#narrator talks in KOREAN

[whateveritsmyshed]

어.... 급 멘션 죄송하지만.... @orange-candy 

오렌지님 이번에 캐릭터 라이선싱 페어 가세요? 전 마지막날인 일요일만 갈 수 있어서 말이죠...!

[satorena]

HOTLINE BL☆NG!

summ. wine nights and free will? a recipe for disaster— such as matching your ex on a corny dating app and having him in your bed within that same hour. . .

cw. eventual smut. 18+. fem!reader. alcohol/substance consumption. ex boyfriend!gojo. mild toxicity. breakup & makeup. girlhood ft jjk girlies. unreliable narrator sorta. sukuna slander. mild impact play. mild asphyxiation. oral (f). fíngering. backshōts. reader is a little questionable. self sabotaging my beloved. lowkey angsty. @/3aem on tumblr for art creds. most of these stories are real shit i’ve heard/experienced LOL. can you tell i’ve never used tinder a day in my life? 16.4k words. . oops.

rena’s note. @yung-notorious and her filthy mind. . .

“you like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do.”

god, you do.

you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that had you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

friday nights were meant to decompose after a long week. a cute tradition you followed— sipping on moscato wine and munching on takeout with your homegirls while the lamest horror movie played as background noise. the skincare bit happened every third friday of the month, which fell on this particular night, thin layers of korean products lathering at your skins while fluffy headbands sat atop your hairlines, keeping stray hairs away.

it was an easy way of recapping all of your week’s worth of bullshit and listing each girl’s new lineup of men of the season.

girlhood.

“i’m cool off men for a whileee,” you sigh, placing your third wine glass on the coffee table. you tuck your legs back onto the couch, propping your head into your palm. you watch as shoko, who’s seated on the floor, grabs your glass and fills it with another unsolicited round. you narrow your eyes at her, “after the shit kuna pulled— girl, slow down!”

“don’t watch me,” shoko chews at her unlit blunt tucked in her teeth, lifting an arm above her head to pass you your refill. despite the slight spin of the room, you accept the cup against better judgment, “keep talking. what the fuck did he do now?”

“you mean what didn’t he do,” seated in the pink bean bag rested on the floor, utahime quips. in between her teeth sits a wooden stick, drizzled in the honey-like wax residue she smeared over her shin. “i woulda left his ass the second i found out he— FUCK— lived with his mama at his big age.”

as utahime soothes her smoothened skin, yuki leans over the coffee table to grab at the blunt passed over to her. “y/n baby, you know i love you,” she starts off, taking a deep inhale before ghosting the smoke. you can tell she’s about the cook the shit out of you, “but come on— he lives in his parents’ basement. was that not a red flag in itself? is that seriously the kind of man you see yourself marrying.”

“nevermind the fact he’s pushing thirty and still unemployed,” shoko throws in her two cents, takeout back in her lap as she breaks open a new set of chopsticks, “he’s one more ‘tap in’ away from getting caught by the feds.”

“how much y’all wanna bet he’s at the club right now as we speak?” it’s a rhetorical question, but utahime pauses her waxing to check. with sticky fingers, she taps away at her phone, and with a knowing smile she yelps, tilting her screen towards you three, “aha!— and there goes the infamous money spread.”

“cornballllll.” shoko cringes.

you’re filled with dread and shame at the sight presented. god— every single chance you gave this man, he spun around and somehow does worse. it’s not like the two of you were together— never officially, but the sole fact that you’ve let this man treat you as if you were his girl haunts you. you’ve let countless of bullshit slide all because his stroke game came second within all the men you’ve dealt with.

the only thing you’ll give him besides a being a good lay is that you’ve never had issues concerning other women. he’s a very transparent guy— you’ve yet to receive a “hey girlie. . .” text from anybody. though, it isn’t like either of you have ever dropped any hard launches. it was mostly content that only close friends could catch onto— the interior design of his car, your latest set of nails, subtle shots of his tattoos, your purses and jewelry. nothing evident but pretty obvious to those who know.

if sukuna was still cool with him, however. . . yeah, he’d definitely know, considering the fact he purchased most of the purses you own. that’s excluding the fact your favorite necklace, the one with your name engraved, the one you always wear, was also bought by him.

“move,” you push utahime’s hand away from your peripheral, slumping further into the couch. embarrassment floods you yet again, and you drown it away with more wine. much to your chagrin, they spare no mercy as they giggle at your pout, “not too much on me— shoko, you’re literally the one who put me on!”

“don’t do that,” she rolls her eyes, picking at the orange chicken on her platter. you have half a mind at chucking your drink at her. “all i told you was to fuck him. nobody said anything about keeping him around.”

“instructions: unclear,” utahime giggles, smearing another coat of wax mixture onto her calves. “she’s now a year deep into a situationship with a man who files for disability checks to blow on parlays.”

you spring up in your seat, your wine nearly spilling on shoko in your excitement, “shit, i never told you guys!”

“told us what?” yuki kills the blunt in the ash tray, and stretches an arm to grab at her food. she knocks over a few emptied bottles as they roll on the carpet, and winces when one of them knock at shoko’s knee, “my fault girl.”

shoko clicks her tongue, but you loop your arms around her neck as you proceed, “before you bitches attacked me for literally just being a girl,” you decide ignore the way they all groan, “i was trying to tell you all why i finally ended shit with him.”

“well don’t hold back now!” utahime eggs on.

“guess what i found out,” you set the empty wine glass back onto the table. you’re most likely gonna need your hands in this specific conversation, “he bet thirty thousand dollars on the super bowl game— and lost.”

the room falls quiet. utahime pauses in her ripping, yuki drops her noodles from her chopsticks and shoko nearly chokes on her wine. amidst it all, three pairs of eyes slowly crawl to meet your gaze, in complete disbelief at what you’d told them.

“are you deadass?” shoko speaks first, her facial expression almost incredulous. her eyes are teary from her food slipping through the wrong tube. “you’re playing, right? right?”

“she has to be. . . this is a new level of low even for him.” yuki shakes her head, most likely in attempts to give him the benefit of the doubt. you don’t blame her— no sane person would drop thirty grand on a fucking betting app of all things— and on top of that, lose.

“i wish i was?!” you groan, still upset, “the worst part is that he told me that money was supposed to be deposit money for a condo he’d been,” you raise your fingers in air quotes, “looking into.”

“you know what though? this doesn’t actually surprise me,” utahime laughs, as if she hadn’t been in a daze for a solid minute. she rips at the strip, and winces, “didn’t i just say he was getting checks to place on parlays? frank gallagher looking ass.”

“but thirty thousand?” yuki emphasizes, blinking rapidly in her disbelief, “what the fuck would possess somebody to bet thirty grand on anything?”

“grown ass man, by the way.” shoko mumbles mindlessly, before chowing down some more food. you can’t find it in yourself to disagree.

utahime nods, blowing a puff of air, “on god, bro. don’t he got mortgages to pay off or some shit?”

yuki shoots her a deadpanned look, “girl, with what house.”

and that had been your final straw with him. not the fact he lived in his mother’s basement despite clearly having money to rent out a place, or the fact he was still flexing bands he allegedly has on the gram— but blowing all your money on a fucking football game. and losing. you do respect yourself, as much as these girls believe you don’t. a man with no ambitions and no money? you need to run and far.

“i’ll miss his dick though.” you pout, the alcohol already coursing through your body. being wine drunk always made you horny, that was a known fact, and letting go of one of your greatest eaters was not on your bingo card. naturally, the girls roll their eyes at your antics, “boo me all you want— he horsed me the fuck around in bed.”

“you used to say the same shit about gojo,” utahime points out, rising to her feet as she grabs the used strips in her hold, before circling around the couch, “and look how that ended up.”

technically. . . she wasn’t exactly wrong but that still stung a bit. “hime, seriously?” shoko rolls her eyes, and you feel her hand rubbing at your foot soothingly. her motions are a little stiff but you appreciate the sentiment, “we get you don’t fuck with him but he was still her man. and basically my friend, kinda.”

you hear her wince in the kitchen, followed by footsteps, “right. . . sorry girlie.” she runs back to you after throwing the waste away, and kisses at your temple. she doesn’t comment on the pout on your lips. “i didn’t mean it. . . okay maybe i did, but i’m still sorry!”

your history with gojo was complicated. you’d met him through shoko in your third year of college, at a kickback party hosted by his people. it’d been an invite only thing, but shoko had brought you along as a plus one, and you both instantly connected. as far as you were concerned, it was technically supposed to be a sneaky link vibe, but you soon learned gojo was anything but sneaky. in fact, he was so vocal in him wanting you, that he actually did end up getting you a couple months later.

he’s a year older than you, therefore he’d graduated a year ahead. the separation in itself was something you hadn’t looked forward to at all, but he had found himself a condo downtown, not too far from your residency, therefore seeing each other hadn’t been an issue. he always made it clear he wanted to see you— even after gruelling nine to five shifts in the office. his words matched his actions, driving you up to his place since yours had a stupid curfew policy for visitors.

(you’ve kept him in your dorm numerous times.) (your closet has suffered enough with his lanky ass.)

the first year worked out for the better. he was still welcomed to the parties you invited him to, he made time in his schedule help you with your studies, planned consist dates and even took you out on trips. he was physically, mentally and emotionally present— and you genuinely believed he would be your forever man when you’d introduced him to your parents at your graduation ceremony and he seemed thrilled. they adored him— and that says a lot considering they hated all your other exes. with good reason, but still.

it’d been the honeymoon phase until it wasn’t.

you expected arguments. those are inevitable in relationships, but with every argument he grew distant. you were now both graduated students juggling between jobs, rent and a relationship. it was a lot— your schedules never seemed to align which jumbled into multiple failed dates, which further escalated into more arguments. it hadn’t always been him, you could agree you were at fault too. that post graduation depression spiralled worst than you’d anticipated— the fear of falling behind when your boyfriend had already been successful so early into his career entirely consuming.

he reassured you plenty, but you could see it in his face as he spoke to you— he was exhausted. of work. of life. of you. he had bigger fish to fry than dealing with a workaholic girlfriend with low self esteem. the bigger the promotion, the less your value. you’d seen this play out before— it was less i love you’s and more hours in the office. less dinner dates and more project plannings.

the more time you spent by yourself, the more your mind began overthinking. you had no place in his life anymore. you didn’t resent him for it— you wish nothing but the best for him. he deserves to be successful in life, and he’s already so close to it. your slacking behind is nothing more than dead weight in his rise to the top.

the breakup had been anticipated. you’d broken up with him first. he never asked you to explain why. he nodded, never uttering a word. it’d been the first time you’d seen him in weeks. you kept it simple, “we should break up.” and he kept it even simpler, a curt bounce of the head in agreement. as quick as he’d entered your apartment, he left.

and that’d honestly been it. you’d been together for four years, and broken up for a year and a half. after all this time, you still don’t resent him for it. he made the rational choice in prioritizing himself and his future, and you simply didn’t fit in it. it took you quite some time to work on yourself as well, and you’re honestly satisfied with where you are in life. the breakup clearly worked in favour for you both.

it sucks that he was genuinely the only man you ever cared about. the only man you can confidently say you loved.

“look— now you got her thinking about him!” shoko complains, chucking the nearest thing— a throw pillow, at utahime. it hits her square in the face, to which she lets out a muffled oof! “way to fucking go.”

you blink out of your thoughts. well that’s embarrassing, you got caught up in the past again. you lift yourself from the slumping position you’d unintentionally fallen into the midst of daydreaming, “shit, my bad. got flashbacks to that time he ate me off the bone after his first promotion.”

“yo, what?!” yuki hollers, falling into a fit of laughter. shoko rolls her eyes so much you’re thinking it’ll get stuck at the back of her skull and utahime physically cringed from head to toe. “so fucking unserious— here we are, worried about your ass and here you go, upset you lost your best eater.”

not exactly, though there was some truth to her words. gojo was your best eater, and nobody’s topped him since. he really did tongue fuck you that night like you were the boss who raised his pay. but it wasn’t just the sex you missed— you wholeheartedly missed him. the closest thing to a soul bond you’ve experienced, now gone.

they don’t need to know all that though.

“oh come on,” utahime groans, picking at her nails. trust her to find any reason to slander your ex. for what reason? she’s never told you other than him annoying the fuck out of her, “he could not have been that great. it can’t be anything you can’t find elsewhere— plenty of men eat pussy.”

“okay but do they enjoy eating it or is it more of a duty thing?” yuki points out, rolling her thumb on her lighter mindlessly. she watches the flame arise, casting a soft glow on the sheet stuck to her face, “because you can definitely tell the difference. one eats for foreplay, the other eats for his own pleasure.”

shoko hums in agreement, still poking at her plate, “a man versus a munch,” and with a beat of silence, she takes a deep sigh, throwing her head back, “i should call him.”

“no! no you should not,” utahime laughs, before shooting you a glance. your smile quickly falters and is switched with a look of confusion as she points a nail filer in your direction, “and you,” you cock a brow, “stop thinking about him. we’re supposed to be independent women, y’all need to stand the fuck up.”

“hime, please, you were literally just complaining to your close friends about your latest dry spell.”

“irrelevant!” she dismisses yuki, waving a hand absentmindedly. you don’t see how it’s irrelevant exactly, but you let her proceed. “we are sexy, successful and strong women. stop relying on the past and focus on the future. there are bitches that fought for their lives for the freedom we have! you could literally get dick anywhere— they actually have apps for it, if you didn’t know—”

“so tell us, o’mighty one,” shoko cuts her off, “are you suggesting we download tinder to relieve our stress?”

she remains quiet, and you can see the gears churning in her head. you’re about ninety nine percent positive shoko was fucking around, but the scrunch in your friend’s eyebrows tells you she’s seriously contemplating the idea, “. . yes actually.” she finally decides.

“hime. . .” shoko groans, but is effectively cut off when she springs up to her knees to grab at her phone.

“no, seriously, think about it!” she scrolls through her phone like a maniac, searching through the app store and typing the name in. you all watch her incredulously, her enthusiasm in the matter as if she hadn’t been preaching about feminism half a minute ago, “i’ve met some of my best lays in college through tinder. i haven’t been on this app in years though.”

you don’t see why not. you were pretty tipsy and would never have agreed to this under typical conditions, however it could be regarded as a bonding activity. you also haven’t been on tinder since before your last relationship, and the shit sukuna put you through this past year was enough to make you want to deal with literally anything else.

“i’m down.” you pull out your phone, and shoko may have gotten whiplash with how quick she snaps her head back to eye you. you shrug your shoulders, “we don’t have to take this shit seriously— god knows i’m not entertaining anybody on this app for real.”

“exactly!” utahime nods, walking up to scoot herself beside you. she nudges at shoko with her foot, who flicks at her toes to keep her away, “it’s just for shits and giggles.”

“i’m definitely not doing this shit,” yuki crawls to sit at the couch’s feet, right at shoko’s side, and grabs at the remote sitting uselessly on the table, “but i will be watching you both embarrass yourselves.”

“the only other bitch with common sense here.” shoko sprawls her legs onto yuki’s lap. she receives a slap at the back of her head by utahime, and naturally she slaps the hand right back. “can’t stand that little fucker sometimes.”

“aweee, love you too!” she blows a kiss at her to which she receives a middle finger. you snort, eyes glued on your screen as you redownload that forsaken app back into your phone.

you’d probably regret it in the morning, but that was something saturday you would have to deal with. as of right now, with white wine in your system, logic was not an option. you were learning to live more in the moment, and apparently that starts with the corniest dating app in the world.

it’s not like you’d magically stumble upon your ex on the platform. now wouldn’t that be something? ha!

there’s no fucking way.

this had to be one big, fat cosmic joke. a cruel prank, even. and if it was, then the universe had a twisted sense of humour. you still don’t believe it— were the girls in on this? this kind of shit didn’t just happen to anybody.

it took about a total of twenty minutes between logging back into your old account, updating your password and bio, and swiping left on passing profiles until you landed on it. on. . . him.

you blink slowly. your phone is shaky beneath your unstable hands, and you’re pretty sure you’ve been holding your breath in far longer than recommended for the average human. it’s quiet as fuck in the room— despite the three girls huddled over your shoulders, sticking their noses in all directions to get a clearer view of your illuminating screen— almost as if to confirm if what they were seeing was truly was they were seeing, as if this was all too fucking ironic to be true.

there’s a knot of anxiousness that simmers in the pits of your stomach. you’re pretentiously aware that even the slightest movement— one wrong click or swipe, would ultimately change everything. there was too much at risk here. “oh there’s no fucking way. . .” shoko speaks up first.

utahime leans in impossibly closer, a few centimetres away from fully emerging with your iphone as her nose scrunches, “way too sexy? fuck around and find out? god, he’s still so corny, i swear.”

your eyes trail over his biography, curiously. that “way2sexy” had been an inside joke you both shared years ago— back when drake had dropped one of gojo’s favourite albums, certified loverboy. he overplayed the shit out of that song when it came out, so much that you received multiple complaints from your RA for “public disturbance”, but he swore it worked as daily affirmations for him in the same sense crystals and tarot cards worked for spiritual girlies. you called him corny for it, but before you knew it, it’d shown up in your spotify wrapped the following year.

rapid memories of morning rays of light peeking through blinds, a groggy yet mysteriously clear “alexa, play way 2 sexy” as you fixed your sheets and lit your candles, fighting over who gets to spit toothpaste residue first, hearty laughter to fumbled lyrics, shared minty kisses paired with one “gimme one more” too many.

the ache clenching at your heart is hard to ignore.

“i would give him the benefit of the doubt in believing he hasn’t updated his account,” yuki draws out, eyes narrowing as a finger sticks out to point, “but his age matches. emoticons as a grown man. . . no shade though.”

his age did match. inside joke aside, none of it was adding up. if he already had his account set up years ago, had he willingly changed his bio to one of your most infamous gags after the breakup? if you were to swipe right right now, would it instantly match? you don’t think you want to figure it out— both possible outcomes scaring you shitless.

“should i swipe left?” you speak uncharacteristically softly, torn between the idea of tucking your tail inwards and running away from the opportunity or your typical it is what it is mentality.

“yes! obviously— mmmph?!”

“do you want to?” shoko, with a pillow stuffing an agitated utahime in the face, counters. between all the girls, she seemed to understand you the most, granted her own relationship with the man. you’re sure he had given her his own version of their breakup, how you’d opened the doors to endless opportunities for him, had given him the easy way out. you never bothered asking her, afraid of the illusion you’d created to shield yourself shattering, “only you have the answer to that.”

“i honestly don’t know,” you sigh, joints in your thumb aching from hovering over your screen for too long. swiping left meant completely abandoning any the possibility of the two of you as one. you don’t want that responsibility weighted on your shoulders again, “what if he’s moved on? the shit that’ll do to my ego if i swipe right and he passes on me?”

shoko finally grants her friend the permission of speech, freeing her off the couch decoration, though the look she gives her serves as a warning to tread lightly. with a heavy breath, utahime releases a puff, “i’d crashout, just sayin’.”

“but what if he hasn’t moved on?” yuki poses, and apparently that was all the confirmation you needed to swipe. fuck pride— pride wasn’t going to get your back blown out. pride wasn’t going to help you get the love of your life back. pride can go fuck itself.

“wait—”

utahime is cut off again, however, not by shoko but tinder itself. the notification pings loudly, resonating in depths of your ear cavity and shoots straight to your chest. you can feel your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. it’s so silent you can hear a pin drop, and the way your gut churns gives away the end result to your spontaneity.

it’s a match.

“well. . . shit.” shoko slumps back into the couch nonchalantly, and you don’t need to see her to know she’s sporting a smirk. you do feel her knee knock into yours. fake ass idgafer.

you’re no better, biting down your bottom in order to suppress the smile itching to spread. a year later and the sole idea that he’d already came across the same mindset as you, willing to give whatever it was that needed a second shot, had you beyond delusional. god, you need help.

“look at youuu, cheesin’ and shit!” yuki pokes at your cheek and you swat her hand away, ultimately caving into the smile. fuck yeah you were geeked— it’s hard carrying a nonchalant attitude when you were an honest to god, soft hearted lovergirl. if you played your cards right, with a few lash bats and glossy lips, you’d be getting dicked down in no time.

“i’m gonna be sick.” utahime deadpans.

“and i’m getting dickkk,” you sing, jumping to your feet as you stood on the couch. you turn around, hands clutching onto the headrest, giving your ass a cute shake as it rotates in circular motions. you feel shoko’s hand tapping it encouragingly, her phone illuminating as it records while she rests her head on your moving thighs. you hear yuki cackle, pulling out her phone to film as well. you giggle, “rip that pussy!”

“ayeeee!” they complete the lyrics, and the vibes are restored yet again, girly giggles filling the room. when your legs begin to feel wobbly, you stop your twerking to plop yourself right back down, leaning your head onto shoko’s shoulder.

you hear her click her tongue as the recording of your ass graces her screen, and she groans, “gojo is one lucky bastard— he can’t handle all that.”

he most definitely can, and has. you’ll opt with shrugging in the meantime.

“with that being said,” utahime jumps in, crossing her legs, “what’s the next move here? you reaching out first?”

your lips straighten as your mind reflects. if you still know him as well as you think you do, he’s definitely going to text you first as soon as he sees the green light. sure, you were anxious for a reply, desperate to check what his temperature was— but you’d already sacrificed a grand amount of dignity just swiping right. he could do take on the role of texting first.

“nah, i’m almost a hundred percent sure he’ll—”

ping!

you all whip your heads to the source of the sound. your phone. the screen shines as it undergoes facial recognition, and exposes the messenger. from tinder. gojo. sending you a message. just as you’d expected.

you can’t help the cocky smile, eyes trailing at their perplexed faces, “—text me first.”

naturally, the girls are impressed. even you are— that timing? would it be insane to genuinely be considering gojo might honest to god be your soulmate? yuki blows a puff of air, followed by a laugh, “your pussy has to be magical cause what the fuck?”

“ladies and gentlemen,” utahime stands to her feet, fisting her hand into an imaginary microphone, and addresses her fake crowd. in the hostiest voice she can muster, she curtsies as she continues in comedic fashion, “miss pussy fairy in thee flesh.”

“put a stamp on it.” shoko shakes her head in acknowledgment, laying her own phone in her lap as she claps. yuki places two fingers in her mouth and whistles at you, to which you rise to your own feet and dramatically place a hand over your chest in faux humility.

“oh please!” you flatter yourself, tucking your hair behind your ear. you smile behind your palm, your improv classes in high school coming in clutch, “this is too much— thank you! thank you deeply.”

“girl, byeee,” utahime breaks character first, giggling as she sits back onto the abandoned bean bag. you mimic her motions, as she pops open a stray water bottle and swallows a big gulp, “open his text! i wanna see what he said!”

you’re in the same boat, thumbing at your phone to unlock it and open the app. naturally the girls hover over you yet again, just as eager to see how he finally broke the no contact phase. it took him less than three minutes to slide in your messages, as the option had finally been granted.

right as your thumb hovers the message, a hum draws out your throat, “how much y’all wanna bet it’s something corny?” you tease, something close to a hunch giving it away. seeing as your assumptions were deemed accurate just a few minutes ago, the only way he’d think of clearing the ice would be with something plausibly lame.

“open itttt!” utahime ushers you, hands clamping at your shoulders. you roll your eyes, letting her dramatics sway your body back and forth before she lets up. you let out a sigh, and open the unanswered message.

and just as you’d predicted. . .

@gsatoru: they say shooters shoot 👀

“oh brotherrrr,” the girls groan in sync, and even you can’t stop the cringe that stiffens your face. if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact he still doesn’t act his age. he needs to let those college days go.

“now, what’d i tell y’all.” you tut, leaving out the part of nostalgia simmering deep and warmly in your bones at his predictability. ever the goofy he was, gojo satoru. jeez.

“i was really found myself rooting for him too,” shoko sighs, rising to her feet. she dusts at her lap then stretches her limbs lazily, “i’m gonna go pee— hime, i swear to god, don’t take my seat.” she doesn’t look back to flip her off when she hears utahime blow raspberries her way. to which, against shoko’s wishes, leaps over to snatch her seat.

both you and yuki give her a deadpanned look, but yuki voices out your thoughts, “she’s gonna get on your ass and i’m not helping you out.”

“girl, boo.” utahime rolls her eyes, “more importantly, what the fuck do you answer to that?” her nail taps at your phone screen, peering at you expectantly through lashes.

you consider your options. do you reciprocate the same energy or do you call him out on his corniness? matching his vibe would be like starting off a blank slate— a new start, new conversations, something almost superficial. like a fling you meet at the bars for one night of fuckery that you regret the next morning. but calling him out would induce in falling into familiar patterns— calling him a cornball while he attempts to sweet talk you, old conversations brought up, risking broken boundaries for the sake of reminiscing.

decisions, decisions, decisions.

“i’m thinking taking the easy way out.” you nod your head, readying your fingers as you type your response out.

you miss the exchanged glances between utahime and yuki, too busy trying to format how to come off playful but not forgetful. flirty but not desperate. come pull up on me but demurely. well you’ll be damned— in what world had you ever expected second guessing yourself for gojo?

“what’s the easy way out?” yuki asks, and you hit send. where this confidence comes from is beyond you, but any error you make you can blame on the wine (you’re hardly fazed but it’s nice to have something to pin the blame on instead of yourself) (old habits die hard).

you tilt your phone, holding it out as you watch the girls’ brows furrow, eyes scanning over the screen. when their faces contort into a look of amusement mixed with horror, a girly giggle escapes your throat.

@yourstrulyname: sukuna ryomen wsp with you?? 🙈

“you didn’t!” utahime hollers, her laughter so intense she doubled over to clutch at her stomach. yuki sways her body back and forth as she finds herself in a hysterical fit as well. “goddd, i would kill to see the look on his face right now.”

“yooo, that’s evil.” the blonde swipes at a tear. “woulda had me deactivating the whole account.”

“who’s deactivating?” shoko pops back in, not without slapping utahime upside the head. she ignores the way utahime complains in favour to swipe a nearly emptied bottle to pour.

“it’s not even that bad,” you defend yourself, flashing her your screen as she installs herself in the bean bag utahime once occupied. her eyes squint as she reads the conversation, nearly bulging out their sockets when she catches your message, “nahhh, don’t give me that!”

“if he gives you the time of day after that,” shoko swirls the wine in her glass, snorting, “he must really still be in love with you.”

“he should know i’m playing. . .” you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince the girls, him or yourself. you really were just joking around— albeit a terrible joke, but one regardless! sukuna was officially removed from the roster, a financially irresponsible man never standing a chance against you, “right?”

“don’t ask us?” utahime chimes in, uselessly, to which you roll your eyes. well shit, maybe you should double text? let him know you were just fooling around, trying to check temperatures and establish the mood. your phone pings again, and all unnecessary thoughts are thrown out the window.

@gsatoru: oh so you got jokes now?

as you’re about to let him know you’ve been had jokes, but never the goofy type, you see the bubbles pop up, a telltale that he’s got more to tell you. you let him have it, already having possibly fumbled the mission before even starting. it feels like an eternity and a half waiting on his text, the girls having huddled over you yet again, just as curious to see what he had to counter with.

@gsatoru: can’t be a joke if the guy had you outside on valentine’s day tho. stk steakhouse? really girl?

your jaw falls slack. you watch with burning eyes at your screen as your built up suspicions were ultimately confirmed. okay, so those two were still somehow connected. you didn’t like to question male friendships, the lack of loyalty not one you’d ever understand. god forbid you ever started fucking with utahime’s ex of many years.

“wait. .” said girl speaks up, drawing the word out as she processes his answer. her tongue rolls around in her mouth, face cringing as the next words follow, “i can’t lie, he kinda ate you up.”

“just sassy as fuck,” shoko laughs, and it’s one of those giggles reserved to shit she honestly finds hilarious, “really girl is crazy. all comfortably like he’s one of your homegirls.”

“now what’s wrong with stk’s?” yuki grumbles, picking at her nails with a childish pout on her lips, “everybody isn’t born with a silver spoon plugged up our asses. god, i can’t stand rich people.”

you don’t bother answering the girls, already aware he chewed with his response, that he’s as sassy as he was years ago and that he had found that particular steakhouse shabby despite it being a fucking steakhouse. these were things you already knew. your thumbs proceed before your mind can register,

@yourstrulyname: been keeping tabs on me?

“you don’t look too happy,” shoko pokes at your cheek. there’s an ache creasing in your forehead, and you relax the furrow of your brows. you’re not exactly upset, just a bit on edge with his approach— you can’t tell whether he’s on tens or not. whether he’s genuinely joking around or not.

“i’m fine.” you poke back, and she nods. she ushers the other girls to pick a new movie to play, and you clock this is her way of allowing you some privacy between exes. you shoot her a grateful look, and she offers a sly wink. you’ll make sure to update her on whatever happens as soon as it’s over.

you switch your ringer off, and open his new message.

@gsatoru: hard not to when he posts you like he has smth to prove

@yourstrulyname: who said it was me?

you knew it was you. you knew he knew it was you. but still, you wanted to hear it from him yourself, wanted to know if he really was keeping tabs on you ever since the breakup. it’d help ease your mind with unanswered questions.

@gsatoru: you mean besides the bags and jewelry i got you?

@gsatoru: your build was a dead giveaway. could recognize you blindfolded in a room full of women

you bit your lip. you could work with this text, play around with it and see if shit flips. would he fall for the bait? you’ll start off slow, create an opening and see if he decides to indulge.

@yourstrulyname: like what you saw?

he answers instantly and your heart sinks a bit.

@gsatoru: of course

@gsatoru: you’re as a beautiful as the day you left me

is that how he saw it? you assume you did leave him in a practical sense, but there was no way he hadn’t seen it coming miles away. you had both been caught up in your lives, the additional stress of romance an unwanted factor in the rise of your careers. so yeah, you’d given him the opportunity to leave. it’s not as if he fought it anyway, so did you really leave him if he’d closed the door on his merry way out?

this was starting to get personal. toeing between the line of uncharted territory and familiarity. everything you didn’t want— debriefing the logic behind the underwhelming breakup on tinder of all places was out of the fucking question.

@yourstrulyname: you still cool with sukuna?

@gsatoru: something like that

@gsatoru: he’s slimey as fuck for sliding on you tho

you figured as much. you couldn’t imagine a world where gojo wouldn’t feel some type of way at his friend going after his ex girlfriend a couple months fresh off a breakup. he probably felt the same way towards you, the difference being one owes him more loyalty than the other.

@yourstrulyname: and what does that make me?

@gsatoru: did he mean something to you?

he didn’t. you think of the importance of somebody meaning something to you— the fear of losing that person larger than life itself. the joy of waking up in that person’s arms on a rainy morning. the vulnerability in bonding souls with that person. the relief your body undergoes as it melts in that person’s embrace.

he didn’t mean shit to you.

@yourstrulyname: no

@gsatoru: then that makes you someone who made a choice

neutral and impassive. you wondered if he truly meant that. in a sense, you assume he really did mature.

@yourstrulyname: so he’s in the wrong but i’m not?

@gsatoru: who am i to assign right from wrong? you’re both adults at the end of the day

you don’t know what to answer to that. there was a lot of truth to his words— you were both consenting adults with choices made. jeez, just what had gojo gone through all these months that made him none the wiser? you’re considering leaving him on opened for a while, at least until you come up with an answer to that philosophical ass message, when he double texts you.

@gsatoru: this is so backwards lmaoo. what’s good with you? how’ve you been?

so he realized it too. thank fuck— skipping small talk and diving into the nitty gritty this late at night was not how you expected your night to go. the girls had completely forgotten your predicament, invested in the latest reality tv show flashing on your flat screen.

@yourstrulyname: been good. you?

@gsatoru: wow you’re as dry as ever

@gsatoru: life’s been blessed, could be better tho. too much to explain over text

oh? was this what you were thinking it was?

@yourstrulyname: what are you getting at, gojo?

@gsatoru: gojo? so it’s fuck me then

@gsatoru: not getting at anything. ball’s in your court, yn

so it was. you contemplate it for a second— should you invite him over tonight? the girls won’t be upset about kicking them out, and if anything they’d encourage you to call them as soon as it’s over. you suppose your doubts lie within the idea of having your ex boyfriend back into your territory. in the comfort of your home, a home he’d once already graced.

as scary as it sounded, you also desperately craved seeing him. it’d been a solid eighteen months since you’ve broken up, and thirteen since you’ve last seen him entirely. ironically, around the time you started getting involved with sukuna. you weren’t sure if it was your heart or pussy talking, but laying up in bed with this man was not something you were against.

fuck it.

@yourstrulyname: you know where i stay at

and his response comes instantly.

@gsatoru: be there in half an hour.

oh fuck.

“yo. . .” you speak up, for the first time in a few minutes. the girls turn their heads, acknowledging you, as you shut your phone close and chuck it across the sofa. “i love y’all but y’all gotta go, like now.”

shoko shakes her head, but there’s a smirk on her lips. utahime, as lost as ever, gives you a frown. yuki has most likely caught on, rising to her feet, dusting her lap, “say no more.”

the girls do you an immense favour as they excuse themselves. they pick at empty bottles and containers, throw dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rearrange the throw pillows and even light up your candles. you feel bad for kicking them out so late, so you pitch in some money for gas as well as the inconvenience.

as they cleaned out your living room and kitchen, you’d rushed to your shower for a mini cleanse. pulling out your bests, you wash over intimate parts thoroughly, lathering your limbs in scented soap, before rinsing, brushing your teeth and stepping out. you stare at your reflection through the haze of steam, the foggy mirror reminding you of the missing messages he used to leave on mornings you had to get to work.

no point in dwelling on the past when he was on his way over this moment. you swap your silk robe for the skimpiest loungewear you own— matching camisole and shorts, and let your hair cascade back down. you’re about your fifth spritz of body spray when the doorbell rings, and your stomach flutters.

you halt in your step when you notice how fast you’re going. yikes! the last thing he needs is his ego inflating, knowing you were rushing to get him inside, nevermind the fact you washed, pulled out your sexiest pyjamas and even wore a brand new pair of panties. you know. . . just for preparations. better safe than sorry.

after the third mindless lap around your kitchen, you make your way towards the door. you inhale sharply, clenching at your shaky fingers, easing your nerves. you quickly snap out of your daze, pulling the door open.

his eyes, momentarily distracted by the number engraved in the wall next to your door, glaze over your figure curiously. his hands are tucked in the pocket of his sweatpants. he lets out a breath, a sound borderlining a chuckle as it shoots straight to both heartbeats, shoulders drop from its hunch,

“hey.”

he’s thick.

no perverted shit. you’ve noticed he’s put on weight in the right places— not to say he’d been anything less than nicely built in the past, but his biceps are significantly fuller and the material of his compression tee stretched over bulging muscles in a telltale pattern.

somebody’s been at the gym one too many.

“you good with this?” he mumbles, hand running across the smooth skin of your calf. with every stroke of his palm are fleeting memories of the past, burning deep into your limb. you hate the way your stomach sinks st the thought, “me being here and shit.”

“wouldn’t have let you in if i wasn’t.” you answer honestly, back pressed into the arm of the couch. you don’t understand how fast he’d gotten comfortable with being in your personal space just like that— you don’t understand how you’d allowed him in your personal space just like that.

he nods, and the air is eerily quiet. you watch with furrowed brows as he traces shapes into your skin with his fingertip, a frenzy of emotions resembling those of turbulence all in cerulean eyes. he’s torn— you can see it in the way his nose scrunches, as if he’s debating on whether he should voice out his thoughts or not. whether it’s worth debriefing— if this is his last shot or not.

with all this time passed, he’s still so easy to read.

“what is it?” you sigh, albeit irritated. the last thing you’d planned when you got rid of your friends in favour of having your ex over was this weird ass tension roaming. crazy sentence to speak— you know, but you were really hoping it’d be less talking involved and more sexing. it wasn’t that you were against conversing with him, but the way he was choosing to go about it was just so. . . awkward .

he senses the irritation laced in your question and immediately chuckles. his laugh sounds breathless, almost dry, but he shakes his head. his free hand swipes at his nose, a tic of his you noticed years ago whenever he’s feeling bashful or caught, and clears his throat.

“how’d you and sukuna happen?” he rips off the bandaid, and asks you the last question you wanted to hear. the tracing on your leg slows down, and your arms tighten a bit around your torso.

you let out a puff of air. if gojo notices your discomfort, he doesn’t mention it. in fact, he doesn’t pull the question back at all— he stares at you intensely, as if baring into your soul, as if the answer to his question will determine whether the boulder weighted on his shoulders will free him of restraint or not.

as if he still stood a chance or not.

“not much to say,” you shrug, as dismissive as possible. he doesn’t budge, the same intensity in his gaze and you roll your eyes, “honest to god. we broke up, he was there at the right time and shit happened.”

the words simmer into the stillness of the night, and he swipes his tongue over his lips pensively, “were y’all ever official?” he pushes, and you click your tongue against your teeth, offering him a deadpanned look. seriously, as if he didn’t know his own friend— in what world was sukuna anything worthy of official?

“god, no.” you shudder, and he nods again. “you know your friend.”

“i don’t,” gojo counters, momentarily wrapping his hand around your ankle. it fits as perfectly as it did all those years ago, where thumbs at your anklet— another prized possession he’d gotten you. your face heats in embarrassment, and he flicks his eyes to glance at you, a fleeting smirk on his lips, before staring back at the jewelry, “going after my ex girlfriend is not something i expected. i don’t know him at all.”

fair enough, you think to yourself. there has to be some lingering resentment towards you for the same reason. had the tables been turned and he’d gone after one of your closest friends, you would’ve cut him off from your life completely. you were being truthful— it wasn’t anything remotely serious with sukuna, not even close to how it’d been with gojo, but you could see it as a matter of principle. you’d already taken the initiative to break up with him first, and going after his homeboy?

god, you had questionable morals.

“it’s different with you,” he feeds in, as if he could read your thoughts. it was probably written all over your face, the scrunch in your brows never letting up. his index finger slides beneath the band of your anklet, the contrast of the silver shade lining perfectly against his complexion, “‘s hard to explain, but you broke up with me so you technically owe me no loyalty— besides, i get why you ended things. never blamed you.”

now that peaks your interest. he gets why you ended things with him? he never blamed you? you clear your throat, forcing the question out, “you do?”

“of course,” he shrugs naturally, as if it hadn’t taken you eons to conclude. as if it hadn’t broke you apart when you’d realized how unneeded you were, “i honestly expected it. you deserved better than what i was giving. you must’ve been lonely— work had always taken a big part of my time, and that left you behind in the dust.”

you’re waiting for the punchline. he continues, “i can’t lie to you— i was wishing you’d resort to cheating over breaking up. that way you’d still be mine, even if it was temporarily,” he chuckles, a soft shade of pink dusting over his cheekbones, as he sniffs, “corny, i know. but you didn’t deserve putting up with my bullshit, so you left. time is of the essence, and that was the one thing i never seemed to give you. you fell out of it— out of love, so. . . i’m sorry.”

words cannot seem to leave you. you’re left utterly speechless— that had been so far from the reason, the realization sitting bitterly at the pit of your stomach. anything, literally anything, would’ve been better than hearing him lie to you again.

“that. . .” you inhale a sharp breath, steadying yourself, “is nowhere near the reason why we broke up.”

he stops in his caress. you think he got whiplash from how fast his neck snaps, eyeing you incredulously. he genuinely seems so confused, and you hate it. to think he’d show up with some lame ass excuse, so far stretched from the truth of the matter, and expected you to believe that. to believe him.

he blinks slowly, “i don’t understand.”

you try to pull your leg away from his lap, feeling like he was stripping you bare of the last bit of dignity you had left, wanting to rip you open. he presses the weight of his hand lightly, urging you to stay near while simultaneously giving you the option to pull away. the ball was in your court yet again.

“wait— help me understand,” the pad of his thumb rolls over your ankle bone gently— far too intimately. your feet curl away, protectively, and his fingers stroke at the ball of your heel, “please. what drove you away? what was it i did?”

there’s a pang in your chest. does he really plan on keeping this up? right in your face? it was one thing wishing him well despite the obvious, but dragging it out even a year later was a bit much. inviting him over was starting to seem like a terrible idea.

“i fell out of love?” you parrot, unbelieving. “gojo— i’m not the one who fell out of anything. i gave you a way out, and you happily took it,” his face contorts into a deeper state of confusion. you huff, “i’m not blaming you for it or anything, but shit, don’t get up in here with lies to cover your ass.”

“lies?” he whispers, to himself, running his free fingers through tousled white locks. he stares at your anklet hardly, like the gift has all the answers he’s looking for. you don’t think he’s avoiding eye contact, but he seems so distraught, so out of the loop, that broadway ought to sign him to a new movie deal. what an actor.

“time is of the essence and you failed to give it?” you continue regardless, throat restricting as it burns in an emotion you’re far too familiar with. suddenly, you feel like you’re twenty five again, left to your own devices and thoughts in the emptiness of his apartment, dressed in your prettiest outfit and another failed date night. “i never gave a shit about that, i knew how much of a hardworking man you were. i took it to the chest— anything to keep you from leaving. you stopped loving me, gojo.”

his jaw falls slack, mouth gaping and you blink your lashes furiously to prevent tears from appearing. god, this was so humiliating, bearing your heart raw in front of your ex boyfriend, “y/n, i never—”

“spare me,” you scoff, mortified by the rush of emotions coursing through you. you take a deep breath in, calming yourself to avoid further explosive feelings, “this isn’t me saying i was the perfect girlfriend. i know i wasn’t— you know i wasn’t, and piling a spiralling partner on top of all the shit you were dealing with wasn’t an option. that’s fine,” it was fine. it didn’t matter, “doesn’t matter anymore. i broke up with you, you didn’t fight to stay, and we both moved on. shit happens.”

it hurt a lot. the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the crack splitting in your chest. the run towards your bathroom, emptying your contents from both your stomach and heart. you were undeniably a mess, that period of time it took for you to recover. you would never voice it out loud, but you’d been praying he’d tell you just how wrong you were. how he needed you in his life. how you weren’t a burden to him. how he loved you enough to fight through it all.

he hadn’t.

there’s a soft hum in the silence. the sound of your clock ticking near the entrance door. the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. seconds turn into minutes of quietness, and it does no good to your mind. you’re focusing your gaze on the inanimate objects in your apartment, anything to dismiss the reality of the situation. your leg feels cold as his hand pulls away suddenly.

he rolls his tongue against his cheek. another tic of his— he’s formulating his word choice, carefully. you’d seen a ton of this before, though it usually followed a deep sigh and a you’re good baby, trust me. the more you’d see it, the more anxious you became. and christ, if that anxiety wasn’t forming right back.

it takes a while for him to speak, and every passing breath had your chest tightening. he runs his hand across his face, tiredly. when he pulls it away, there’s a melancholic smile on his face, “i think there’s a lot that needs to be addressed. jesus, i always knew you sucked at communicating but this is something else.”

you glare at him. he doesn’t mind it, continuing, “no, you weren’t the perfect girlfriend. but you were my girlfriend, and that’s all that mattered to me. you wanna talk about spiralling? nothing i’m not familiar with— you’re the only reason i didn’t let myself fall into that rabbit hole. you kept me going after graduation. i worked as hard as i did to make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger around me. that was the end goal— you were end goal.”

gagged is what you felt. nothing else pure shock. he doesn’t stop there. he isn’t merciful anymore.

“i know i didn’t go about it the right way,” a regretful puff of air is released, “i canceled on you often. our phone calls were shorter, our texts were vaguer and at some point i’d forgotten what you tasted like. but i never loved you any less. not once, even after we argued. not to say i’ve converted into those spiritual people, but you’re the closest thing to a soulmate i’ve experienced.”

shit, you weren’t tripping. he felt it too. fuck. the weight of his words made it impossible to steer him away. you want to intercept, to call him a liar and turn a blind ear at his confession, to shield yourself but how could you when every word he spoke broke the bricks you’d built down?

“i’m not an asshole— i could feel you slipping away. i did try my damned hardest to reel you back in, as you’d done with me. clearly that hadn’t worked how i was hoping it would,” a bitter laugh, or maybe a resentful one. towards you or himself? you wouldn’t know, “it’s because i loved you so much, i let you go. i knew i was losing you, and when you finally came to me, the right thing to do was agree. why keep you from reaching your fullest potential? you weren’t happy with me, trying to fight the inevitable was cruel.”

the inevitable. letting you go was the right choice to make because fighting the inevitable was cruel. he loved you so much he had to let you go because you deserved more than what he had to offer. you call bullshit— in what right did he have to make that choice for you? what right did you have to make that choice for him?

it’s too much at once. your eyes burn with a remorseful feeling, your heart aches in agony and your mind is clouded with thoughts. there your ex boyfriend sat, wide eyes still as blue as when he’d once been yours, presenting you his heart raw in cupped hands— and you still couldn’t find it in you to believe him fully. everything yet nothing made sense. vulnerability was a scary thing, and you weren’t ready to face it.

so, you kiss him.

his breath is taken out of his chest as you lean forward, sealing his mouth shut. you can’t take any more of his merciless words, and the only way to get your mind off it is by getting on it. he feels stiff against you, pupils dilating as you mould lips with his own. your hand travels to the back of his neck, sitting on your knees as you hold him still.

and with a faint lip smack, he pulls away ever so slightly, hands hovering awkwardly over your waist, his breath warm and fanning your cupid’s bow, “wait—”

“don’t wanna talk,” you interrupt, placing another chaste kiss on his lips. he tastes as good as the day you left him. and with another soft smack, your voice lowers, reduced to a whisper, “you gonna fuck me or not?”

he blinks and you stare back at him, full of conviction. a simple yes or no question— and he could gladly see himself out if his answer didn’t satisfy you. his hands finally rest on your waist, and you take it as an invitation to straddle over his hips. he eases your movements by aiding, lifting you just barely to sit on him. his hands fit just as they did all those times ago. a sour, bittersweet feeling— fingertips caressing the nakedness of your torso beneath your camisole.

your back arches as he finds your sensitive spots with quickness. he’d always been great at that, leaving trails of goosebumps past his teasing touches.

“you’re doing it again,” he mumbles against your lips, ever the hypocrite, fingers gripping at your waist like a vice. he rolls your hips over his own, reeling in the softness of your palms cupping at his face. you ignore him when he continues, still nibbling on his bottom lip the way he loves, “you can’t— mmh, avoid this forever.”

maybe not, but you sure as hell could right now. the tip of your noses bump into one another as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss. you want to rid your mind of these plaguing thoughts, ones that made you doubt everything you thought you knew. losing control was out of the question, so naturally you needed it back into your grasp.

sex was an easy way to do that.

“yes or no, gojo.” you give him one last chance, grinding your hips down on his awakening dick. you feel his bulge through his pair of sweats, the print so evident you wondered why he was trying to fight it. the sight alone had your panties dampening in your arousal, uncomfortably sticky against your loungewear.

he hums in between kisses, a false pretend of debating his options. his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and past your panties, fondling at the flesh that sat beneath. he could fake it all he wants, but fuck chivalry— he was turning to mush the more you sucked at his tongue, licking at the crevice of the roof of his mouth.

it’s when you sink your teeth into the flesh of pink lips, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw a moan from him, he comes to a conclusion. he nods his head, snaking his arms to wrap at your waist tighter as finally kisses you back.

“it’s always a yes.” for you. he doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to, but you hear it and dismiss it. no more lovey doveyness and time to get to the nitty gritty of shit— getting your back blown out. the very thought alone is enough to put a smile on your lips.

bingo.

your bedroom door hardly shuts before he pins you against it. he’s annoyingly big— tall in height and wide in weight. he towers over you comically, hands roaming at every inch of your body as he drinks you up. his lips seek yours desperately, sliding over your glossy ones with practice that suggests hints of comfort.

your arms loop at his neck, and his at your waist. his mouth hardly lets up of yours, mumbling a little jump, as you comply with ease. thighs trapping him in your hold, you then find yourself face to face with him as he lifts you, large palms cupping at your ass. you fit just as perfectly in his hands as you did years ago, flesh so fat he gropes it tenderly.

the walk from the door to your bed passes in the blink of an eye, a timeframe you find pointless to recall as you indulge in the taste of him through his tongue. his presence is so overwhelmingly powerful— every touch and caress at your body reducing your limbs to mush. you cling to him, either out of safety reasons or desire, tilting your head from side to side to deepen the lip-to-lip action.

when he gets to the edge of your bed, he lowers you until your toes reach the floor. due to the difference in height, your lips part, a thin string of saliva connecting from both your mouths as proof of your unison. the blue shade of his orbs darken with desire, eyelids lowering as he drinks up the sight of you— lips plump and swollen, slick in saliva, chest heaving from lack of oxygen.

he raises a hand from your waist to cup at your face, and you detest the way your lean into his touch. your cheek fits in his large palm, and he swipes a thumb at your bottom lip, collecting your shared spit onto the pad of his digit. as he smears the fluid further across your mouth, he prods his thumb a little further— testing out the waters, wanting to see if you’d cave into old habits.

naturally, you allow it, his thumb swallowed by your puckered lips. you roll your tongue over his finger and your eyes never leave his— hoping to convey the rush of emotions you feel through your sultry gaze. your core throbs in want, your stomach erupting in butterflies and your heart pounding unnecessarily. unspoken words you’re positive he understood, if the way he groans when your teeth sink lightly into his digit said anything.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, popping his finger back out. it’s coated in saliva, and like the freak he is, pops it into his own mouth. once he’s had his fill, he removes his hand from his mouth, and lowers it to your fleshy waist, slipping past the waistband of your panties, “take these off— ‘m hungry, need a taste of that pussy.”

your cheeks nearly split from your excitement, and you comply to his order, gripping at the hem of your shorts to pull them down to your ankle. he assists you despite the previous demand, his own hands atop of yours, a warmth and sense of security so familiar. when your shorts reach past your mid thigh, you allow him to meet you halfway.

he pulls your shorts down to your ankles, lowering himself to a knee. his movements are agonizingly slow, basking in the sight of your thighs in contrast of the shade of your loungewear. he steadies a hand onto your calf, patting it lightly, and you lift your leg just barely, permitting him to slide the shorts off your ankle and tossing it aside.

when the item is discarded, he redirects his focus back to you. he pampers your skin in kisses— delicate but hungry, trails of moisture crawling back up at your inner thighs and shooting right to your core. he looked unexplainably sexy on his knees, littering your body in hushed praises, the tip of his nose nudging at your soft skin. you bit your lip in attempts to cease it from wobbling at the intimacy he was providing.

“god, you smell so good,” he speaks into you, hands snaking to the back of your thighs, pressing you forward into him. your panty covered cunt presents itself right before him, and he plants his nose right into your intimates, your body shuddering as his nose bumps into your clit deliciously. a shaky breath escapes you, and his hands travel upwards to play with your ass. “turn around, wanna eat it from the back.”

the words are taken from you when his hand slaps your ass encouragingly, releasing a mini squeal, “you’re still too freaked out.”

“mhm, something like that,” you don’t see it, as you’re occupied on spinning on your feet to plant your hands on your matters for stability, but you’re positive he’s smirking. your arch your back for him, wanting to properly present the meal he plans on devouring. your cunt oozes slick against your thong just thinking about how he’s going to do you in, “there’s that arch,” a hand slides in the curve of your lower back, before snapping the band of your thong. it recoils against your cheek and you jerk forward at the sting.

“oh? did that hurt?” he taunts, and as you’re about to protest, he does it yet again. the snap is intense but never painful, but the nerve he had to play around like your pussy wasn’t a few centimetres away from his face. you don’t acknowledge how your panties cling even tighter to your folds.

“fuck off,” you curse through gritted teeth, but your hips wiggle backwards in attempt to get him to hurry it up. as if now was any time to tease— you couldn’t stand it when he did it all those years ago, and your feelings haven’t changed since, “get on with it. . . the fuck?”

you hear him sigh, almost disappointedly, and it only aggravates you further. your brows furrow in annoyance and you think you feel a vein tick at your temple.

“still so disrespectful,” gojo tuts, rubbing at your booty tenderly. so he wasn’t exactly wrong, but how was he expecting you to react when he’d just said he was going to eat you out, and proceeds to do anything but that? of course there’s going to be a little pout on your lips, “we gotta work on that attitude of yours.”

your face twists into a look of further aggravation, and you tilt your head back, readying whatever other bratty objections you had— though you’re ultimately interrupted by a sharp sting that spreads across your ass.

the strike of his palm against your cheek sprawls into an intense heat, the pain oddly pleasurable, and the moan that rips out of your chest is impossible to suppress. your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the audacity, and right as you’re about to complain, he does it again. and again.

“o-okay, shit!” you attempt to voice out, but he’s relentless, delivering blow after blow onto the same ground. there’s a curve in his palm, and it amplified the sound across the room. despite your protests, you can’t deny every jolt of pain rushes to your clit. you’re positive he knows you’re enjoying this, “gojo— fuck, okayyy!”

to your pleasure, he eases the slaps, opting to smoothen his hand flat across the reddened flesh. he hums pensively, the heat of your skin radiating against his palm in a way that forces a smile on his lips, “ ‘okay?’ what do you mean by that, baby?”

you clench your teeth at his faux ignorance. you know exactly what he wants from you, and you’re not sure if you’re able to give it to him as you are. an apology— he wants you to apologize, that bastard. your left cheek stings like a bitch, even with his now gentle touches, and your core is begging you to cooperate with him, in order for that attention it was neglected of. he is such a dickhead— putting you in a predicament like this one.

you swallow the last bit of dignity you hold, a constant reminder in the back of your mind that this was for the greater good— for the sake of your pussy. with a pained sigh, you tilt your head backwards to meet his playful gaze that stares back at you, right below the plump of your ass, and you muster the cutest look you can give.

doe eyes paired with a little pout, “‘m sorry. . . for the attitude,” you’re not sorry at all, but you desperately want your cunt in his mouth, so you do what you have to do, “can you eat it now? please?”

he flashes you a million dollar smile, all thirty twos on full display, and it takes every ounce of willpower in you not to roll your eyes right then and there. he was so full of shit, his eyes might as well brown. but still, you knew he got off on this kind of thing, and when he presses a quick kiss at the print of your lips, he replies, “of course, sweet girl— only because you asked so nicely.”

there’s no further need to speak, as you feel your thong being pushed to the side, followed by a cold breeze hitting your bare cunt, meshed with warm breathe as he feasts .

gojo eats you out like he has something to prove, and you know what— maybe he does. to prevent you from straying from him, he grounds you with two firm hands gripping at your ass. he spreads the flesh apart, his tongue lapping at your slick greedily. you can’t tell who’s moans are louder— yours or his, the man so engaged in sucking at your clit, nibbling on the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. you hold onto the sheets on your bed with dear life, thighs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up.

“fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, pushing your hips further back, your mind overcame with utter greediness for more of that insatiable pleasure. you might as well have swallowed him whole into you, just as he’s swallowing you whole into him, his tongue diving deep past your hole and into your folds. he flicks his tongue expertly, licking at every crevice and nook of your cave, his jaw working overtime as his bottom lip never lets up at your clit.

your entire pussy is consumed by him, no area going neglected— drool slips past his mouth and spills onto your floor. a familiar heat licks at the pit of your stomach, a telltale that your dam is bound to burst anytime soon. he remedies your ache with another painful spank at your ass, groaning into your pussy when you clamp down on his tongue.

he was so fucking nasty— fucking into you with his tongue like he needed this more than you did. he makes out with your cunt, like he was a starving man on death row. at a particular cruel angle of his tongue fucking, your body would react with an all consuming tremble, fingers clawing at your duvets, your lungs releasing pathetic mewls. and the further you pushed back into his merciless mouth, the closer his nose nudged at your puckered forbidden hole.

he pulls away with a gasp, subbing his mouth out for his fingers, the pads of three fingers rubbing messily at your sloppy lips. the sound it creates is downright filthy, so painfully loud that it damn near drowns out your own moans.

“pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he spits a wad of saliva at your already soaked cunt, further amplifying the squelching sounds. he drags his fingers down to your clit, pinching at the bud with enough pressure to have your knees buckling, before sliding back upwards to your clenching hole. he slides into your entrance, index and middle fingers twisting in with ease, “bet she missed me, hm?”

“y-yes!” you nod mindlessly, your high creeping up on you as he works himself into you. taking six inches of fingers twice was a task in itself— the average length of a man’s dick serving purpose as fingering was just downright disrespectful. his knuckles poke at your silky walls, stretching you out to the best of his abilities, “shit— oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum!”

to your statement, he latches his lips back to your neglected clit, sucking on the bud as if he were intentionally trying to milk you dry. he hums at your taste, the vibrations shooting right up your alley and into the knot tightening in your guts— and when he curls his fingers upwards, at that spot that has stars dancing beneath your eyelids, the dam breaks. that knot stood no chance.

“oh goddd,” you cry out, spraying your release all over. it dribbles out your pussy and past the lower half of his face, to which his jaw widens as his mouth gapes— greedily aiming to slurp at your juices while simultaneously flicking your bean. the stimulation has your brain going dumb, as you fall flat onto your bed, drool collecting at the corner of your mouth and staining your sheets damp.

he lets you ride out the euphoric bliss, the movements of his fingers and the lapping of his tongue slowing down the more your body reacted to the overstimulation. when he deems you well spent, he lets up, slipping his fingers out and popping them back in his mouth, swirling your taste across his pallets, “as sweet as ever,” rising back to his full height.

you haven’t came that hard in a while, limbs reduced to nothing as you merge into one with your bed. your legs are still trembling, and your chest heaves as you exhale deep breaths. letting your eyelids close shut, you take the time to regroup yourself from that mind shattering orgasm. who the fuck had he been fucking that forced him to keep this skill? granted, you had no right to complain but holy shit, he was no fucking noob.

you feel the weight of his body press on top of you, a well-built chest meeting your moist back. it doesn’t take much to realize he’s hovering over you. his lips litter kisses at the column of your neck, moving up to the shell of your ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps after each embrace, “you tappin’ out already?” gojo snickers at your shell of a body, and you kiss your teeth at his typical mockery, “what happened to my champ while i was gone?”

“fuck off,” you pout, a little embarrassed by the fact that you really were retired from the game. sure, you were getting dicked down real good by your previous partner (question mark), but it never had you as exhausted as you currently were. there was absolutely nothing gojo satoru couldn’t do, and that ticked you off to no end, “nobody said shit about tappin’ out.”

“hm. . .” he hums, nuzzling his nose into your jugular, his hips grinding into the cleft of your ass. it’s impossible to ignore the bulge poking into you, and you doubt he was trying to hide it regardless, his hips rolling against the plushness of your behind, “guess sukuna didn’t do as good of job as he should’ve.”

that has your eyelids opening right back up. talk about an awkward situation— bringing up you and your ex’s (question mark) sex life while having sex with your other ex was a double edged predicament in itself. had you agreed, which lowkey wasn’t entirely wrong, you’d be stroking the fuck out of gojo’s ego and be disrespecting sukuna. but had you disagreed, you could end up on gojo’s wrong side and fumble an entire night worth of dicking.

so, once more, you take the easy way out, at the expense of inflating the white haired man’s ego, much to your dismay, “think you can do better?”

he stays silent for a while. in what you assume is him coming up with an answer to your question, his kisses travel to the dead centre of your shoulder blades, wet and open mouthed, as they crawl lower down your spine. with every kiss, your body caves into a state of relaxation, as if he was undoing every stress clouding at your hazed mind with his mouth alone.

he lands at the middle of your back, before he pulls away abruptly. and just as soon as he started, he was finished— removing himself off your body entirely. panic settles quickly in your stomach, as you turn your head around to see what he was up to. had you unintentionally hurt his feelings? damn, and here you were enjoying the body worship.

“what are you—” your words are cut off as his hands cup at your waist. he slides you back towards the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the floor once more. you feel some residue of your previous orgasm beneath your heels, eugh. you don’t have much time to spend thinking about how gross it feels when a hand holds your shoulders, and lifts you right back up.

your brows jump to your hairline in surprise at the sudden manhandling, though you can’t deny you found just a bit sexy. with his chest pressed into your back once more, you can feel his heartbeat thudding at the blade of your left shoulder, the organ withholding a steady rhythm— the tempo of a lullaby you’d once been accustomed to. and then big arms wrap around your frame, and holds you.

you hate the way your body folds so easily to his touch. it’s been an entire year, and despite your mind shouting at you for the intimacy you’re allowing to gallop right back into your life, your heart craves it. the sense of security his embrace offers you alone makes the least of sense, but you blindly lean into him, allowing yourself to be deluded for the time being. he won’t be yours as soon as this is over, so you might as well take the most advantage of the situation.

it takes a minute for either of you to speak. here you stood— half naked and legs sore, but still happily in his arms. his cologne is still as rich and dominating as it’d been all those times ago. he breaks the silence first, his chin resting above your shoulder, as he mumbles, “you really hurt my feelings, you know.”

to some degree, you know you did. about what exactly? you weren’t sure, but still, you offer him what you believe he wants, the realization leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, “i’m sorry.”

“‘s all good,” he kisses your cheek so tenderly that your neck cranes to the side to meet his gaze. gojo had always been so readable when it came to emotions, as he always wore his heart on his sleeve, but even with all the knowledge you knew about, you weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes. raw, unfiltered emotions. you only notice the close proximity between you both when your noses bump into one another. he shoots you a warm smile, “could never be upset with you. you hold that power over me.”

it’s you who kisses him first, and he returns the favour with more intensity. it’s an awkward positioning for your neck, but you don’t let up regardless of the ache in your joints. his mouth stays on yours as if you were his lifeline, tongues sloshing one over the other, brushing your lips together so gingerly.

in the midst of his tongue down your throat, he slips a hand in between your thighs, cupping at your abandoned pussy. the casual brush of his fingers at your core sent a breathy whine from your throat right into his mouth, and it only motivated him to work harder, rubbing slow patterns into your throbbing clit. your hips chase the feeling, riding the wave of his fingers.

he pulls away from your mouth, just barely, mumbling against your kiss bitten lips, “one of these days you’re gonna let me finish speaking,” followed by a knowing smile. sure, it could be seen as a flaw, but it was the only way you could protect yourself while keeping him within arm’s reach. never ready to have him but never prepared to let him go, “we can do that later— gotta blow your back out first.”

you couldn’t agree more.

it all happens so quickly— he retrieves his hand from between your thighs, having collected your juices at his fingertips, before lubricating his dick. he pumps at the length leisurely, his bottom lip tugged by his top row of teeth, and the groans he lets out are enough to have you squeezing your thighs eagerly, your cunt aching and ready to go. in the midst of your eagerness, you slip your hand behind you and catch his twitching cock, working your wrist right above his own, jerking him off.

a deep groan grumbles from his chest, and he instantly stops your hand from moving any further. you frown at his ceasing, but when you tilt your head to voice out your confusion, he offers a sheepish smile, “don’t wanna cum too soon,” ever the minute man, he was.

though, you soon find yourself regretting your own thoughts the very instant you feel the tip of his dick pushing past your entrance.

there’s a blended harmony of both your moans that bounces off the walls. his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, holding onto you so tightly you’re positive you’ll bruise, and you clamp down on his intruding dick so tightly you’re positive you never want to let him go. the initial stretch is a feeling you’ll never get used to, but the sensation is all but unwanted.

“fuckkk, y/n,” he moans right into your ear, his voice so full of want, you can’t help but understand exactly where he’s coming from. he pulls his hips back, almost entirely, though his tip stays inside. it takes him a second to regroup, mumbling incoherent words under his breath, before he plunges back into your cunt.

and from that point on, it’s wraps. he fucks into you like a madman— as if he’d been punishing you for your crimes. punishing you for sleeping with another man. punishing you for leaving him a year and a half ago. punishing you for punishing him. his pace is ruthless— hips meeting your ass as fast as he’d pull out, pounding into your little hole to mould it into the shape of him.

he’s thick, this time on perverted shit.

you’re so painfully full of him, and despite your arms stretched outwards to grip at the sheets that had suffered more than enough of your abuse on them, your walls never let go of him. you don’t want him to pull out ever, utterly obsessed with the rough pace he set from the jump. it feels impossible keeping the curve of your back when the tip of his length repetitively attacks at your golden spots.

“ohmygoddd,” you words come out slurry, head lolling forward uselessly. if he kept fucking you like this, you weren’t going to let him leave again. stuck in an endless loop of bliss, with every thrust into your folds, his balls would slap at your clit and drive you insane, “y’re d-doing me s’gooddd,”

“yeah?” he eggs on, his voice as breathless as you’d been, though his pacing would never suggest so. there’s a hypnotic recoil of your ass bouncing back onto his pelvis that indulges him into disrupting it, delivering a new spank at your cheeks. you cry out at the feeling, and he strikes again, hips never letting up, “tell me more baby.”

you rise at your tip toes when you feel yourself sinking, legs giving out yet again. you hold yourself up at your elbows, a newfound confidence pushing your hips back to match his pace. when he heaves out a loud moan, you’re encouraged to keep going. the melody of your skins slapping against each other echoes into the stillness of the night, arching your back the further he plunges into your guts. you’re so turned on, the evidence creaming around the perimeter of his cock, easing the slides of his dick inside of you.

“toruuu,” you whine, too fucked out to notice your first mistake— calling him by his favorite nickname. at that given moment, you couldn’t care any less, the intense heat in your guts growing once more. the curve of his dick reaches spots you don’t think anybody could reach, almost as if he was made entirely for you, “you’re so big— can feel you, nghhh, everywhere!”

“that’s cause i am everywhere,” you think you can hear him smirking behind you. though, he has every right to feel entitled, with how much of a mess he’s reduced you to. he rolls his hips deep, a firm bulge forming into your tummy. as if he’s got a sixth sense or eye, he leans forward to rest his chest against your back— your eyes rolling back from the new angle. he slides a hand beneath your stomach and presses at the bulge hard. you can’t help the squeal you let out, “that’s me right there.”

you nod your head feverishly, the applied pressure on your stomach pushing his cock right at your cervix. oh god, he was going to kill you. what a wonderful way to go— all judgements clouded in favour of an eight inched dick penetrating your walls, “‘s all yours— mmh, always been.”

and that’d been your final mistake.

because the chuckle he lets out right into your ear is dark. the sounds shoot right up to your spine, shivers crawling up your back deliciously. he might as well be back stabbing you with how his cock plunged so sloppily out of your gaping cunt, “you always knew how to, fuck, pillowtalk,” he pants into your neck, his additional weight onto your shaking frame nothing short on welcoming. the hand pressing into your stomach lowers to your clit, and pinches meanly at the bud, “you know i’d, mmh, give you the world if you asked— my smart girl, shit.”

he’s so cruel, talking to you so lovingly despite it all. you tighten your eyes, in poor attempts to ignore the tenderness of the words fleeting his lips and focus instead on the stretch of your cunt down his dick. you feel yourself creaming on him, further proof of both your unison through his diabolical thrusts. he pinned you into place like this— unable to do anything but take what he gave you gratefully.

at a particular stroke at your abused golden spot, your body releases another tremor of shudders. it overtakes you from head to toe, a moan so ripe escaping your lips as you claw at ruined sheets. gojo works into aiming at that spot over and over again, each thrust more intense than the previous one. the change of his pace, slowing for a minute, draws you near the end of the line quicker than you’d anticipated.

“oh?” he grunts playfully, swaying his hips back and forth into your poor pussy. mercy is nowhere to be found, however, “you like it when i fuck you like this?” another agonizingly beautiful thrust at the same place, you can’t help but reward him with a cry. he’s fucking you into the damn mattress, and he has the balls to ask this question knowing the answer. still, you nod your head mutely, tears collecting at your lash line, and he nips at the skin on your jaw, “yeahhh you do.”

god, you do.

and suddenly, you can’t bring yourself to remember why you’d ever let go of dick this good. the kind that would have you taking the rubber off and considering finishing inside. the kind that had you babbling apologies for having done absolutely nothing wrong. the kind that made you begin to believe his careless whispers, empty promises to work things out.

in the midst of your delusions, he pulls you both back up from the bed, standing once again. at this new position, he reaches impossibly further into you, the difference in your heights making up for the inches he’s dug into you. his fingers dig in the column of your throat, the weight of his hand wrapped tightly at your neck. he’s everywhere at once, but simultaneously no where to be found. while you can feel his tip prodding at your most sensitive spot, you don’t feel the overwhelming force of love he once bore with open arms for you.

or was it you were feigning you don’t? because as he works himself back into you, at a pace so tender yet cruel, the line of boundaries you’d once set has been entirely deterred. a force so overwhelming, just like his entire being, bringing you right back to him as if you’d never left— nevermind the fact your thighs could barely support themselves, quaking pathetically. it was getting too much— everything was a lot.

“nahhh. . . don’t start running now.” you didn’t realize you were. the sheets are crumpled in your tight hold, while your other hand lightly pushes at his lower abdomen. you were a trooper, but there was only so much pleasurable torture you could handle. naturally, he pins your wrist at your spine to maintain his ruthless pace, and with another gentle yet cruelly empty promise, he coos, “not when i’ve just gotten you back.”

how the fuck did you get yourself in this mess?

oh right. . . tinder. you had a bone to pick with the ceo of that app right after you come back to your senses.

“i— i can’t,” you fumble at your words, the lack of oxygen catching up to you. you’re bound to his mercy— hands tied, breath nearly restricted, pussy obliterated, and yet, there’s nowhere else you’d want to be. the pressure on your throat lolls your head backwards, chin facing the ceiling as your eyes fall onto snowy lashes, “gonna cum again— oh fuckfuckfuck,”

and despite his brutality, he shoots you a sweet smile, the contrast in his words versus his actions grand, “right behind you, baby.”

you cum, and hard . much harder than you had before. you gush your fluids down his piercing cock, your folds squeezing him tight as you release. you think your mind blanks for a minute, an orgasm so powerful, you fear your eyes would stay stuck at the back of your skull. you shiver in his embrace, the insatiable desire racking your body from top to bottom.

when he pulls out, you fall flat yet again onto your stomach, face first. you assume you look like a puddle of nothingness, your limbs spent from the overexhaustion. but still, you find yourself in a similar position to prior, as gojo leans over your body, a hand holding him up as the other works on his jerking him cum out. smart move, not finishing inside, though a weird feeling of disappointment sits in your stomach, swapping the fiery heat from your orgasm.

he sinks his teeth into your shoulders as you wince, emptying himself right onto your lower back. it runs hot and smooth into the dimples of your back, that you can’t help but stretch your limp arm towards the mess to collect the residue on your fingers. you pop them into your mouth, his taste still so familiar as he plops right at your side, face up.

there’s a thick silence that fills the sex scented room. you wonder what is going through his brain now that the lust demon that was half his ego had been taken care of. was he on the same page as you were? had he realized just how messy this could turn out? he’s too quiet for a man of his nature— and that terrified you shitless. no matter the outcome, you’re ready to kick him out. post nut clarity was a scary thing— it revealed the violent truth of how tempting the flesh could be, even with consequences on the line.

you want to beat him to it. the last thing you need on your consciousness is your ex boyfriend who’d you invited into your home a year after you broke up with him, leaving you. he seemed petty enough to do the eye for an eye shtick— it wasn’t too out of character for him.

with a heavy heart and sigh, you turn your head to the side where he lays comfortably. the words want to die in your throat, but your urge them out, the sooner the better, “you should—”

“no.” he interrupts, followed by a yawn.

you frown at that, brows scrunching as you insist that yet again, “you need to—”

“nah.” gojo cuts you off yet again, rolling onto his side. his dick falls limp onto your bed, and you don’t think about the mess it’s making. to be fair, you’d done far worse. and it was proven difficult to care about that mess when he brought a finger to play with your loose hairs, cerulean eyes zeroing in on them, “i’m tired. let’s get you cleaned up and go to bed.”

“you’re not listening to me.” you click your tongue, a little desperate to have him hear you. you’re scared to keep him around longer, because you know you’ll grow attached again and that already ended terribly once, and took you forever and a half to get over. he has to leave and right now, “you have to go.”

gojo hums at that. he stops the twirling of your hair, rather reluctantly, and finally meets your sharp gaze. he still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, “why?”

you narrow your eyes, “you know why,” you shouldn’t have to explain why two exes cozying up after indulging into each other was a bad idea. common sense, you figured, but was it common sense to have him over in the first place? a flurry of various emotions coursing over you laced with exhaustion had you overthinking like a motherfucker, “this was a bad idea.”

he trails his finger along the slope of your clenched jaw, and you don’t think about the fact it immediately relaxed at his touch. the longer he traced your skin, the longer he kept looking at you like that, you were wavering in your own logic. you’d both gotten what you wanted in the first place, so why was it he was still here? the rational decision would be to pretend this never happened and part ways again, but why was the thought of him locking the door behind him once again at your expense making you feel sick to your stomach?

when his finger lands at your pouty lips, he taps his index finger twice against the flesh. naturally, your pout deepens. his eyes flick from your mouth to your shying gaze, and his index swaps for his thumb. he runs the pad of his finger across the reddened surface, and his voice falls a few octaves lower, hushed for nobody else but you to hear, “you don’t want me to leave.”

you don’t.

he takes your silence as acceptance, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. it’s enough to rid your mind of its plaguing doubts in the meanwhile. and when his hand slides to cup at the back of your neck, ultimately deepening it, you can’t find it in you to care about the consequences for the time being. not when he was swallowing you whole like he was the one terrified to feel you slip from his fingers. you melt into him far too easily.

well. . . that was something you’d deal with in the morning.

tinder: 1, you: 0.

now can y’all stop calling me a deadbeat 🙎‍♂️

[leatherbookmark]

help my research brought me to a fic that has the wildest solution to the problem of "what should i use instead of repeating the character's name too often". it wasn't "the (hair colour)". it wasn't "the (older/younger) person". it was Their Family Name. Only

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 419

Brief summary: GoD talks more with Cale. Cale wakes up 3 days later.

==========

Today was an info dump.

GoC turned GoD's upper body gray, and God of War (GoW) cut off GoD's arm.

GoW confirmed to be on GoC's side.

Long ago, God of Justice (GoJ) hired the First Wanderer (FW) on a mission to find a way to "annihilate a god."

GoJ went into hiding amidst the chaos that ensued when GoB and GoC fought.

GoJ left a note that read, "The God Realm is filled with injustice. I will strike down the hammer of justice."

GoD only realized what FW's mission was when GoD found his own name on the Death List.

GoJ was not on any god's side, and worked independently.

But FW was working with both GoC and GoJ.

That part about GoJ was a surprise. But poor GoD. I guess after Cale met GoC and prevented their descent, GoC dragged GoW with them in anger and the two both beat up GoD because GoD was the "mastermind" behind Cale.

There was also info about King Zed Crossman. GoD figured out that Zed was in the game world, and was growing sure of it as the game world became more real. The fact that Cale met GoD in his dream despite being unconscious in the game world was further proof that the game world turning real.

Now, for some First Wanderer stuff.

FW was as old or nearer the time of the ancient gods.

FW only did missions for the ancient gods.

He was said to be both strong and smart.

FW rejected godhood because he had other goals.

FW became the head of the Five Colored Bloods.

The omnipotent god plan was just a step towards his real goal.

GoD said that FW was already there before he became a god. But something about FW made me and several Koreans in Kakao come up with some crazy theory about him.

“But they say he's pretty strong, with a 100% success rate on all his missions, except for his last mission before he disappeared.” The God of Death paused, then added. “And clever, he is more clever than strong.” The God of Death paused again and stared at Cale. “Why?” Cale asked with a sour face, and the God of Death smiled. “Nothing. Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that the First Wanderer refused to be a god for a reason.” So powerful, yet refusing to be a god, that whenever anyone questioned him about it, the First Wanderer would simply laugh and say, “I have other goals."

GoD's stare at Cale was suspicious. And if you consider the other things (Very smart, refusing to be a god, etc), we came up with this crazy theory that FW was actually Cale or KRS of another world. Quite a wild theory, right? 😂

Back to GoD, his talk with Cale was funny as usual. He kept joking with Cale, but Cale just looked at him in annoyance or indifference. 😂 And Cale's flags kept increasing.

'But why would I run into them?' Frankly, Cale was nothing more than a bystander in this fight between the gods. Not only could he not go to the God Realm, but he also had nothing to do with it. The God of Death sighed. "Yeah. War, that bastard really pisses me off." But somehow, he (GoD) had a feeling that Cale might be involved.

🚩Flag spotted!!! Cale is definitely going to the God Realm in the near future. 🤣🤣🤣

GoD: But now, what good is worrying about the gods fighting each other when I'm about to disappear? *smiles* Cale: Ha. This is annoying. That annihilation bullshit. Narrator: He hated seeing the man who made him work so hard and got him involved in so many things just casually smiling while talking about being annihilated. He was simply annoyed. Cale: Until I get slacker life, you can't rest either.

So... if Cale became a god, GoD would be doomed to a life of never-ending work? 😂😂😂 Even when leaving the dream, Cale left the words, "I'm going to steal the method of annihilating a god, so don't die and work for the rest of your life." 🤣🤣🤣

GoD found Cale very affectionate, wanting to save him despite being annoyed at him. GoD wanted to die, but Cale did not want him too. Wait a second... wasn't this like the situation with Eruhaben? 😂😂😂

Every time Cale met a god in his dreams, he would wake up a few days later. So when he woke up, he found out that it had been 3 days since then. BUT! Alberu had yet to wake up after 3 days too! Several Kakao commenters speculated that if Cale met GoD in his dream, perhaps Alberu met the Sun God in his dream too.

Ending Remarks Today's info dump was amazing. So many flags and theories. Next chapter would be Cale finding out the aftermath of the incident. I look forward to Cale learning about Crazy Attention Seeker's videos. 😂

[writers-potion]

this is a little hyper specific lmao but i was wondering if you have any advice on writing a pov character being mysterious? tyyy

Writing A Mysterious POV Character

Thanks for the question!

Here are some characteristics that I think makes a POV character "mysterious"

The reader is not meant to understand everything the POV character says, describes or alludes to.

The POV character actively holds off information from the readers either because (1) it's hard for them to talk about it or (2) they don't think it's important, somehow.

They reconstruct the narrative in the way they perceive it, not following the chronological order of events and often providing piecemeal information that only (if ever) comes together at the end.

The POV character simply has a wholly different perspective that a human reader will have difficulties understanding (i.e. story told from an animal or alien's POV)

I think the best way to portray this is to provide examples, which I think qualify as mysterious narrators. Note that not all mysterious narrators are unreliable narrators, although they could be. Here are the selected narrators and a few extracts for illustration purposes, divided by loosely defined subcategories (there can be overlaps!):

Incomprehensive Jargon & Allusions

Given that you can do this without boring or genuinely pissing off the reader, using lots of jargon, making allusions to things your target audience will probably not know to create atmosphere can be effective.

I recommend having a strong thematic core to justify all that jargon and reference, though.

Richard Papen from <The Secret History> by Donna Tartt

The characters talk and make references to Greek/the Classics. Arguably, it is not "incomprehensible", but the entire book is tirelessly full of them and unless you are a scholar in a related field, very unlikely to know all the Greek/ancient works being referenced all the time.

by M.L.Rio

Interesting style where the characters talk and even think in Shakespeare. They literally quote lines from Shakespeare to talk to each other. Not as difficult to follow as <The Secret History>, given that these are q famous plays (Hamlet, Macbeth, etc.) but it certainly adds well to the mystery at the heart of the book's plot.

---

Witholding Information

Have your narrator subtely refer to a large event in their past (a murder, a traumatic memory, etc) but never telling the reader upfront, making them only make implied guesses.

The only reservation I would have for this option is to not annoy the reader by letting them know the narrator has information, but is somehow not telling them. It would help to have a clear reason for them to not talk about it: e.g. they haven't accepted the past themselves, they're too scared to talk about it, etc.

by Eliza Clark

In here, the narrator has killed someone in the past - a fact that only becomes kind of clear at the end. Even then, the murder is never referenced because this narrator has some serious mental issues, but when you look back with this knowledge at the end of the book, her behavior starts making more sense.

---

Reconstructing the Narrative

Don't go in chronological order. Use time skips, or invent a new system for the narrator to arrange their memories and thus, retell the story. This gives the narrator power over the narrative because they've seen the whole thing play out, but the readers are getting bits and pieces, trying to get the puzzle pieces to fall together.

Other options:

POV character has amnesia

POV character has dementia

Using narrative interruptions that are in a completely different style (can work for 3rd person, look at Olivie Blake's work referenced below)

Olivie Black's <Alone With You in the Ether>

Using screenplay-like interruptions to the narrative that limits the reader's access to the characters' minds. Also creates interesting tone.

Kim Youngha's <Diary of the Murderer>

[I don't have pictures for this because I only have the Korean version....but really worth mentioning]

Here, the narrator has dementia and cannot fully remember the murders he has committed in the past. He is also an unreliable narrator who can only remember things in bits and pieces - thus the typical chronological order is interrupted.

---

"Non-Human" Perspectives

Give yourself a narrator that is not human, or is "dehumanized" in some way (lack of emotion, inability to relate to others, etc.) to view the entire world from a perspective not often experienced by the average human.

Death as a narrator from <The Book Thief> by Marcus Zusak.

Zusak inserts these little "pronouncements" or "interruptions" to the narrative and the calm but transcending tone constantly raises questions.

---

Do note that the overall tone of the novel contributes significantly to how the narrator comes across to the readers. Many of the works above also deal with "reality vs. unreality" as a theme, which is augmented by the use of a mysterious narrator that prompts the reader to challenge

Hope this helps, Happy writing :)

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💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[theocddiaries]

Knuckles: This movie sucks. That guy’s been sitting there doing nothing… This black-and-white cinema thing, I don’t get it—Oh, wait! More characters just showed up! Omega: IT’S THE SCREEN’S REFLECTION. Knuckles: Shhh, I think it’s getting good. Rouge: Let him be. Shadow [groans]: Tails! Tails [enters]: What. Shadow: Can you check what’s wrong with the player? It’s not working. Tails: Even appliances hate you. [approaches]: Is it plugged in? Shadow: Of course it is. Tails: Oh now I remember. I unplugged the HDMI just to mess with you, hehe. [plugs it back in] Sonic [enters]: Where’s the popcorn? Omega: THERE WAS NONE. Rouge: And why didn’t you say anything??? We agreed Shadow would pick the movie, set everything up, Sonic and I would clean the dinner plates, Knuckles and Tails the kitchen, and you’d make the popcorn. Omega: I GOT OVERWHELMED WITH ALL THAT RESPONSIBILITY THROWN ON ME WITHOUT NOTICE. Rouge: You came out with this idea yesterday! Sonic: It’s fine, I’ll go buy some. Won’t take long. [dashes off] Shadow [sits]: Now it's ready. Knuckles: You switched to a colour one? Good, ’cause the other one was boring as hell… Rouge: Wait, is this one of your original language films? Knuckles: I didn’t know you made movies. Can I be in the next one? Omega: I UNDERSTAND IT JUST FINE. Rouge: Sure, you’ve got a translator installed! Tails: What a neat invention. One day I’d like to create a chip you can implant in the brain that can do that. Omega: I CAN HELP. Knuckles: Ugh, I don’t like the idea of someone putting stuff in my brain. I’ve already got too many things in there… Shadow: No one’s putting chips in anyone’s brain. And Rouge, the subtitles are as big as they get. Rouge: That’s not it. I’ve told you a million times, if I wanted to read, I’d grab the book. Shadow: And why didn’t you? Rouge: Because there was a movie already! Smartass. Shadow: You don’t even want to watch it! Rouge: Well, I’ll wait for the dub. If it doesn’t get dubbed, it’s not worth the effort. Shadow: You’re missing out on so mu— Rouge [fake snores] Sonic [comes back with a grocery bag]: They had some! Give me three minutes, OK? Knuckles: Hey, so these subtitles, are they gonna pop up every time someone talks? Shadow: Of course. Knuckles: How am I supposed to focus on their faces if I’ve gotta look down?? Ugh, I’m lost already… Who’s that? Tails: That’s a cloud, Knuckles. The narrator is narrating. Knuckles: And who’s that? Tails: Don’t know yet, they haven’t told us. Knuckles: Why not? Rouge: Knuckles, we didn’t turn the commentary on. Zip it. Omega: I DEMAND A MINIMUM LEVEL OF RESPECT. Knuckles: Easy for you to say, you’ve got Tails’ chip in your brain! [They quiet down and start watching the movie. A microwave ding is heard in the distance.] Knuckles: Yo, Sonic! Cut it with the noise, man, we can't foucs in here! Rouge: You're not understanding a thing. Knuckles: Neither are you! Rouge: But I admit it. Sonic [enters with a giant bowl of popcorn and places it in the middle of the table]: Sorry. I’m here now. [sits next to Shadow, at the only open spot on the couch]: Oh, we’re watching this? Shadow [snaps]: Yes, Sonic, yes. We’re watching fucking Korean cinema with subtitles. Yes. Sonic: Nice, I’ve been wanting to see it but never found the right time. Rouge: You like movies like this??? Sonic: Yeah. Tails and I have watched a ton. Reading helps me focus and makes it easier not to get up. It’s like reading a book with atmosphere! Rouge: Huh… Shadow loves them too. Look, he’s blushing from excitement. Shadow: Shut up. Must be an optical illusion because Knuckles is next to me. Knuckles: I just shine that bright… and who’s that now? The narrator? Tails: Knuckles, that’s a dog! Knuckles: Excuse me, but in 101 Dalmatians, dogs narrate and it’s a highly acclaimed movie! Omega: MY PROCESSOR DEGRADES THE MORE TIME I SPEND HERE. Tails: Welcome to my world.

Previous

[knightyoomyoui]

Heartbreak On Air

ft. Kim Sejeong (x Male Reader)

TYPE: Angst

WORD COUNT: 2618

NOTE: Finally got to create a one-shot featuring one of my favorite Korean actresses and definitely one of the most gorgeous I've ever seen. I kid you not, I have a huge crush on her lol. However, nobody is safe with my love for angsty stuff.

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

DESCRIPTION: YN, a lonely but determined man, calls into a popular late-night talk radio show, to share a story about the biggest regret of his life—breaking up with his ex-girlfriend years ago. ===OOO=== People say that time will help you move on from a devastating break-up, but it was all lie.

Instead, it brings you the opposite. It just makes things harder for you to let go.

Especially if that girl you still keep your heart linked for truly had you believing that she’s the most perfect woman you’ve ever had the golden luck to once claim as yours.

Until this day, you remained to be a lonely man who is still holding on for girlfriend who is now your ex after an unforgettable 3 years of relationship. You didn’t want it to happen, which is the reason why its still hard for you to forget it. However, there’s also another thing that keeps you uncomfortable every night when you suddenly think of her.

You’re aware to yourself to you are the cause of each other’s downfall. Back then, you didn’t admit it because of something that pulls you back. Although the consequences was that she had to watch you disappear and leave her with many questions she may be wondering at that time.

Regret eats you alive, and it disturbs you. That’s why if only an opportunity will be given to you someday, you’ll use it for one particular purpose: and that is to apologize for what you’ve done. For the peace of both worlds that once shared but has now gone apart.

That is until one day, when you were on your way home riding a taxi, the driver was playing this channel on the radio where it tells a random story from an anonymous person. You suspected that this is probably the main point of the show. As you gave it a listen, you also found it even more investing not only because of that person’s story… but also to the voice of the DJ narrating.

It almost sounded like… her. 

You shook it off, not wanting to let the delusions get onto you. Yet you couldn’t blame it for happening, everything reminds you of her. You’re the one who still deeply attached for Sejeong.

The story wasn’t finished yet and you’ve reached the destination. Before you were dropped off, you asked for confirmation to the taxi driver what’s the radio channel he’s tuned in. He answered and gave it a little extra information that its currently popular which made you thanked him before leaving.

He didn’t bothered asking more, but if he did then your response would probably be only that you wanted to listen more to this show. But no, there’s more to that. Realizing that it grants people the freedom to tell their unspoken stories to others, an idea was formulated in his mind.

Meanwhile, a week later, Sejeong who has been doing great these days notably due to the new installment of her own radio program called “Confessions Beyond The Nightsky” after a friend encourages her to be a DJ. She always wanted to try using her voice more not only through singing when she came up with an idea from her friend on how she’ll do that.

That is to become the voice of the voiceless for people who had something to say deep within them but unable to do so because of hesitations in their emotions.

“Thank you again to our second sender for getting in touch to our program! Again, I wish you all the best to your decisions in the future and if you know to yourself that it’s the right thing to do, then go ahead for it..” Sejeong now in her alias known as DJ Sam for work, said on the mic as she refolded the paper she was reading.

“Many people would probably gonna be so related to what Danica said in her letter, especially on being the breadwinner of the family.” She added with a tint of sympathy in her face. “Okay and now for our last sender to this week’s episode, let’s take a look beneath its story!”

She grabbed the envelope that was given to her by the manager. She unwrapped it and revealed its content. “So this one is coming from a guy named (your other name). I hope you are currently listening to me right now YNN because yours is up next to be told by yours truly. Let’s begin with our last story.”

“Dear, DJ Sam. You can just call me by the name of YNN, that’s the name my ex-girlfriend loves to call me.”

Sejeong paused for a moment. A strange familiar feeling crept up inside of her. His image emerged in his mind brought by the suspicious message. 

“I just want to share a little bit about us first. I’ll just gonna call her “Sesang”  h-”

Sejeong felt like her heart dropped after pronouncing that name. This wasn’t just a normal coincidence anymore. Her speculations were right, this was indeed coming from the only person… the only man she is thinking of.

“Sam, is anything okay?” The manager asked her dumbfounded state. She gulped and nodded. “I’m fine. I just… remember someone.”

“Okay, sorry listeners if I stopped for a moment.” She said, shifting back to bring a professional despite trying to conceal herself from getting exposed. “To continue, he mentioned that her name is going to be Sesang in his story. Sesang and I had a relationship that lasted for 3 years.”

It came from him. She confirmed it in her thoughts. She forced her emotions not to burst out with just a reminder of you.

“She was my first and definitely I could tell the best I’ve ever had. Setting aside the thoughts of me looking for somebody else or not, but I just have this confidence of mine that I could never find another woman who as perfect as her.” She continued, a bittersweet smile formed on her lips.

“Our relationship was something I would cherish for the rest of my life. It was unforgettable, a once in a lifetime moment of mine, and definitely because I got to spend those times with her. I still couldn’t believe these days that I got to make her fall in love with me too. 

Knowing how much of an average guy I am before while she is the center of attention by most of the guys back then in our campus because of how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Maybe her being conservative of me and I just doing what I always do that separates me from the rest was probably the reason why we ended up together.

Our relationship was nothing more of a rollercoaster ride. We had a lot of ups and downs, we did struggled during the early period when we get to convince both sides of our families to accept each other which fortunately I did. I was so happy, because all I ever wanted is to officially call her mine without any limitations.

I was proud to have her as my girlfriend and so did she, that’s why I know she must be highly disappointed of me when the end of us didn’t went the same as how we started.” 

Sejeong sighed for a second, she already expected that this is about to get heavy the longer it gets. “Yes, I blame myself. I am well-aware that I was the cause of our separation. Back then I became insecure, I was depressed, and I was scared. All of that whenever I just remember her, and knowing how my family went rock bottom when my dad got scammed abroad by his relatives of moving to another country for a better job opportunity.”

Sejeong started to furrow her eyebrows as she became more focused on what you have been mentioning in the letter. She didn’t know any of this and narrating your story would be the only way to reach the answers she was begging for a long time.

“Financially and emotionally, my family was torn apart because of what happened. My dad became very stressful and desperate to rebuild all of what he spent to provide for us that it affected his mindset and his personality. It caused him and my mom to argue, I tried to to be the bridge to get them back together but instead it just grew worse to the point they weren’t communicating with one another anymore. 

That’s why most of the responsibilities of attending to every concern regarding about us not only in the house but through stuff like my brother’s studies, I catched them all. It affected me as well that I had to abandon my dreams and look for a job to contribute since my dad’s salary wasn’t enough anymore. All of the burden started to get onto me, that I slowly changing from the type of person that Sesang used to love me for.”

“She did noticed that, I know she was.” Sejeong recalled the times she had to witness him suddenly acting cold, short-tempered, and unable to be present at times when she needed him, painfully agreeing to what you’ve said. The following lines referred to what she had thought, which confirmed it further.

“I tried to mask it whenever I’m close or I’m facing her but I just can’t. The responsibilities I’m carrying is too heavy for me to withstand. Which is why I thought that if I have to let go one important thing, maybe it’ll do for the better and it’ll won’t continue to affect us any longer.

“I didn’t want to… but I chose to let her go.” Sejeong squeezed her eyes shut to fight her tears. Her heart clenching as she seethes how those words sting. “My family needed me more. I know she does but… I just can’t keep on bringing her more to my problems. I can’t let myself be with her, making her believe that she’s spending time with the same guy that she loved from the beginning.

“I know I’ve gone different. I tried to fight it but it’s too exhausting that I just wanted for us to be free.” Sejeong’s hands trembling as she grips the paper. “I was the one who ended our relationship, and here comes the biggest mistake that I regret within this day, DJ Sam. 

I refused to tell her why. I told her nothing. I just left her there, probably wondering if she was the problem instead. I just said that it’s for the better and I just couldn’t do this anymore.”

That memory was still fresh for Sejeong as well. Standing in front of their house, watching you walk away wiping the tears on your eyes, desperately calling for your name to come back but you never did.

“I disappeared for 2 years. My family returned to the province and we got assisted there by my mom’s relatives. Fortunately, our life slowly went better and it eased me for doing a lot to them. I just hope that my happiness for my family was just as same as I am for me and Sesang. The cost of my decision was that it led me to sleepless nights, regretting my actions of cutting ties with her like it was nothing.

That’s why Sesang, if you’re out there, listening right now to DJ Sam’s show as she read this letter of mine for you, I want you to know I thank you for everything that we had and despite our breakup, I never stopped loving you.”

Sejeong curses under her breath. This is getting too much of a struggle of her to endure this amount of gut wrenching moment for the sake of her job and to not get embarrassed at the public. It was just handwritten sentence, but imagining him and his voice speaking it out loud for her and for the whole world to listen how much he regrets leaving her and that he still has her in his heart, she can’t deny that it touched her a lot.

She smiled through the pain and admired your final paragraph. “I should’ve fought for us. I’m sorry if you had to be the one I have to sacrifice for. I don’t know if what I did is right, but trust me when I tell you that you doing fine these days, probably together with somebody who won’t break your heart and value your love unlike me is what I wish for you to be.

But if you ever want to talk, I’ll be here waiting and I won’t ever go again. With love, YNN.”

Sejeong breathed deeply before closing the letter and smiled bitterly. “Wow. That was… pretty tragic.” She chuckled and wiped her tears. “You guys may not see me right now but I’m literally tearing up, I know some of you may be as well.” She faked her own surge of emotions to fool everybody.

“Well uhm, thank you YNN for that wonderful yet heartbreaking letter.” Sejeong cleared her throat and reached for some tissue that was handed to her by her manager. “You made some of us emotional here in the studio so great job, I suppose.”

“Anyways, here’s what I could say to your story, YNN. I know you’re listening right now just as she is too. You don’t have to wait anymore because I’m sure she has heard your words of longing and sorrow. 

And if I would be the one in place of her, I’d say that I forgive you.” She smiled within her teary eyes. She looked at her manager and some of the staffs monitoring her, she lowered her herself as she leans at the decision she had to do. 

To end both ends’ unresolved conflict for good.

"YNN… or should I say, YN… you have no idea how many nights I stayed up, wondering why you left. I thought maybe I wasn’t enough, maybe I did something wrong. But hearing you now…" She pauses, collecting herself. 

"I realized you weren’t trying to hurt me. That you gave up on me and abandon me like all we had was nothing. You were trying to protect me in the only way you knew how. But the thing is… I never needed protecting from you. I just needed you just as how I much I am willing to be there for you.”

A shaky exhale comes through the mic. "I won’t lie—hearing this now, after all these years, it’s a lot to sink in. Part of me wants to be angry, to tell you that you should’ve trusted me, that we could’ve faced everything together if you had just let me in. But another part of me… another part is just relieved to finally hear the truth.”

She hesitates for a second, then says, "I don’t know what this means for us. I don’t know if we can go back to who we were. But if there’s one thing I do know, YN… it’s that I hear you. And after all these years, I think it’s time we finally talk… maybe in that way, it can pull us back together just like the old times.”

Then, after a long pause, she adds with a hint of warmth in her voice. “Now for your letter, here’s a song that we would like to dedicate for you.” One of the crew in charge of the sound system then played “Talking To The Moon” by Bruno Mars.

As the songs ends, Sejeong steadied herself as the silence lingers between them. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than usual, a mix of vulnerability and quiet strength. 

“And that’s the final story for this week’s episode of Confessions Beyond The Nightsky, thank you everyone again for listening! This has been your DJ Sam…. now going off air!”

===OOO===

[mariacallous]

The email arrived unexpectedly last week :

We will finish what remains of the project contract, but then we are ending doing business with Americans and American business. I know it’s not your fault, but your president just started a war. We still love the American people but good luck.

And that, as they say, is that.

There goes 20% of my cash flow.

It’s my first time being boycotted — my first time canceled.

I’m a voice-over actor. I provide the intelligent, trustworthy and engaging voice you hear narrating a TV commercial, a medical device explainer or a YouTube mini-documentary. I’m the voice on those annoying requisite training webinars you likely arrow-through quickly. I’m the aural comfort and security that helps relay information or nudges you toward trusting a brand or message.

But the trust in “that American sound” has been shattered. My client — an international organization that interacts with countries on every continent — no longer wants money going to American individuals or industry, and no longer wants an American-sounding voice to be associated with its hope-filled endeavors.

This isn’t a Ukrainian client. This isn’t some retaliatory Chinese, Iranian or North Korean company’s move. The company isn’t based in the European Union. Instead, it’s friendly Canadians, who are justifiably and patriotically uniting against our now-enemy nation led by a mad king.

And this is how our former allies are reacting. I can’t wait to see the actions from nations that have always hated us.

When the email arrived, I wanted to protest the decision — to upload proof of my entire-adult-life voting record or share links to my vast writings on LGBTQ issues and left-leaning initiatives.

Look! See! I’m just as pissed off as you are! We’re on the same side! I agree with you!

But it doesn’t matter. Everyone in the United States is guilty by association. The world has lost patience with us, even if we didn’t vote for Donald Trump. We are lumped together — whether we actually support the bad guys or we’re just lost causes suffering under them — and there will be economic consequences for all of us.

Rejection is part of any creative person’s life. We’re prepared for the “we’re taking a change in direction” speech. New CEOs, creative directors or VPs come in and tinker with existing contractor relationships. Decision-makers are replaced by new blood. It’s part of the gig, and I’ve endured such losses over the years.

But this email — this loss — stung. Any freelancer will tell you that when you succeed in finding that elusive client — the one who respects boundaries, appreciates your work without micromanaging or requesting changes, and then (gasp!) always pays you on time — you want to hold onto them for dear life.

Things were going so well.

Now this precious gift of a dependable income stream vanished, thanks to Trump’s ridiculous tariffs and “let’s make Canada the 51st state” trash talk. It’s a devastating blow while I’m already worrying about more and more companies using AI to write their scripts, edit their videos and even narrate the damn video, too.

Still, when the initial shock and hurt of losing this contract wore off, I had to tip my hat to those Canadians. I get it. I don’t blame them. Enough is enough. Someone has to have the balls to take a stand. And I have great respect for my Canadian friends and colleagues.

At least my former employer had the integrity to tell me the truth. He could’ve said my work wasn’t meeting their standards, claimed they wanted a new sound, or blamed it on budgetary tweaks. He could’ve just ghosted me.

Instead he wanted me to hear — and thought it was important for me to know — that our fearless leader’s words and actions will have consequences.

So, I’m being boycotted… by friendly Canadians.

I guess I’ll go commiserate with the former U.S. government employees who’ve also been tossed aside with violent, willy-nilly abandon. I have an inkling we’re going to be hearing similar accounts from average and not-so-average Americans feeling the pinch in the coming months, as the more forward-looking nations wash their hands of us (and our nonsense) and make harsh retaliatory and defensive moves.

The most daunting questions remain. With so many bridges burned — when all of our former allies have turned away from us and stepped forward as new global powers led by reliable and mature leaders — what will happen to the citizens of this country and this American experiment?

Blue state or red state, we’re all in the same bucket. We’re the bad guys to everyone — and anyone on the right side of history doesn’t come to save the bad guys. It will be up to us to save ourselves. But can democracy win in the face of so many actively rooting for it to fail?

I don’t know.

But I will keep fighting by using my voice and my writing, because what else can I do?

Brush up on my military contractor sound, since that’s where we’re headed? Or just adopt a British accent and acquire a new mailing address?

Right now I’m in mourning — over all of it.

[a-rayneart]

Just finished season 4 of MASH

I know this art blog is quickly becoming a MASH rampage (not intentional, I swear) but I really want to give my thoughts on the season 4 finale and this seems like the best place to do it.

An incomplete list of every moment that struck me in S4E24: The Interview:

Hawkeye's demeanour in this episode is entirely different than in 'Yankee Doodle doctor', particularly his behaviour toward the film crew. This is unsurprising, but still significant to me.

I loved hearing Radar talk about his earthworms. I love whenever the characters engage in genuine hobbies outside of their jobs in the army, but hearing Radar babble about his earthworms was especially lovely.

"War is just killing, that's all." - Klinger

Hawkeye is so honest this episode, and he does it all with this completely checked out look, eyes glazed over.

Hawkeye also sums up his whole entire character. He talks about putting on a 'coat' of morale just to make others stop believing in where they are because it's the only way he can feel present. He also get's asked how he stays sane, which is pretty significant foreshadowing, to which he answer with a list of frankly insane things to do. It reminds me of the S1 episode where he pretended to lose it in order to get time off, but also of all the little times in episodes where he did something that was a bit outlandish, a bit crazy, and somehow also made perfect sense, like when he (briefly) pretended to be a corpse in an attempt to get back to his father.

"There's so much more to care about," and "It just doesn't matter anymore," are two things Hawk says in basically one breath and boy is that relatable.

I've already seen this clip but Mulcahy talking about the steam and the bodies in the cold hurts every time.

Genuine, non-sexual focus and appreciation for the nurses and the jobs they do.

Referencing the episode where Radar get's drunk in Tokyo and him looking so abashed about it.

"If I knew all the answers, I'd run for God." -Klinger again

More on Klinger– Usually he takes advantage of any opportunity to display his insanity to higher ups. He doesn't do that here. He talks entirely sincerely about his joy for home and his hate for the war. You can really see every emotion on his face. He is so real.

Radar's compassion for the local Koreans. There's something special about it coming from him specifically that I can't quite pinpoint but I love it. Maybe because he comes from such a similar background but is now in a position where the people he answers to tell him that he's better than them. I think Radar must feel he has more in common with the local farmers than with his own colleagues.

I've never thought about it before, but it makes so much sense that Potter misses being around people his own age, and I could probably go on about that forever but I probably shouldn't.

Father Mulcahy looks so tired.

BJ smiles when he greets his wife and daughter, but when he looks down he looks devastated. How hard must it be to talk to his family through a TV screen. The acting in this episode it amazing.

I think it was BJ who talked about being torn between his love for the people he worked with and wanting to erase them from his memory, which reminded me of a line from the MASH fanfic I wrote before I even watched this episode; 'Nothing makes me happier than having people to miss, and that they’re far enough away that I can miss them.' (Check out my short fic, it's called After Life - Hawkeye's Poem)

The narrator ends by saying that they're doing what they do best but what they'd rather not do in a place they'd rather not be and I think that's just about the point of the show

All said, amazing episode, perfect acting, did what just about every episode of MASH does and gave me a deep sense of melancholy. I've seen a lot about this episode on here and I totally get why but I think we should also give some appreciation to the episode before it (Deluge) because I genuinely believe that that was just as good.

[storkmuffin]

Matz Lego Live 2025.2.13 Liveblog

@fallenstarhwa and @iriswashername this is for you!!

First off, you know they picked the 13th of February to do this lego live thing, very deliberately right? They're avoiding Valentine's day.

We open on Hongjoong muttering to himself while looking at his phone. It's always so funny to me that content makers are just as much serfs to the data farm as the ordinary people who watch their content. Hongjoong is wearing what looks like a hooded raincoat indoors, and a knit cap under that. I guess it's cold in this hotel. I've found that to be generally true of the West- Koreans keep things warm indoors, but westerners don't as much. Also there is a giant mirror in front of Seonghwa's bed. I can already hear the fanfic pens sharpening. Seonghwa comes to sit (plop, actually) next to Hongjoong. He is also wearing layers and a knit hat indoors. Definitely cold. The glasses he has on are very cool but they also are very grandpa, and given their height difference and Hong Joong slouching they look like dad and son.

Hwa is checking angles, making sure the lego boxes are lined up properly, that the link to internet is working, the camera is on, busy busy busy, and HJ is just ... diddling his phone on his lap making mouth sounds.

Immediately, Hongjoong causes banging. He pretends the banging didn't happen but Hwa doesn't cooperate. He looks for the thing that fell, and sees nothing on the floor, so then he silently wonders if someone knocked by staring at the door. He looks almost ready to stand up. Apparently when someone knocks it's Hwa's job to go open the door, because he doesn't say anything to HJ about the 'knock.' This is finally when HJ sheepishly says, No, it's not anything, it's my phone. Hwa looks at the phone in HJ's hand, clearly wondering how did that thing in your hand make a noise so far away from it, but he's just too busy doing the set up. HJ leans back from his seat to pick up the second phone that's fallen to the floor from the arm rest. HJ keeps talking but Hwa doesn't say a word until the set up is working.

Hwa is a sweetie. He really for some reason REALLY REALLY wanted to make legos with HJ and it's finally happening so he messes up his opening comment. He says, It's been a million years... and then realizes, Oh this is the first time! HJ is just a kid - he actually just echoes what Hwa says, no brain, just amplifying, until he confirms that this is the first time they're doing legos.

Then Hwa notices their outfits match. "This is so exciting!" he says, about their matching, and HJ pouts, You're copying me again. They are not looking at each other. Hwa says that he has to keep the glasses on because he looks ugly without, to which HJ says that he knew Hwa would wear the glasses, so he left his own behind. .... HJ. Dude. TELL HWA HE'S PRETTY. what are you DOING.

Hwa explains the legos they are about to make to the audience, adding in a little bit that says, I tried to reflect HJ's tastes even though he told me that he likes whatever I like - and HJ is like I did not say that!! Then Hwa explains in painstaking detail about Anakin and Asoka and how having an apprentice is not the same as having a brother (it's not 형 it's 스승 and 제자!). HJ has no idea wtf he's talking about or anything about Star Wars. At all. Okayyy. (I'm judging him in Nerd.)

They're unboxing the Legos with Hwa narrating like he's trying to sell them on the home shopping network. There are thumb grooves to make the boxes fun to open! and so on. HJ is trying really hard to not be mean about all this dorkiness, and mostly succeeding. The first crisis point is when Hwa shows off about how environmentally friendly the packaging is now, no plastic!!, until he opens his own smaller lego and realizes... it's still fully plastic. HJ covers his face to laugh.

Hwa will assist HJ on putting HJ's lego together. HJ side eyes Hwa to ask how much of a time commitment this is going to be, to which Hwa says it'll be about an hour.

Then HJ tells us, the audience, that this is not his lifetime first encounter with Legos. Hwa is surprised enough to turn to look at HJ, and acts betrayed. (뭐야...). He gets over it pretty quickly and goes right back to selling the legos on the home shopping network. The dialect tonality is coming out so strong right now. Is it because he's excited? LOL

As HJ begins unboxing the pieces, he just hates them. His mouth sours. He hates the legos as they come out, whereas Hwa looks fondly at the plastic pieces like they are his offspring hatching from the foam covering their egg cluster. Then HJ says that by nature, he hates the kind of thing where he has to follow a pre-set recipe and order. Hwa, holding the pre-set recipe and order book in his hand, stares off into the distance.

This is going to be a very long evening.

Hwa hazards, "So you just wanna make something new??"and HJ says no, with this sort of thing you have no choice but to follow. Hwa smiles just the tiniest bit, because he had been plunged into an icy bath just a moment ago and now he's back out of it.

HJ says he wants to experience the 'time killing' culture of Legos, then says that since beginning his Lego habit, Hwa has gotten angrier as a person (joke). If Hwa had done something similar, HJ would immediately go NO I DIDN'T but Hwa smiles in an exasperated way and then asks, rhetorically, Shouldn't it be the opposite? and lets HJ explain that he was joking. They are so different.

Then HJ spills everything and they disppear for a while, to pick up all the pieces, muttering. Hwa lectures - belatedly - about how you have to open stuff carefully.

HJ keeps signalling how much he hates Legos already and he hasn't even fit two pieces together. He says "This is a valuable experience" - singular, the one time, never again, etc. is implied. "You're doing great!" Hwa says, "You've already made half of Asoka!"

HJ doesn't like being Hwa's student. "It's been a long time since I've learned something from Hwa. It feels... complicated."* Hwa doesn't want him to drop out, so he says, "All you need for lego making is to be fastidious and alert." HJ says he's neither of those things. HJ says this is like getting behavioral therapy to learn calmness.

*What HJ says is it feels 오묘하다 to be taught by Hwa, which literally means Mysterious, but I'm choosing a different word.

But HJ gets the hang of it by the 10 minute mark - he says, "I just have to follow the instructions!" like this is a discovery (Why is he 4 years old?). And then they are side by side, looking down, chatting in a leisurely way about their visit to Como. They look just like me and my knitting circle when we work on individual projects side by side, talking.

HJ kinda talks about himself a lot. See. This is one of those things that makes me think he's ND. Hwa says things to him about him, and HJ answers with more information about himself, but doesn't ask Hwa anything. When Hwa makes an encouraging comment - Oh you're on page 2 already? -HJ is like I am good at this sort of thing because I studied hard in school. But Hwa just indulges him like HJ is his grandson - Oh what a smart boy, Kim Hong Joong, he says, absolutely soullessly but not with any sort of sarcasm, while making his own lego. And HJ just keeps talking about his strengths - he can stay put and work on something for a long time! And Hwa keeps agreeing. "Yes! That's why you're so good at composing."

Basically, Hwa is gentle parenting HJ into staying put and making this lego thing, doing something he doesn't like (Following a strict recipe) about an IP property he knows nothing about (Star Wars) because Hwa's fans (and probably Hwa himself) wants him to make legos with someone while on this tour. LOLOL.

HJ says he has set up a composition station on the bed in his hotel rooms (Hwa: And not because you just want to work in bed?) then he tells a story about packing harmonicas and a whole second bag of composition equipment. Hwa spills things, and blames HJ (Now that I'm with you I'm spilling things!) to which HJ as per usual shoots back (No, spilling things is just your nature).

I saw an anti-Ateez post on the Korean internet, and the person said HJ was the reason she couldn't get into Ateez. HongJoong stans, cover your eyes: She said that she's noticed when a leader of an Idol group with a lot of members is short, their egos tend to be bloated, and felt HJ was a prime example. 4 minutes into actually making legos, HJ is congratulating himself - I am talented at this! - and Hwa says, Oh you're definitely talented at this! Half a second later, literally, HJ makes an alarmed mouth sound and Hwa says, "Why, did you mess up?"

Hwa keeps HJ talking about the harmonica. HJ says he can play a song on the harmonica, and starts singing it. Together, they start singing Donna e Mobile from Rigoletto and not remembering what it's called, and I'm having that experience of being a ghost, where I'm screaming IT'S RIGOLETTO!! RIGOLETTO!! DONNA E MOBILE!!! but the people I'm screaming at can't hear me.

HJ keeps soliciting praise from Hwa ("I'm doing great!") and Hwa just automatically affirms.

The chat is trying to tell HJ what the song is but those bitches are all getting it wrong. I am biting down on my teeth so hard because I can't keep shouting La Donna e Mobile!!

Hwa spills more pieces and HJ attacks him. He gets overexcited so he stutters- What-what-what were you saying about like psh! like about the spilling?? to me??? Hwa is a lot like San in that he suddenly says Zen master things: Everyone makes mistakes, but the key is to not be defeated by them. I feel like this shows a perfectionist streak, to have to defend dropping a lego piece with this sort of weighty principle.

They gossip like old biddies about San. San kept saying the steaks in room service of every hotel is delicious, but when Hwa double checks with HJ the answer is sometimes a meh. HJ says San just likes beef.

HJ completes a portion of a piece then wants praise (again) (He's kind of a handful, isn't he?). Hwa says, You mustn't give up, there are so many cheering you on. HJ says, You said this would be over in half an hour. Hwa retorts, I said an hour. HJ really doesn't like Lego. LOLOL

Hwa keeps checking in on him- you're having a fun right? I'm so pleased to hear you're having fun - and HJ affirms, but his comments say otherwise. He keeps declaring himself DONE and FINISHED when he evidently isn't.

At the 27 minute mark, Hwa is done with his. HJ drops something else, and Hwa automatically consoles him to no response. HJ, when he's not praising himself or soliciting praise, sings snippets of song. This makes him just like San, who just starts singing when there's nothing else to do. I think Hwa is worried HJ will drop out of this project, so he's lathering him in praise. "Oh such great observation skills!" But HJ still doesn't like it. He wants to know if there's competitions for finishing legos as fast as possible. LOLOL. Hwa doesn't know.

Hwa starts to actively, aggressively help HJ put the thing together. "My mouth is drying out," HJ says, because he's having a rough time. Hwa's soft power is unparalleled. He's totally forcing HJ to do this and I'm CRACKING UP.

Oooh! HJ finished! He flips open the lid of his spaceship back and forth, now soliciting praise from the audience. Once the toy is complete, HJ makes mouth sound effects like he's 4. Zzzyoooong ~ etc. He's literally 4.

Hwa says, You finished the first one.

HJ gets up immediately.

Hwa: YOU'RE NOT LEAVING RIGHT? COME BACK.

HJ goes to get the second bag and slumps in his chair. He hates this so much. YOU DO IT NOW TOO, he commands Hwa as the second baggie full of legos comes out. "I am," Hwa says, very calm.

What is Hwa getting out of forcing HJ to do this? This is a weird kink.

They're talking nonsense about flying cars, about how technology can come out that you think is impossible, and then HJ signals how much he's not actually enjoying this: What about machines that make legos for you?? Hwa, very calmly ignoring this, the 700th hint, says, That already exists. But he's not missing out on the hints. He starts to act as a surgical nurse to HJ, finding the next piece he's going to need and handing it to him one right after the other like it's in the surgical theater and they're saving a life.

HJ hates this so much. He reads his favorite line of the manual so far. "Hey they're letting me know that I'm halfway through!!" Hwa is honest and brings down the reality hammer: "This is not the halfway point." (There's a lot more to go.) HJ is CRUSHED but Hwa is amused. HJ can't stop now, even if he hates it. Hwa is pleased.

It's only a quarter of the way done.

HJ starts to rebel. "I'm going to just go by feeling!" Hwa says no - "You can't go by feeling. I told you." He starts pre-making pieces to hand over to HJ to fit into the in progress piece. HJ is playing drums, rapping, drinking, sighing, making mouth sounds. "It would have been a disaster to pick a bigger one," Hwa admits.

HJ wants Hwa to let him stop. "You're feeling frustrated, aren't you??"

Hwa, very calm, very pleased, says No, not at all.

What...

What is this kink?

This kink of forcing a person who hates Legos to make a Lego with you even as they actively hate it??

HJ tries to trick himself into going on. "I like it! This is good! It's great!"

That was the last of his energy though, because HJ just puts his head down on the table. He wants to leave, but the force of Hwa's power is such that he can't, so he wants to exit the room by going inside his subconscious. Hwa is busy, making HJ's lego for him. "You're not sleeping, right?" he asks. HJ's head pops right back up. "No! No! I'm thinking [about making the Lego]!" he says.

HJ gives up. Hwa is making the Legos, so HJ reads the comments by those in the chat. Meanwhile, there's a piece missing, and Hwa looks for it. HJ finds it for him on the table. Hwa says, "Lego never makes an error. All the errors are my own."

Why is Hwa making Buddhist koans out of lego? LOLOL

He hands the lego making back to HJ, because making HJ make the legos is his kink. HJ is trying so hard - talking himself up, rapping, singing, writhing around - to keep his mind on these lego things that he hates.

I'm scary when I concentrate! he threatens Hwa, as he accepts his fate. You're not intimidating in any way, Hwa says, helping him. He's back to lathering HJ in praise - You're talented at this! I believe in you! HJ is putting the lego together with all the joyless but concentrated detachment of a factory worker putting semiconductors together.

"Are you so very bored?" Hwa asks, laughing.

This is so his kink and I don't understand but it's very perverse.

HJ protests that he is having a wonderful time. Then he says, as Hwa continues to be his surgical nurse, "You make a good assistant. You were born to assist me!" Then he segues into a military role play, where he's the tough commander and Hwa is his solicitous subordinate. Hwa plays right along, smoothly transitioning into the tone and affect of 'military' as seen in media. Hwa's dialect is coming out strong. HJ is talking 'down' to Hwa, using 반말, because he's the "general" in this little play whereas Hwa is speaking 존댓말 in response. All while in the larger context Hwa is forcing HJ to do this thing he doesn't like. This is fucking kinky. This is giving, also, Captain Hook and Mr. Smee, where Smee was the top. You know what I mean right? HJ is being played so hard. I can't believe KQ staff are letting this happen to him. Is it OK that I'm watching this?

Hwa, what are you doing, you weird pervert!?!?

SO they have finished one of the wings. Hwa says, to be encouraging, You just have to make one more! but HJ is like, Why does the fucking spaceship have two wings?

HJ doesn't want to snap the pieces together anymore. He says, I'll find the pieces and you assemble it.

AND NOW HWA IS THE GENERAL AND HJ IS USING 존댓말. Hwa's voice gets louder and lower and HJ turns into a little high pitched bird.

THIS IS THE KINKIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN

WHAT IS HAPPENING

HWA IS SO HARD RIGHT NOW.

FUCKING LEGO IS MAKING ME WRITE RPF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE

I AM LOSING IT.

I'm suited to this! HJ says, happily. Being what? Being Hwa's submissive assistant? Do you even know what you're saying, HJ? Was this Hwa's big picture all along???

They entirely stop talking for long moments as Hwa is fully in the zone, having HJ play the attentive assistant to him, while he makes Legos. This is Hwa's sexuality, apparently. I mean I said he was queer but like, he went ahead and invented Lego Queer. I have been listening too much Ateez music because I'm fully hearing in my head Seonghwa singing I'm the one in my zone, 다른 애들은 삐약 as I'm watching HJ hover at Hwa's elbow as Hwa makes the rest of HJ's lego.

HJ starts cheering like an American cheerleader at Hwa making the lego.

LEGO QUEER KINKY SHIT.

이건 무슨 일이야 indeed.

What is it with these Ateez guys and their need to make speeches about life lessons? HJ, completely unaware of the Lego Queer Kink Dungeon in which he has found himself, jabbers on about how he is learning important Life Lessons from building this lego.

Hwa is putting stickers on the lego, and HJ is just stroking him by praising him every step of the way. HJ needed Hwa's praise to stay engaged in the lego making, but Hwa was actually just dosing him with the behavior he wanted HJ to do. That is, Hwa wanted HJ to praise him as he made legos. What's happening looks the same but what's actually going on is entirely different.

Hwa has completed the lego. HJ claps. Not because he liked it, but because he's so happy it's over. Hwa - I SWEAR TO GOD I'M LIVE BLOGGING THIS - Hwa POINTS THE PHALLUS SHAPED SPACE SHIP WITH THE TWO THINGS SPREAD OUT TO THE SIDE, HOLE FACING FORWARD, AND SHOOTS HIS LOAD AT THE CAMERA.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i'm

I'M CRYING

I'M....

박성화 너 뭐하는거야????????????????????????

AND THEN HE GIVES IT TO HJ WHO ALSO SHOOTS HIS LOAD.

야 박성화! 성화야! 야!!!!!! 너! 너너!! 너어어어어어어!!!!!

You shouldn't shoot this at people, Hwa says, after collecting the bullet.

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

Hwa has a cruel streak if this is anything to go by. Look at poor little HJ who clearly had no idea what sort of video he was making. He's crushed, drained, overwhelmed. Hwa on the other hand is shooting load after load at the camera.

His aftercare is cold as shit too. He asks if HJ would ever make Legos again. When HJ responds with the loudest silence of all time Hwa just tells him what's next on the agenda - they are gonna make a small lego in HJ's composition room. HJ immediately says no. There is no shelving and no space. Hwa doesn't argue. He is just going to bide his time to get what he wants. Like he did this time. Then he summarily orders HJ to go.

가 he says. Just Go. Not go and rest or go and wash up or go and sleep. Just. Go.

HJ mumbles something about including San but Hwa had no answer to that because he got what he wanted. He's done.

Park Seonghwa is a Lego Queer Dom and he's A BRUTE

[whateveritsmyshed]

롯데월드 35주년 축전!!! 초고속 그림.!!

[elllllllllllllapy]

Just...why couldn't it be about people in general taking advantage of kindness? Instead of it being A SPECIFIC GROUP OF PEOPLE taking advantage of kindness. Weird. Weird bad and gross.

Episode 18 of ranking kings....good lord. This is blatant. Very gross. I'm glad I'm pirating it.

[shinuryoxx]

pairing/s: mentioned (past) player 196/kang mi-na x male!oc, platonic!male!oc x female!oc, slight thanos x male!oc, slight nam-gyu x male!oc, slight myung-gi x male!oc

cw: dead dove: do not eat, unreliable narrator, unhealthy relationship/s, implied forced pregnancy, slight misogyny, implied smoking, implied alcoholism, mentioned child abuse/neglect, mommy issues, slow burn, cursing, mentioned kidnapping, canon-typical violence

word count: 3,613

italics in narration = thoughts (although it's used for a flashback in the beginning this time as well)

italics in dialogue = word emphasis

bold in dialogue = non-korean language

translation: (¹) mom, (²) dad

➋ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼𝘀 __

ִ┈┈┈┈˖ ࣪⊹ ִ┈┈┈┈ ♰ ┈┈┈┈ ⊹ ִֶָ𓂅˖ ࣪⊹

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 of light footsteps padding across the wooden floor was loud in the dead of night. a little boy around the age of seven tilted his head curiously at the sight of the kitchen light being on. as he crept closer, he could hear voices, getting louder the nearer he gets.

“—ault? you did this to me, and you can't even be bothered to help me raise it!” screams a shrill female voice before the loud noise of glass shattering on the ground sounds out, causing the little boy to flinch and stop in his tracks momentarily. he should probably return to his bedroom. he could drink water in the morning. but hearing his father's voice filled with such animosity caught his attention.

“damn it, woman! you already know why i can't. i work my ass off the entire day to provide for us!”

“yeah? with what money? you wasted it all on those stupid cigarettes you always buy, booze, and those pointless bets you always lose! you're useless! you all are! useless, useless, useless!”

“as if you're one to talk. angelo always comes up to me every time i come home from work, asking for food. do you not feed him, woman? have you not seen how he's all skin and bones now? what kind of a mother are you?!—”

“nanay¹? tatay²?” angelo hesitantly calls out in a small voice, standing by the kitchen doorway, and it finally pacifies their fight for the meantime. the man’s scowl disappears as his face visibly softens, wrinkles smoothen out, while the woman barely spares their child a glance, scoffing under her breath.

between his parents lay broken shards of glass with some sort of strong alcohol that angelo didn't recognize pooling all around them, its sharp stench stinking up the kitchen.

“angie, what are you doing out of bed?” his father's voice was gentle as if he didn't wish to scare him away. the man crouched down low on the floor to match angelo's height. he gestured for the little boy to approach. however, angelo's feet stay planted on the wooden floor, face blank.

angelo is so much like his mother, his father's chest aches at the thought.

“i couldn't sleep. i’m thirsty.” angelo answers matter-of-factly. his gaze drifts towards his mother and stays on her, silently begging the woman to meet his eyes. yet she continues to only look off to the side, her flat expression mirroring his almost hauntingly. the similarity is eery.

“all right. let's go get you a glass, and you can go back to bed.”

“...–arth to angelo~” a high-pitched female's voice coos in angelo's ear in a sing-song tone, followed by a soft scoff, and a second later, a shriek. “come on. wake up already, you lazy sack of shit!”

angelo grunts lowly as sharp acrylic nails dig into his bicep and begins shaking him. “five more minutes… i have the night shift.” turning over to his side, he waves the hands away and pulls up the thin, white blanket he had been provided with.

“angelo, you dickhead. i'll dump all your cigarettes in the toilet if you don't get your ass up. now!”

that finally gets angelo to crack his eyes open, droopy eyelids squinting into a glare. if looks could kill, the police won't even find her body. “then i'll kill pinkie. i've been craving pork chops lately.” angelo threatens back as he slowly sits up and rubs the crusts from his eyes, his limbs still heavy from sleep.

“don't you dare!” the young lady, who's actually a co-worker of his named kira, gives a horrified gasp, pouting exaggeratedly and poking angelo's chest with a pink acrylic nail. he only rolls his dark eyes at her antics. of course, he won't do anything to her pet piglet. angelo may not feel remorse, but he isn't that cruel either.

“where are we anyway?” taking in their new surroundings, angelo finally decides to address the elephant in the room. he should've known it was a kidnapping the moment he saw the other passengers passed out — does it even count as a kidnapping if the filipino technically consented and climbed inside the vehicle on his own free will or is he merely trying to place the blame on anyone but himself?

…

no, yeah, it's definitely a kidnapping. angelo hadn't consented to being drugged.

“hah? how should i know? i'm here just like you!” kira's whining pops his bubble of thoughts. angelo heaves out a sigh and reaches up to comb his fingers through his hair, hoping to fix the mess of dark locks. “you're no help as usual.”

“excuse you, mr. i-smoke-fifty-cigarettes-a-day-and-probably-won't-make-it-past-thirty. i'll have you know; i'm plenty of help. if it weren't for me waking your lazy ass, you would've slept through the entire announcement!”

“announcement?” angelo repeats, his eyebrows furrowing. he swings his legs out of bed and takes a moment to stretch his sore muscles until he hears a satisfying pop before making his way through the sea of people. fuck, was he really the last to wake up?

as angelo unapologetically pushes past several others, not heeding their complaints and curses at him, he finally arrives close enough to observe the masked people in pink attires clearly. it's not his fault he prefers not to wear his glasses.

“to ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the faces and identities of staff. please understand.” the one with the white square on their mask states, though it does nothing to ease the crowd's unruliness and suspicion, the words mostly going in one ear and out the other

“did you take off my clothes and put these on me?” angelo's attention is drawn to the familiar voice and he turns to find a long-haired brunette with blue braids in her hair holding up her green tracksuit jacket.

hm, so mi-na's here as well.

“hey, isn't that your ex?” kira, who seems to have finally caught after him, points out the obvious. literally. she raises a pointer finger in the brunette's direction, and angelo has to push her arm back down to avoid attracting attention with her shameless action. “obviously,”

“what's with these shoes?” out of the corner of angelo's eyes, he spots a blur of purple, causing him to lift an eyebrow. it's not often people dye their hair in south korea, and especially not such an obnoxious shade of purple, yet the filipino finds it slightly interesting. after all, purple is his favorite color.

“my shoes are limited fucking edition. they're hard to find! are you going to replace them if they get ruined?”

it's a shame it belongs to such an annoying mouth, angelo sighs at his musings. he's already on his way to drown out the purple-haired man's temper tantrum when mi-na speaks up once more. “these don't fit and the color sucks.” she complains with a small pout on her cherry pink lips before they transform into a sly smile. “can i just have what you're wearing instead? i like pink.”

“me, too, please! although… lose the mask. it's ugly and would hide my cute face.” kira joins in, twirling a strand of her bleach-dyed hair with pink highlights. her remark earns her a snort from angelo, the corners of his lips curving up faintly.

feeling eyes on him, angelo looks up and finds himself making eye contact with mi-na from across the room. he watches as the brunette goes from wide-eyed in disbelief to giving him a much more genuine smile and waving a pink manicured hand at him, to which the filipino returns with a lazy smirk.

“I'm sorry, but that is not possible. you must be in your uniforms for the games.” the pink-clad person doesn't sound apologetic at all. speaking of uniforms, though… angelo peers down on himself, the number 002 looking back at him on the left side of his green tracksuit jacket. how did he not notice that before?

“what about my phone?” a man pushes through the crowd to get to the front. “why did you take my phone and wallet? give them back, please.” angelo tilts his head to the side. you've been taken to an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people and that's the first thing you ask about? he supposes a phone can be used to contact the police.

“we're keeping your belongings safe. we'll return them once the games are over.”

“at least give me my phone. i need to check the crypto market. if i lose money, will you compensate me?” oh. nevermind. so the guy isn't concerned about his whereabouts at all. that's good to know, angelo slightly deadpans.

“we will return it to you once the games are over.” the square mask repeats. even the voice charger isn't enough to hide their growing irritation at everyone else's bullshit this time. angelo vaguely wonders how long it'll take before they finally snap.

“i need to monitor the real-time prices! do you know how much i've invested?—”

“player 333, lee myung-gi.” angelo observes with mild curiosity as the masked person pulls out a small remote before a video of… the man, myung-gi, the filipino takes note, playing ddakji and receiving a slap to the face. how… humiliating.

“age thirty, used to run a youtube channel called mg coin. after convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappeared. you're wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws. current debt levels, 1.8 billion won.”

a hint of amusement flashes in angelo's dark eyes as myung-gi looks around in embarrassment at being called out so blatantly in front of everyone else, unintentionally meeting the filipino's gaze, who just cocks his head at him, and immediately growing more flustered. meanwhile, kira has a hand over her mouth to muffle her own sadistic giggles.

the pink-clad person proceeds to out multiple other players as well, both those who spoke out and those who didn't, including mi-na and the purple-haired man from before, who angelo now learns is named choi su-bong.

“player 002, ortiz angelo, 2 billion won in debt.” angelo frowns as his turn comes up. what did he even do? a few faint gasps of disbelief ring out when the tv shows the filipino slapping the man behind the camera back and actually succeeding. glancing around, he's met with almost everyone staring at him with varying expressions of shock and/or amusement.

“what, you're telling me none of you have tried to smack that asshole back?” raising his eyebrow, angelo asks the crowd. some shift their gazes at having been caught staring while some shake their heads or mumble under their breaths in response to his rhetorical question. he hears quiet snickering from somewhere, and finds it coming from a man with a short bob and the numbers 124 on his jacket.

unlike player 124, kira shamelessly laughs out loud, hitting angelo on the back as tears gather on her waterline. “bwahahahaha!— you should've seen your face when he slapped the shit out of you—”

“player 50, yamada kira, 200 million won in debt.”

that instantly shuts the blonde up, her mouth gaping in offense like a fish out of water. “oh, come on! seriously, dude? what did i even do—” before she can finish, angelo raises a hand to cover her mouth, effectively silencing her whining. “close your mouth. a fly might fly in.” the filipino half-heartedly scolds, but he's smirking up at her. in return, kira shoots him a glare before licking a fat, wet stripe on his palm, and angelo swiftly takes his hand back in disgust. “are you serious—”

“all of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge. when we first came to you, you did not trust us either. but as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. and so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will.”

they have a point, angelo and kira send each other a look.

“you have one last chance to decide. do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?” angelo releases a mirthful huff at the harsh words. so much for encouragement.

with another click of the remote, the lights dim and a large piggy bank descends from the ceiling, attracting everyone's attention. angelo can basically smell the greed coming from each person in the room, and admittedly also from him. it's like dangling a piece of meat above a pack of hungry hyenas.

“what you see now is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. after each of the six games you will play, the prize money will accumulate in this piggy bank.”

“how much is the prize money?” a man with glasses voices everyone's thoughts. this better be worth it, angelo thinks to himself. he prefers having his eyes and kidneys still intact and in his body by next month.

“the prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won in total.”

yeah, it's definitely worth it.

angelo leans against the metal frame of the random bunk bed, silently observing as players form lines to sign contracts. “you chose to participate, too, right?” kira asks from beside him, sitting on the bed and swinging her legs idly with a lollipop in her mouth. how'd she manage to sneak it in?

he has no idea.

“i have to. bastard came by my apartment this time.” heaving out a quiet sigh, angelo's gaze hardened at the memory of the confrontation. kira's eyes widen before she furrows her eyebrows and gives a worried frown. “with sophia and ivan home?”

“don't worry. he didn't see them; they hid in the bedroom.”

angelo's reassurance pulls a sigh of relief from kira. “good. who knows what he'd do if he finds something else to use against you.” oh, the filipino already knows what would happen. it's not hard to piece together what a sadistic man like min-jun can and would do.

“anyways, i see you still have all your fingers and teeth. organs? not too sure. but damn, he let you go again? even yeong-su didn't receive as much mercy from min-jun as you have. if i didn't know any better, i’d say he likes you~” chuckling softly, kira attempts to lighten the mood.

“i would rather be dissected alive and fully aware.” while angelo's face is blank as he says this, kira knows him well enough to see the traces of pure disgust on his features. it earns him a loud cackle from the blonde. she's fully aware of how the two can't seem to be in a room together without trying to kill one or the other, but some moments make her doubt their hatred for each other.

“the amazing myung-gi from mg coin? is that you?” angelo's subtly perks up upon hearing that, his dark eyes drifting from kira to myung-gi being harassed by player 124 and su-bong. oh? what has player 333 done now?

“who are you?” anyone can catch the wariness in myung-gi's tone. it's never good when someone recognizes his online persona. “you may not know me, but i know you. mg coin.” su-bong points at him and then himself, grinning maliciously. “i was subscribed to your channel. and i lost a shitload of money, asshole.”

“so did i,” player 124 chimes in. okay. bad vibes, gotta go. “you've got the wrong person.” lying straight through his teeth, myung-gi tries to push past the duo before su-bong stop him by placing a tattooed hand on the ex-youtuber's shoulder. “i watched your content all day, every day. now i even see you in my dreams, motherfucker.” the purple-haired man drops his easy smile and his eyes grow big in anger.

interesting. that piques angelo's curiosity further. having dreams of the person who'd ruined your life is definitely something, though the filipino doesn't exactly get to talk, since he often dreams of wrapping his own hands around min-jun’s neck and squeezing until his last breath leaves his lips.

“was your name nam-su?” resting his arm on player 124's shoulder, su-bong briefly turns his attention to the black-haired man beside him. “it's nam-gyu. from club pentagon—” the man, now known as nam-gyu, is quick to correct him, yet he's simply waved off by su-bong. “right,”

at least now, angelo can put a name to the face.

growing bored and losing interest in the conversation, angelo goes back to tuning out everything else. “i haven't seen you being this interested in someone else's business in a while.” kira pipes up from beside him as she takes her strawberry lollipop out of her mouth to talk better. he'd almost forgotten about her presence.

“i'm not,” angelo lets out a small huff, his hands in his jacket's pockets. fuck, how does no one else feel cold in this place? “uh-huh,” clearly, kira doesn't believe him, but she decides to let it go. for now. she always has time to bother him later.

as the three men's fight seems to finally cease and su-bong and nam-gyu leave myung-gi alone for the time being, the duo walks past angelo and kira. they shortly make eye contact with the filipino, who merely stares back with a disinterested expression, before they make their way to god knows where.

angelo fails to notice the way the two troublemakers look back at him from over their shoulders, faces holding varying looks off scrutiny and curiosity.

the masked guards take all of the players to the get their photos taken once everyone signed their contracts. a song that angelo doesn't recognize plays on the speakers, and it causes him to wish he was deaf just so he doesn't have to listen to it. once the filipino finally arrives at the photo booths alongside kira, he quickly spots mi-na, who's waves him over.

before angelo can even decide whether or not he'd actually approach the brunette, kira's already waving back enthusiastically and skipping over. he softly sighs to himself, he supposes it wouldn't hurt to catch up with mi-na.

the last time they've talked was during their break up. unlike most people after becoming exes, both of them actually stayed on good terms despite not speaking to each other anymore. no hard feelings, mi-na had said and he agreed. it really was no big deal for him. just like with his other past relationships over the years.

and so, angelo makes his way over to the two ladies, although they seem to be busy chatting away like best friends who haven't seen each other for a while — and honestly? they might as well be. mi-na's attention shifts to angelo as he draws closer, and she immediately throws her arms around him in a hug. simply wrapping an arm around her waist in response, the filipino mumbles a greeting. “hello to you, too. I guess,”

“angelo! it's been, like, what? three years? how are you?” mi-na pulls back and places a hand on her hip. “eh. same old, same old. nothing really has changed.” kira elbows angelo for his dry answer, yet the brunette only chuckles, used to how he is in general.

“and your siblings? how are they doing?”

“good. they're fifteen now.”

“shit, really? last i remember they were, like, nine.” they were not nine. “i gotta have to visit them some time. probably after we're through with this shit.”

angelo hums in agreement before he finally asks a question of his own. “how'd you manage to be in debt? you seemed fine the last time we met.” mi-na's cheeks fills with color, embarrassed by her predicament — or maybe it's just the makeup she has on. “i'd rather not talk about it.”

nodding slightly, angelo doesn't push her for an answer. he only asked so that the brunette would think he cared. he doesn't, not really, but he tries. sometimes, when he feels like it.

“—i’m gyeong-su, big fan. i've been to several of your concerts. please take a picture with me.”

“me too! me too!” multiple other players exclaim as they hurriedly rush to the purple-haired man's side, pushing past other people, including kira, who almost stumbles at a particularly careless shove if it weren't for angelo swiftly slinging his arm around her waist, and catching her on time.

“hey! what was that for?!” a scowl paints kira's pink lips as she turns to whoever had dared to make her almost fall. she could've fallen on her cute face and ruined it with bruises! however, no one seems to pay her any mind, too preoccupied with fawning over su-bong.

angelo watches with a raised eyebrow as the crowd huddles around su-bong for a group photo. is he some big shot that the filipino doesn't know about? by the looks and sound of it, it seems like it.

“hey, i don't mind having three more people. come on.” the purple-haired man beckons them over, smirking smugly. the trio merely look him up and down, mi-na flipping her hair over his shoulder and continuing her conversation with angelo, and kira scoffing loudly before sauntering over to a now-free photo booth.

“i'm taking my picture first, so we can get this over with. it's starting to stink here.”

“whore,” nam-gyu mutters from over su-bong's shoulder, but he's too focused on glaring daggers into the brunette speaking with angelo to hear. just he waits, the purple-haired man will get his attention soon enough. one way or another.

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦

♱ 𝟬𝟬

♱ 𝟬𝟭

♱ 𝟬𝟯

♱ 𝟬𝟰

♱ 𝟬𝟱

♱ 𝟬𝟲

♱ 𝟬𝟳

♱ 𝟬𝟴

♱ 𝟬𝟵

♱ 𝟭𝟬

end

[bangchansspicybuldak]

STRAY KIDS IMAGINE IF:

bang chan

Stray Kids as Boyfriends (Non-idol Au)

Bang Chan -

Liking phase/ back ground

you were the first to develop a crush on him.

he was always at least 30 minutes late for the first lecture, yet the Professors didn't mind.

not a pet peeve, but all the non-faculty and faculty staff admire his active participation and persistent perfection since he is already producing music globally for an international company at a young age

you always admired him from the very last desk

it took you months to get his number. Courtesy of Jisung; your best friend, who literally is his Closest friend. It was six months in your newly developed crush that Jisung casually mentions that they both are close friends. Needless to say, you were mad

but of what use— this dimple smile- and physically jacked guy is so popular that almost everyone around the campus and dorm is in contact with him.

he is the "class heart-throbe", so if he likes someone, everyone likes them, and if he dislikes someone, everyone dislike them. (Although there is literally no one he could possibly hate, since he smiles so big, eyes literally shining whenever he sees any familiar face)

dating phase

both of you are highly insecure and doubt yourself, but with each other; it becomes a game of a complimenting competition 

so he is a sweet, sweet guy in reality

started talking in the library, mostly after you blurted out that you like his sleeve tattoo.

the guy fucking giggles and thanks you shyly. 

started talking more, mainly him smiling whenever you texted him in the late hours of night, narrating everything on texts when you are completing your movie marathon.

usually, it's you who uses flirty line on him

(You: 

do you know the definition of love?

Because for me, you are the only definition, my love)

Chris:

Omg

stawwwp)

you know, throwing your phone, kicking your legs and having butterflies 

one pout from him and you started to sit with him at the first bench

bored? No, you never get bored, since you get to see his handsome face up-close in every boring lectures

never complains whenever you come to him just so you can mess with him whenever he is studying in the library 

has insomnia, so at later stage of your mutual likeness asks you to hang out with him late at night

is a good boy, a gentleman when he walks you home after pulling an all-nighter with you for up-coming tests

takes you on quiet cafe or reading dates

his parents know that you guys are dating; so with burning red ears, he asks you to join him in one of the video calling sessions

is so happy when you agree and easily bond with his family; even with berry (although he knows you are kind of scared of dogs because a dog chased you once)

helps you to talk with his family; since you only speak Korean (just pretend please)

he does tease you, mocking your english accent cutely from time to time, but hey! you make him stutter right away with your big watery eyes and a huge kissable pout.

sometimes just holds you in place and presses butterfly kisses all over your shoulder and cheeks 

Random texts

Nights when he can't sleep:

Chris: hey you still up?

11:34 AM

You: cant sleep again?

12:01AM

Chris:

yeah :,) can i interest you to a night tour near that park?

12:05AM

You: be there in 10

12:07AM

Chris: what? noooo im coming to pick you up  <3

12:15 AM

Days when you feel down:

Chris: hey my sweet cherry flakes how was your exam?

3:22 PM

You: Bad  :(

3:24 PM

Chris: :( on a scale of 1-10 how bad

3:26 PM

You: hmm 10.5 i feel like im gonna cry

3:33 PM

Chris: aw, that's bad sweetheart i know you gave your best 

3:33 PM

You: I just feel like I could have done better

3:34 PM

Chris: Oh hush honey, you are overthinking so are we feeling ice cream from your favourite ice cream parlor or spicy buldak at home???

3:34 PM

(He hates buldak, but for you, he thinks he can handle the spicy sauce with a lot of cheese.)

You: both? can we have buldak first And then if i feel more good (since I get to spend time with my favourite person) can we have some ice cream? ㅠOㅠ

3:36 PM

Chris: of course, anything you want baby (you are literally my favourite person too) (Can't believe I got to call you mine) 3:40 PM

You: Ugh, I need your bear hugs Omw home

3:40 PM

(Needless to say, you scored at top with a high grade, and he non-chanantly shouts "I told you so!")

A glimpse of some prompt:

"This was the 17th time you tried to suppress your yawn. Your eyes have started to water at this point. As strategically as possible, you made colour highlighted notes on the early Elizabethen Era: The rise of sonnet as a poetry genre. 

You squint at the board, trying to decipher what name your professor last mentioned. He rapidly fires speeches on each notable Poet and you hurriedly jot down the characteristics of their most popular work when the door barges open.

Bang Chan, your eyes wander.

He profusely apologises to your professor as quietly as possible, and you see his ears reddening when he finally settles down at the very first row, right in the front of the board.

Your vision is filled with his burly back and tensed shoulders. He literally attracts your attention. You notice every single detail about him— you have tried to explain yourself that you should stop doing so, that it's creepy to critically stare at the poor guy, but you fail. Everytime. 

It's the black eye bags that you are concerned of. How does this guy manage to study for at least 5 hours hours a day and 14 hours of work is out of your intelligence, (you only know this ratio because you have seen him deep nosed partially in his laptop and partially in the notes he makes in some corner of the campus library) but you like his dedication.

And his fine taste in tea, since he religiously hates coffee.

You really should ask Jisung for help when panic settles inside your ribs at the realization. 

Fuck, you are crushing on someone."

Lee Know -

Liking Phase/ background

- Corporate world is boring, but with minho, (in his tight formal pant and button up shirt) it's almost fun ;)

he was the one to like you first

at first you felt intimidated by him, he was the one who interviewed you

(is impressed by your skills, but doesn't react)

later on, since he is your senior, you start to look up to him with respect

you try to do your job as he advises; trying to complete everything by the end of the weekdays so it doesn't put you off balance and you get your weekend off stress

it was your generosity that pisses him off.

usually, he doesn't bother who is getting fucked up by work, half of the time he doesn't even remember names of any employee, but with you, it's a different case :)

ok, get it: your colleagues would just push the uncompleted files for you to complete late at night, and since you are a people pleaser, you smile through the pain and readily agree.

minho watches everything from the side.

he'd stay up late at night beside you, grumbling that he doesn't want you to mess up the work (but he knows that you are smart enough to multitask two project at once)

doesn't help (how Minho-ish -_-'), but gets you dinner or snacks in advance if you stay past midnight, heats it up when you get tired and also makes you coffee

he knows you prefer it milky, sweet, and with heavy cream uwu 

later on threatens your colleagues that he'd inform boss that they're slacking off hours and not doing their assigned works.

as they feel threatened, they politely apologise to you the very next day and treat you with more respect

Dating phase 

is suddenly very, very protective of you

hates it if so much as that guy Jason (from the desk next to yours) flirts with you, so he messes with him like a grumpy cat whenever you guys are free and your attention is not on him

(like throwing the copy that was sitting on the printing machine and loudly sighing that he didn't know it was Jason's; making him print his work all over again)

is also very defensive whenever your boss yells at you for your work; trying to protect you by answering back logically, Calmly

he starts to be more lenient to you, not in a way that he prioritizes only you, but does help you occasionally (like double-checking your work progress, or correcting any variable or visible mistakes quietly when you leave for a coffee break)

makes sure you are comfortable around him/ not intimidated by him or offended by his jokes

tries to stay closer to you; not completely clingy, since you both are reserved person

but stays with you the whole time whenever you are at any formal event and you as an extrovert; is greeting everyone goodbye or establishing connections (he rolls his eyes mentally but smiles in reality when Mrs. Geonsan come back to talk to you again just as you were about to leave)

asks you to call him informally when you both are off-work and does the same with you

gives you nicknames or messes with your name, later on calls you his fourth kitty when you guys made it official 

texts more with you, asks you if you ate or frets over you if you are up late at night

- Blushes when he changes his hair colour from black to fawn brown and you touch it, complimenting him, saying that it suits him

on breaks, he'd feed you the handmade dishes he makes

doesn't ask you right away, just excuses that he made it in too much quantity 

also blushes when your eyes literally lit up and also pout and ask him to invite "us little noobies" for a fun dinner, like kbbq or hotpot for "mingling" (for grape vine communication, duh)

so he does that, invites you over, but complains that he did invite everyone but they didn't show up because they are scared of him

(lies, since he wants to date you so fucking much but tries to keep it cool, so he only invited you over)

you immediately fall in love with him; him in the kitchen, cooking with his handsome face, sleeves of his working clothes tucked upto his arms and flipping whatever was in the pan with ease

you both have a decent date, mainly you being awkward since you don't know what to say other than chirping with delight at every side dish he made

fills your glass with wine and asks you to dance with him

you agree, of course

later on introduces you to his three precious babies, aka, his three kitties

smiles whenever he thinks about you baby talking to his three cats whenever they meow at you for extra treats

his favourite part of the day is when you spam him with texts and selfies

replies back as if it bothers him, but all meows of the Grumpy old cat, no bites

leaves small notes at your desk whenever you have a bad day, like "You look beautiful today, everyday, and will forever", "youre doing so well, jagi" "get home when you are done with work, cooked food and cuddles are yours :)"

3. Random texts

Grumpy 고양이~ : You It's the fifth time

You: hello to you too, minho-ssi the fifth time?

what did I even do? crying emoji puppy eyes emoji

Grumpy 고양이~: Do not mess with me you know how organized I am So how the fuck In the name of God, for the fifth time You mixed the red file with the blue again? 

You: oh Um, oops? hehe 

Grumpy 고양이~: Now i have to remove all the documents and attach them back to their files  that pot-bellied beast is already breathing FIRE at my neck  angry cat emoji  (he calls your boss the 'pot-bellied beast' whenever he is angry)

You: im sorry minmin i was kinda tired yesterday  sat till midnight to complete it So didn't notice which files i was attaching the documents to :(

(You call his cats 'soon-soon', 'dong-dong', 'dori-dori' whenever you baby talk to them, so he immediately melts whenever you call him 'minmin', like he is one of your cats :))

Grumpy 고양이~: … fine but this is the last time  i am letting you off

You: AH THANK YOU MINNIE  you are the best im already home as a thank you gift, i want you to come over to have dinner with me!~ sents a selfie of you in the cat-pawed apron over the matching pyjama set you both have

Grumpy 고양이~: do NOT touch my non-stick pan, or the oven, or anything until i come Or i will THROW you out of my Residence

You: aw, but i wanted to cook today Fine, I will chop some veggies

(He doesn't argue, knowing at least your knife skills is way better than his)

anyway, come back soon! Love you and miss you 

Grumpy 고양이~: first of all, you don't even help I am the one who does all the cooking all you do is distract me with your kisses and back hugs

You: :(

Grumpy 고양이~: Second of all,  i love you and i miss you too You:

:) Grumpy 고양이~: Parked, coming up You: :D

A Glimpse of some prompt

"It was always so distracting, whenever his office colleagues were drunk and blabbering absolute nonsense half-way through the dinner after-party. It was fun, though, since Minho started to know the secrets that they would never tell when they are sober.

But today, something else was distracting him.

Considering it was a mandatory, no-bullshit dinner party, all were required to dress appropriately. It made sense, and Minho did as he was ordered; wearing his fine pair of dress shirt and formal pants, drizzling a little of the expensive perfume that was in the little bottle.

But you, you went all out on him.

Your dress was humble and modest, up-to professional and not sinister, no, you were always professional and well reserved.

But it was very distracting whenever he saw your knees and flawless skin poking out under the table through the short, solid blue skirt you were wearing.

 He thought of touching it, not inappropriately, but just to feel how soft it is, just to see how you will react to him.

Fuck, Minho is distracted.

He was not alone.

Minho labels himself as an observer, always critically studying his surrounding.

Currently, Jason was trying his absolute fucking hardest to flirt you.

Minho was beyond pissed. He was tapping his foot under the desk and you have already asked him multiple times if he was alright. His eyes have always soften at your concern.

So what if Minho was supposed to sit with his other senior colleagues and not with your intern friends? So what if you are not his girlfriend, date or involved in anyway with him romantically? He is still responsible to you.

He does what he can to reduce the competition out of his way: "Ah, Jason-ssi, I heard your Girlfriend is coming over to pick you up."

As expected, Jason pales, he picks himself up as graciously as he can and runs out of the building.

You turn to face him, half relieved and half confused (somewhat disgusted), "Jason has a girlfriend?"

Minho snorts, he suddenly gets up and searches for something.

When he comes back, there is a blanket in his hand, and he places it on your lap so you could sit comfortably. He thinks it's a success when you blush and thank him.

He scoots his chair a little closer to you, whispering in your still-red ears, "From what I have heard, his girlfriend has actually come to his division and slapped him inside his office once."

Let's just say he is a little giddy that he makes you laugh all night after that."

[orphiclovers]

Thinking about Underground Killer by Lee Sookyung again.

The most obvious place to start is at it's compariosn to Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Now I haven't read it and I'm not yet crazy enough to read a book just to be able to write a better orv meta (I mean I could. it's 22k words it isn't that long) but I DID read the sparknotes summary so I can make surface level comparison... but take everything I say about NFTU with a grain of salt as I'll be interpreting it creatively to fit ORV's narrative LOL

NFTU is split in two parts. The first part is a collection of notes from a lonely, misanthropic 40 something man full of self hate who feels paralyzed by inaction, overcome by inertia, unable to make a single decision about his own life. He is totally alienated from society and figuratively "underground"

I can see a fucked up inversion of Lee Sookyung's story here. Women in abusive marriages often struggle to leave for years and even decades, paralyzed by fear and learned helpnessness into not making a single decision. Underground Killer could be about her marriage to Dokja’s father and her life during that period, struggling with the desire to escape and her own fear. NFTU critises russian society - UK must have criticized the korean society that allows women to be abused this way.

But unlike the narrator of NFTU she DID make a decision in the end, she did something that required tremendous willpower- she killed her husband. Well, that's what she wrote in the book anyway.

I think Underground Killer must have been a story of how an intelligent woman could be driven to murder (providing an in depth motive so no one suspects she didn't, I suppose) and clearly it felt real. As this candid look into domestic violence's toll shook the country enough to inspire positive change in legislation. How did that happen? I assume it sparked some manner of protests and outrage and became a symbol of the feminist movement (since in no reality would it be the MEN pushing for a change in law to protect women's rights. be so fr).

It must have been a polarizing and controversial topic where everyone had their own take. I'm thinking what the reactions were.

Like I said, the women were mostly on Sookyung's side as they probably saw her actions as brave and inspirational. I'm thinking men absolutely hated it due to it's criticism of patriarchy and the feminist themes. Media at large was enchanted by the spectacle of it all and milked it for all it's worth. Kim Dokja’s peers were too young to care about the Adult thing everyone is talking about on TV at the time it came out.

Later, in high school it was the most fucked up version of "your mom" jokes possible and "don't look at kim dokja too long, or he's gonna snap and kill everyone haha"

At Minosoft it was "Kim Dokja...? Wait that Kim Dokja from that thing on TV a while ago? The son of that woman?" Just gossip.

People like Sagah who don't listen to gossip but read are vaugely familiar with it as a famous book a while ago

Then the apocalypse happens and it is irrelevant to anyone who isn't kim dokja

[waitmyturtles]

Love In The Big City: Reflections on the Novel, and Episodes 1 and 2 of the Television Series

(Writing this with big ups to the LITBC Book Club, led by @lurkingshan and @bengiyo -- I only wish my mom life allowed me to have participated in real time in that project! I am taking the LITBC club's lead and watching two episodes a week of this series. SPOILERS from the novel that may make their way into the series are below -- read at your peril if you're pacing yourself on the series.)

In the midst of my reading the novel version of Love In The Big City over the last two weeks, I've been posting news updates (here, here, and here) about South Korean conservatives, many of them (maybe all of them) Christian, trying to censor and prevent the airing of the subsequent drama series, which dropped this week on TVING and Viki.

I want to note how important and ironic it is, macro-systemically, to note that Christianity has such a looming presence outside of the story itself, with "protestors" (bigots) leveraging "Christian values" as a means of trying to keep this already-brilliant show from being aired.

And if you're pacing on the series like I am, and you *haven't* read the novel, then you've only gotten a little taste for how Christian zealotry, among other issues, has and will affect Go Young throughout this story.

But I'm getting ahead of myself: when I picked up the novel, I was more familiar with the noise and drama associated with the television series than I was with the story itself. I'm going to talk a little about my reactions to the novel, and then offer thoughts on the first two episodes.

I read Proust's In Search of Lost Time (yep, all of it) in my freshman year of college, and Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises two years after. I felt the power of both of these stories strongly in Park Sang-young's novel, from the impact that memories and depression can have on a young man, to the permanence of medical conditions that can drive a young man's life towards otherwise unexplored cliffs of grief and pain.

Even reading a synopsis of In Search of Lost Time is a monumental feat, so let me just say that I felt Proust's madeleine-driven devices of memory, within the novel, from Young's frozen blueberries to the chill of the Marlboro Reds in the freezer. The impact of Young being really, really alone, as connected to the empty freezer and the dwindling blueberries after Jaehee's (Mi-ae in the series) wedding, caught me in a hole of loneliness that I felt for Young -- well before I knew enough of his backstory to be truly devastated.

I'm jumping ahead of myself vis à vis the series, but I also felt Proust even more heavily as I was reading about Philosopher Hipster Doofus Hyung, and I threw back to @lurkingshan as I was reading the book, "goddamn it, we are in yet another circle of hipster doom, huh," well before I learned about the medical turning point this story hinges on. Young's incessant attraction to that POS had me thinking about Proust's narrator's simultaneous incessant attraction and disdain for his companion, Albertine, who is a lesbian in early 20th-century France. While the story between the narrator and Albertine is ultimately a devastating one, Proust's narrator winds through the devastation with an equally devastating arm's-length distance, continually avoiding the true depth of pain that his obsessions would have otherwise rendered.

For me, it's such an apropos comparison to think about as we see Young, time and time again, rationalize the avoidance he has to commitment, all while throwing his energy into the relationships he's able to find himself in, ones that he essentially stumbled upon and never instigated.

The pain of his loneliness only grows as he grows into adulthood, and that, paired with his medical reveal, left me with a boulder in my stomach by the time I finished the novel.

Because I'm me (intergenerational trauma auntie), as soon as I finished the book, I couldn't help but think about Young's own boulders that he silently shouldered -- the thought that Young's medical Kylie would rear its head as a means of aiding Young in rationalizing his own assumptions about wanting vs. deserving long-lasting love, and his habit of taking commitment too lightly, even in the context of an already-established relationship with Gyu-ho.

But I also consider the lifelong trauma he suffered vis à vis his mother as an equally heavy boulder: the fact that Young absolutely internalized his mother's disdain for him as a gay man, his mother trying to "correct" his sexuality through conversion therapy, and then seemingly seeing past her son's reality, horrifically ignoring the emotional development of her son. Besides physical abuse, you couldn't do better than Young's mother in permanently psychologically traumatizing a young man who will already face obstacles as a queer individual in a highly conservative society.

All of this combined rendered me unsurprised -- but, of course, still equally devastated -- by Young's eventually pinball-style life, jumping from menial job to increasingly flippant flings.

What we are treated to in the novel are the thoughts that Young can put together as he steps back and assesses his life, especially at the crushing end of the novel. On the surface, someone on the street could absolutely write off Young as another aloof and aging hipster, disconnected with the world; but we know that that's not the case as Young assesses his dashed hopes for the kind of permanent love that he had once pooh-poohed.

Both Proust's narrator, and Hemingway's Jake Barnes in The Sun Also Rises, could join Young in that aloofness, and our own misreads of these men, to an extent. Not only is Barnes held back in life by a previous wartime injury (to me, this is screaming of inspiration to Park Sang Young's novel and the timing of Young's medical condition, but I'll never know if Park was directly inspired by Hemingway's book), but Barnes and Proust's narrator are also both young men growing into their adulthood, within circles of friends in impactful societies that seem to be full of intelligence and engagement, but are ultimately larded with loneliness and the pain of static ambition and conformity.

The last takeaway from the novel that I'll think about for now, one that I think is already leading beautifully into the television series, is the fallacy that we all have or had as young adults: that our youth would last forever. Young says, at the end of episode two,

"As I looked down at those blueberries, I realized that a time I had thought would last forever had come to an end."

Young has to reckon with the fact that his life, as it stands still in his early 30s, hasn't moved forward. It's only gone backwards, into deep habits of disconnection, despair, and loss. That youth itself could serve as a modality of movement for a young person to hopefully grow into a person with more potential is both heartening and brutal to consider -- especially as Young clearly could not take time in his life to take care of himself, as busy with his mother as he ends up being.

There's a lot more I'll likely say about the novel as the series unwinds, but I'm honestly still internally processing it. I'm also amazed to think that both In Search of Lost Time and The Sun Also Rises have significant connections to queer sexuality in both novels, and I just couldn't help going down this comparative literature brainrot cycle for a few minutes.

As to the first episodes of the series: what can I say? No one does it like South Korea. The acting, the cinematography, what Nam Yoon-su is bringing by way of his mere presence, let alone how he bodily channels Young's sexuality and personality. We're in prestige drama territory -- and already by episode 2, we've been taking into multiple facets of Young's internal strife, and his soon-to-be-revealed lifelong aloofness to commitment, while he still yearns for infinite love.

God, those internal contradictions, huh? In our real life, with our friends who are like that -- those friends drive us INSANE, RIGHT? Proust's narrator is SO THIS. A guy who sits in a chair and whines about what he wants, and complains even more when he HAS what he wants, because it's not perfect? He HAS Albertine at so many times, but he can't make her fully love him, because guess what, she's a lesbian, womp womp? Pick a battle, homey.

And yet. We're still devastated by Proust's narrator. Because one of his ultimate flaws is that he'll never remain still, he'll never be truly satisfied, and that conflict DOES keep him from being able to attain permanent happiness. At least we get to see him age, while we're left to wonder with Young and Jake Barnes.

I'm just too excited to see how Nam Yoon-su renders Young's own conflicts, as they simply grow, throughout his life in the series.

*****

I want to make one quick, totally unrelated note, about the airing of this series. At least to me, maybe only to me, the opening animated title cards of LITBC are really close to the imagery and symbolism of the title cards of Netflix Japan's The Boyfriend, a recent dating reality show featuring gay men in Japan trying to find permanent love. The ultimate pairing of DaiShun has been HUGE in Asia this year, with DaiShun doing fan meets across Asia, including in South Korea.

As @lurkingshan and others have emphasized: Love in the Big City is NOT a BL, it is NOT a romance. It is a deep exploration of the life of a gay man in the city of Seoul.

Inspired in part by Sex And The City? Probably. But LITBC is not nearly as flippant as SATC regarding social obstacles that its main characters face. LITBC delves painfully into the various obstacles that queer men face in Seoul, from social to medical discrimination.

The Boyfriend actually touched a lot on these obstacles as well. Some of the participants were out, but not all of them; one participant, Tae-heon, used the show itself as a means of coming out to his parents.

While some of us have seen the majority of queer content in Thailand turn very primarily towards BL romances, I still believe that Thailand can and will produce high-caliber media about queer life aside from romance, as it did in 2022's The Miracle of Teddy Bear (which I just finished this week, I'm fine, thanks for asking, devastated actually) and in other cinematic pieces. But I also want to note how incredibly refreshing it is to see Japan and South Korea also pick up this thread through The Boyfriend and LITBC, respectfully, producing content out of the usual romance loops that we've come to expect from BL media.

Anyway. If there's a connection between LITBC and The Boyfriend, with both entities talking MUCH more about holistic queer life in society, then I celebrate it, and I want more, more, more of it.