#but i do think this would break my brain and also be impossible. can’t pretend otherwise

[fingertipsmp3]

I really need to get a proper job so I’ll be too tired to have insane ideas like “what if I learned 5 romance languages all at once”

[kallie-den]

Hunting Hound Part Two

As Leinth's captivity continues, Handler's techniques erode her identity and push her to breaking point - and another visit from Sartha threatens to push her over the edge

A direct sequel to Hunting Hound

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Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

The question burns a hole in Leinth’s brain. She hears it, every single day, from Handler’s lips. It’s been like that ever since the escape. The doomed escape. Sartha Thrace - or Hound, Sartha’s other half - dragged her here, to a new cell, where she’s been kept ever since. Here, she is subject to Handler’s personal attentions. And each session begins and ends with the question.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

It’s an answer. The only one Leinth has to give. It’s not exactly wrong, but it’s not exactly right either. And it’s not the one Handler is looking for. Leinth can tell that much from Her expression. She’s tried giving other answers. She could pretend it’s to amuse herself, but really it’s because she’s hoping she’ll hit upon whatever answer Handler wants to hear. Once, Leinth even answered ‘hound’.

Handler didn’t like that. She made the measure of Her disapproval plain. She wants the truth. Only the truth. So Leinth gives it to Her. She’s not sure why. Handler’s approval shouldn’t matter to her. But it does.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

Leinth’s new cell is nicer, she supposes. Brighter. A touch more comfortable. She thinks it’s close to Handler’s quarters, but that’s just idle speculation. She’s given up on trying to make a mental map of this place. No point. She’s never getting out. She knows that now.

There’s also a mirror. They couldn’t have picked a worse torture device. What can Leinth do but spend hours staring at herself, letting her self-loathing ferment in her belly? The mirror asks the same question Handler does. Who is she? She doesn’t look much like a pilot anymore. Too skinny. Pilots always get the good rations and they always stay in good shape. Leinth just eats whatever they give her, and she doesn’t have the strength to exercise. She looks more like a corpse than a pilot.

Her eyes don’t help with that.

It’s tempting to break the mirror. That’s what Leinth knows she should do, if she still had the will. What stops her is knowing that Handler wants it here. Leinth can’t seem to bring herself to deny Her. Not anymore. It’s impossible even to imagine it. Like trying to imagine the sun moving backward across the sky.

Leinth has been down here too long. She knows that. Knowing doesn’t help.

Handler is more skilled than Her creepy, dog-hooded menials. Her personal attention is overwhelming. That’s like if the sun froze in the sky, and it was shining just for you. She touches the threads of Leinth’s mind as skillfully as a musician playing the strings of a harp, but She always leaves them fraying, twisted, undone. She takes - time, memories, moods. Whatever She wishes.

It doesn’t always hurt. But it is always torture, whether it’s drugs, electricity, lights, strange devices, or even just talking. When it does hurt, it’s not so bad. Leinth can give herself to the pain. It’s better than the gnawing guilt she feels when it doesn’t.

It’s never an interrogation, though. Leinth refuses to give up any secrets that would endanger her fellow rebels. That’s a barrier within herself she’s determined not to relinquish. Maybe the very last one. But Handler doesn’t ask, not about that. She asks about other things. Personal things.

When did Leinth first know she’s a woman? Who was her first crush? What was the first time her parents were ever disappointed in her? And it’s always so easy to tell Her. It always seems like a good idea in the moment. Like it’ll feel good. Like it’ll be a release.

It never is. It feels awful. Each time, Leinth is left feeling like she’s lost something. Like the memory she’s told belongs to Her now. Leinth is hollower for it. Less herself. Handler, by contrast, seems magnified by each secret shared. It’s like She’s feasting on them, as ridiculous as Leinth knows that is. But the impression persists. She can’t remember how much of herself she’s given away. What doesn’t Handler know about her, now? Is there anything? She must understand Leinth better than any other living soul could. The way only a god could.

But She keeps asking. Every time.

Who are you?

“Leinth Aritimis, pilot.”

At this point, what does it even mean for Leinth to call herself a pilot? That it’s her true self, somehow? Leinth wonders about that. If she could again sit in Genetor’s cockpit, if she could ride it to battle, would it fix her? Would she feel whole again?

Or would she throw up over the controls? That feels more likely. More true. Leinth may never be able to pilot Genetor again, but even if she could, it would be wrong. Sacrilegious. Genetor is a good thing. It does good. Leinth doesn’t. Not anymore. She’s unworthy of it. She always has been.

Because of Sartha. Because of Sartha Thrace.

If there’s one genuine kindness to being under Handler’s personal care, it’s that Sartha Thrace no longer comes to visit Leinth. Seeing her now would be unbearable. Thinking of her is unbearable; all Leinth can do is try to keep thoughts of her pressed against the far walls of her mind, there to scratch and itch as she lies down on the bunk to sleep.

Sartha Thrace is a hero. And Leinth ruined her.

Not just Leinth. But yes, her. She ruined Sartha with her praise and her wishes and her expectant, hopeful eyes. She knows this to be true. She feels it in her soul. Leinth has tried blaming Handler, a little. It doesn’t stick. Doesn’t have the same ring of dreadful truth to it. No; it was Leinth.

If only she’d just stopped and thought about how all that hero worship must have felt to Sartha. About what a burden it must have been to bear. Then, at least, Leinth would be innocent. But she never had. She’d always assumed Sartha could carry all that weight.

And why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she just carry it? Isn’t that what heroes are for?

Leinth can’t blame Sartha, though. It’s her fault. She did this.

Those thoughts chase each other’s tails in Leinth’s head, round and round, over and over. Guilt and anger. They never settle. She can’t make peace with how she feels. There are, as they say, two wolves inside her.

That phrase seems so much more sinister now.

Leinth is grateful when the drugs they put in her food give her simple oblivion. But just as often they do the opposite. Especially lately. They’ve added something particularly obscene. Some kind of aphrodisiac. It’s potent. It leaves Leinth at odds with her own body, pent up, pacing her cell, filled with base urges that leave her disgusted with herself.

She can’t even blow off steam the way every soldier does when they have the barracks to themself. When she tries, there’s only one face that comes into her head. And Leinth would never forgive herself if she soiled her hero even more than she already has.

How long has that drug been in her food now? How long has she been down here? And how long until she knows the answer?

Who are you?

Leinth Aritimis? Pilot? It feels worse and more absurd every time she says it. It drools from Leinth’s lips, weary from overuse, becoming just a set of sounds she barely remembers how to say.

Lay-inth. Lee-inth. Ah-ree-ti-mis. How is it that Handler says it? She always speaks like She’s wielding a scalpel on Her tongue. Dividing up the syllables. Clipped. Precise. That’s Handler’s way. She knows. She always knows best.

Is that one of Leinth’s thoughts, or one She gave her? Does it still matter? It won’t for much longer.

Leinth is too smart not to know that she’s about to break into pieces.

A sound drags Leinth from the spiral of her own mind. Scraping. Metal on metal. The door opening.

Leinth looks up, and sees Sartha Thrace.

And she gags. It feels ten times worse than she’d guessed it would. Nausea. Blind panic. Fuck. The guilt swells like a tide. But the look on Sartha’s face isn’t accusatory. It’s worse than that. It’s apologetic.

At least now there are no pretenses between them. Not with that sick fucking muzzle on her face.

“Hey,” Sartha says.

What is Leinth supposed to say to that? What the fuck is she supposed to say to that? Absolutely no words could match what had passed between them the last time they saw each other, and so Leinth just sits there on her bunk, mouth open, staring stupidly, until finally she musters up enough of herself to say:

“Hey.”

Even her voice doesn’t sound like her own at this point.

Sartha seems to take that one little word for permission. She enters the cell. Doesn’t close the door behind herself. Doesn’t need to - she knows Leinth won’t run. She moves cautiously. Timidly, even. It doesn’t suit her. Sartha Thrace shouldn’t tiptoe around Leinth like a mouse in a lion’s den.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to see you sooner,” the former hero says. “I wanted to. But She said… well, She thought it would be best.”

A line of thought presents itself for Leinth’s consideration. She could try to reason out why, exactly, Handler would want to keep them separated for a time. Figuring that out could help Leinth understand what Handler is doing to her. Understanding could help her resist. Mind games don’t work as well when you know the rules. At least, she hopes not. Leinth doesn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, of course. But she could at least try to figure it out.

Leinth decides not to bother. She’s just too tired.

“She did, huh?” she says instead, voice heavy. “And why does She think it would be best to come talk to me now?”

“I asked to,” Sartha replies. “I’ve asked a few times. I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

Does she really believe it was her own idea? Pointless to ask. That delusion strikes Leinth as absurd, but less absurd than it might have at the start of her captivity. It’s impossible not to believe that, sometimes. Maybe Sartha’s even telling the truth - but as soon as that occurs to Leinth, another voice in her head tells her different.

She’s lying to you. Betraying you. That’s what she does, Leinth.

“That’s a little hard to believe,” Leinth says through gritted teeth. She adds, belatedly: “Traitor.”

Instantly she regrets the insult and her anger ebbs. She’s not even sure where it came from. It’s beneath her. No, she’s beneath it. And it’s her fault, isn’t it? She helped ruin Sartha Thrace. Leinth has no right to any righteous fury. The wounded look on Sartha’s face only adds to her guilt.

“I did,” Sartha promises, rising above the taunt. "I’ve been worried about you. I… know how it is, right now. I’ve been exactly where you are.”

“I doubt that,” Leinth mutters. It’s not the same. Handler’s made that clear. There is a terrifying specificity to the way She dismantles people.

Sartha isn’t to be dissuaded. “I want to help you, Leinth. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to vent to. Someone to… to take out your frustration on - anything.”

Leinth has trusted those words before. Sartha isn’t here to help. She’s part of something, and Leinth can’t let herself be drawn in. But that doesn’t make them any less enticing. How long has it been since she’s had company? Outside of Handler, anyway.

Not that She counts. The gulf between them is just too great.

Company sounds like salvation, but Sartha’s company? That would be like a mosquito biting her skin over and over. It’s too loaded. Leinth can feel it, even now. The cocktail of emotions she’s barely been able to keep repressed. Admiration, loathing, attraction, admiration, hurt, guilt. She’s never felt more on edge - not once, not even in the heart of combat. What’s Sartha doing to her?

“Can… I at least sit down?” Sartha ventures.

Leinth really doesn’t want her to. Having her here just feels wrong. Like she’s doing to get kicked again. But something keeps her from refusing. She doesn’t want to be alone either. And more importantly, perhaps, she knows Sartha’s presence is Handler’s will.

So, Leinth just gives her a stiff nod.

“Thanks.” Sartha’s still cautious and slow as she approaches. Moving that way is so wrong for her. As she perches on the other end of Leinth’s bunk, it’s almost like she’s afraid. “First of all, I wanted to say this, straight-up: it’s all going to be OK. This will all make sense soon.”

Leinth looks at her uneasily. “You said something like that the first time we met down here.”

“Yeah.” Sartha nods. “That was the worst part, for me. Not knowing. Not having any… any faith.” She smiles at Leinth. Tries to smile, anyway. “I thought you might need to hear that again, right about now.”

“Faith.” Leinth feels nauseous. Faith - Sartha is all but overflowing with it. There’s a light buried in her eyes, a light she can always see. It’s wrong. “Faith in Her.”

“Yes,” Sartha says hopefully. “In Her.”

Sartha’s voice trembles with awe as she says that. Leinth tries to pretend hers doesn’t too.

“She wants what’s best for us,” Sartha adds. “Maybe you can see that better now.”

Leinth just snorts. How can this be best for Sartha? It seems absurd. But she knows now, of course. What Sartha was going through before. When she was a hero. Leinth knows what all that did to her. So it doesn’t seem as crazy as it should.

But, this? How could this ever be better? Wanting to run is one thing. Wanting to betray everything you held dear and break your own psyche into two halves is another. Leinth will never, ever understand that.

At least, she hopes not.

“Just trust me, OK?” Sartha promises. “It’ll get easier. She says you’re doing very well.”

Leinth twitches. That’s not good.

“Fuck Her and fuck you,” she manages, although her heart isn’t in it. “She can waste her time with me forever. She’ll never get what she wants.”

The boast rings hollow to them both. Sartha doesn’t even look offended, just pitying. Leinth knows why.

This is passive resistance. Not active. She’s not fighting anymore. Not really. Just betting that whatever Handler’s rooting around in her head for isn’t actually there. She’s not denying that Handler can take her apart, brick by brick.

“It’s normal to be angry,” Sartha tells her. “You can be angry at Her, for now. She won’t mind. She’ll forgive you.”

Leinth just hates that a part of her brain lights up with relief at that. She tries to suppress that pleasure, to shove it back down in the dark where it belongs. She can’t. It’s hard. Too hard.

Why can’t she think? Why’s it so hard to just fucking think?

Sartha’s to blame, Leinth.

It’s Sartha’s fault. It’s like she’s doing something to Leinth just by being here. Being on edge doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s deeper than that. Atavistic. Like being prey in the presence of a predator. Or… the opposite? Leinth’s not sure, she just knows it’s itching at her all over. She can feel Sartha in the air. On her skin. It’s consuming. Leinth has never been more aware of another human being before.

And there’s something else. Something weirder and worse.

Leinth is unbearably fucking horny.

It’s more distracting than it has any right to be. The arousal has been present for at least a dozen sleeps, since they started adding that aphrodisiac to Leinth’s food. It’s been a constant buzz that keeps her from finding any center or inner calm. But now it’s turned up to eleven. It’s thunder in Leinth’s veins.

And it’s all directed at Sartha.

Every stupid, embarrassing, idol-struck wet dream she’s ever had is now throbbing at the forefront of her brain. Leinth just has to avert her eyes and pray it isn’t showing. But it must be - she can feel herself sweating and drooling and tenting the coarse pants they gave her. Gods, it’s like being a teenage boy all over again. More intense though, and there’s something else. She can hear a heartbeat, pounding in her ears. It must be hers. But it feels like Sartha’s.

“Are you alright?” Sartha says. Out of the corner of her eye, Leinth can see concern on her face. It hurts.

She doesn’t deserve concern. She’s the one who ruined Sartha. She’s still doing it even now, in her mind’s eye. Leinth is the worst. The lowest it gets. She can feel control slipping out of her grasp. Like an animal in heat - but that would be a hundred times easier to deal with. You don’t blame an animal for being in heat.

“I’m fine,” Leinth grunts.

She’s not. She shifts a couple of inches down her bunk, hoping distance will help. It doesn’t. It just makes the yearning that much more intense. Sartha Thrace is right here, still within arm’s reach. Her warmth. Her skin. Her body. Fuck. It’s so damn hard not to think about it when Handler’s demonstration keeps flashing through her mind.

Her lips, yielding and kissing. Her mouth, open, wet, willing. The way she licked Handler’s boot like it was a lover. And, above all, the promise Handler made.

Why not enjoy her, if it pleases you? Many have.

Leinth reaches up and clutches at her head. Fuck. She’s so disgusting.

Suddenly, a memory forms. Not of Sartha. Of Handler. Leinth remembers being in the sweet embrace of Her tools and instruments, in some secret room of these sinister kennels. She remembers herself being opened and Handler pouring words into her, sweet as honey, bitter as cocoa. It’s the same voice she can hear even now, at the back of her own brain.

All of its words are about Sartha Thrace.

Before Leinth can fathom the meaning of that. Sartha catches her attention.

“There’s something else,” the hero says, with palpable reluctance. “I… wanted to apologize.”

Leinth might have laughed. “Apologize?” she chokes out.

What does Sartha have to apologize for? Much, of course. But not to Leinth. Those scales are tipped firmly and irrevocably the other way.

“Yeah,” Sartha says earnestly. “For what you saw that day. I’m sure it’s been weighing on you.”

Leinth’s hands have started shaking. It’s really bad. “Did She tell you to say that?”

“No,” Sartha replies, although there’s no knowing if that’s really true. Not even for her. “I swear. This is all me, Leinth. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“For what?” Leinth’s voice cracks.

“For laying all that on you.”

“You didn’t,” Leinth croaks. “She did.”

“That’s different,” Sartha shoots back quickly. She’s defensive of her mistress, of course. “She was just telling you the truth. That’s all. It was kind of Her, Leinth. You just don’t see that yet.”

Kind. Leinth’s hands shake worse. Listening to Sartha talk about this is so twisted. Her head is nothing but a seething mass of insane contradictions, and Leinth is fast losing the ability to sort them out as she hears them.

“I meant… in my head,” Sartha explains. “I put it on you by letting it get to me. My status. The way people looked at me. Shit like that. You shouldn’t have to feel bad about it.”

Leinth buries her face in her palms. No, no, no. This is so wrong. Sartha shouldn’t be apologizing. She’s a hero. She was a hero. Whatever.

“Everyone needs people to look up to.” Sartha’s still talking. Why won’t she just shut up and go away? “I sure as hell did in my day. Even if I never thought I’d become… well, it just comes with the territory, I guess. If you survive long enough. I should have known. I should have been ready.”

Leinth wants to stop her, but her blood is boiling and her tongue would loll stupidly out of her mouth if she tried to speak. Her passions are up and they leave no room for words. She just wants this torture to end. Compared to this, Handler truly is kind. Leinth just wants to be free of this feeling. This guilt. But even by listening, she’s making it worse. Why can’t she stop violating Sartha this way?

“I wish…” Sartha pauses, considers, corrects. “Part of me wishes I’d just been stronger. That it hadn’t come to this. Then I wouldn’t be such a disappointment to you. But it’s for the best. I met Her, and she saved me. Fixed me. Made me a hero again.”

That self-pity. It’s disgusting. As disgusting as Leinth is. A hero shouldn’t feel that. Speak that.

“You deserved better.” Sartha seems to settle on that thought. “You deserve a hero you could really look up to.”

And then it roars out of Leinth, furious as the report of Genetor’s guns.

Shut her up, Leinth.

“Just shut up already!” she screams, in a voice that barely remembers how to speak. It comes out raw and ragged. “Don’t you have any fucking pride?”

She’s on her feet, even though she doesn’t remember standing. She can look down at Sartha now. That feels good. It feels right.

“I ruined you!” Leinth screams. That confession is a balm for her soul. Letting it out, an unspeakable release. “I’m part of what broke you! But you can’t even be mad at me? Even now it’s out in the open? What’s wrong with you?”

Sartha doesn’t reply. She looks surprised, but not hurt. Not afraid. She’s serene. That pisses Leinth off even more.

Why isn’t she angry? If she was anything more than a broken mutt, she’d be angry.

“Why aren’t you angry?” she rages. It’s not right, Sartha’s strange tranquility. Sartha Thrace isn’t like that. Her Ancyor is a furious machine. Sartha Thrace always fought with an avenging anger in her heart, for anyone who ever hurt her comrades. “You’re a hero! Stand up for yourself. Stand up for something. Aren’t you tired of taking it all lying down? Me, Handler… fuck, if you’re a traitor, at least be a traitor. Not… not this!”

Still, no reply. Why not? Why won’t she talk? What’s she hiding? Leinth needs to see. She needs to see closer. She grosses the gap between them in a stride and grabs Sartha’s collar up in her fists. Hauling the broken woman to her feet is easy; maybe the anger is making Leinth strong. She puts her face close to Sartha’s, as close as that ridiculous muzzle permits. What’s with that anyway? Why won’t she just take it off?

“Look at me!” Leinth roars. She needs to see into those eyes. Sartha obeys, and for a long moment Leinth just stares and stares, searching for an answer. Searching for a feeling, for any feeling. For something real.

In Sartha’s eyes, she reads validation. Sartha is validated by Leinth’s anger.

That feels like an even greater betrayal. Leinth’s rage flares hotter still - but there’s something else, too. Being this close to Sartha is a mistake. Her scent is overpowering. Leinth can feel her heat under her hands. It’s too much. She was horny before, from the drugs; there’s no words for what she is now. It’s too much. It becomes all of her, flooding her senses and her limbs, flooding even her anger, becoming one with it. It’s all one feeling now, violent and restless.

“Did you…” Leinth growls. Words come hard and slow. She’s beyond them. “Did you ever really mean it? Did you ever really believe in something?”

Even Sartha looks a little shocked at the accusation behind her words. “Yes!” she cries. It’s a prayer. A hope. “I did - I do - I… I’m a hero. I’m a hero.”

She’s trying to make sense of herself. It’s useless, of course. She is only what Handler allows her to be. Handler’s the one to be angry at. But Leinth can’t imagine that anymore, and in any case, Handler isn’t here.

But Sartha is.

She’s lying to you, Leinth.

“Stop lying!” Leinth yells in her face. There’s no stopping the strange alchemy happening inside her as her feelings fold and merge. Something deep within her is being forged and dredged up. It defies reason and reality, but that doesn’t matter. It’s primal. Atavistic. “Stop… stop pretending! You lied to us! To all of us! How could you do that?”

“I didn’t-“

Make her pay.

Leinth just hits her.

Right in the gut. A hammer blow. Sartha is taken by surprise mid-breath and doubles over, gagging and choking. Only Leinth’s other hand, firm on her collar, keeps her on her feet. She looks like she’s in agony.

And it feels good.

Better than anything Leinth’s felt since she first came down here, that’s for sure. It’s a revelation. She’s never before thought about what a simple joy inflicting pain can be. It’s power, and power is so precious. It’s a tiny little release valve for what’s boiling inside her.

Leinth is no sadist, of course. Just the opposite. She’d never want to hurt anyone who deserves it. But Sartha does. She absolutely does. That feels too right to be wrong. Which means there’s nothing to stop Leinth from making Sartha as bruised outside as she feels inside.

She deserves it.

“You can-“ Sartha begins to choke out as she recovers.

“Stop talking!” Leinth snarls. She pulls close, overwhelmed with a craving for greater savagery. She means to bite; she can imagine her jaws clamping down, and skin breaking, and blood in her mouth.

Instead, she finds herself clawing the muzzle away from Sartha’s face and kissing her.

The kiss is no gentler than a bite. It’s ugly and messy. Leinth bites Sartha’s lip, hard, and invades her mouth with her tongue, claiming her, soiling her face with blood and drool. The kiss makes Leinth euphoric. It’s vindication. She can do this. She can cross this line with Sartha. And that means she wasn’t really such a hero after all.

Plus, Sartha Thrace is kissing her back.

Leinth lets her, for a moment, but then pulls back and shoves her to one side so hard she goes sprawling across the floor. She can’t let Sartha think this is a coupling of equals. It’s not. Sartha is nothing. A pretender. A traitor. A dog.

Sartha, perversely, looks up at Leinth with stars in her eyes. “You can hit me,” she pants, “if you want. She said that you could.”

Permission. What does that mean? It implies anticipation. Did Handler plan this? That should trouble Leinth, but she’s far, far too fixated on Sartha to devote any thought to it.

Sartha wants this. Whatever guilt Leinth made her feel has transformed into sheer masochism. That disgusts Leinth. The Sartha Thrace she once believed in would never have looked at anyone like that. She’s not disgusted by herself anymore, though.

She’s not like Sartha. She’s one of the good guys. That’s why she can do whatever she wants with a piece-of-shit liar like this.

Sartha looks Leinth up and down. Her eyes settle on the tell-tale mark of Leinth’s arousal. Those stars in her eyes don’t get any dimmer. “You can fuck me, too. I-if you want.”

Her eagerness is pathetic. Leinth wonders how she ever saw anything good or heroic in the brainwashed woman slumped on the ground before her.

But she’s willing. And Leinth is horny. That’s simple enough.

“That’s what you do for all of them,” Leinth growls as she advances on Sartha. “Isn’t it?”

“I… that’s…” Sartha struggles. She’s trying to make that agree with her sense of self. “W-when She wants me to… when they need…”

Leinth snorts. “Why am I even talking to you?” she spits. “You barely even know where you are. What side you’re fighting on. You’re nothing. Why did I ever think you were a hero? You’re just a warm body.”

“I ju-“

“Shut up!” Leinth snaps. “Get up.”

Sartha does what she’s told - or tries at least. That’s both intoxicating and aggravating. A hero shouldn’t - but Sartha isn’t a hero, Leinth knows that now, and it’s fucking hot that she does. It makes Leinth feel like she can do anything she wants. And she wants so much. It’s burning in her veins. Leinth feels powerful as Sartha fights to her feet, and she feels powerful as she decides she’s moving too slow. Leinth reaches down to haul her to her feet and toss her roughly onto her bunk.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Leinth orders next. Even Sartha’s clothes piss her off, she’s realizing. It’s still her old rebel garb. “You don’t deserve to wear that.”

Once more, Sartha is too slow. When she fumbles a little with her jacket, Leinth intervenes and starts ripping it from her body, popping buttons and tearing fastenings. It’s as easy as tearing paper. Leinth has never felt so strong. And she doesn’t stop there; she makes her hands into claws, hooks them into Sartha’s vest, and pulls apart until the whole thing comes to pieces in her hands.

The sight of Sartha’s tits spilling out is a hot rush of pleasure and satisfaction. This is exactly the defiling that false idols deserve.

Leinth keeps going - not until Sartha is naked, just until she’s naked enough. Until Leinth has access to everything she wants.

But she takes a moment to reach down and fix the muzzle back into place. It suits Sartha. Leinth sees that now.

“On the bunk?” Sartha pants, with a filthy eagerness. “Or I could su-“

“Shut up.”

Leinth hits her again, this time a hooked punch to her side that collapses Sartha onto the bunk like a stack of bricks falling over. She doesn’t want Sartha to talk. It’s wrong when she talks. Hound doesn’t talk, not unless She tells her to, and maybe that’s the real Sartha after all. Maybe Leinth can bring Hound out to play. That’s what Sartha wants. She wants the blissful surrender of sweat and heaving bodies.

Fine. She can have that. As long as Leinth gets to prove she’s not a hero. Just a body.

She deserves this too, Leinth. Fuck her. You want to. And so does she.

Leinth kneels on the bed behind Sartha as she scrambles to her knees. Leinth’s need is bursting out of her at the seams. She wants this. And so does Sartha. Leinth starts undressing herself, furiously and frantically, shucking her pants to her knees so she can free her cock and press it against Sartha’s cunt.

Sartha is clearly wet, and Leinth can see the bruise on her side already beginning to form, blossoming blue and purple where she planted the tip of her fist. Leinth grins.

And starts fucking her former hero.

Their sounds are animal. Sartha’s whining moans, the way Leinth growls her every breath, and the feral slap of flesh on flesh. There’s absolutely no art to it. Leinth is no stranger to good sex. She considers herself more restrained than most, but she gets just as much pussy as every other ace pilot and she likes to make sure the girls she brings back to her quarters go out and spread the right kind of rumors afterward.

But Sartha isn’t like them. This is barely sex. More like jerking off, only the long-held fantasy of Sartha Thrace isn’t just in Leinth’s head anymore. Admittedly, she didn’t want Sartha this way. But now that she has her, it’s almost as good.

Leinth feels free, in a way. There’s nobody to look up to. Nobody to disappoint. She can simply be this.

And this is what you are, Leinth.

Her pace is furious. Desperate. The lust-drugs have been in her food for weeks, and Sartha’s face in her mind’s eye has been an aching curse, keeping her from release. Now the curse is broken. Now it’s a red rag to a bull, and Leinth just wants to see that face soiled and bruised and made hers. She has her hands on Sartha’s hips and pulls back on them hard with each thrust. Whenever Sartha doesn’t match her enthusiastically enough, she digs in her nails, grown uneven and sharp from her captivity. Every stupid, pathetic puppy-whine from the woman on her knees in front of her just drives Leinth onwards. To make her louder, she rakes her claws hard enough to draw blood.

This is ascension. Better than piloting, better than victory. This is the best she’s ever felt.

Leinth doesn’t care if it lasts long. She just wants that one moment; the release, the moment she truly makes Sartha hers. She’s frenzied for it. Leinth reaches forward and puts her hand on the back of Sartha’s head, and pushes. Hard. Hard enough that Sartha’s elbows buckle and she crashes forward, face planting awkwardly into the hard mattress. Leinth pushes forward and down, mounting her and keeping her there. The position lets her thrust longer and harder - and more importantly, it’s even more degrading. Leinth likes that she can make Sartha take her whole weight, crushing her, making her bend her neck and brace on her shoulder. She’s practically contorting herself.

Because Leinth is making her.

This is all she is.

“This is all you are,” Leinth growls. She’s so glad she gets to be the one to show her. “Not a hero. Just this. Understand?”

It’s all personal now. She’s the one Sartha betrayed. Not the rebels. Leinth’s comrades are all but forgotten now. In reply, Sartha just gurgles. Probably, she can barely breathe. Leinth doesn’t care. Let her choke.

A stupid, broken dog.

“Stupid. Broken. Dog,” Leinth huffs, voice cracking as her pleasure peaks. “I… I… fuck!”

Good dog.

She cums, hard as hell. As she does she slumps against Sartha, drugged-up limbs finally permitted to release the last of their strength. Her mind goes blank from the pleasure. It’s everything that’s been building up in her for weeks. Maybe months. She lets it all go, driven by raw instinct.

Her marks on Sartha. Her cum in Sartha. Her furious words, thundering through her ears. Her satisfaction - her domination - feels complete. This moment is the culmination of Leinth’s entire existence. The satisfaction is infinite.

Until it isn’t.

When her orgasm dies, it’s not just Leinth’s need that fades. It’s her anger. It’s the wound of betrayal and resentment, pressing on her brain like a cancer sore. It all goes, all at once, everything that’s been animating her. Leinth collapses back onto the back, legs splayed, her face aghast with dawning confusion.

Then, slowly, horribly, as Sartha draws weak, shuddery breaths, Leinth becomes aware that they are not alone in the cell.

“My,” remarks Hander, from where She’s been watching. Leinth didn’t hear or notice Her enter, but she must have seen the entire filthy thing. “Leinth Aritimis. What have you done?”

Leinth hadn’t realized just how fucking cold it was in the cell. Shivering, she meets Handler’s gaze for a moment, and that’s a mistake. In Handler’s eyes, she doesn’t see smug glee or victorious scorn. Her eyes are just impossibly cold, like the winter sky. They are a mirror, and they are perfectly truthful.

Under those eyes, Leinth can’t keep it together. Not even for a moment.

“I d-… I didn’t…” Leinth’s voice sounds absurdly small compared to those growls from just moments ago. She’s grasping for something. That voice in her head. Was it Handler’s? Or was it her own? How can she possibly hope to tell? “Y-you… made me…”

Handler just tilts Her head. “Is that what you think?”

She doesn’t, not really. Leinth doesn’t feel like anyone made her do anything. It was all her. Every ugly feeling and every blackened thought. Her decision to… what? Fuck Sartha? It feels worse than that, although Leinth can’t tell if it really is or not. This is all too twisted, and all she knows is that her chest is ripping itself in two with guilt. Even if it was Handler’s voice, she must have chosen to listen to it. Surely she had a choice.

But there’s something. There has to be something.

“You put d-drugs,” Leinth babbles, “in my food.”

“Of course,” Handler replies.

She doesn’t need to deny it. She knows it’s not enough. Leinth can already rehearse argument and counterargument in her own head. How does she know the drugs aren’t showing who she really is? Why would drugs absolve her responsibility?

And it’s not like she can pretend she didn’t want it. She’s always wanted Sartha Thrace that way.

No. Leinth knows what she chose. She felt herself chose it.

But acceptance is still a bridge she can’t cross. “But…” Leinth splutters. She glances at Sartha in half-panic. “No, but…”

“Why are you so worked up about this?” Hander asks her. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

At that, Leinth goes very, very still. Her eyes fix on Handler again. She can’t believe she just heard that. She never even considered that. The thought is foreign. She hasn’t… but of course she has!

“No,” Leinth shakes her head. “How can you say that? I… she…”

“She wanted this.” Handler is the kind of calm that makes her easy to believe. “Every part of her. I’d know.”

Leinth knows poison when she hears it, but she can’t stop herself listening. “That’s n-not true. Sartha wouldn’t.”

“She would,” Handler tells her. “I’ve been telling you, Leinth. Sartha isn’t what you hoped she’d be. She’s not a hero. She is my hound.”

The dreadful memory of what happened smothers any retort Leinth might have. She wants to insist that Sartha didn’t want it, but she knows in her body the way Sartha hungered for her kiss and welcomed Leinth inside her. Fuck, the eagerness in her voice. She was practically begging for it.

Would a hero ever do that?

What Handler offers isn’t right. Leinth knows that. But it’s so tempting, and she’s struggling to remember why it’s wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Handler says softly. She sounds so kind now, or maybe that’s just in Leinth’s head. “I sent her in here, you know. If you need to blame someone, you can blame me. I won’t hold it against you.”

Now that’s irresistible - especially when Hander extends her hand and touches her fingertips to Leinth’s cheek. She means to pull away; she almost does, but Handler’s touch is perfectly cool. It feels like the only thing that can soothe the pounding heat inside Leinth. So, she lets herself be weak for a moment. It’s just a touch, she tells herself.

“Right,” Leinth breathes. “It’s your fault.”

Handler nods. With that permission, Leinth bundles up her guilt and gifts it to the woman standing over her. In her mind she recites all the reasons she should blame Handler, not herself. It works. It helps. She feels lighter for it. Handler, conversely, is unchanged. Untainted. She’s not like Leinth. She can swallow all that guilt and culpability effortlessly. There’s too much of Her. It can’t leave a trace.

Leinth is just grateful, in a sad, pathetic way, that Handler isn’t throwing it back in her face. That would be the perfect way to twist the knife. There’s no way Leinth could handle it. She’d break. She’d shatter. Leinth doesn’t know the meaning of this kindness, but she’s still grateful for it.

She feels, unfathomably, at peace.

And she feels like she could stay that way forever, but for one thing: Sartha. Sartha is still there, still next to her, drawing weak, shuddery breaths that remind Leinth of her presence. Sartha seems contented, in a way. Leinth figures she got the oblivion she was craving. But now Leinth can’t even stand to turn her face in her direction. It makes everything too raw and it makes her remember; remember that ugly, false reality, the one she’s trying to push away.

The one where she’s guilty.

“Can you…” Leinth begins quietly. She’s hoping Handler’s mysterious kindness will stretch just a little further. “Can you get her out of here?”

“Oh?” Handler’s still stroking her cheek. “Are you done with her?”

Leinth whimpers. She wishes She wouldn’t put it like that, but she can hardly hold it against Her. And she desperately needs Sartha gone so she can begin to regroup. “Y-yes. I just… I can’t…”

Handler interrupts her with a disapproving, tongue-clicking noise. To Leinth, it’s as loud as thunder.

“No, that’s no good,” Handler says, in a ghoulishly affectionate way. “That’s guilt talking, isn’t it? Don’t listen to that feeling, Leinth.”

“O-OK,” Leinth says sheepishly. She feels stupid now that Handler’s lecturing her. What else can she say but ‘OK’? Her head is still splitting in two. She can’t think. Still can’t think.

“Look at her,” Handler instructs firmly.

Leinth whimpers again. “No, no, I-“

Her head jolts and everything flashes white, and she realizes Handler has slapped her. Tears well up in her eyes. Stupid. It wasn’t even hard. Certainly not as hard as she hit Sartha. Just a shock, to get her attention and stop her rambling. But for Handler to lay a hand on her like that…

“Look at her,” Handler repeats. She touches Leinth again, guiding her. Leinth doesn’t resist. She’s puppy-weak. She looks at Sartha

Really looks. She has to, because that’s what Handler is telling her. It’s not easy. Sartha is a fucking mess. If she was a hero twenty minutes ago, she isn’t now. Her clothes are ruined. She’s bleeding from at least three places. She’s drenched in both her own sweat and Leinth’s, and the expression on her face is something truly inhuman, a fucked-stupid look of gratified, delirious masochism. It hurts to think that Leinth put it there, and it hurts just as much seeing how Leinth’s cum is spilling out from between her legs to stain the bunk.

This is the ruin of a hero.

“Look,” Handler urges. “Isn’t she pathetic?”

Her words pull at the string of Leinth’s heart. They make her twitch. Yes, Sartha is pathetic. There’s no use in denying it now. But the guilt is roaring back and forces a choked whimper from Leinth’s throat.

“It’s OK,” Handler soothes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Leinth.”

The head-splitting pain is worse than ever. Unfathomably bad. Leinth has felt her own mech being split open while she’s inside and that’s the only thing she can think of that comes close. “B-but… I… to her…”

“She wanted it,” Handler reminds her. “She asked for it.”

Leinth shakes her head violently as the ache grows. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Yes.” Handler sounds so firm. So sure. How is it so easy for Her? “She’s a traitor, Leinth. Remember that. She betrayed you.”

Her words aren’t helping, however kindly they’re meant. If anything, they’re making it worse. It’s like Leinth is seeing double. There are two versions of Sartha in her head. One a saint, a hero, faultless, suffering for her struggle until Leinth ravaged her and left her like this. The other a traitor, a deceiver, someone who pretended she could bear the weight of the world until she gave up and decided to indulge in whatever sick fetish Handler satisfies.

It doesn’t make sense. Sartha can’t be both. And Leinth can’t hold onto both versions at once. It’s too much.

“She tricked you,” Handler says. “All of you. She pretended to be more than just a woman. She let you believe in her, and hated you for it. And now she’s making you feel guilty, too. All for giving her what she wants.”

“Please stop,” Leinth gasps. She’s about to pass out from the pain. “Make it stop. Please.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Handler reiterates. “Say it for me.”

“I d-didn’t do anything wrong,” Leinth repeats. She’d do or say anything now, if it helped.

“That’s right.”

It did help, a little. Or maybe Handler’s approval does. But only a little.

“B-but.” Leinth can’t stop herself saying it. She wants desperately to fall into Handler’s abyss. The pain is that bad. But guilt is still her ankle. “I d-didn’t have to… that’s not me, I… even she doesn’t deserve…”

“Yes, I see,” Handler says. She seems to understand perfectly. “Leinth, listen to me: whatever you did wrong, I forgive you.”

“You…”

Leinth looks back to Her. Handler’s eyes are still the sky. Cold. Pure. Free of both compassion and accusation. As always, they make Handler’s words ring true. Leinth hadn’t even thought about forgiveness. She hadn’t imagined anyone could award her forgiveness. But when Handler promises it, she believes.

She believes so much she doesn’t stop to ask why Handler’s forgiveness would matter, or what she’s being forgiven for if she did nothing wrong.

And Leinth feels it. Absolution.

She implodes from it. Leinth crumples over and inward, wracked by dry, silent sobs of sheer relief. The pain is gone. It’s like it was never there. She’s free. Before she can stop herself she finds she’s clasping Handler’s hand. It was on her cheek but she brings it to her lips, kissing, praying. This is more unburdened than she’d ever dared hope to feel.

How can Handler do this? How does She have this power? It’s like She’s the first real person Leinth has ever met - and for once, she’s simply grateful to have met Her.

“Good,” Handler pronounces. She sees the change in Leinth. And She’s pleased, which is another wonderful gift. Handler glances at Sartha. “Wake up,” She says. “Come along, Sartha.”

Sartha is trapped in some kind of daze, but she obeys without hesitation and rises to her feet as if oblivious to her bruised, cum-drenched state. She looks wretched - Leinth can say that to herself now, she learns, without guilt - but when she starts following Handler out of the cell, Leinth is almost jealous.

It would be a blessing to get to follow Her around. To spend a little longer in Her presence. Especially since Leinth is so very afraid that as soon as She leaves, all that fearful doubt is going to come right back. Handler might be the enemy, but Leinth’s inner voices hurt worse.

Hander, as always, knows what’s in her soul. “Don’t worry, Leinth,” She says over Her shoulder as She departs. “You’re doing very well. I will be with you again soon.”

Leinth just nods. She can hold that praise tight to her chest. It’ll keep her warm.

Once Handler leaves, the cell door closes and locks. Leinth is alone again. The loneliness is more uncomfortable than ever. Her head is clouded over, but she’s starting to realize that’s not so bad. It’ll keep her from dwelling on the things that don’t fit right.

There’s something she can’t help dwelling on, though. Something unsaid between her and Handler. The question Handler doesn’t need to ask, because She always asks.

Who are you?

Leinth still doesn’t have an answer for Her. But she’s closer, perhaps. Leinth stands up and walks to the mirror. As she peers into it, searching for clarity, it happens again. That strange double vision. Like the whole world is fracturing. But not around Sartha, this time. Around Leinth.

First, Leinth sees herself. Or what she’s always taken to be herself. A woman who still looks a little like a pilot. A rebel. The person she’s always been, and who can she live with being.

But then she sees something else too. Something deeper. Truer. Something who is barely a person at all. Something feral. It’s whatever came out of her when she was on top of Sartha, hitting and fucking and growling. It must have always been there, in the corner of her eye. Leinth just couldn’t see it before because she was too afraid. The thing she sees is abominable. Unforgivable - except for Handler. She can forgive it. Only Her.

It’s a hound. A hound of Leinth’s very own.

---

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[jenyifer]

Dead Friend Forever ep 8 initial reaction

Omg everyone I’ve caught up!!!!! I’m gonna get to watch the behind the scenes and first eps again woooooooooooo. Thought this ep would have more answers honestly but I got some big new questions

Let’s get into it

But hey he told someone before he died hopefully something can come of that. Once again we know Tee’s uncle gets caught.

Okay so Non’s crying scenes where he’s wearing the bracelet really killed me. Poor baby. So lost and scared no where to go until he mentally snaps. We don’t know exactly what mental disorder he struggles with. I assume it’s bipolar or schizophrenia. It’s sad but I’ve know people who struggled with both. Going off their medication lead to really dangerous places and ways of thinking. I don’t blame non for going to extremes here. Ugh his scream up the stairs really is going to torture me

Tee does at least extremely regrets what he does to Non. I really don’t think he wanted Non dead or in this much trouble but besides non he’s the one most in over his head. He’s also in an impossible situation. No escape his dad is sick and his uncle is an evil bastard who barely takes care of him.

God I hate Por he is really despicable. He’s so realistic though the bully with too much money for his ‘friends’ to speak up. Por has 0 empathy for anyone has little concept of others even his ‘friends’ when Top gets attacked you know you didn’t care? Por.

Oh Non. They did bully and torture you. Non was too good too desperate to make friends to even have one like Jin. He genuinely was doing most of it for Jin. Just to have one friend. So painful. Bullies don’t care what could be going on in your life. I think it’s part of having their brains under developed because later in life they may apologize. I was really bullied in school and when I go home which is 16 hours ago via car sometimes I’ll run into my bullies and they’ll act like we were friends. Or they’ll try to contact me online etc. I think they learn what it means to be bullied later in life or (this actually happened) they have a kid that has ADHD and likes anime and other interests I had and they realize that as a school kid they would have bullied and tortured their own child. So to make up for it they want to talk to me again. Non shouldn’t have gone to that house. He should have just pretended like they were already dead. Change schools. But… if he’s off his medication he can’t be held accountable for his actions here. He’s already obsessed with his story pre everything breaking down. Gahhh I feel so bad for him.

Is this the last time we see Non? He could still be alive I doubt it though. I can’t believe Jin thinks he’s better than the rest of them. Jin and Fluke should have stopped them. I realize that maybe they didn’t understand the depths of trouble Tee is in. Maybe they didn’t compute the graviety of the situation. Non told them Tee had him do the horse account. But it’s worse than that. I’m sure with time Jin at least can put together the extent of trouble Non was in and know he’s been killed.

Tee does try multiple times at his own risk to try to find out what happened to non which is something. It’s possible his relationship with White is an idealized penance for what he did to Non. White is also innocent looking and sweet like Non really was.

Phee’s dad is in an impossible situations the bad guys have proven they are willing to kill and completely cover it up with money. I don’t blame him for backing off to protect his child.

Gahhhhhjj I hate Por so much. Idk why he acted so upset about Non at the beginning of the series. If anything the one who seemed least upset about Non was Jin. But Jin broke the camel’s back and lead Non into the lions den again and again.

Come on Phee let’s get those bitches.

So Tan I’m 100% sure he is New. You can change your nickname.

What I don’t know is

1. Why would Top do anything to Por? Top delivered Non with Tee. Top knew about the accounts. Top doesn’t seem involved heavily else where so… idk

2. Where and who is White? Did he really not know anything is he related to the teacher maybe? Cause we know the teacher is dead. I doubt it though.

3. Does Phee have any feelings for Jin? I doubt it.

[hockeyboysimagines]

hii, can you do 4 and 5 from the smut prompts with barzy?

This was fun. Thanks for the first Barzy request🤍

Breakups were tough.

The crying, the drama, the untangling of your life from another person was hard.

In fact, it sucked.

You sighed as you folded Mat’s laundry and placed it neatly on your kitchen counter, next to the rest of his things he’d be coming for. You’d never been in a more toxic relationship, but you’d also never loved someone as much as you loved him.

An impossible situation to be face with and you were still not sure you’d made the right one. You just couldn’t take the fighting anymore. It was the same vicious cycle. Fighting, apologizing, makeup sex. While it was fun and exciting for a while, it had become emotionally draining.

He would be coming to get his things soon, and you were dreading seeing him. You’d put it off for a long time, hoping that maybe things would get better or that you guys could talk it out, but much to your dismay that did not happen.

There was a knock at your door, and then it opened.

While breakups were hard, breaking up with someone who looked like Mat Barzal was even harder. He looked so good as he breezed in and set his keys down. You loved him, even now, but you couldn’t keep pretending things were okay. Not anymore.

“I folded your stuff.” You said quietly pointing at it. He looked at you for a long minute and nodded.

“Thanks.” He ran the toe of his shoe across the floor and put his hands in his pockets “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No I’m not, but I can’t live this way anymore. Can you? And why would you want to? If I make you so miserable-“

“I’ve never said you made me miserable. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You didn’t have to.” You said shaking your head “It’s pretty obvious. We fight everyday-“

“We don’t fight everyday.”

“We do Mat, we do. Don’t you want to be with someone who doesn’t make you crazy? Who doesn’t make you so angry?”

“No not really. But if you want out then fine.”

“Do you even care?” You we’re getting a little angry at his attitude. For someone who had just asked if you were sure you wanted to split, he was acting a little too cool.

“Why should I care Y/N? You obviously don’t.”

You rolled your eyes “Okay Mat. Whatever you say.”

He turned to his stuff and gave a hollow laugh “Good luck finding someone to put up with your attitude.”

You turned slowly “Excuse me?”

“You think you can do so much better? Go ahead. I dare you.”

Hot tears pricked at your eyes “Do you hate me or something?”

He froze and half turned “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t I just- never mind.” As he went to grab his laundry you put a hand on his arm.

He turned to look at you, meeting your eyes for the first time since he walked in.

You didn’t even register that he was leaning in until he pressed his lips roughly against yours. You kissed him back, even though your brain was telling you stop. You were supposed to be strong, to tell him to get out and leave you alone, and yet here you were kissing him and letting him lift your shirt hurriedly above your head in the kitchen. You were leaned back against the counter, half naked and pulling at the rest of each others clothing.

“Mat I-“ you couldn’t speak however because he placed a hand on your face, one finger stroking your lower lip.

“i’m going to ruin that pretty makeup” he said breathlessly, before giving you a very wet sloppy kiss. Your senses were on overdrive, your entire body practically shaking in anticipation.

Mat’s hands were everywhere, yanking your leggings and underwear down, pushing you back so you were leaned against the counter. You let out a ragged breath, watching while he pulled his own jeans down, and moved forward, hooking his arm under one leg and pushing inside you.

You felt lightheaded, your skin was hot, and the counter was jamming into your lower back, but being with Mat never ever got old. Every time was like the first time. Your head fell backwards, hair tickling your elbows. One of his hands reached forward, grabbing you by the chin and bringing you back up to look him in the eye.

“Say you love me.” He said quietly, eyes piercing yours.

“I-I love- oh my god.” He said as he pulled your leg up higher, achieving a new angle.

“Say it.”

“I love you.” You said breathlessly. His hand move for your chin, down your chest and splayed across your stomach.

“No one could make you feel as good as i do”

Your legs felt like jelly as he continued to push roughly in and out of you, and you began to moan loudly, surely waking all your neighbors but you didn’t care.

This may be the last time you two were ever together so you would face the wrath of your building manager when he came to you with the complaints.

You came with a loud moan, which was cut off as he kissed you, pushed becoming lazy as he too reached his high.

When it was all over, and he moved away from you, helping you off the counter and handing you your underwear, he stepped forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Are we still broken up?” He said quietly.

You sighed “I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.”

[trolledu]

One thing at a time - by Arnold Schwarzenegger

Arnold’s Corner  Monday Motivation

Last week, I had a break from filming FUBAR after more than four months.

We are having a great time, and this season is bigger and better. It is wild — I can’t wait for you to see it.

But as soon as the break started, the questions came. Daniel reminded me of another project we are working on this fall and joked that I’d probably forgotten about it.

I told him he was right. We all had a laugh, and then I reminded my whole team of my focus principle.

People ask how I get so much done and seem so relaxed.

I think everyone needs the “focus principle” in their life, and it’s more important than ever in a world filled with machines.

The focus principle is simple: one thing at a time. You don’t try to juggle five things.

If you’re spending time with your family, you’re spending time with your family, not thinking about your work project or answering emails.

If you’re doing the work project, you’re doing the work project, not thinking about your projects around the house or texting your husband or wife.

If you’re in the gym, you’re working out, not playing on social media or thinking about your day.

Now, of course, your brain will want to think ahead and solve all your problems and the world's problems, too. That’s natural.

You just have to train yourself. When it starts wandering to something other than what you’re doing right now, when you start to pick up your phone to answer an email or a text when email or text is NOT what you’re doing now, you must stop yourself. That’s when you say, “One thing at a time!” and return to what you were doing.

That’s one rep.

You will do these reps for the rest of your life, but I promise it’s worth it.

I became intent on only focusing on one thing at a time in the 1970s. I was still competing in bodybuilding, but I had also started to buy my first real estate investment, and I was going to community college classes every day, working in construction, taking acting classes, and trying to break into Hollywood…

It was a lot. I started to get overwhelmed. I was stressed out. I was frantic. Everything seemed harder than it had to be because I had everything in front of me at once.

A guy I knew told me I should try transcendental meditation. He was a little bit of a hippy, but I’ve always had an open mind, and at that point, I would try everything, so I went with him to the center and learned.

I started to meditate twice a day.

I learned that the point isn’t to quiet your thoughts because that’s impossible, but to put on blinders and steer yourself back to what’s in front of you, to what you’re focused on—in this case, your mantra. You eliminate the other thoughts and make them wait until they have your full attention.

Once it clicked, it really clicked for me. I became a fanatic about focusing on one thing at a time. Once I put the blinders on, I didn’t want to take them off.

I stopped having everything in front of me and thinking of everything at once.

I stopped being overwhelmed, and you can, too. You just have to learn to eliminate all of the thoughts about everything and think about one thing at a time.

Let me tell you, it’s a superpower. I see other people pretending they can do three things at once, and I know I can finish those three things faster than them because I will take them off my plate one at a time.

It’s also a superpower because it helps remove stress from your life. When the thing you know you need to do next pops into your head, you can tell it, “I’ll get to you soon, but it’s not your turn yet.”

It frees you to give every ounce of your brainpower to whatever you do.

That makes life better. It isn’t fun knowing you’re giving three things 33 percent of what you have to offer.

All of us have had a conversation with someone who isn’t 100 percent there. We can see when it is happening. They’re looking at their machine and saying, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” But they aren’t really there with you. You know it doesn’t feel good.

Even though you don’t like it when it happens to you, you end up doing it to the people around you. You don’t give them your full attention. You play chess on your iPad or answer an email while your family or friends talk to you and think it’s OK.

It is not OK. It’s time for a change.

One thing at a time.

This week, I want that to be your mantra. Make whatever you’re doing the only thing you’re doing. Don’t pretend you’re great at multitasking and then ask why you can’t get everything done. Free your mind to unleash its full power.

Thoughts will pop in. People will text, email, or call. Your machine will demand your attention. Your job is to get in your reps and tell all of them:

“I’ll get to you soon. One thing at a time.”

[milo-is-rambling]

Couldn’t sleep so I went to get up thinking oh I’ll have to grind weed so I can fall back asleep and then I thought no I’ll take a a dab but I thought no that’s too much I’ll just smoke flower and then I went to get up and I accidentally lifted my blanket too high and knocked over the little jar I had on my bedside table that had ALLL OF THE INCENSE STICKS IVE COLLECTED FROM THE LAST TWO YEARS IN IT. So I breathed. And I breathed. And I turned my light on. And I got really annoyed and picked up small sticks that blend in with my floor for five minutes and then I breathed some more and couldn’t fit all the sticks back in the jar bc they’d been placed meticulously so they all laid perfectly against one side so there was still room to put more and I was not about to individually put all those sticks in that jar when all I wanted to do was to smoke and take off the heavier blanket and pass out. So I moved the incense sticks to my skull jar that I haven’t used in a while and now it looks like this.

But I did earn a dab being allowed from my brain in the process. So yay me. Also funk has been absolutely SCREAMING at me at the top of his little bird lungs bc I turned the light on to smoke and play accidental pick up sticks for twenty minutes and it’s giving me a headache and it’s just like godddddd how can everything go so wrong so fast not just me knocking over a jar of sticks but like. Life. Something about me collecting all my incense sticks and ash since I first moved into this house two years ago and then accidentally dropping the sticks like two days after I accidentally spilled incense ash all over my bed and didn’t even tell anyone cause it made me so annoyed and ashamed for some reason and I can’t even explain why I’m collecting the sticks or the ash. Like I have no fucking clue what I’m doing or why. I started collecting incense ash like three years ago when my friend and I went thru a ooo witchcraft phase and I just never stopped dumping the ash from my ashtray into a cheese container with a small plastic spoon like I don’t even know why I’m doing it I just set myself down this path and now I’m here and I’m attached to a jar of fucking kindling at this point like why did I cry over knocking over a jar of sticks what is wrong with me does it ever get easier why have I been taking my meds for almost 100 days and I still lose my shit over little things I feel like I will never be normal I will never get to be the person that will make my parents proud I feel like I’m constantly gonna be finding myself making one wrong move and ruin the thing I’m doing just to pretend I’m doing something with my life like I don’t even know what I want to do in the future there’s so many options everything is so scary forever I went to Walmart and I wanted to crawl into the squishmallow display and just die like if one more person looks at me and acknowledges I have a body I feel like I’ll lose my shit like oh my god I know I’m mentally ill but fucking hell. Just give me a break (I say while not having a job not doing school not even doing theater rn I’m just sitting at home in my brain and losing my mind waiting for therapy on the third) I’m so close to having someone to help me untangle my brain I really want to open up I want to feel like I can I want to remember shit I always forget I want to avoid crisis modes and be normal I want to get a job I want to shut up. Literally ever. If I could ever at any point learn to shut my fucking mouth and brain mouth up at the same time. Would be fucking fantastic. It seems impossible. Either I’m not thinking when I’m talking and then I’m an asshole or I’m not talking bc I’m thinking so hard about how I’m an asshole. Like either way in my head I am a shitty person forever and like I know I’ve been shitty like I know I’ve done shitty things but like I’m not broken forever I know there’s food in here but I need someone else to force me to see it bc I can’t find it on my own and I don’t trust it when it comes from my family or friends and a part of my brain says oh ur paying ur therapist to say that

But i want a therapist who will call me out on my bullshit and would tell me if I was being the asshole in the situation yknow. Anyways this is a lot of text and I’m not going to reread it all have fun going to the internet rambling blog void block of text goodbye gonna smoke a bowl and pass the fuck out hopefully my back and neck will stop hurting and I will stop being too hot and too cold at the same time and I will not have nightmares about past relationships or future relationships or picking incense sticks up for forever and they all match the color of the carpet and also it’s fine cause they look better in the skull jar and it’s fine and it doesn’t make me irrationally mad still even tho I picked them all up but I don’t know for sure if I got them all but I think I did but it’s going to bother me if I find them on my floor tomorrow. Okay bye

[omnium-gatherums]

Q13: How would you consider your experiences different from those who are not polyfragmented, if you do? - (108 responses)

Once again, I will only share the more interesting responses/responses I feel are worth sharing more.

The spotlight people put on polyfragmented systems feels alienating. Especially when the spotlight is on our trauma as polyfragmented systems. I often want to I pretend I’m not polyfragmented, even though I fit most people’s descriptions of it. I don’t want to be seen as some weird, crazy, hyper-traumatized system. Why can’t people just accept that polyfragmented systems are just DID/OSDD systems, even though we tend to have more complexities? ALL DID/OSDD systems experience some complexities. We’re all trauma survivors. Surely, my experiences aren’t that impossible to accept and respect? I just want to feel like I belong.

I wish there were more resources and advice for pf systems. Our complex structure and the amount of hidden, unreachable alters has made most advice for working with your system useless to us. It's very difficult to work together and start healing when most of our alters show up once a year and then vanish back into the aether. The majority of our parts are incredibly hyper-specific, so we end up with parts me might only see once. It makes it very hard to figure out who even try to get to know, when they most of the time just don't come up again until months or years later. Especially when communication is already hard. I wish there was something on how to deal with this and not just an endless stream of advice we can't follow because we're too specified and spread too thin and have too high numbers to the point it becomes impossible for us. I wish there was understanding for this as well. That and the resentment and disappointment that builds up when you think you might get help consistently but then it's just another hyperpecific part for this one hypersprcific situation that unless it comes up the same way again I'll never see. Its hard. It's also hard to know that you might never know the extent of your system and that there's layers of alters that you have no idea why they're there or what they remember. And the loss of identity that comes from being so many that you're nothing at all anymore, there's many parts and almost none of us still have an identity, we know our names but not who we are, we don't know what e like, we're empty beyond the faces we put on. It's depressing and painful and a very lonely experience I don't see talked about a lot. There's a lot of grief in it

I feel like I struggle with denial a lot more due to being polyfragmented, because I couldn't find any info I related to until I found this blog and your descriptions of your experiences. I still struggle with it as I have a strong need for control in my life and it's hard to accept that I have parts I can't control and that I'm not even "allowed" to know about.

I feel like I'm made of fractals, that parts have parts have parts. I feel like dormancy isn't real for me, that everyone is active somewhere inside because otherwise my brain wouldn't work. I feel like dissociative walls are semi transparent rubber. That I can push them around and squint through them even when i can't remove them. I feel full of ghosts with unfinished buisness and puzzle pieces.

Something breaks your soul before you learn to be a person and your brain gets built differently.

There are emotions and functions I can't experience, that are buried in another area of my brain. Anger can only be felt by parts built to feel it. Some parts are personified grief. Some parts have parts just to have certain emotions because they can't feel that feeling without them. Common alter role titles end up feeling reductive because of how hyperspecific some parts jobs are.

i feel so confused all the time, like i'm not really in reality at all. plus, i can never figure out who's who - including myself. i dont know any systems, much less other polyfrag systems, and it's rough. and lonely. also, my alter activity in general is not super impacted by being high, but it is /absolutely/ impacted while being drunk. i got really drunk at a friend's house once and started rolodexing/rapid switching, which i didnt remember having ever done before.

Q14: While most people with DID/OSDD will relate to this, do you feel that your DID/OSDD experiences are much more "covert" than what the media portrays as a result of you being polyfragmented? - (146 responses)

50%, 73 people said “My system is a mix of alters who are more like "separate people", alters who aren't, a mix of both "distinct" and not distinct, etc.”

21.9%, 32 people said “I don't believe me being polyfragmented has anything to do with me being more "overt" or "covert"”

19.9%, 29 people said “Yes, due to being polyfragmented, I believe that my system and my DID/OSDD symptoms are a lot more "hidden"” 0.7%, 1 person responded “My alters are more "overt" and we are more like distinct Individuals”

11 people gave other responses

Q15: While many polyfragmented systems won't be able to tell you "how many" alters there are, I am curious about the wide ranges of numbers of alters polyfragmented systems may have. - (147 responses)

2%, 3 people said “I have less than 20 alters”

6.8%, 10 people said “I have at least 20 or more alters”

4.1%, 6 people said “I have at least 30 or more alters”

2%, 3 people said “I have at least 40 or more alters”

2.7% 4 people said “I have at least 50 or more alters”

2%, 3 people said “I have at least 60 or more alters”

1.4%, 2 people said “I have at least 70 or more alters”

1.4%, 2 people said “I have at least 80 or more alters”

2.7%, 4 people said “I have at least 90 or more alters”

3.4%, 5 people said “I have at least 100 or more alters”

30.6%, 45 people said “I have more than 100 alters”

1.4%, 2 people said I have more than 1,000 alters”

4.8%, 7 people said “I have thousands upon thousands”

0%, no one said “I have millions”

17.7%, 26 people said “I have absolutely no idea and could not guess or estimate, I just know/feel/suspect there's many”

26 people gave other responses

Q16: Do you switch often, whether you are aware of the switches or not? As in switching frequently throughout the DAY, or throughout the WEEK, at least once (or more/multiple) per day and/or week? - (147 responses)

46.9%, 69 people said “I switch at least once every day (or multiple times a day)”

19.7%, 29 people said “It's totally random; sometimes there are long stretches of time where I don't switch, other times I might switch multiple times a day, but it's totally random”

15%, 22 people said “I'm not aware enough, but I suspect that I frequently switch (at least once a day/week or more/multiple times a day/week)”

6.1, 9 people said “Sometimes I switch frequently, other times I switch less often”

4.8%, 7 people said “I switch at least once per week (or multiple times per week)”

2%, 3 people said “I'm not aware enough to be able to tell at all”

1.4%, 2 people said “I'm not aware enough to be able to tell, but I don't think I switch that much”

0.7%, 1 person said “I rarely switch”

0%, No one said “I switch every so often, but not that much”

5 people gave other responses

Q17: Do you usually/frequently/mostly experience yourself as "not knowing who you are", "not having a sense of self", etc.? As in MOST OF YOUR DAYS WEEKS are spent without knowing who you are, without having a sense of self, etc. - (148 responses)

33.1%, 49 people said “For the most part, yes, I rarely if ever "know" what alter I am/I mostly experience myself as "not really having a sense of self"/etc. (select this if MOST of your days are like this AND you RARELY/UNCOMMONLY experience the opposite)”

25.7%, 38 people said “It's all over the place and completely random”

15.5%, 23 people said  “It's about equal and doesn't lean one way or the other (meaning that MOST of your days are about equal where most days you might know and most other days you don't - it doesn't lean towards one way or the other)”

15.5%, 23 people said “For the most part, no, I mostly know which alter(s) I am (select this if MOST of your days are like this AND you RARELY/UNCOMMONLY experience the opposite)”

15 people gave other responses

Q18: Do you feel like you relate to experiencing your alters as "moods" or "modes" or "states of being" rather than distinct people? - (146 responses)

72.6%, 106 people said “Some of my alters I experience this way, but other alters I don't”

14.4%, 21 people said “No”

7.5%, 11 people said “Yes” 8 people gave other responses

Q19: Have you had a lot of trouble trying to figure out your system? Figuring out who your alters are, figuring out who is who, etc. - (147 responses)

74.8%, 110 people said “I've had a hard time trying to figure out who my alters are and how to differentiate them, etc.”

7.5%, 11 people said “I have not had a hard time trying to figure out who my alters are and how to differentiate them, etc.”

26 people gave other responses

Q20: Do you feel like many of your alters are more or less the same as each other (there's not much differentiation between them)? - (148 responses)

81.8%, 121 people said “Some alters are very similar/the same while other alters are not”

8.1%, 12 people said “No, not most/all of them”

4.7%, 7 people said “Yes, most/all of them”

8 people gave other responses

Q21: Do you feel like you are "always conscious", that you never "pass out", you're "always awake and aware of the outside world"? When I say "conscious" I mean "aware of the outside world - your eyes are open and you are taking in your environment", NOT that you are dissociated (practically everyone with DID/OSDD is always dissociated to some degree). If you ever have the experience of "zoning out and then suddenly being aware of reality", this is included in "being aware of the outside world." In other words, if you were "not conscious", you would be fully unconscious, eyes fully closed, you cannot see anything from the outside world. - (148 responses)

33.1%, 49 people said “MOST of the time I feel like I'm "always awake"/"aware of the outside world", but sometimes I don't”

18.9%, 28 people said “Yes, I feel like I'm "always conscious"/"always awake and aware of the outside world"”

17.6%, 26 people said “Sometimes I do, other times I don't”

11.5%, 17 people said “I don't know what this means/I don't understand”

8.8%, 13 people said “MOST of the time I DON'T feel like I'm "always awake"/"aware of the outside world", but sometimes I DO”

4.1%, 6 people said “No, I never feel that way”

9 people gave other responses

Q22: Were you ever aware of your amnesia? - (147 responses)

63.9%, 94 people said “I was mostly unaware of my amnesia, but I was aware that my memory wasn't the greatest (I knew that I had issues remembering things, that I forgot things a lot, etc., but it wasn't obvious to me that my amnesia was anything severe or different from normal everday forgetfulness)”

19.7%, 29 people said “My amnesia was obvious to me (I was aware of the fact that I was told of things I said/did with no memory of it/I had fugue states where I found myself in places and had no idea how I got there/etc.)”

8.8%, 13 people said “I was totally unaware of my amnesia (I had NO IDEA that I had ANY memory problems whatsoever)”

11 people gave other responses

Q23: Do you happen to have an inner world, and if so, does it happen to be quite clear and vivid? - (147 responses)

44.9%, 66 people said “Different alters have varying levels of access to the inner world (for some alters, the inner world is very clear, but other alters it's not)”

22.4%, 33 people said “I have an inner world that is quite clear and distinct/vivid (I can see it clearly/it's quite visual/etc.)”

8.8%, 13 people said “I have an inner world, but it's not that clear”

6.8%, 10 people said “There used to not be an inner world, but then we made one”

4.8%, 7 people said “I don't have an inner world”

0.7%, 1 person said “There used to be an inner world, but not anymore (for whatever reason)”

17 people gave other responses

Q24: Do you have an inner monologue? - (147 responses)

People were confused about this question, understandably so. It wasn't about alters at all, actually - the same way some people might have aphantasia and be unable to see imagery in their minds, some people don't hear their own thoughts in their heads. It's hard to explain, but I hope this makes sense ?? It has nothing to do with alters lol but at the same time it would be if you had DID. Hard to explain.

61.5%, 91 people said “Yes”

28.4%, 42 people said “Kind of/unsure”

2%, 3 people said “No”

12 people gave other responses

Q25: Would you describe yourself as having aphantasia? Or in other terms: do you feel that you have immense difficulty imagining things (you barely imagine things, you can only see blackness when trying to imagine, etc.) - (148 responses)

31.1%, 46 people said “I consider myself the opposite; hyperphantasia; I can imagine things quite well and clearly/vividly”

17.6%, 26 people said “I consider myself to somewhat, but not totally, have aphantasia (mostly can't really visualize anything, but not total blackness)”

15.5%, 23 people said “I can visual things fine, but it's not super vivid nor too vague (basically in between, you can visualize just fine)”

10.8%, 16 people “No, I don't consider myself to have aphantasia in any way”

7.4%, 11 people said “Yes, I consider myself to have aphantasia”

Q26: Can you "hear" your alters speaking to you internally (whatever that means to you) - (147 responses)

47.6%, 70 people said “It varies; sometimes I can hear them quite clearly, other times not, sometimes it's just thoughts, etc.”

17.7%, 26 people said “Yes, I can hear my alters talk to me internally almost as if someone is really speaking to me quite clearly”

15%, 22 people said “I can hear my alters speak to me internally, but it's more like just thoughts/racing thoughts and I can't really differentiate”

6.1%, 9 people said “I can't really "hear" them, but I can differentiate them in some other ways”

6.1%, 9 people said “I can hear them a little bit, but it's not like they're clear-cut distinct "voices"”

0%, no people said “No, I can’t hear them at all”

11 people gave other responses

Q30: Did you ever attribute your experiences to imaginary friends, creating characters, daydream characters, playing pretend, and/or something else? Feel free to talk about your experiences here!

Yes! Many of my characters I made for stories were actually alters trying to express themselves.

It was often very intense roleplays and just attributing it to our brain being hyperactive and staying in the scene for days on end

Yes; I struggle with maladaptive daydreaming as well as DID, so when my symptoms first started showing up I thought they were part of my daydreams until it became clear that they weren't.

i was a very imaginative child, watching movies/tv often made me “become” characters from the movies. i distinctly remember watching tinkerbell as a child and then later being upset that i didnt have wings and was unable to fly.

yes, very often. we attributed things to 'unintentional roleplaying' and getting too sucked into what we were doing or watching and acting differently because that influenced us or made us feel certain ways. we attributed the foreign thoughts and the like in our head to our imaginary friend/s and our brain being silly/annoying.

No, I never related to the imaginary friend end. I used to roleplay, and a few alters had (what would now be considered) self-inserts in those, but I never thought my roleplay characters were alters nor did they all represent alters.

Yes, I always thought the "voices" of other alters were just "imaginary friends" and that many re-enacted memories and internal emotions were just "daydreams". Though I did also actually daydream a lot and imagine things, too.

creating characters. called different “mes” by different names and colors, which were different moods, emotions, functions, etc. not entirely sure if its connected but it feels connected. other than that i dont remember

Some people also talked about believing that they spoke to ghosts, that they had spiritual experiences, and similar things.

Q31: Did you create 'characters' which you later in life came to realize were alters? (Alters had introjected characters that you created/that characters were actually alters expressing themself/etc.) - (146 responses)

74.7%, 109 people said “Yes/sometimes/some of them”

15.8%, 23 people said “No/not really”

14 people gave other responses

Q32: Do you happen to be a system with many introjects? - (148 responses)

27.7%, 41 people said “My system is a mix of introjects and alters who are not introjects, so it's all kinda equal/mixed (I have many introjects, but my system is not majority introjects either way)”

22.3%, 33 people said “My system has a lot of FICTIONAL introjects (majority alters in my system are fictional introjects)”

18.2%, 27 people said “My system has a few introjects (fictional or otherwise), but not that much”

15.5%, 23 people said “My system has a mix of both MANY fictional introjects and introjects of real people/animals/etc.”

4.7%, 7 people said “I can't tell/not sure”

3.4%, 5 people said “My system does not have any introjects (fictional or otherwise)”

12 people gave other responses

Q33: If you do not have OSDD, did you ever mistakenly believe that you had OSDD before realizing it was DID? - (132 responses)

68.9%, 91 people said “Yes”

22%, 29 people said “No”

11 people gave other responses

Q34: Did you ever mistakenly believe that you were endogenic / a system without trauma? (Only answer this if you thought that you were endogenic or some kind of "system without trauma", do NOT answer if you thought your alters were just imaginary friends or were otherkin, for example) - (139 responses)

62.6%, 87 people said “No”

26.6%, 37 people said “Yes”

15 people gave other responses

(Check reblogs for the rest!)

Polyfragmented Survey Results!

I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out...

This post cannot contain all of the responses, so check the reblogs for the rest of the responses that weren't originally included in this post alone.

Ages ago, I put out a polyfragmented system experiences survey (you won't be able to see the questions with that link, it just links to the survey, but since it's been down, it just says thanks for taking the survey lol). It has taken me an extremely long time to finally get this out there.

TOTAL RESPONSES: 148 (1 person was not a polyfragmented system)

(By the way: the reason I had the first question ask whether the person taking the survey is a polyfragmented system is specifically because I wanted to make sure no non-polyfragmented systems were taking the survey because a non-polyfrag system took the previous survey before I updated it. To clear the confusion why I had that question).

Some disclaimers because I feel they are important to remember:

I'm obviously not a professional.

This survey is not professional.

This survey is biased towards Tumblr users.

While this survey can definitely shed light onto common polyfragmented system experiences, it's just not a professional survey and does have its own flaws.

Q1: Are you polyfragmented? - (148 responses)

73.6%, 109 people said “Yes”

24.7%, 36 people said “I'm not sure/I'm questioning if I'm polyfragmented”

1.4%, 2 people gave other responses

0.7%, 1 person said “No”

Q2: What does the term 'polyfragmented' mean to you personally? How do you define it/understand it?- (148 responses)

Most responses mentioned things such as: many alters, complex structure, many fragments, complex splitting patterns, frequent splitting, and more. Most people said the same/similar things, so it isn't worth sharing them, so I'll share responses I personally liked/interesting responses:

Well when we were first introduced to the term it was presented as "A system who had a large alter count, more around the hundreds" but now have come to learn that unfortunately the DID community had no authority or official language or terms and most of the community sees just about everything as "its whatever it means to you". Something that is just increasing in causing issues and fighting and not really helping at all and has caused quite a big toxic positivity movement. There is no official definition of polyfragmentation and this makes it almost meaningless. If you define it as a large number count others will lambast you for "getting it wrong", then others say its "complex" systems. What dose THAT mean? Who defines what complex means? Then it was (for about a week) claimed to be a RACOMA term, but that was quickly dropped as people got angry, again, over the community trying to define a simple word. People claiming "gatekeeping" and "stealing terms" I think its valid to want to define something yourself however if ALL of our words are just "defined by whoever is using it" dose that not make them meaningless? All this to say, I define Polyfragmented as a system who has 50+ alters as well as a large and complex inner structure (not necessarily an innerworld) that often occurs MOSTLY due to extreme traumas.

polyfragmentation to me is more than having a lot of distinct personalities or a lot of alters. its more about the opposite, really: not knowing yourself. you become so disconnected from "you" that you only focus about finding the best path that leads you to escaping the pain and the hurt. and when you're out, you dont know what to do because "you" became obsolete. its a process of figuring yourself out after that, and understanding how you are working with yourself to be "you."

Q3: Are you DIAGNOSED/MEDICALLY RECOGNIZED? - (148 responses)

34.5%, 51 people said “I am not diagnosed or medically recognized with DID or OSDD”

31.8%, 47 people said “I am diagnosed/medically recognized with DID”

12.2%, 18 people said “Started out self-diagnosed and then got officially diagnosed with

DID/OSDD”

5.4%, 8 people said “I am diagnosed/medically recognized with a different dissociative

disorder, but NOT DID or OSDD (however I still suspect/believe I have DID/OSDD)”

2%, 3 people said “I am diagnosed/medically recognized with OSDD”

21 people gave other responses

Q4: Are you SELF-DIAGNOSED with DID or OSDD? (Or suspect that you have DID or OSDD) - (146 responses)

49.3%, 73 people said “Self-diagnosed/suspect DID”

30.4%, 45 people said “I am not self-diagnosed”

8.1%, 12 people said “Self-diagnosed/suspect DID/OSDD (not sure which one)”

4.1%, 6 people said “Self-diagnosed/suspect OSDD”

12 people gave other responses

Q5: How old are you? - (148 responses)

4.7%, 7 people were 13-15

17.6%, 26 people were 16-17

40.5%, 60 people were 18-23

28.4%, 42 people were 24-29

2%, 3 people were 30-40

0.7%, 1 person was 41+

6.1%, 9 people preferred not to say/skip

Q6: Are you a person of color? - (148 responses, multiple answers)

71.6%, 106 people said “No”

18.2%, 27 people said “Yes”

6.1%, 9 people said “Unsure”

15 people (also) gave other responses

Q7: Do you happen to be intersex? - (147 responses)

64.6%, 95 people said “No”

13.6%, 20 people said “I suspect it, but I'm not sure (can't get diagnosed/etc.)”

11.6%, 17 people said “Yes”

8.8%, 13 people said “Unsure”

1 person gave another response

Q8: Select any that apply to you CURRENTLY (DIAGNOSED/MEDICALLY RECOGNIZED ONLY) (this is not a comprehensive list) - (129 responses)

Depression – 72.1%, 93 people

Bipolar Disorder (I/II) – 15.5%, 20 people

Anxiety (General, Social, etc.) – 81.4%, 105 people

OCD – 25.6%, 33 people

Specific Phobia(s) – 17.8%, 23 people

Anorexia Nervosa – 11.6%, 15 people

Bulimia Nervosa – 1.6%, 2 people

Binge-Eating Disorder – 3.1%, 4 people

(ARFID) Avoidant-Restrictive Food Intake Disorder – 10.1%, 13 people

Pica – 3.9%, 5 people

Unspecified/Unknown/Other Eating Disorder – 11.6%, 15 people

PTSD/CPTSD – 76.7%, 99 people

Psychosis – 18.6%, 24 people

Schizophrenia – 7%, 9 people

Autism Spectrum Disorder – 50.4%, 65 people

ADHD – 58.9%, 76 people

Tourette's Syndrome (or other tic disorder) – 11.6%, 15 people

Dyslexia – 7%, 9 people

Dyscalculia – 0.8%, 1 person

Borderline Personality Disorder – 24.8%, 32 people

Avoidant Personality Disorder – 7.8%, 10 people

Dependent Personality Disorder – 2.3%, 3 people

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder – 2.3%, 3 people

Histrionic Personality Disorder – 1.6%, 2 people

Paranoid Personality Disorder – 1.6%, 2 people

Schizoid Personality Disorder – 1.6%, 2 people

Narcissistic Personality Disorder – 5.4%, 7 people

Antisocial Personality Disorder – 4.7%, 6 People

Unspecified/Unknown/Other Personality Disorder (/mixed PD traits) – 8.5%, 11 people

Q9: Select any that apply to you CURRENTLY (SELF-DIAGNOSED ONLY) (this is not a comprehensive list) - (126 responses, multiple answers)

Depression – 14.1%, 18 people

Bipolar Disorder (I/II) – 3.1%, 4 people

Anxiety (General, Social, etc.) – 14.8%, 19 people

OCD – 25.8%, 33 people

Specific Phobia(s) –15.6%, 20 people

Anorexia Nervosa – 8.6%, 11 people

Bulimia Nervosa – 3.1%, 4 people

Binge-Eating Disorder – 3.1%, 4 people

(ARFID) Avoidant-Restrictive Food Intake Disorder – 14.1%, 18 people

Pica – 6.3%, 8 people

Unspecified/Unknown/Other Eating Disorder – 22.7%, 29 people

PTSD/CPTSD – 34.4%, 44 people

Psychosis – 22.7%, 29 people

Schizophrenia – 7.8%, 10 people

Autism Spectrum Disorder – 50.8%, 65 people

ADHD – 28.1%, 36 people

Tourette's Syndrome (or other tic disorder) – 10.9%, 14 people

Dyslexia – 13.3%, 17 people

Dyscalculia – 2.3%, 3 people

Borderline Personality Disorder – 19.5%, 25 people

Avoidant Personality Disorder – 8.6%, 11 people

Dependent Personality Disorder – 3.9%, 5 people

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder – 3.1%, 4 people

Histrionic Personality Disorder – 6.3%, 8 people

Paranoid Personality Disorder – 8.6%, 11 people

Schizoid Personality Disorder – 3.1%, 4 people

Narcissistic Personality Disorder – 17.2%, 22 people

Antisocial Personality Disorder – 10.2%, 13 people

Unspecified/Unknown/Other Personality Disorder (/mixed PD traits) – 16.4%, 21 people

Q10: Please select any that apply to you, either currently or at any point in your life. (This is not a comprehensive list)

75.9%, 104 people reported Chronic pain

72.3%, 99 people reported Chronic fatigue

19%, 26 people reported Fibromyalgia

42.3%, 58 people reported (IBS) Irritable Bowel Syndrome (and/or other digestive issues)

0.7%, 1 person reported (IBD) Inflammatory Bowel Disease (Crohn's or Ulcerative Colitis)

30.7%, 42 people reported GERD (and/or other acid reflux/heartburn/etc. issues)

51.1%, 70 people reported Allergy/intolerance (lactose intolerance, peanut allergy, latex allergy, etc.)

4.4%, 6 people reported Epilepsy

2.2%, 3 people reported Diabetes

10.2%, 14 people reported Arthritis

4.4%, 6 people reported Celiac Disease

1.5%, 2 people reported Lupus

4.4%, 6 people reported Rheumatoid Arthritis

2.9%, 4 people reported Psoriasis

0%, No one reported Scleroderma

13.1%, 18 people reported Scoliosis

8%, 11 people reported Endometriosis

19%, 26 people reported (PMDD) Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder

1.5%, 2 people reported Cancer (any kind)

2.9%, 4 people reported HIV/AIDS and/or other STD(s)/STI(s)

33.6%, 46 people reported Asthma

5.1%, 7 people reported Costochondritis

1.5%, 2 people reported COPD

8.8%, 12 people reported Sleep apnea

5.1%, 7 people reported Narcolepsy

2.2%, 3 people reported POTS

1.5%, 2 people reported PCOS

Q11: Do you feel like OSDD systems and DID systems should combine into one disorder, where there is a "dissociative identity disorder" kind of spectrum, rather than the two separate diagnoses? (OSDD would still exist as a label meaning "dissociative disorder that doesn't meet criteria of any other dissociative disorders", but this is asking about OSDD systems specifically - OSDD-1).

37%, 54 people said “Yes; I feel like OSDD-1 and DID shouldn't exist as separate diagnoses, there should be one diagnosis of DID for anyone that constitutes as being a "system" (meaning a person with DID/OSDD in this context)”

21.2%, 31 people said “No; OSDD-1 and DID systems should remain separate diagnoses”

18.5%, 27 people said “I think the term 'systems' includes people with other "parts-based" disorders/experiences, such as those with cPTSD, BPD, etc.”

50%, 73 people said “I think the lines between "DID", "OSDD", "cPTSD", "PTSD" and more are much blurrier than people think”

30.1%, 44 people said “I think combining the two might make it even more difficult to really "define" what a system "truly" is, since it's already difficult to really be able to see a true, hard line between DID/OSDD and PTSD, cPTSD, etc.”

18.2%, 27 people (also) gave other responses)

Q12: As a polyfragmented system, do you feel that your experiences are different from those who are not polyfragmented? - (146 responses)

38.4%, 56 people said “Yes, I believe my polyfragmented experiences are different from those who are not polyfragmented”

56.2%, 82 people said “I believe that some things are similar, other things are different”

0%, No one said “No, I don't believe my experiences are really much different from those who are not polyfragmented”

5.5%, 8 people gave other responses

(This is all that I can currently fit in this post! No like I literally have reached the photo limit lmfao. I will be reblogging with the rest of the responses!)

[heli0s-writes]

Who would enjoy being choked more, Bucky or Steve

you know it’s BUCKY. TY for the inspo & here is 949 words of Bucky getting his shit rocked🧡 also, i have choked him, steve, and thor before lol

update: here’s steve getting choked again.

Stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

touched*

Bucky loses all his faculties one evening when you shove him into a sofa chair.

He’s got no idea what brought it on, but one minute he’s rummaging around for something that he was supposed to bring into the living room, and the next he’s stunned into silence at the direct eye contact you’re making with him.  

It doesn’t stop there. You keep going. Putting your hand on his chest, then slowly up to his neck, curling your fingers around innocently. You don’t press yet, just resting it there, and his dick jumps. 

You say, “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” and Bucky’s head catches on fire.

His brain’s gonna rot right out of his ears, imagination sprinting five paces ahead already wondering about that predatorial glint in your eyes, what you’ve possibly got planned for him with your unreasonably small palm on his neck. But then you start squeezing gently… and Bucky’s dick immediately begins tryouts for hurdling.

“Oh,” he gasps, hardly audible. 

He never thought pretending to be helpless could have been a kink, much less his kink, but you look so intense crawling on top of him now, rucking his shirt up with your other hand and making him feel utterly exposed and weak. 

You smirk, twisting the fabric into a rumpled mess inside your fist, appraising his pecs and abs like he’s a new purchase. An acquired object.

“Not in a hurry anymore?”

He’s licking his lips compulsively, shaking his head, giving into the heat that’s exploding over his chest and cheeks. All the lights are on, the curtain’s not drawn, and the door’s wide open, for chrissake, but he’s tail spinning so fiercely into unexpected lust that the chance of getting caught makes it even better. 

Bucky’s eyes roll back at the possibility. Fuck, someone’s gonna walk in. Someone’s gonna see him folded up in this tiny fucking chair with his enormous fucking body completely surrendered, dominated, owned.

Someone’s gonna see you, breaking him down, screwing him senseless, possessing him wholly and entirely. Bouncing so pretty on his lap, fresh and still naked out of the shower while he’s fully dressed like all it took was a sudden thought—a whim that you wanted to fuck him right now and it didn’t matter what he had going on, what he had to do, because he’s yours.

It’s written all over his spellbound face. It’s not a question when you say, “You want to be used?” More of a tease. A dangling prophecy into his very immediate future.

“God, yes…” he’s mewling like a kitten, can’t help staring at the way you’re only a few inches from the very eager bulge in his pants, his hips automatically thrusting up into nothing but the deliberate space you’ve set over him.

“You’ll have to be quiet,” you say, threatening his whining with your grasp. He arches feebly, head tilting back, giving him more air and you, more of his throat. “Tell me you’ll be quiet,” but you squeeze tighter, forcing any reply he could make out as only a tendril of a choked breath.

“I said, quiet, Buck. You’re going to worry someone whimpering like that. Steve’ll come running if he hears you—he’s gonna pop in here and see me riding you like my own personal fuck toy. That what you want?”

Holy shit, fuck toy. Holy shit, Steve’s enormous blue eyes widening at the sight—his face pulled open in astonishment. What’ll he think about that— he’ll never look at Bucky again without seeing his best friend worked over, vulnerable, undeniably wrecked.

Bucky’s hips are moving on their own in pathetic semi circles and jerks, his mouth mutely begging for you to put him out of his goddamn misery. The fly on his jeans hurts, and when you finally let him unzip, fumble with his dick in his hands, he knows he won’t last. It’s impossible.

But you just keep looking at him like he simply doesn’t have a choice, tell him to calm down, guide you down his cock, and it’s the most excruciating mindfuck Bucky has ever gone through to merely be still.

“Too tight. Can’t stop,” he confesses, raspy under the pressure. His blood is getting strangled up in his face, circulation trapped, and he knows his body’s going to give in any second, “Can’t, can’t, can’t.”

On the last utter he doesn’t even make a sound, mouth only opening slow because he wants you to know he’s trying, wants you to see how well-behaved he is.

You give him a soft pat on his numbing cheek, “Poor baby. Poor, pretty, baby.”

Please, he mimes, and you let up. “Please,” and you press down again, making him work for oxygen to soothe his whirling head. Baby, and fuck, you’re smiling so big when you release him at last, but then he doesn’t want to say anything, he falls silent again, mouthing only gonna come, gonna come, gonna come—

When Bucky fucks up into your incredible pussy one last time—all slick and soaking him, turned on by how he’s entirely ensnared and compliant— the noise he makes is much, much too loud. A high, hoarse assembly of a partial curse and a syllable of your name, chased by the kind of moan that only pornstars make—and well, now apparently Bucky makes, too.

He muffles half of it into your shoulder, but it’s definitely not enough to keep it from slipping out the doorway and down the hall.

He freezes, ears perking up automatically and fearfully, pinching you when you start laughing at him.

The last sound Bucky makes for a long, long time is a low, embarrassed whine at what echoes back like Steve in the living room, dropping a mug in shock. 

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[whiteqnn]

PURE [2] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem!Reader

A/N:  443 notes?! THIS IS INSANE! Thank you guys so much for all the love under the first part of this, I was so shocked to see how many people enjoyed this story! I hope this one will be just as fun for you as the first one ^^

part 1

part 3 

part 4 

part 5

PURE [2]

Corpse stared at the red screen with the word IMPOSTOR written in the middle, his eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“No way” he murmured into his microphone, no longer holding himself from breaking into laughter. “Do you guys see this? I wish I could see Y/N’s reaction.”

It took his audience just a second to respond, his chat being flooded with lots of comments about the said girl. 

“SHES SHOOK” he managed to read one from the hundreds of comments, once again bursting into laughter. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

He decided to follow Lily for a while to make himself less suspicious. He probably didn’t need to do that this time, since the others usually suspected him when he was innocent. Ironically, each time he was the impostor, they seemed completely blind to every murder he committed. 

They were both doing their tasks in O2 when the first body was reported. 

“Woah, Y/N is fast” he mumbled, before unmuting himself. 

“Okay,” Lily began speaking first “Corpse is 100% innocent, we were together this whole round, doing our tasks in O2. That’s all I have.”

“Yeah I saw you guys in there,” Felix said. “Where’s the body Sykkuno?”

“Um, so first of all I can also vouch for Dave and Y/N, we were hanging out all this time. So in the beginning, we were all in the upper engine, protecting each other like good friends that we are, and then we headed towards the medbay. And that’s where it gets interesting because I’m pretty sure I saw Poki leave medbay and run to the cafeteria.”

“You really think I would kill my best friend in the first round?”

“Yeah well, some people do” Sean scoffed, clearly referring to the last game when he was murdered by Felix. “Besides, I saw you guys when I was leaving Security so it looks like you were with her the entire round.”

“Wha- Okay, let me defend myself. I would never kill her if I was the impostor, which I’m not because she’d literally come barging into my room to murder me. She’d kill me for killing her first.”

Toast, who seemingly still held grudge against Corpse’s fellow impostor, decided to call Y/N out “Y’know, we all played with Rae before, so we all know how furious she gets after being killed first... but there’s one person who doesn’t know that.”

“Y/N/N?” Sean’s voice blared through their headphones “As much as I know how hard it would be for her to make the first kill, I can actually see that happening.”

“What?! Sykkuno vouched for me literally seconds ago, where the heck did you get that from Toast?” she asked in utter shock. Corpse glanced at his chat and leaned towards his mic, making sure that he was muted in the game.

“Y’know guys, if I didn’t know she’s the impostor, I’d believe in her every word. I mean, she’s so innocent, just listen to her.” he said with a smile, not expecting in the slightest how his audience will react. 

“Aww, he goes soft for her ^^” 

“The duo we need but don’t deserve”

“Y/N FOR THE BRIDE”

“What?” he almost stuttered, quickly going through the growing number of such comments. “I mean-”

“Ooh, someone’s getting angry. Where the heck? That’s aggressive, Y/N” Felix’s amused voice brought him back to reality, and even though Corpse didn’t use a webcam, he still tried to hide his pink-tinted cheeks in the material of his hoodie.

“It was not me! I swear! I was doing my tasks all this time, making sure that no one murders Sykkuno or Dave!” 

“You’re pretty defensive for someone who claims to be innocent,” Toast said with a smirk hiding in his voice. 

“Give her a break guys, she was literally with us all this time. I’m sure we would’ve noticed if she killed somebody” Dave stood up for her, but it seemed like all the attention was directed from Poki to Y/N. 

“Well maybe the other impostor is either you or Sykkuno and you’re just trying to clear each other?”

“Um, if there were two impostors among the three of us, the third person would have to be a crewmate. I mean, it would be impossible for them to kill somebody without a crewmate seeing it.” Sykkuno pointed out, much to Corpses’ relief. 

“I knew Sykkuno would vouch for her” he told his chat, before unmuting himself to defend Y/N as well “Haven’t we already established that Poki is sus as well? She was last seen near the body and has no alibi.” 

“I didn’t do it. The only person that could vouch for me is dead, we were with each other the entire round. I leave her for a few seconds and somebody kills her, but it wasn’t me.” 

“I don’t think she’s lying guys, I mean, if she killed Rae she’d probably be dead already” Felix chuckled “Let’s just skip this round, we don’t have enough evidence.”

“Alright, but Y/N,” Toast said, as everyone pressed the skip button “I have my eyes on you.”

Corpse could hear her sigh before everyone muted their mics. 

“We’ve gotta get rid of Toast guys, he’s too suspicious. I don’t want him accusing my partner in crime, even though he’s right” he chuckled under his breath, following Toast’s character into Admin. “Alright, Felix is with us as well, good. If I just pretend I’m doing card swipe, they’re gonna both vouch for me since everyone knows I’m great at this task.” he shook his head with a deep laugh escaping his throat. 

He could see the other two astronauts running around admin, before they both decided to leave, which gave Corpse a perfect opportunity to frame Toast. He killed the lights and chased his victim who, much to his joy, was now completely alone in comms. 

“Hi, Felix. Bye, Felix.” Corpse snapped his neck before speeding out of the room and venting into Navigation.

That’s when someone fixed the lights. And Corpse jumped out of the vent, only to come face to face with none other than Toast. 

“SHIT” he laughed in panic, seeing that he couldn’t use the kill function yet. “Shit, he must’ve seen me.”

And indeed, it took Toast just a split of second to run out of the room and speed towards the emergency button, Corpse hot on his tail, even though he knew he wouldn’t avoid getting ejected. 

“I’m busted guys, there’s no way they’re gonna believe me” he told his audience, watching as Toast’s character approached the button. However, Corpse wasn’t sure if he was just seeing things, but he thought that he saw an outline of another character appear out of nowhere just mere seconds before Toast called the meeting...

“YES” he almost screamed, at the same time laughing hysterically, when he saw the red cross decorating Toast’s name. 

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Sean yelled, similarly to every other player that remained alive. “HOW DID THAT HAPPENED?!”

“Oh my God.”

“But- I don’t get it. What just happened?” Y/N’s soft voice sounded out, making Corpse laugh even more. 

“Someone killed Toast the moment he called the meeting.” Sykkuno explained, barely holding himself from laughing.

“Is that even possible?” she asked confused, her voice sounding so innocent and sweet that the other impostor couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“Oh my god, she’s just- I can’t.” he chuckled deeply “She’s too precious guys, I swear I’m gonna do everything to keep her alive.”

“Yeah, that’s some big brain move. And since Toast is dead, there’s only one person with balls who could do it” Sean said, clearly very sure of his next words.

“CORPSE!” Lily chirped into her microphone, her voice soon being followed by others who eagerly agreed with her. 

“Okay, I admit I saw them in admin where I was doing the card swipe, but then they both left and I haven’t seen them anymore.”

“Were you in admin this whole time?” Poki asked. 

“Um- yeah, pretty much. I tried to beat my own record in failing a card swipe.” he replied, making everyone laugh. He thought of it as a good cover, unless someone entered the admin after he left... 

“Sykkuno where are you?” Poki directed her next question to the lime astronaut.

“Why am I accused again?” he asked confused “I was with Sean in medbay, I think Y/N joined us for a moment to do the scan, then she left, and then Toast called the meeting.”

“So maybe it’s her?” Dave commented “I mean, medbay is right next to the cafeteria, so she had quite an easy access to the emergency button.”

“Yeah, that would actually make sense” Lily added.

“Oh no, they’re gonna vote her off...” Corpse mumbled under his breath, deciding that he had to intervene. She just saved his ass, he couldn’t possibly just watch her get ejected because of that. 

“Guys, I didn’t even know it was possible to kill someone this way. Trust me, I played only a few times and Jack made sure not to reveal any of his big brain moves.” she scoffed at the last part, making Jack let out a loud laugh.

“How can we be sure you’re not just acting all innocent? I mean, you exposed Felix last game, being one of the last people to stay alive.”

“Y/N was with me when Toast called the meeting, she is innocent” Corpse decided to finally speak up. The silence settled among other players. “She found me in admin and made sure nobody killed me when I failed the fucking card swipe.”

“Why are you saying this just now, Corpse?”

“Cause he’s fallen for her god damn trap! I told you!” Sean argued.

“What trap?” Y/N asked confused.

“I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s like listening to an angel” Corpse said, before he could stop himself. Everyone on the call went wild, just like his chat did... He didn’t know why he said that, it just slipped before he really thought about it.

“Corpse, you do realize you’re simping only makes you even more suspicious?” Poki asked with a laugh, and Corpse felt the blush rising up his cheeks. Even more, when Y/N completely ignored this comment, deciding to suddenly stay quiet...

Did he make her uncomfortable with such comments?

“Seriously though, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t her. We watched each other’s back, so I’m also clean.” 

“As much as I hate to do it, I have to agree with Corpse on this one” Sean suddenly said. “That she’s innocent, I mean. I’m sure Corpse just follows her around like a lost puppy and I didn’t see the two of them, but I doubt Y/N knew it’s possible to kill somebody like that. No offense kiddo.”

“See? Guys, it wasn’t me!” she exclaimed. 

“Wait, why do you hate to agree with me?” Corpse asked in confusion.

“CAUSE YOU’RE KINDA SUS CORPSE” 

“What? I just told you my alibi, weren’t you listening Jack?”

“We have twenty seconds left” Lily reminded, cause everyone seemed to forget about the voting time. “We don’t skip at 7, right?”

“Alright, I’m voting Corpse, I still think he’s sus even though I agreed with him.” Sean announced, much to Y/N’s dismay. She quickly objected, trying to defend her fellow impostor:

“It’s NOT him, I watched him fail that dang card swipe!”

“DANG?! NO NEED TO BE SO OFFENSIVE YOUNG LADY” 

“I’m also voting Corpse, he must be one of them.” Lily agreed with Jack.

“Sykkuno, I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing” Y/N asked the lime astronaut, who was silent for the past few minutes.

“I um- I don’t know, they kinda have a point Y/N...”

“Sykkuno, listen to me.” she lowered her voice, trying to convince him “Corpse is not the impostor. You know you can trust me, right?”

“...”

“SYKKUNO GOD DAMN IT, DON’T LISTEN TO HER!”

“Sorry guys...”

Corpse burst out laughing, seeing that out of seven remaining players, five of them decided to skip. 

“She’s too good” he chuckled, quickly running up Y/N’s character when they started the next round. He circled her white astronaut, and she seemed to get his message because she eagerly followed him into Electrical to fake the tasks and wait for someone to show up. 

Soon enough two figures waltzed into the room, only to be simultaneously decapitated by the two impostors, who then swiftly vented into medbay and locked the door to their crime scene. 

“That was smooth” Corpse smiled, happily running around Y/N’s character. “I love being impostors with Y/N, it’s so much fun. The best thing is that no one besides Toast really suspects her of doing something wrong.”

Corpse figured Y/N sabotaged the oxygen because the next thing he saw was Lily running past medbay to stop it from depleting. 

“Ladies first, Y/N” he mumbled, and even though she couldn’t hear him, her small character sped up and left the medbay, chasing after Lily. He waited a few seconds, before bursting out laughing.

Victory. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Sean yelled in shock “Y/N?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF RIGHT NOW”

“Y/N HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

“That was... I would never guess it was you!” 

“I’m sorry guys, I really didn’t want to kill any of you” she laughed apologetically, but Corpse could sense she was smiling “I just had no other choice...”

“Yeah, I’m sure you killed us by accident” Toast’s voice blared out, followed by loud laughter.

“What was that again? I didn’t even know you could kill someone this way?” Felix mocked in a high pitched voice, making them laugh hysterically. Corpse also found himself unable to catch a breath between his giggles.

“I told you guys they’d fuck us up.” Rae spoke up “But I was actually glad Y/N killed me first, watching her kill Toast was so much fun.”

“Ha ha, thanks, Rae!” Toast exclaimed ironically.

“Y/N and Corpse are just complete serial killers, I don’t know how else to comment that” Felix chuckled. 

“Well...” Corpse mumbled, unmuting his microphone “I can’t disagree. She’s a perfect partner in crime.”

“NOT AGAIN WITH SIMPING CORPSE” he heard Sean’s response, and once again felt awkward when his all his friends laughed at him, and Y/N remained quiet. 

That was, however, until her soft voice effectively quietened everyone. 

“It was.. an honor to murder my friends with you.” 

Corpse never thought his face could hurt from smiling so much...

“Alright, who’s up for another game?” Felix asked after a few moments, and received a chorus of me’s from almost everyone. 

“Unfortunately I have to go now, but it was so fun playing with you guys!” Y/N said, making everyone (Corpse included) object rather loudly:

“One more round, please? I want to see you kill someone again!”

“C’mon kid, what else do you have to do?”

“Stay with us Y/N, I need someone to protect me!” 

“I’m sorry but I’m really tired. I’m sure I’d just fall asleep on my desk and Toast would come up behind my back to murder me.”

“Well, that was actually my plan...” the man in question replied with a chuckle.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay?” Corpse finally asked “Killing won’t be the same without you...”

“I know, and I’m sorry... But I was working the whole day and my eyes just hurt and I feel like I’m gonna faint” she replied. 

“Alright, but just so you know, we’re playing again later this week, and I better see you entering the lobby on time” Felix said, trying to sound threatening, but failing at it. Y/N giggled to herself, the sound making Corpse smile almost unknowingly. 

“I wouldn’t dare to miss a chance to murder my new friends!” 

“Oh my god, she’s too adorable!” 

Everyone said their goodbyes and soon Y/N left the call, her small astronaut disappearing from the lobby, much to Corpse’s disappointment. He wished she’d stay a little longer, playing with her was something he found incredibly fun and quite relaxing if he was completely honest. Or maybe aside from playing itself, listening to her voice was what kept bringing a smile to his face every time she spoke up. 

“Guys, I think I’m also gonna call it a day, it was really fun.”

“What? It’s not even been over an hour!” Rae protested. 

“Yeah, I um.. I know but-”

“Don’t push him guys, he can’t play without his partner in crime” Toast’s teasing voice made everyone burst out laughing, and Corpse just shook his head, glad that nobody could see how red his face became.

“Fuck you guys, okay?” he chuckled into the mic, before finally saying his goodbyes and leaving as well. He thanked his viewers for watching and promised to stay longer next time, before closing the discord. 

He sat for a moment in his chair, staring at the black screen, a smile slowly widening on his lips. It was one of the best games he had ever played in Among Us, and he couldn’t wait to be Impostor with Y/N again. 

“Perfect partner in crime... I’m such an idiot” he mumbled under his breath and felt himself blush, shaking his head at how awkward that must’ve sounded. He pulled his phone out and checked his Twitter, only for his eyes to widen once he saw the top trending hashtags. 

#Y/NxCorpse

#Y/NfortheBride

#PerfectPartnerInCrime

“Oh my God...” Corpse yelped, covering his eyes with his hand as if it would make all those tweets disappear. “Why am I the way I am?” 

He considered texting her, trying to maybe make things less awkward than they already were, but decided against it. He feared he’d make even more of an idiot out of himself... 

Convinced that all those comments about simping and now those hashtags made her uncomfortable, it didn’t even cross his mind that Y/N might be looking at them at the exact same moment, with adorable blush tinting her cheeks, and her lips turning into a small, shy smile...  

A/N: I think about writing 3rd part... 

[whorefordazai]

Can I request Dazai, Chuuya, Atushi, and Ranpo reacting to you telling them that you shifted dimensions to their dimension.

telling them you shifted into their dimension

ft. dazai | chuuya | atsushi | ranpo x gn! reader

genre: fluff, comedy

warnings: none

Dazai

When he first saw you, he’d be a little curious😏

But he wouldn’t exactly know that you’re from another dimension. Somethings up, but what?

When you finally decide to tell him, it would take a few seconds of disbelief/silence for him to process it.

“Dazai, I’d like to say that I shifted dimensions to this dimension☺️”

“.....did you hit your head somewhere, darling? Should I get Yosano ◕‿◕?”

“I’m serious ^o^”

He wouldn’t show it, but he’ll believe you after a while of thinking to himself. I mean, something like “the book” exists so why not being able to shift dimensions?

He would ask you how to shift

“PLEASE teach me how to shift 😊🙏”

“Didn’t I say my dimension is a rotten piece of shit? Why do you think I’m here ◕ ◡ ◕?”

It would be the both of yours little secret🤞

He’s curious, so he’ll constantly ask you what things are like back where you actually “live.”

“You guys are fictional characters and everyone is in love with you🙂”

“That’s right. I expected nothing less ▰˘◡˘▰”

“They’re also in love with a 5’3 redhead with anger issues and an emotionally constipated emo boy •‿•”

“....wait—who could that be 🤔”

Wait till you tell him about soukoku😄

“WHAT? How could my fans betray me like that? Impossible. Why would I ever be in love(🤢)with that hatrack⁉️”

For your own safety, never mention chuuya ever again okay☺️?

Real talk, tell him everyone just wants to give him a hug and tell him to live 😕

He’ll be shocked, blush a little, and make a dash for it to run away🏃🏼‍♀️💨💨

What, did you actually think this mf knows how to express his emotions 🤣🤣? (cries)

Chuuya

He won’t ever believe you ಥ‿ಥ

“Chuuya...I’ve been meaning to tell you something...”

“Okay, spit it out ಠ_ಠ”

“...I’m from a different dimension.”

“...ᇂ_ᇂ”

“◕ ◡ ◕?”

“Did you hit your fucking head somewhere? Stop talking crazy shit, we have a mission.”

Just accept it, y/n. Stay quiet and accept your fate 🧍‍♂️🤚

He doesn’t have time to deal with even more crazier shit than he does on the daily. So just live your life without him acknowledging it.

But—in the case where he does find out—he’ll have a different reaction. More of a shocked “I don’t have time for this/why does shit like this always happen to me”

He’ll pinch the bridge of his nose and and grab both your shoulders and say “okay, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear this, okay? I heard nothing. Nothing at all.”

If you wanna die, definitely bring up dazai !

“Chuuuya~the fans back at home wanna know about you and Dazai 🌝”

“HUH? What about me and that mackerel🤨?”

Consider him half dead from shock and disgust when you say that people ship him and Dazai.

“No no no. I can’t do this. Not today. Not ever.”

*walks away after gracefully punching a wall* 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️

“But c’mon chuuya, what about that one dead apple scene ◕3◕?”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS A DEAD APPLE??? And for your information, I was passed out so I have no recollection of it😐”

“But you looked like you were about to give him head🤔”

“FUCKING—this is just sexual harassment at this point😐”

Atsushi

Kinda like Chuuya, wouldn’t believe you at first. In fact, he’ll think you have a screw loose in your brain🧐

“Are—are you okay? Do you have fever?”

He wouldn’t be 100% sure of what’s going on (he never really does) but he’ll end up being like “okay, so now what ◕ ◡ ◕?”

Tell him that everyone back in your dimension just wants to hug him and tell him it’s alright and shower him with so much love.

He’ll start crying cuz of that 🥲

Tell him about shin soukoku and he’ll probably break :p

“HUH?? Absolutely not. Akutagawa is never on my mind. I’m never thinking about him. BOYFRIEND?? I’M NOT EVEN—“

It’s okay Atsushi 😙

Apart from that, I think he’d sometimes forget you were from a different dimension if you were acting normal.

I mean, he’s accepted at this point that he’s the one who attracts crazy weird shit so he’s not surprised anymore 🤷‍♀️

But he’d be even more curious as to what people are saying about him in your dimension.

“Atsushi, people want you to show them beast beneath the sheets ◕ ◡ ◕”

“...what is that ◕ ◡ ◕?”

Tell him what that is, then he’ll flip 😁

“NO—NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT! What’s happening? How did I end up having this conversation? Why is it always me😄?”

Ranpo

He would know. He would just know.

The moment you step into their dimension, Ranpo wouldn’t hesitate to call you out and be like “Y/n is from another dimension.” And then go back to eating his candy.

Everyone who heard him: ʘ‿ʘ?

In fear of him being right, they never brought it up again <3

Would casually ask you, “the next time you come here, bring candy back with you.”

“...uh sure ◕ ◡ ◕?”

He seems oddly calm🙂?

He’s always asking you if bus routes are easier back where you live or if there’s better candy flavors 🤔

Tell him about Ranpoe <3

“Poe? Well yeah, he’s a boy who is my friend. So I suppose that makes him my boyfriend. And no one else can have him, alright🤨?”

Suddenly gets all possessive of Poe from people who are from another dimension 🧐

tag list: @uwu-monster101 @14th-century-homosexual-spirit @yosanoslut @cross-crye @stylesketches @starglow-xx @ranposlover @bsdwhore @arimakii @cytolysis @shadyteacup @dai-tsukki-desu

IM SORRY I forgot to tag y’all the first time AGAIN😖👆

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[steveyockey]

so what r ur thoughts on dean seeing cas as not-human how does that fit into his Feelings about cas? did they work to bury them or was it like oh well this is obvs not gonna go anywhere he’s a talking dog. was he self aware in the trap? did self awareness and understanding slam into him post-15x18?

oh this is gonna be a long one 

not to be too by-the-book on this, but to start with your last question, I’m absolutely on board with jensen’s post 15.18 explanation (which I will link here) that, even in the moments leading up to the confession, dean still conceptualized of cas as a celestial being who thinks in a way that “might not be comprehensible by a human heart or by a human brain.”

in my interpretation of his response, he was trying to counteract the narrative he had seen on social media (he admitted to doing a little investigation into how people were reacting) that dean was unresponsive on account of his rejection of cas/“holding back a slur.” I think it’s actually a really genius move that he completely reoriented the conversation away from sexuality to clarify what he as the character was thinking in this moment — it wasn’t oh my god a person I perceive as a man is confessing his love to me, another man, in a way that’s unquestionably not heterosexual but instead this creature I have built up in my mind as too vast and powerful for pitiful human emotions is telling me the thing I never knew I wanted to hear most in the world and this articulation should be impossible for his being, especially considering I am not worthy of this level of attention from a cosmic entity. which I think is also reflective of his general understanding of cas at all times, not necessarily at the forefront of his mind but part of the landscape of awareness, which, as I stated previously, dean deals with by diminishing cas. he’s a baby in a trench coat, a little nerdy dude with wings, and of course, kind of like a talking dog. because if you can’t come to terms with something vast, you might need to pretend it’s actually quite small. and when the vast thing seems to willingly live in your house, you need to reason with that in a way that makes it something involuntary, like animal devotion. and if this vast thing also is the object of your affection and makes you feel protective in the way that you know death herself would make you watch him die because that would be more painful to you that the loss of your own life, you might talk about him in a way that dismisses his agency.

I think it’s important to clarify that I don’t think dean lacks all awareness of cas’s feelings for him before 15.18. I mean, they have a child together. they watch movies together, they drink beers together, they are in a lot of ways already living in ambiguous bachelor paradise. repression isn’t a single action but an endless cycle of questioning/hoping/fearing/cordoning/etc. it’s not a question of whether dean represses his feelings for cas or if he understands his feelings to be pointless since they can never be consummated, he’s dealing with both of those tracks simultaneously. there’s even an additional track where he entertains that cas does have feelings for him but thinks their current relationship is the best it’s ever gonna get due to 1. internalized homo/biphobia (which functions as both an internal and external deterrent, internal in that being gay/bi does not comport with dean’s allowed reading of self and external in that to embrace a relationship with a man would be to willingly expose both of them to additional cruelty), 2. the idea that, even if cas has feelings for dean, they are of such a fundamentally different substance it would disservice both of them to try to make it work, and 3. his ingrained belief that love is a weakness which will be taken advantage of.

obviously a lot of this logic is completely annihilated by the confession; cas names love as a strength and classifies his feelings as deeply human. it’s not so much that his words unbury what dean had buried but that they decimate the narrative he bought into that clarifying the feelings of either party would ruin their relationship. I think the sexuality conundrum also dissolves at this point, just on account of dean having a willing object of affection. it’s not about loving men, it’s about loving cas.

of course the trap is essential to this moment, but I would say it’s actually most significant not for what it says about how dean interprets cas’s feelings but how dean views his own feelings. dean’s prayer is really the first time the entire show he’s held himself accountable for his supposedly righteous anger. he’s deliberately breaking his own rules to never give voice to the meaning of their relationship and also to never give voice to his failings in a way that isn’t self-serving. he’s acknowledging their bond while acknowledging he has responsibility over the harm he does even when this harm is something that he’s been taught to tacitly accept as the price of the ticket — because he’s harmed cas (something that shouldn’t even be possible in his reading of cas as foreign). and he’s only speaking this aloud because the relationship is fractured and he thinks cas could be dead and the one thing dean understands without question is life without cas is not worth living. I do think the prayer mutually deepens the understanding both characters have of their relationship, but it isn’t enough on its own to shake for dean the idea that cas feels in a different way, albeit one significant enough to make him decenter the rage he has long viewed as core to his being. if the prayer is a decentering process, the confession is a recentering process. cas, previously assumed as unfeeling, and dean, previously assumed to only act in anger, both become characters motivated first and foremost by love.

[the-dashing-darling]

The Boy Who Wished For A Miracle

Michael Darling conspires with the forces of the universe to do the impossible: hang out with his older brother 

***

Oi, a miracle had happened– the Darling Three were together! 

Right, it was just to grab tea, but Michael was delighted when John had opted to come with him and Wendy to Hatter’s. John would be off after this– his matcha in a to-go cup and then he’d be heads down, ducking his way against the chill toward the library where he spent practically every day on “revision,” which Michael knew involved a lot of staring out the window. He was positive - mega positive - that what John really needed was a day off. And as they meandered through the queue that’s exactly what he was trying to convince John of. 

“I just think a change of scenery helps,” he said. “You know, dust out the ol’ brain, give it a good wack.” 

“Michael, you realize I’ve other things to do besides the revision, yeah? Grading, and reading, and meetings and all that. There’s a reason I go to the library at a specific time–”

“I think someone smart said that the best writing they ever did was when they weren’t writing at all!” Michael said. “Didn’t someone say that John? Wendy, didn’t someone say that?”

Wendy laughed. “Did they?” 

“I think it was a famous author. I sent it to John once.”

“You’re bastardizing a Murakami quote. And that was some kind of emotional blackmail at the time.”

“Emotional blackmail!” exclaimed Michael. “We were on holiday! You wouldn’t come bodysurfing with me!” 

“When was this?” Wendy asked.

“I musta been fifteen or something, we went down to Malta. I’d gone to that awfully boring big cathedral with him and he wouldn’t come down to the beach with me–”

“You are telling that story so wrong–”

“He was all, I’ve summer reading! Mate, it was a holiday!”

“I did, and I also had a headache–”

“From squinting, John. All the squinting.”

“We’ll have  three teas please,” said Wendy kindly to the barista. “One matcha, and two chai lattes, right, Michael?

“Right, but oh, can you put a shot of the pumpkin flavouring in one of them?” Michael leaned forward. He looked at his siblings. “It makes it taste like Christmas.” 

“Whipped cream?” asked the barista 

“Oh yeah, obviously! Course I’m getting whipped cream, I don’t hate myself,” said Michael.

“Whipped cream does sound nice– me too,” said Wendy. 

“John, what about you? Or do you hate yourself?” 

“Loaded question,” said John, then shook his head. “No whipped cream for me.” 

“We can sprinkle some cinnamon and nutmeg on top,” Michael said to Wendy. They were shuffling down the line. John had his wallet out. “You should try mine, Wendy.  Ashlee loved it when I made her try it. Oi, John, I got it.” 

“Mmmm so you can guilt-trip me into taking a break? Not falling for it.”

“Jesus, Wendy! You listening to him? Talk some sense into him.” 

“It’d be nice to have tea together, John,” was Wendy’s answer, as she pat her brother on the arm. 

“Another time. I’m beating my head against my conclusion. I’ve nearly cracked it.”

“Your head? Blimey, that can’t be good,” said Michael. “Ought to get that checked out– hey, why not today! I’ll take you to the emergency room.” 

“So now you’re rooting against me?” 

“No,  I’m rooting for you, Johnny. I wake up every morning and I clasp my hands together, and I pray oh please, let John be less boring today!” 

Wendy laughed again. “Both of you, stop it. Here, there’s the tea. Let’s walk John to the library, won’t that be nice?” 

“You really don’t have…” John said with a grimace, as Wendy roped her arm through his, so he couldn’t make a mad dash for the exit. “Diabolical,” he muttered to her, and all Wendy did was wiggle her eyebrows conspiratorially. 

Hatter’s bell rang in farewell as the Darling Three turned up their coat collars. John took a first sip of his matcha and Michael prepared for Round Two, formulating a list of very good reasons why John should consider hanging out. He’d make it happen! Maybe Michael could dangle Chapter Three in front of him. Oh, or pretend to spot a bird, a very rare bird. If he thought very hard, he could pull the name of it from his memory. There had been a story he was told at bedtime, something about the bird who didn’t fly south for the winter, but stayed, so it might play with… 

And then, that’s when Michael saw it. Not a winter bird at all, but the flicker of something just as magical.

Michael stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Michael?” said Wendy. 

“Snow,” said Michael. He pointed at the sky and laughed. 

One flurry became two, then four, then a dozen, then ten thousand, like someone had poked a hole in the bottom of a bag of sugar. Wendy gasped and lifted her hands up to the sky. Michael stuck out his tongue. “It tastes like peppermint!” he exclaimed. 

Smack! Michael shrieked as a wet, cold hand grabbed him by the back of the neck. “John!” he cried out as he danced away a few steps, then whirled on his laughing brother, who wiggled hello with very red, wet fingers.

Well, that did it then, didn’t it? Someone wasn’t going to make it to the library. 

 Michael scooped up some of the snow quickly accumulating on the ground. “C’mere! Wendy, you and me! We’re taking him down!” 

“No fair! Oi, I’ll spill my tea!”

“Spill it then, villain!” Wendy cried. 

“Prepare to beg for mercy!” 

And so John dashed across the street and toward the park, his sister and brother on his heels, as a thousand snowflakes winked at the Darlings. Today, Michael’s wish had come true. 

[lexwritess]

incorrect quotes anon, i have a super angsty idea that i think you’ll LOVE. so basically michael x reader but she died at on of the outpost, and were basically the only good part about michael and him not caring about anything anymore (even more than usual lmao). and it’s just grief and sadness and anger. it’s fine if not, if you do i’d love to make incorrect quote for it also! have a great day/night!!!! ❤️❤️

broken promises [m.l.]

pairing: michael langdon x fem!reader

warnings: angst, death, swearing, blood, i don’t think this is accurate i tried to research on lilith but it was difficult but i liked the idea so this version of lilith is mostly based off the one from caos

a/n: i got a little carried away lmao

words: 1.6k

slightly au! i’m going to pretend michael can’t bring dead people back ✌️

y/n is a witch. but she’s a different kind of witch. she was born for a very specific purpose, one that she didn’t even understand yet. she knew she was different though.

she really knew she was different when her supreme, cordilia, tried to kill her.

she ran away from her sisters that night. she didn’t need cordilia to kill her. she already felt dead. defeated. the only real family she’s had wanted her dead.

that’s when she met michael.

michael despised all witches, but there was something about y/n that dragged him to her. the two of them were like magnets and they both felt it. the world always pulling them towards each other.

she met michael when he was at a loss. y/n wasn’t the only one cordilia hurt that day.

y/n found michael in the woods, he looked ill and lost.

y/n brought him to a dark church she saw a couple days prior. they found a woman there that was eager to help them back on their feet and get them well and nourished.

that was a big step for michael. after that visit michael finally got sense of himself. unfortunately, y/n still didn’t understand her purpose.

“i want to help michael, i really do but i don’t know what i’m suppose to do. you’re the antichrist! i’m just a rejected witch.” y/n tells michael gloomily.

tomorrow was a big day for him, he was getting back his ms. mead. of course y/n was happy for him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wouldn’t need her anymore.

“you are so much more than that. you are more powerful than you think and you are a big help to me. and even if you don’t serve a purpose for the apocalypse i care about you and want you by my side.” michael looks into your eyes and grabs your hands.

that’s where y/n and michael shared their first kiss.

“can you help him or not.” you interrupt the two idiotic coke heads.

“oh. who’s this?” mutt said cockily.

“she’s a witch on my side. her coven tried to kill her. don’t get any ideas though she’s mine.” michael said protectively.

you can’t help but smirk to yourself.

“alright, sorry. please don’t light me on fire.” mutt says defensively.

this is the second time michaels been here. this time he decided to bring you along so maybe you could get an idea what to do next if jeff and mutt didn’t.

“do you have some special marking on you, or have demonic fire powers?” jeff asks you while mutt looks for something to help michael.

y/n shows him the upside down triangle that appeared on her wrist about a month ago.

“not going to lie, that’s kinda lame.” jeff says disappointed.

y/n gives the man a glare and with the wave of her hand the glass bowl of cocaine was now broken across the floor.

“WHAT THE FU-.” jeff yelled before mutt stepped in.

“we can worry about it later. look at the book of revelations. have you read it?” mutt asks.

michael looks at them before opening the book with his magic.

y/n flips through the book when michael is done looking for anything else.

“who is lilith?” y/n ask monotone.

“lilith is technically a witch. she was the wife of adam but refused to sleep with him. eventually she went and sided with the devil. the devil turned on her. lots of variations and stories of her. no ones quite totally sure.” jeff explains.

y/n looks at michael with a skeptical look on her face and he gives one back.

“holy shit, you’re totally lilith! but for the new world!” mutt exclaims.

y/n stands up and look down upon the two.

“how would you know?” y/n raised her eyebrows at them.

“you’re coven tried to kill you, you just so happen to be with the antichrist, the triangle on your arm...makes sense.” jeff says.

y/n stays still staring at them. they gulp under her gaze before she walks out of the room.

michael hurries after the girl, needing to know what’s on her mind.

“y/n, what is the matter dear?” michael asks, linking his pinky with hers.

“i do not want to be lilith.” y/n says strongly.

“if being lilith means i will lose you in the end i don’t want it!” she lets go of michaels pinky and storms off to the car.

“darling you will never lose me! i may have to follow my fathers plans to end this world, but i’m still in charge!” michael yells to y/n.

“promise me!” y/n yells back, finally walking towards micheal.

“promise me.” y/n repeats, this time her tone barley above a whisper.

“i promise.”

-

2 years later

present time

the apocalypse is here. the world is gone. hell is on earth.

and you’ve been by michaels side the whole time.

he kept his promise

and now you were standing in front of your ex-coven.

they were back to kill you, again.

“come back to finish the job?” you bitterly ask cordilia.

“i had no choice! you were made for evil, i was never going to be able to peel you away from him and you would always choose him over your sisters!” cordilia yells.

“well michael never tried to kill me like you did! you were the only family i had!” you yell back, tears brimming your eyes.

you furrow your brows trying to hear what cordilia was mumbling but before you realized it’s too late.

“ms mead!” michael cried.

cordilia had killed his ms mead again.

“fuck you!” you say angerly stepping closer to cordilia.

as you walk closer cordilia is pushed back by your magic, a trail of fire leading behind you.

“how are you doing that?” madison asks in shock.

“because i’m the new supreme.” you smirk.

cordilia laughs bitterly and you look back at her.

“you can never be the supreme. you are a demoness! you are and never will be a real witch!” cordilias words burn in your brain as the realization hits you.

“mallory.” you whisper to yourself.

“precisely.” cordilia smiles.

while michael was having his last moments with ms mead, in the corner of your eye you saw madison grab the machine gun and go to point it at michael.

“repellendum malum minitar, ut nobis!” you quickly shout the protection spell.

you repeat the spell and step closer to michael.

“tutela eorum vinculum!” cordilia starts chanting against your spell.

you repeat the spell but as she gets closer the sheild starts breaking.

“et defendat mea!” you shout louder. the shield starts breaking as the other witches join in on cordilias chants.

“amans vitae meae praesidium.” you say quietly before the shield breaks.

bullets shoot throughout the room before your bloody body slumps against the wall. you feel awful, they shot you enough to make you weak so you can’t heal, but strong enough to let you bleed out.

“y/n?” michael says quietly, before he is shot as well.

myrtle cuts a piece of michaels hair and walks back to mallory.

“hurry mallory, before he heals.” cordilia rushes, and the witches leave the room.

michael wakes and looks over to see y/n’s bloody body.

“y/n! no, no, no!” michael lifts you up so he can hold you.

“michael you have to listen to me.” you cough, as the metallic taste fills your mouth.

“i can save you, i know father can. just stay with me a little longer.” michael pleads.

you smile at him and shake your head.

“listen, don’t kill cordilia. i’m not the supreme it’s mallory. she will go back and kill you in a past timeline, so none of this will never happen.”

“i have to! look what they did to you!” tears fall from his face.

“michael baby, i’ll be okay. i’ll be okay, but you got to make sure you don’t kill cordilia. it’ll bring mallory’s powers to full strength.” you assure him.

michael shakes his head as more tears fall from his crystal blue eyes.

“i love you, i love you so much. i’ll be with you soon.” michael squeezes your hand.

“i love you too michael, so much.” you let out a shaky sigh and squeeze his hand back.

“goodbye michael.” you smile as your eyes start to close.

“no, don’t say goodbye! baby please open your eyes again.” michael weeps.

“fuck! i wasn’t suppose to lose you. i wasn’t suppose to leave you, i fucking promised!” michael screams, while his sobs continue.

“it’s too late langdon.” cordilias chill voice fills michaels ears.

michaels sadness quickly turns to anger as he turns around to see the bitches smug face.

“you killed the love of my life!” michael shrieks.

cordilia hums and stares back at michael before waving the knife out of his hand into hers.

before michael can do or say anything cordilia rams the knife into her chest.

michael is at a loss for words.

he have lost

“no!” he screamed as cordilia fell to her death.

“no.” he repeated while falling to his knees.

he puts his face in his hands and starts sobbing.

he has lost everyone and now he lost the war.

he lost everything because of a job he never asked to have.

“poor michael.” myrtal said quietly while walking over to him.

“please! please just kill me.” michael says defeated.

“you’re the antichrist at his full form. i’m afraid killing you is impossible. you’ll have to live knowing you’ll never have her again.” myrtal says while waking away.

michaels cries continue.

he’ll never see you again.

you’ll never see him again.

in the new timeline he doesn’t exist to you and never will.

that’s what truly killed him.

[gernades]

Ace is gone. He’s been gone for five weeks. 

Nancy has had a lot of time to think. 

She sees the places where he used to be- the kitchen, his house, the spot in his driveway where Florence is always parked- and can’t stop looking at them. 

“Nancy?” 

Nancy blinks and looks up. Ace’s mother is watching her, hands resting on the dough, eyes concerned. “Are you okay?” 

Today they’re making babka-chocolate bread, braided in sections and glazed with egg wash. Nancy looks down. She’s not very good at braiding, but it mostly looks like Rebecca’s dough. 

“I’m fine,” she says, a half-smile working its way across her face. “It’s just been a long week.” Another week without Ace.  She doesn’t know why she’s here, in his house- in his kitchen- but Rebecca doesn’t seem to mind. She never has.

Nancy’s here every other day, now. They’ve made bread and biscuits and a dozen Jewish desserts that Nancy is now addicted to. 

Sometimes, Thom joins them. 

( “He’s taken quite the shine to you,” Rebecca whispers on one such day, eyes sparkling. “He’s not like this with everyone.” 

Nancy doesn’t bring up the ASL textbooks sitting new and shiny on her desk at home. 

Talking about me again, Thom signs over his shoulder, and Rebecca laughs, flicks him on the shoulder. )

Now, Rebecca gently sets down her dough and wipes her fingers off on her apron. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No, thank you, is Nancy’s knee jerk reaction. She pauses before letting the words come out. She’s been doing that more often, as of late. Sana-her therapist- would be proud. 

Nancy purses her lips and drags a finger through the loose flour on the counter. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just… going through a lot with my dad’s business, and... I can’t help but feel like I’m never going to be happy again.” 

The last part she doesn’t mean to say out loud. “I’m sorry,” Nancy says immediately, and lifts her head up. “That was…” 

“Oh, honey,” Rebecca whispers. Her eyes are shiny. “I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but I can tell that it’s been hard on you. You’ve always been so strong. Just like your mother.” 

“Hm,” Nancy manages, throat tight and vision blurry. When Rebecca bustles around the table and wraps her arms around her, she doesn’t pull away. 

Rebecca smells like soap and rosemary: she is warm and accepting and she makes Nancy’s heart hurt less. This will have to end eventually, but she can’t help but lean into it anyway.

                                                              *** 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house,” Carson remarks later that night. 

They’re sitting at the dinner table, doing their best to eat what is supposed to be spaghetti, courtesy of Ryan. He’s still learning how to use basic appliances: his cooking is dangerous.

 Nancy wrinkles her nose and stabs at a coagulated lump of pasta. 

“Yeah. Nothing bad. I’ve just been… baking.” 

Ryan hums and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. Nancy and Carson watch in amazement as he gets it down without gagging. “You’re really good at it, too. That, uh, chocolate croissant thingy you brought home yesterday was amazing.” 

Nancy raises an eyebrow, amused. “The rugelach?” 

Ryan jabs his fork into the air. “Yes. So good.” 

“Spending time with Rebecca, I gather?” Carson’s voice is light and free of judgement. Before the whole Wraith thing, Nancy would have pulled up her walls, deflected the conversation. 

It’s a little different now, though, so Nancy just nods. “It’s just... nice to have someone to talk to who’s normal.” 

Carson sighs and rubs her shoulder. “I understand that completely.” 

“Hey,” Ryan states, expression pinched, “is pasta supposed to make my stomach bubbly?” 

Nancy and Carson exchange a long, tired look. 

They take Ryan to the ER for food poisoning. 

                                                              *** 

George slams a palm down onto the table. Her engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon light. Nancy jumps. “It’s been quiet, Drew. Too quiet. I don’t trust it.” 

Nancy takes a long look around the Claw. It’s nearly packed to the brim with customers- their Yelp ratings have skyrocketed since the staff have actually started working again. “This is your idea of quiet?” 

George groans and slides into the opposite booth. “You know what I mean. We’ve had nothing supernatural happen for almost a month. It’s driving me crazy.” 

“Good,” Nancy replies mildly, and takes another bite of her crab roll. “I’m taking a sabbatical from sleuthing.” 

Sana was the one to suggest a break from anything stressful- like sports or large events! Avoiding murder and possession via the paranormal probably isn’t what her therapist means, but Nancy can read between the lines. 

George screeches. Half the restaurant turns to look at them. They turn back when they see who it is. 

“What?” She narrows her eyes and leans in. “Okay. I never thought I’d live to see the Hero of Horseshoe Bay gives herself a break.” She crosses her arms. “I’m proud of you, Nancy.” 

Nancy’s heart hums. She sends George a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

George smiles back. “Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago, by the way. I need you to clean out the grease traps.” 

Nancy’s smile drops. 

The grease traps are gross, hard work. They’re also the last normal thing Nancy did with Ace, which is equal parts sad and amusing. 

She grits her teeth and scrubs her cloth against the dirty metal. At least it’s cool here, in the kitchen, and away from the always-prying eyes of customers. 

The bell above the restaurant door tinkles faintly. Nancy sighs and dips her rag into the bucket of degreaser. 

Bess screams, high-pitched and excited. “Ace!” 

Nancy stands up so quickly that she knocks the bucket onto its side. No way. 

He can’t be back- it’s too soon, too late. Nancy needs to think more. If he’s back, she can’t go to his house again, can she?

Heart pounding, she creeps over to the window and peers into the restaurant. He’s surrounded by Bess and George- and, after a moment, Nick jogs in from the parking lot, smile blinding. 

Nancy wants to go see him. She does. Her feet seem to have other ideas, though. She can’t seem to move at all. 

Ace looks good. His hair is longer, and sun-bleached; his skin is tanned. Even from this distance Nancy can see the new freckles on his face. 

There’s a leather jacket, black and tight around his shoulders- and two new silver studs in his ears. He’s smiling. He looks happy.

 Nancy’s chest aches. 

“Hey,” she hears him say to George, “Where’s Nancy?” 

Nancy takes a half step backwards. 

“Cleaning the grease traps in the kitchen,” George replies, spreading her arms in a grand gesture. “The best job in the world.” 

Ace laughs. 

Nancy runs. 

She doesn’t really run- she simply makes a strategic, tactical retreat into the staff room and out the back door. 

There’s no time to overthink it- not yet, her brain and heart agree. Not yet. 

Nancy thanks her former self for parking her car at the very edge of the lot. Nobody notices as she pulls out onto the road, a full two hours before her shift is supposed to end. 

Ooh, she’s a little runaway! Bon Jovi croons on the radio. Daddy’s girl learned fast- 

Nancy grits her teeth and pushes her foot against the accelerator. 

All those things he couldn’t say! Ooh, she’s a little runawa-

Nancy spins the radio dial with fumbling fingers, and spends the rest of her drive listening to germanic opera. 

“Shit.” 

                                                               *** 

“Jesus,” Ryan says when he opens the front door. “You look worse than I do, and I spent three hours getting my stomach pumped last night.” 

Nancy pushes past him without a word. 

Ryan’s voice lowers, softens. “Nancy. Hey.” He reaches out, gently wraps a hand around her wrist. She stops walking. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Nancy says, but her words come out wobbly, uneven. 

Ryan scoots a little closer. “Okay, well… that’s a lie.” 

Nancy snorts. “Ace is back.” 

Ryan smiles, relieved. “That’s great!” He pauses. “Isn’t it?” When she says nothing, he squints his eyes, searches her face. “Oh,” he says finally. “I see.” 

Nancy stiffens, alarmed. “How did you-,” 

Ryan sighs and taps his cheek. “We make the same kind of face, you know. Genetics and all that.” 

“Shit,” Nancy says again, and tries very hard not to sink through the floor. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryan promises. “I wont say anything.”

“What’s going on?” 

Ryan and Nancy turn to face Carson, who is wrapped in a purple robe, fresh out of the shower. He takes one look at the expression on Nancy’s face and rushes over. “Is there another entity-,” 

“No,” Nancy says vehemently. She drops her head onto his shoulder, breathes in the smell of his aftershave. “I’m just not feeling well.” 

Neither of her dads press her for more- they simply stand like that, the three of them, for a very long time. 

                                                              *** 

        George: where the hell are u?? 

        George: hello? nancy?

        George: are u ok

        Bess: ACE IS BACK!!!! :D

        Bess: wait where r u 

        Nick: Did something happen? 

        Ace: hey. i just got back. where are you? 

“No,” Nancy says softly, and turns off her phone. “I am not good.” 

She needs a plan. Something to protect herself, and to spare everyone from the complications that one-sided feelings often bring. It’s been a good five weeks, if she doesn’t include the whole Ace thing. It’s been peaceful. Happy. 

She doesn’t want to ruin that. 

Nancy draws her knees up to her chest and stares out the window. I think I’ll just have to pretend. It’s either that, or avoiding Ace altogether- which would be impossible.

No more baking with Rebecca and Thom, either. That hurts more than Nancy wants to admit- but she’s already made up her mind. She’ll keep her feelings on the back burner, and do her best to keep things normal. 

With a sigh, she stands, and goes upstairs to take a much-needed nap. 

She dreams again. It’s the same one she’s been having every night for the past five weeks.

Nancy dreams of silk and cigarette smoke- because Ace always has to light one up after he has a joint- and of the ocean. The waves lap at the shore, rhythmic and quiet. It’s peaceful, here. Safe.

She dreams about a cliff, soft grass: warm, roving hands and a familiar mouth against her own. If she calls out his name in her sleep, that’s her problem.

 If she wakes up sweaty and teary-eyed, that’s her problem, too.

[bestiesenpai]

Lout - Naoya Zenin

Y’all ever seen that movie bad teacher with cameron diaz that would be me as a teacher lol also Naoya is a third year 18+ all that good jazz fun fact I’m actually allergic to minors so yeah even mentioning them breaks me out into hives, it’s disgusting they’re disgusting, would not recommend. 0/10 stars on google review and yelp also femme reader 3.3k words

Content warnings: noncon + dubcon, age gap(reader is obvi gonna be older than naoya lol), teacher x student shit, degradation, choking, noncon video taking, biting, spanking, not a mindbreak necessarily but there’s hints of that here

There was a problem child in your senior class and you weren’t even the main teacher. Stuck as a teaching aid until you could get full certification, it wasn’t even you that really had to bear the brunt of this student's bad behavior should the principal ask. Yet somehow, it was your duty to get him into line before he graduated in a few months.

Naoya Zenin couldn’t even pretend to care about his highschool reputation. All he focused on was being top of the class and making sure everyone knew who exactly was in charge. At an elite private school where his family had been generous donors for generations, Naoya’s behavior was almost expected.

Until he nearly put another student in the hospital after a fight. That was the final straw for disgruntled parents and students alike, causing a massive uproar and demanding action. And of course that call to action fell on your shoulders.

“Seriously? They stuck me with a fucking aide?” Throwing open the door to the office space assigned to you in the meeting, Naoya glared at you. It wasn’t that he particularly disliked you or anything, but he felt slighted that the school didn’t send a real teacher to talk to him.

“Have a seat, Naoya.” Standing up from the desk, you motioned to the lone armchair in the room. Walking in and slamming the door behind him, Naoya rolled his eyes as he flopped into the chair.

“Let’s make this quick, I’ve got a dive team meeting soon.” Looking out at the courtyard below, Naoya squinted against the harsh afternoon sun coming in through the windows. He wasn’t concerned with this meeting at all, wanting it to be over so he can go and impress some Olympic team scouts.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you rustled the papers on your desk. There were pages of notes on what you were supposed to say, how you were supposed to say it and a few forms Naoya had to sign as well, stating that he’d be on his best behavior until graduation.

“Naoya, you know why you’re here.” You started, unable to meet his pointed gaze as it flicked over to you. “You’re behavior has gotten out of hand and-”

“So what?” Letting his head loll back, Naoya shrugged.

“And you need to be held accountable for your actions.” You pushed through the interruption, feeling your cheeks heat up in indignation.

“Yeah? My family’s had the dean in their pocket since this school was founded, I doubt there’s much I need to be accountable for.”

“You can’t throw money at everything, you know?”

“Why do you think I take judo?”

“Naoya, please.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you mimicked him for a moment and leaned your head back. “We’re supposed to be having this meeting to reform your behavior. You did a really bad thing, you nearly killed that other student.”

“Reform? The board sent you to reform me? That’s a fucking laugh if I’ve ever heard one.” Letting out a boisterous laugh, Naoya slapped his knee. “How are you going to change me when you can’t even look me in the eye?”

“T-that’s not important.” Embarrassed, you forced yourself to make brief eye contact with him before shuffling your papers around again. “Look, can you just let me say what’s on these papers? Then you can sign them and be on your way.”

“I don’t think I will.” Crossing his arms, Naoya had the nerve to stretch his legs out and prop his feet up on the desk.

“Naoya-”

“I still think it’s hilarious that you’re here of all people. I mean, just look at you!” Gesturing vaguely to your form, Naoya laughed again. “Not even a real fucking teacher yet. Why don’t you go back to the little corner office you have and let the grown ups handle the big stuff?”

“I’m older than you!” This was bad. He was trying to rile you up and it was working. The control you already didn’t have on the situation was getting worse by the minute and both you and Naoya knew that the power balance between you was heavily skewed in his favor.

“Really? I couldn’t tell, you’ve got about as much gusto as an infant.” Giving you a once over, he sneered. “The only thing going for you is your looks and honestly, they could use a little work.”

“Hey!” Now your face was really on fire. Chuckling at your reaction, Naoya sat up a little straighter.

“Don’t get so upset, I know a pair of twins that would be more than willing to help you improve.”

“Can we just focus on the reason we’re here?” You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. The chances of saving this meeting - and your dignity - were slim to none, but you still had to try.

“Right, right, this nonsense about ‘reforming me’.” Using heavy air quotes, Naoya dragged his feet off the desk and let them land on the ground with a loud thud. Taking another look out the windows, he started to undo the tie around his neck.

“Yes. Now, you’re going to sit there and just listen, okay? It’ll only take a few minutes, then you can go on about your day.” You were foolish to believe that you could possibly do anything to Naoya, let alone change his mind on something like this. All the high hopes you’d scrounged together before this meeting were utterly crushed when Naoya stood up.

“No, you listen.” In one fell swoop, Naoya pushed all the papers off the desk, waiting as they all fell to the ground and drinking in your shocked expression. “It’s almost insulting that you think you have any control over this situation, let alone me.”

“Sit back down, Naoya.” Your voice shook terribly as he rounded the desk. You weren’t able to push your chair away fast enough, and he was able to grab onto the back and spin you to face him.

“But teacher, I don’t want to.” He mocked, wasting no time in grabbing you by the throat and forcing you to stand. Clawing at his hand was no use, Naoya’s strength greatly outmatched yours and in just a few moments he was able to manhandle your arms behind your back and use his tie to bind your wrists together.

“Let me go, Naoya!” Thrashing against the desk you were now leaning on for support, a sense of dread filled you. Even if you managed to undo the tie, there was still the issue of actually getting out of the room and away from Naoya, and if his ease in handling you told you anything it was that that task would be impossible.

“Ya know, (Y/N)- can I call you (Y/N)?” He had a stupid grin on his face, pushing you to lean more on the desk as he stood in front of you. “You’ve talked a lot about reform and changing my behavior, but the only one I see here in need of an attitude adjustment is you.”

“Naoya!” Horror ripped through you as he yanked your top open, popping the buttons on your blouse and letting out a whistle at seeing your bra.

“(Y/N), I think you’re violating dress code right now.” Clicking his tongue, Naoya pulled your bra down as far as it would go. “I’ll have to give you a demerit.” Keeping one hand on your throat, Naoya pinched and twisted your nipple between his fingers.

You wouldn’t know it, but Naoya’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. The rush of power he usually got from presiding and dominating the other students was nothing compared to the power he felt now. This wasn’t even something he dreamed about doing, but you’d just given him the golden opportunity to really test his power at this school.

Lurching forward, Naoya sunk his teeth right below your jawline, somewhere he knew you’d have a hard time covering up the mark. The pained squeal you let out went straight to his head and right between his legs, making him bite you in another place and suck harshly on the skin.

Rutting his hips against your thigh, Naoya groaned as he trailed his mouth down your neck, leaving deep teeth marks that he knew would sting when you were alone at night later. Putting one of your nipples in his mouth, Naoya rolled it between his teeth and let drool drip out of his mouth and down your skin.

“Stop it, Naoya! Let me go!” There were strained tears in your eyes that refused to be blinked away. A flurry of slurred protests left your lips as his hand tightened on your neck, enough to have you gasping for air.

“Not until I teach you a little lesson.” He growled, leveling you with a single look. Keeping his grip firm until your eyes rolled back in your head, Naoya let go when he was sure you wouldn’t try to speak again.

Coughing and spluttering, there was little you could do with your fuzzy brain to stop Naoya from turning you around and bending you over the desk. Your face pressed into the hard surface and the wood dug into your face and hips as they were pushed forward.

Grabbing onto your bottoms, Naoya pulled them down until they were at your ankles, unceremoniously ripping off your panties and no doubt shoving them into his pocket. Your heated skin was exposed to the air of the room, making goosebumps pebble on your flesh.

“Ow!” The first slap to your ass was hard and unforgiving, making the tears in your eyes finally fall. “S-stop!” You tried to move your body away from the impending pain but it was no use, Naoya hit your other cheek almost as soon as you started to move.

“What’s wrong, teacher? Never had a bit of corporal punishment?” Laughing haughtily, Naoya grabbed your stinging skin in his hand.

“Ow, ow- N-naoya please, let me go!”

“Not a chance!” Slapping both cheeks in tandem, Naoya could feel the adrenaline going through him. There was no limit to what he could do in this moment, he could walk away and leave you like this, stranded for someone to find. Or, and he liked this option more, he could keep going, and save a few keepsakes for himself.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Naoya opened the camera with no hesitation. Taking a video of your heaving body, groping your ass and hips, spreading your cheeks apart to reveal your asshole, Naoya tried to keep the groan coming forward low.

“W-what’re you doing?” You could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, and your blood ran cold upon realizing what he was doing.

“Say hi.” Shoving the camera in your face, Naoya grabbed your chin to keep you from turning away. “Smile for the camera, (Y/N), don’t cry!”

“No, no, no…” Your career is over. Your life is over. Everything you’d worked so hard for, your education, this job - it was going to be taken away if Naoya decided to share the video. You’d be blacklisted from ever working in a school again and you would definitely face legal trouble for being in this situation with a student.

Leaving you for a moment, Naoya propped his phone up on the windowsill, making sure the camera was capturing the both of you as he went back over. Giving a cheeky little wave to the camera, Naoya turned his attention back to you.

Pushing a hand between your legs, Naoya chuckled darkly at the slick that met the tips of his fingers. It was a miniscule amount, but enough that he could mock you over it. Dragging his fingers through your folds, he presented the fingers to you.

“Who knew Ms. (Y/N) was such a fucking slut?” Rubbing his fingers together, Naoya held his hand up to the camera. “Ms. (Y/N) likes it when I’m rough with her.”

“No...no I don’t.” Sniffling pathetically, you shook your head as best you could.

“Don’t lie, the proof is right here.” Wiping his fingers across your cheek, he made a show of pushing your legs further apart and putting his hand back on your cunt. Pinching your clit, Naoya bit his lip as you let out a high pitch whine.

He knew he’d meet too much resistance if he tried to shove his cock in straight away, so Naoya took it upon himself to prep you a bit. Rubbing your clit in tight circles, he leered over you and watched as you struggled to keep whimpers at bay.

“Don’t be shy, let the camera know how much you like this. We already know how much of a slut you are.”

“I don’t- I don’t like this.”

“Hm? Then why are you getting wet?”

“T-thats-” He had you beat there, the glide of his fingers was getting easier and a distinct wet sound was starting to take shape.

“No need to be shy, teacher. You can tell me you’re just a dumb fucking slut.” Pressing his lips against your ear, Naoya looked at the camera. “I know you see the camera, say it nice and loud for me.”

“No.” Shaking your head, a sharp cry ripped through you as Naoya hit your thigh. From the force of his slap you knew there’d be a hand printed welt on your leg.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m a- a dumb fucking slut!” You sobbed and the strength nearly left your legs entirely. If not for Naoya holding you up you would have tumbled to the floor in shame.

“Now was that so hard?” Standing up straight, Naoya was done stalling. Pushing a finger inside you, he deemed you ready enough to take him and undid the belt on his pants, letting them fall to his ankles.

Taking a second to himself, Naoya ground his clothed cock against your body. This opportunity was something to cherish and he was going to savor every moment of it. Taking a deep breath as pleasure made his spine ripple, Naoya pushed down his underwear and grabbed his cock.

“Teacher, I have a bit of a problem, won’t you fix it?” Naoya teased, rubbing his cock along your slit.

“Wait Naoya, you need protection.”

“Shut up. You’d be lucky to bear a child with Zenin blood, so count this as a gift from me to you.” Putting the tip in, Naoya let his head fall back and gaze down his nose at where your cunt was already sucking him in.

Ignoring your protests, Naoya pushed his cock in all the way, quickly bottoming out and nestling his hips snugly against yours. Planting his hands on the desk to steady himself, he had to take a few deep breaths before beginning to move again.

Putting a hand on the back of your neck to keep you from moving too much, Naoya pulled his hips back, looking at the way his cock glistened with your slick. Breathing hard through his nose, he pushed back in and started a steady rhythm.

“Shit, you’re so tight.” He grunted behind clenched teeth, the hold on your neck getting tighter as he focused on moving his body and not cumming too soon. The clap of his hips against your ass was music to his ears, a sound Naoya was sure not to forget any time soon.

The shame of being fucked by a student was heavy enough on your mind but the shame knowing you were starting to enjoy it was even worse. Keeping your eyes tightly closed, there was little you could do as Naoya pounded into you, the full length of his cock hitting places inside you that hadn’t ever been touched before by previous partners.

“Fuck!” The shout that came out of you was unrestrained, you couldn’t contain yourself as Naoya put his fingers back on your clit. Humiliation covered you like a thick blanket, almost choking you as much as Naoya was.

“I knew you’d come around, (Y/N). No one can resist a Zenin.” Smirking at your scrunched up face, Naoya wrapped his hand fully around your throat and pulled you up until your back was nearly flush with him.

The new angle had a loud moan coming from you and Naoya was close to cumming as well, he could feel his toes start to curl and tingle. His mind was starting to get foggy, and the hold he had was starting to slip from the sweat building up between you.

“Make sure not to waste what I give you, okay? It’s special.”

“You have to pull out, Naoya. You have to!” You couldn’t get pregnant by a student, especially one as high profile as him. Humming against your ear, Naoya shook his head.

“No, I don’t think I will. This is the last part of your attitude adjustment, I need to make sure you remember it.”

“N-naoya- pull out-” You stuttered as your orgasm washed over you, making your back arch and angling your ass perfectly for Naoya to cum as well. Making sure his cock was as deep as possible, Naoya let you fall back onto the desk as he rutted into you.

Biting you on the shoulder one last time, Naoya stayed inside you until his breathing went back to normal and his cock went soft. He had sweat clinging to his body and his uniform was wrinkled beyond belief when he stood up.

Fixing his clothes, Naoya undid the tie around your wrists and watched your arms limply fall to the side. There was no doubt you were sore, he’d given you enough marks to last a week. Smoothing a hand over your still stinging thigh, Naoya stepped away from you and laughed as you fell to the floor.

“Ya know, maybe this meeting was beneficial after all. Wouldn’t you say, teach?” Toeing at your spent body curled up on the floor, Naoya drank you in one last time before going to his phone and ending the video.

Gathering his things and answering a few texts, Naoya grinned as you hobbled to your feet. You avoided looking at him, opting instead to try salvage your own clothes and make sense of the world again. The sun was still shining brightly in the sky and if you held your breath you could hear the distant sound of students on a baseball field.

“Well, I’ll be going now.” Naoya threw open the door, startling you.

“Wait.” Reaching out to him, your eyes went straight to the phone in his hands. “That video-”

“Don’t worry, I won’t show it to anyone, I promise!” Crossing his fingers for dramatic effect, Naoya tucked it away into his back pocket. “Stay out of my way for the rest of the school year, and I’ll delete it when I graduate.”

You couldn’t trust his words and you both knew it. There was no way Naoya would let this be a one time thing, now that he’s gotten a taste for it. He would only continue to take what he wanted from you, making your life hell until he left the school - he wouldn’t let you leave before him.

“Fine.” But it was all you had to go on, so you nodded your head and accepted your fate.

“Fine.” Nodding curtly, Naoya stepped out into the hall with a wide smirk on his face. “See you in class later, Ms. (Y/N).”