol’s words sit heavy in your chest—you act like you don’t care half the time. It stung more than you wanted to admit, and now the whole night feels ruined.

“I’m heading out,” you say abruptly, turning on your heel.

You return inside, Seungcheol following behind you. Jeonghan, ever the observant one, catches on immediately. “Let’s go home yea?” he says, grabbing his coat. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press. Just sticks by your side, because he knows you.

Mingyu frowns. “Already? But we just—”

“Let her go,” Seungcheol says. His voice is unreadable. You don’t look back. Jeonghan walks you out, calls a ride, and when you’re finally inside the car, he leans back with a sigh.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

You stare out the window. “No.”

He hums, not pushing further. Instead, when you get home, he stays. Puts on a random movie, hands you a blanket, and lets you sit in silence.

Because Jeonghan knows you’ll talk when you’re ready. He doesn’t look at you right away. He stays focused on the movie, lthen he hears it.

A sniffle.

It’s quiet, barely there, but Jeonghan notices everything.

He doesn’t immediately react, doesn’t turn his head or ask if you’re okay, because he knows you. Knows that if he does, you’ll shut down completely.

“I think I’m screwing it up.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even blink. “With Seungcheol?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” he says, blowing on his own tea. “I figured.”

You furrow your brows. “How?”

He snorts. “Because you’re you.” You glare at him again, but he just drives. Eyes still on the road

“I’m serious,”

“So am I,” he says easily. “You’re panicking because this is probably the first time in a long time that you actually like someone. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, you’re, well—”

“Ruining it?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Self-sabotaging. But close enough.”

“Great.”

Jeonghan watches you for a moment. Then, softer this time “What did he say to make you leave?”

You hesitate. Then, voice barely above a whisper “That I act like I don’t care.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

You snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You scowl, ready to argue, but then the truth of it hits you.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because Seungcheol wasn’t wrong. Because you do act like you don’t care, even when you do. Because this whole time, you’ve been pushing and pulling, running hot and cold, and yet

Yet, he’s still here. Still choosing you. The realization makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight.

So you do what you always do when it gets too much. You don’t reach out.

Not the next day. Not the day after that. You tell yourself it’s for the best. That it’s easier this way. That Seungcheol will eventually get the hint and move on.

But then why do you feel like absolute shit?

You go through the motions—work, home, repeat—but there’s this persistent weight in your chest that refuses to go away.

It’s easy to avoid Seungcheol, at least. He works across town, and it’s not like you run in the same circles outside of Mingyu dragging him along. Still. You hate how aware you are of his absence. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve only known him for a few months, but somehow, he’s already made himself at home in your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s given up on you yet. If he’s decided you’re not worth the effort. The thought makes you feel worse.

You almost walk right past him.

Almost.

“Hey.”

Your steps falter. You take a slow breath before turning to him. He’s standing by the entrance of your building, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he’s been waiting.

You scoff. “Oh. Now you know me?”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t even know what exactly you’re doing, but you’re already annoyed. “Do what?”

He gives you a flat look. “Push me away.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should take the hint, then.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “You don’t want that.”

You step back. “I don’t?”

“You don’t.” You hate that he’s right. That he can see it. That it’s written all over your face no matter how hard you try to deny it and it frustrates you. More than it should.

“Look, Seungcheol,” you sigh, voice heavy with exhaustion. “You can’t just disappear for days and then show up like—”

“Like what?” he interrupts. “Like I actually give a damn about you?” You flinch. It’s not even what he said. It’s how he said it. The sincerity in his voice. The quiet frustration.

You look away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You hate the way he’s looking at you. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for you to stop fighting him. You shake your head. “You should go.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t move. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.  “Do you want me to?”

The answer is no but you don’t say it. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, like he’s already figured you out. Like he knows every excuse, every defense mechanism, every wall you put up before you even have the chance to throw them at him.

So you do what you do best. You push.

"Let’s just go back to thinking I don’t care." The words taste bitter, but you swallow them down, turning on your heel before he can say anything else.

You walk away.

One step.

Two.

Three.

You expect him to stop you. To grab your wrist. To call your name again. To say something but he doesn’t.

The air is heavy with everything unsaid, with everything you’re choosing to leave behind. And yet the farther you get, the harder it is to breathe. Your own words echo in your head, louder and louder, until you almost want to take them back.

Almost.

But you don’t.

Because that would mean admitting that he’s right. That you don’t actually want him to leave. That you’ve just been pushing him away because it’s easier than facing what’s really scaring you.

Because if you admit that you care—really, really care—then that means he has the power to hurt you.

And you’re not sure if you can survive that again.

And Seungcheol?

He lets you go.

The next day Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say anything. The moment he sees you step out of your apartment building, he knows. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a mess, and you look like you barely got any sleep. Like hell, basically.

"So, rough night?" he asks, starting the car. You grunt in response, which tells him enough.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just let you wallow in silence until you eventually explode?"

"Silence."

"Got it."

The drive is quiet, but Jeonghan sneaks glances at you every now and then. He’s been with you long enough to recognize when you’re doing it again. The overthinking. The self-sabotaging. The pushing away before you can get hurt.

He knows you want Seungcheol. He knows you care. And he knows that you’re terrified of letting yourself have something good.

So when he finally pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, he doesn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead, he turns to you, voice softer this time.

"You look miserable."

"Wow, thanks."

"I mean it. You look like you barely slept. You’re doing that thing where you overthink yourself into a corner and decide for yourself that you’re better off alone before anyone can prove you wrong."

You hate how accurate that is. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Hannie."

"Fine." He unlocks the doors. "But at some point, you’re gonna have to."

You sigh and grab your bag, stepping out of the car. But as you walk toward the building, Jeonghan calls after you.

"Just answer me one thing—if he calls, are you gonna pick up?"

You pause. The fact that you even hesitate tells him everything. Jeonghan watches you, waiting. Maybe hoping. But when you finally speak, your voice is so quiet.

“No.”

It’s not stubborn. It’s not defensive. It’s not even angry. It’s just… defeated. Like every last bit of fight has already drained out of you.

And that is what makes Jeonghan shut up. 

So, even though it kills him to see you like this, he sighs and just says, “Alright. Dropped.”

But Jeonghan doesn’t move right away. He just sits there in the driver’s seat, watching you disappear through the doors. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if this time—with Seungcheol—maybe you’re making a mistake.

Jeonghan, Jihyo, Mingyu, and Irene are already a few drinks in when Mingyu suddenly stiffens, his eyes narrowing toward the entrance of the bar.

“Oh, shit.”

Jihyo follows his gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to look. He already knows. Joshua Hong walks in first, smiling as he exchanges greetings with someone at the bar.

And right behind him? Choi Seungcheol.

It’s been 2 weeks and Seungcheol looks… the same. Maybe a little tired, but still him. The group watches as he follows Joshua toward a table, not even glancing their way.

“Are we going to talk to them?” Irene asks, swirling her drink.

“Should we?” Mingyu hesitates.

Jeonghan sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. Because of course it would. The universe wouldn’t let things be that easy.

Jeonghan exhales, slow and measured, before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“I’ll go.”

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jeonghan shrugs as he pushes back his chair. “Someone has to.”

Mingyu shifts in his seat. “Want me to—”

“No,” Jeonghan cuts him off, shaking his head. “If it’s just me, he won’t feel cornered.”

They don’t argue. They know Jeonghan well enough to trust him with this. So, with one last glance at the others, Jeonghan straightens his shirt and makes his way across the bar.

“Joshua.”

Joshua turns first, eyebrows lifting in surprise before his lips pull into a smile. “Jeonghan! What a coincidence.”

Seungcheol looks up then, mid-sip of his drink, and his expression flickers—just for a second—before smoothing out. Jeonghan pulls out a chair and sits without asking.

Joshua leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight. The others here too?”

Jeonghan ignores the question and turns to Seungcheol instead. “You doing alright?”

Seungcheol stares at him, unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeonghan hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Dunno. Just seems like you haven’t been around much lately.”

Joshua looks between them, lips twitching, but he wisely keeps quiet.

Seungcheol finally exhales, setting his drink down. “Is this about—”

“Of course it’s about her.” Jeonghan doesn’t even let him finish. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line.

Jeonghan tilts his head. “She’s been avoiding everything that even remotely reminds her of you. And she’s stubborn as hell, but I know her. She’s not okay.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on his glass.

Joshua sighs, leaning back in his chair. “This is why I told you to just talk to her already.”

Seungcheol runs a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “And say what?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “Say you’re sorry. Say you care. Say literally anything, because she’s convinced herself you don’t.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “She told me to leave.”

“She tells everyone to leave,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And she’s always surprised when they actually do.”

Seungcheol goes quiet. Jeonghan leans forward, voice steady but firm. “If you don’t care, then stay away. But if you do? Do something. Because right now, all you’re doing is proving her right.”

Seungcheol stares down at his drink. Jeonghan watches him, waiting.

And then, after a long moment Seungcheol stands.

Joshua blinks. “Oh? We’re going now?” Seungcheol ignores him, pulling his wallet out and throwing some cash on the table. Then, finally, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Where is she?”

Jeonghan tried calling again. Straight to voicemail.

He frowned. “She’s not answering.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “Is she home?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan muttered, already pulling up your shared location—but of course, it was off.

Joshua exhaled through his nose. “Maybe she’s asleep?”

Jeonghan shook his head. “She always leaves her phone on, even if she’s mad. If she’s not answering, it means she either doesn’t want to be found or—” He stops himself, lips pressing into a thin line. Seungcheol didn’t need him to finish the sentence. His hands curled into fists.

“Where would she go?” he asked, voice tight.

Jeonghan exchanged a look with Mingyu, who had come over after noticing their conversation.

Mingyu sighed. “There’s a place. She used to go there when she needed to clear her head.”

Seungcheol didn’t waste time asking more. “Where?”

Mingyu hesitated, just for a second. Then, seeing the way Seungcheol was barely holding himself together, he pulled out his phone and sent the location.

“Don’t mess this up,” Mingyu muttered.

Seungcheol was already heading for the door. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got there, but an old bookstore tucked into a quiet street wasn’t it. The lights inside were dim and warm, casting a soft glow through the large windows. He pushed the door open, the bell above jingling softly. 

An old woman, sitting behind the counter, looked up. She peered at him through her glasses, eyes sharp despite her gentle smile.

“You must be the one,” she said simply.

Seungcheol blinked. “Excuse me?”

The old woman hummed, nodding toward the back. “She’s here. Been here all day.”

He followed her gaze and, sure enough, there you were—curled up in one of the armchairs near the back, a book resting on your lap, though you weren’t reading it. Instead, you were staring out the window, lost in thought.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Maybe it was the way the air shifted, or maybe you had been waiting for him all along, but when he stopped in front of you, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re a hard person to find,” he said quietly.

You closed the book in your lap, fingers tracing the edges of the cover. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be found.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

Seungcheol crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were searching, his face unreadable. And for some reason, that made something in your chest tighten.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He exhaled softly. “Can I sit?”

You didn’t answer, but you moved your legs so there was space on the other armchair beside you. He took the silent invitation, settling in.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the bookstore surrounded you.

Finally, Seungcheol broke the silence. “Why did you run?”

You frowned. “I didn’t run.”

He gave you a look. “You disappeared. No one could reach you. That’s running.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the chair. “I just needed time.”

“To do what?”

“To think,” you muttered.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you closely. “And?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the book. “And I don’t know what to do with you.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

“I’m serious.”

His expression softened. “So am I.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol. I don’t know how to trust that this won’t end up like before.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, “I’m not whoever hurt you.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” His voice was gentle, but firm. “Because it seems like you’re punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Your chest ached. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said. “But I need you to at least give me a chance.” You stared at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But all you found was sincerity.

The lump in your throat grew. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll wait.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “You make it sound so easy.”

He smiled, though there was something sad in it. “It’s not. But I think you’re worth it.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

The old lady approached with slow, deliberate steps, her sharp gaze flicking between you and Seungcheol. She had seen you come in and out of this bookstore too many times, always with a heavy heart.

“So,” she said, arms crossing over her chest. “Is this the boy that’s been making you cry?”

You inhaled deeply, forcing a small smile as you shook your head. “All of them do.”

She clicked her tongue, giving Seungcheol a pointed look before patting your shoulder. “Men,” she muttered before walking off, leaving the two of you in tense silence. Seungcheol didn’t speak for a long moment. You knew he was looking at you, but you refused to meet his eyes.

Then, finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I really make you cry?”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze on the book in your lap. “Why do you care?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I didn’t want to.”

A bitter chuckle slipped out. “That’s funny,” you said, glancing at him now. “Because I remember you saying that I don’t care.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was angry.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together. “So what do you want from me?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You turned fully toward him now, frustration bubbling up again. “What do you want, Seungcheol? You say you’ll wait, but for what? You keep coming back even when I push you away. What are you waiting for?”

He stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes. “You.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. “I know you act like you don’t care because you’re afraid. I know you run before anyone gets the chance to hurt you. And I know you like me.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “That’s why you’re trying so hard to convince yourself that I’ll leave.”

You clenched your jaw. “You will.”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “I won’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but before you could, another voice interrupted.

“There you are.” You both turned to see Jeonghan standing by the entrance of the bookstore, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was looking for you.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, glancing at Seungcheol, whose jaw was now clenched.

Jeonghan sighed, looking between the two of you. “You need space,” he said simply. Then, to Seungcheol, he added, “Give it to her.” Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed locked on you, searching, waiting but you didn’t say anything.

Finally, he exhaled and stood. “I’ll wait.”

You hated that those words made your chest tighten. Without another glance, you followed Jeonghan out of the bookstore, leaving Seungcheol behind.

The moment you stepped out of the bookstore, Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already knowing what was coming.

“I didn’t say anything yet,” he shot back, but the look he gave you was enough.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Because now I am going to lecture you.”

You groaned. “Jeonghan—”

“No, listen to me.” His tone was sharper than usual, firm in a way that made you stop walking. “You keep doing this thing where you push people away the second they get too close. And I get it, I do. You don’t want to get hurt. But you are the one hurting yourself.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing.

Jeonghan huffed. “You like him,” he stated, like it was a fact. “And I know you like him because you’re acting like this.”

You scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

He gave you a pointed look. “It does when it’s you.”

You exhaled slowly, looking away. “He’ll leave.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Jeonghan challenged. “Are you really going to throw this away just because you think he might leave?”

You pressed your lips together. “You don’t understand.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I do. Because I’ve watched you do this over and over again. And I didn’t say anything before because, honestly? Most of those guys weren’t worth it.”

You frowned. “And you think he is?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Don’t you? Look, if you really don’t want him, then fine. Walk away. But if you do want him—even just a little—then stop making it so hard for yourself.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight.

Jeonghan softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure if you could so you just nodded, and Jeonghan let it go. For now.

Come morning the next day. Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan, arms crossed as he studied him. He had been skeptical from the start—why Jeonghan always knew exactly what to say to you, why you let him in when you pushed everyone else away.

“You know a lot about her,” Seungcheol said, voice laced with suspicion. “More than just a friend would.”

Jeonghan smirked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s because we’re not just friends.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. He wasn’t sure why that statement irritated him so much, but it did. “Then what are you?”

Jeonghan glanced up at him, watching his reaction carefully before finally saying it.

“She’s my stepsister.”

“What?”

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, sighing like this conversation was long overdue. “Her dad left when she was a kid. It was ugly—messed her up. My dad married her mom when we were in our teens, and suddenly, we were family.”

It made sense now. Why you and Jeonghan were inseparable, why he always seemed to understand you in a way no one else did.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Jeonghan continued, voice quieter now. “Not to anyone. She pretends it doesn’t affect her, but it does. It’s why she is the way she is. Why she pushes people away before they get too close.”

Seungcheol exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Jeonghan met his gaze, all traces of amusement gone. “Because if you’re serious about her, you need to know what you’re up against.”

Now, he understood just how much he had to fight for you. Seungcheol stayed quiet, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with you. The push and pull, the way you shut him out just when he thought he was getting close. Now, it all made sense.

Jeonghan sighed, watching him carefully before speaking again.

“It’s hard to love her less once you get to know her more.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped up, meeting Jeonghan’s knowing eyes.

“That’s why she keeps people at arm’s length,” Jeonghan continued. “Because she knows it too. She’s terrified of people staying just long enough to leave.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “And you think I’m just like everyone else?”

Jeonghan smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “I think you’re different. That’s why she’s this scared.”

Seungcheol didn’t sleep much that night.

Jeonghan’s words stayed with him, looping in his mind until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. You weren’t just pushing him away because you wanted to—you were pushing him away because you were scared. Because you expected him to leave.

And if there was one thing Seungcheol hated, it was being predictable.

The next day, he found himself outside your office again, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. He knew your schedule well enough by now, and when he saw you stepping out, he straightened.

You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw him. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was flat, but Seungcheol could hear the exhaustion underneath it.

He pushed himself off the car, hands slipping into his pockets. “I needed to see you.”

You exhaled through your nose, already tired of this conversation. “Cheol—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “This time, just listen.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t walk away. That was enough for him.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. “You asked me what I wanted from you. I didn’t answer then, so I’ll answer now.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “I want you. I want every version of you—the one who glares at me, the one who shuts me out, the one who lets her guard down when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“And then what?”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly. “Then I keep wanting you. Even when you push me away. Even when you tell yourself you don’t care.”

Your jaw tightened, your emotions warring against your better judgment. “I don’t need saving, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he said easily. “You never did. But you do need someone who stays.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Seungcheol could see the way your fingers twitched, 

So he softened, just enough. “Jeonghan told me.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, Seungcheol saw something other than defiance in your eyes. It was vulnerability, raw and unguarded.

“I don’t pity you,” he said before you could say anything. “I don’t think you’re broken. I just wish you’d let me in.”

You let out a breath, but it wasn’t exasperation this time. It sounded tired. Resigned. “I don’t know how,” you admitted.

Seungcheol gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward his car. “Then let’s figure it out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to convince yourself this was a bad idea. That you should walk away like you always did.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Seungcheol grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

He opened the car door for you, waiting. And after another beat, you got in.

As Seungcheol got into the driver’s seat, you folded your arms and eyed him suspiciously.

“So?” you prompted.

He glanced at you. “So, what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What exactly did Jeonghan tell you?”

Seungcheol tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, as if debating how much to say. “Enough.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s not vague at all.” He smirked but didn’t answer immediately, which only irritated you more.

You shifted in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “He probably just told you my sob story to make you feel bad.”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he told me about your parents, about how things weren’t easy. But he didn’t say it so I’d pity you.” His voice softened. “He said it so I’d understand you.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly before you shut them again.

“Jeonghan’s known you for years,” Seungcheol continued. “And he made it pretty damn clear that if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to stop being an idiot and actually see you.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “And what do you see?”

Seungcheol’s gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. “Someone who pretends not to care because it’s safer. Someone who pushes people away before they get the chance to leave.”

“But also,” he went on, “someone who cares way more than she lets on. Someone who makes it impossible for people to love her less once they’ve gotten to know her.”

Your head snapped back to him. That was Jeonghan’s exact wording.

Seungcheol’s lips twitched. “Yeah, he said that too.”

You huffed, leaning your head against the window. “He talks too much.”

Seungcheol chuckled, but then his voice dropped, quieter now. “Look, I’m not here because of what Jeonghan told me. I’m here because I don’t want to be just another person you expect to leave.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know how. Instead, you just muttered, “You’re annoying,” under your breath.

Seungcheol smirked. “You’ve mentioned.”

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t push you to say anything more, and you weren’t ready to give him any more than you already had.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park and turned to you. “So what now?”

You shrugged, gripping the door handle. “I don’t know.”

Seungcheol leaned back against his seat, watching you carefully. “Are you gonna keep avoiding me?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle. “…No.”

That seemed to amuse him. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You sighed, turning to face him properly. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol.”

His expression softened. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

You stared at him, searching for something—any sign that this was some kind of game. But all you found was patience, quiet and unwavering.

You exhaled and looked away. “I should go.”

He nodded, but before you could push the door open, he spoke again. “You never answered my question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, as if debating whether to repeat himself. Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said, “What do you want?”

Your breath hitched because wasn’t that the question you’d been running from this whole time?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol studied you for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He smiled slightly. “Okay. You don’t have to know yet.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “That easy, huh?”

His smile grew. “Not everything has to be a fight, you know.”

“Tell that to my brain.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “I’ll work on it.”

You bit your lip, stealing one last glance at him before finally opening the door. “Good night, Seungcheol.”

“Good night,” he said.

PART TWO COMING SOON

[turtlesandfrogs]

So, someone asked:

And truthfully, I have so much advice that it needs to be it's own post.

First off, let's set some background information: I have ADHD. I have really bad ADHD*, and that has an impact on executive functioning and thus the amount of work that can be accomplished during work time. HOWEVER! You do not have to have ADHD for this advice to be relevant for you. Often accommodations for one group end up working well for others, so just, like, keep that in mind, ok?

On ward!

Step 1: Have you met your mammalian needs? That is, have you had food (type of food matters, make sure you get some good protein, fats, carbs, and vegetables in you. You will not last long on coffee and a bag of candy), water, physical exercise, and ample sleep**? We are animals. We have to have these needs met, or we will not be functioning well. This is the ground work, the foundation of the ability to Do Stuff.

Addendum for those with executive functioning disorders (ADHD, ASD, probably others, I'm not an expert in mental disorders!): You need to make space in your life, EVERY DAY for things you enjoy. Do not limit them to "rewards" for after the task is done- you need things to be happy about in order maintain your mental well-being. Without happy-making things, you get depressed (well, a lot of us are co-morbid and need to keep an eye on that any way), and when you're depressed, you will not be functioning well. Depression literally robs you of energy. Doing things that make you happy is just as foundational as eating, drinking, and sleeping. Time with friends and loved ones, time with hyperfixations and special interests, hobbies, etc. You NEED them. They are prerequisite, not reward!

Step 2. Do physical activities daily. The more physical activity you do, the more you'll be able to do. Yes, there is a point at which it becomes too much, or a person tries to do too much too soon, but for the majority of modern humans in the US, increasing your physical activity will increase your energy levels and endurance. It also does good things for your brain (increased focus, increased learning ability, increased positive mood, etc). Find some activities that you enjoy- walking around the neighborhood and identifying plants and birds? SCA? Dancing? Stretching? Swimming? Biking? DDR? Pushups? Find something that you enjoy doing and can fit into your daily life. Also try to find things that strengthen muscles, maintain flexibility, and train balance.

Step 3. Reduce Cognitive load- and plan to do it before you start. The less you have to think about while you're working, the better. Thinking takes energy, and when you're working on a thing***, you want your energy to be going to that thing. Some things that may help:

Listening to music

Having a piece of paper where you write down any thoughts of things you need to do that aren't the thing you're doing right now.

Putting your phone on Do Not Disturb

Meditating first, so you can write down all those "AAAA! I need to do that!!!" thoughts on that paper mentioned earlier before you even try to work. I find that every time I try to meditate they all come bubbling up, so it's a great way to get them all written down first so they won't be distracting you while you're trying to work on your chosen task.

Set a timer, so that you're not thinking about how long it's been or if you need to stop and do something else.

Do some prep work before working to make the working easier. Like, are you cleaning out a doom room? Grab the garbage, recycling, and empty containers you need first. Are you writing a paper? Grab your snacks and hot beverages, and references, and have a plan for your break times before you sit down to write.

Step 4. Access what you need/want to do. Make a list. Look at the list. Do any of those things feel overwhelming? You need to address that:

can you break the tasks into smaller tasks?

do some of the tasks need preparatory work? Write that down on your list too

does a task have a hard part that is blocking you from progress? Can you do that first thing while you're at max energy? Can you break down that part into smaller parts? Can you get someone else to do it? Can you do it, and then schedule a break?

Step 5. Keep your 'Why' in mind. Why are you doing it? What is the core motivation, the driving force? Eg, "I'm cleaning my room because I feel better when my space is clear and organized, and it's a gift to my future self". Or maybe, "I'm writing this paper because (this topic interests me) or (because I want to get a good grade in this class and do well in school so that I can get a job that will support me in the future)". Some times it's not obvious at first why exactly you're doing a thing, but if you dig, there's probably a solid reason that is meaningful to you in there somewhere (even if it's just, like, avoiding late fees or something). If not, maybe don't do the thing?

Step 6. Take breaks. Breaks are legally mandated, at a minimum of 10 minutes every 2 hours where I am, but everywhere I've worked (except when I was a teacher) gave people 15 minutes every 2 hours. You know why? Because you get back from break with more energy. You also make less mistakes when you take regular rest breaks. You work more efficiently, and can work for longer if you take restful breaks. Just, like, don't do something that's taxing in the same way as the work you're doing. In other words, if you're writing, don't go read more things, get up and walk around the building instead. If you're doing physical labor, sit your tired bones down and consider looking at things that make you laugh or bring you joy.

Step 7. As you work, acknowledge to yourself your accomplishments, and celebrate them. The harder the thing is (or the harder it was to get started), the more important this is. You're training your brain to associate doing the work you want to do with good feelings. You are not that much more complex than a dog or pigeon. If you are mean to yourself, for example by thinking "dang, that was all? What's wrong with me that it took me 3 weeks/6 months/2 years to get started?" then you are effectively punishing yourself. Even a small tweak like "Dang, that's all? That's way easier than I thought it would be! Go me! I'm so glad that's over and I'm no longer suffering through procrastination!" makes a huge difference. Don't be mean to yourself.

Further suggestions:

8. If you have a hard time starting, use some ADHD strategies:

Tell yourself that you only have to work for 5 minutes (or 10, if that feels very doable), and then you can take a break. Set a timer, and at 5 minutes, check in with yourself. How are you doing? If you're doing good and want to keep going, do a quick stretching break, mentally praise yourself, and then get back to it. If not, stop, take a break and assess what you can do to make it better. Then get back to it.

Count down from 10 and start.

Bribe yourself: When I'm done, I'm going to take a hot bath. When I'm done, I'm going to go for a walk. When I'm done, I'm going to spend $300 dollars on houseplants. When I'm done, I'm going to ask for a hug. When I'm done, I'm going to play 6 hours of that new game. You know, what ever is reasonable and fits the scale of the project.

Get a body double/work buddy. They don't have to help you, they are just there, working on their own thing. For some reason this helps a lot of people.

Think about how much future-you will appreciate present-you for doing this task.

Take a second and write about the problem, why it's hard to start. Is there something else even more pressing that you need to take care of first? Have you not met all of your needs? Is there some element that you're avoiding thinking about for some reason? Can you address it?

9. Role play an effective person. Or a person that's good at the thing you want to do. Think of someone, ideally someone you know, who is good at the thing, and pretend you're them. Maybe someone you're slightly jealous of because of their ability to do the thing. What would they do? What would it look like? How would they feel internally while doing it? Just pretend you're them and look at the work through their eyes for a little bit.

10. Do you have sensory issues? Is your body comfortable? Are your clothes clean and nice feeling? Do you need to take a shower (or just wipe relevant bits with a wet washcloth)? Are the lights bright/dim enough? Is the air fresh or does it feel stuffy and stagnant? Are you hungry/sad/thirsty/tired/overwhelmed/etc? Can you address any of those factors?

11. Use usually negative personality traits. I'm not saying this is for everyone, but for some of us, it may be a useful tool when used cautiously. For example, I am a person who has a lot of anger. Obviously I have worked very hard to get better at managing my anger and reducing the sum total of hours I spend angry. HOWEVER, I am so good at cleaning when I'm furious. S,o maybe I pick a thing that I know will make me angry, and I think about it for a while, and then I have a lot more energy to clean the room.

12. Use positive personality traits. I also really enjoy making people happy. So sometimes if it's not enough to motivate me, I think about how happy whatever work will make someone else. That's probably the better, healthier option.

13. Are you trying to do too much? I want you to take an assessment of yourself and your energy and endurance levels. Think of what would use up 100% of your energy and endurance for the day. Got it? Ok, good. Now, don't let yourself go over 80%. At the max. Reduce your task list and responsibilities until you can comfortably get everything done with 60 to 80% of your energy and endurance. Why? Because if you're running at 100% all of the time, what happens when you can't? Because if you're running at 100% all the time, you will burn out. Because if you're running at 100% all of the time, if a small disaster happens, so much will collapse because you won't be able to do it all.

Because you're a human, and you deserve leisure time and rest and relaxation. Because you're a human, and you NEED leisure time and rest and relaxation.

14. Being mean, harsh, disapproving, and demanding of yourself is counter productive and WILL NOT work in the long term. Being kind, creating chances for you to learn new things, being grateful to your past-self, and giving yourself the things you need to be happy and healthy will.

* enough that the physiatrist commented on it, but I was home schooled until I went to college, and thus had no idea what ADHD was or that I had it until year two of my masters degree in teaching. I didn't get formally diagnosed until 29.

**ample sleep, here defined as allotting enough time to sleep that you wake up before your alarm clock on a regular basis. Not like, once a week you sleep in for however many hours in an attempt to make up for the rest of the week. No, I mean allotting enough time EVERY NIGHT that you wake up before your alarm 90% of the time. It doesn't count if you're waking up because of anxiety or pain. I would hope that you're addressing those as much as you possibly can.

*** please nobody think that when I say "working" that I mean jobs/working for other people. When I say "working" I mean literally any activity that you don't find yourself doing automatically and without thought. I love plants- taking care of them is still work. I love food- making it is still work. I love sharing information- compiling it in a format that is intelligible to others is still work.

[phant0mth1ef]

girl dad bakugou hcs / can be read as a standalone or as part 5 to bakugou x support course reader

- whenever they wanted to play dress up, the man would argue with two five year olds happily oblige and put on a custom made princess dress that you had bought him.

- his kids were big deku fans growing up and everytime he was forced to buy merchandise he would secretly grind his teeth and grip the shopping cart handle just a little harder.

- he ended up having to take them to meet deku and he was ticked off the whole time, but still took and framed the photo of his two little girls that were as happy as they could be.

- his daughters were daddy’s girls through and through.

- his fans would definitely make thrist trap posts about him as a dilf, and you’d read them to him as he made dinner, almost falling off the kitchen counter while trying to catch your breath when someone said “till? WE’RE NOT STOPPING ❌”

- his fans would also post about how the biggest and baddest man is getting bossed around by you on a daily, making him seem small and meek.

- although he tries his hardest to keep his little family out of the spotlight, they do sometimes end up making the front page & his daughters are always dressed to the 9’s and posing in full force for the cameras.

- it was as if each kid was a carbon copy of him, inheriting his hair and red eyes, one even going so far as to get a similar quirk, and your other daughter wanted to be just like her mother, pursuing a career in the support course.

- one of his daughters actually wanted to go to shiketsu but he wouldn’t allow it.

“anything that isn’t ua is just less than! all the second rate heroes came from shiketsu and i will not allow my daughter to become second rate like that damn wind dude!” he was sitting on the couch while your daughter was trying to discuss shiketsu’s entrance exam with you.

- his daughters called him mister boom boom from the age of 4 to about… wait they never stopped calling him that!

- he wanted to name one of your kids dyna and the other might.

- you settled and let him have dyna but got to name your other kid who you named akari after your favorite assistant at mirko’s agency.

- his daughters worshipped him growing up but begun to make fun of him as they got older due to his funny lack of temper and the way he never talked back to you. ever.

- he made sure his daughters knew to never settle for less.

- imagine how annoyed he was when dyna came home talking about this boy she had met at ua, an electric type.

“hah?” “you are not dating dunce face’s offspring! break it off now! the dude’s second rate and i’m sure that kid of his is too! not good enough. no way.”

- glared at kaminari’s son the whole time when she brought him and his family over to meet you.

- akari was just like you, and maybe that’s why your husband chose not to anger her as much as he did dyna, but he always made sure to show up to her support events, and to always be her number one fan at each and every one of them bevause he remembered something you’d said back in highschool.

“support is a great career path, i just wish people would acknowledge it more because we don’t get nearly enough attention for as much as we do.”

- would instantly try to intimidate every boy your daughters ever brought him, kinda like phil dunphy in that one modern family scene where it’s like:

“that’s my little girl! i need her to know no guy on earth is good enough for her.”

- ultimately the man just loves his daughters and is so happy that he has them despite the fact that sometimes he doesn’t seem like it.

[mariacallous]

My earliest memory of 4chan was sitting up late at night, typing its URL into my browser, and scrolling through a thread of LOLcat memes, which were brand-new at the time.

Back then a photoshop of a cat saying "I can has cheezburger" or an image of an owl saying “ORLY?” was, without question, the funniest thing my 14-year-old brain had ever laid eyes on. So much so, I woke my dad up by laughing too hard and had to tell him that I was scrolling through pictures of cats at 2 in the morning. Later, I would become intimately familiar with the site’s much more nefarious tendencies.

It's strange to look back at 4chan, apparently wiped off the internet entirely last week by hackers from a rival message board, and think about how many different websites it was over its more than two decades online. What began as a hub for internet culture and an anonymous way station for the internet's anarchic true believers devolved over the years into a fan club for mass shooters, the central node of Gamergate, and the beating heart of far-right fascism around the world—a virus that infected every facet of our lives, from the slang we use to the politicians we vote for. But the site itself had been frozen in amber since the George W. Bush administration.

It is likely that there will never be a site like 4chan again—which is, likely, a very good thing. But it had also essentially already succeeded at its core project: chewing up the world and spitting it back out in its own image. Everything—from X to Facebook to YouTube—now sort of feels like 4chan. Which makes you wonder why it even needed to still exist.

"The novelty of a website devoted to shock and gore, and the rebelliousness inherent in it, dies when your opinions become the official policy of the world's five or so richest people and the government of the United States," the Onion CEO and former extremism reporter Ben Collins tells WIRED. “Like any ostensibly nihilist cultural phenomenon, it inherently dies if that phenomenon itself becomes The Man.”

My first experience with the more toxic side of the site came several years after my LOLcat all-nighter, when I was in college. I was a big Tumblr user—all my friends were on there—and for about a year or so, our corner of the platform felt like an extension of the house parties we would throw. That cozy vibe came crashing down for me when I got doxed the summer going into my senior year. Someone made a “hate blog” for me—one of the first times I felt the dark presence of an anonymous stranger’s digital ire, and posted my phone number on 4chan.

They played a prank that was popular on the site at the time, writing in a thread that my phone number was for a GameStop store that had a copy of the ultra-rare video game Battletoads. I received no less than 250 phone calls over the next 48 hours asking if I had a copy of the game.

Many of the 4chan users that called me mid-Battletoad attack left messages. I listened to all of them. A pattern quickly emerged: young men, clearly nervous to even leave a message, trying to harass a stranger for, seemingly, the hell of it. Those voicemails have never left me in the 15 years I've spent covering 4chan as a journalist.

I had a front-row seat to the way those timid men morphed into the violent, seething underbelly of the internet. The throbbing engine of reactionary hatred that resented everything and everyone simply because resentment was the only language its users knew how to speak. I traveled the world in the 2010s, tracing 4chan’s impact on global democracy. I followed it to France, Germany, Japan, and Brazil as 4chan's users became increasingly convinced that they could take over the planet through racist memes, far-right populism, and cyberbullying. And, in a way, they did. But the ubiquity of 4chan culture ended up being an oddly Pyrrhic victory for the site itself.

Collins, like me, closely followed 4chan's rise in the 2010s from internet backwater to unofficial propaganda organ of the Trump administration. As he sees it, once Elon Musk bought Twitter in 2022 there was really no point to 4chan anymore. Why hide behind anonymity if a billionaire lets you post the same kind of extremist content under your real name and even pays you for it?

4chan’s “user base just moved into a bigger ballpark and started immediately impacting American life and policy," Collins says. "Twitter became 4chan, then the 4chanified Twitter became the United States government. Its usefulness as an ammo dump in the culture war was diminished when they were saying things you would now hear every day on Twitter, then six months later out of the mouths of an administration official."

But understanding how 4chan went from the home of cat memes to a true internet bogeyman requires an understanding of how the site actually worked. Its features were often overlooked amid all the conversations about the site's political influence, but I'd argue they were equally, if not more, important.

4chan was founded by Christopher “Moot” Poole when he was 15. A regular user on slightly less anarchic comedy site Something Awful, Poole created a spinoff site for a message board there called “Anime Death Tentacle Rape Whorehouse.” Poole was a fan of the Japanese message board 2chan, or Futaba Channel, and wanted to give Western anime fans their own version, so he poorly translated the site's code and promoted his new site, 4chan, to Something Awful's anime community. Several core features were ported over in the process.

4chan users were anonymous, threads weren't permanent and would time out or "404" after a period of inactivity, and there were dozens of sub-boards you could post to. That unique combination of ephemerality, anonymity, and organized chaos proved to be a potent mix, immediately creating a race-to-the-bottom gutter culture unlike anything else on the web. The dark end point of the techno-utopianism that built the internet. On 4chan you were no one, and nothing you did mattered unless it was so shocking, so repulsive, so hateful that someone else noticed and decided to screenshot it before it disappeared into the digital ether.

"The iconic memes that came out of 4chan are because people took the time to save it, you know? And the fact that nobody predicted, nobody could predict or control what was saved or what wasn't saved, I think, is really, really fascinating," Cates Holderness, Tumblr's former head of editorial, tells WIRED.

Still, 4chan was more complicated than it looked from the outside. The site was organized into dozens of smaller sections, everything from comics to cooking to video games to, of course, pornography. Holderness says she learned to make bread during the pandemic thanks to 4chan's cooking board. (Full disclosure: I introduced Holderness to 4chan way back in 2012.)

"When I switched to sourdough, I got really good pointers," she says.

Holderness calls 4chan the internet's “Wild West” and says its demise this month felt appropriate in a way. The chaos that defined 4chan, both the good and the very, very bad, has largely been paved over by corporate platforms and their algorithms now.

Our feeds deliver us content; we don't have to hunt for it. We don't have to sit in front of a computer refreshing a page to find out whether we're getting a new cat meme or a new manifesto. The humanness of that era of the web, now that 4chan is gone, is likely never coming back. And we'll eventually find out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"The snippets that we have of what 4chan was—it's all skewed,” Holderness says. “There is no record. There's no record that can ever encapsulate what 4chan was."