#refinance scam

[exorbitant-interest]

$25K won’t buy much in this economy!

[nightmareonpeachstreet]

look at how perfect their artworks go together, they look like they're opening a performance. the vibes are immaculate

[terramythos]

My mom got phished in an EXTREMELY refined scam that pretty much anyone could fall for-- basically her account was already pre-hacked and they spoofed the bank's number exactly, called her pretending there was fraud, and read back legitimate and fake transactions and personal info so she wouldn't suspect they weren't the bank. Then discouraged her from logging in claiming the account was locked so they could investigate the fraud-- all so she wouldnt catch them making massive purchases using her stolen info.

We have the same boss and when she told him what happened he recommended she call the bank directly, so she did and they managed to catch it in time before $20k of transactions went through. Very scary

I guess the lesson here is never ever answer your phone, I love that fraud is so rampant an entire form of mass communication is now useless

ANYONE can fall for phishing scams- my mom is extremely smart and we discuss common scams that target her age demographic and she still fell for this. If it happened to me I may have fallen for it too. Always be careful!

[fangdokja]

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

❤︎ Synopsis. This Valentine’s, four enemies are about to learn that love isn’t sweet—it’s twisted, obsessive, and definitely not the happily-ever-after they were hoping for. Between roses, revenge, and unexpected affection, survival may just be the most romantic thing you’ll experience.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella: Valentine's Special. Red Roses, Black Hearts - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,318

Valentine’s Day.

The dreaded season of saccharine, mass-produced romance, where the air reeks of cheap perfume and artificial chocolate, where every single person you know—whether it be classmates, coworkers, or that one annoying neighbor who plays obnoxious love songs at full volume—suddenly acts like they’ve ascended to a higher plane of existence because they have the privilege of holding clammy hands with another human being.

It is disgusting.

And you, well, you would rather gargle bleach than partake in this glorified corporate scam of a holiday.

It’s not like you’re bitter about being single—no, that would imply you even wanted to date in the first place. Your aversion to real-life romance isn’t a quirky personality trait or some cute little eccentricity. It is a deeply ingrained, visceral disgust, an allergic reaction that sends metaphorical hives across your soul whenever someone suggests that you, you, might want to experience “love.”

No. You don’t want it. You don’t need it. And you sure as hell don’t need a day dedicated to parading around in pink and red like some kind of overgrown toddler hopped up on love hormones and mass-market capitalism.

Of course, none of this means you aren’t completely obsessed with romance in fiction. But not just any romance. No, your tastes are far more refined—sophisticated, even.

You don’t waste your time with vanilla, run-of-the-mill love stories about two people meeting in a coffee shop and awkwardly flirting over lattes. No, you prefer your romance with a side of psychological horror, a dash of violent obsession, and an unhealthy dose of possessiveness.

That’s right. You read—and write—male yandere content.

Fictional love? Amazing. Real-life love? Revolting.

There is a fine line between passion and psychopathy, and you would rather be dragged to the depths of hell by an obsessive, controlling, morally bankrupt fictional man than even consider the prospect of holding hands with a real person.

You’ve built an empire of anonymity, a carefully curated online persona where you unleash your deepest, darkest, most unhinged thoughts onto unsuspecting readers. Nobody knows your secret, and nobody ever will. By day, you are the quiet, aloof, slightly unsettling individual that people cautiously respect but never truly understand. By night, you are a prolific creator of stories so deranged that even the most experienced horror fans would hesitate before clicking on your masterlist.

It is a beautiful life. A perfect life.

Except for the fact that, no matter how hard you try, you cannot escape the insufferable assault of Valentine’s Day.

The pink. The flowers. The terrible, terrible poetry plastered across every store window. The couples who think they’re being subtle with their PDA but are actually one step away from engaging in unspeakable acts right in the middle of the sidewalk.

It makes you want to die. Or kill. Either works.

Even your professors, the very people who should be upholding the sanctity of academia, have succumbed to the plague. There is an entire essay prompt dedicated to writing about the meaning of love, and you can already feel the bile rising in your throat at the thought of having to regurgitate some sappy nonsense about “soulmates” and “eternal devotion.”

You stare at the prompt. The prompt stares back at you. A staring contest between two soulless voids.

You could write about how love is a chemical reaction, nothing more than a biological impulse designed to ensure the continuation of the species.

You could write about how love is an illusion, a social construct perpetuated by media to manipulate lonely people into believing they need another person to feel whole.

Or… you could write about him.

The perfect man. The kind of man who would rip out his own heart and place it at your feet as an offering. The kind of man who would kill for you. Die for you. Stalk you from the shadows, leaving behind cryptic, bloodstained notes that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who wasn’t completely deranged (which, unfortunately for your mental stability, you absolutely are).

The kind of man who only exists in the realms of fiction, where love is not soft, nor gentle, nor kind, but something dark, twisted, and entirely consuming.

You smile.

Your professor is going to need therapy after reading your paper.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, you have a yandere fic to update.

────────────

You live in the comfort of your room, tucked away from the world, basking in the glow of your screen. The outside is a horror show, a grotesque landscape of expectations and human interaction that you’d rather not partake in. You could stay locked up forever, hunched over your laptop, writing the most depraved, spine-chilling, erotically twisted stories known to mankind—and you would—if not for her.

Her.

The bane of your existence. The one force of nature capable of tearing you away from your self-imposed isolation.

Your best friend.

You’re not entirely sure how it happened. You’re certain she just decided one day that you were her responsibility, like a stray kitten she picked up off the street and forced into domestication. You didn’t agree to this. You didn’t want this. And yet, here she is, constantly invading your space, forcing you to experience social interaction against your will.

And the worst part? She’s a pervert.

Not just any pervert. An extreme pervert. A monstrous, unholy abomination of a pervert.

You, despite writing the most detailed, graphic, heart-stoppingly intense smut known to man, feel absolutely nothing. Your readers foam at the mouth over your work, leaving you comments that range from awe to pure degeneracy. Meanwhile, you sit there, dead inside, typing out the filthiest, most depraved acts with the same level of emotion one might have while compiling tax documents.

But her? Oh, she eats it up. Devours it. Worships it.

She texts you at ungodly hours with things like:

“BRO. BRO. THIS SCENE?? THIS SCENE??? I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.”

Or

“You’re lying to me. There is NO WAY you’re a virgin. NO WAY. YOU HAVE TO HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE.”

And your personal favorite:

“HOW ARE YOU NOT HORNY RIGHT NOW. EXPLAIN.”

It’s exhausting.

She has no shame. She’ll read your work aloud while you’re trapped in a car with her, watching your soul leave your body as she dramatizes every sinful act with the enthusiasm of a Broadway actor. She’ll corner you and demand explanations for why a character moaned a certain way, as if you have an answer other than, “I don’t know, it just sounded right.”

Your dignity is in shambles.

And what’s worse? She can make anything sound perverted. Anything.

You could be eating a slice of pizza, minding your own business, and she’ll somehow turn it into an innuendo. You could be talking about the weather, and she’ll find a way to make it sexual. The sky is looking a little gray today? “Yeah, just like the color of my soul after that last chapter you wrote. That ruined me. That made me feral. I’m in shambles. You’re a monster.”

You sigh deeply. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve sighed today.

You’re sitting at your desk, typing away, trying to ignore the looming presence behind you. She’s reading over your shoulder again, eyes scanning the screen at an inhuman speed. You can feel her judgment. It’s suffocating.

Then she lets out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh. My. Damn.”

“No,” you say, preemptively shutting her down.

“You did not just write that.”

“I did.”

“That’s illegal.”

“It is not.”

“That should be illegal.”

“You’re overreacting.”

She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. “HOW ARE YOU NOT SCREAMING WHILE WRITING THIS???”

You blink at her, unamused. “Why would I scream?”

“Because this is HOT. I’m sweating. I’m disoriented. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down.”

She grips your arm. “You’re a menace to society.”

You turn back to your screen, continuing to type as if she isn’t having a crisis right next to you. You’re used to this. It happens every time. You don’t know why she keeps acting like this is new information.

She groans, falling back onto your bed dramatically, arm draped over her forehead. “I don’t understand you. You have the power of God and degeneracy in your hands, and yet you feel NOTHING.”

“I’m here for the horror,” you remind her, voice monotone. “The thrill. The psychological torment.”

She sits up. “And the sex.”

You scowl. “I don’t care about the sex.”

“You write it really well for someone who doesn’t care.”

You shrug. It’s true. You do write it well. It’s not your fault that you have a gift. If anything, it’s a burden.

She narrows her eyes at you. “So you’ve never felt even a little bit—?”

“No.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

She exhales, long and suffering. “You’re broken.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I have to be. You need a keeper.”

You roll your eyes. “I need to be left alone.”

“NEVER.”

She launches at you, wrapping her arms around you in a suffocating bear hug. You try to pry her off, but she’s strong—unreasonably strong. She’s always been like this. The kind of woman who could probably snap a grown man in half but still giggles at cute animals. The type to offer sage, older-sister advice to people in need, only to turn around and read the most degenerate smut imaginable.

You give up, slumping in her grasp. You’re used to this, too.

She rests her chin on your head. “So, when’s the next chapter coming out?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble into her arm. “Whenever.”

She gasps. “That’s not good enough.”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You pause. Your eye twitches. “You say that, but it feels more like you’re holding me hostage.”

“Same thing.”

You sigh again. The longest, most suffering sigh known to mankind.

There is no escape.

────────────

The moment you agreed, she clasped her hands together like a demon about to perform a blood ritual.

"I knew you’d come around, my little goblin," she cooed, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on steroids.

You stared at her, deadpan. "I want you to know that I have never hated myself more than in this moment."

She ruffled your hair like you were a golden retriever puppy who just learned how to sit. "And yet, you agreed. Love that for you. Love that for me. Love that for us."

You wanted to die. She could probably arrange that, but she was having too much fun watching you suffer.

———

This all started three days ago, when you were sick at home, curled up in bed with a fever, blissfully unaware that your best friend was about to declare war on your social ineptitude.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, you had a friend group. Well, they were more like her friends, and by extension, you were just there. If they were a pack of wolves, you were the black cat perched in the distance, watching, unblinking, knowing full well you were above the food chain nonsense.

That was until some idiot decided to open his mouth.

"Dude, why does she never go out? What, is she scared of people? I bet she’s never even been on a date."

Your best friend paused mid-drink, setting her bottle down with a slow, deliberate motion that sent warning signals to every single person at the table.

"The fuck did you just say?"

The guy shrugged, completely oblivious to the incoming hurricane. "I mean, no offense, but she just gives that, y’know, scary, reclusive serial killer vibe."

Silence.

Then, your best friend let out a laugh, one of those fake, manic laughs that made her seem like she was about to flip the entire table over. She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something deeply, deeply unholy.

"Oh, bet? You think my best friend—my personal goblin—is just some socially inept cryptid? You think she can’t get a date?"

The guy snorted. "I mean—"

"No, no, no, shut up. Shut the fuck up. You just declared war, asshole." She slammed her fist onto the table. "I will have her slaying at prom, and when she does, you’re gonna take your L like a little bitch."

"Dude, chill—"

"No, no, no, fuck you. I’m gonna make her so hot that when she walks into prom, everyone’s gonna be like ‘who’s that mysterious goddess’ and you’re gonna sit there in your crusty ass suit looking like an extra in a high school romcom."

The whole table was silent. She downed the rest of her drink like a shot, wiped her mouth, and pointed directly at the poor bastard.

"Watch me."

———

"No."

"Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad."

"No."

"Just a little blind date."

"No."

"Okay, what if it’s not a date? Just an interaction. A social experiment. Like putting a chimp in front of a mirror to see if it recognizes itself."

You stared at her, unimpressed. She beamed.

"No."

"You wound me," she sighed dramatically, flopping onto your bed as if her soul had been shattered by your sheer refusal to entertain her bullshit. "Do you not want to broaden your horizons? Experience life? Have someone fall madly in love with you and offer you their fortune?"

You turned your head ever so slightly to glare at her. She grinned.

"No."

"Babe. Babe." She sat up, crisscross applesauce. "I need you to at least leave your house before I have to start smuggling you vitamin D supplements like a shady drug dealer."

"I get vitamin D from my phone."

She looked personally insulted. "That is the saddest shit I’ve ever heard."

"Then leave me alone."

She gasped, clutching her chest. "Betrayal. Backstabbed. Left for dead. I hope you know this is going to be war."

———

And war it was.

The next day, she was outside your house. 7 AM. Dressed like a fucking FBI agent. Sunglasses. Black suit. Earpiece.

"Ma’am, step outside the vehicle."

You shut the window.

The next day, she showed up at your job. (You didn’t even tell her where you worked. She just knew.)

"Hey, babe," she greeted, all smiles and sunshine. "What time do you get off? There’s someone I want you to meet."

You turned and walked the other way.

The next day, you were grocery shopping. She cornered you in the cereal aisle.

"Surprise bitch, bet you thought you’d seen the last of me."

You gripped your basket tighter.

"You will go on this date."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "What if they’re rich?"

You hesitated.

Her grin turned victorious. "I knew it, you little capitalist gremlin."

"I will set this entire aisle on fire."

"And that’s why I love you, babe. Now, let’s talk outfits."

────────────

You stare at the massive stack of papers in front of you like it's a corpse that just plopped onto the dinner table. A thick pile of documents, neatly arranged (a feat you did not think possible for her), bound together with an actual fucking paperclip.

"Alright, bitch," your best friend announces, slamming her hands down on the table with enough force to rattle your soul, "we're finding you a man."

You want to die.

"I really don't think—"

"Shut up."

"But—"

"Shut. Up." She slides the first page in front of you with the precision of an executioner. "Now, look at these premium selections. Hand-picked by yours truly."

You glance at the first paper. It lists a name, age, occupation, social status, and what appears to be a 'Yandere Rating' out of ten. Your soul attempts to astral project.

"Why does this have a yandere rating."

"Because you love that toxic, possessive, I-would-murder-for-you shit, don't act like you don't. I read your stories, bitch."

You close your eyes. "I never should've told you about that."

"You didn’t. I found out."

"Even worse."

She ignores you, shuffling the papers with the excitement of a game show host. "Okay, let’s see. This one—absolute beast. Ultra-rich, emotionally stunted, crazy in the head but hot. Probably gonna pin you against a wall and tell you he can't live without you within the first three dates. Very murder-y. A solid 9.5/10 yandere rating. Thoughts?"

You blink. "That sounds terrible."

She cackles. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Bitch, I will expose your AO3."

Your face remains neutral, but internally, you’re already calculating how quickly you can erase your existence from the internet.

She slaps another paper onto the table. "Okay, next up—he's got a crime record."

"Absolutely not."

"Listen, listen, it's not murder, okay? It’s just minor felonies. Some fraud, a little blackmail, typical rich people crime—he’s clean otherwise."

"I literally don't even want to date."

"Yes, and yet here we are." She flips through the stack before pausing, then, without hesitation, crumples an entire sheet of paper and tosses it into the trash. "Nope. This one's ugly."

You exhale slowly. "You’re judging a criminal less harshly than an ugly man."

"Priorities." She shrugs, as if this is the most obvious fact in the world. "If they're gonna be toxic, they have to be fine as hell. Otherwise, what’s the point?"

"I don’t think that’s how—"

"Ohhh, this one!" She practically vibrates as she holds up another paper. "Listen. He’s possessive, dominant, completely depraved, but he’s got the money to spoil you rotten, and he’s super hot. A high-quality psycho."

You press your fingers to your temple. "This is literally a human trafficking scenario."

"But he’s rich."

"So is Jeff Bezos."

"Exactly."

You stare at her. "Do you even hear yourself."

She leans forward, her grin sharp. "Yes. And I stand by it."

You take a slow, deep breath, contemplating your life choices, then glance at the remaining stack. "Are all of these just different variations of ‘hot psychopath’?"

"No. Some are just regular psychopaths."

You stare at her. "...How did you even get these?"

"Connections."

"What connections?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"No."

"Good. Now, next on the list—" She pauses, frowns, and immediately chucks another paper into the trash. "Nope, too soft. You’d step on him, and he’d say ‘thank you.’"

"Just kill me."

"We need balance!" she insists, gesturing wildly. "You’re emotionally dead inside, so we need someone who can handle that without crumbling into dust. If we throw in another doormat, it’s gonna be pathetic. What you need is someone who can keep up with your depressing ass and also fuck you stupid."

You violently choke on air.

"You’re deranged," you rasp out.

She merely grins. "And yet, you’re still here listening to me."

"Because I literally have no choice."

She slaps a new document in front of you. "Alright, final one for now. Listen to this. Business empire, genius, emotionally bankrupt but functional, probably into some nasty shit but looks good in a suit."

You eye the paper. "This sounds like a corporate mafia drama waiting to happen."

"Exactly. And we both know you’d eat that shit up."

You don’t answer. She doesn’t need you to. The smirk on her face tells you she already knows she’s won.

She leans back in her chair, utterly self-satisfied. "So. Who’s it gonna be?"

You stare at the remaining stack, then at your best friend, then at the way your soul is currently floating ten feet above your body.

"You know what," you mutter, defeated. "Just pick for me."

Her grin is positively diabolical. "Oh, bitch, you’re gonna regret that."

You already do.

────────────

You sit slumped over in your chair, staring blankly at the absurdly thick stack of documents your best friend just dumped on the table like she was presenting the results of a scientific breakthrough. You have suffered long and hard for this moment. And by suffered, you mean you had to endure watching her go through an entire lineup of would-be suitors like some kind of overenthusiastic auctioneer while you stared into the abyss, hoping it would finally stare back and drag you into eternal peace.

But here you are, still breathing, against your will.

“Alright, after an excruciatingly thorough vetting process, four candidates have survived. I know, tragic.” Your best friend sighs dramatically, as if the whole ordeal was emotionally devastating for her. It wasn’t. She’s enjoying this. You know she is.

She pushes the first file toward you, tapping it twice. “Now, before you say anything, I already know what’s on your mind—‘But aren’t they all just cliche tropes ripped straight out of a questionable romance novel?’”

“That is not what I was going to say,” you respond, monotone.

“You were thinking it,” she accuses. “And okay, fine, I admit it—yes, they’re cliché as hell, but trust me, darling, these are the closest to your… preferences. Or at least the closest you’ll get.” She leans forward, a glint in her eyes that spells danger. “Trust me. I can tell.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t have preferences.” She ignores your comment.

"Alright, bitch. Four finalists. Four potential future providers of dick and distress." She claps her hands together with a grin so smug it should be illegal. "I know you don't give a single fuck, but I need you to understand that these are the best options available to your pathetic, unromantic ass."

You stare at her. "I hate you."

"Love you too, dumbass. Anyway." She dramatically flips a folder open. "Before you start bitching, let me clarify something. These guys? Technically, not yanderes."

You blink. "Then why am I here."

"Because they're the closest match to your degenerate tastes. Trust me, I can tell."

You press a hand to your forehead, contemplating if slamming your skull into the table would grant you the sweet release of unconsciousness.

Then you let out a long, slow sigh, resigning yourself to the inevitable. "Just do it."

She smirked. "You always make it sound like I'm about to execute you. But fine. Let’s start with the first one."

———

She yanked the first folder open and dramatically shoved the profile in front of your face. The rich prince, the untouchable student council president, the golden boy.

You glance at the file. His extracurriculars are a cursed list of everything you despise: fencing, business management, charity events, and what you dread most, hosting school galas.

“This motherfucker. Top of the hierarchy, heir to a ridiculous empire, and so disgustingly charming he could probably get away with tax fraud in broad daylight. He’s a genius, annoyingly good-looking, and has an ego the size of the national debt. Basically, a walking privilege check.”

You just stared at her. “I hate him already.”

“I know, right? That’s why you’ll get along so well. He’s the type to flirt with you just to piss you off. Loves playing the fool, but make no mistake—he’s got a god complex that even Jesus would side-eye. He’s also obscenely rich, so if nothing else, you can mooch off him. Plus, imagine the sex."

You immediately regretted breathing. “I don’t want to imagine that.”

She gave you a pitying look. "It’s okay, I’ll imagine it for you. I’d say he’d be the type to pin you down with a cocky little smirk and make you beg just because he can. The kind of guy who teases you for hours just to see how long you last before you break." She tilted her head in deep thought. "Yeah, he’d be insufferable about it. But you like a challenge, so it works."

You were considering launching yourself out the window. “Next.”

“Fine, fine. Now, this one’s fun.” She slapped open the second folder.

———

"The delinquent. Your classic bad boy. Most famous troublemaker in school. Absolute bastard. Arguably a feral animal with human rights."

You glance over the profile. Multiple suspensions, record-breaking number of detentions, rumors of gang affiliations. The worst part? Top physical scores, zero effort in academics, still passing with minimal attendance.

You stared at the profile. “Why does it say ‘once bit a teacher’ under notable achievements?”

“Because he did.” She snickered. “This guy’s a walking crime waiting to happen. Fights just for the hell of it. If a fire breaks out at school, he was probably involved. I don’t think he even knows what rules are. But the man is sharp. He’s the kind of guy who will break someone’s nose and walk off whistling. Imagine the sheer lawlessness of your dynamic.”

"Why."

"Because he's a menace. A hot one. And if you're going to be dead inside, at least let someone else do the thrill-seeking for you. Plus, look at these notes on his dating history—nonexistent. He's a territorial little shit who probably wouldn't even let you look at other men without giving you a possessive death glare. He'd fight a guy for breathing the same air as you."

You rub your temples. "Isn’t that just primal jealousy?"

"Yes. And it’s hot. And just imagine the sex,” she cooed.

“No.”

“Listen, this is important. He’d be rough, no doubt. Fast, reckless, all adrenaline. Probably the type to take you in places that are very much not legal or appropriate. And he’d absolutely mock you about everything. If you blush, he’s got ammo for years. You’d hate him, but in a fun way."

You wanted to detach your soul from your body. “Moving on.”

———

She snorted and opened the third folder. “Alright, this one’s different. The intelligent doctor and artist. A rare combination of someone who can both kill and heal you.”

You stare at the profile. High-level intellect. Medical prodigy. Specializes in surrealist paintings. No known scandals. Speaks in a way that makes people question their mortality.

You peered at the profile. “He seems... disturbingly normal compared to the others.”

“Oh, no, he’s not,” she assured you. "He’s just the quiet kind of unsettling. Genius intellect, ridiculously composed, and there’s something really fucking off about how serene he is. The kind of guy who watches people like they’re puzzles he already solved. He’s patient, calculated, and definitely has secrets you do not want to find out.”

“Sounds exhausting,” you muttered.

She grinned. “But wouldn’t he be hot about it? You’d think you were safe, and then bam—suddenly you’re alone with him, and he’s looking at you like you’re a rare artifact. He’s the type to say the most poetic, devastating shit in bed. Imagine him whispering some existential nonsense in your ear while ruining you. Tell me that wouldn’t be the most intense experience of your life."

“I refuse to answer that.”

“Anyway, he’s refined, patient, and he has the aura of someone who would casually sketch you while you’re sleeping.” She sighs dreamily. “Also, I have a strong suspicion he has some absolutely filthy thoughts beneath all that cold intelligence. You know the type. The ones who look all deep and poetic but actually have the most deranged kinks.”

Your soul leaves your body. “I don’t need to know this.”

She pats your shoulder. “You do.”

“I really don’t.”

———

“Boring ass,” she muttered, flipping open the last folder. “And finally, the academic. Your intellectual equal. Top scholar, scientist in the making, will probably end up running some research institute and using it for shady experiments."

You glance at the file. He’s at the top of every academic competition. Scores are beyond perfect. Cold, logical, reclusive.

“He’s the most similar to you,” she says. “Which is either really good or really bad.”

“Bad.”

“Good.” She smirks. “Because that means you two could theoretically hold an entire conversation just arguing over who’s smarter.”

“A fellow miserable overachiever. Fantastic,” you deadpanned.

“See? That’s why you’d get along. He’s practical, logical, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to proving a point. He’d challenge you constantly, and you’d hate how much you respect it. I guarantee your conversations would either be deep philosophical debates or petty arguments over who’s right about something stupid. And the sex—oh, the sex.”

You dropped your face into your hands. "Please stop."

She ignored you. "With him, it would be clinical, controlled, and ridiculously efficient. He’d make sure every move is perfectly calculated. You’d think he’s cold, but it’s just because he’s too fucking logical. He’d be treating it like an experiment on your responses, and you’d be left questioning if he actually cared or was just collecting data. Kinda hot."

You slowly exhaled, staring into the abyss. “Why are you like this.”

She shrugs. "Because I care about your sex life. You’re welcome."

She then grinned, patting your shoulder. “Now, who’s your pick?"

“I’m picking death.”

“Death isn’t an option.”

“Neither is any of this.”

She gives you a sickeningly sweet smile. “Oh, bitch. You underestimate me.”

────────────

It starts with a sigh. It always does. A deep, long-suffering exhale that feels like it drains a year off your lifespan as you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Your best friend? She’s laughing her ass off.

“Let me get this straight,” she wheezes between snorts, nearly doubling over from how hard she’s laughing. “All four of them—every single one—you managed to piss off all of them?”

“Yes,” you say flatly.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve personally stabbed her. “Not important?! The four most powerful, well-known, and untouchable guys in the entire school—wait, let me correct myself—the four most untouchable guys in the entire damn city hate your guts, and you didn’t think that was important?”

You blink. “Not really.”

She howls. Actually, physically howls. She slaps the table, wheezing between fits of laughter, practically sliding off her chair from how much she’s losing it. You just watch, unimpressed.

“Holy shit,” she finally gets out, wiping a tear from her eye. “Dude. You’re the worst.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, you are.” She takes a deep breath. “Alright, hold up. I need to hear this one by one. From the beginning. How the hell did you manage to make enemies with all of them?”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t call them enemies.”

“You wouldn’t call them enemies,” she parrots. “Because you don’t have any social skills. Everyone else would.”

“I think they’re just being dramatic,” you deadpan.

“Uh-huh.” She leans forward, grinning like a wolf about to hear some premium entertainment. “Alright, out with it. How’d you piss off the prince first?”

You sigh. Again. You should start charging for this.

────────────

You weren’t one to talk to people. It wasn’t a matter of shyness, or even preference. You just didn’t see the point.

Words were tools, necessary for survival, but beyond that? Completely overrated. People wanted to chat, to laugh, to bond. They wanted connection. You wanted quiet. You wanted them to stop existing in your general vicinity. So you did what you did best: you stayed out of their way.

It worked.

Until it didn’t.

────────────

The day you made an enemy of the most powerful student in school, you were just trying to turn in a form.

It was a simple task. A direct, no-nonsense mission. Enter the student council office, dump the document on the desk, and leave. No engagement necessary. No unnecessary eye contact. You even timed it perfectly—right when the council president was known to be out, probably hosting another insufferable pep rally for an event nobody cared about.

Except he was there.

And he was lounging like a self-satisfied deity, feet kicked up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand while flipping through paperwork with the other. The sight alone was annoying. The sheer audacity of a person to be so… obnoxiously present. Fluffy neat hair, bright eyes, a grin that looked like it had never known a moment of humility. He radiated untouchable, almost divine levels of confidence.

He looked up. And in that moment, you knew.

He recognized you.

“Ohhh,” he mused, dragging out the sound. “If it isn’t the human black hole.”

You paused. Blinked. “What.”

“You know,” he said, waving his hand vaguely, “you just kinda suck all the joy out of a room. Like a void. A really cold, dead void.”

You tilted your head. “...Are you trying to flirt with me?”

His grin widened. “Are you into that?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

You stared. He smirked. The paper in your hands crinkled slightly as your grip tightened.

“I need to submit this,” you said, monotone, lifting the form like an offering to some insufferable god.

“I’m not taking that.”

You blinked again. “You’re the student council president.”

“Exactly! I delegate. That’s the secret to success, y’know?”

Your eye twitched. “Your name is literally on the submission instructions.”

“Well, yeah, because I like the attention.”

You inhaled slowly. Deeply. Somewhere in your head, you heard your best friend’s voice narrating your own life: And this was the moment she seriously considered homicide.

“Fine,” you said, dropping the paper onto his desk, “then I’ll just leave it here.”

He reached out lazily, grabbed it, and without breaking eye contact, slowly—painstakingly—shoved it off the desk.

The silence that followed was almost religious.

You stared at the fallen paper.

He stared at you.

“I’m not picking that up,” you said.

“Neither am I.”

Your fingers twitched. He smirked. The room temperature dropped several degrees. For a long, long moment, neither of you moved. It was a battle of sheer, unbreakable will.

“...You’re so mad right now,” he said, delight dripping from every word.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

You did. You really did.

The silence stretched. A battle of wills.

You were still standing there, staring at the paper on the floor, while he sat back with the self-satisfaction of a man who had never known loss.

“C’mon,” he drawled, chin propped on his palm. “I know you wanna pick it up.”

You said nothing. You just stared at him with the deadest, most soulless gaze known to mankind. He looked back, and you could see the amusement glowing behind his bright, insufferable eyes.

You exhaled through your nose.

Then, without hesitation—without a single wasted movement—you picked up his cup of hot chocolate and, with the precision of a surgeon, dumped it directly on his head.

A rich, dark cascade poured over his fluffy, previously immaculate hair, dripping down his forehead, staining his pristine uniform. It was perfect. It was artistic. It was poetic justice, crafted in under three seconds.

He froze.

The room went completely, utterly silent.

You, however, weren’t done.

Swiftly, efficiently, you pulled out your phone and snapped a photo. The flash illuminated the scene in sharp, unforgiving clarity.

Dripping hair. A stunned, slack-jawed expression. Hot chocolate soaking through the fabric of his blazer like a crime scene.

You took a second, longer look at the picture. Then, with an air of complete disinterest, you saved it directly into your drive backup.

His shock hadn’t even caught up to him yet. His brain was still buffering.

You calmly turned the screen toward him, showing him his own humiliation.

“If you mess with me again,” you said flatly, “this is going on the school forum.”

He blinked once. Twice. His expression twitched. And for the first time, you saw it—an actual, genuine crack in that unshakable confidence.

It lasted a fraction of a second.

Then, slowly—so, so slowly—his mouth curved into something new. Not the usual cocky grin. Not the smirk of someone who thought he had the entire world wrapped around his little finger.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, wicked, positively unholy grin.

Like a beast just realizing it found prey worth hunting.

“Ohhh,” he breathed, eyes gleaming with something both predatory and exhilarated. “You are so much fun.”

You tucked your phone away. “Glad you think so. I hate you.”

“Liar.”

You turned and went to leave, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But, just as you reached the door—

“You’re gonna regret this,” he called, voice deceptively light. “I’m a very petty person.”

You paused. Glanced back.

Then, in the most monotone, unimpressed voice you could muster—

“So am I.”

As you exited the student council room, you heard the faintest sound behind you—low, breathless laughter.

Like someone who had just discovered their new favorite game.

────────────

The second one, you met him in detention. Because of course you did.

Technically, you weren’t even there for anything interesting. Not for fighting. Not for vandalism. Not for anything remotely impressive. No, you were here because a teacher had asked for your opinion, and you—being a natural-born social disaster—had given it.

“‘An archaic relic of bureaucracy that produces nothing but misery and debt’ is not an appropriate way to describe the school’s education system,” your teacher had snapped.

“Would you rather I say it’s good?” you had asked, genuinely confused.

Apparently, that had been the wrong answer.

So here you were. Sitting in the back of the room, arms crossed, eyes blank, waiting for time to pass like a medieval peasant awaiting the guillotine.

And then he walked in.

You immediately clocked what kind of person he was. He carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone who had never followed a rule in his life. Tattoos peeked out from under his uniform sleeves, his tie was nowhere to be seen, and his uniform was barely recognizable as one. He had the lazy stance of a guy who made teachers question their career choices and a presence that made people instinctively shrink back.

Unfortunately, you weren’t people.

His gaze landed on you like a predator spotting an unsuspecting rabbit.

Except you weren’t a rabbit. You were just... unfortunately here.

He strolled over, dropping into the seat beside you, his body language loose, confident, exuding the kind of energy that made authority figures reach for blood pressure medication.

“New?” he asked, his voice a slow drawl, eyes flicking over you with open curiosity.

“No.”

His smirk widened, sharp and lazy. “You talk like a corpse.”

“And you talk too much.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Like he was recalibrating. Then he grinned, the expression laced with something both amused and dangerous. “Not many people have the guts to talk back to me.”

You blinked. “I don’t have guts. I just don’t care.”

He let out a short laugh, a low, considering sound. “Huh.”

You returned your stare to the front of the room, hoping that was the end of the interaction.

It wasn’t.

“So, what’d you do to get stuck in here?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“Answered a question.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

You nodded.

His frown deepened. “You mean you ran your mouth.”

“I answered honestly.”

“Yeah, ran your mouth.”

You sighed. “Are you always this insufferable?”

His smirk stretched, sharp with amusement. “Only when I’m interested.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Wow. I’m honored.”

“You should be,” he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to the front of the room. Not that there was anything interesting up there—just a barely functional projector and a wall clock that seemed to have stopped in 1973.

Silence. For a glorious ten seconds.

Then:

“So, what’s your deal?”

You inhaled slowly through your nose. “I don’t have a deal.”

“Everyone has a deal.”

“Well, mine is not talking to annoying people.”

“Guess you’re breaking your own rule then.”

You turned your head, making a show of staring at him with dead, soulless eyes. “Lucky me.”

His smirk widened. His chair creaked as he leaned back, stretching like a particularly smug cat. “You know, I don’t usually take an interest in people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yeah. Tiny. Mouthy. Clearly incapable of winning a physical fight.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just poison you instead.”

His laughter was sudden, sharp-edged. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said, still grinning. “That’s what makes it funny.”

You sighed, returning to your previous strategy of ignoring his existence.

It didn’t work.

“So, do you just piss people off for fun, or is that an accidental talent?”

You didn’t look at him. “Why? You feeling pissed off?”

“Nah.” A slow pause. “Not yet.”

Something about the way he said that made you glance at him again. His smirk had cooled into something else—something harder, more assessing. You’d known from the second he walked in that he was bad news, but now you could feel it, thick and tangible, like a storm about to break.

Still, you weren’t one to back down.

“I could try harder,” you offered.

His eyes darkened, something flickering behind them—something you probably should have taken as a warning.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured, tone deceptively light. “Go ahead.”

You tilted your head, considering. Then, you shrugged. “You’re a walking cliché.”

That got a reaction. His smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp-edged stare.

“Excuse me?”

You gestured vaguely at him. “The whole ‘too cool for rules, bad boy with authority issues’ thing. It’s exhausting. You should at least try to have a personality.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. Then, in a disturbingly calm voice, he asked, “You ever been hit before?”

You blinked. “Not recently.”

He exhaled, tilting his head back. “God. You’re fucking annoying.”

“You started this conversation.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “biggest mistake of my life.”

“Wow. Must be nice if this is the worst mistake you’ve ever made.”

His jaw twitched. For the first time, he actually looked pissed.

Good.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was now visibly debating whether or not to knock your teeth in.

Your eyes flicked to his hands—bigger than yours, calloused, flexing slightly, like he was restraining himself. He was taller, broader, a lot stronger than you. You weren’t stupid. If he actually decided to swing, you were probably going to die.

But hey. What’s life without a little risk?

You met his glare head-on. “Are you about to hit someone half your size?”

He tilted his head, exhaling slowly. “Thinking about it.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He actually growled, low and irritated, and you barely had time to register the movement before he was shifting forward, one hand reaching out like he was about to grab you—

And then the door creaked open.

“Alright, detention gremlins,” the teacher’s voice drawled from the front of the room, “keep your murder attempts to a minimum.”

You didn’t even blink, just turned lazily in your seat as if you hadn’t nearly gotten your face rearranged.

He, on the other hand, pulled back immediately, exhaling sharply, clearly forcing himself to relax.

The teacher shot him a look. “Sit still, delinquent.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t say anything. He just slumped back into his chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking briefly to you.

You met his stare.

Slowly, you smiled.

His fingers twitched.

This was going to be fun.

────────────

For the third man, the first time you met him, you were sitting in a hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, contemplating your existence and whether or not you could convince the nurses to let you leave early. The fluorescent lights hummed a dull tune, matching the flatlined rhythm of your enthusiasm for life. You didn’t even want to be here. The injury wasn’t even that bad. But the moment you’d said, “It’s fine, I can still walk,” and then promptly collapsed, the people around you decided that maybe you weren’t the best judge of what counted as ‘fine.’

And that’s when he walked in, the doctor assigned to your case.

Tall. Elegant. His every movement controlled with the same level of care you’d expect from someone painting the Sistine Chapel, even though all he was doing was picking up your chart. His black-gloved fingers trailed over the paperwork before he flipped it open, eyes skimming your medical history like he was reading a novel he had already figured out the ending to. Cold, calculating, and frankly, a little theatrical.

You stared. He looked like the kind of person who’d be the main villain in a psychological thriller.

“You have a concussion,” he said, his voice measured, precise.

You blinked. “Oh.”

There was a pause. The kind that stretched a little too long, like a piece of gum being pulled between fingers. He looked at you. You looked at him. Then, with the kind of energy that could only be described as ‘well, I guess I have nothing better to do,’ you muttered, “Neat.”

He blinked, once. A slow, unreadable gesture. “I wouldn’t describe a traumatic brain injury as ‘neat.’”

“Well,” you deadpanned, “I would.”

Silence. He adjusted his gloves, movements smooth, unhurried. You were pretty sure this man had never rushed anything in his life. The air of quiet, detached arrogance practically radiated off of him in waves.

“You seem disinterested in your own well-being,” he observed, as if he were commenting on the weather.

You tilted your head, expression blank. “And?”

His brows barely twitched, but you swore you saw a flicker of something behind those eerily calm eyes. Like a candle in a dark room. Something minute, almost imperceptible. A single frame of a horror movie before the jump scare.

Then, without a word, he set your chart back down and began his examination, his touch careful, professional. You sat there, letting him check for signs of worsening symptoms, feeling absolutely no inclination to make this easier for him. He had the air of someone who rarely got rattled, and for some reason, that made you want to rattle him.

So when he was checking your pupils with a penlight, you stared unblinkingly into his eyes and said, “You look like the kind of guy who has a hidden art studio where you paint unsettlingly lifelike portraits of people you find interesting.”

He paused.

The light flickered over your eyes as he considered you. Then, calmly, as if answering a normal, everyday question, he replied, “And if I did?”

You shrugged. “I’d say you’re pretty bad at hiding it.”

Another pause. Then—so brief it could have been a trick of the light—the corner of his lips twitched upward. Amusement, buried beneath layers of restraint.

He pulled back, setting the penlight aside. “I don’t have a hidden art studio.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s exactly what someone with a hidden art studio would say.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing, weighing. “Difficult.”

You smirked, feeling a spark of something sharp and insubordinate curl in your chest. “Only with people who think they have me figured out.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you with an unreadable expression, as if deciding whether to be irritated or intrigued. You had a feeling he wasn’t used to being challenged. People probably either feared or revered him, treating his words like gospel. You, on the other hand, had the distinct urge to annoy him purely because you could.

The tension stretched between you, coiling like a taut wire. Then, with an air of finality, he turned away, retrieving a prescription pad and beginning to write. “I’ll be keeping you for observation.”

Your eye twitched. “Why?”

He didn’t look up. “Because I suspect if I let you leave, you’d immediately do something to worsen your condition.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then promptly closed it when you realized he was absolutely right. Damn it.

“You can’t just hold me hostage in a hospital,” you grumbled.

He tore the prescription from the pad, setting it aside. “I’m your doctor. I can.”

You glared at him, but he remained entirely unbothered, like a marble statue in a white coat.

For the first time in a long time, you had the distinct feeling that you’d just met someone who was actually going to be a problem.

And judging by the glint in his eyes when he finally met your gaze again, you had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way about you.

────────────

The fourth guy?

It started with a test. Not just any test. A national-level competition meant to determine the brightest academic minds of the generation.

You sat at your desk, filling in the answers with mechanical efficiency, while the only other student in the room doing the same was him. The top scholar. The prodigy. The golden boy of academia. He who must not be named because if you ever say his name out loud, you might actually vomit.

The two of you had been at this for years. Competing. Spiting. Resenting.

The rivalry was so intense that your parents had to be physically separated at parent-teacher meetings, lest they start arguing over whose kid deserved to be hailed as the superior intellectual. The problem was that neither of you ever pulled ahead definitively. Sometimes you won. Sometimes he did. Sometimes it was a tie, which was the absolute worst because it meant the war had to continue.

The one thing you both silently agreed on? No one else needed to know.

So in public, you two were strangers. A nod at most, a passing glance, like two ships in the night. But the moment you were alone? The gloves came off.

And today, the moment came in the form of a single test result.

You finished your exam a fraction of a second before him, slamming your pen down triumphantly. He, sitting at the desk beside you, slowly turned his head to look at you, expression unreadable.

You smirked. He narrowed his eyes.

Neither of you spoke.

You both already knew what this meant.

It had always been like this. Subtle gestures. Microexpressions. Entire conversations conveyed through a single glance. And this time, your glance said:

That’s right. I beat you by 0.2 seconds. Cry about it.

His glance, in return, said:

You think this means anything? You’re delusional. Enjoy your fleeting moment of victory while it lasts.

You both turned in your papers and walked out without a word, maintaining the illusion that you had no connection to each other. That was, until you reached the hallway.

“You look extra dead inside today,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“Yeah, because I had to sit next to you.”

He scoffed. “I make you look alive by comparison.”

“You make me wish I was actually dead.”

“Touché.”

And that was it. That was your normal conversation. Because no one else knew, it was always like this—just pure, undiluted antagonism with an undertone of reluctant respect.

But the moment you stepped outside where other students could see, you both went back to pretending the other didn’t exist.

———

The problem with childhood rivals is that you know too much about each other. He knew about the time you threw up in second grade because you drank three chocolate milks in one sitting. You knew about the time he cried in fourth grade because he lost a chess match to a five-year-old. These were secrets that, if revealed, would destroy either of you instantly. And so, an unspoken truce existed: Mutual Assured Destruction. If one of you fell, the other would go down as well.

But that didn’t mean you had to be nice to each other.

The school’s annual debate competition was proof of that.

You weren’t even supposed to be on stage today. The original competitor from your class had gotten sick at the last moment, so your teacher shoved you in as a replacement. And, of course, standing across from you at the podium was none other than him.

“I see fate continues to curse me,” you muttered, gripping the microphone.

“Likewise,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

The topic? “Should academic rivalries be encouraged?”

He was on the pro side. You were on the con side.

The sheer irony nearly made you laugh. But the moment the debate started, it was war.

He argued that competition drove people to improve, citing numerous studies. You argued that it created unnecessary stress, pointing out various psychological reports. He said rivalry forged discipline. You countered that it led to burnout. Back and forth, your arguments clashed like swords, neither side yielding. The audience watched, captivated, unaware that this was nothing new to either of you.

It wasn’t until the Q&A round that things got personal.

One of the judges asked, “Do either of you have experience with an academic rival?”

You and him made brief eye contact. A single second of hesitation.

Then he, ever the smug bastard, smirked and said, “No, I don’t have a rival. No one has ever truly been on my level.”

Your eye twitched. Oh. Oh, he wanted to play it that way? Fine.

You smiled, saccharine sweet. “Oh, same here. I’ve never met anyone who could actually challenge me.”

The audience laughed, completely oblivious to the nuclear warfare happening in your minds.

You won the debate by a narrow margin. He took it in stride, shaking your hand like a good sport, but you both knew this wasn’t over.

It was never over.

———

Years of this. Years of pretending. Years of knowing that he was the only person who could truly get under your skin, and vice versa.

And yet, despite everything, despite the constant battle for dominance, there was a grudging acknowledgment: neither of you would have been as good without the other.

But you’d never say that out loud.

Not unless you wanted to lose the war.

────────────

Back in the present, your best friend is still wiping away tears of laughter. “I swear, you’re cursed. Only you could turn four of the most powerful guys in this school into your sworn enemies without even trying.”

You sigh. “It’s not my fault they’re all easily irritated.”

She grins. “Enemies-to-lovers speedrun?”

You groan. “Absolutely not.”

But she just smirks.

Because honestly? The way things are going, it’s inevitable.

———

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your seat as you finish recounting the absolute disaster that was your past. "So, yeah. That’s how I managed to piss off the entire unofficial ruling class of this school without even trying. It’s not my fault they’re all allergic to basic human interaction."

Your best friend? Oh, she’s wheezing. Bent over. Completely losing it.

You just stare, dead inside.

"I cannot believe you," she chokes out, clutching her stomach. "Four. Not one, not two—four of the most powerful guys in this school are now your sworn enemies. I swear, you’re a walking curse. A divine anomaly."

You sigh, propping your chin on your hand. "See, this is exactly why they can’t be the choices."

That only makes her laugh harder.

"No, no, no, you don’t get it," she wheezes, slamming a hand on the table. "This is why they have to be the choices. Like, this is fate. This is math. The sheer statistical improbability of you randomly antagonizing the four most dangerous guys in school without even trying—"

"—Means they’re going to murder me in my sleep, not fall in love with me," you interrupt flatly.

She shakes her head, eyes gleaming. "No, no, no. This is the setup for the best enemies-to-lovers arc I’ve ever seen. This is gold. This is poetry. This is—"

"A death sentence."

"—A story unfolding before my very eyes!" She gestures wildly. "Four. If it was just one, okay, sure, maybe it’s just bad luck. Two? Fine, you have a talent for pissing people off. But four?" She leans in, deadly serious now. "That’s fate."

You stare at her, unimpressed. "You’re literally using the fact that I’m universally despised as an argument for romance."

"And I’m right."

"Objectively false. I can present multiple counterarguments—"

"Oh, I bet you can," she interrupts, grinning. "And you know what? They’d all be wrong."

You cross your arms. "Fine. Let’s debate this logically."

She cracks her knuckles. "Bring it."

"One: They hate me. Like, actively hate me."

"Great foundation for romantic tension."

You scowl. "Two: I have no romantic interest in any of them."

"You say that now."

"Three: They have power, money, and influence, and could absolutely ruin my life at any moment."

She smirks. "Oh, so they could ruin your life. But haven’t."

You narrow your eyes. "Yet."

She shrugs. "Or maybe, deep down, they’re already obsessed with you."

You groan. "That’s not how real life works."

She leans in, voice smug. "Then explain why none of them have done anything too serious to you yet. With the power they have, you should’ve been completely crushed by now. But instead? They’re keeping you around. Engaging with you. They want your reactions."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second.

She grins, sensing her victory.

"Don’t even start," you mutter.

She tilts her head. "Too late. You are the main character in an enemies-to-lovers story, and I will see this through."

"Over my dead body."

"Listen, if it happens, it happens. I’ll be there at your wedding, sipping my champagne, telling everyone, ‘I told her so.’"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

But she just laughs. Because she knows.

And that’s what terrifies you the most.

———

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "This is bullshit."

She grins, clearly enjoying your suffering.

Your eyes drift to the side, landing on a thick stack of papers—her so-called research. A Frankenstein’s monster of printed profiles, handwritten notes, and stapled-together disasters. This is what she’s been using to "help" you find a so-called suitable match before she apparently decided to scrap the entire thing and make your life a living hell instead.

You reach over and pull a few sheets from the pile, scanning them briefly. Your eyes land on someone near the bottom of the stack. Someone you haven’t met. No noted incidents. No mortal enemies. Just a generic, normal guy with no apparent psychotic tendencies.

"Alright," you say, holding up the page. "This guy."

Your best friend leans forward, glancing at the name, then immediately scoffs. "Him?"

You nod. "Yeah. He looks the most normal, statistically conquerable, and unlikely to plot my untimely demise."

She groans, tilting her head back like you’ve personally offended her. "Are you serious? This is the blandest option in the entire lineup. This is, like, choosing plain toast at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Exactly," you say, unfazed. "I don’t want a disaster. I want stability. Normalcy. Someone who doesn’t have the power to ruin my life."

She gestures dramatically. "And this is what you land on? A literal NPC?"

"He has a face. He has a name. That’s already enough for me."

She smacks the table. "That’s bare minimum! You’re literally picking a filler character when you have the Final Four right in front of you!"

"And I’m perfectly fine with that," you say, deadpan.

"No, no, no. You don’t get it." She leans forward, voice firm. "You cannot settle for Generic Background Character #12. Look at the narrative potential! The power struggle! The development!"

You sigh. "I am not a character in a novel."

She smirks. "You keep saying that, and yet, the evidence continues to pile up against you."

You roll your eyes. "Look, just because I have bad luck doesn’t mean I have to indulge it." You tap the paper. "This guy is a logical, safe choice."

"Safe choices don’t make history."

"They also don’t make headlines for scandals, criminal activity, or blood feuds."

She groans again, slumping in her chair. "You are so frustrating. You have four absolute powerhouses lined up, each with the potential to make your life an experience, and you want—what? A guy whose biggest personality trait is that he’s 'nice'?"

"Yes."

"Disgusting."

"Predictable."

"Boring."

"Stable."

She narrows her eyes at you. "You are dodging fate so hard right now, it’s embarrassing."

"I am making logical decisions so hard right now, and you refuse to acknowledge it."

She smacks the table again, exasperated. "I’m not saying you have to date them! I’m just saying you should at least consider them before you throw yourself into the void of mediocrity!"

You cross your arms, staring her down. "And I’m saying you are severely overestimating my ability to survive a romantic entanglement with any of them."

She grins, tilting her head. "Or underestimating their desire to keep you alive and entertained."

You pause.

She smirks.

You scowl. "No."

She leans back, victorious. "Just saying. It’s gonna happen."

"It is not."

She winks. "We’ll see."

────────────

The next day starts off normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be when you’re still recovering from the previous night’s argument with your best friend. You’re just trying to make it through the school day without incident—low profile, no chaos, just peace.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down, expecting something trivial. Instead, you see a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: You owe me for last time. Meet me after school. Don’t make me come find you.

You blink. Stare. Read it again.

There’s only one person you "owe" anything to in the eyes of certain individuals.

You: No.

No response.

Your phone buzzes again. Another unknown number.

Unknown: Be at the café near campus at 4. I already told them you’d be coming. Don’t embarrass me.

Your eye twitches. What.

Buzz.

Unknown: I assume you have no plans. I’m picking you up at 6. Don’t make me wait.

Your stomach sinks. There is no way. There is no way.

Buzz.

Unknown: I’ll be outside your place at 7. Don’t even try to run.

You slowly, slowly lower your phone.

You already know who's responsible.

Your best friend. Your traitorous best friend.

You whip your head around the classroom, eyes locking onto her immediately. She’s sitting at her desk, chin propped up in her hand, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just orchestrate your demise.

She knows.

She feels your glare.

And she grins.

You stand up so fast your chair nearly topples over. You’re going to kill her.

♡ A/N. I don't really like celebrating Valentines Day. Not really my thing nor do I care, but it's alright. It's not like I hate it. I'm more of… it's just there. That's it. wdym it's too early. Well it ended up becoming a series, so… shiz. Still debating whether I should go unrestrained horror or dark humor psychological style... who knows. Also, since my friend doesn't like Caleb, I can officially create LaDs Caleb content.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay , @yandreams-storageblog

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[seat-safety-switch]

With the ever-present rush towards convenience, so many sit-in restaurants are becoming take-out-only instead. Let's be honest: none of us really want to go outside and talk to people in order to get food. Just flip that app and bingbong® yourself a drunk order of fried treats for only $25 in fees.

Pizza Hut was one of the first to abandon the pull of large square footage, throwing millions of nostalgic red plastic cups into industrial grinders in a mad rush to stop bleeding so much goddamn money all the time. Today, those cups are worth $250 on eBay, so they look pretty stupid now, don't they?

The problem with all this is, in the time of our foreparents, it was real hard to fake the existence of a restaurant. If you went to a Pizza Hut, it was a real-ass physical building. It probably had not been copy-pasted together by a bunch of Taiwanese scam artists using Google Image Search fifteen seconds before you appeared. That was more of a Taco Bell thing. Nowadays, you can't be sure. Computers treat bullshit the same as any other kind of shit, so sometimes you'll be ordering from a completely imaginary restaurant. Feels weird, doesn't it?

As with many other cases in my adult life where I figured out everyone was just faking it, I decided to try and make some quick money. Papa needed a new engine, you see, and Slant Sixes don't exactly grow on trees anymore. With just a couple wonky Excel spreadsheets and a glob of code the size of Upper Tonawanda, I was in business with Switch's Fun-Time Pizza, an entirely non-fictitious restaurant whose address happened to be at the same place as a Pizza Hut.

Folks would pay me money, and then I'd quickly pay Pizza Hut to have a pizza ready by the time the delivery guy rolled up. Nobody seemed to care that the box said the wrong thing, and soon I was collecting fat stacks of money for doing nothing at all, just like the platforms themselves. This went on for a few weeks, fattening my bank account for slaughter. Until the first complaints came in, that is.

Yes, friends: it turned out that the local Pizza Hut had hired someone who wasn't very good at washing their hands. Soon, I was handing out big-time refunds on behalf of a massive international corporation, except I was doing so out of my own ill-gotten profits. My rickety, strung-together bullshit engine made entirely out of spreadsheets and chewing gum simply could not comprehend the idea of a refund, much less one for a weak human phenomenon such as food poisoning. Soon, all the money was gone.

Have I learned something from this whole experience? Yes. The most important thing in food service is to wash your hands thoroughly before (and after!) handling the customer's meat. The second most important thing is to charge at least a hundred percent premium over your supplier, to leave room for little hiccups such as this.

That's way easier to do if you position yourself as an upscale luxury restaurant, such as Lord Switchington of Canterbury's Refined Palate Pizza Parlour For Bourgeois Assholes Only, which will be launching this weekend in the very expensive neighbourhood next to mine. Hopefully their Pizza Hut is a little bit better at keeping the bathroom soap dispenser stocked.

[powdermelonkeg]

List of Tumblr things that would NOT get the Tumblr devs eaten alive for changing the website (Tumblr please take notes)

We're changing how moderation works: Reporting blogs at a certain threshold (maybe 1000 unique reports) gets it sent to a human person for manual review. Nobody gets deleted without a human pulling the kill switch.

Refined search engine: There's a new button you can press when searching a term that lets you exclude certain tags, sort by date posted/most likes/etc. Also you can refine it to include only results from certain users. It's the Ao3 system. Please I'm begging you Tumblr's search is so broken and hides so many works behind an arbitrary cap. You can't tell me there are only 3000 posts about Zelda over the 10+ years this site has been alive, you CAN'T.

Theme on/off switch on page: Themes are an integral part of Tumblr. You can HTML things to death. But sometimes they're illegible to some people, so instead of having to swap "powdermelonkeg.tumblr.com" to "tumblr.com/powdermelonkeg" manually, there's a sliding toggle at the top of the blog that allows you to quickly switch between them.

Filterable asks: You can set blocked terms so people can't send you them in your ask box. For example, if I don't want to see anything about "weather," nobody can ask me anything that includes the word "weather." And if there's a scam/copypasta sort of thing going around, you can block entire paragraphs of text.

Mutual icons beside usernames on posts: Same as it is in the Activity tab, you can now see if someone who put something on your dash is a mutual or not.

Search followers/following letter-by-letter: No longer do you have to type in "powdermelonkeg" spelled exactly correctly to see if you're following powdermelonkeg, you can just type in "powd" and all users except "powdermelonkeg," "powderpuffgirls," "expowd" etc will be filtered out. (I MADE THESE USERNAMES UP EXCEPT MINE. I DON'T KNOW THESE PEOPLE)

Toggleable See Results: You asked, we heard, you can now decide when making a poll whether or not people should be allowed to see the results before they've voted.

Block Specific Posts: Sometimes something's so icky it makes your stomach turn. Sometimes you're just sick of all your mutuals reblogging the same meme. Block a post without blocking OP.

[rottenpumpkin13]

AGSZC receive Rubik’s Cube.

Zack: Ugh, these things are impossible! No one actually solves them. They're just designed to humiliate people. A scam. A colorful, twisty little scam.

*Sephiroth wordlessly sets his cube down, solved*

Zack: HOW?

Sephiroth: They aren't difficult. Hojo used to give them to me as a child. A simple exercise in pattern recognition.

Zack: Man, I wish I was a genetically engineered superweapon raised in captivity who spent my childhood locked in a lab like a guinea pig.

Sephiroth: …….

*Genesis holds up his completed cube triumphantly*

Genesis: A test of intellect, dexterity, and patience. Hardly insurmountable for those with a refined skillset.

Sephiroth: The red side of your cube has a blue square.

Genesis: DAMN IT.

*He aggressively starts fixing it. Meanwhile, Angeal has broken his cube into a hundred little pieces*

Zack: Whoa! Lemme guess, you're gonna rebuild it from scratch, right? Genius move!

Angeal: No, I'm just filled with rage.

Zack, terrified: Oh!

Genesis: Aha! Now mine is complete. A testament to perseverance and intellectual superiority.

Sephiroth, without looking up: Green square on yellow side.

Genesis: THE GODDESS TESTS ME.

Zack: Yeah, okay, but these things aren't actually a fair test of intelligence. I mean, Sephiroth was brainwashed into solving them, Genesis is an egomaniac genius, and I'm just gonna ignore Angeal because I value my life. But what about me and Cloud? We didn't get cool science puzzles growing up. How are we supposed to compete with you three?

Cloud: I finished mine ten minutes ago.

*Zack smashes his cube into a wall*

[still-a-morosexual-help]

God, this man has the absolute worst case of nostalgia based rose tinted glasses

In nightbringer itself Asmo says the day before they Fell he was hiding from Raphael for messing with him/pissing him off

All of Lucifer's siblings (minus Levi, as far as we know) were frequently sneaking into the human world while they were actively at war with the Devildom and while it was forbidden to interact with humans

Mammon used the angels as his own giant chess set????

Mammon used to sneak into the human world to collect pigeon feathers and sell them to angels by saying they were Raphael's feathers, which is hilarious but is also A FUCKING SCAM THAT CURRENT MAMMON WOULD ABSOLUTELY PULL

The others actually thought Mammon would Fall long before he did because he was such a shit head

Asmo used to have his Asmo parties or Asmo nights or whatever up in the Celestial Realm despite Raphael saying parties are bad (I feel like the actual word he used was "immoral"? )

Asmo used to sneak into the human world to go partying with humans

It is heavily implied in s3 that asmo was fucking & sucking his way through the celestial realm (good for him btw get those sticks outta the angels' asses babe i believe in you <3 )

The twins and Lilith used to frequently sneak into the human world

Lilith started a whole ass relationship with a human and lied her ass off about it so that she could keep it secret

Lilith compared Michael to a jellyfish???? the first time she met him and that pissed him off

Lilith held a hell of a grudge

Belphie used to skip work so he could go nap

The brothers, as a team, used to catch frogs, cut holes in books, put the frogs into them and wait for Raphael to open them

The brothers, as a team, used to dig pits in the ground and cover them up so that other angels would fall into them (at least the frog thing was kinda funny this is just them being straight up dicks)

Raphael was constantly chasing them around with his spears and getting on Lucifer's ass about them because of how troublesome they were

S4 implies that the reason the brothers' pranks are more refined as demons, compared to when they were angels, is because they now have Satan

So yeah, they were always asses

But even if there is some truth in what Lucifer said about them being kind & sincere (and honestly, there is. We've seen more than enough evidence of it in the events, devilgrams, chats & s1-4) :

Levi says he was depressed in the Celestial Realm and felt like he didn't fit in.

Both Mammon & Beel didn't fit in until Lucifer found them.

Lilith definitely didn't feel like she fit in.

Lucifer, as a demon, says he'll never want to go back. Talking with Diavolo as an angel made him lose a little faith in the Celestial Realm. His greatest fear is possibly his father. Even before they Fell something in the Celestial Realm was pissing him off so much that he managed to spawn a whole other conscious life form - Satan says he gained his own consciousness even before Asmo was created meaning that anger had been festering for a long time.

As far as we know Asmo & Belphie were the only ones who were genuinely happy throughout their entire time in the Celestial Realm (and I think once Asmo gets used to his demon form he'll appreciate the freedom in the devildom over the strictness of the celestial realm)

Mammon, in Nightbringer, says that they know there's no real difference between being an angel or a demon and that they're all just labels.

Whatever sincerity and kindness they, may or may not have, had in the Celestial Realm wasn't because they were angels. Or because of the Celestial Realm.

It was in spite of all that.

It was just what they are like as people.

And of course that sincerity and kindness aren't gonna shine through right after a horribly traumatic event that killed their sister and permanently changed their bodies. And due to such an event & their Sins becoming more...more, they'll obviously be different and treat each other differently as demons.

But at the end of the day they are good, kind people, even as demons.

Like we've seen that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hello fellow,, I just wanted to say I think you're very pretty— And I'd love to watch one of your shows !!

What's your favorite part about your job?

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“Thank you, thank you for the compliment! Aren’t you a flatterer,” Fellow chuckled as he adjusted his lapels. “You, my good spectator, have an excellent eye. And if you’re looking to see far more beautiful things in your life, then have I got the item for you!!”

With the flick of his wrist, he produced a pink shard from his coat pocket. Its clarity was broken by a few scratches, resulting in a color closer to rose fog. The sea glass appeared to be ordinary in every sense of the word.

“This,” Fellow declared, presenting the shard with a flourish, “is rose-tinted glass. Have you heard of it? It’s a special material that was blessed by a fairy godmother! It may look like an ordinary lump now, but refine it, polish it--" He pantomimed cleaning it off with his sleeve. "--and you'll have yourself some fine material for a mirror, glasses, whatever you wish! Anything you see through its face will have its beauty enhanced a hundred-fold!"

"Oooooh." You politely clapped for him. "So that's how your scams--er, I mean shows--work. You butter people up and sell them impossible dreams."

"... That wasn't a demonstration just now, I really was trying to scam you, kid!!" Fellow groaned, letting his smile drop. He dropped the sea glass back into his pocket, then folded his arms. "Don't let it spread, or I could be losin' out on some potential marks."

"Alright, but only if you answer my question too."

"What my favorite part of the job is?" Fellow barked a laugh, but there was no joy to be found in it. "It pays the bills. It lets us survive. It puts snobs in their place. I can be my own boss, go where I like, make my own hours."

"That's it?"

"What, did you expect something flashier?" Fellow angled his hat, allowing the brim to shadow his eyes. "Get your head out of the clouds, kid."

Then he lifted his head and looked out. Past the main building of the school, to the front gates and beyond it. The town below, the sky above, the sea surrounding.

"... Stayin' put in one place never suited me," he said quietly. "There's a whole wide world out there, waiting for my grand ol' shows to come along and wow'm. They'll look at me with stars in their eyes, the crowd alive with sound."

A smile had taken shape on his lips. Not a sneer, not a smirk. A real smile, soft as a baby bird's down feathers.

It dawned on you.

I get it. What he likes the most is... seeing the joy he can bring to others, even if that joy is just a lie.

"Ah, but enough of that!" Fellow swept his top hat off and, inverting it, held it out to you. He beamed expectantly. "In exchange for my time and well-thought-out responses...!"

"Huh? But the deal was I wouldn't let your plot slip if you answered, not money on top of that. I'm barely managing to get by myself on the headmaster's monthly allowance..."

"I have to support myself and Gidel, don't I?" Fellow rattled the hat. "Payment, if you please!!"

You sighed but began digging for loose change.

[exorbitant-interest]

It appears to be a losing lotto ticket. That’s just what it is!

[kusukesno1fan]

Valentine’s Day Kusuke headcanons

Kusuke would absolutely exploit Valentine’s Day for personal gain. He's not a romantic but more of a business tycoon.

He probably makes "custom engineered chocolates", and people buy them despite the absurd price because they’re marketed as "scientifically optimized for dopamine release." (and they actually work)

He uses reverse psychology and subtly hints that not buying from him means you aren’t taking your love life seriously. Like "Oh, you’re relying on generic store-bought chocolates? Let’s hope your recipient has very low expectations! 😁"

He'd also make high-tech Valentine’s day cards, eg. cards that can projects a 3D hologram of the sender delivering their confession in perfect clarity.

People go crazy for his futuristic valentine's day gifts, he sometimes lies about the products selling out fast although he has a whole storage room full. By the end of the day he'd have earned a fortune. As always, Kusuke doesn’t just see this as a profit making opportunity, it’s a data-gathering experiment. He now has tons of valuable insights about human psychology, emotional responses, and social behavior. (to refine his future scams)

By next month he's likely selling something for the couples who break up. 🤑

He definitely got tons of confessions though.

[73ghosts]

I'm sure many of you are already aware of this, but in case I have any newer tumblr users, pet bill donation scams are very common on this site. If someone DMs or sends you an ask asking you to reblog some sort of donation post for a sick/injured pet, it is most likely a scam.

Below the cut, I have included tips to spotting a scam, and why I believe the post by 507-on-queue is a scam. @kyra45 runs an excellent tumblr scam awareness blog, and has more information and tips here about spotting pet scams. I have archived the scam post in question on my side blog here.

Here's some ways to spot these scams:

Age of the blog - most scam blogs are a week old or younger, they are often under a day old

Similar urls being used for multiple blogs - scam blogs are typically blocked/deleted rapidly, and the OP makes a new account with almost the same name

The blog bio/pfp are not unique

You can only access the dashboard view of the blog so the post archive cannot be accessed (for example, my dashboard view is this, but you can also visit my webpage view and see my 9 years of post history via /archive lol)

The blog has never interacted with you before

The blog follows you and immediately sends a DM/ask

The DM/ask is overly polite and guilt trips (they often ask you to reply privately to reduce digital footprint)

Images of pets can be found via reverse image search

OP's story is inconsistent or unrealistic

The Paypal link does not match the supposed country OP lives in

Most recently, a scam post has been going around about a sphynx cat named Draven. This has been done using multiple urls, including:

meer-lion (deactivated)

507-on-queue (deactivated)

507onqueue (deactivated)

507-onqueue (current as of Jan 13th, 2024)

Here's how this blog meets our scam watch criteria:

The current blog (507-onqueue) is less than a day old (19 hours at the time of this post). The oldest post:

As listed above, OP uses multiple, similar URLs.

The bio of 507-onqueue is taken almost directly from another user (said user). Due to the same bio being used in previous scams, I suspect this is the same or related person to kappa-tundra/kappatundra (about this scam).

Scam blog:

Copied blog:

Only dashboard view is available.

The blog follows and immediately DMs/sends and ask. From my account:

The ask from the account is very polite, guilt trips, and asks me to answer to the post privately. The goal of being so polite is to win your trust and lower your defenses. This isn't the worst guilt trip I've been in a scam (that goes to the child support scam from several years ago). By asking me to reply privately, they're attempting to reduce their digital footprint (making them harder to google) and disguise how much they are spamming asks.

The information in that post was taken from a private Facebook account (source). I found the Facebook account in question and confirmed that the information was taken from there. I do not want to share the page because I view that as a further violation of the Facebook OP's privacy. For transparency, the images of Draven are not on Facebook OP's page any longer, but there are several other identifiable pieces of information that make it more than likely that the claims of her information being stolen are true.

The ask is inconsistent itself with the name of the cat (Draven vs Indie). This is also nearly identical to another scam ask from user captbridges. This user was using a real GoFundMe for a sick cat to scam.

The medical paperwork in OP's post is for a veterinary hospital in Wisconsin. However, OP's PayPal is based in the Philippines. The country.x= part of the url indicate the country of origin of the account; PH is the Philippines. The local.x= part of the url shows that the link was localized to the United States (making the donation currency USD). (PayPal's information page about country codes).

Stay safe out there and remain vigilant, everyone. If you don't already know them, try to pick up some boolean operators to refine your google searches when checking for scams. The tumblr search function sucks, so this is your best bet of finding information about scams like these online.

[storytowrite]

|Silent Devotion ~ See Changbin|

Paring: Seo Changbin x reader

Genre: pure smut

Word Count: 6715

Warnings: murder, shooting, blood, smut, 18+, unprotectedsex, fingering

————————————————————————

You were cleaning your boss Chagbin's office, as always at this hour. In this house, everything went like clockwork, every activity was planned, every step was watched, whether by cameras or security guards, who were stationed in almost every room.

This was how your life had been for a few years, you were always being watched. It all started when you were still a teenager and you ran away from your parents' house. You didn't want to live with them anymore, especially after you overheard them talking about moving to a completely different continent, away from your friends.

However, you didn't think about the fact that after running away you would have nowhere to go. Your friends turned away from you when they found out you ended up on the streets, none of the people you trusted helped you.

Your new boss turned out to be your salvation. While you were wandering around the street, trying to find something to eat and a warm place to stop, a black luxury car pulled up to you. You were surprised at first, but at the same time it interested you. A tall, well-built man came out, dressed in a very elegant black suit. At first you were scared and thought you were about to be kidnapped, but the guy stopped.

"Good day, Miss. My name is Peter and I was asked by my boss to offer you a job." His voice was calm, elegant and very friendly, completely at odds with his appearance.

You stood completely shocked by this situation, although you were still very distrustful.

"The job will be very simple. You are to clean the Lord's estate. In return, we offer accommodation, food and a very good salary." He continued when you still seemed unconvinced.

"How do I know this is not a scam and you won't kidnap me and sell me on the black market?" She finally spoke.

"You have to take my word for it, Miss. My boss doesn't hurt people he doesn't have to." He smiled slightly.

You laughed nervously, his words didn't convince you at all.

“Here is a business card with the address that the young lady should come to if the young lady decides to work. “ Not wanting to scare you even more, he put the business card on the wall in front of you, bowed and went back to the car. Then he drove off, you stood still for a few seconds before you went over to take a closer look at the business card.

It was a small, black and beautifully decorated piece of cardboard, with red and gold lettering. There was indeed an address written on it, and on the other side were the beautifully calligraphed initials SC. You were very intrigued by this small piece of paper. You thought for a long time what to do in this situation, but you decided to try, after all, it couldn't be worse than where you were now, and there you would have a roof over your head, free food and they would still pay you.

The next day you arrived at the indicated address and were speechless when you saw the building where you could possibly work. A gigantic white wall covered in ivy appeared before your eyes, in the middle of which there was an equally large and heavy golden gate. You stood next to her, not knowing what to do next, when you suddenly heard the sound of the intercom.

“Good day, Miss. I expected you to decide after all.” You heard Peter’s familiar voice. “Please come in.” After these words, the large gate began to open, revealing an equally stunning villa.

From a distance, it resembled a simple, minimalist structure with huge dark glass panes, through which cool, white light fell. The building seemed almost invisible among the dense, trimmed vegetation, as if blending into the surroundings, but it's refined form caught the eye.

You walked along the driveway lined with black tiles, leading to the main door — large, made of steel, which opened automatically. Inside, the space was even more impressive. High ceilings, cool gray concrete, and omnipresent glass gave the villa a raw, industrial character. The furniture was simple but luxurious - black leather sofas, dark wood tables, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and abstract paintings hung on the walls, as if their owner wanted to emphasize his refined taste and wealth.

It took you a moment to notice the number of people inside. Servants bustling around the large rooms and a lot of menacing-looking men in suits.

"Good day again, Miss, let me personally escort you out. " Peter greeted you.

You nodded, because the appearance of the place took your voice away. Together you went to the next room. The open space of the living room connected to a vast terrace, on which there was a minimalist pool with edges so sharp as if it had cut the water around it in half. Exotic plants grew around, carefully selected to create an atmosphere of luxurious isolation. Discreet music rustled in the background, and the air was filled with the cool scent of masculine perfume.

"Let me show you to your room. “ He replied as you walked through the beautiful garden behind the house.

In the background there was a beautiful building made of gray brick, completely overgrown with vines. It wasn’t as modern as the main building, but it was just as beautiful, almost magical. You went inside together, here you also noticed many women of different ages. Each was dressed the same - in a rather short black dress, with a white apron tied around the waist.

None of them paid any attention to you, they were busy with their own activities. Peter showed you the stairs and together you went to the attic, where there were two doors. The man opened the first one and your eyes saw a beautiful, spacious bathroom with a huge bathtub and its own vanity, equipped with plenty of cosmetics.

“This is where you will get ready. At work, you have to look impeccable. Delicate make-up and carefully combed hair.” Peter said, still standing in the doorway.

“Sure, delicate make-up, combed hair.” You repeated, giving a sign that you understood.

“Great, let's go to your room then.” He pointed to the other door.

When the door opened, the bright morning light blinded you. The first thing you noticed was the large bed, above which stretched a huge window, facing straight to the sky. Your eyes wandered from place to place, carefully analyzing every inch of the room. The luxury you had never had left you dazed. Finally, your gaze landed on the glass wardrobe, which held a lot of beautiful and great quality clothes.

“Is this all mine?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Miss. You should dress appropriately for work, in a black dress. When you are not working, you have full freedom.” The man explained to you.

“Black dress, work, after work whatever you want. Sure understand.” You replied.

“Wonderful. Now that you know everything, we can go downstairs.” He suggested and you go back to the main house.

You still couldn't stop marveling at the amount of awesomeness this house held. When you finally managed to explore the entire house, Peter began to head towards one of the older maids who was dusting in the living room.

"This is our head maid Esmeralda. She'll help you with everything and explain what to do. If you have any questions, ask her." Peter said and walked away.

The older woman stopped what she was doing, turned to you and gave you a genuine smile.

“What's your name, child?” She asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“My name is Y/n, nice to meet you.” You replied, bowing your head slightly, wanting to show respect.

“You have a lot of work ahead of you, but I think you'll manage. Get changed and we can start.” Her words scared you a little, but you were full of enthusiasm for your new job and new opportunities.

You had been working in your new house for a week now, people started to pay attention to you, you even had the impression that you had struck up a good rapport with some of them. The work was hard and tiring, you spent your days cleaning, preparing tableware and meals, washing, ironing, generally working hard.

One day, walking up the marble stairs, you noticed a slightly ajar door to one of the rooms. You knew that you shouldn't change your daily schedule, but curiosity won. The room was decorated with splendor: massive dark furniture, tall shelves full of books, and impressive paintings on the walls.

Suddenly you heard the sound of the door opening and before you could do anything, the bathroom door opened and a boy who looked to be around your age stood in the doorway. He was standing in just a towel, wet hair falling over his forehead and drops of water running down his muscular torso.

You froze, opening your eyes wide, your legs pressed against the ground and you couldn't move. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks and you just looked down.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was here. I'm going now." You choked out, step by step backing towards the door.

The man raised an eyebrow at your embarrassment, but instead of getting angry, he smiled slightly.

"You have nothing to stress about. Please stay, you just have to give me a moment to get dressed." He said calmly, pointing you to the couch, then disappeared into the large wardrobe.

You sat down uncertainly on the couch, still feeling your cheeks burning. After a while, the stranger came out dressed in a black shirt that emphasized every outline of his muscular torso and perfectly tailored pants. He sat down opposite you and smiled friendly.

“I'm Changbin, nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to you.

“Y/n.” You replied, greeting him.

Introducing yourself gave you a little relief and you could talk to him calmly. Your conversations were really interesting and time flew by. You felt like you had known each other for years. At some point, intrigued, you decided to ask a question that was on your mind.

“I found out that this is the villa of a mafia boss. Apparently he is very strict and no one has the right to oppose him. As an ordinary cleaning lady, no one will have the opportunity to see him, because only selected people can be near him. And did you ever manage to see him?”

The boy burst out laughing loudly, which surprised you very much. You frowned, thinking that you had said something very stupid.

“I see him every day… I happen to be the strict boss, and you work for me.” He replied, smiling inquisitively.

You opened your mouth wide, and your heart stopped beating for a moment. You jumped to your feet, panic taking hold of you.

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that, master. Forgive me for my recklessness, master.” You began to bow, feeling embarrassment almost burning through you.

Changbin rolled his eyes and stepped closer to you, placing a hand on your back to calm you down.

“Call me Changbin, like before. There’s no need to be so tense, I don’t blame you.” He said calmly, his touch surprisingly warm.

You just nodded, still feeling the blush on your cheeks. You quickly apologized, then ran out of the room, feeling your heart pounding in your chest like a hammer.

That’s how you met your boss, in the worst possible way.

__________

It had been a few years since you had entered the residence and thanks to your enthusiasm, you had quickly moved up the hierarchy. Thanks to that, you have gained access to new parts of the building. Your fingers were gently sliding along the spine of a book on the top shelf when suddenly the quiet slam of a closing door interrupted the moment. Your heart beat faster - you turned around abruptly, but your leg slipped off the edge of the stool. Everything happened in a split second. You braced yourself for a painful fall, but instead of an impact, you felt warmth.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze. Changbin held you tightly, and his eyes, dark as night, seemed to read every hidden secret.

"Be careful, Y/n" He said, his voice sounding like a gentle warning. 

You swallowed hard and quickly stood on your feet, looking away. Your breathing was quickening and a blush was burning your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Master…” You whispered, but the words died in your throat as you noticed the annoyed look on his face. He sighed deeply, as if it was something he’d said a hundred times before.

“I already told you, call me Changbin.” He corrected you firmly. You bit your lip, feeling like you had made another mistake.

“I’m sorry, maste... Changbin.” You finally replied, adjusting your dress, the delicate material of which chafed against your skin. “Can I help you?”

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing his words before answering.

“Yes, yes, you can. A foreign client will be visiting me tonight. I would like you to serve us.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Of course, it would be an honor.” You replied with a wide smile.

This was your first real chance. You couldn’t waste it.

Changbin nodded, his face still serious.

“This is a very important meeting, Y/n. Everything has to be perfect. I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t let you down!” You assured enthusiastically.

You watched as he turned around and left the office, then went back to work, knowing you had to hurry.

After work, in your room, you took a shower and prepared yourself carefully, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Your new dress fit perfectly, and the velvet bow delicately emphasized the hair falling to your shoulders. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, making sure that everything was in its place. You were ready.

It was late evening when you brought a tray of empty glasses to the office, which you placed on the table in front of the two men. There was no room for mistakes, everything had to be perfect on point. You didn't say a word the whole time, only bringing drinks and snacks to the table when needed. Even though you couldn't say anything, you listened carefully. For now, at this moment, you found out that your boss's client was called Victor and he didn't look like a nice guy. Every time you looked at him, shivers went through your body, but you couldn't show it.

The office you were in was filled with the smoke of the cigar that Victor was smoking, and the heavy black curtains blocked the moonlight. Both men sat opposite each other on two different sides of the table, and you walked around them, fulfilling their whims but not disturbing the meeting.

You felt the pressure on yourself, after all you had to do well. However, you were surprised by the fact that you were the only maid at this meeting and why you were chosen when your boss had a lot of other more experienced maids. Also, halfway through the meeting, Changbin ordered all the security guards to leave, so the three of you were left in the room.

As you approached the table to collect the empty glasses, Victor looked at you with a nasty smirk that made you feel uneasy, but you kept your head high and smiled.

“Beautiful girl.” He said, looking at you carefully. “Don't you think Changbin that your maid is too cute to work like this?”

Changbin raised an eyebrow, looking coldly at Victor.

“Y/n is here to work, so please respect her.” He said, still maintaining his calm and stoic composure.

Victor laughed, his laugh deep and malicious. He grabbed his glass and drank the entire contents. He then swirled it in his fingers, signaling you to refill it.

You leaned down slightly to pour another glass of wine for your guest.

“Would you like to join us? Come here, my love.” He held out his hand to you, but you took a step back, feeling anxiety building in your chest.

Changbin looked at you, his eyes full of concern directed only at you.

“Victor.” His voice was icy. “I said you have to respect her. Leave her alone and let’s focus on business.”

However, Victor ignored the warning. He grabbed your wrist, and your eyes widened in fear.

“Don't be so shy.” He whispered, pulling you even closer to him. “I feel like having some fun.” At that moment, something inside Changbin snapped. He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over.

“Let her go! Now!”

Victor looked at him with a challenge in his eyes, but he didn’t let go of you.

“What if I don’t?” he asked provocatively.

Changbin didn’t answer, he just pulled out his gun and aimed it straight at Victor’s head.

“I warned you.” You only heard those words, then your ears started to squeak from a loud shot.

You instinctively closed your eyes and felt warm blood spraying your face. At the same time, you crouched down, scared, and didn’t dare to get up for a while. Crouched down, you only heard a few guards who were standing in front of the door running inside.

“Take the body. Our negotiations are over.” You heard Changbin’s voice, completely unaffected by what had just happened. “It’s over, Y/n. You don’t have to be afraid.” He crouched down in front of you and gently lifted your chin to look at you closely.

You looked at him as he looked at you, making sure that you definitely didn't have any wounds. His face was calm, blissful, as if he wanted to show you that you had nothing to be afraid of.

"I'm sorry about this situation. You must be scared. Let me help you, but first I'll ask Esmeralda to prepare a bath for you in my room. I'd rather keep an eye on you now." He said, offering you his hand and helping you to stand up, as your legs were shaking with fear.

The last thing you saw before leaving was a few servants wiping up pools of blood and security guards packing Victor's body into a bag. Changbin didn't leave your side the whole way to his room. The two of you attracted the attention of the others gathered, but they tried to hide it. You walked slowly, taking your time, and the shock you had experienced slowly subsided from you.

Changbin led you to his bathroom, where Esmeralda, at his request, prepared a bath for you. The boy gently sat you down on the edge of the tub, his eyes filled with concern and warmth that brought unexpected peace to your heart. He grabbed a wet towel, and his movements were slow, as if he wanted to make sure that every action of his would comfort you. He gently wiped the small drops of blood from your face that reminded you of the events of the last few hours.

"You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. You're safe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you." He said, placing a warm hand on your cheek. His touch was soothing, as if he was not only physically removing traces of pain, but also mentally giving you shelter from the world. "Take a bath, please. Take your time, and I'll be waiting in my room. If you need anything, just call me," He added, then left, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You were grateful for his concern. When Changbin disappeared behind the door, you started to take off your clothes, still dirty and stuck to your body after everything that had happened. You sank into the warm, relaxing water, feeling the stress and tension leave your body. The water acted like a balm on your senses, allowing you to forget for a moment. You washed away the remnants of dirt and anxiety, wanting to feel fresh and regain control over yourself.

After bathing, you got out of the tub and looked around the bathroom. You noticed that you didn't have any clothes to change into. You wrapped yourself tightly in a towel, feeling the cool breeze on your wet skin, and went out, heading to Changbin's room. The boy was sitting on the bed, looking through one of the books.

"Um, could I get some clothes?" You asked shyly.

He turned to you slowly, looking at you for a moment, as if he wanted to remember every detail. After a moment, he stood up without a word and disappeared into his wardrobe. He came back with a white shirt in his hand, which he handed to you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, turning on your heel to go back to the bathroom and change. As you closed the door behind you, you realized you didn’t have a change of underwear. You didn’t want to put on the one you were wearing earlier- it felt dirty. So you decided to just put on a shirt. It was big and long, covering everything that should be covered.

You left the bathroom and Changbin was now sitting on the couch, his gaze once again resting on you. You could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, though there was no hint of mockery in it.

“Thank you, master.” You said quietly, about to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Changbin.” He corrected you sternly. “I told you to call me Changbin.” His voice sounded irritated, but it quickly softened. “Y/N, sit with me, please. Let's talk like the first time we met."

You looked at him uncertainly, but you couldn't say no to your boss. You hesitated, but eventually walked over and sat down next to him on the couch. The leather upholstery was cool under your skin, and you desperately tried to cover all the parts of your body that shouldn't be visible at the moment. You were intimidated by his closeness, but you didn't want to admit it.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, leaning slightly towards you. "You don't have to be afraid of me."

"I’m okay. Thank you so much for helping me." You finally spoke, still crumpling the material of your shirt in your hands.

"Would you like a drink, Y/n?" He asked, getting up from the couch and walking over to the small bar in the corner of the room.

"I'm working, I'm not allowed to drink." You answered immediately, thinking it was some kind of test.

“Chill Y/n, you're with me, and with me you can do anything. Let's celebrate our meeting. “ He poured wine into two glasses and came back to you, handing you one.

“Okay, I guess one won't hurt. “ You took a sip from the glass and fell in love with the taste of this alcohol, you've never had such good wine in your life.

Thanks to the alcohol, you relaxed slightly and talked freely with Changbin, just like when you first met.

After a long conversation and a few glasses of wine, Changbin approached you. He sat so close that his legs touched yours.

“I'm glad Y/n that I drove past you that day. The first time I saw you I knew you were special. I had to have you by my side. I'm glad you agreed to work for me. “ His words hit you with double the force, probably because of the alcohol.

A red blush began to paint your cheeks. You were slightly embarrassed by his words, because you didn't expect to hear that from him.

"I'm the one who's glad I got a chance at a better life. I owe you everything." You replied, swirling the half-full glass in your fingers.

There was silence for a moment, but it wasn't an awkward silence. You sat staring at each other, and the tension between you was growing. You don't know why, but your heart began to skip a beat as you looked at him closely. His features seemed even more defined, his lips were plumper, and his eyes were full of passion.

"Y/n." He began, placing his hand on your bare thigh. "Since the first time I saw you, I knew I wanted you. I want to have you for myself. I want to taste you. You're like a forbidden fruit to me, one that I desire so much." His words were certain, but at the same time very sensual.

Your whole body heated up and you couldn't help but bite your lip as Changbin's hand moved up a little.

"Don't do that, or I won't be able to hold back." He said, placing his other hand on your cheek.

"What if I don't want you to hold back?" You asked, your voice slightly husky and seductive.

Changbin just gave you a short smile and grabbed you by the neck to pull you closer to him. His lips immediately landed on yours, he didn't play cat and mouse with you, he just stuck his tongue into your mouth, and you reciprocated, the first hot kiss. Emotions were boiling inside you, and the excitement was growing.

You couldn't help but moan quietly when Changbin completely took the initiative and deepened your kiss. You pulled away from each other only for a moment to catch your breath, which you were desperately looking for.

After a moment, Changbin pulled away from you, only to whisper in your ear.

"Hold the glass up and don't drop it, because I'll be very angry and I'll have to punish you."

His words sent shivers down your body, but you decided to obey and lifted the glass you were holding in your hand. At that moment, Changbin planted a passionate kiss on your neck, which almost made you drop your glass. You didn't expect his lips to be so pleasant, and his kisses aggressive but also very thoughtful.

His other hand wandered up and down your thigh, slowly testing how far he could go. His every move was carefully planned to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

After a while, when he got bored with your neck, he slowly unbuttoned one of the buttons of his shirt with one hand and focused his kisses on your collarbones, lightly biting them. It made your back arch into a beautiful curve. Changbin's other hand went under your breasts, holding you so you wouldn't run away.

He really liked the way you looked at that moment. Slightly squinted eyes, back arched and bitten lips, everything was perfect and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"Binnie." You whispered between heavy breaths.

It worked on him like a rag to a bull. He sat down comfortably and pulled you with him, so that you were sitting on his lap, straddling him. Without stopping kissing you, he deftly unbuttoned another button of his shirt, giving himself access to your bare breasts. His sudden movement made you want to lower your hands and cover yourself, but the boy caught your hand and lifted it above your head again.

“A-a-a… I said to hold the glass up.” He whispered, lightly nibbling on your earlobe. “Good girl.”

His words turned you on even more and you started to feel yourself getting warm down there, and his next movements didn’t help. Changbin grabbed your breasts in his hands and started kneading them. His touch was gentle but firm at the same time. You couldn’t stop the moans that fell from your lips. However, you quickly covered your mouth with a free hand.

“Oh no, baby. I want to hear how I affect you. " He said, smiling nonchalantly and moving his hands to your nipples.

He grabbed them in his fingers and began to fondle them thoroughly. He gave each one the same amount of attention. He gently rolled them in his fingers, enjoying every second. You slowly began to feel how wet you were, and that was just the beginning of the fun. His hands went to your buttocks to bring you even closer to him.

His mouth rested on one of your nipples, and his tongue swirled around it, as if immersed in a dance. He smoothly moved from one nipple to the other, playing with your buttocks at the same time. You felt how you were soaking wet and staining his pants with your juices, but Changbin didn't seem to mind it, quite the opposite. His penis began to tense up, creating a bulge in his pants that pressed against your pussy.

This time it was you who smiled when you felt new possibilities to please yourself. You sloppily began to unbutton his shirt, inch by inch revealing his gorgeous torso.

Feeling how eager you were to continue the game, the boy slightly let you know that you could start moving your hips to relieve the desire that your body was showing more and more. You slowly started to move forward and back, with his hands still kneading your buttocks. The bulge in his pants rubbed against you, creating unforgettable sensations. You wanted more, you craved more. You needed to have him inside you, but the boy decided to tease you a little more.

In one smooth movement, he took you off his lap and quickly pulled his pants down, leaving you only in your boxers. Despite the amount of pleasure you were now experiencing, you bravely held the glass above your head, not even a drop fell out of it. Changbin pulled you to him again, only now you were sitting backwards on his lap. One of his hands rested on your breast, playing with your nipple again, and the other went down.

His fingers immediately began to caress your clit, using your own juices, which were already flowing down your thighs, as lubrication. Your whole body tensed under the influence of his touch. Your entire pussy was very sensitive, and you couldn't resist such a reaction. He skillfully maneuvered between your folds and your clit, not skipping a millimeter.

He played with you like that for some time, enjoying every second. You writhed under his touch, but you couldn't do anything about it. The boy knew perfectly well what he was doing to fully satisfy you. Soon his fingers ran between your folds, heading for your hole.

He easily slid one finger into your hole, and a loud moan escaped your lips. Without waiting a moment, he began to move it inside. Slowly at first, and with time, speeding up and adding another finger. His movements inside you were like magically enchanted time for you. You didn't want him to stop, you were at the edge of your endurance when he suddenly pulled his fingers out of you and took you off his lap, which was met with a grunt of displeasure from you.

"Don't be so impatient little one. I'll give you what you want so much soon." He said, kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs.

Without further ado, he ran his tongue all over your pussy, finally focusing on the most sensitive spot. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it lightly. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the amount of pleasure you were feeling at the moment.

Your body began to shake slightly as his tongue slowly began to wander down. The boy grabbed your legs tightly and pulled you so that you were sitting on the edge of the couch, giving him better access to you. His unexpected movement caused some of the wine to spill, but neither of you seemed to notice.

Changbin licked your pussy once more before he inserted his tongue into your hole. He was looking for the exact spot that would give you the most pleasure, and when he found it, guided by your increasingly louder moans, he sped up his movements. He watched you writhe under his touch, kneading your breasts with pleasure. When you reached for his hair to tangle your fingers in it, Bin's lips curved into a slight smile. He knew perfectly well that you were close to climax. So he sucked on your pussy a few times and sped up his movements again. You didn't expect someone could be so good at doing good with their mouths, and yet. A few movements were enough for a powerful orgasm to overwhelm you. You squeezed your legs against his face, shaking and twitching. The wave of pleasure was so big that you dropped the glass from your hand, which fell on the couch.

With your other hand, you also grabbed his hair, tightly tangling your fingers in it. Your breathing was very heavy, and sometimes you even had the impression that you weren't breathing as you went through your orgasm. Changbin patiently waited for you to calm down, so that you could continue. He stroked your legs, calmly guiding you through every second of pleasure.

After a moment, you began to feel all the tension leave you and you began to relax. Your legs fell limply down, and your hands loosened their grip. Changbin stood up from his knees and leaned over you.

"You dropped the glass, darling. Now you're going to be punished." Without waiting for your answer, he picked you up and carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently and pulled off your unnecessary shirt, then took off his boxers, revealing his fully erect penis.

You looked at him seductively, slightly biting your lip. The boy laughed slightly and approached you, kneeling between your legs. His cock gently rubbed your still sensitive pussy, and you couldn't help but lift your hips. You wanted to feel him inside you already.

"So impatient and so horny." He said, leaning over you slightly, sliding between your wet folds a few times, wetting his cock.

Finally, he aimed at your hole. His tip pressed against your entrance and in one smooth movement, he entered you completely. Your mouth opened but no sound came out, as if you were speechless. Only when you let out a breath from your lungs were you able to speak again. Changbin's size was perfect, not too small and not too big, so as not to hurt you.

His first movements were slow, smooth and calm. He wanted you to get used to this position. Seeing how you kept biting your lip and pulling your hair slightly, he sped up and deepened his movements. They were no longer so calm, but still rhythmic. His penis slid in and out of you, stretching your walls slightly.

However, after a while, even that wasn't enough for him. He lifted both of your legs and placed them on his shoulders, giving himself access to deeper penetration. The first movements of his hips were calm, but they quickly gained momentum when the room was filled with sweet moans. Your breasts jumped in rhythm with the movements, giving him additional wonderful views.

"More Changbin, I want more!" You said between moans of pleasure.

The boy understood this perfectly, quickly pulled out of you and lay on his back. You knew immediately what he meant. You climbed on top of him and aimed his penis at your hole. When his penis slid back into you, filling you, a shiver of pleasure ran down your spine.

You began to see him, moving your hips forward and back, giving yourself additional sensations. You felt blissful, you started to play with your hair, revealing your breasts. Changbin's hands immediately went to them, they fit them perfectly, as if they were sculpted especially for them.

After a moment, your movements began to become careless, you felt the warmth in your lower abdomen growing again, you knew that the second orgasm was coming and faster than you thought. Changbin noticed it too, his hand went to your clit. He started to stimulate it, and you couldn't stop the feeling that you were about to explode. His fingers were agile and fast, they carefully caressed the most sensitive spot.

"Binnie...I can’t...I can't hold out any longer!" You screamed as a wave of pleasure flooded your body again.

You dug your fingers into Changbin's muscular chest. He admired you as you twitched on him, with his penis still inside you. However, he didn't wait for the whole orgasm to pass, he just lifted you off him and put you on all fours. Then he immediately thrust into you with great force.

Your elbows bent under you. You were now completely exposed to him, your chest fell onto the soft mattress and your hips remained up. Changbin grabbed your hips, holding you up. He didn't want you to run away, he was absorbed in you. Your body, your scent, just you.

His movements were strong, the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the room, mixing with your loud moans of pleasure. The orgasm from earlier had worn you out a bit, you were overstimulated, but you didn't want to show it. You wanted to have him inside you for as long as possible and make love to him for as long as possible.

Changbin's fingers dug into your skin so hard that they slowly lost their color, but the boy wanted to enter you even harder. A few movements later you felt a sudden rush of pleasure take over your body. Looking at your reaction, he knew he hit your sweet spot and that's where he had to continue.

Even though you had just climaxed, you could feel your third orgasm approaching and it would be stronger than the previous two.

“I…I’m…cumming!” You moaned between the blows to your buttocks.

Changbin understood your plea and sped up his movements, still staying in your sweet spot. You dug your fingers into the sheet so hard that the blood drained from them, but you didn’t mind, you had to somehow control your body.

Soon the boy’s movements became uneven, but they didn’t lose their strength. His breathing quickened. You were both close, both waiting for the desired fulfillment. After a few more movements, you both came. You felt the warm liquid filling you inside as his cum shot out.

Your walls clenched on him uncontrollably as more waves of heat flooded your body. All your muscles contracted uncontrollably as he hit your buttocks slower and slower. Each of your movements led you through orgasm. The amount of pleasure that hit you was so great that you clenched your teeth on the sheet, hoping that it would bring some help.

Only after a moment did Changbin gently fall onto you and very slowly pull out of you, giving the excess cum a chance to escape. He placed a gentle kiss on your red buttock, then your back, shoulder blades and neck. Your body reacted to each new mark left on your body.

Finally, you fell onto the bed exhausted, your forehead decorated with small beads of sweat, just like Changbin's. You lay next to each other, staring at each other, your breaths were heavy, but you were happy.

Changbin brushed a strand of hair away from yours and gently stroked your cheek.

"You're mine Y/n and I won't let anyone hurt you." He said tenderly, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

You lay on the bed for a while longer, you snuggled up to Changbin, wanting to stay with him as long as possible. When your breathing calmed down a bit, Changbin took you to the bathroom and made a shared bath for you. After all, he couldn't leave you like this. Once the tub was full, you both got in. He sat down behind you and hugged you tightly, wrapping his arms around you. You felt safe with him and knew this was the start of something great. Something where you were the main characters. Your life was about to change from being a mere servant, you were finally together with a mafia boss.

—————————————

Masterlist

[terasumono]

I translated Ushio's initial SSR card story!

**Please don't use my translations for bots or claim them as your own.**

Feel free to let me know if you catch any mistakes!

Man Proposes, God Disposes (First Half) 

MC: (The new travel bag sure looked cool. That shop always carries a lot of designs that resonate with me...hm?) 

??: Haa? This is a scam, right? They’ve got to be manipulating the results behind the scenes.  

MC: (Is that Ushio-kun’s voice? .....Ah, I thought so.)  

MC: Ushio-kun? 

Ushio: Geh. Why are you here...? 

MC: There’s a store I like here...what about you? 

Ushio: Where I am and what I’m doing has nothing to do with you, does it? Are you infringing on my privacy? 

MC: S-Sorry. I’ll be off then.  

Ushio: Wait. I’m sure you have nothing better to do anyways. Aren’t you thirsty? 

MC: Huh? Well...now that you mention it, I haven’t had anything to drink yet so I am a little. 

Ushio: Then...cola, chocolate, and matcha—which do you prefer?   

MC: No way, are you going to treat me?  

Ushio: I am always under your care. So, which will it be?  

[Cola] 

MC: Then, I'll go with cola.  

Ushio: “Shouta’s Passion-filled Spicy Craft Cola”, yeah? 

What, so this means Chief’s oshi is also Shouta... 

MC: Eh? Oshi?  

[Chocolate] 

MC: Then, I'll go with chocolate.  

Ushio: “Sweetly Melting, Reito’s Popular Choco Milkshake”, is it. Huh, didn’t expect that.  

MC: What are you talking about...? 

[Matcha] 

MC: Then, I'll go with matcha. 

Ushio: “An and Kazari’s Double Heroine Matcha Latte ~Garnished with Candy Art~”, yeah? 

You have surprisingly refined tastes. 

MC: Yep, I feel like drinking some every now and then.  

Does this one come with candy as well? 

Ushio: ......It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m going to go buy it so twiddle your thumbs and wait here.  

MC: Ah, okay... 

MC: (Ushio-kun can be hard to grasp...) 

MC: (At any rate, this cafe is really bustling with people...) 

Female A: It’s no good~ They said today’s reservations are full and there've been no cancellations either. 

Female B: Seriously? I wonder if we’ll be able to make a reservation during the event period. Let’s give up on the food and just get drinks today then. We should be able to get take-out for the drinks at least.  

Female A: Yeah...Hey, if I order my oshi1’s drink, do you think he’ll come home after all?  

Female B: It’s random, so it'd be super exciting if a miracle like that occurred...! But wouldn’t you be moved if you ordered your ship’s other half or the rival instead and he still came out?  

Female A: True! It’d end up feeding my delusions...!  

MC: (I don’t really get it, but they seem incredibly excited... 

This seems like a limited-time cafe, so maybe there’s some kind of bonus with each purchase? If I had to guess, that’s probably what Ushio-kun's after too...)   

Ushio: Thanks for waiting.  

MC: Thanks...huh, wait? There’s two?  

Ushio: I felt like drinking something too. Now then... 

MC: (He turned around...and is clearly doing something secretly...) 

Ushio: Tch... 

MC: (He clicked his tongue...? I wonder what’s wrong.) 

Um... 

Ushio: You want seconds? 

MC: Huh? 

Ushio: If you’re still thirsty, they have a variety of different drinks—— 

MC: I'm happy for the consideration, but it’d cost money so this is more than enough.  

(I couldn’t possibly allow Ushio-kun to pay for everything either.) 

Ushio: ......ttle. 

MC: Huh? 

Ushio: It’s because this is....a battle.  

MC: Hm?? 

Ushio: There’s value in things you can’t buy with money...it’s just like travelling, don’t you think? 

Giving up just because it hasn’t come after a few tries, when you haven’t even done all you can....Isn’t that way more of a loss?  

MC: Y-Yes.... 

Ushio: That’s how it is, so just wait here.  

MC: ...... 

(He was so enthusiastic that I couldn’t turn him down...) 

(This is the fifth one...At the rate he’s going, we’re going to go through the entire menu...) 

(I know he’s buying the drinks because there’s something he wants, but...) 

Ushio: AH——! Geez! How many has it been now?! If this is how it’s going to be, I’ll put everything I have on the line to settle this...!2 

MC: U-Ushio-kun, I can’t drink anymore...my stomach is going to burst... 

Besides, the thing that you want is— 

Ushio: ...Washroom. Once I get back, we’re going another round. 

MC:  Eh, another round?! Wai—Ushio-kun! Hey, Ushio-kun! He’s gone... 

(To think that there’s something he wants so much that he’d become so dejected... 

I wish he would have the same amount of passion when giving hospitality3. In order to do that...) 

...Okay! We’ve come this far anyway—one last try won’t hurt! The line is...over here.... 

Shop Clerk: Thank you very much~.  

MC: (Every drink comes with one silver bag.  

So this is what Ushio-kun's been opening since earlier. Let's see, inside is...) 

This is... 

Man Proposes, God Disposes (Second Half) 

MC: This is...a coaster? 

(It seems like a paper coaster. I feel like the character drawn on it resembles Nanaki-kun somehow...) 

Female A: E-Excuse me...! 

MC: Ah...yes, what is it? 

Female A: If it's okay with you, would you be willing to give Reito...give that coaster to me? I’ll pay for the drink.  

MC: (It’s the person who was in front of the cafe earlier... I wonder if this person was also after this?) 

Reito? 

Female A: That’s the character’s name! 

...I can’t believe you don’t know Reito, are you a bandwagoner? 

You aren’t qualified to have him, so I think it’d be better if you handed him over to me.  

MC: H-Haa... 

Ushio: My bad, the washroom was full... 

?!  

(If I remember correctly, they’re that ReiShou shipper...!) 

Female A: (They’re that ReiOu shipper..!) 

MC: Is this character really that popular?  

Female A: That’s right! *rustling noise*  

MC: Wah, it’s a bag full of Reito (?)-kuns... 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato4 : This is the limited gacha can badge they sold at this year’s PatiFes. Reito’s character tax is high so it was hard collecting these!  

Ushio: <......One’s love for their oshi isn’t something that can be measured in numbers.> 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: Ahem! Reito is a character from a series known as “PatiBato!”. “PatiBato!” is an unprecedented shounen manga that combines sweet confections and hot-blooded battles!  

MC: I-I see... 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: At a super difficult-to-get-into technical school for pâtissiers named “Framboise”, everything is decided by battles between fellow pastry chefs...just like a Sengoku Period5 of sweets! 

Ushio: <Ha, someone who looks like they’ve never even made sweets before doesn’t suit it at all.> 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: The main character is an energetic boy named Shouta who excels at baking, and Reito is a scholarship student who specializes in chocolate sweets, and is Shouta’s first rival, as well as the object of everyone’s admiration!  

Ushio: <Can a ReiShou shipper with zero reading comprehension please not speak about Reito?> 

MC: (Why is this turning into a heated argument...?!) 

T-Thank you for the explanation...!  

I see, so he’s a character from such a popular series.  

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: That’s right. So give Reito to...  

MC: I’m sorry, I can’t give this to you. 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: Huh?! 

Ushio: ...! 

MC: (This might be the coaster Ushio-kun wanted after all...) 

Female A Whose Life Has Been Taken Over By PatiBato: .........Fine, I get it. Make sure you treasure him.  

MC: ......haah~~! That person was super passionate, wasn’t she! She seemed like an acquaintance of yours, but do you know her? 

Ushio: ...You think I’d be acquainted with a sinner who ships ReiShou? 

MC: (He definitely knows her...) 

Ushio: ...That coaster you were holding earlier—I wouldn’t mind throwing it out for you. 

MC: Ah, right. Was this what you wanted?  

Ushio: ?! I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that a coaster from a series you don’t even know may as well be trash—    

*phone ringing* 

MC: Sorry, it’s a call from Kafka. Yes, hello— 

Ushio: ...... 

MC: That was a collaboration cafe for “PatiBato!”, wasn’t it? 

Ushio: ... 

MC: I can see why Reito-kun would be popular~.  

He looks kind, and he’s certainly got the good looks.  

Ushio: ... 

MC: You like the character named Ouji-kun as well, don’t you, Ushio-kun? 

The pudding milkshake inspired by him was also delicious—! 

Ushio: ...Hey.  

MC: Hm? 

Ushio: T-That coaster from earlier, I wouldn’t mind receiving it from you.6  

MC: Eh... 

Ushio: No, that’s not it...What I mean is...uh... 

MC: Oh, that’s right! Sorry, here you go! 

Ushio: ...Huh. 

MC: You wanted Reito-kun's coaster, right? 

Ushio: ......puya7...y....yeah..... 

MC: (Thank goodness. He seems happy.)  

Ushio: ...W-Well, you did accompany me in getting those drinks and all. I wouldn't mind taking your request the next time I bake something. 

MC: Eh, are you sure? Hehe, I’m looking forward to Ushio-kun's homemade sweets~!   

Ushio: You’d better look forward to it.  

MC: Yup! 

Ushio: (What a weirdo...But, well, I was able to get Reito’s coaster...) 

...Heh. 

TL Notes:  

1. One's favourite (member of an idol group, character in an anime, player in a team, etc.) –Jisho 

2. 「こうなったら泣きのもう一発を…！」I wasn’t sure how to translate this but I believe it comes from「泣きの一回」, which apparently is a term used in sports when you’ve lost against an opponent and would like to request another match for a chance at victory. The 一発 that Ushio says instead comes from 一発勝負, which changes the phrase to mean “to bet everything on one final contest/bout for a complete reversal of the situation”.  

3. The urge to just leave this word as “omotenashi” is as great as the urge to leave “Chief” as “Shunin”. 

4. Likely short for “Pâtissier Battle”.  

5. The Sengoku period, also known as Sengoku Jidai (lit. ‘Warring States period’) is the period in Japanese history in which civil wars and social upheavals took place almost continuously in the 15th and 16th centuries. –Wikipedia  

6. He makes it sound like he’s doing us a favour by accepting the coaster from us lol.  

7. Ushio has a speech tick where he acquires a lisp (?) of sorts when he’s surprised. I think his “puya” here is just him expressing he’s happy, and I’m going to leave it as is, as it’s very cute. 

[maria-of-the-waves]

The first battle of Maple Castle

The animation of the battle of Maple Castle encouraged me to re-read it and I really enjoyed it (⌒▽⌒)☆

Spoilers for chapters 280 to 288

The Whipper king is a fucking cowardly bastard who deserved to die during the civil war and it is certain that unless he acts as an enemy or obstacle he will die in every fic I am ever going to write 凸(`△´＃)

The way Toonka encouraged his soldiers made me enjoy his unique style of charisma and the strategy meeting was simply amazing.

The beginning of the battle was fabulous, in fact the references to KRS's life and the cataclysm were fabulous and now I understand everything correctly (*¯︶¯*)

Toonka ignoring all formalities and attacking instantly was simply art.

The way the soldiers (from both sides) reacted once the barbarians and the third brigade clashed was incredible, I like the way it is indicated that even those who are not warriors as long as they are from the Whipper kingdom are crazy (at least from the eyes of the empire) (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

I really liked the clash between Toonka and Huten since it shows the character of both parties and that same meeting is what motivates Kanelle to go ahead with the plan (*≧ω≦*)

I liked the bone birds, they show the progress of the Whipper kingdom in accepting magic again, from nothing to just magical tools to magic being allowed but only as long as no one in the town gets hurt. Huten being tricked, the native wizards acting freely and unleashing their full power, the dwarves gaining determination to defeat the lions, and Cale discovering his new power; All of this happened in a single chapter (385) and it was so fast that I felt like I was really there, sheltered in the castle and seeing the war in front of me. That Huten thought Cale would never rise up against the empire was funny paraphrasing Raon "Human! Are we scamming the Duke?!" Hay and Raon! It's super cute! The way he said that all of Cale's powers had to be fortified and then got sad because he didn't have enough in his piggy bank touched my heart! (っ˘ω˘ς )

The wizards creating a bottleneck for the warriors to fight with Toonka and his people excited was great! I felt my adrenaline rising! ٩(◕‿◕)۶

The political plots in the background were just the icing on the cake and Choi Han pledging to stay hidden and being a tsundere with Toonka I loved it! Huten wanting to kill Toonka and automatically forgetting about him as soon as Choi Han arrived was very "I don't care about you anymore, I have a new rival" style, but it happens that that rival is just as (more) stronger than me and seems to have come out of hell ↑_(ΦwΦ)Ψ

Meanwhile Choi Han used it as a springboard to improve his sword art. Huten thinking that Choi Han is a noble for his "refined sword art" was funny and in the background the soldiers going crazy and shouting instructions like they should tie the enemies' feet improved the situation a lot (ᵔ◡ᵔ)b

Choi Han understanding that he didn't fall into darkness thanks to his family was very cute to me and his joint battle with Toonka was great. I like the way they treat the "grand Duke of the empire" like a rag doll <(￣ω￣)>

And the first time I saw the Whipper kingdom strategy I didn't understand it but now I was excited to reach the climax of it, the chaos caused was glorious with all the rubble falling and every armor destroyed \(✯◡✯)/

This is how the first battle of Maple Castle ends.

[turbofanatic]

A bunch of ink studies and sketches.

I love Tiny's nose. It's so fun to draw. And I think I'm getting a handle on drawing him as a kid. He's an adorable little weirdo with a thousand-yard stare.

Ravio is another one of my favorite Zelda characters, I like the idea that he's a heavily sarcastic scam artist who also makes one of the most harrowing ethical choices ever seen in a Zelda game. While wearing a bunny hood. Also Sheerow is the most competent one on the top row.

I've been trying to figure out everyone's height in relation to each other, and wow, the downfall and adult timeline Links are tiny. To some extent with video game heights you just have to accept that getting exact values is a fool's errand. Oh sure, you can pull out the model and measure it, but then you have to account for the fact that there's lots of size multipliers applied to models that can change throughout the game, and that the entire world might not quite use the same measurements as ours, plus stylistic differences, and... yeah it's hard. It's pretty clear most Links are tiny (except Tiny, who ends up being huge canonically) and I'm going to make Ravio about 4'7" / 140cm. Since it's hard to reconcile the wide range in sizes of Hylians, I think there's just a tendency for some to be very small, just like the Gerudo have a tendency for some to be very large, and certain ethnic groups have more or less of this. The ones surviving in the harsh environments of flooded and downfall timelines tend to have more of the smaller Hylians.

In the middle we have Link from OG Zelda and Adventure of Link. He's probably even shorter than Ravio. I've given him a Phrygian cap, which is pretty cool and loaded with symbolism. I've also drawn his fairy form, and tried to keep the curly hat shape. He's green because of course, but also a little red for the color shift when he uses the shield spell.

At the bottom we have a rough idea for a shadow beast from Twilight Princess, because they were hugely influential to me and one of my favorite designs ever, though I think I have to refine this further.

Also a maneless lynel! No thoughts only big kitty.