#I don’t have time to waste judging your choices

[ranthaven]

That song that goes:

I’ve no more fucks to give / My fucks have all run dry / I tried to go fuck shopping but there’s no fucks left to buy

That’s me every day. Creeping towards 60. I slap my bass slowly.

Hey, take it from someone creeping towards 40:

Ignore the fun police.

If you like it, order your steak well done. Get your bagel toasted with jam and butter. Put ice in your scotch and ketchup on your hotdog. Get red wine with fish and white with steak. Who cares?

If you want to, listen to pop music. Watch blockbuster popcorn flicks. Read dime store novels. Enjoy them.

Dye your hair or cut it off. Paint your fingernails blue. Wear whatever the fuck you want on your own time (ie, when not at a job or school or whatever where you can get penalized for breaking rules) as long as you aren’t like welding or shoveling snow.

Anyone who tries to tell you you’re wrong? Say “okay” and go back to what you were doing. You’re not hurting them by enjoying yourself or having things the way you like them.

There are no caveats or addendums to this. No “but what about x?” Nah. You’re allowed the things you like. You don’t have to justify your taste or apologize for it if it’s not hurting anyone.

And likewise, let other people live their lives. We’re all dead in the long run, so tend your own garden before you become fertilizer in it.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART NINETEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not many for this chapter :p masterlist a/n: wanted so badly for this chapter to be longer but just as i finished a 60-hour work week, i fell down with the flu. boooo.

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Price kept his promise when the time came, the next morning shifting to evening, the sun resting along the horizon. You’d spent the better majority sleeping off the pain, unable to stay awake for long while the parasite ate away at you from the inside and out.

Waking to a booming ‘Land ho!’ was the relief you needed to relax properly, the potential of you receiving urgent attention easing your worries momentarily.

You hadn’t had a proper moment alone, always waking to another man in the room watching over you, appearing just as tired as you. Gaz was often the one who took over, or in his place it was Soap. The Captain was making haste in steering to landfall in order to guarantee your spot in healing. He was wasting no time, keeping all hands on deck to make it happen.

You weren’t expecting Ghost, however, when you opened your eyes. He was lounged in Price’s chair at his desk lazily, eyes blinking sleepily at the floor, his fist on his cheek. He looked oddly comfortable, sat at ease rather than a man who seemed to always have a target on his back.

“Ghost?” you croaked, habitually attempting to sit up. It knocked the air out of your lungs immediately and you settled back down once you noticed Ghost tense up.

He grunted in response, eyes darting up from the floor to you. You’d hardly seen him since Graves’ unsettling show, and you were sure he was only in the room because he thought you’d be asleep long enough for him to switch shifts with somebody else.

“Y’alright?” he asked, gaze flickering down to your side where the bruising was becoming a disgusting black, almost resembling rotting flesh.

“We are almost there?” you asked instead, shifting the blanket over you subconsciously.

He nodded, taking his fist off of his cheek and leaning back in the chair. “Not too long now,” he responded. “Just sit tight.”

You fiddled with the hem of the sheets, picking at a loose thread. The air felt heavy with awkwardness, and it nearly suffocated you. You hated how strange it always felt in Ghost’s presence, like a force between you condemned you away from one another, but you weren’t too sure if it was you or him creating it.

Judging from previous actions, it was definitely him. He wasn’t an easy person to talk to—even after his apology.

“You don’t like me, do you?” you asked without a second thought. Once it came from your mouth, you instantly regretted it. If you were able to move on your free will, you’d have slapped yourself by now.

“What?” he grumbled.

You swallowed, peering up at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. “You do not seem very fond of me. Even after everything.”

You felt his stare on the side of your face. It was burning into you. “Is that so?”

You nodded once, a curt movement that was stiff and uncomfortable. Now that you had bitten off more than you could chew, the only solution was to continue gnawing.

“S’not that,” he answered. He shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the table. “You’ve already forgotten our talk? I’m not the type to repeat myself.”

“I have not.”

“Then why are you always stressin’ ‘bout it?” he huffed, almost like a child. At times, he surely acted like one—a rather rude one, but you digress.

“You seem tense with me,” you replied quietly, wondering why the conversation was brought up in the first place. It was never easy speaking of feelings with Ghost, and you were learning that the hard way. You didn’t understand why you felt compelled to begin something with no finish.

“I’m tense because you’re hurt,” he corrected, albeit a bit coldly. “S’not you.”

You gnawed on your lip as you stared into nothingness. Ghost was always an enigma, a puzzle piece you couldn’t quite fit anywhere, and the more you spoke with him, the more difficult it became.

You wanted to understand him, but how could you understand somebody who didn’t want to be understood? Then again, perhaps he thought the same of you.

“Has Graves done this before?” you asked, tone growing soft.

You knew Ghost was at the hands of Graves more than once. The unspoken trauma he held was evident simply in the way he fueled his hatred for the evil captain. If there was anybody who knew Graves for who he truly was, it was Ghost.

“Worse,” he said shortly, as if the matter was so simple to understand. It made your stomach twist up, imagining the horrors that lie along Graves’ past.

“Worse?” you murmured to yourself in disbelief.

Truly, what had Graves done? Surely, he had killed plenty. He held the card of death, dealing it to those unknowing. He played the game until he grew bored, tossing his pawns aside when he wanted a new one.

Were you simply his plaything for the time being? What would happen when he sought out a new one?

You turned your head to look at Ghost. You studied the skull ring that glistened on his finger, as well as the matching mask that locked up his true identity.

Ghost was just as much a pawn as you were—he was simply the last one standing.

“Why do you wear it?” you asked, and when his eyes simmered with confusion, you continued. “The skulls. They are his, yes?”

Ghost glanced down at his ring, wiggling his finger for good measure. “It angers him,” he explained calmly, toying with the ring with his thumb. “He takes pride in his ship. The skull flag on his ship is his staple—he thinks only those deserving are allowed the opportunity to flaunt it.”

“So… you wear it because he does not think you’re deserving, and it angers him?” you finished.

“I consider it a game,” Ghost shrugged. “He took what was mine. I take what’s his.”

You blinked, trying to piece together the puzzle. It made sense in your head, but you felt you were missing something.

“What did he take from you?”

Ghost finally looked at you, pupils blown with that familiar hatred you’d seen all this time. Now, though, you know it’s not for you.

“Everythin’,” he muttered. “I’ll be sure to do the same for him."

Ghost left rather quickly after that. You hated to see him go, but you knew a nerve was struck and he wanted to be alone—it was something he preferred. You could respect that.

Soap was the one who took charge, talking your ear off while you drifted in and out of sleep. He was lifting your spirits as always, trying desperately to get you out of the funk you’d been stuck in.

The conversation with Ghost took enough energy from you that it left you lifeless, resuming to your exhausted state and only offering an occasional hum of acknowledgment to Soap. You felt horrible for seeming so uninterested, but Soap didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if anybody were to understand, it would be him.

“After all this is over, I say we take a li’l vacation, aye?” Soap piped in. You glanced at him blearily, silently nodding in agreement. “Ye ever drink before, dove?”

You shook your head, causing Soap to gawk at you as if you’d just offended his entire family. “Never? Well, we’ll have to change that the second yer all fixed up. Get ye to a nice pub and drink yer sweet heart out. Yeeeah, that sounds real nice ‘bout now.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping. Soap, ever the sweetest, always kept a peppy attitude for you, even if you could see the exhaustion lines forming on his face. He was so compassionate with you, and you feared you didn’t deserve it. It was your fault for all this mess.

“Yer first drink’s on me, aye? Hell, once yer back on yer feet, I’ll pay for all yer drinks, how’s that sound?”

“Bargainin’ to a sick bird, am I hearin’ that right?”

Both you and Soap looked to the door where the Captain stood, hand on the knob. He was so silent as he came in, presumably not to wake you in the case you were asleep.

“Ach, the girl deserves a drink after all this. M’just tryin’ to make her feel better,” Soap defended with a huff, shooing his hand.

Price snorted in amusement, stepping into the room. He made his way to your bedside where Soap sat, peering down at you and observing.

“How’s my dove doin’ today?” Price asked, his tone affectionate.

You caught a glimpse of Soap’s side eye towards the Captain’s behavior, evidence of confusion washing over his expression. He said nothing, only blinking slowly. You could practically see the gears in his head clogging up the workings in there.

Price looked a bit more hopeful that day, albeit sluggish. His smile was tilted as if his lips were too heavy to lift fully, his eyes were dimmed from the light you’d seen recently. You knew he was pushing past his limit, hardly sleeping and overriding his brain with too many steps in his plans.

“I’m fine,” you assured quietly, though you prayed he couldn’t see through it.

You weren’t fine at all. You felt like a vessel while your soul floated above your body and watched on as you slowly crumbled to ash. You no longer felt completely present, only forced into living from the consistent wakings for meals or check-ups.

The mess on your ribcage had blossomed into a murky pool of black, only spreading rather than weakening. The poisoned veins were like a wildfire, untamable as they slithered their way through your body and organs as if making them its collection.

You were a disastrous mess on the inside. On the outside, though you were gray and sickly with sunken bags beneath your eyes, you tried to present yourself as anything but, mustering up the strength to converse with each and every one of them when you weren’t sleeping.

It was easy for any of them to see it, though. The spark in your eyes had vanished and you resembled more of a corpse than a woman.

Price tilted his head, staring at you for a moment. His hand lifted and he brushed the back of his knuckles across your forehead, resting them there. What met him was warmth. While it would’ve been a comforting feeling, it made him more worried than anything.

“You’re still hot,” he murmured, more to himself. “Have she been like this all day?”

Soap shrugged, frowning. “She’s been asleep for half of it.”

Price glanced at Soap before sighing through his nose. “We’ve got just a couple of more hours. Think you can wait it out a bit more for me, dove?”

You nodded sluggishly. What more was another hour or two? You had already dealt with it for days. The pain wouldn’t subside regardless.

Price attempted another smile, one you couldn’t return. It pained him to see you in a state so depressing, but it wouldn’t be the last that you and his crew would go through hell. He’d seen Ghost in far too similar circumstances before.

He gave your cheek a soft squeeze, frowning to himself when even that didn’t wash away the hollow expression you wore. He felt like he was looking at the shadow of a person that once existed.

“We’ll come and collect you when it’s time,” he told you softly. You only hummed through a sigh, feeling the unfortunate taste of exhaustion once again.

Soap and the Captain shared a look before they exchanged a few quiet words you couldn’t hear. Price seemed reluctant to leave but did nonetheless, slipping the door closed with such gentleness that it didn’t dare disturb you.

Soap remained where he was, studying your every feature as you slipped back into that unforgiving dream state, unable to take his eyes off of you—not when they were so close to getting you to a healer.

He feared if he looked away for even a moment, you might just slip through his fingers.

You’d loved helping people ever since you were a child. You couldn’t remember much, but you knew for certain that you’d been that way all your life—the simple aid of carrying items for the elders in your village, helping the merchants set up for the day, caring for the younger children if they’d hurt themselves or scraped up a knee or two.

It was something you’d always known that soon developed into a bigger dream the older you got. An obsession, some would say, to the idea of being your village’s healer and curing them of their misfortunes. Medicine was a calling, and you listened to its guide, working day and night to learn and discover all new possibilities that you’d never seen before.

Yet, that love for helping others labeled you crazy. The village slowly lost their affection for you, turning their backs as if you’d never been apart of them, disgusted by the fact that a woman of your age was unmarried and childless.

You knew you were meant for more, yet the people who you’d spent your entire life becoming apart of had shunned you over your mere dreams. There was a great, big world out there to discover, but they wished to keep you confined to their little home and grant you misery for the sake of keeping tradition.

Women didn’t have dreams. They didn’t have hopes. How silly of a world was that?

You still wanted to pursue them. You had the whole world ahead of you, and you were angry that there was a possibility of it being snatched away from you, all because of one man. He was ruining the work you'd spent years prioritizing, and you'd be damned if you didn't get what you wanted.

Even as you lay, rotting away in Price’s cot, that desire never went away. It only blossomed, the need nipping at you like an aggravating tick.

It was a wonder how you hadn’t succumbed to the vile venom that Graves’ had slipped under your skin when he bashed his boot into the workings of your ribcage. How you were still alive was unfathomable, something even you didn’t understand after working for years to do so.

Was it simply will that people needed to survive? Was it determination? Or was it just you, the lucky one?

Your mind was muddled with these screaming thoughts as you remained in your unconsciousness. Yet, even asleep, you could feel your body being jolted, like somebody was slipping their arms around you and carrying you to a place unknown. You tried to wake up, but you were trapped in your own world as if needing to seek answers before escaping.

Your ears pricked at the sounds of voices. They sounded far away, muffled as if underwater, and inside your cafe of your mind, you fought to hear, to get a glimpse of your reality that you were missing out on.

“I don’t know, Cap. There are rumors swirlin’ that this woman works wonders, has the hands of the Gods workin’ with her,” a voice exclaimed. Gaz, as clever as ever. You’d know his voice anywhere.

“You speak nonsense,” another voice said. You recognized the gruffness as Price. He sounded closer than Gaz did, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “We cannot get our hopes up over stories. She’s a medic, just as the others. We will not rely on foolishness to fuel our hope for dove’s recovery.”

You heard Gaz scoff, and you could nearly picture the tightening of his jaw and the slight downward curl of his lips—like a child pouting.

“You do not find it strange, Captain, that our dove hasn’t perished to the willingness of Graves’ curse?” Gaz asked. “Perhaps the rumors are true. Maybe this woman knew we were comin’, and that’s why dove’s held out for so long. Don’t you think a li’l extra hope is what we need?”

“We will know it when we see it,” Price retorted, clearly still unbelieving of Gaz’s claims. “I will not believe in such sorcery until it has been done to dove. What matters is healin’ her.”

“You have seen what Graves has done to others,” Gaz tried once more. “Sorcery is always possible.”

The captain didn’t reply, and you knew that meant he was stumped. You wished dearly to wake and speak with them yourself, to hear of Gaz’s story and to understand where Price is coming from. The desire to meet both their needs felt heavy, and it only grew the longer you went without it.

“Sorcery is what got us in this situation in the first place,” another voice joined in. You were surprised to hear Ghost chime in his own thoughts. It made you wonder if he spoke more when you weren’t around. “If you do not recall that, Gaz.”

You heard another scoff, one could only assume from Gaz. A tempered one, he was.

“Ever the so positive one, aye, Ghost?” Soap. There was no mistaking that heavy accent and chirpy tone.

You heard a snort, then Ghost speak, “Always.”

The world fell silent after that. If you listened close enough, you could hear the shifting of clothes and the crunch of dead leaves. You hadn’t a clue what was happening, though your best bet was that the ship had made landfall, and your path to getting healed was closer than ever.

So why did it feel like something else was beginning to unravel out of control?

[succulentsiren]

Judgements from others is never personal, so stop treating it like it is.

Some people may think you’re too skinny or too fat, too wild or too boring, or too loud or too quiet. But it is only if you agree with their judgements, that it’ll become your truth.

Don’t torture yourself by associating with something that has nothing to do with you because when you do identify with someone else’s lowly judgements of you, you are agreeing to a mindset of self-sabotage.

People who take judgments personally, constantly live in paralyzing fear of what others think of them, which is a waste of time because they’ll be judged anyways — Understand that people’s judgements are not something to be internalized, neither something to be controlled. It is simply just something not to align or identify yourself with.

Make the choice to live your best life regardless of outside judgments. Remain unbothered, self-focused and self-validated. Don’t let what others think define you. Define yourself. Have the mindset of, “I’m not who you say I am. I am that I am.”

Stop replaying painful memories — of when people aimed their judgements towards you, in order to plant guilt and insecurities into your psyche. Free yourself by detaching and disassociating. Let these memories go and understand that it was never personal anyways. (Spiteful people always project their own insecurities unto others because they want you to be as miserly as they are).

You can either choose to disassociate and not take judgements personally, or you can cause yourself pain by identifying with the judgements and hurtful opinions of others.

The choice is yours.

[erwinsvow]

“yeah, you want that one?” rafe asks you, while you browse through the dresses on the rack. the one you’ve picked out to show him is yellow gingham, with skinny straps and a bow on the neckline. you hold the dress to your chest, looking down to see where it’ll end on you. “i’ll get it for you.”

“hm…” you consider the idea for a moment, holding the dress out again to get a better look. “i don’t know. it’s pretty short.”

“since when is that a bad thing?” rafe moves his arm against the rack, manhandling the hanger from your hand and holding it against you himself. “think it’s perfect.” you laugh at your boyfriend’s antics.

“there has to be a reason to wear it, rafe. i don’t have any right now.”

“we’ll go to dinner. there’s your reason.”

“i have other dresses,” you decide finally, putting it back between the others.

“c’mon, just let me get it for you.” he follows you while you walk away and wander towards the jewelry section of the store. you look down at sparkling silver and shimmery gold, while rafe joins you and leans against the glass counter. “you want jewelry instead? that’s fine.”

“no, i’m just looking,” you insist again. “it’s called window shopping. ever heard of it? 

there’s pretty things in the case, a silver bracelet with little blue stones that particularly catches your eye since blue is your new favorite color, but you don’t really want anything, and you really don’t want rafe to buy it for you.

“no. just pick somethin’ out. my treat.” you glance up at rafe.

“for what? i haven’t done anything.” he laughs to himself, not necessarily at you, more because of you.

“i don’t need a reason.” he makes you flush, so you walk away again, this time to the shoes. you hold a pair of brown sandals in your hand, flipping them over to see the size.

“you already treated me, remember? you paid for lunch.” rafe grabs the shoes out of your hands too.

“that’s a meal, not a treat. want these?” he looks down at you, not even sparing a glance to the price tag. “c’mon.” you grab his wrist as fast as you can.

“no! no. i have some just like these. it’ll be a waste, i’ll never wear them.”

“are you bein’ serious or are you just sayin’ that?” damn it. you are just saying it, since you don’t want rafe spending his money on you. you lie to cover your tracks.

“serious. i’d never lie to you.”

you wrestle the shoes out of his hand, settling them back on the shelf. 

“fine. c’mon, we can go somewhere else.” you finally let him buy you an ice cream cone just so he’ll stop offering.

you try to explain to rafe that the reason you want to walk around is to look around and spend time with him, not to really buy things, but he’s hard to convince. 

rafe thinks you need to stop being so worried about what everyone will think. you’re still bad at it, trying to ignore that part of you that murmurs in your ear that people will judge you for all these nice, new things rafe wants to buy you. you think people will say you’re dating him for the money, but worse than that, you think people will say bad things about rafe, about his choice in dating you, if you ever make him buy you more than dinner or ice cream.

your hesitancy gets the best of you, and even though you’ve always had some nice things, being pampered by rafe feels inherently wrong, like you should at least make sure he knows he doesn’t need to buy you anything. lost in your own thoughts, you’ve rejected his offers countless times, and the only new, expensive thing he’s gotten you since you started dating is the R necklace you wear everyday. 

you think you’re good at hiding it, but you’re not. rafe sees right through you, and he knows what he’s going to do about it. 

later that week, rafe drops you off at home in the morning after you slept over. you still think he hates driving in the cut—as much as he denies it—but he refuses to let you bike back and forth to tannyhill. 

“i’ll pick you up for dinner.” he says, leaning across you to open the passenger side door. you flush like you always do, partly because he’s not asking, he’s telling.

you nod, and then wave bye from the window. he waits until you get inside to drive away, which makes you want to go scream into your pillow. you head into your room to do just that, but you’re greeted instead by bags and boxes littered across your bed.

you know what they are, even before you walk over on your wobbly knees and set aside the tissue paper, looking down with watery eyes all the things you had been admiring in the store the other day with rafe. you sit down next to them—the yellow dress, the pretty sandals, the glittery bracelet—and dial rafe’s number on your phone. you exhale shaky breaths while the line rings, but can’t hold back tears any longer when he answers.

“you didn’t have to do this,” you say quietly into the phone, biting your cheek. you try to blink away the new tears.

“do what?” you laugh, so rafe laughs too. 

“i…i feel bad when you buy me things.”

“i know. y’should stop that.”

“or you can stop first.”

“i’m never gonna stop.” you suck in a breath, heart thudding and feeling deliriously in love. “gonna come get you later. wear the new stuff, okay?”

“okay. i will.”

“that’s my girl.” you fall back and let your head hit the pillow.

[4allthefours4]

A Punishment to Remember

(Use of the word cunt. Reader doesn’t mind feminine clothing.)

Minors DNI

Kinks/Warnings: Bondage, Toys, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Mean Dom Tighnari

I’m a hardcore Tighnari simp, don’t judge my fantasy. Lmao

Being in a relationship with Tighnari let you discover a few things about yourself. One, being the fact that feminine clothing made you feel more free. Two being that you absolutely loved headpats. And three, you’re one horny bitch.

“Nari, p- please...” you stutter, body jolting with every pulse of the toy inside you. 

The fox simply glances at you, fidgeting with a small device in his hand before returning to reading. This was supposed to be a punishment, but the man couldn’t say no to your tearful face, at least sometimes. 

You writhe in your place on your shared bed, hands still tied together behind your back. Your feet and legs are separated with a bar, giving the fox the perfect view of your lower half whenever he wishes to look at you. You take the few moments you know you have to gather your breath, shifting in your place to a better area covered in less of your fluids than the previous. The punishment had been going on for at least an hour, the fox leaving the bed after only a few minutes of watching you squirm.

The reasoning for the punishment was dumb, really. You had gotten particularly distracted in trying to beat Cyno in a game of TCG, completely forgetting to return the book you had borrowed from the library a week prior. Your perfect record of non-overdue books had been broken, because of a simple card game. Honestly, if it were anyone else Tighnari wouldn’t care. He’d simply remind you of the book in your satchel when you returned home and he’d watch you leave the house once again to return said book. Unfortunately, or... fortunately, you were a horny bastard telling him to punish you anytime he deemed it necessary. 

Electricity shoots up your spine as the toy continues its previous vibrations, the intensity much higher than before. A rabbit vibrator was the toy of choice for today’s activity, the toy being able to stimulate both your insides and your tiny dick. 

“I want you to apologize to me for wasting perfectly good daylight playing card games when you were supposed to be returning this book.” Tighnari  finally speaks, shutting the book in his hands with a loud snap.

“I’m sORrY!” You start, the vibrations inside you intensify making you arch your back. A sinful moan leaves your swollen lips as you cum for what felt like the tenth time that night. In all honesty, you had lost track of your orgasms after the third.

A small chuckle leaves the fennec fox as he watches you squirm in your place on the bed. He watches as your walls desperately try and push the toy out, a small string thankfully keeping it in place. He had thought of everything to make this the most pleasurable punishment he could. 

Before another loud moan can rip through you, soft lips smash against your swollen ones, swallowing the moan in your throat. Tighnari’s tongue forces your mouth open, not that you were complaining, fighting yours for dominance. Almost as quickly as the fight starts it ends, you happily letting the man’s tongue explore your mouth. No spot is left untouched as your tongues dance together in a passionate make out.

You freeze as a particularly loud moan leaves you, almost biting the other’s tongue off. The toy had turned to its max, the harsh vibrations make you cum once again, mouth opening in a silent scream. Tighnari watches with wide eyes as liquid sprays from your cunt, chuckling as your legs twitch much more than before. 

Tears stream from your eyes as you beg the fox to stop the vibrations ripping orgasms out of you left and right. Your sensitivity had finally caught up to you, making the once pleasurable vibrations almost unbearable. 

“One more, love. I know you can give me one more like that.” Tighnari whispers, rotating the vibrator inside you. He separates the other part from your dick, choosing instead to rub the nub by himself. His hands are skillful as he watches your cunt pulse with each movement from his hand. His left hand grips the handle on the toy, thrusting it in and out of you as his right speeds its assault on your dick.

Your back involuntarily arches as a pornographic moan leaves your throat. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you squirt once more, vision going white for a few seconds. 

“There you go. Is my handsome baby satisfied?” Tighnari whispers in your ear. You nod your head as much as you can, sleep threatening to take you. “Sleep, my prince. I will take care of this mess for you.”

You let out a small hum, vision going black as you pass out from exhaustion. The last thing you hear is a faint chuckle from the man beside you.

[novahreign]

This made me nervous posting this. I’m not the best writer but I do try and I don’t have any fancy pictures but I hope that you enjoy it, just the same.🫣

“Kendra, Wait!” Tyler rushed behind her friend who sped past patrons in a restaurant to rush to the bathroom. The bride to-be, got lost between waiters and guests who stood around mingling. Tyler sidestepped quickly to avoid knocking into a waiter coming with a tray full of hors d’oeuvres that she completely missed the guy coming on her left, bumping into him, spilling red wine on herself and his white button up shirt.

“Oh my goodness. I am so sorry, I was trying to avoid hitting them-

“Hey.”

“And I wasn’t looking where I was going. I didn’t even see you.”

“It’s o-“

“Now your shirt is ruined!”

“Hey. Hey.” Rough, large hands took hold of shakey hands-steadying them. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt, it’s all good. He gently moved her toward him” come this way.”

“I got it ma’am.” One of the waiters said. She moved aside so he can clean her mess. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re fine ma’am. It happens quite often.” He chuckled. She gave an embarrassed smile and turned her attention to the man whose shirt she messed up. Her head jerked back, wow. Her eyes scanned over his features. He was handsome.

“Umm…Can I buy you a drink, you know, to make up for this?” She motioned to his shirt

Terry was about to answer but her friend came up to her, getting her attention.

“Ty, It’s not looking good in there, She needs you!”

“Okay, uh, don’t go anywhere, I still owe you that drink!”

She followed behind Marcy and found Kendra slumped over the bathroom toilet.

“I think we may have pregamed too hard.” Shonda, the matron of honor said. Tyler had to agree.

“Guys, why’d you let me drink like this Ughh, I’m never drinking againnn” Kendra’s words slurred” Kendra let out some more, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom. They were supposed to be celebrating Kendra’s last two nights as a “not so single, single” and now Tyler was trying not to inhale the smell of alcohol mixed with Cajun seafood. The bathroom smelled vile.

“Marcus is going to be mad at me.” Kendra whine, throw up sliding down her chin.

“No, he’s not. “ Tyler wiped her face with a wet paper towel before throwing it on the toilet”Because, tomorrow you will detox and it’ll all be fine.” She used her foot to flush,” Come on, y’all, I think we should call it a night.”

As the girls walked out the restaurant. Tyler spotted the guy, she wasted a drink on at the bar. “Hey,go ahead, I’ll be right there.” She walked over to him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around with a confused look on his face.

“Hi, I’m Tyler.” She stretched her hand out

He looked her up and down before taking her hand in his. “Terry.”

“Nice to meet you, Terry. Hey, look. I wanted to apologize about this. I’m sorry.” She motioned to his shirt. “What are you drinking? I can buy you another drink, you know to make up for spilling your wine.”

He tip the almost empty glass toward her “Whiskey.”

Tyler turned her nose up. “Ew, but okay.”

“You judging my drink choice?

She titled her head, “ I am, whiskey is plain nasty.”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“For people with rotten taste buds,”

He laughed out loud. “Rotten taste buds, really?”

“Excuse me.” She got the bartender’s attention “Hi……” she began rattling off his drink order. Terry took that time to take her in while sipping on his drink some more. She was beautiful, the orange dress complimented her dark skin. The dress clinging to her curves wasn’t bad sight either.

“I hope that you’re impressed by what you see, you’re staring pretty hard.” Terry met her eyes, noticing the teasing glint. Terry lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh, I am.”

She bit back a smile. “Well I’m glad. Here’s your drink. Again, I’m sorry but I hope you enjoy.” She patted his back before walking towards the double doors leading to the busy New Orleans Street. Terry tossed his drink back, throw a tip on the counter before coming up behind her.

“Hey, Tyler. Wait up.” He grabbed her wrist.

She jumped at feeling a hand on her, he apologize for scaring her. “What, two drinks not enough?” She smiled sheepishly

“Ha. Funny.” She laughed then looked at him expectantly. He sighed “You in New Orleans long?” She searched his face, deciding on whether or not she should share that information.

Oh, what the hell! It isn’t like she was going to see him again.

“I’ll be in town for a little while. I’m here for my friend’s wedding, why?”

“You think she’d mind, if you broke away from the group.”

“Why would I do that?” She gave him a knowing smile.

“Uh…” Tyler picked up on his nervousness and could tell that he wasn’t used to putting himself out there, she decided to help him out.

“Look, give me your phone.” He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and handed it to her.

She put her clutch under her arm and typed something before holding the phone up to her face to take a selfie. She showed him the picture and he chuckled. “Text me when you wake up and we can meet back her for breakfast. Sound good?.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

She smiled “Okay, well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow” she winked at him “Goodnight Terry.”

“Goodnight Tyler.”

He watched her walk into the crowd before looking down her contact photo. He tapped his phone against his palm. Yeah, he was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.

[planetnini]

ONE — MAYBE I COULD FIX HIM ?

with the week you're having, you don't have it in you anymore to deal with anymore bullshit and take it out on your asshole of a roommate gojo satoru (3.8k words)

content. cheating (we don’t do the cheating), named ex: hiroto, shoko is an extremely good judge of character, geto suguru the man that you are, gojo is a bit of an asshole, reader goes off at the end (rightfully so) <33

Whoever said that if you do what you love, you'll never work another day in your life was a liar. Sure it was a well-meaning sentiment and while it filled your soul with some semblance of hope on some days, it was the main reason you were struggling with your degree and drowning in work. 

So much for dreaming big…

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” the girl questioned. The smoke from her cigarette created an odour that permeated the air as you let out a sigh, leaning back on the wall.

“That shit’s gonna kill you one day.” you muttered moving your head toward the cigarette in between her fingers as you turned your attention to the scene in front of you, waiting for her to finish.

“Make sure I have a nice funeral.” she chuckled before puffing out a cloud of smoke as she pulled the cigarette away from her mouth. When you didn't laugh at her comment, she just stared at you. Your eyes were closed and breathing a little jagged as she observed. Did you think she wouldn't notice?

Ieriri does not reveal much about herself, but everyone that was friends with her knew she was deathly loyal and cared for her friends in a unique way. She put the stick up to her mouth inhaling as she spoke, "You look like shit.” 

“You know how my afternoon lectures are.” she sighed.

She put out her cigarette in the ashtray bin and tucked her hands into her pocket. She was not at all convinced by your story. 

“Hold it Missy.” she demanded and of course your feet stopped in its tracks before her, “Tell me what’s wrong now.”

“I’ve been hearing things about Hiroto.”

You don’t think you’ve met someone that hated Hiroto more than your best friend herself. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as you mentioned your boyfriend or as she called him ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, her lips pulling into a pout. She always had a thing for the dramatics.

"What else is new? Hiroto is a scumbag."

"Ieiri!" you scolded, frowning at her choice of words. 

She scoffed with a shrug before she linked your arms in hers and started walking toward the cafe. You had no idea what she had against Hiroto. He was the most popular guy in your university, and he was the one everyone wanted to be with, but it came as a surprise when he chose you. He had eyes for you, and you couldn't understand why anyone would want you of all people so he asked you out one day and you didn't have the heart to say no. Even if you had liked him at the time, which you didn’t, you still couldn't have said no, it would have been an opportunity wasted. He wasn’t the nicest guy but you would say he treated you well so you defended him every time.

“I still don't understand what you see in him.”

You smiled faintly, “As much as you doubt him, he really does care about me."

You could tell that Ieiri didn’t approve. She never made her opinion on him a secret, and you don’t expect her to start now. 

She rolled her eyes again and sighed, "Yeah, well you should really find someone better, like a certain someone."

It was your turn to roll your eyes at the thought of who she was referring to: a certain white haired roommate of yours. 

“I hope you’re not trying to suggest who I think you are?” you stated as she gave you a sly smirk before shrugging.

“Have things with Satoru been better?”

You paused, contemplating on how to respond as you both walked into the cafe. You turned your attention to the menu as you stood in line. Your eyes scanned over the pamphlet you received when you walked in as you also looked at the assortment of baked goods and pastries. 

"I still can't quite figure him out." you muttered as you stared at some of the menu items.

Her curiosity was piqued as you said this, already knowing what she would order as she stared at you now. "What's he up to now?" she asked.

When you got to university, you opted to follow your dreams and your heart and while you looked forward to finishing your degree, reaching your dreams and goals was expensive, which was something you had known as a teen. It explained why you had to get a job that definitely does not pay minimum wage and why you had to room with Satoru Gojo, as per Ieiri’s request, just to be able to do what you love.

At first, you had thanked Ieiri for convincing the prestigious Gojo Satoru to be your roommate at the start but when he moved in, you were less than grateful.

Gojo Satoru was a scion of a wealthy and successful family making him the epitome of privilege: rich, handsome, and effortlessly at the top of his class without ever needing to study– he pretty much had everything handed to him on a silver platter. 

The first few months were turbulent, to say the least. Gojo acted like a spoiled prince, which was not surprising, always expecting things to be done for him and showing little regard for your personal space or boundaries. Arguments were frequent and inevitable but you shouldn't be complaining, he was the one paying most of the rent. 

Entitlement dripped from his every pore but then something shifted. With you trying to assert your own space and independence against his behaviour and actions, it was as though he had picked up on your growing frustration and decided to turn over a new leaf or whatever. 

It started with small gestures- he'd clean up after himself, occasionally ask if you needed anything from the store, and even helped out with chores around the apartment. These moments, though rare, caught you off guard. You couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act, a facade he put on simply because you were sharing a living space. Deep down, you were convinced that the 'nice' Gojo was just a pretence to keep the peace.

Yet, there were times when you couldn't ignore the fact that he seemed genuinely concerned about you, though these moments were fleeting– hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and his usual arrogance.

“He is just utterly unpredictable." you sighed as you put a hand over your eyes in frustration.

"Sounds like Satoru." she chuckled.

“I don’t know, it just feels like he’s nice to me because I’m friends with you.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, a hint of concern in her eyes. "Are you saying he's being fake around you because of our friendship?"

"Yeah, sometimes it feels that way. Like he's just putting on a show."

Shoko's lips pulled into a small frown, her eyebrows knitting together, "That doesn't sound like him at all. Maybe he's just trying to be friends with you."

You had been so focused on the topic at hand, you hadn't realised you were at the front of the line.

You shrugged, "It's probably nothing.”

"Stop thinking about Satoru, you’re holding up the line." she scoffed as she smiled at the cashier.

You gave the worker an apologetic smile before turning to the person behind you, "Sorry, about that."

After ordering your favourite drink and some pastries, you approached a small table to sit. “I don’t know. I mean I guess Gojo and I are friends but still, I’m a bit suspicious.”

“I don’t think he would do something like that for my sake.”

"It just feels like you're trying to get him on my good side, I wonder why that is." you hummed with a tilt of your head, raising your brows at her.

"I think my best friend just deserves someone better." she shrugged with a pout.

"And Gojo is 'someone better'?" you scoffed.

Her hesitance was telling and you could see the gears shifting in her head, "That's like asking if apple juice is better than orange juice."

You rolled your eyes at her and looked around the café. The coffee beans alongside the soft humming of the machine, muffled speaking, jazz that played through the speakers really defined the atmosphere. Perhaps this place would become a regular study spot if they nailed just how you liked your drinks. 

“Thank you for coming with me by the way.”

“No problem.”

You had a small smile on your lips as Ieiri decided to fold the receipt she had in her hand into origami, your eyes leisurely scanned over the cafe's charming layout but then, as fate would have it, your heart suddenly felt like it had been gripped by an icy hand, causing it to skip a beat.

The cafe that once felt spacious now seemed to shrink around you, constricting your senses. Your gaze, once idly roaming the room, had fixated on an all-too-familiar figure.

There, amidst the warm, cosy ambiance of the cafe, sat Hiroto. He was not alone. He was sitting across from another girl, their faces close. A rare smile was etched across his features, who was she to be able to make him look at her like that? He had never looked at you that way… 

Maybe it was a friend?

Ieiri, perceptive as ever, noticed the abrupt change in your expression. Her eyes followed your gaze instinctively, and when she locked onto what you were seeing, her face transformed from one of carefree enjoyment to sheer disbelief and anger. 

Their smiles were flirtatious and you could feel the creeping feeling of fear settle in your bones.

They were completely engrossed in each other, oblivious to the world around them as they leaned in for a kiss. Definitely not a friend.

Ieiri was right. He was a scumbag.

Your mind couldn't quite grasp what was unfolding before your eyes, reality not even seeming real for a second.

Confrontation was the last thing on your mind. You didn't want to cause a scene, not here, not now, even if every fibre of your being screamed for justice.

Shoko's fingers tightened around her origami creation, crumpling it as her anger flared up. Her eyes locked onto the two with an intensity that could have scorched the room. 

She had always been vocal about her disdain for him, and this seemed like the perfect moment to let it all out. Without hesitation, Shoko started to push her chair back, her intention clear: she was going to confront Hiroto, give him a piece of her mind, and let the whole café know about his deceit. To berate him for everything he did to you, everything he did that you were too blind to see. You sat there in silence, your heart heavy with disbelief and betrayal but instinctively your hand reached out for hers. You shook your head ever so slightly, silently pleading with her not to make a scene.

“We can't just let him get away with this." she whispered back, her frustration growing by the minute.

Shoko's anger was palpable, and her lips quivered with the words she wanted to unleash but she respected your unspoken plea, if only for now, and reluctantly sank back into her chair waiting for your order number to be called out. Once you received the drinks and pastries, the two of you continued walking back to your shared apartment, the weight of the situation heavy on your mind as a tear slipped from your eyes. You had no goddamn appetite now.

The evening had taken an unsettling turn for you. After returning from a troubling encounter at the café that you wished you could just forget, you found yourself back in your cosy apartment that you shared with the Satoru Gojo, the most popular boy on campus.

As you pushed off your shoes and set them by the door, you overheard some of Gojo's friends chatting in the main area. Forcing a smile, you greeted the people in the room as Ieiri followed behind you, making her presence known as she greeted them as well. You placed the bag of pastries on the table, knowing that for certain, Gojo would inhale them when he got his hands on them.

“Hey, do you have a smoke?” Geto asked Ieiri as he looked over his shoulder. Next thing you knew, Geto had moved to sit across from you at the island counter while you sipped at your glass of water, mind wandering back to your jerk of a boyfriend. “How are you?” he inquired, patiently waiting for your response.

“I’m alright, thanks,” you mumbled, trying to muster a genuine smile in response to his concern. 

Geto waved a hand in front of your face as your thoughts drifted. Suddenly, you were locked into eye contact with him. Leaning down to eye level, he asked, “You sure you’re okay? You look a bit tired,” a playful chuckle escaping his lips.

You sighed a little before shaking your head resolutely, “Just had a terrible fucking week.”

Geto chuckled, “Tell me about it.” he scoffed, commiserating with your struggles. Although he didn’t know the full story, it didn’t matter, you were seen for a second and it felt good, "I swear they have it out for us."

Ieiri was best friends with both Gojo and Geto in high school. You never really understood their dynamic at all but the brief interactions shared with Geto had been enough for you to come up with a comprehensive answer. 

Many people around had said that Geto was like the sun personified, radiating this warmth and light wherever he went. His presence had an undeniable magnetic quality, drawing people toward him but he could leave an indelible mark on anyone in his presence. It was quite possible that what was true, made you smile a little.

Gojo's friends continued their lively chatter, sharing stories and laughter and it wasn’t until you heard the tap turn on that you realised Gojo is standing right next to you drinking water aswell.

“Hey. You smoking or what? I don’t have all day, Suguru,” Shoko chimed in, her voice cutting through the conversation.

“That shit will kill you one day Suguru.” he muttered next to you.

“Funny. You said the same thing to me today.” Ieiri commented and you could feel all their gazes land on you.

“I guess we’re a lot alike.” Gojo joked and you feel yourself smile at his words as Geto and Shoko shared a look.

Geto cleared his throat, a hand coming up to your shoulder, “Things will get better, I promise.” he smiled as both he and Shoko exited the apartment for their smoke.

The atmosphere inside the apartment shifted slightly as you were left alone in the kitchen with Gojo.

“What was that about?” he spoke, regarding the comment that Geto had just made. 

You turned your attention to Gojo and shook your head dismissively, “It’s nothing.”

“You sure? You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know,” you nodded, “It’s nothing, really.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” he took another sip of his water. 

You paused for a moment, “If I knew you had guests over, I would've brought them some as well.” you stated, pointing at the pastries from the café in the bag.

Gojo raised an eyebrow with a smirk. "So those pastries are for me?" he inquired, his playful tone evident.

"Don't push it." you scoffed, your heart warming at his teasing for just a second. There is suddenly a nagging feeling that tells you he is just being nice to you due to the circumstances.

You clear your throat as you tear your gaze away from him, "Are your friends staying for dinner? If they are, I might skip."  You weren’t exactly feeling like yourself, and would rather not be spending time around people you hardly knew. You were just getting warmed up to the man next to you anyways.

“They’re not staying over. Even if they were, I don't really encourage skipping meals.” Gojo replied, his tone shifting between genuine concern and playfulness.

You can’t even force yourself to smile at his concern, you wanted to keep the discussion going, but your recent experience at the café had left you feeling on edge. "I guess I’ll see you at dinner then." you teased, your playful tone masking the underlying curiosity you had about his intentions. Did he truly want to be friends with you or was he doing it just out of pity? 

He nodded at you and you retreated back into your room to grab some clothes but the voices of his friends drifted into your ears.

“Was that Hiroto’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” you heard the familiar white haired boy reply.

Their conversation had been about you, and you knew it. Trying to push yourself to stop them from eavesdropping, you shook your head and continued at finding some comfortable clothes for tonight. You needed to do something to take your mind off the events from earlier.

"Wait, seriously? I thought he was dating someone else."

Their words cast a shadow over your thoughts and only amplified your bad mood. You clenched your fists, trying to push down the mixture of anger and hurt.

“I don’t know how she’s still with him.”

The weight of their judgement had hit you harder than ever, especially after what you had witnessed earlier. As you contemplated confronting them about it, you could hear the hushed murmurs growing louder, escalating your frustration as a couple of voices interject. 

“She’s kind of pathetic. Don’t you think so?”

You weren't ready to hear them belittle you any further, so you decided to retreat to the sanctuary of the shower, hoping the water would wash away the bitterness. 

You turned on the water, stepping into the shower trying to drown out the sound of their voices echoing in your head. You wished you hadn't noticed how little effort Gojo made to defend you. Perhaps you were wrong to think the two of you were friends to begin with and considering his track record, maybe you shouldn’t have been so lenient to think he was different.

As you emerged from the shower, refreshed but still vulnerable, you were in the confines of your room as you messaged Shoko about what had happened. You knew she would give her a piece of her mind when she saw him next. You laid in bed, letting out some breaths steadying your heartrate as you heard Gojo call for you from outside your door. You weren't prepared for this, not after what you just heard between him and his friends.

With your emotions still raw and your nerves on edge, you slowly opened the door to find Gojo standing there, his usual confident demeanour softened.

His presence in the dimly lit hallway was both comforting and disconcerting. You met his gaze, your eyes holding a mixture of anxiety and frustration.

Gojo's voice was gentle but laced with concern as he spoke, "I sent my friends home.”

You nodded, not even bringing it in yourself to even berate him for being an absolute asshole to you when he thought you weren’t listening.

“I noticed you've been quiet since you got home. Is everything okay? Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?"

Your emotions, a turbulent whirlwind of hurt and anger, surged within you. With a deep breath, you finally found your voice, but your words came out sharp and accusatory, "I don't appreciate it Gojo," you began, your tone wavering but determined, "I know what you and your friends say about me when you think I'm not listening."

Gojo's brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," you continued, your voice quivering with anger.

You could see Gojo's expression shift from confusion to realisation, and a pang of regret flickered in his eyes. His usually playful demeanour had vanished, replaced by a sombre and sincere expression.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, his voice sincere but unsure of how to proceed.

You felt tears well up in your eyes replaying the pain of your boyfriend cheating on you and the callous things they said behind your back. The disappointment of his apology settled in- he’s only sorry because he got caught. 

“That was the last thing I expected from you.” you spat out. "I thought…” you let out a deep breath, your words hanging with every ounce of pain that you’d felt today. You shook your head as you continued, “I thought we were friends."

"We are." he declared, his eyes wavering now. With guilt or concern, you couldn't tell but you knew he didn't really care.

"We're not." you emphasised, still burning with the fury of all the events that transpired today. "Every day, I see you look at me with those eyes that say how pathetic you think I look."

Gojo's brow furrowed in frustration with himself. He wanted to say the right words, to offer comfort, but he struggled to find them. He stepped a little closer, his hands outstretched towards you. You stepped back, your heart pounding erratically, and he instantly retreated.

“You have no idea how much it hurts but I guess I shouldn’t have trusted you to begin with.”

Without giving him a chance to speak, you shut the door with trembling hands. You felt a thud against the door on the opposite end and you could hear him muttered a few curse words as you slid down the surface defeatedly.

His face that was etched with guilt and regret. That look was embedded in your head as you let the tears slip down your face. He gave a resigned sigh before turning away and trudging off towards the kitchen to make dinner– alone.

You stayed in your room until you heard the door to his room close after a couple hours of distracting yourself: with studying, messaging Shoko how much you hated Gojo, and cleaning your room. Retreating from your bedroom as quietly as you can, you see a plate of food he made for you wrapped up with a small post it note on your favourite drink next to it.

I know you're still mad at me, but I hope you don’t skip dinner. Eat well, you'll need the strength... ᕙ(‾̀◡‾́)ᕗ

You scoffed at his note, scrunching it up, putting it in your pocket. It was all just lip-service.

As you sat there alone, your eyes welled up with tears, and you could feel your composure slipping away. The weight of the day became too much to bear. Your heart ached, the hurt and betrayal coursing through you as you sobbed softly.

What a terrible fucking week.

tags! @stsgluver @pandoraium @cottonheadedninnymugggins @satoryaa @bbyxxm @itsthemodelinme @sattosugu

notes. this is not proofread. i don't think the last half of this is as good but... we move!!! i'm sick and wanted to give back with the first chapter since i have some free time to write now <3 it gets better i promise, please comment and give me some love (or feedback), thank you :)

[starvrse]

BOUND BY DEVOTION

pairing : won haneul x fem!reader

summary : yn is js an asshole fr idk

warnings : sub g!p haneul smut, toxicity, belle is used as the “homewrecker”, crying, mommy kink 😅, cursing, etc.

unnecessary bs : 7.7k words 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ happy holidays and tysm for 150 followers 😭🙏

“honestly, haneul, i don’t know why you’re still with yn,” julie said, reaching over to grab a fry from natty’s plate, only to get her hand slapped away.

“right, she’s the asshole of assholes!” the thai girl chimed in, shooting julie a warning glare as she pulled her plate closer.

haneul shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “she’s not… that bad,” she said quietly, her tone unsure but still protective.

julie rolled her eyes. “oh, come on, haneul. we’ve all seen how she treats you. she’s toxic, plain and simple.”

“maybe she’s made mistakes,” haneul countered, her voice firm, “but everyone’s quick to judge without knowing the full story. she’s not perfect, but who is?”

“not perfect? bobsky, she manipulates you!” natty shot back, her voice rising slightly. “you’re always the one apologizing, always the one fixing things when she screws up.”

“i know she has her flaws,” haneul murmured, her gaze dropping to her lap. “but… i see a side of her that you don’t. she can be really sweet and caring when it’s just the two of us.”

julie raised a skeptical brow, leaning back in her seat. “love shouldn’t feel like this, sky. but fine—if you want to keep defending her, that’s your choice. just don’t come crying to us when she hurts you again.”

the table fell into an awkward silence, natty and julie exchanging worried glances while haneul quietly twirled a fry between her fingers, holding on to her hope, no matter how fragile it seemed.

“so… when are you gonna see belle? she’s such a nice girl and obviously likes you!” natty said, her tone light as she tried to steer the conversation into safer territory.

“mhm, she mentioned you two have been texting a lot,” julie added, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she nudged haneuls foot lightly.

haneul blinked, her cheeks flushing faintly. “oh, um… belle’s nice, yeah,” she murmured, her voice soft. “but it’s not like that. we’re just… friends.”

natty raised an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand. “friends who text each other every night?” she teased.

julie leaned in with an exaggerated gasp. “and friends who conveniently light up whenever they see each other?”

haneul fidgeted, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “it’s not what you think,” she insisted quietly, though the faint smile on her face betrayed her embarrassment.

natty and julie exchanged a knowing look, their playful grins widening as they returned to their food, satisfied with the blush they’d managed to coax out of their soft hearted friend.

-

the air was already a bit awkward when belle strolled up to their table, her tote bag slung over one shoulder and her phone in hand. she barely glanced at julie and natty before her eyes landed on haneul. “speak of the devil..” natty whispered to julie, a smirk playing on her face.

“hi, naneulie” belle greeted, her tone light and easy, like they were the only two people in the room.

haneul looked up, startled, and managed a soft, “oh hi, hyewon.”

belle smiled and wasted no time sliding into the seat next to the girl, her shoulder bumping lightly against hers. “i didn’t know you’d be here! cute surprise, huh?”

natty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while julie smirked, leaning back in her chair as if settling in for a show.

“we’re just grabbing some food,” natty said casually, glancing between belle and haneul. “you want something? you’ve already helped yourself to our company.”

belle didn’t even look at her, instead leaning closer to the younger and tapping her arm. “you didn’t text me back earlier,” she said with a playful pout. “i was waiting forever, you know.”

haneul blinked, fumbling for an answer. “oh, um, sorry—i got busy.”

“busy with what?” the blonde asked, resting her chin in her hand as she turned fully toward haneul. her knee brushed against haneul’s under the table, and haneul shifted slightly, looking flustered.

julie stifled a laugh behind her hand. “probably busy dealing with yn. you know, her girlfriend?”

belle paused for a split second, then let out a light laugh as if the comment hadn’t fazed her. “oh yeah, yn,” she said breezily, waving her hand. “but i’m sure she doesn’t mind me borrowing bobsky for a bit, right?”

natty leaned forward, grinning. “borrow her? belle, you’re acting like she’s your personal property or something.”

belle shrugged, her gaze still locked on haneul. “i mean, we’re just friends. it’s not a big deal, right?”

haneul’s cheeks burned as she looked down at her lap, unsure how to respond.

“you’re so bold,” julie teased, shaking her head. “aren’t you worried yn will like, find out and blow up?”

belle smirked, finally glancing at julie. “let her. what’s she gonna do, send me a mean text?”

“she’d probably send bobsky a mean text.” natty shot back, laughing.

belle ignored them, reaching out to lightly tug at the sleeve of haneul’s sweater. “you look really cute today.” she said, her voice soft enough that it felt just for haneul, even though everyone at the table could hear it.

haneul froze, her eyes darting to natty and julie, who were both watching with thinly veiled amusement. “uh, thanks,” she mumbled, scooting a fraction away, though belle didn’t seem to notice—or care.

natty leaned back, whispering to Julie, “yn’s gonna lose her mind when she hears about this.”

as the group continued chatting, haneul’s phone buzzed on the table. she glanced at the screen, the notification lighting up with your name.

yn 🩷: imysmm :(( can i call u later ?

haneul’s thumb hovered over the notification for a second. her stomach twisted as she read the message, the usual mix of guilt and exhaustion creeping in.

julie, ever nosy, leaned over to peek at the screen. “oh, is that yn?” she asked, dragging out the name with a knowing smirk.

haneul quickly turned the phone face down, her cheeks heating up. “it’s nothing,” she mumbled.

belle raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the exchange. “yn again?” she asked casually, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “she’s so clingy, isn’t she?”

natty snorted, nudging haneul’s arm. “bet she’s sending her usual ‘i miss you’ texts, huh?”

haneul gave a nervous laugh but didn’t respond. her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t bother to check this time. instead, she focused on the conversation, pretending she hadn’t seen the message.

meanwhile, back on your end, the “read” receipt stared back at you, unanswered.

-

a few hours later, you’re lounging in your room, scrolling through Instagram with a bored, disinterested look on your face. you’ve already seen that haneul hasn’t responded to your texts, but you’re not about to chase her. you don’t have to.

your finger lazily swipes through the feed until you come across julie’s story. a group photo. at first, you’re not all that interested, but then you see her—haneul—standing in the corner of the frame, a little too close to belle.

your eyes narrow as you study the details. haneul’s hand is resting casually on belle’s waist. It’s subtle, but it’s there. so that’s how it is.

a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips as you watch them. haneul, with that soft expression on her face, looking so innocent, her hand on belle’s waist like it’s no big deal. you don’t miss the way haneul leans in a little, and how belle seems to be melting into the touch, her lips close to your girlfriends neck as she smiles.

you pause for a moment, then smirk. this is the perfect time to remind haneul exactly who she’s dealing with. you take a quick photo of yourself—just enough to tease, nothing too obvious, but suggestive enough to get a point across. you’re dressed casually, quite a bit of skin showing, leaning into the shot just right. you want it to look effortless, like you couldn’t care less, but you know exactly what you’re doing.

you post it with a simple caption: “huzz hmu”

no explanation needed. it’s clear.

as you stare at the post, your mind drifts back to the photo from earlier, the one of haneul with belle. you replay it in your head—the closeness, the casual touch, like nothing was wrong. and that’s when you decide: this isn’t just about her. it’s about sending a message.

you click back into the group photo julie had posted earlier. your finger hovers over the screen, and with a swift motion, you screenshot it. you crop it just right, zooming in on haneul’s arm around belle’s waist, making sure it’s crystal clear.

then you open your messages, and without hesitation, you send the screenshot to haneul. the caption? just a string of question marks.

question marks. no explanation. she’ll get the message.

you watch as the message status changes to “read” waiting a couple minutes before your phone finally buzzes with a message from her.

you stare at the message from haneul, your finger hovering over the screen. It’s a simple question: “why would you post that??”

you already know that she knows the answer—it’s obvious. you just needed to make it clear. you tap the reply box, fingers itching to type something sharp, but you pause.

instead, you just lean back, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. haneul was always the one to play it safe, to avoid confrontation. you know she won’t come right out and say what she’s really thinking, but she’s still trying to act innocent.

you finally type out a response:

“just thought id remind u whats out there. since u clearly dont care about whats right in front of u.”

you send it before you can second-guess yourself, feeling that familiar mix of satisfaction and frustration swirl in your chest. you know she’s going to take a while to reply, probably scrambling to figure out what to say without starting a fight. she always does.

sure enough, the dots appear. you brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable passive reply.

finally, the message pops up:

neul 💕: “This isn’t about me and Hyewon. You know that, right?”

you let out a light laugh before biting your lip while typing. “really? because it looks like ur trying to make something else happen.”

you can almost hear her hesitating on the other side of the screen. It’s exactly what you wanted—make her question herself, make her feel a little uneasy for once.

the dots flash again.

neul 💕: “I’m not doing anything wrong. I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

you bite your lip, resisting the urge to snap back immediately. Instead, you let a few seconds pass, then type:

“maybe u should start acting like u care. bc im not gonna wait around while u play games with other girls.”

you press send, leaning back against your pillow, feeling the rush of control that only comes when you have someone exactly where you want them.

you read haneul’s last message, and the corners of your mouth curl into a slight, bitter smile. she’s falling right into it—just like you knew she would. her hesitation, her soft words, it’s all so predictable.

you lean back, letting your phone rest on your lap as you take a deep breath. time to turn the tables. you quickly type out a message, making sure your words are sweet and innocent, laced with just enough guilt to make her feel like the bad guy.

“you know what? im just tired, haneul. i dont even know why i bother sometimes. i thought you cared, but it doesnt feel that way anymore.”

you hesitate, letting that statement sit in your mind for a second. you can practically see her scrambling to figure out how to respond. you know she’s soft, too soft for her own good, and it’s exactly what you need.

you add more, leaning into the act.

“i dont want to feel like im the only one putting in effort. it just hurts, honestly. i just want someone who actually chooses me.”

there it is. you’ve played the victim. you let the message hang there for a while, watching the screen, waiting for her to reply.

seconds feel like minutes.

finally, her message pops up. you can almost feel the weight of her guilt on the other side of the screen.

neul 💕: “I do care about you princess. I’m not trying to hurt you, I swear. I don’t want you to feel like that.”

it’s exactly what you wanted. you smile to yourself, biting back a laugh. she’s swallowing it whole. you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.

you let a long pause sit before replying, letting her stew in her guilt. then, you type, just a little softer this time, letting the “i’m hurt” act run its course.

“i dont know, neul… sometimes it feels like im not enough. i dont want to be a second choice.”

you hit send, knowing this will be the moment she cracks.

-

haneul looks at your last message, her heart sinking. she doesn’t know how to respond, her mind racing with all the things she wants to say but can’t seem to get out. you’re upset, and she wants to fix it, but every time she types something, she feels like it’s not enough.

she stares at the screen, chewing on her lip, retyping the same thing over and over. “You are enough. You’re my first choice, my main priority.” but it feels hollow. it doesn’t feel like it’ll fix anything.

frustrated, haneul slumps back on the couch, rubbing her temples. julie, sitting nearby and watching her struggle, rolls her eyes. “you’re acting like this is the end of the world. just text her back already.”

haneul sighs. “i don’t know what to say to her anymore. she’s making me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

julie glances at the phone, then at haneul. “give me that.” she snatches the phone out of haneul’s hand before she can protest.

“julie, no!” haneul starts to reach for it, but julie’s already typing.

“watch and learn,” julie mutters, her fingers flying over the screen with a confidence haneul has seen quite a bit as the groups break up message writer. she doesn’t hesitate, completely bypassing all the guilt and worry haneul has been wrapped up in. Instead, she taps out a slick, direct message:

neul 💕: Yk yn, if you keep acting like this, you’re gonna push me away. Stop acting all hurt and play the game right, or someone else will take your spot.

she looks up at haneul, grinning. “now that’s how you handle it.”

haneul’s jaw drops. “julie, what the hell?! why would you say that?”

julie shrugs nonchalantly. “because it’s true. she needs to stop thinking she’s got you wrapped around her finger. you’re better than that.”

haneul stares at her phone in disbelief. she’s not sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream. the message feels so harsh, but there’s a part of her that knows julie’s right. if she keeps playing the role of the sweet, apologetic one, nothing’s ever going to change.

-

you read “haneul’s” message again, feeling a sharp pang of surprise mixed with frustration.

your fingers hover over the screen as a strange feeling settles in your chest. this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. she’s not playing the game like she used to. she’s not apologizing, not begging. you hate that it feels like she’s finally standing up for herself, and you hate that you’re even considering backing down.

but you won’t. you won’t back down.

you start typing, every word laced with the control you know you still have. “so now im the one in the wrong? you seriously think you can just do whatever you want, haneul? ive been here, trying to make things work, and this is how you treat me?���

you press send quickly, but it doesn’t feel like enough. you need her to see exactly how this is going to play out.

without missing a beat, you type again. “you dont get to just walk away from this. youve never cared about me the way ive cared about you. ive given everything, and this is what i get?

a small, malicious grin curls at your lips as you reread the message. it’s a challenge, and you know exactly how she’ll respond.

but you’re not done. you need her to really feel the weight of what you’re saying, to know that the ball is in her court now.

so, as a final act, you block her number. a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. you know exactly what’s going to happen next. she’ll realize she can’t reach you, and then she’ll be the one scrambling to fix things. it’s the perfect move—she won’t be able to ignore the situation for long. you’ve got her right where you want her.

you throw your phone down on the bed and sit back, waiting for her to come to you in the way you know she always does—when she’s desperate enough.

-

back on haneul’s side, the weight of reality crashes down on her. her heart sinks as she tries to reply to you, only to see her messages turn green.

“wait, she blocked me?” haneul’s voice cracks slightly, disbelief washing over her. “why would she do that?”

julie and natty, who’ve been watching intently, both exchange tired glances. it’s becoming painfully familiar.

julie shrugs, not even trying to hide her frustration. “what did you expect, sky? you’ve been walking on eggshells for so long, and she’s always been like this. she gets what she wants, or you’re out.”

natty rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “honestly, this is exhausting. you’re letting her manipulate you again.”

haneul’s eyes dart to the phone, panic starting to creep in. “i need to call her. please, can i use your phone?” she’s almost pleading now, the desperation in her voice unmistakable.

julie hesitates before pushing her phone toward haneul with a sigh. “you really think calling her is going to fix anything? you know what she’s doing, right?”

haneul doesn’t respond, her fingers already tapping over the screen, trying to call you through julie’s phone. she knows it’s probably a bad idea. she knows you’re playing her, but she doesn’t know how to stop. her hands shake as she waits for the call to go through.

as the phone rings, julie and natty exchange a look, both of them silently acknowledging that this is just more of the same. haneul’s too wrapped up in this toxic back and forth to see it.

-

meanwhile, you sit back on your bed, the faint buzz of your phone breaking the silence. the screen lights up with an unknown number, and a smug smirk pulls at the corners of your lips. you already know who it is. haneul.

you take your time before picking up, letting the call ring for a few moments longer than necessary. finally, you swipe to answer.

“hello?” your voice is casual, almost bored, like you’re not even remotely fazed by the call.

there’s a pause on the other end, and you can practically feel haneul’s hesitation. then, her voice breaks through, soft and pleading, “yn… please, i just—”

you cut her off, letting the silence drag for a second before speaking. “what do you want, haneul?” your tone is icy, detached. it’s the calm before the storm, and you know she’s feeling it.

“i… i didn’t mean to hurt you,” haneul starts, her words rushing out, desperate. “i don’t know what’s going on, but blocking me like that… please, just let me explain.”

you can hear the urgency in her voice, and it only makes you feel more in control. you lean back into your bed, not even bothering to sit up, enjoying the power shift. “explain what? that you’re sorry? you always say that. but nothing ever changes, does it?”

haneul’s voice cracks. “i swear i’m trying, yn. i don’t want this to be over.”

you let out a small, fake laugh. “really? because it sure seems like you’re already moving on, huh? hanging out with belle and getting too comfortable with her. it doesn’t exactly scream ‘trying.’”

there’s a long, shaky silence on the other end. you can almost see her scrambling, her mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix it.

“you’re right,” haneul finally whispers, defeated. “i made a mistake.”

you smirk again, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

the words feel almost too easy to say, but the rush of satisfaction is undeniable. you know she’s not going to give up this easily. she’ll be back. she always comes back.

you sit up a little, the smirk still playing on your lips, as you listen to haneul’s voice crack with guilt and desperation. you know she’s hanging on your every word, trying to figure out how to fix everything. and that’s exactly why you’re going to drag it out.

with a cold, calculated tone, you say, “you know, haneul, if you really want to fix this, if you really want to show me how sorry you are, then maybe we should talk about it in person.”

you pause for a moment, letting the words sink in, before you continue, dragging out the tension. “i think it’s time you come over and prove it. you’ll come to my place, and we’ll talk—really talk. and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to convince me that this time is different.”

you let the silence hang between you, savoring the way she must be hanging on your every word. you know what’s coming next. you’ve already won.

there’s a long, tense silence on the other end of the phone. you can practically feel the weight of haneul’s hesitation, and you know she’s torn. she knows this is a game, but she’s so deep in it now that she can’t back out.

finally, haneul’s voice breaks through, quiet and shaky. “i… i’ll come. just tell me when.”

a victorious smirk spreads across your face. you knew she couldn’t resist.

you lean back against your pillows, rolling your eyes as if the power is effortless, the game won before it even began. “how about now?” your voice is soft, but there’s a cruel edge beneath it. “come over, neul. we’ll have a real conversation about everything. but make sure you’re ready.”

you hear her swallow, and the uncertainty in her voice is like music to your ears. “okay… i’ll be there soon.”

you end the call without a second thought, feeling the rush of control flood over you. you know exactly what you’re doing, and you can already predict how this will play out. haneul will come. she’ll beg. she’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.

and you’ll be there, sitting back, enjoying the show.

-

haneul hands julie the phone, her mind racing as she processes what just happened. a knot forms in her stomach, the weight of her decision settling in. what is she even walking into? what’s going to happen when she gets there?

“hey, i’m going to her house.” haneul announces to julie and natty, her voice strained and uncertain.

julie’s eyebrows shoot up, her face an unreadable mix of disappointment and frustration. she exhales sharply, shaking her head. “seriously, sky? you’re actually going over there? after everything that’s happened?”

natty just looks at her, her gaze tired but resigned. “i don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. she’s just going to mess with your head more.”

haneul bites her lip, looking down at her phone as if it’s the only thing grounding her. “i know, but i have to try. i don’t want to give up on this yet.”

julie leans back in her chair, rubbing her temples. “you’re not going to fix anything by letting her control you like this. she’s playing you, haneul.”

“i’ll be fine,” haneul says, her voice shaky but determined. “i just… i need to do this.”

there’s another pause before haneul adds, almost offhandedly, “tell hyewon i said bye when she comes back from the bathroom.”

julie and natty share a glance, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. it’s obvious to them both: haneul is falling deeper into the mess, and she’s not even aware of it. julie opens her mouth to say something, but haneul’s already standing up, walking toward the door with a determined look on her face.

as haneul leaves, julie lets out a soft sigh. “this is gonna end badly.”

natty doesn’t answer. she just watches as haneul walks out the door, knowing there’s no convincing her now.

-

the sound of a knock on your door pulls you from whatever you were doing. you already know who it is before you even get up to answer.

you open the door slowly, and there she is—haneul. standing there in front of you, looking like a kicked puppy. her hair is slightly messy, her forehead slick with sweat despite the cold air outside. it’s almost pathetic how she stands there, her shoulders slumped, looking like she’s already defeated before she even steps foot inside.

you can’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction seeing her like this.

“well,” you say, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her. “didn’t take you long, huh?”

haneul doesn’t meet your gaze immediately. Instead, she wipes her forehead nervously, eyes darting around the doorway as if looking for some kind of escape. she opens her mouth to say something but hesitates, her words caught in her throat.

“babe…” her voice is soft, hesitant, the usual confident girl nowhere to be found. “i—i’m sorry. i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

you don’t move, just stare at her for a moment longer, letting her squirm. she’s so easy to read, so easy to manipulate. it feels almost too easy.

“you’re sorry? after everything you’ve done?” you raise an eyebrow, stepping back slightly to let her in but making no move to be kind or inviting. “come in.”

haneul takes a step forward, looking like she’s walking into a lion’s den. you close the door behind her with a soft click.

now it’s time to see how much she’ll beg.

haneul stands awkwardly in the middle of your living room, her arms crossed over her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. her eyes flit around the room, avoiding yours, and the silence between you is thick, suffocating.

you lean casually against the armrest of your couch, arms folded, watching her. she looks so small, so unsure of herself. exactly how you wanted her.

“well?” you say after a moment, your voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. “i’m waiting.”

haneul flinches slightly at your tone, but she forces herself to speak. “i—i didn’t mean for things to get this bad. i just—” she swallows hard, her voice shaky. “i don’t know what to do anymore, yn. you’re upset, and i… i don’t know how to fix it.”

you let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “you don’t know how to fix it? really? maybe don’t put your hands all over belle next time. that’s a good place to start.”

her eyes widen slightly, and she stammers, “it wasn’t like that, i swear! she leaned into me, and i didn’t want to make it awkward. i—i wasn’t thinking.”

“of course, you weren’t thinking,” you snap, standing up straighter now, your voice dripping with venom. “you never think about how i feel, do you? i’m always the one who’s supposed to understand, to forgive, to be okay with you running around with your little friends while i’m sitting here, waiting for you.”

haneul’s lip trembles slightly, and she looks like she’s trying not to cry. “that’s not fair, yn. you know i care about you,” she says softly, her words stumbling over themselves. “a-and… sometimes you’re the one who goes out with other people… gets close with them…”

you scoff, taking a step closer to her, watching as she shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. “don’t put this on me, haneul. i’m not the one who messed up. you are. and now you’re here, looking like a kicked dog, hoping i’ll just forgive you because you said you’re sorry. is that it?”

“i’m not trying to turn anything on you,” she says quickly, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. “i just—i feel like you don’t see how much i care. you do things too, yn, and sometimes it hurts, but i don’t—” she cuts herself off, pressing her lips together as her eyes drop to the floor.

you let out a cold laugh, crossing your arms as you take a step closer. “oh, so now i’m the problem? you’re really sitting here, trying to act like you’re the victim, when you’re the one out there with belle? touching her like it’s no big deal?”

haneul shakes her head frantically, her voice rising in desperation. “it’s not like that! i told you, i wasn’t thinking—”

“exactly,” you cut her off, your tone icy. “you weren’t thinking. not about me, not about us. but now you want me to believe you care? after all of this?”

her shoulders slump, and she looks so small, so defeated, that for a moment, you almost feel a twinge of sympathy. but then you remember the photo, the way her hand lingered on belle’s waist, and the bitterness takes over again.

“yn, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “i just want to fix this.”

you tilt your head, pretending to consider her words. “fix it, huh? and what exactly are you going to do to fix it, haneul? because right now, i’m not seeing much effort.”

her breath hitches, and she finally looks up at you, her eyes glistening. “i don’t want to lose you, yn. please, just tell me what i can do. i’ll do anything.”

you pause, letting her words hang in the air for a moment. the power shift is intoxicating, and you savor it, tilting your head slightly as you watch her unravel in front of you.

“anything?” you repeat again, this time softer, more venom laced beneath the word.

she nods again, her voice catching as she whispers, “anything.”

without warning, you place your hands on her shoulders and shove her backward onto the couch. she falls easily, her wide eyes locked on yours, and for a split second, you see the surprise flicker across her face.

you swing your leg over her lap, straddling her, your hands pressing firmly on her shoulders to keep her in place. haneul could stop you if she wanted to—you know it, and she knows it. she’s stronger than you, far stronger. her frame alone radiates quiet strength, the kind that could have you off her in an instant. but she doesn’t use it. she doesn’t even try.

her hands hover awkwardly by her sides, unsure whether to touch you or keep them away. her lips part, but no words come out, her expression a mixture of confusion and guilt.

“you’re pathetic, you know that?” you murmur, leaning closer until your faces are just inches apart. her breath hitches, and you can feel the tension in her body as she freezes under you. “all that strength, all that power, and you’re just letting me do this.”

“i—i don’t want to hurt you,” she stammers, her voice small, trembling.

“hurt me?” you echo, letting out a humorless laugh. “haneul, the only person hurting me right now is you. you don’t think seeing your hand on belle’s waist was a slap in the face? or that stupid soft smile you gave her?”

“it wasn’t like that,” she says quickly, her voice rising in desperation. “i told you—it didn’t mean anything! i wasn’t thinking!”

you tilt your head, pretending to consider her words as you trail your fingers down her shoulders, feeling the way she tenses under your touch. “not thinking,” you repeat softly. “you seem to do that a lot when it comes to me.”

“please, yn,” she whispers, her eyes glassy as they search yours. “tell me what to do. tell me how to fix it. i’ll do anything. just—just don’t leave me.”

you smirk, leaning back slightly but not moving off her. “that’s the thing, neul. i don’t think you even realize what you’ve done. but don’t worry—” you pause, letting the tension linger in the air. “i’ll make sure you never forget again.”

she swallows hard, her breath hitching as tears begin to spill down her cheeks. her trembling hands finally find their way to your waist, resting there lightly, as if grounding herself in the moment. her voice is barely audible as she chokes out, “i just want to make this right.”

you lean in closer, your voice a whisper against her ear. “good. because i’m not done with you yet.”

you don’t waste any time, leaning down again, this time with no hesitation, your lips crashing into hers with a force that leaves no room for second guessing. it’s hungry, possessive, your hands tangling into her hair as you press her back against the couch.

haneul lets out a soft gasp against your mouth, her hands tightening on your waist instinctively. she kisses you back just as desperately, her lips moving with yours, matching your intensity. tears are still streaming down her face, the saltiness lingering on her lips and slipping into the kiss. it only adds to the rawness of the moment, her vulnerability making her response even more desperate.

you can feel the way her body trembles slightly beneath you, not from fear, but from the weight of everything between you.

you deepen the kiss, biting down lightly on her lower lip, drawing a quiet whimper from her. it sends a rush of satisfaction through you, knowing you have her exactly where you want her. she could stop this if she wanted to—she’s strong enough to lift you off her like it’s nothing—but she doesn’t. instead, she lets you take what you want, surrendering completely.

her hands finally move, sliding up your back and pulling you closer, her strength barely restrained as she clings to you. the kiss grows hotter, more frantic, like neither of you can get enough.

when you finally pull back, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her wide eyes are locked on yours like she’s completely lost in you.

her hands still gripping you tightly, her gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. her voice is shaky, tears still threatening to spill over as she whispers, “yn…” it’s quiet, fragile, like she’s pleading for something she can’t put into words.

you lean in again, your lips crashing into hers once more, harder this time, determined to make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to.

you can taste the salt of her tears mixed with the sweetness of her lips, a heady combination that drives you wild. the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this intense, desperate moment.

you feel her cock harden under you, drawing an exaggerated gasp from your mouth. “seems like someone's pleased with this turn of events," you murmur, your voice a low, husky timbre tinged with amusement. you grind on her boner, eliciting a strangled moan from beneath you. her hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction.

her nails dig into your waist, a silent plea for you not to stop. “yn..” she hisses through clenched teeth, her body tensing as she squeezes your waist harder. you just smirk wider and grind down harder.

haneul whimpers beneath you, her struggles growing weaker as you lean in closer, your presence overwhelming, claiming the space between you. her breaths come shallow and uneven, the fight in her fading as you assert your dominance, a quiet, undeniable force that leaves no room for resistance. “please...” she begs, her voice trembling with a mix of desperation and submission. “please don't stop...” her legs fall open wider, inviting you to grind against her wood.

you lean down, your face inches from hers, and sneer at her pathetic pleas. “look at you, begging like a little bitch,” you spit in her face. “you're so fucking pathetic."

tears stream down her cheeks as she nods frantically, completely broken down by your harsh words. her voice comes out as a desperate whisper, “please mommy... j-just touch me. make me yours.” her hips buck upward shamelessly, seeking any kind of release from the intense denial.

you get down on your knees between haneul’s thighs, your face level with her lap. you hook your fingers into her waistband and slowly pull down her joggers and boxers, revealing her throbbing length.

“look at this fucking dick, neul,” you sneer, wrapping your hand around the base of her shaft and giving it a few rough strokes. “so hard and ready, just for me, right?”

haneul’s hands fly to her hair, gripping it tightly as she looks down at your face buried between her legs. “fuck, y-yes…just for you mommy.” she whimpers, as you lean forward and wrap your lips around the head, sucking hard and making her whimper in desperation.

you begin to bob your head, taking her dick in and out of your mouth in quick, sloppy motions. you use your hand to jack her off in tandem, twisting and pumping your wrist as you hollow your cheeks and suck her hard.

you feel the older girl’s thick length pulse in your mouth as you work her over, her salty precum coating your tongue. you can hear her desperate whimpers and moans above you, her hands tugging at your hair as she fucks your face with shallow thrusts of her hips.

just as you feel her tensing up, ready to erupt, you suddenly pull back, letting her slick cock spring free with an obscene “pop”. grinning wickedly, you release your grip on her base, denying her that final push she so desperately craves. "not yet, neul,"

you chuckle darkly, blowing a stream of cool air across her overheated flesh. her dick jumps and leaks in response, the tip glistening with a mixture of your saliva and her own excitement. “i'm not done playing with you yet."

you admire your handiwork - haneul’s face is flushed red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasps for air, completely at your mercy. her cock is rock hard and throbbing, aching for release but denied by your tormenting games. "p-please...” she begs for a release.

you wrap your fingers around her straining shaft, stroking her with agonizing slowness at first. each deliberate pump of your hand sends shockwaves through her body, making her shudder and moan.

“cum for me. show me how much you love having my hand on your cock." you speed up your movements, twisting your wrist on each upward stroke.

you start to jerk her off faster, your hand moving up and down her length with increasing pressure. "you're so close, sweetheart. i can feel your dick throbbing in my hand." you lean in and whisper in her ear, "cum for mommy, neul."

her body tenses, and she lets out a choked off whimper as she finds her release, hot and sticky, spurting into your hand. but you don't stop. you keep jerking her off through her entire release, her overstimulated flesh turning sensitive and painful.

as you relentlessly stroke her, the korean girl starts moaning loudly, the sound muffled by you kissing her sloppily, swallowing her noises. her hips buck involuntarily, trying desperately to escape the overwhelming sensation yet desperately seeking more. tears leak from the corners of her eyes as she moans, "mmh…oh shit..."

her cock pulses weakly, overstimulated and sensitive, but you continue the torturous pleasure. "you can't help but love it, can you?" you whisper teasingly. "your pretty little cock is so sensitive and needy..."

you abruptly cease your relentless stroking, leaving haneul’s cock twitching and desperate. she whimpers in confusion and withdrawal, her hips still shuddering. you start to slowly remove your own clothing, teasing her with glimpses of your bare skin.

once you're naked, you crawl back onto the couch and straddle her hips. her eyes widen as she takes in your bare body, her gaze lingering on your curves. without a word, you reach down and guide her still hard (though sensitive) cock to your entrance.

as you slowly sink down onto her sensitive cock, haneul lets out a high pitched whine at the tightness and pressure. her overstimulated flesh struggles to accommodate your warmth, making her whine and squirm beneath you. "y-yn, it's too much!”

despite her protests, haneul’s cock remains rock hard inside you, betraying her body's true desires. you start to grind your hips, drawing more whimpers and gasps from her lips as you stimulate her sensitive tip with each movement. "ah! oh fuck, y-you feel amazing..."

the sensitivity proves too much for haneul, and as you continue to ride her, she can feel her release building too quickly. she tries to warn you, "wait, it's too soon, i’m gonna-" but you ignore her pleas, continuing to move on her.

with a loud, desperate cry, haneul’s body tenses and then convulses as she cums hard and fast inside you. her hot seed spills out, filling you up as she thrashes and jerks beneath you, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasm. “mmh— f-fuck!”

despite her pleas of "p-please, it's t-too much...", you continue to ride the older girl, her still spurting cock milking out every last drop of cum. you soothe her with gentle reassurances, "it's okay, baby... just a little more for mommy..."

her oversensitive cock twitches uncomfortably but remains impossibly hard as you continue your slow grind. tears reform in haneul’s eyes from the mixture of pleasure and intense sensory overload. "m-mommy... it's too sensitive... please... i-i can't..." "you can take it for mommy, my love..."

with a broken cry, haneul’s body starts to shake as she feels another wave of intense pleasure rushing through her. she buries her face in your neck, sobbing and moaning uncontrollably as she starts to shoot blanks, her cock pulsing with each empty spurt. "mommy..."

you hold the girl close, cradling her as she sobs and cries into your neck, her body still twitching and spasming with the aftershocks of her overstimulated orgasm. her blank shots paint your insides, a futile attempt to empty her sensitive cock of its overwhelming load.

as haneul continues to cry and shake, you feel your own orgasm building, the relentless pounding of her sensitive cock against your g-spot finally becoming too much to bear. with a loud, piercing scream, you climax, your inner muscles clamping down on haneul's cock as you ride out your intense orgasm.

her fingers dig into your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against her as your climax triggers another series of blank shots from her exhausted cock. you grip her hair tightly, using it for leverage as you ride out your waves of pleasure. her sobbing moans against your neck only heighten your ecstasy.

“i can't... i can't stop..." she whimpers, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation of being used while so sensitive. her nails dig deeper into your waist, surely to leave bruises, as another empty spurt escapes her.

as both of you slowly come down from your intense orgasms, you gently stroke haneul’s hair, soothing her as she continues to sob softly against your neck. you hold her close, rocking her gently as you try to calm her down. her blank shots slowly taper off as her oversensitive cock finally starts to recover.

haneul finally looks up at you, her tear-soaked eyes wide and full of guilt. “i’m… i’m so sorry, yn… i didn’t mean to disappoint you…” she sniffles, her voice breaking as she searches your face for forgiveness. you tilt her chin up gently, forcing her to meet your gaze, your thumb tracing slowly along her cheek, wiping away the tears that fall like a confession.

“shh, baby,” you whisper, your tone soft, almost affectionate. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t mean to… but you hurt me, neul.” you pause, letting the weight of your words settle, watching the guilt twist her features. “and that’s not what someone who loves me would do, is it?”

she shakes her head desperately, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “no, no, yn… i swear, i love you. i do. please, believe me…”

you offer her a faint smile, brushing her hair back from her face like she’s something fragile. “then prove it,” you say, your voice gentle, yet laced with an undeniable finality. “block belle’s number. delete her. she’s only coming between us, neul. and we don’t need anyone else, do we? just you and me, baby.”

her breath hitches, and she clings to you tighter, as if holding on will erase the tension that lingers between you. “i promise,” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “i’ll do it right now. i’ll block her. i don’t want anyone else. just you…”

you hum softly, your fingers combing through her hair in a way that’s both soothing and possessive. “good girl,” you murmur, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “i knew you’d make the right choice. you always do… because you love me, don’t you?”

“i do,” she whispers, her voice a desperate plea. “i love you more than anything…”

you smile, satisfaction blooming in your chest as you pull her impossibly closer, her dependence on you sinking deeper with every word, every touch, every breath.

her ahh angry over a pose 🙄 get a load of this guy

anyways hope u guys enjoyed lolz asshole yn for the win ??

[tinkerleaf]

Drunken Ballads

This one is so funny to me. Don't judge me for the song choice, I've been blasting it for days. Synopsis: reader gets tipsy, dazai and chuuya to the rescue Genre: comedy? Words: 675 Pairing: dazai/reader/chuuya Warnings: cursing, a little suggestive, alcohol

The Armed Detective Agency didn’t allow you to drink too often, and there was a reason for that. There’s a story that the office tells the newbies before they get carried away, just to keep them from acting out the way you did one special night.

After a particularly hard mission, you felt you needed a little something to relieve the tension you felt. You decided to go to a nice bar that offered cute little cocktails because you deserved it. It had been a rough week for you, and nothing hits the spot better than getting drunk.

At the time, you had only meant to get a little buzzed. Unfortunately, you were wasted.

Something that this bar was known for was its large stage for karaoke and other forms of live music. There was a dancefloor in front of it, and behind that stood a plethora of couches and tables. Lots of people were there, it was quite popular.

This was the first time you had ever been to this club, and you failed to consider who owned it. Some of the Port Mafia members were scattered throughout the place, but you wouldn’t have realized it anyway due to your condition.

A certain redhead placed himself in a black leather chair at the opposite end of the room. He didn’t know you were there yet, but it wouldn’t be long before he did. He sipped on the last bit of his wine, and before calling someone to fill his glass, he choked. He almost dropped it when he saw you on the stage, singing “…Baby One More Time” (specifically the Tenacious D version).

“No fucking way…” He couldn’t lie, you were doing great, but you were certainly drunk out of your mind.

“Hey boss, isn’t that-”

“Nope.” He lied. He knew this would be awful for your image if people realized who you worked for.

The mafioso didn’t respond, other than to roll his eyes.

Halfway through your little “performance”, Chuuya reluctantly dialed a number he hadn’t rung in a while.

There wasn’t an answer. Instead, he finds Dazai walking up to him with a smug look on his face. “They sure know how to put on a show, huh?”

“The crowd’s loving it.” He glances over to his former partner, “Apparently so are you.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just waiting for them to fall off the stage.”

“You didn’t have to call me by the way. I already knew about their after-work plans, but I had no idea it would be this entertaining.”

When you finally made eye contact with the two, you knew you were in trouble. You quickly stumbled down the side stairs and attempted to escape without them noticing. This was an awful plan, however. Your current state was equivalent to a fawn, wobbling to keep balance.

A strong arm pulled you close. “Where do you think you’re going like that?” Chuuya asked. “You can barely walk!” His cologne was intoxicating.

“You’re so handsome…” You slurred quietly.

“Damn, they really are wasted,” Dazai retorted, earning a scoff from the other man. He moved some of your hair from your face, “Guess it’s time you come back with me, sweetheart.”

You smiled, “You both can take me home.” Dazai laughed, while Chuuya’s eyes widened.

“Get them out of here. Make sure they get home safe.”

“Of course.”

The rest of the night was a blur. All you could remember was Dazai taking you back to your apartment and then waking up in your bed the next morning. He left a note on your nightstand, along with a glass of water and some painkillers.

Upon walking into the office later, you had a serious migraine. You couldn’t afford to stay home, however, due to the massive amount of paperwork you had to fill out from the last case.

Sitting at your desk, Dazai had quite a smirk on his face. “How you feelin’?”

You held your palm at him. “I don’t want to hear it from you right now.”

[adviceformefromme]

💖 YOUR WEEK 16 - GLOW UP SERIES [PRE-2025] 💖

We are officially 16 weeks (110 days) until 2025. If you missed the post last week, go check it out as that was the warm up, setting the vision for the life you WILL be creating for your 16-Week Reinvention. 

This week is all about getting aligned with your values, so you can truly begin to that juicy life you dream of. Understanding and operating from your values is a huge step in your glow-up journey because much of the stress, anxiety, depression in your life is directly correlated to your daily choices, each time you go against your values. 

The guidance… 

You’re putting a MINIMUM of 30 mins to 3 hours aside for your self-growth-reflection-and-development each week. This is going to be your opportunity to light a candle, pull out your cute new journal and pen and actually pour into your dreams and future in this little self-growth session. 

Journal Exercise: You want to think about what you value in life, what type of lifestyle you value, what type of relationship you value, for example; maybe you’re more traditional so the 50/50 guy you’re dating is a complete waste of time because you don’t have aligned values. Maybe you absolutely hate being in offices as you’re naturally introverted and love being alone, so your chosen career in events management is not in line with your values because you actually know in your heart you value peace and working alone. Maybe you value your health, but the drinking and occasional dabble in drugs is making you feel icky in your soul, because you are not living in alignment with your truth. Just taking the time to reflect on this is going to set you ahead of the crowd, because you’re going to see clearly how you’ve chosen a life that lives in accordance with others values, not your own and this blocks your blessings! 

RELATIONSHIPS (ROMANTIC, FRIENDSHIPS, FAMILY )

FINANCES 

PURPOSE/ CAREER

LIFESTYLE

HEALTH 

SPIRITUALITY 

In each of these areas, think about what dynamics you value. Beware of the conditions set in place by society and family, and really lean into what is true to you. Think of VALUE. What do you VALUE in these areas? What resonates in your heart? 

My personal experience was that I created an entire lifestyle that was so far removed from the life I valued. Working from home in my shoebox prison apartment with a window facing a mouldy wall, day-in-day-out, when I truly valued nature, and being by the ocean and witnessing the sunrise and set. I valued high quality connections, but entertained friendships that added absolutely no value to my life. I ate at overpriced and poorly nourished restaurants when I value my money and also my health, but I would instead drink cocktails and nibble small plates spiking my hormones and feel completely drained the next day. And so I began to make shifts…it started with nourishing home cooked meals and hosting mini dinner parties over eating out. I decided to move overseas, and only live in an apartment that was ocean view, because I absolutely value seeing the sun rise and set each day. I deleted instagram because I value my time, and this was a time thief! I began investing more into my image, because I value looking and feeling my best....the list goes on but you get the picture. When you move your life towards what you value, you’ll start to feel a DEEP peace in your soul and this is NECESSARY for your glow-up, your re-invention. Yes it’s scary, yes some people might hate you, judge you and also the rest of it, but this is your movie. ~You get to create the life you dream of and it starts with you, choosing to live in alignment of your soul, and this is how things magically start coming together and falling into place because you are now in flow.

So once you are clear on what’s what. You are going to practise for this week the FUCK NO approach. And that is, unless it’s a fuck yes (you will feel this in your soul), the answer is FUCK NO. Start saying no. To people. To invites that you are not super excited about. To the book you are reading but actually cannot bare to read anymore. The iced latte that gives you the shakes. The situationship that is literally draining the life out of you. The exhausting phone calls from the relatives you feel obligated to speak to. And side note. There are no FUCKING OBLIGATIONS. You are not obligated to do anything that compromises your energy, your flow, your happiness, your joy. Cut, delete, block, ignore, reject. PROTECT YOUR ENERGY. 

To summarise. 110 days until 2025, (16-weeks) to glow-the-fuck-up-like-never-before. So no sleeping on yourself. Every single day counts. Reflect on your values, shift your life in the direction of your truth. Start saying no. 

[gojo-mochi]

٩( ‘ω’ )و Thoughts about dressing slutty with Gojo

You twirl around in front of the mirror, quietly admiring your outfit choice for tonight. Something simple but cute. A nice crop top paired with a pleated skirt that spins around nicely when you twirl.

Satoru catches you in the middle of twirling and takes your hands above your head and kept on spinning you round and round.

“A-ah! Satoru! I’m gonna be siiiiiick!”

He chuckles at your whining and stops you, making you collapse back into his chest, arms squeezing around your waist. Trapping you in his hold, still in front of the mirror. His hands played around with your stomach, enjoying the feeling of skin in skin.

You take a look at his face in the mirror, brilliant blue eyes perched above his sunglasses, staring right at your figure. He tilts his head, to the left, to the right, and back to the left again. Like he was judging something. You wondered if the outfit wasn’t to his liking somehow.

“I can go change into something else..”

You bit your lips, watching Satoru hums softly at your suggestion.

He tugs at your crop top, rolling the fabric between his fingers.

“Don’t get me wrong it’s cute on you. Heh, anything cute on you. But….”

He trails off, sneaking a hand down your hips and under your skirt. You slap his hand away with a pout.

“Satoru! Just say it already!”

He retracts his hand and laughs out loud this time.

“Just wanted to ask if you could wear something sluttier tonight. Don’t worry though, I can join you! I have a pair of booty shorts and a mesh crop top that looks absolutely fucking delicious on me.”

You stared at him deadpan for a while.

“You want me.. to dress sluttier?”

Satoru just squeezes your waist in reply, hugging you from behind and slowly rocking you back and forth.

“Mmhm! I feel like fighting tonight and I want to beat the shit out of anyone that comes up to you. Though if you’re not comfortable, I could be the slutty one tonight and you beat up people for me~”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at your boyfriend.

“You’re such a handful sometimes…” You sigh out, you tried to wiggle out of his hold to go change.

“Satoru, you’re gonna have to let me go if you want us both to changed. I’m sure Shoko and the others are still waiting for us.”

Satoru’s hands finds themselves under your clothes again, this time wasting no time at grope at your soft flesh. You struggle harder only to find yourself pushing back against his hard on.

He leans in to whisper huskily in your ear.

“What the rush? I could help you get out of these clothes myself~”

•

•

•

[whatamessofthoughtswithjess]

I’d like to talk about my experience with being a part of a fandom. It’s something I’ve never been involved in before. It’s something I’ll never be a part of again going forward. This is all my opinion, my thoughts, and my experience. I’ll remind you that you do not have to agree with what I say but, I do ask for you to be respectful of my space, & keep the hate out of my comment section.

Let’s discuss toxic behavior amongst fandoms, shall we?

I, myself had never been a part of a fandom until recently, therefore I was unaware of parasocial behaviors. I must say that witnessing this sort of behavior has been quite an experience. One in which I could have went my entire life without learning about & I would have been A okay with that. 😅

I’ve always been a fan of Bridgerton. I began watching the show during the COVID lockdown & I immediately fell in love with the series. I was what they in the fandom would describe as a “general audience” watcher. I enjoyed the show immensely but, I wasn’t completely obsessed.

It wasn’t until the season 3 press tour that I became engulfed in the show, the storyline, & by the actors playing the roles of Penelope & Colin. I, amongst thousands of others became completely obsessed. We were completely immersed in the love story that was being sold to us. It became this unhealthy obsession which in turn lead to blurring the lines between fiction and reality.

The Bridgerton fandom, specifically the Lukola/Polin fandom has gone from great fun, excitement, & and a way to escape the hardships of life, to now a toxic atmosphere, full of bullies spreading hate & unrealistic narratives.

I’ve noticed that there are different groups within the fandom. It’s like High School all over again, full of clicks. You’ve got:

1.) Polinators: this group of individuals solely “ships” Penelope Featherington & Colin Bridgerton. Any content made or discussions had are kept within the show & to the characters. Luke Newton & Nicola Coughlan aren’t discussed as they are separate from the characters they play.

2.) Polinators/Lukolas: this group of individuals ship both Penelope & Colin as well as Nicola & Luke. This group will make content for both Polin & Lukola. Most individuals within this group can still separate the characters from the actors. Lines exist but at times become blurred. These individuals are still logical & will accept evidence presented to them. They recognize that storytelling and reality are separate from one other. Typically they can have conversations with others within the fandom without hateful rhetoric or bullying.

3.) LocoLukolas: these individuals have completely morphed Luke & Nicola into Colin & Penelope. They can’t decipher who is who, what is done for PR, or what is reality. The lines aren’t blurred, they are completely erased. These individuals took the PR tour as a real life love story unfolding between Luke & Nicola. They’ve created these elaborate stories and narratives in their minds & fed them to others within their SM platforms. The insane narratives spread like wildfire which in turn creates division within the fandom. Once division is created, bullying & unhinged, creepy behavior begins. There is no arguing with this group. They won’t be told differently from the narrative they’ve created within their minds. They’ll gaslight anyone who tries to go against the narrative they’ve created. They’ll use their platform to push this narrative which in turn creates more individuals thinking the exact same as they do. They can’t be convinced of anything that will go against the narrative they’ve created. These individuals can be very dangerous. Spreading lies and opinion as fact rather than opinion. Gaslighting anyone who doesn’t agree. Don’t waste your time fighting with them. It isn’t worth it.

LukeStans: this group worships Luke Newton. “All hail Luke Newton! He’s our King!” Do not criticize Luke, do not judge his life choices, do not disagree with his decisions, do not speak unkindly about Luke in any sort of way.. or these people will morph into vicious, venomous creatures who will attack you without mercy. Luke does no wrong. He makes no mistakes. He makes no ill choices. He’s perfect. Precious. Needs protected at all costs. These people will also talk all sorts of shit about his girlfriend. Belittle the relationship that him and her have. Encourage cheating with him and Nicola. Disrespect Nicola’s relationship if not with Luke. But.. don’t dare talk bad about Luke. Don’t defend Antonia. Don’t defend Nicola & Jake Dunn.. or be prepared to go to war.

NicolaStans: this group worships NicolaCoughlan. “All hail Nicola Coughlan! She’s our Queen!” Do not criticize Nicola in any sort of manner. Like the LukeStans the NicolaStans will also morph into vicious, venomous creatures that will attack you without mercy. They’ll state they love Nicola but only if she’s pinning after a taken man. They’ll defend Nicola but, only if it’s for reasons that include Luke Newton. They’ll quickly turn on Nicola if you mention her relationship with Jake Dunn. They’ll ask you to respect her privacy all while “manifesting pictures from Brazil” that would show both parties cheating on their significant others. Ope. They’ll turn on her if you even mention the idea that she could be in a serious relationship with a man 13 years younger than her.. insisting that “she would never be so public about her love life” or “she’d never date a man that young.” This group is only fans of Nicola if she abides to the expectations they’ve created for her in their minds.

When I first joined the fandom it was during the press tour. Therefore everyone was riding the high that the PR tour was providing everyone with. New videos were being released every few days. It was fun, exciting, and entertaining for everyone! We were eagerly anticipating the release of season 3. It was happy times, fun times.

Once the press tour ended & part two released the fandom imploded. I’d say exploded but no, it imploded. The fandom is collapsing within itself, quite suddenly, and violently. You’ve got rational fans who understand that Luke & Nic are separate from Colin & Pen and who respect their private lives. You’ve got semi rational fans who understand that they are separate from their characters but still hope they’ll be endgame. You’ve got the LukeStans fighting with the NicolaStans. Then you’ve got the LucoLukolas who are just outright insane. Spreading misinformation and creating elaborate false narratives to keep their already sunken ship afloat. You’ve got recovering Lukolas trying to be some sort of voice of reason.. and it’s all just one big chaotic cluster f**k at this point. The fandom is split. It’s chaos. It’s not fun anymore.

Luke went into hiding because fans are weird AF. He comes back after over a month MIA and the fans are already acting bat shit crazy. Fans were messaging the resort he stayed in, asking who stayed with him, forcing the resort to remove a thank you post to Luke. ABSOLUTE INSANITY! TOXIC BEHAVIOR! The entitlement fans have regarding Luke’s personal life is absolutely disgusting. This man owes the fans nothing. He deserves his privacy. He deserves to spend time with his girlfriend without the bullshit comments on how “he’s yet to claim her” or have his relationship be called a “situationship” only because he’s not made a post on his SM “claiming her” because “he owes the fans that.” Absolutely insane! He owes the fans nothing. If he wants to keep his personal life off his business SM page then we as his fans need to respect that decision. He’s travelled with Antonia multiple times, he’s been papped with her on several occasions, she attends work events with him, vacations with him privately, she’s close with his family and friends, that man HAS CLAIMED HER PUBLICLY. Something as ridiculous as a SM post means nothing when the evidence is already there for all to see. If fans choose to ignore that? That’s on them not on Luke. Stop with the entitlement. It’s weird. He owes you nothing.

Nicola has said over and over again that she is chronically online. She sees the weird shit that’s posted. She sees the lives discussing sunglasses reflections and t shirt creases.. elaborate stories from Brazil that never happened, the belittling of her relationship with Jake Dunn, calling her man gay and claiming he has a boyfriend when this man has NEVER stated his sexuality publicly, she sees this shit. It’s toxic, it’s weird, and it’s sure as hell disrespectful AF especially considering it’s coming from people who claim they are her fans. 🥴 She is posting less & less on social media & I can’t say I blame her. Who wants to have every single thing they post become a 3 hour TikTok live conspiracy theory break down? I sure as hell wouldn’t want that if it were me.

This fandom has got to take a serious step back. If it’s consuming your thoughts, disturbing your mental health, or emotional health then take some time away from SM & spend some time focusing on other things. Read a book, listen to some music, go out with friends or family, spend some time in nature, do whatever you need to do in order to protect yourself from all of the toxicity.

For the love of all things holy.. stop taking the crazy behavior directly to Nicola and Luke & to anyone involved in their lives. We as fans need to remember that these are real life people, with real life lives and loved ones, who like us have feelings and emotions. We need to respect their privacy. They owe us nothing regarding their personal lives. We shouldn’t expect as much. These two gave us such an amazing season. The least we can do is support their choices even if we don’t agree with them. 🫶🏻

Again, these are my opinions & my personal experiences with dealing with people within this fandom. I’ve had my fair share of arguments with people & I’ve been attacked by many who didn’t like the evidence I presented them with that went against their narrative. My experiences are my own. I understand not everyone is toxic in this fandom but, at the same time there are many that are. We as a fandom need to accept what is, let go of what isn’t meant to be, and continue to support Luke & Nicola in all their future endeavors. As their fans, we owe them that much!

Y’all behave yourselves & have a good one! ✌🏻

[serenastark-official]

🧙‍♂️✨ 05: The Do’s and Don’ts of Being Friends with Stephen Strange: A Survival Guide by Serena Stark ✨🧙‍♂️ Pt. 1

Alright, I’m here to help all of you navigate the wild experience that is being friends with Stephen Cedric Vincent Strange, the guy who can open portals to alternate dimensions but still can’t pronounce "penguin" correctly. (Looking at you, Doc. 👀)

✅DO’s

Do accept that he’s basically a walking thesaurus.

When Stephen opens his mouth, prepare to hear words that make you feel dumb. Words like “epistemology,” “prestidigitation,” and “probabilistic thaumaturgy.” If you don’t know what half of those mean, don’t worry. Just nod and smile, and occasionally drop “That’s fascinating, Doc” like you're actually listening.

Do accept that he will judge your life choices.

You know how some people are passive-aggressive? Well, Stephen is aggressively passive. He’ll “casually” mention that you could probably fix your whole life with a little “focus” and “discipline” while giving you a judgmental side-eye. Thanks, Doc, I’m already working on it. Maybe don’t tell him about your Netflix binge—he’ll probably lecture you on “wasting time” or something equally annoying.

Do appreciate His Style.

Stephen's wardrobe is 90% cloaks, and honestly, he pulls it off. The man can be the most powerful sorcerer in the multiverse and still manage to look like he’s one step away from a Hogwarts graduation ceremony. Compliment his cloak. Always. It’s the only thing keeping his ego from imploding, and let’s face it, that thing is his most prized possession.

Do enjoy his random facts about everything.

No, seriously. Stephen Strange is basically a walking encyclopedia, but way more intense. He’ll casually mention facts about the history of magical realms, obscure creatures, or the properties of enchanted mushrooms, and you’ll wonder, “How does he know so much about mushrooms?!” But hey, it's better than the usual small talk, right? Just nod and say, "That's interesting, Doc," even if you’re still wondering about the mushroom thing.

Do pretend you understand magic (for his ego’s sake).

When Strange starts talking about spells or mystical rituals, just toss in a “Yeah, totally. That makes sense.” Maybe even throw in a “I think I can feel the magic now,” and watch him glow with pride. Deep down, we both know you have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but this is the best form of flattery. No one tell him I still use Google to figure out half of what he says.

Do accept that you will never, ever win an argument.

Stephen is the king of "I told you so" moments. He’s been alive for centuries (or at least it feels that way), so he will outwit you, out-reason you, and out-snark you into oblivion. Don’t even bother trying to argue your point. Your best bet is just to nod and say, “Yeah, sure, Doc, you were right,” even if you know you weren’t wrong. It’s easier this way.

Do be ready to call him out when he’s wrong.

Even a Sorcerer has to take accountability. You might not have magical powers, but you’ve got that Stark wit and some serious confidence, so when he pulls a "Stephen Strange" moment—like when he tries to explain why he is always right—don’t hesitate to put him in his place. You’ll gain mad respect.

Do prepare for spontaneous philosophical debates about existence.

Somehow, Stephen will always find a way to turn your casual conversation into a deep dive about the nature of reality, the universe, and how everything is interconnected—even the way your coffee tastes. Just roll with it. You didn’t plan on spending the next 45 minutes contemplating the meaning of life while looking at a cup of coffee, but here we are.

Do embrace the unexpected trips to the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Being friends with Stephen means you might end up in the Sanctum Sanctorum at odd hours. And not just the “let’s grab some coffee and chat” kind of visit—oh no, sometimes you’ll be swept into dimension-bending, reality-altering escapades with absolutely zero notice.

Do learn the art of nodding and pretending you understand the mystic mumbo-jumbo.

Let’s face it, half the time you’re going to be completely out of your depth when Stephen talks about magic, alternate dimensions, or cosmic phenomena. But don’t panic—just nod, repeat a key word you might have understood, and when in doubt, throw in an “I knew that!” Stephen will never know that you have no idea what’s going on. After all, he’s a wizard, not a mind reader. Probably.

Do accept that he's secretly proud of you (sometimes).

Deep down, Stephen is actually quite proud of you when you manage to hold your own in a conversation about magical chaos or dimensional anomalies. It’s rare to get an actual compliment, but when you do, it’s like a momentous occasion. Think of it as winning a gold medal in a very niche event. But if he ever says, “You did well,” it’s like the highest form of praise he’ll give you, and you’ll feel like you’ve just achieved enlightenment.

Do remind him to eat... occasionally.

As busy as he is, Stephen somehow forgets to eat. So, when you're hanging out, throw a snack his way and remind him that the human body still needs food—no matter how much magic he’s conjuring. If you’re lucky, he’ll mutter something about “taking care of himself,” but hey, at least he ate.

DON'Ts

[ragnarlothcat]

Some intriguing choices here but I think I'll go with I Got It Bad?

Ooh so this is my omegaverse noir AU where alpha Obi-Wan is a jaded private eye and retired Jedi (which are like the space cops here) who gets hired by omega Anakin, the beautiful and mysterious trophy husband of Senator Palpatine.

Several things have happened so far, mostly Obi-Wan being immediately in love with this random omega he met like a day ago, but also plot which I will spoil beneath the cut.

Okay, so Palpatine was found murdered last chapter and Anakin was obviously questioned by the Jedi (Mace and Quinlan) and now Obi-Wan and Quinlan are searching Palpatine's house for clues while Anakin is off identifying the body.

Also, Ventress is head of Palpatine's personal security.

---

Quinlan watches as Ventress turns the corner out of sight, her heels still clicking a Lindy Hop across the hardwood.

“What a dame,” Quinlan says, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Do you think she’d step on me if I asked?”

“For fuck’s sake, Quinlan.” Obi-Wan scolds. “Do try and show some class.”

“Oh, so I'm being uncouth, but you’re allowed to spend the afternoon sniffing the young widow’s bedlinens?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Why are you still here anyway?” Quinlan interrupts. “Your client was murdered. Nice job with that, by the way.”

“Anakin is my client. And I serve at his pleasure.”

Quinlan snorts. “You wish.”

Obi-Wan really ought to start bringing his flask bourbon with him at all times. “Did you find anything interesting in Palpatine’s files?”

“Nothing I’d share with a civilian,” Quinlan says, as though he’s ever followed the rules a day in his life. “How about you?”

Not yet, since his intense search of Anakin’s bedroom yielded mostly sexual frustration and unhelpful sympathy for the poor boy. “Nothing I’d share with a Jedi,” he says snottily.

“Very mature. Also: a crime.”

“Quinlan, be reasonable,” Obi-Wan tries, despite knowing he’s asking the impossible. “I am fully within my rights to look through Senator Palpatine’s possessions—”

“You asked him, did you? Was this before or after he got choked out on your watch?”

“—as they aren’t his possessions any more. All Palpatine’s files would have passed to his husband upon his death. Anakin, the new master of the house, has asked me to find his former husband’s murderer, and has afforded me every liberty to do so.”

“Come off it,” Quinlan scoffs. “I don’t care what liberties your extremely recently widowed boyfriend has allowed. Your affairs are, well, your—”

“There hasn’t been anything like that.”

“—but you know perfectly well that this poking and prying isn’t how crime scenes work. If you wanted unfettered access to a dead man’s files and husband, maybe you shouldn’t have quit the Jedi.”

If Obi-Wan was still been a Jedi, he knows what he’d be expected to do now. Comb through Palpatine’s business dealings, interrogate his friends and family and, of course, treat the terrified, grieving young widow with a cool, professional detachment. It’s what he had to force himself to endure after Qui-Gon. After Satine.

There’s a reason Obi-Wan left the Jedi, after all.

Obi-Wan tightens his jaw against the flood of memories. “Fine, waste my time.” It hardly matters if Quinlan won’t share his find. Obi-Wan plans on examining Palpatine’s papers himself as soon as he’s on his own. “But I will remind you that in the end, we both want the same thing.”

“Hardly.” Quinlan slips his notepad into his breast pocket. “I want to solve this murder and be home by dinner. You, however, want to tear that dishonest little omega right out of his mourning clothes before his husband’s body has even cooled.”

“Anakin isn’t dishonest,” Obi-Wan objects, banishing thoughts of Anakin either in or out of his pretty black ensemble from his mind.

“Hey, I don’t judge. You know I like ‘em with a little fire myself. Just—” Quinlan pauses and sighs heavily. “Be careful, all right?”

“I told you, Anakin hired me—”

“I know, I know, you showed up at pretty boy’s mansion at the crack of dawn for purely altruistic reasons. But that’s not exactly what I meant.” Quinlan’s hand goes to his pants pocket this time and he pulls out a small scrap of flimsi. “Okay. I’m telling you this only because you are—or were, at least—my friend.”

“I still consider you a friend, Quinlan, it’s the Jedi that—”

“And because I think you’re going to find it out, with or without me.” Quinlan steps closer, presses the flimsi into Obi-Wan’s palm. “I found this slipped between two pages. It could be nothing, but I thought you ought to know.”

Obi-Wan looks down and clutched loose in his hand, he sees a comm number scribbled in flowing, heavy handwriting and beneath it:

If more needed, call Mr. Opress

[shiorimakibawrites]

Favorite Part (Kinktober Day 5)

Personal Masterlist for Kinktober 2023

FlightlessAngelWings’ prompt list can be found here

Day 5 - Threesome

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Frank Castle x AFAB! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1277

Warnings: Threesome, dirty talk, praise, Dom! Matt, Dom! Frank, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v sex, voyeurism, masturbation, mild finger play, referenced oral sex (f and m receiving)

Tagging: @flightlessangelwings

Favorite Part

You were sitting on Matt’s lap, your back resting against his torso and your head resting on his shoulder. Your legs were draped over his thighs, allowing him to use his knees to splay your legs wide. Something he used to display your bare cunt to Frank. Who, judging by the bulge in his jeans, appreciated the view.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Frank?” Matt asked, conversationally. Like you weren’t naked. Like he hadn’t just been fingering you. Like your legs weren’t still trembling from the resulting orgasm.

“Yeah, she is, Red,” he answered, his eyes roaming over your body with growing hunger. His voice was already getting husky.

“What’s your favorite part?” Matt asked. He slide his hands from your waist to cup your breasts. You gasped as his fingers pinched the already stiffen nipples. “These gorgeous tits? Or . . .”

One hand left your breast to toy with your clit. Already sensitive from the earlier attention there, you let out a stuttering moan. “Or this pretty pussy?”

“Damn hard choice there, Red.”

“Quite. And I haven’t even mentioned her perky ass or that wonderful mouth yet.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

Matt made a thoughtful noise as he continued to rub your clit. “As you said, it’s very difficult question. I’m very partial to her ass but if I had to choose . . . this pretty pussy might win.”

“Why?”

“Many reasons,” Matt said, thrusting two fingers inside you and earning himself a high-pitched cry. “How delightful she tastes. The melody of sounds she makes. How it feels inside her.”

“Yeah?” Frank said. He had already opened his jeans and was pulling his boxers down to free his cock.

“Nothing like it,” Matt answered, curling his fingers to brush that spongy spot inside you. You panted and squirmed, that familiar pressure already starting to build.

“Careful, sweetheart,” He gently scolded, moving his free hand to grip your thigh and move it back into it’s splayed position. “You don’t want to ruin Frank’s view, do you?”

You frantically shook your head.

He smiled. “That’s my sweet girl.”

“Appreciate it, darling,” Frank said, groaning as his hand wrapped around his cock and he began to stroke himself. “Maybe you should reward her for being such a good girl for us.”

Matt hummed thoughtfully. “I think you are right, Frank. What do you want as reward, sweet girl?”

You moaned. He wanted you to think? Now?!

“Words, sweet girl,” he reminded you as his fingers continued to work. “We need words.”

Your half-lidded eyes landed on Frank’s cock. Big, hard and already leaking . . . you said, “F-Frank.”

“You want Frank?” Matt asked. At your shaky nod, he asked, “That okay with you, Frank?”

“More than okay, Red,” Frank answered, raising to his feet. He pushed his jeans and boxers down to his ankles and stepped out of them. He climbed onto the bed and crawled toward you into he was between your legs. Your eyes never left his cock.

“How do you want from me, darling?” Frank asked. “My fingers? My mouth? Or my dick?”

You didn’t know how to answer that question. All sounded terrific. And Matt’s fingers were making it so hard for you to think about anything else.

“Maybe not fingers,” Matt said. “She’s had fingers twice today. A reward ought be something more.”

“Good point, Red. So which will be, darling? Should I eat you out? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

“A moment, Frank,” Matt said. He withdrew his fingers, ignoring your protesting whine. He held out those fingers. “Maybe you should have a taste first?”

Frank wasted no time in grabbing that hand and engulfing those fingers in his mouth. He moaned, a sound echoed by Matt. The attorney’s cock, just as hard as Frank’s, started grinding against your ass in response to whatever Frank was doing to his fingers.

Forever and all too soon, Frank pulled his mouth off those fingers with an obscene sucking sound.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding about how good she tastes,” he said, licking his lips. He grinned. “Your fingers weren’t bad either, Red.”

“Frank . . . ,” Matt gasped out.

Frank studied him, considering. Then his grin turned smug and a little predatory. “This wrecked from a little finger action, Red? Imagine if I had been doing that to your dick?”

The image your imagination painted had you groaning. Frank flashed you a grin. “Would you like to see that, darling?

You nodded eagerly. Matt laughed, a little breathless still, and patted your thigh. “Not right now, sweet girl. You still haven’t answered Frank’s earlier question. Do you want him to eat you out or fuck you?”

Your head was a little clearer now but it was still a tough question. Judging by what he did to Matt, Frank had a talented mouth. But your cunt clenching around the empty air made the decision for you.

“I want you to fuck me,” you answered.

“Gladly,” he said, gripping the base of his cock. He started to rub it through your folds, coating himself in your slick. The first brush of the head against your clit might have been an accident but the second time certainly wasn’t.

“So wet, darling,” Frank groaned before he positioned himself at your entrance and started to push inside you. You threw your head back against Matt’s shoulder, gasping.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunted as he sank in another inch. “She always this tight?”

“Yes,” Matt answered, cupping your breasts and starting to knead them. “It’s one of my favorite things about her pussy. Always needs a moment to adjust to being filled. Always gripes my cock like a vice. She always whines when I withdraw from this pussy. You love being filled, don’t you, sweet girl?”

Your only answer was a warbling moan as Frank bottomed out. Full, you were so full. Matt was the only other man who had ever made you feel so full.

“Answer Red, darling,” Frank said, a note of warning in his voice. He gave you a hard thrust that almost pushed you back to the edge. “Otherwise I’m not moving.”

As promised, he stayed right where he was. He felt so good buried inside you but you needed more. You needed him to fuck you. You whined and tried to fuck yourself on him but Matt gripped your hips. Holding you in place. Keeping you in that limbo of feeling so good but not enough.

“None of that,” Matt growled. “Don’t start being a bad girl. Now answer me and Frank. Tell us how much you love being filled. How much you love being fucked.”

It didn’t take long for desperation to overcome your embarrassment at saying such things. “I love it. Love being filled by your cock. Always want you inside me. Love being fucked. I love it. I love it . . .”

Your litany turned into a keening cry when Frank started thrusting. No building up to it, just immediately fucking you hard. All the while, Matt ground his hard cock against your ass. Your ears were filled with Frank’s grunts, Matt’s softer moans, and your own high-pitched cries.

Probably because you had already been dancing along that edge, you were the first to come. Screaming Frank’s name as your cunt clenched around him earning yourself a beautiful moan from the man. Matt was close behind you, spilling himself all over your ass and back. Another couple hard thrusts, then with a loud groan, Frank was releasing inside you.

“So,” Frank said minutes later, after he got enough breath back to talk. “Whose up for round two?”

[shinne55]

**Call an Exorcist! **

Aesop Carl Exorcit x neutral reader

Summary: Our embalmer is mistaken for an exorcist, much to his misfortune, and he never expected what was about to happen.

As Aesop crossed the building’s door, his mind was in a completely different, peaceful, and calm place, judging by his breathing. After the storm had stopped a few minutes earlier, he was dry from head to toe. With one hand holding his casket and the other holding the specific beats of his heart.

It wasn’t until late at night that they mistook him for an exorcist. They were confused by his connection to death due to his job as an embalmer, and their desperation for help, since no church was open during the week.

Considering the state of his appearance and attire—clothes he wouldn’t wear in his work uniform—he’d donned them because of the Halloween season and to seem more "confident" to clients. It seemed a complete lack of respect to him, so he didn’t wear it for that purpose, but he wouldn’t let the wasted fabric and effort go to waste.

A black and red leather suit with sharp spikes and studs. He repeated to himself that it was a token of gratitude for the gift, but even so, he didn’t find it comfortable to wear. By nighttime, after finishing a task that took longer than usual, he gathered his things and left for home. Apparently, with that appearance, he didn’t get annoying greetings or daily questions. Instead, he received a couple of stares and flirtatious glances from some young women.

Around the halfway point of his normal route, they caught him, told him their situation, and knelt, begging for help. The situation was difficult, so he tried to explain and leave, only to find himself in front of this exclusive apartment building, with a vague idea of what to do and search for.

Once inside, a sweet voice echoed down the hotel hall, known for being one of the most expensive in the city, as if the echo came from a place much larger than this new building.

What if they took it as a silly joke? He started to eye the door, planning to leave, until:

"Let me guess. First time with an undead?"

His heartbeats suddenly raced toward the ceiling, and his casket fell to the ground, stirring up a bunch of objects, including:

"Makeup? A Bible?" His slender figure caught his attention, especially because he wasn��t anywhere on the floor but rather in the darkest corner of the ceiling.

Quickly, the pale young man picked up the most important items: a crucifix and the old black Bible with brown pages.

"You look too young to be an exorcist..." He made an effort to provoke a reaction from him. "Don’t speak my language? Hi, hello, Buongiorno, hallo, Bonjour." Without any desire to talk, he just continued, unenthusiastically. "If you want, you can speak?"

As the creature—you—approached comfortably from afar, the young man raised a crucifix high, hidden in his pocket. Apparently, the small metal tool was what had originally given him peace of mind.

"I command you! Leave this place!"

"...Clear and loud. What a nice voice." In a blink, your silhouette, surrounded by darkness, stood face to face with the exorcist. "I’m surprised you're still standing. For someone who looks more dead than alive."

Aesop’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t fall backward, but his posture wavered forward, and then he regained his balance with one leg moving backward.

"But you’re no use. Your blood stinks. It’s a waste of food. Instead..." Your long, thin hands touched his temple. "That man you're after has the purest, most vibrant blood I’ve smelled in years."

"I... I command you, if you don’t leave soon, I’ll have no choice but to exorcize you, succubus!"

Three ellipses hung in the air.

"How persistent. Wait, did you just call me a succubus?"

At the new sight, the exorcist almost stifled a growl from your overwhelming gaze. And no wonder, you didn’t have horns or a demon’s tail. You weren’t naked or had an inhuman skin color. Instead, your skin was as pale as transparent, with long canine teeth and an androgynous appearance that captivated the eyes, like those clients he had just embalmed and made up.

"Ahhh, no one’s ever confused me for one before~ You find me that attractive?" And without letting him speak, you answered yourself. "No, no. Don’t answer. I already know the answer."

Neither man nor woman, he couldn’t tell what you were. He looked at you, then at the tool.

"...Why didn’t it work?"

"Ah, those things don’t work on me," you revealed.

"What are you!? You mistook the demon, didn’t you? Isn’t it obvious? I’m a vampire."

"Mr. Alonso showed signs of being manipulated in his dreams by a demon. Insomnia. Pallor and lack of strength. Everything pointed to a succubus-type demon."

"Not far off, congratulations. But I’m a vampire, not a succubus."

"Still, I can’t let you go. That man’s family entrusted me with this task," the exorcist clarified. "He’s far away, under care, receiving the help he needs."

"He won’t get far without me. He’s just a man. Look, confusing me with that is another level. Hm? Now that I see you better, why haven’t you run? Aren’t you afraid of me?"

His fist turned white from the pressure of his own hand.

"I’m facing death. I’ve never been so scared."

"You’re not scared of me?"

"Of course, I feel my pulse turning into a torrent and my heartbeats becoming a ticking clock. But I have another way out. I can’t flee from here."

"You’re a different human. How troublesome."

Aesop swallowed, as if several needles were going down his throat. Your body revealed itself closer to him, and he could even feel that your presence emitted no scent, no heartbeat, no sweat. You were, to his surprise, like a living corpse.

"So, is this where my life ends?"

"I suppose so."

"Who will embalm my body?"

"...Do you really accept your own death?"

He frowned, an odd calm overtook him, and beneath the mask, his nervous tone seemed more... calm and sad.

"I never had certainty of how my end would come," he said, "that bothered me. If I had the option, it was clear I would prefer a quick death, one with little effort."

"Have you been waiting for this?"

"Always."

He seemed lost in his thoughts.

You reached his shoulder, caressing his chin and bringing your hand down to his neck.

"Your blood is very sour," you said. "I really don’t like having to do this."

"I’m sorry."

He was serious. The boy stood very stiffly, but with those words, his spine relaxed.

"Before I kill you, let me ask you something," you said, pulling your mouth away from his neck. "Why would a young man like you have waited for death? Doesn’t your father concern you?"

"My parents are dead."

You felt a little guilty. His words sounded laden with pain and suffering. Maybe it happened years ago, but the pain hadn’t disappeared.

"How sad. And your friends?" you asked. The exorcist denied everything. "The rest?"

"The living people... they... are annoying," he replied. "The dead aren’t, they can’t speak, they can’t hear, they can’t respond."

"True, still, it remains unpleasant."

"Death is comforting."

His lackluster and depressed attitude exhausted you. You were giving him too much empathy.

"What’s your problem?" you asked. "No one accepts their death and waits for it so eagerly."

You should’ve ended this from the beginning. You didn’t know why you prolonged the conversation. The man wasn’t particularly attractive, 80% of his face was covered by a mask, and his graying hair. His voice was pleasant, but it wasn’t enough to let him talk this much.

"My name is Aesop Carl, and I’m not an exorcist," he said, bowing his head. Hands together, eyes closed, he seemed to be praying. "I’m an embalmer. I don’t know what deep emotions are, because when I feel them intensely, I can’t feel anything else... But please, I want to ask you to make my body recognizable." In a whisper, the embalmer added in a tone so low that no human should be able to hear, and which was actually just for himself: "I would like to see."

An embalmer. In that outfit, he didn’t look like an exorcist; it seemed like a costume, not even an embalmer. And he was quite young. From what you assumed, those jobs required years of preparation and experience. It was... a situation that encompassed quite a few strange things.

"You don’t have to worry about that," you said, tapping your temples. "There’s a way you can serve me."

"How is that possible?"

As much as you were at ease, you pulled away from his neck and the refreshing scent beneath. You made a small incision across your chest. A small hole.

"By taking my blood, you’ll die," you said. "It will be a clean death, but it will take longer. You’ll have a new life."

"Take longer?" Aesop repeated.

"To be reborn," you said. "You’ll be able to attend your own embalming and funeral. Then I’ll find you, and I’ll free you."

"What do you want in exchange?"

You were expecting that question.

"Your full trust and will " you said. "You’ll sustain your life from my blood. If I die, you die. If my life continues, you’ll stay until the end of time, you’ll be my companion. Simple. So tell me, do you accept, embalmer, no, sorry, Aesop Carl?"

He seemed reluctant.

"Will I be completely alone?"

"As long as I’m here, you won’t feel me, but I will be here, and when you wish, you’ll have whatever you want."

He furrowed his brows.

"Don’t say it like that."

"Like what?" you asked. "I thought you didn’t have a dirty mind."

He made a dismissive gesture to your overly confident implications... At the same time, the crimson began to stain your shirt. The hole in your chest leaked darker blood.

"You’re taking too long."

"Alright," he said. "I’ll do it."

You couldn’t resist widening your smile, and he crossed into a sort of embrace or attempt at union. You signaled that he should drink the blood.

"That sounds very unhygienic."

"For a careful embalmer, it is." you said. "For a creature that lives off it, it’s normal. It even depends on the subject, age, sex, or part of the body. It tastes different. Before you shared, you remember tastes of food and flavors. Some taste like cake, others spicy or sweet."

"This is what you must do if you want to die."

A cold shiver passed as you felt his tongue move along your skin, with a delicacy that wasn’t typical when they delayed... He was still inconsistent and broken in how he tried to seem relaxed.

"You know, it’s not necessary for it to be a particular part of my body." you said.

Aesop lifted his head, surprised, with his eyes wide open like a hungry puppy who didn’t understand what he was doing.

"You’re sick." he said, barely managing to maintain his composure.

"Thanksss♡." you said, your smile widening with satisfaction and irony.

Soon enough, after layer upon layer of hesitation, his heart stopped beating. His breathing ceased.

"You can stop if you want." you said softly, as if giving him an out.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his only answer was a deep bite into your flesh. He looked at his hands, stained with your blood, his clothes soaked, and his cheeks flushed with more color than he had ever shown. It was a mix of a real blush and the crimson of your blood. He no longer looked gloomy and pale. Now, for the first time, he looked alive.

"Don’t cover your mouth." you said, wiping the corner of his lips with your knuckles, removing the trace of blood left there.

He didn’t seem worried about stopping breathing; it wasn’t necessary. You didn’t need it either.

His eyes fixed on your smile, almost captivated. Then he looked at his own bare, trembling hands, covered in your blood. He watched the wounds on your skin healing quickly, as if nothing had happened.

His hands, once timid and trembling, became bitter, twisted over time. Yet, they slowly drowned in a sweetness unknown to him that he now felt coming from you. Maybe it was addiction, or perhaps simply resignation.

"I’m sorry." Aesop murmured, his voice full of regret.

"It’s fine." you replied. "You were just hungry."

You didn’t take long to pull away slightly, giving him space. You knew from reputation what it felt like to be displaced from your life. You had to be gentle with his death.

"We’ll meet on the other side," you said finally, letting the silence envelop the room.

As you moved away into the shadows, your figure now holding a corpse, you carefully placed it outside the building, in the darkness, as if you had never been there, and you disappeared.

You had a task to finish.