#BECAUSE Y'ALL AIN'T GETTIN' MARRIED

[eddis-not-eeddis]

My tolerance for rom-coms has hit an all time low. Every time these idiots are like, "Let's move in together, it's the most romantic thing a couple can do to show they love each other!" I just feel that smoker meme in my soul.

Marriage, folks, the thing you're actually thinking of is marriage.

There's nothing more romantic than swearing to spend your life together. But admit it, you're too cowardly to commit to any ACTUAL romance in your life. :/

[wide-nose-and-wonderful]

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Brief use of the n-word.  Some Fluffy, Goofiness and a little bit of Smutty Goodness to send you on your way. Imagine One Shot, or something like that.

MINORS DNI! AT ALL! This is not for you.

Word count: 4,444k | Summary: There was a reason we got 1985 Franklin and not 2024 Franklin. Just imagine the husband wit’ a cellphone. A damn fool. That's what. And Leon a fool to cause he'd be right there wit' him. Like y'all ain't done no kinda work. Tick tockin’ n’shit. Haha ain't he sexy tho' em em em. Mr. Saint Mr. Saint you can get it all, you can get it all. And so without further ado' drum roll please....

A smile itches to make itself visible. You instantly become playful because he's playful, and his antics are infectious. “Franklin. Why you got it on black and white mode?” you ask, tilting your head just shy of youthful curiosity. You contend yourself with discovering just why he does things, but the mystery keeps you apt. The camera zooms in on his face, then zooms out. “Cuz we classic babe,” he says, a hint of laughter in his otherwise sexy voice. “We old school. Ain't that right Lee?” 

You wait. Noise from the camera indicates it’s changing direction. The view turns on a cornrow Leon dressed up in his plaid regular, briefly. “Yeah. Nigg-,” he says, giving a wave off, ever moving. His demeanor is not as enthused. You hear Franklin suck his teeth and watch the biggest grin emerge on his face as he turns the phone on himself again. “You know how it go beautiful. Niggas be camera shy n’shit.” 

A laugh escapes because he's horrible with angles. You shake your head and sigh. “Hey, Lee wassup,” you call into the phone. Although he's out of sight, his voice comes in on the speaker from somewhere like an echo. The room they are in must be huge! “Nothin much,” he calls back. “Just here wit’ yo’ annoying’ ass Husband. Glad he decided to call you. Gettin’ on my damn nerves. He don’t got nothin’ ta do.” 

You pay attention. The word husband, ringing in your eardrums. This word makes your heart skip. You consider that if you smile any harder your cheeks might begin to ache. You try not to tempt it. They were already brimming with so much happiness and you'd be subject to their sting every time you got flowers, or a text that came through that said a simple good morning. To have that feeling be permanent! You always wanted to be married, someday. If he was really serious, you already had the colors and venue plans decked out on a vision board you'd made in your free time months before. Maybe the manifesting began to take hold. Somewhere secluded but serene. You visualize a place with Mountains in fall with the changing colors to bring life to the special moment. Perfect! The pictures would be gorgeous, you both in white surrounded by color. 

“Husband?” You repeat, not expressing too much excitement, but just enough. “Oh. You said that, Franklin?” You ask.  

The phone is doing a close up on his face again. Part of his nose and one eye fit the entire screen. “Yep. I sure did.” He eludes with confident confirmation that has you smiling. “Imma get you pregnant. Marry you, all that.” 

You chew lightly at your bottom lip. Cheeks, officially sore by the prospect of that happily ever after. Not the one found in story books, but one that fits your story. “Um boooooy, dang, I get a say in any of this?” He shakes his head. His expression is a smug one flashing across the screen. That familiar smirk that always has your knees weak and your heart at a beat of engrossment. Your mind, sharp and steady, hurries to take these photographic moments of him and store them away deep in files within your memory. 

“Naw, you just be happy and taken care of,” he clamors out. “Anyway, How's things at the house?”

You nod your head. “Deal. Things at the house. Oh you know, same ol’ same ol’. Your mama came by. We talked for a while.” 

He smirks, shakes his head. “Oh shit. Bout’ what? What the hell Cissy Saint don’ said now?”

You laugh. “I’mma tell her you be calling her by her government name, watch.” You smack your teeth at his question. “But, nothing. None of ya’ business. Mother in law stuff.” 

“I already know it was bout’ me.”

You purse your lips and lift an eyebrow. “It was actually about plant soil, but M’Kay Franklin.” 

A knock comes through the phone speakers somewhere off in the background possibly to interrupt whatever comeback he’d muster up to say. You watch instead to notice his attention shift. You can’t see what he’s looking at, but he presents more seriously from his side profile.  

“Yeah, wassup. Y'all ready?” You hear Leon’s voice ask. “Aight. Saint. Let’s go,” he says after. You watch him nod then turn to face your view again. “Gotta go. Call you when I'm done. Love you.” 

“Kay. Love you too. Bye,” you say and blow a kiss before the call ends. 

“Baaaaaabe, what ya dooo-in,” he emphasizes zooming out. You watch. The camera lowers. He provides a good view of his outfit. All black. You hold the phone for his entertainment, a display of you on the bed to answer his question visually. Fresh Poetic Justice braids hide underneath the bonnet. Your face, clear of any makeup. A little smile pulls after hearing the playfulness in his voice come back. “Just reading ma lil ol’ book.” Eyes on him, then down where a makeshift bookmark resides in effort to salvage the place left off, you turn to the next page, held tight to the words of the author.

“Show me.” he coos.

“Franklinnnnn….” you plead. His face zooms in. A cunning grin appears on the phone screen. The forefront for your viewing. “Come on,” he says once more, “Show me.” 

You try to stifle a giggle but it escapes despite your efforts. He's handsome, even more with all the goofiness. “Baby move back you to close,” you encourage and with one hand hold the phone up. With the other you lift up the book, trying to angle both just right so he’s able to see. You sneak a peek of his expression. It bestows one of excitement and joy when you put eyes on the phone. 

“Oh shit, you got Toni out tonight? That’s wassup!” 

You nod, smiling. “Yes yes. I was in the mood, and the movie don’t hit like the book do.” 

“What Chapter you on?” 

You hear footsteps, Leon passes by and walks into the other room. “Five,” You answer.

“Chapter five. Chapter five.” He rubs at the hairs on his chin. “Tryna remember what happens in that chapter. Some crazy shit, probably.”

You smack your teeth and roll your eyes, but the smile remains. “Boy stop frontin’ like you read Beloved. You really over there actin’ for ya’ life right now. Doin’ tha most.”

He throws his head back, laughs and repositions the camera. You get a birds eye view of his forehead. “Damn, why you do me like that? But okay okay,” He shifts the view zooming out so that you get a fuller view of where he’s seated. “I haven’t read it. Saw the movie tho’. I’m sure it's about the same. Concept wise.” 

You shrug. “Hm. Maybe. But you know the books are usually always better than the movie.” 

“Yeah. True that.” 

“Franklin baby. Why you be lying so much,” you say, and blink slowly to look at him. 

He laughs. “I’m not. Stop actin’ like the only book she wrote was Beloved. She got other books too.”

You make a face. “Yeah. None of which you’ve read.” 

“I’m not messin’ wit you go head,” he says with a grin and waves you off.

“Stop frontin’ so much then.”

There are seconds when neither of you speak and you take the opportunity to sneak a peek at a few more lines of the paragraph you're on. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Made another tik tok video today.”

You smack your forehead. “Lord, another one, Franklin.” He had been against the entire thing in the beginning, until you both did one of the trending couple dances that you forced on him. Then challenges, and some more dances. A bonafide tik tok monster. “What have I done? You're like, addicted at this point. You already made one the day before.” 

He smiles. “Naw, listen tho’ this one was fire. It’s me makin’ macaroni n’ cheese, babe.”

You hold the phone away from your face so he can’t see the puzzled expression. When you pull it back, it’s still very much present. “Whaaaaaat?”

“Yep.” This time he smiles proudly. “And my mama taught me her recipe, so you know it smacks.” 

You sigh and nod looking into the camera. “Okay. If the recipe came from Mama Cissy then there’s hope. I’mma let you make it for me so I can taste it when you come back home.”

“Shit, hell yeah. And you know what,” he shakes his finger at the phone. “I’mma fry you up some chicken as a bonus.” 

You shoot up from your comfortable position on the bed waving your hand in protest, almost dropping the whole phone in the process. “No, No, you do the macaroni and cheese, I'll do the chicken! We can’t have another grease fire. Almost burnt down my whole kitchen last time. I couldn’t believe you!” 

He sucks his teeth, whining. “How was that on me? Grease got too hot too fast. It’s yo’ stove. That’s the problem. But that’s wrong tho’, how you ban me forever! Like, I could see if it was for a few months, but forever is a stretch. You mean as hell for that babe. I’m actually hurt.” 

His voice didn’t convey hurt, but he put on his puppy dog eyes through the screen. His sad expression, tempting to believe and otherwise nurture, only because he was cute doing such a performance. You fight through the desire of giving in to it, like you always seem to do, to instead this time hold your ground firmly, and clear your throat. “Because Franklin, nun uh. But,” you smack your teeth. “Since when do you cook? That’s my thing. I’m on dinner duty. Not you. Now all of a sudden you wanna audition for Hell’s Kitchen,” you argue. 

A light chuckle leaves him. So much for puppy dog eyes and being hurt. All that out the window. He appears as a man puzzled. “I said that shit as a joke,” he confirms. “You know me and Gordan would throw down. Like the motherfuckin’ spaghetti can only be cooked one way.” The camera zooms out. You get a fuller view of his form. “But hell back to the point, I gotta learn somehow don’t I? How I'm spose to cook for you after I put that baby in you and you all laid up? Huh, answer me that.” He pauses and grins, like the thought stays on his mind as he licks his lips. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. You wonder whose thoughts are nastier. Diving back into your memory files, you consider which position might align with the impregnation. Missionary eye to eye, doggie style had been the favorite so far, but legs thrown over his shoulders just might win the vote, hands down. “DoorDash,” you rebuttal to his sentiment. 

He nods his head, getting up and moving around the hotel room. “You said DoorDash? Wow. That's cold.” The view takes you into a closet while the new moisture in your panties becomes extremely uncomfortable. His Polo shirts hang in the semi empty space and he searches through them, choosing a Royal Blue out of the bunch. “That’s okay. I’ll remember when the zombie apocalypse comes, won't be no damn door dash, ubereats. None of that. I got the last can of green beans too, and I won’t be sharing that shit.” 

You let go a breath of relief and allow your shoulders to sink. Thank your lucky stars that you mastered the art of the poker face. He wasn’t aware that you were still thinking about him fucking you silly. At Least he’d taken the L for his chicken cooking fiasco. Moved on. Zombie's happened to be a simpler subject to dive into, strangely. “Okay so we’ll both starve then,” you interject. “Cause guess who got the can opener Mothersucka’?” 

You stare at each other. Silence on both sides of the phone until he breaks it. 

“Yeah, okay. I got you.” 

You grin. He’s salty. He always is when you win an argument. 

“Have you eaten yet?” You close the book and focus all your attention on him. 

He shakes his head. “Naw. Me and Lee actually bout’ to go down soon. Imma shower real quick and change.” 

“Okay, well I won’t hold you. Eat well. May you have an abundance of green beans before the end. Love ya much, handsome face.” You finish off with your Whitney Houston impression with a taunting sault. He frowns but there is a hint of a smirk attached to it. He almost laughs. “Love you.” 

You, two points. Franklin, zip!

Your phone is propped up on the dresser providing a full view as you dance. The music from your laptop fills the room. “Come on Frank fuck it up. Show off them famous Saint dance moves!” Shoulders bounce, fingers snap and it all becomes a sing along. Your eyes are on him until you turn, letting yourself feel the music. You spread your legs apart and your ass begins to bounce to the beat, cheeks clapping to its rhythm in your fresh black lace panties. “Oh fuck you givin’ me a whole show, okay. Hell yeah,” you hear him yell out against Paul Russell. You laugh and clap your hands as the song ends and grab the phone, throwing yourself on the king size bed in your shared bedroom. Only after you catch your breath do you notice the bowl of deliciousness. “See Franklin. Got my ice cream melting.” You lift up the phone and switch its position with that of the colorful scoops. A banana split you fashioned just for yourself after the late night craving crept up unexpectedly. You grab at the spoon eagerly taking some nuts and whip cream into your mouth. 

A chuckle comes from the phone speakers and you notice a small flash. “How? You the one got up,” he says with enthusiastic sarcasm. 

“Hecks yeah, that’s my song! My lil boo thang. Mmm.” You notice the room he's in is darker with less light filling up the space when you look in the direction of the phone. The flash might have been him turning off a light, or at the very least, dimming it down. You can see a smirk emerge from where you sit on the bed, back propped up by pillows. There's a bit of ruffling on his end. “You ma’ lil boo thang,” he says.  

It's your turn to laugh. “How? That nigga singing about some other dudes girl. You didn't take me from no one,” you run a spoonful of strawberry ice cream over your awaiting tongue. 

“That's not the point. I could if I wanted to.”

You sigh and poke your lips. “ Oh, hush the hell up Franklin, with yo’ cocky self.”

“Am I lyin’? You know you love it over here on team Saint.”

“Whatever,” you say, eating more of the chocolate and rolling your eyes. But you do smile. 

“Hm. See. That ass ain't say no. But anyway. I liked the lil’ dance you did just now. You look sexy in them panties. Those the ones I bought you?”

The compliment had you feeling yourself. “Oh why thank you. And yeah they are actually.” 

His head tilts just slightly with a squint of his eyes. “I thought it was a set?” 

You nod and look down at yourself. “It is. I just like your T-shirts way better though. Especially when you're away.” 

A smirk finds its way on him. “I see.” 

There's some electricity that runs up your spine. Something about his tone is enticing. You clear your throat to change the subject. “So uh, how was the food?” 

The smirk turns into a smile. “Well I didn't have any green beans as you suggested, but the steak was cooked up perfect. Had that and just a side of fries.”

“Hm. No desert?”

You can hear movement on the other end. Probably him shifting his position. “That's usually reserved for dinner, I thought,” he says. 

You toss a glance at the bowl. “Hm. Not always.” You move the phone and hover it above your face. “Especially ice cream. You can have it any time of the day. Now, make that a banana split and I guarantee you'll get your fill. You like banana splits babe?” Grabbing the edge of his shirt you slowly start to move it up and up until your belly button is exposed, then even further to rest right under your chest. 

“Yeah, I like um,” he licks his lips. “What you doin'?”

How long had it been? You could count the days. Too long. Long enough that you would remove his shirt and your panties, the ones belonging to the set he'd bought, to lay butt ass naked in front of a phone camera. Desperate times, you couldn't take how much of a temptation he became throughout the day. You point your toes as if to model for him, your legs moving in slow motion as your hands begin to explore. The camera tracks this entire process until you position it on the dresser, creating for him a more open view of the bed and you.  

“What do you like about um?” 

You change your voice. Much more sensual. A way to get his attention as you ignore his question and ask more of your own. “What's your favorite part?” You dip your finger and run it through from flavor to flavor. “It's got so many elements to it.” You sit the two fingers on your neck and drag. Your breath doing a hiss from the coldness. You bite at your bottom lip and shut your eyes with a continuous motion of your fingers to the top of your titties. “And the best part, you can design it how you want it. Three scoops, chocolate, vanilla and strawberry.” The heat from your body makes the clump cascade in drips running over the fullness of your breast and some over your nipples. “Chocolate drizzle,” you moan. “A little caramel. Whipped cream. Nuts. So many nuts.” 

“Oh damn. You tryna make a mess. What about the banana?” His voice is different too. Much more involved and curious like pressing you for what might come next. You grin and turn your head to glance at him. “Oh your right, how can I forget the banana?” You face the opposite side where the bowl sits on the bed and pick it up. “That's gotta be my favorite part,” you utter, moving it over your skin. “The texture. It's fullness. The way it feels in my hand.” First it touches over your legs, then the inner thighs. You part your knees and run the furthest end over your exposed clit. 

“Shit, for real…” 

You don’t know what this answer is pertaining to, either in relation to your favorite part of a Sundae, or his reaction to seeing a banana slink over your pussy so eloquently. Either way, the breath he’s let out tells you if he wasn’t already locked in for the ride you were planning to take him, he definitely is at this point. 

“Mmhmm. And you know what,” you whisper.

“What,” he utters in response. 

“It's even better, coated in cream.” You lift your hand, take one end and dip it into the ice and whipped cream, already beginning to melt. When you pull it back out, the white decorates its tip and a bit of its length. You move it slowly toward your lips. Some little drips happen along the way that only roll down your skin as a result. “I remember how you taste Franklin. How your warm cream felt sliding down my throat right before you left.” Finally the tip reaches your plump lips. You part them as the end inserts inside your welcoming mouth, more and more to the back of your throat. You can hear him, noises, a hum, or maybe a moan. You don’t look to confirm any suspicions, instead your smile wraps around the banana once you hear the struggle he's having with his belt. 

You do your best to breathe through it, your mouth now pooling with saliva mingled with the cream as the tip reaches back and tickles at your uvula. A hum of satisfaction at his breathy approval before you start to bob your head. The Saliva and cream stretch as the sensual sounds of sloppy head fill up the room. To busy filling up your throat, you give your free hand its own job to do. What a feeling of bliss to comfort  such tense muscles. You pretend it's his hand that's touching you so tenderly as you listen to his breathing from your end of the phone. Because you see his face and hear his voice, the sensation is more intense when you glance over. All those elements help push for more pleasure. You pull the banana, cream runs down the side of your mouth. “Ahhh, I love feeling you inside me, both ways.” 

“You love it baby.” 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ love it.” Your eyes sink down to your pussy, fingers trailing gently along the slick opening. With your mouth full again, this hot smoldering sensation courses up your spine. You gasp against the weight of the banana and repeat the motion. The sensation served only to grow. An involuntary shiver, the aftermath as his voice encourages you, keep going. Slick, and tight, your clit jots out hardened by arousal, and you do indulge her. His voice triggers the reaction. “Go a lil deeper for me.” So you add another finger to caress your mound, this time slowly, with more pressure applied to your bundle of nerves. A warmth explodes within you and numbs your legs. The desire intensifies. You roll your eyes back in effort to suppress a moan. It's stopped anyway by the blockage. Another push and the slight hit makes you gag. You pull it's end and even more saliva and cream break free as you try to catch your breath. 

The yearning building up in your throbbing center causes you lose interest in the banana and cry out his name, “Franklinnnnn, Mmmmmm…yessss.” All the blood in your legs runs to your pussy, steaming it. And not even the cold from the ice cream can cool it when you dip your hand to apply more, over the surface of your naked body. You are literally burning from the inside. You lift a finger into your mouth and begin to suck and taste your juices mixed with all different flavors. 

“Got damnnnn, baby.” His voice comes in, encouraging you to return pleasure onto yourself again. Moistened from your suckling, the same finger slowly descends downwards and strokes against your tingling bud. The moment your fingertip touches your sensitive core, a loud husky moan of pleasure erupts from your mouth and you shiver slightly as a result. As your fingers dive into your tight, sticky hot cavern, you shut your eyes. Your stroke harder, faster, with a sense of urgency. Moan in this unbridled ecstasy to buck your hips against pleasuring fingers. Yours, but you pretend they are his. “ Fuck your beautiful. I always love the way you taste….I wanna taste you so fuckin’ bad right now it hurts. Lick all that off. Bet that shits hella tight to,” he breathes out. 

With those words and the addition of your name coming in right after, you can almost feel him groaning against your slick lips. If he wasn’t really about his business, he might catch the next plane back home. You were pretty much a living breathing human sundae ready to be devoured, and you wanted so desperately to feel his warm tongue taste every place where the ice cream had run. So you moan, and rest your head back on one of the pillows with that image. “Give ma’ girls some attention…” Pulling at your nipples and needing your breast, you do as instructed. You start panting. You feel a surge of wetness. The very same sensation that came when you thought about all the past positions he'd had you in. “Franklin, I'm almost there…” The vibration of fingers, the wild thoughts swirling, and the fact you can hear him pleasuring himself, moves you closer to orgasm. It doesn't take much. You feel this ripple at your sweet spot. You ride it, bucking your hips while your inner walls squeeze tight, your legs slump down against the mattress, trembling before they go completely, lifeless. 

Closing your eyes to hold the state of euphoria, you catch the sound of his elaborate breathing almost identical to your own. It calms, little by little. 

“Fuuuuck. Didn’t realize how much I needed that, babe.”

You smile but keep your eyes shut to drag your hand and lay it on your stomach, coated by the aftermath of release. “Me too,” you offer as a light murmur and wipe your mouth. With a satisfied sigh you lean over to grab the phone and watch his expression go from happy and otherwise calm to indifferent. You lift your head in concern. 

“Hey. What's wrong?” 

“Nothin’. Just wish I could be there, cuddled up.” He pauses. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too. But soon, like four more days and you’ll be back home. We can do us a reply, only in person.” You sit up. “It won’t be forever. And even if it was,” you smile. “I’d wait for you.” 

A grin blossoms and finds its way back on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, duh. I’m wifey, remember.” you say to reiterate, laugh and look at the ice cream, completely melted into liquid form. “Well, I should probably hop in the shower before I get all sticky. I’ve already made quite the mess. I’ll call you in the morning.” You snap your fingers at a sudden realization. “Or, damn time difference, you call me? That way I don't interfere with business.” You pull the sheet, toss it aside and stand to your feet. Your bare chest, partially in view. 

“Wait. Take me wit’ you.”

You hold the phone up. “Where?” 

“To the shower.” He has the nerve to look you up and down. Turns out you had a certain charm in creating monsters. “I wanna see the clean up process,” he smirks. “Got about thirty more minutes until my next meet up.” 

The grin on your face begins to grow. You look at the life of your battery. 53%. Just enough for a little bit more Saint FaceTime. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING.  -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

Taglist: @fairy-cores-world @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @hopelessdisasterr @slippinninque

[bellaxgiornata]

It's been awhile since I've written one of these dialogues, but here y'all go. As usual, it's below the cut, friends! (And I almost lost it after I had it all written so I am thanking whatever in the universe helped me save it 🙌🏻).

Matt, irritated: Was this really necessary, guys?

Frank, roughly clapping Matt on the shoulder: Yeah. It was. You've been hoggin' all Bella's attention for weeks now, Red. It got old hearin' about you all the time real fast.

Mikey: And she did say she wanted some help to stop thinkin' 'bout ya. Now she can.

Matt, straining against the restraints: But did you need to tie me to a chair? You don't think this is too far?

Frank, grinning: I kinda like it. Would be better if I taped your damn mouth shut, though.

Mikey, glancing at Frank: Ya don't think tyin' him to a chair is goin' to give her more ideas 'bout him though, do ya? 'Cause she has been thinkin' 'bout, well, usin' rope in a smut fic lately.

Frank, looking unsure: No it--it's just gonna keep him from tryin' to convince her to watch Daredevil again. And to stop writing so much for him. That's all.

Matt, sighing: Look, you guys are missing the bigger picture here.

Mikey, focusing back on Matt: Which is...?

Matt: If she's focused on me, she won't be writing for all those other guys. That weird vampire and that grumpy zombie killer. And that other Irishman who keeps shooting us cocky smirks over there because he knows she's thinking about him.

Frank, eyes narrowing at Matt: Yeah, but then she only writes for you. So nice try, Red, but it ain't happenin'.

Mikey, gesturing to Frank: I'm with him on this. She's written enough for your arse.

Frank, glancing at the other men sitting on the couch behind them with a disturbed expression: Though it is gettin' real goddamn weird how most of you look the damn same.

Daryl, glaring at Frank: Don't look at me like that. I look nothin' like the rest of these assholes. And I'd rather not be stuck here with any of y'all dumbasses. Rather fight a herd of walkers than listen to you three always fightin' like some weird married couple.

Matt, frowning: We do not.

Owen, nodding: You definitely do.

Henry: It's quite exhausting to listen to, actually.

Frank, angry: Well no one asked for any of your opinions!

Mikey, pinching the bridge of his nose: For the love o' God don't lump me in with these two.

[orreanintrepidness]

"Jokes on y'all I ain't ever gettin' married unless someone asks me. Even more of a joke because if you ask, I will prolly laugh at your sorry ass because Orreans don't do that. Fuckin' overrated shit man. I'd rather spend that money on like, thousands of cigarettes."

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Like, in this episode alone, she goes through so much, and this is all AFTER that time she was possessed by a demon after accidentally killing the other person, died from an exorcism, came back as this remnant (whose entire existence is to feed), had to be treated like a prisoner by her best friend because she accidentally fed on her fuck buddy, escaped through the woods after she couldn't even be allowed to find a pedophile or a rapist to eat, and then taken by the worst demon dude...

This episode makes me miserable and I forgot how much. And even though the fandom had been small, there's still not enough sorrow spared for Suzanne. She wasn't some perfect character, but damn, Sis should've gotten a little more feels.

Everybody was too busy complaining about the so-called queerbating in the show. 🙄 Anytime the characters not gettin married by day 3, y'all cry queerbaiting, like we can't have queer relationships progress naturally in a program.

Anyway, lemme shut my Black ass up. Suzanne deserved some outcry, and duh - Raquel and Amy was wlw. Amy said her goddamn self THIS VERY EPISODE she don't be coming out with her feelings like she should. Of course she don't just let Raquel know she got real feelings for her. Shut up. Be upset about Suzanne.

She still ain't dead and probably went on to have a miserable existence.

Suzanne is such a tortured character. It's always so sad to watch her.