#now I hate when things are inconsistent so I only use like

[neon-danger]

I stubbornly only use 2 columns in CAS as I used a laptop for so long and just got used to the scale that more columns messes with my muscle memory and autistic hatred of change. But I get why lots of people use it I just need to get over myself. UICheats and Better Build/Buy are staples to me. And like every adult mod under the sun too of course, especially the ones my friend made. My gameplay would be nothing if Alex and Jack were not sex addicts. It sounds so silly but it really is like a staple for me.

The last part 😭😭😭😭

[cerisahh]

summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

[ladyrosemone]

History does not remember blood, it remembers names

Using Google Translate here, sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies 🗣‼️‼️

Tw: allusion to child prostitution, prostitution, death of a secondary character, abandonment of minors, allusion to negligence.

It wasn't always like this, you know.

You weren't like this when was younger, when mom would put you hair in those cute braids or dress you up to match her on dress-up Wednesdays, or even when she taught you how to put on makeup instead of buying the bike you wanted, one that you friend Michelle had. It was metallic blue, with white streamers hanging from the handlebars, and you still remembers it clear as the sun because that was the first time you felt envious of something foreign.

You was never blind to injustice, you saw it every day; at school when the teacher took you away recess because some brats weren't silent, at home when mom didn't give you dessert for some stupid reason, but the most recurrent one was the one that took the bread out of their mouths.

You understood it when you turned nine, when you woke and you beloved mother decided it was time for contribute to the household; On you birthday she took you to a fat old man, whom she said was his boss, he dressed you the way her mother dressed on a Wednesday and a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday and a Sunday and she put so much makeup on you that you eyes burned.

She didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to do it, but when your boss comes to your home to demand protection money and sees you child, what else do you do but make things easier?

That's what adults love most.

She was not a bad mother, she was loving and protective, affectionate and self-sacrificing, but she was also a woman desperate to fulfill the most basic needs of a human, to eat and sleep safely one more night, and if she must use her little girl for that, may God forgive her on his last day.

And you loved her too, but not enough to intervene when you saw being pulled into a car, or asked her boss for help when others did, and you'll be damned if you refuses to be taken to the police station to take a statement, poor baby.

"Is in shock" they say that word a lot, even now "Leave in a foster home, there is no room in orphanages"

Like divine intervention, an old but royal gentleman like a general entered his life.

Alfred Pennyworth took you to a large house one day; He apologized for taking a while to find her, saying that he would never have expected that a child of Bruce Wayne would have been born in a prostitution ring and lived there for eleven years.

Suddenly you had a father and a brother, but it was like you didn't have them at all.

Bruce not a father, never a father was distant, like one of those men who only rented you to pretend to be a therapeutic doll, and Richard was...annoying, angry, lashing out at everyone all the time, a brat who left you without dessert because of his tantrums.

But you were good at something, at pleasing; It was never touched, thank God, but you're observant and you've learned a few tricks to cajole people.

That didn't work in them, not until Jason Todd came along.

He was better than Richard without a doubt, and for a few years he was you best friend; two peas in a pod, vanilla and chocolate, brothers of everything but blood, and for a time you found home in him.

And then Joker took him away.

You were never interested in being vigilante, dressing up as a traffic light and running across the roofs at night, but in those years you wished could have gone with him, to be a Robin just so you could avenge your brother.

Shortly after, Tim Drake arrived, Bruce's shadow, his little chameleon copying his movements, his gestures, his personality and you hated him with every part of your being.

At that time you stopped trying to bond with Bruce, you would never be his son, and quoting what he said;

"I don't have time, not now, not for you"

But yes for Barbara, yes for Stephenie, yes for that spawn of hell with whom you share blood, and yes for her adored daughter, Cassandra.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back, finding out that Jason, your brother Jason, had come back to life and never came to you, the only person who has entered your heart besides your mother, had abandoned you, betrayed you.

And then a metahuman arrives and they open the doors to him as if it were nothing?

Well, fuck them.

Although in reality, it was not your plan to return to your origin, who would have thought that finding your old friend Michelle in an alley after being thrown out of a van on the verge of death was going to give you the biggest reward in Gotham.

Loyalty.

Unlike you, Michelle did not have a millionaire father who claimed her like a carnival puppy, and her fate was no different from that of her dead mother, but she had contacts, people who knew things about more people and that a third spectator like you could use.

And if you learned anything in that damn mansion, it was to sweeten their words, caress egos and say what they want to hear, you learned to deceive and pretend, to disguise your intentions and attack without killing.

You learned to be a snake instead of a bat.

And like sweet karma, divine intervention or whatever you like to believe, starting your business from the brothel where your mother sold you by giving that fat bald guy to his enemies and taking his place, wasn't a bad way to start his story.

"Don't you think that's a brutal origin story?" You ask, looking with amusement at the infiltrated man now slowly bleeding out on your rug, Is it considered a fur rug if it's the skin of the past boss?

—Liar —he mutters in pain, writhing in pain and under the gaze of your cruel eyes — You killed them in cold blood! Your poisonous tongue made us destroy ourselves from within! Two-faced whore!

“I always like how creative they get when they’re dying” you reply, leaning back in your leather swivel chair, because no animal cruelty for you, you are not a monster “Anyway, I hear Ivy needs test subjects for her new fragrances, but I think you’d make a better fertilizer, Michelle dear”

Your right hand opens the door, where two men grab the traitor and take him out while he continues screaming, varying between cursing her and crying out for mercy "I hope it helps Pamela before the hyenas eat him"

Now you're Gotham's super predator, and your heart is hungry.

[sirfrogsworth]

I haven't posted in a while.

Well, a while for me.

I've been stuck in a physical slump for about 7-ish weeks and it is starting to get to me. It's like my body is stuck in low power mode and I just don't have much productive energy. I've been trying to work on restoring photos but my willpower has been very inconsistent.

These slumps have happened before. They will happen again. And I always emerge from them eventually. But when they are this long I get very depressed and convince myself I am stuck like this forever. And that I will never be able to accomplish anything again.

But the other complication is the holidays. I mentioned on my Facebook page that my parents always made the holidays special. They went all out and did big decorations and cooked fancy dinners and we had these plates that we only used twice a year and silverware that stayed hidden in a drawer until Christmas Eve. We'd drive around and look at lights and we'd always have presents under the tree even when my parents probably couldn't afford presents.

And my mom would wrap our presents in plain brown postal paper with green yarn and it was just so much more tasteful than the shiny, garish wrapping paper you get at the store.

I just always loved how classy that was. I loved how she took the time to put a little hand-drawn doodle on each gift. She took something simple and inexpensive and made it so much more personal and memorable than the more expensive thing.

And all of that is gone now.

And I don't have a new family to build new traditions with.

And I never will because I'm disabled and that isn't really an option.

And I can't even be a cool uncle because my brother's wife decided she hated me and my parents for no reason we could ever decipher. So I will never meet my niece.

And all of that just kind of converges in my brain during the holidays and it is very hard. And it is doubly hard because I can't get out of bed. And I can't concentrate.

So I am just bored and sad and frustrated.

Umm... Happy Thanksgiving?

[iznsfw]

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace. 

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.” 

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive. 

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her. 

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing. 

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch. 

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing. 

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation. 

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps. 

You don’t. 

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

-

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

-

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks. 

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore. 

i miss you 

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t. 

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her. 

What you’d give to have good sex like that again. 

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name: 

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away. 

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea. 

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past. 

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply. 

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family. 

Stop texting me or I’ll block you. 

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her. 

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast. 

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door. 

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink. 

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed. 

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything. 

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away. 

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again. 

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know. 

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth. 

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen. 

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair. 

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past. 

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that? 

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone. 

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed. 

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck. 

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her. 

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips. 

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her. 

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder. 

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you. 

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?” 

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you. 

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb. 

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear. 

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal. 

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically. 

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste. 

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

 It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food. 

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?” 

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together. 

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers. 

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief. 

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips. 

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity. 

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit. 

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again. 

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her. 

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt. 

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again. 

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too. 

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet.  “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.” 

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white. 

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears. 

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming.  This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt. 

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it. 

The tears finally fall from her eyes. 

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…” 

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her. 

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes. 

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby. 

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

-

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying. 

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you. 

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say. 

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

[oldwritingm]

Sorry for my inconsistent posting schedule my darlings :(

Creepypasta/MH - The Moment They Knew They Loved You

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Nina the Killer, Jane the Killer, Tim/Masky, “Ticci” Toby

Jeff the Killer

It would’ve been a very long time after knowing you

Even if he was physically attracted to you, he wouldn’t consider that “love”

He usually judges people more on their character

That’s not so say he doesn’t enjoy calling people ugly if he thinks they’re ugly though

So you guys would’ve been vibing together for a while

He’d come away from each interaction with you just a little happier (or a lot happier), but he didn’t really notice it

That is, until he walks into a room one day and finds you relaxing, scrolling through your phone

He announces some unhinged plan, fully intending on carrying it out

You just look up at him for a second before (being used to his bs) just giving a thumbs-up and telling him to have fun

He blinked at you for a second, a grin coming to his lips slowly

He thinks to himself: you know, this is why I like them. They understand me.

And then he starts to think about all the reasons he likes you

He spends the rest of the night with your image in his head and a light feeling in his heart

It’s when he’s lying in bed, telling himself to stop thinking so he can sleep, that he finally realizes:

Oh. I’m in love, aren’t I?

He’s not mad about it; he’s more surprised than anything (at first at least… soon he’s ecstatic about it)

But he fully accepts his affection for you, and it won’t be long till he confesses ;)

Nina the Killer

She’s a pretty perky girl with a lot of emotions

Happiness, sadness, anger… she’s unapologetic in expressing everything, to the point that many call her “extra” or “weird”

It’s only for those people that she acts more reserved, and it’s more in an act of resentment than resignation (basically her saying “eff you loser, you don’t deserve me”)

So she only really likes people that she doesn’t have to act differently around

And of course you’re one of those people :)

She finds little things to like and hate about everyone in her life, and you’re no exception

So one night she just happens to be looking at a picture of you, and she gets to thinking

She smiles as she remembers good times with you: going to the mall, getting messy with baking or butchering, late night texting…

At length she decides that there’s a whole lot more to love than hate

And then she gets to thinking about your looks, and maybe she’s biased because she’s just decided that you’re delightful, but she feels a little heat come to her cheeks

She zooms in on the picture she’s looking at, admiring your features one at a time

She’s baffled that she hasn’t noticed how good-looking you are until now

And then the memories play again in her head, but this time her heart soars extra high…

She’s in love with you!!

She smacks a hand over her mouth when she realizes it, then breaks into a fit of giggles

Get ready for not-so-subtle hints and extra affection….

She’ll want you to figure it out before she actually confesses lol

Jane the Killer

I feel like she would’ve decided that she loved you pretty early on

Maybe even before interacting with you for the first time

She watched you (perhaps not entirely intentionally at first), and was at once enchanted by your looks and the way you carried yourself

You were like a magical creature of beauty to her

She didn’t dare disturb you in the beginning; she was content just watching

She was sure that her infatuation was purely aesthetic; you were just pretty, that was all there was to it

Except IT WASNT

One day she happened to actually interact with you

She was a little nervous, what with you being held so high in her head

But you absolutely floored her

The way you spoke, the way you saw her as a person…

You hooked her like a bass in a pond

She stood there breathless after your first interaction, watching you walk away with a racing heart

It was then that she knew this was much more than physical attraction

She HAD to have you, or at least try to

And trust me, she will try her hardest 😤

She’ll court you for a while first, just to see if you’re even interested

But if/when you are, she won’t be taking her time in confessing ;D

Tim/Masky

Methinks you’d have been friends for a while first

You went through a lot of things together: good times, bad times, silence, chaos…

And maybe you weren’t besties or anything, or super enthusiastic about each other (actually you’re probably a little cold to each other if anything, even if you do feel strongly attached)

But the point is that you have a history, and you know each other well

Plus there’s an unspoken bond that says you’ll have to tolerate each other for a long time (unspoken obligatory friendship moment)

Not that either of you minded

So one day you’re enjoying some silence together, relaxing out on a balcony and waiting for the dark clouds to pour rain

Your eyes are fixed on the sky, leaving your face in full view of the world

And, more importantly, Tim

He’s not sure why, but his gaze catches on your face

He starts admiring the little features: your eyes, the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows are shaped…

He doesn’t decide that you’re beautiful. He decides that this is the face of someone he loves

It hits him like a truck—just a random thought out of nowhere:

This is the face of someone I love.

And while he’s taken aback at first, with a reddening face he realizes it’s true

He does love you!! All that you’ve been through together really meant something to him

He looks away bashfully, grumbling something when you ask if something’s up

Get ready for the long game…. This man will never confess

He’ll curse himself for even insinuating any feelings for you, so you’ll be left in the dark unless you’re REALLY good at picking up accidental gestures

“Ticci” Toby

He’d be so oblivious to his own feelings

He’d act super affectionate towards you, but only because he acts on impulse

He never stops to wonder why he gets the impulse to hug you or pinch you or say something not-so-mean (even NICE?! 🤯) when he’s around you

He doesn’t even notice that he only gets those impulses for you

So you’ll probably figure it out before him

And it’s only when you start to return that affection that he really starts to question

But again. He is SO OBLIVIOUS

It takes him a very long time to figure it out… you honestly might just have to spell it out for him

He can’t even take hints

I think that when he finally does figure it out, it’s a fleeting thought that catches for some reason

Like, he’s just daydreaming or something and suddenly he’s dreaming of dating you

And he thinks: hey, that wouldn’t be so bad. But it’s not like I like them like that. Wait…. Do I?

And then he’s just. Floored. Because HOW DID HE MISS IT FOR THAT LONG

Literally grips his hair like “WHAT!!!!”

Immediately runs to go yell at you tell you that he loves you

And you’re just like “oh I know. But thanks for finally confessing! <3”

Thank you so much for reading!! Take care my sweet duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[glowettee]

✧ if i’m so dramatic, why am i always right? ✧

✦ intuition vs gaslighting ✦

hi lovelies, it’s mindy 🌷🕯 i’ve been off tumblr for a few days, things have just been really overwhelming lately, and i needed a little breather. but writing always brings me back to myself. it’s my favorite kind of comfort. the glowettee x pll series has seriously been such a joy to create… every post, every idea, every digital piece for my gumroad has been healing in its own way. this next post is something close to my heart. it’s about gaslighting... something i’ve experienced a lot, especially from people i thought i could trust. it’s such a common thing, but so many of us don’t realize it’s happening until way later. i used to second-guess my intuition constantly because people convinced me i was being “too much.” but every time… my gut was right. so i wanted to write this to help you tell the difference between real intuition and someone twisting it. if you’ve ever felt that quiet confusion or started to doubt yourself after talking to someone, this post is for you. i hope it brings clarity. and softness. and maybe even a little validation if you’ve been there too. - mindy 🤍🩰

sometimes i wonder if girls like us were born with a sixth sense or if we just got so used to being hurt that our bodies evolved. hyper-awareness as a survival trait. intuition as our most sharpened weapon. people love to call it being “dramatic,” but let’s be honest... i was right every time.

𓆩♡𓆪

❝ if you’re so emotional, how come your instincts always come true? ❞ they never have an answer to that, do they?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ the 'dramatic' girl dilemma

there’s a reason why every group chat has a girl they secretly call “too much.” the one who always has a weird feeling. the one who picks up on tone shifts and changes in energy and tiny inconsistencies like it’s her full-time job. she’s the one who says, “this doesn’t feel right,” and gets labeled a buzzkill. the killjoy. the overthinker.

but i’ll let you in on something i had to learn the hard way: they only call you dramatic when they don’t want you to notice what’s really happening.

girls like us don’t get the luxury of being chill. we’re watching. always. we had to learn to be. we’re the first ones to feel the shift in a friend group dynamic. we clock the fake laugh. the silence in the hallway. the DM left on read. and when we bring it up? “you’re imagining things.”

they say "you're too sensitive" like it's a flaw. like feeling deeply makes you unreliable. but being sensitive never meant being wrong. it just meant you felt the betrayal before it became undeniable.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ trauma turned my gut into a siren

there’s something about growing up being ignored, bullied, overlooked, or manipulated that turns your whole nervous system into a radar. suddenly, you’re the girl who notices everything.

like, i still remember being 14 and realizing that one of my friends always laughed at my jokes in front of boys, but never when it was just us. or how she'd call me pretty but then immediately ask if i was wearing makeup. subtle stuff. stuff that sounds dumb when you say it out loud. stuff that makes people go, “you’re reading too much into it.”

but i wasn’t. i never was. that’s the exhausting part.

emotional intelligence feels like a superpower until it starts to drain you. like being psychic, but without the option to turn it off. you don’t just read the room, you analyze it, archive it, cross-reference it with past data.

i used to hate this part of myself. now i know it kept me alive.

you’re not paranoid. you’re perceptive. there’s a difference.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ you knew, even when it didn’t make sense

sometimes your body knows things before your brain catches up. your heart races before he lies. your stomach drops before the betrayal hits. you get that pit-in-your-stomach feeling and then brush it off, until the truth slaps you a week later.

trust me, i’ve been there. i once had a gut feeling that a friend was turning people against me... but there was no proof. just a weird energy. until one day, someone accidentally sent me a screenshot that wasn’t meant for me. and suddenly the feeling made sense.

they call it “bad vibes.” i call it early intel.

start decoding the patterns:

the too-long pause before answering your question

the “i didn’t mean it like that” when you call it out

the subtle digs framed as compliments

the way people say your name when they think you’re not listening

you noticed for a reason. trust the noticing.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ what gaslighting actually feels like

gaslighting doesn’t always sound like “you’re crazy.” sometimes it sounds like “you’re overreacting,” or “you always assume the worst,” or “why do you make everything a problem?”

but the worst kind of gaslighting is the kind you do to yourself. when you feel the red flags and immediately shut yourself down. when your first instinct is right, but your second thought is “i’m just being dramatic.” that’s emotional self-betrayal. it hurts. a lot.

i once told a guy that something felt off, he’d been cold, weird, distant. he said i was insecure. i said sorry. two weeks later, i found out he’d been seeing someone else the whole time. lesson learned: don’t apologize for what your body already knows.

you can’t logic your way out of a feeling that was never lying to you in the first place.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ intuitive doesn’t mean irrational

“dramatic” is just a word they use to discredit girls who are too emotionally accurate to manipulate.

your feelings are data. emotions are not the opposite of intelligence, they’re the early warning system. they tell you what’s not being said. they tell you what the energy in the room is doing. they tell you the truth before the truth shows its face.

what if you’re not “too much,” what if you’re just always one step ahead?

what if the real problem isn’t that you feel too deeply, but that you feel accurately, and that makes people uncomfortable?

i’m reclaiming the word dramatic. to be dramatic is to see danger before it arrives. to feel something shift before it collapses. to be emotionally clairvoyant. and i think that’s beautiful.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ how to protect your knowing

your intuition deserves protection. here’s how i keep mine sacred:

✧ journal your gut feelings ~ even if they don’t make sense yet. time-stamp them. track patterns. ✧ make a screenshots folder ~ for receipts, subtle shifts, digital clues. memory gaslights too. ✧ create a ‘weird vibes’ note in your phone ~ no explanation needed. if something feels off, log it. ✧ meditate or walk after intense conversations ~ let your body process what your mind can’t yet. ✧ check in with your inner child ~ would 13-year-old you trust this person? she knows. always.

𓆩 ritual for the emotionally haunted 𓆪 › write down a time you were right, but told you were wrong › throw it away, or rip it up › whisper “i trust myself now.” › repeat every time the world tries to confuse you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ you weren’t crazy, you were correct, and ahead

they’ll tell you you’re crazy until the moment you’re proven right. they’ll call you dramatic until the danger becomes undeniable. they’ll gaslight you until the truth surfaces, and then pretend they never doubted you at all.

the girls who trust themselves become the women no one can lie to. so feel everything. sense everything. believe yourself.

being dramatic is how you survived the world they tried to confuse you in.

and if you’re always the first to notice the danger, maybe it’s not a flaw. maybe it’s your gift. maybe it’s what will save you.

✧ love always, mindy

[navydoves]

Mine soon enough

✎ᝰ cw. professor zayne, tense atmosphere, teacher/student, suggestive, somewhat yearning, very conversational writing, TENSE!

✎ᝰ a/n. i’m inconsistent in everything i post lol. this is written in a very specific way, hopefully it comes across in the tone i want it to.

࣪𖤐

“am i really allowed to be here after office hours like this?”

zayne glances back at you from where he was standing by the tea kettle on his desk and smiles just slightly. “why not? this is my office after all.”

“yeah, but,” you hesitate, “most other professors are really strict on their schedules. i didn’t expect you to be so um… lenient about this.”

a small, almost imperceptible chuckle escapes zayne. “you do know i’m only this lenient on you, right? god the headache i’d have if i had any other pesky students showing up and bothering me after hours.”

you glance to the side awkwardly and nod. “yeah… i know… it’s just a little strange… being your ‘favorite’ and all…”

“does it make you feel uncomfortable?” zayne’s voice cuts in quickly. he was clicking off the tea kettle now and preparing the two mugs with their respective tea bags.

“n-no… no it doesn’t,” you respond just as fast, “it’s just… not familiar to me. don’t take it personally professor, i only—“

“zayne,” he corrects while pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “zayne is better. you should get over all your formal habits when you’re alone with me. we’re friends, right?”

there’s a beat between you two before you nod.

“yes, friends.”

“well then as long as you’re not uncomfortable and we’re in equal footing here, there should be no problem. you would tell me if there was a problem right?”

another beat.

“yes… i would.”

zayne smiles slightly again. he places the kettle back down and starts properly dipping the teabags into the mugs before throwing them into the small can on the side.

“good. here, come get your tea.”

you move from where you were sat on the leather couch to zayne’s desk. the room was quiet apart from your gentle footsteps and zayne’s spoon swirling. you take your mug, identical to his, and scoop up a few spoonfuls of sugar. your gaze remains on the task below you rather than the man in front of you. he notices this.

“y’know i prefer tea over coffee too. i’ve always hated the bitter taste of coffee beans… even with all the sugar and cream added to it,” zayne hums.

you glance up at him and almost cringe at his attempt at conversation. “yeah, same. i’m not a coffee person…”

zayne looks you up and down with brows furrowed from scrutiny. he picks up his mug and takes a sip, eyes darting to the side in slight annoyance.

“lighten up a bit,” he murmurs. “i invited you to spend time with you. you know how much i enjoy your presence. i'd rather you not feel… weirded out.”

you finally stop stirring and meet zayne’s eyes for the first time. “i’m not… i don’t feel weirded out…”

“you do though,” he rebuttals, “you’re all tense and avoidant. am i doing something? we can take our leave, truly. just tell me.”

a small exhale escapes you after a moment of thought. you shake your head. “no, i’m… like i said im just not used to this. this type of treatment. the… personal hangouts we have in your office. the gifts. the grades. i think… i think we both know things are…”

zayne puts his mug down and mimics your earlier exhale. he moves around the desk and your eyes follow him. right behind you is where he stands, taller and towering, with his chin hovered just over your shoulder.

“i don’t want that to be a problem,” he whispers by your ear. “the hangouts, gifts, grades. i don’t want those to be a problem. i want to give you more, y’know? more… more of everything. are we overstepping lines? sure… but—“

“you are over stepping lines,” you murmur with a slightly shaky voice. the lingering warmth of him behind you was almost trapping you against the desk. “i… i haven’t done anything, you’ve done… you’ve made all the…”

“have you… not liked the attention?” zayne asks almost vulnerably.

“i never said that…”

“then is there an issue? you’re right, i’m overstepping lines, not you. if we got into some heat, i’d take the responsibility. does that mean something to you?” in the moments you hesitate to answer, zayne’s arm wraps around your waist and gently pulls you closer to an embrace. “i want it to mean something to you. what do i have to do?” he continues.

you wet your lips and search the desk below you for answers your mouth couldn’t form. you weren’t sure how long had passed before zayne backed off, but once he did, you quickly turn around to face him. he steps away with his arms up innocently, a look of shame on him.

“i’m sorry, im making you uncomfortable. im not sure what im doing.”

with your eyes avoiding each other, a long silence ensues between the both of you—charged with emotion and uncertainty.

“your tea is going to get cold, professor.”

zayne knits his brows together and trails his gaze slowly across the room, and then on you, and then on the tea.

“right.”

he steps back to his side of the desk and takes his still warm tea and avoids your presence while drinking. whether he wanted you here anymore or not, it was unclear. he notices your rogue, discarded mug of tea on the desk. barely touched and getting colder by the second. maybe it looked like regret.

your back was turned to him and facing the rest of the room, but you were still so close to the desk. unmoving. what was going through your mind, that was also unclear.

slowly, you put down your arms that were crossed in a defensive position, and glance down at the desk. zayne was no longer sipping his tea. you could only assume he was standing as silently and awkwardly as you were.

without much thought, you step back and sit on the desk, back still to zayne.

“my face is turned away, if it makes you feel any less guilty,” you whisper.

zayne’s eyes widen slightly. he looks over your body that was perched up on his desk. what a sight. “don’t say that like i’m some sort of… some sort of…”

“i’m not… insinuating anything, professor… or i guess ‘zayne’. i’m simply saying that, in the situation we’re in right now, guilt is normal to feel. but that… curiosity is too. so… i’m looking away.”

more tense silence.

“are you curious too?” zayne asks with a voice that’s barely there.

you don’t answer for a few moments.

“i’m a woman, zayne,” you murmur. “i can make my own decisions. we’re not too far off in age, yknow. we think similarly… i hope.”

amidst the quiet of the room, zayne walks closer to the desk. he stares right into your back and all of the crumpled fabric lines from your shirt.

“you’re a woman,” zayne whispers while reaching out and ghostly tracing a simple line over your shoulder blade. “and i’m a man. it works like that, doesn’t it? this is natural… isn’t it?”

you swallow. the very faint sensation of zayne’s fingertip makes you tense.

“y-yeah…”

zayne’s finger goes down to your mid back. here he feels you arch away instinctively, but still not rejecting him. he grows bolder with his touch, insisting a bit more with his finger tip until he’s tracing letters.

letters Z through E of his name. ZAYNE was on you.

“my attraction to you is natural, isn’t it?” he whispers. he reaches for the top hem of your shirt and then parts your hair from your neck, exposing your nape. with the pad of his thumb, he rubs there gently. the sensations on your skin were hair-raising.

“i… it is.”

“then does it come naturally to you too?”

you shudder softly as you feel more of zayne’s fingers rake over your skin. he abandons your neck, moving downward again until he was touching the small of your back.

“please, answer me.”

there’s more silence from you, but you break it with a whisper. “my face gives all the answers, but i already told you i’m not letting you look at me.”

“then how will i know how you feel about me too?”

no answer.

zayne looks down at where his hand is on your back and moves it lower to the bottom hem of your shirt. gently, he lifts it—so slow that a million thoughts came and passed in those long seconds.

at the top of your back, he scrunches up your shirt and admires the lines and curves of your skin.

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine.”

zayne rests his head against your back and closes his eyes. he felt stressed but also relieved. this far… he’s gotten this far…

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asks a little bit more desperately this time. his voice and breath tickled your skin a bit. “how am i supposed to know when i can’t even face you?”

you tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. the lights should be dimmer, you thought.

“i’m okay,” you whisper. “i don’t feel fear, i don’t feel nervous, i don’t feel anything. can you… will you make me feel something?”

zayne’s eyes fluttered open slightly. he turns his head back to the expanse of your smooth back and rubs his lips together. oh your words…

“i’ll become a man that’ll be capable of making you feel anything you want.”

the hands that were rested by your side went up to your upper mid back and touched the rough feel of your bra clip. with slight hesitation, zayne’s delicate fingers undo the clip and let it pull away to reveal your fully bare back. his eyes flutter even more now.

the moles and freckles of your usually hidden skin was an experience to his eyes.

“i’ll become a man so good that you won’t have to hide your face away in shame. after all, it’s natural, isn’t it?”

cool lips make contact to your back making you perk up instantly. the kisses were spread out, small in sound and in touch, and soon warm. zayne’s free hands not only steady you by the hips but also anchor himself through each press of his lips.

“i want you,” his voice rumbles against your skin.

“i know,” you respond.

“after graduation?”

“it’ll still be scandalous.”

“it’ll be scandalous regardless. who has to know?”

you bite your lip. “is it just a lustful thing, professor?”

your words make zayne stop his affections and stand straight.

“never,” he whispers. “have i… made you feel that way?”

swallow.

“no… no you haven’t, i’m not lying either. but… i mean dates and stuff, it’s all so public. we’d get noticed immediately, it’d be risky. but… everything else, that’s done privately. so i’m just wondering… how… or where… or what…”

zayne lets out a small humorless laugh. “you’ll be mine soon enough, without all those worries meaning. i get scared too, yknow? but i’m scared enough for the both of us, so don’t… doubt me.”

you smile a little, unsure of what exactly is humorous. “don’t doubt your ability to keep me a secret, you mean.”

“don’t put it like that, you have such a harsh way of saying things,” zayne exhales.

“right, right, i’m sorry.”

you reach back for his hands and gently pull him forward so that his arms crossed over your stomach.

“but that’s what i am, a secret. you’re a secret too. just… become a man capable of taking care of me, secret or not.”

zayne tightens his grip around you just slightly.

“i’m your professor,” he whispers with his forehead against the back of your cranium, “and if nothing else, my job is to you guide you. you’ll be mine soon enough.”

he presses one kiss to your hair.

“you will.”

࣪𖤐

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Lesbian Pulp Breakdown #2

Here for another pulp breakdown ! (Finally 🙈)

This one will also have spoilers and lots of triggering content. Please be warned.

This pulp fiction breakdown is for Lesbian Love by SV Miller. 100%, absolutely written by a straight man. This book is WILD, and significantly worse than the last one I posted about Alone At Last, which I didn’t think was possible. Because that one was a train wreck.

So in this one we have our protagonist Aggie; now Aggie is married to a man called Jim but she also sleeps around and has affairs a lot. The first three chapters, if I recall, were literally just her having affairs with other men and then getting mad at her husband for accusing her of having affairs. Her and Jim have a very toxic and volatile relationship, as well as being very inconsistent in the way they approach each other, the way the approach themselves and their marriage. It’s wild.

Anyway, she gets to the point where she’s like: I don’t want to be in this marriage anymore. I don’t like him. I don’t like what we’re doing. We’re always fighting, throwing things at each other and then we end up being intimate. She hated it. Then she found an advertisement for a sanctuary away from men that was supposed to heal her, heal the relationship and get her away from there; BUT to get there she had to have a lot of money so she ended up having even more of an affair and putting herself in very dangerous situations to get the money. Though when she did, phew, off she went - she was there. It was all secret and she was given these very weird and ominous directions to get there, she wasn’t allowed to bring certain things with her etc.

When Aggie is there, it becomes very clear to us, the reader, she has just entered a massive cult. It’s also when this book just dives head first into all of its problems.

This isn’t to say Alone At Last was a good book by any stretch of the imagination, however, it did hold little nuggets of positivity, mainly in the areas of acknowledging homosexuality was natural and not having the main lesbian character end up dead or in an institution. This book can’t even say it has that going for it.

This pulp genuinely felt like a homophobic pamphlet fever dream.

There was so much sexual assault in this book committed by a lesbian, but sometimes the author would jump around on if it was assault or not in a very uncomfortable way that felt like it was rooted in a fetish.

So we have our lead lady, Aggie, introduced to this lesbian commune that is run by the lesbian dictator Helen. A rich woman set on assaulting women, keeping them trapped in this isolated location, and “turning” them gay - or as this book likes to paint it, corrupting women to sin.

There is a massive emphasis all throughout the book about how broken, unnatural and wrong lesbians are, ( the very last line is “I feel … normal!”) while simultaneously sexualising them for male titillation. With big strong men to come in towards the end and save them all.

It tries to entice us into the plot with this evil lesbian cult commune plot , where women are forced to pair up with one anther in this instance Aggie is forced to be with both Helen and a woman called Grace ; Grace is also the character Aggie ends up snot being attracted to, but only because she is in a “perverse” place). These women are locked up in torcher chambers if they don’t comply to the Evil Lesbians or try to run away.

In the end this pulp is probably a textbook example of what people think of nowadays when they think of old school lesbian pulp. With terrible writing on top! It was genuinely a slog to get through. Even though it’s relatively small it took me 4 months to finish reading it because it was just so terrible and had no redeeming qualities about it. Just a terrible mess of assault, homophobia and horrible writing.

Let’s hope the next one is better.

[greenxgloss]

I love you and your blog, but I also want drama! What do you think of fuckboy!yoongi and some very ordinary, modest OC. Maybe he bet on it, or any other situation from basic teen movies.

Thank you.... (*´∀｀*)ﾉ

A/n: so so sorry this took so long wow life's been unexpectedly busy for the last few months. i hope you loved this! sorry about any inconsistencies or repetitions I tried my best. i liked this concept a lot so if anyone wants a part two lmk!

Color-Coded Chaos (MYG)

Summary: You never believed in people like Min Yoongi—beautiful, dangerous, and born to break hearts—until he swaggered into your life pretending to need tutoring, only to crack your carefully ordered world wide open. What started as a dare slowly unraveled into something real, and after betrayal, heartbreak, and a quiet apology in a lecture hall, you both found your way back to each other—hand in hand, maybe even starting over.

Word Count: 3.1k Themes: Angst, fluff, slight Emotional manipulation / betrayal, slight Toxic masculinity / objectification, Smoking references, Opposites attract, Power of emotional intimacy over physical

You didn’t believe in people like Min Yoongi.

The kind who strutted through life like it was a runway and everyone else just got in the way. The kind who smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions, who laughed like they’d never been hurt and looked at you like they could ruin you for fun.

And maybe they could.

Everyone on campus knew Yoongi. Not for his grades or attendance, but for the trail of broken hearts he left in his wake. He was charming—too charming—and never stuck around long enough for anyone to call it love. You’d overheard girls whispering about him in the library, their voices equal parts giddy and bitter. Rumor had it, if Yoongi smiled at you in the hallway, you’d fall. And if he kissed you, you’d disappear from his life like you’d never mattered in the first place.

You, on the other hand, folded laundry on Sunday nights and used the same grocery list every week. You didn’t chase chaos—you color-coded it, shelved it, and prayed it didn’t follow you home.

So naturally, Min Yoongi showed up at your door on a Thursday.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning against your doorframe like it owed him something. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing just enough inked skin and collarbone to make your mouth dry. “You tutor, right? English?”

You blinked.

“…Yes?”

He smiled. Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

“Perfect. I’m failing, and apparently, you’re my last hope.”

And just like that, your quiet little world cracked open—one smug smirk at a time.

For the next few weeks, Yoongi started showing up at your place every Friday for tutoring. Which would’ve made more sense if you hadn’t distinctly remembered him being at the top of the class when you last checked the leaderboard. A near-perfect score on the last midterm, too. You weren’t stupid—you knew he didn’t need your help. But he kept showing up, and you kept letting him.

Maybe it was the way he’d sit across from you, half-sprawled in the chair like it personally offended him, eyes heavy-lidded and bored—until you’d ask a question and suddenly he was all attention, staring at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His glances stretched a little too long. His fingers brushed yours a little too often when you passed him notes. And last session, he barely touched the textbook, instead asking you out of nowhere what your favorite color was, then laughed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You didn’t know what his game was, but you didn’t hate it.

Which is why, now—4:00 p.m. on the dot—you were checking the clock again and tapping your pen against your notebook with increasing impatience.

He was late.

Not fashionably late, not “I’ll be there in five” late. Just… nothing. No text, no call. It was unlike him. For all his flirtatious nonsense and fake academic helplessness, Yoongi was weirdly punctual. Always five minutes early, actually. Always with that smug little smirk and some sarcastic comment about your doorbell. But today? Silence.

Your stomach twisted with something you didn’t want to name. Not worry, exactly. Not disappointment, either. But it lingered in your chest anyway, tightening every time you refreshed your messages and saw nothing new.

And maybe the worst part was that you actually missed him. Missed his stupid smirks. Missed the way he tapped his pen against his bottom lip while pretending to struggle with a problem you both knew he could solve in his sleep. Missed the way his energy changed last session—more distant, weirdly quiet, eyes darting around like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. It stuck with you longer than it should’ve.

So when the knock finally came—4:22, not that you were counting—you jumped.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him for making you wait…

Or ask what the hell was going on with him.

“You’re late,” you said, the second you opened the door. No greeting, no smile. Just those two clipped words, sharp as the little sting in your chest.

Yoongi breezed past you like he owned the place—like he hadn’t just kept you waiting for almost half an hour with no explanation and no message. He smelled like cigarettes and something faintly minty, like he’d just popped a gum in, maybe to cover the former.

“Something came up, sorry,” he muttered, barely looking at you as he settled into the usual spot across from your desk, dropping his bag down with a heavy thud. He cleared his throat and leaned back like nothing was wrong.

“You could’ve texted me.” The words came out more anxious than angry, and you immediately regretted how fragile they sounded. You hated that it exposed how much you cared. You hated it even more when Yoongi finally looked at you and smirked.

His tongue flicked across his cupid’s bow as his eyes roamed up and down, slow and unreadable. “I’m sorry, doll,” he said, voice low, almost teasing. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I promise I’ll let you know next time.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming under his messy fringe. “Did you miss me?”

You tried not to physically recoil from the impact of those three words, but your throat tightened like it didn’t want you to answer. You crossed your arms instead, feigning composure, even as your pulse betrayed you. “What’s up with you lately?” you asked, and it came out breathier than you’d intended. “You’ve been… weird.”

Yoongi grinned, cocky and unbothered. “Weird?” he repeated. “Or charming in a way that’s finally working?”

You scoffed, but he was already pulling the textbook toward him with one hand while opening his laptop with the other, eyes never really leaving you. “Playing coy this far in?” he asked. “Cute.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming down your spine when he said it. The way he looked at you right now, like he saw straight through your defenses, like he was daring you to keep pretending you didn’t like the attention—it was dangerous.

He pushed the laptop aside without even logging in, fingers drumming against the table as he leaned forward again, closing the space between you by a few inches. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.

“I think we both know why I’m really here,” he murmured, voice all syrup and suggestion. “And it’s not for help with English.”

You swallowed hard. “I already know you’re at the top of your class. You’re not exactly subtle, Yoongi. ”

“Don’t need to be. Not with you.”

It hung in the air between you like a held breath, thick and slow and inevitable. His eyes dropped to your lips just as yours did the same, and the tension coiled so tightly in your chest you could barely hold it together.

You were leaning forward before you even realized. So was he.

Then buzz.

Your eyes dropped to his phone, lighting up just beside the edge of the textbook.

A name flashed across the screen you didn’t recognize.

“Have you fucked her yet? Time’s ticking on that bet, Yoongi.”

Your heart dropped—fast and brutal—like a trapdoor opening beneath your chest.

Yoongi noticed the shift in your expression right away. The way your shoulders pulled back, the blood draining from your face, the stiff way you leaned back like you were suddenly too close to something dirty.

His smirk faltered. “Shit,” he muttered, snatching the phone off the table and flipping it screen-down, like that could erase the message you very clearly read. Like you didn’t just catch him red-handed.

But it was too late.

You sat back slowly, pulse roaring in your ears, your stomach knotted so tight it ached.

“Guess English is the least complicated thing about you,” you said flatly, the words sharper than you expected. But you couldn’t stop the way they cut through the air. Couldn’t stop the crack forming in your chest from widening.

Yoongi blinked, stunned quiet. And for once, he didn’t have a comeback ready on his tongue. No cocky remark. No lazy grin.

He swallowed thickly, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“Wait—wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

You laughed bitterly, eyes narrowing. “Really? Because it looks exactly like some asshole making a bet with his friends about a girl stupid enough to let him into her space.”

“No,” he said quickly, voice firmer now, desperate. “That’s not what it was about. That was—fuck—it was a joke that got out of hand. It wasn’t like that, not really.”

You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms so tight you nearly folded in on yourself. “You’re seriously going to try to explain that message away?”

Yoongi leaned forward, his tone more raw than you’d ever heard it. “It was a dare. Weeks ago. It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

“Oh, great,” you scoffed. “So you meant to use me casually, but accidentally started showing up too much and now what—guilt?”

“No,” he said again, louder this time, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to feel like—like anything. But then I actually started enjoying coming here. I liked talking to you. I do.”

Your silence weighed heavy between you.

You didn’t trust your voice, not when your throat was tight and your heartbeat was pressing against your ribs like it wanted out. The words hit harder than you expected, like they were scraping past the parts of you that had hoped he cared—even after everything. Even after the message. After the humiliation.

And still… you wanted to believe him.

You looked at him—really looked. There was no smirk on his face, no playful deflection. Just a slight flush in his cheeks and the tiniest tremble in his fingers as they curled around the edge of the desk.

He meant it.

And that was the worst part. Because it would’ve been easier if he didn’t.

You pressed your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself. You hated how warm your chest felt, how much your body wanted to move toward him even though your brain screamed don’t be stupid.

Still, your voice came out quieter than you'd intended. “You hurt me.”

Yoongi’s shoulders dropped, and for the first time since you met him, he looked small.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep showing you that I didn’t want to.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t forgive him—not yet—but something in you softened. The part that had spent weeks laughing with him, catching his glances when he thought you weren’t looking. The part that felt like falling every time he said your name like it meant something.

So you said nothing. Just breathed slowly, still trying to figure out if your heart was breaking again or trying to start over.

Either way, you didn’t move away when he leaned just slightly closer. And he didn’t push. The silence between you stayed, but it wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was waiting.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, his confidence completely gone now—replaced with something messy, anxious. Real.

“I know I’m not the guy you’re into,” he continued quietly. “I know I’m... not the type who deserves the kind of attention you give when you’re reading. Like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t notice.” He looked up at you then, his eyes darker now, softer. “But I noticed you. Way before the dare. I was just too much of a coward to talk to you without something stupid pushing me. We both know you’d never go for a guy like me on a regular day. And im sure your reservations are completely valid.”

You looked at him, jaw tight, throat tight, everything tight. And despite the words—despite the pleading in his voice—you still didn’t know what was worse. That you had let your guard down for someone like him… or that part of you still wanted to believe him.

“Then prove it,” you said finally, voice quiet but sharp. “Tell your friends whatever game you were playing is over. And don’t come back unless you mean it.”

Yoongi stared at you for a long second. Then nodded once—slowly. “I will,” he said. “I swear. Just… don’t write me off yet.” He stood, stuffing his phone in his pocket without looking at it again. You didn’t watch him walk to the door. You just listened to it shut behind him, and finally let yourself exhale.

But the ache in your chest didn’t go anywhere.

Not yet.

-

The lecture hall was colder than usual, or maybe it was just you.

You sat in your usual seat near the middle, notebook open but untouched, pen resting between your fingers while Professor Han droned on about the symbolism of decay in The Picture of Dorian Gray. It should’ve been interesting—Oscar Wilde always was—but your mind was elsewhere.

On the boy who hadn’t texted.

On the boy who almost kissed you.

On the boy who made you feel like a fool, and then like maybe—maybe—you weren’t.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you didn’t need to.

A quiet shuffle. A familiar cologne. A light exhale before the weight of someone sat beside you. Yoongi.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat close—closer than usual—and let the silence stretch until it nearly broke.

Then softly, “Hey.”

You didn’t respond, eyes still on your notebook. But you didn’t move away either.

“I told them,” he said next, voice barely above a whisper. “Group chat’s gone. I told them it was over. That it was a shitty thing to do. That I wasn’t going through with it. I should’ve done it way earlier.”

You finally glanced at him.

His eyes were already on you. No smirk. No lazy confidence. Just Yoongi, with his heart in his throat and something real in his gaze.

“And?” you said, barely audible, but he heard you.

“And I meant what I said yesterday. I liked coming over. I liked being around you. It wasn’t just for a joke.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I think I just used it as an excuse to get close. And that was a coward move.”

You swallowed, turning back to the front of the room for a second.

Professor Han was still talking. Pages were turning. The world kept spinning.

But when Yoongi’s pinky brushed yours on the shared desk, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off easy,” you murmured.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re still annoying.”

“Totally fair.” He leaned in, a little too smug now. “But you missed me.”

You rolled your eyes—but your smile gave you away.

When the lecture ended, neither of you moved at first. Just sat there while the room emptied around you. Then Yoongi stood and held out his hand.

You looked at it. Hesitated for just a beat.

Then slid your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. No games.

And the second your fingers laced together, something in your chest settled.

As you walked out of the lecture hall hand in hand, Yoongi glanced sideways at you.

“So… tutoring tonight? Just tutoring,” he added quickly, though his grin said maybe not just.

You snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “We’ll see. You don’t even need a tutor.”

A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He tilted his head, eyes shining with amusement. “Which means?” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. Or maybe I just really like being around you.”

Your steps slowed.

He glanced away, then back at you through thick lashes, still grinning—but there was something softer underneath it now, something almost nervous. “And if I said that, like... this whole tutoring thing was just an excuse to get close to you?”

You blinked. “Oh… OH—oh my god.”

He laughed at your expression, tugging gently at your hand to keep you walking. “Took you long enough to catch on.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning, but you didn’t pull away from him. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb was brushing softly over the back of your hand, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he wanted to memorize the feel of you.

And you both kept walking, sunlight catching on your joined hands like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it had always been meant to happen this way.

“Wait,” you said after a beat, stopping at the edge of the path beneath a tree just before the student lot.

Yoongi turned, brows lifting. “Yeah?”

You looked at him—really looked at him. Not just at the way his hair curled slightly at the ends from the humidity, or the smudge of sleep still lingering in the corners of his eyes. You looked at the boy who had bulldozed his way into your carefully constructed, quiet little life. The one who had barged in with crooked smirks and infuriating charm, who sent late-night texts that made your heart stutter and your stomach flip even when you told yourself they didn’t mean anything.

You remembered how it all started—how something as stupid as a bet turned into study sessions, pretending and silences that said more than words ever could. An accidental bet, he’d called it. A joke. But here you were, standing still in the gravity of him, and nothing about this felt like a joke anymore.

Your chest tightened.

And before you could think twice, before logic or fear or self-preservation could kick in, you leaned in and kissed him.

He froze, just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to flicker across your thoughts like a match ready to burn. But then—then his lips curved softly against yours, like he’d been waiting for this, hoping for it, maybe even needing it as much as you did.

His hand came up, cupping your jaw with a gentleness that made your breath catch, and he kissed you back—slow and warm and sure. The kind of kiss that felt like it unraveled something inside you. Like he was pulling you closer without tugging, like the universe had shifted half an inch and you were finally where you were supposed to be.

And when he deepened the kiss, just a little, just enough to make your head spin, your knees went loose beneath you. Not from surprise. Not from nerves. But from the undeniable truth that this—whatever this was—had already started to mean something a long time ago.

You just hadn’t let yourself see it. Until now.

When you pulled away, you were breathless. So was he.

“…So, tutoring?” you whispered, voice unsteady.

Yoongi grinned, lips still brushing yours. “Definitely not just.”

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[biancasaidstfu]

The nominees who attended didn't really do press, it wasn't only Nicola who skipped it. There's an account on Twitter of someone who did press there and clarified that a lot of the actors basically walked the carpet and went inside the venue.

Nicola and her team are taking a gamble with the PR with Jake and I don't see it as only a response to the shipping there is more to it than that. People are saying she's stubborn, doubling down, not listening with this and it's not a good look for her. I'm not hating on Nicola, let me just state that upfront. I've looked at the comments across different platforms and the biggest thing I see from fans and GA is disappointment. I have actually seen fans who like her with Jake express their disappointment that she let it be about him and not her achievement. The party was a party not the awards but it nevertheless again moved the conversation away from her work that she says she worked so hard and so long for. Imagine a Jakola agreeing that she shouldn't have walked the carpet with her, like other events he could have stayed away and met up inside. And I agree, I'm not saying he shouldn't attend but if they found ways for her to walk alone then meet inside at other events why not this one?

Also, what fans are seeing is that whether she is with Jake or not, her PR and her persoanlity are getting to be inconsistent and not genuine to fans and some GA. Fans like me who followed Nicola for her other work not only Bridgerton noticed a shift since last year to now. People were glad to see her yesterday, see the recognition for her work, love that she's a badass and is taking on things other actors don't. They see her doing that while being herself.

That's where some fans are stuck - between Nicola as human being, actor and advocate who's doing so much while just being herself as authentic as can be to the Nicola who is then pushing something publicly that goes against what she herself said publicly. There is Nicola who admits to watching trash TV but then is a professional and the Nicola who knows she's already a target in the media and entertainment industry but is leaning into something that will make it a little more difficult for her. Every single article is pointing out that man's age and the wording of the articles, AI or not are casting heavy shade. Like heavy on the shade. It's almost like the press all agreed to show this unconventional woman can only be with an unconventional partner - same shit from last year when this whole thing started. I get that she's doing whatever for PR but wow this is a lot. I will never fully understand it and some of it don't make sense but I also remember don't know them and their game plan.

I don't see it as totally detrimental to her career and she's a person who will never get it right 100% she's just like anyone of us making mistakes. But she's also in a fickle industry, we can say the Bridgerton fandom is loud but small and GA don't care but when she acquires new fans for new projects and the same things happen she is at the risk of eventually being painted in a way that she may or may not like. We've seen things about actors and she is not stranger to it.

My point here is I hope whatever PR gains and losses she is willing to endure, whatever backlash she calculated she will get, is worth it for her. If your TL is mild good for you keep it that way because trust me the gc and spaces are eating her up. Jake too, and Luke who was no where near anything yesterday is catching heat because the PR again with Antonia is something that isn't consistent. They're comparing the two.

For the love of God that damn pap pic of her in the orange cardigan is rearing it's head again and already the talk about her looking drunk and scruffy that time is resurfacing. It's painful to watch and other vile stuff is coming out. They're using those photos as much as the ones from last night to report "her new man". From trans hate last week to now this. We can see her play book and the patterns but it still is a damn shit show.

It’s the biggest fucking mess and I feel like we’ve hit rock bottom tbh.

[rins-batcave]

I’ve finally decided to make and intro post!!!

My resolution

Meet me

Backup Account - @rins-batcave-backup

WANNA BE FRIENDS? HERE IF U HAVE QUESTIONS, OR JUST ASK

MOOT APPRECIATION MESSAGE HERE

I’m Rin (Mr Rinithen), Ria, Ren (or Batman), I like a lot so stuff but especially reading and indie music.

I go by any pronouns but mainly they/he/she. I’m gender fluid/queer, demisexual and aroflux.

I like being called mostly masc terms (boy, handsome etc.) but I also like being called pretty so I kinda just fuck with everything.

I’m up late a lot, kinda inconsistent with my posting, scared of rain/storms, needles and spiders, and I swear a fuck ton.

I am dating @choucon (hehe love you, you're in the intro now angel)

Also matching with the bf

Send something in at @poe-fan-club

(IF I KNOW YOU IRL YOU DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION PLEASE FORGET IT OR NEVER BRING IT UP because i dont want certain people to know and also if you mention it to my parents ill die)

I am an age. (But Fr 1000000000 years old) !!Minor!!

Boundaries - AKA - Please don't comment on my body (calling me skinny) I don't mind basic compliments but please don't comment on much more than that. I am very critical of my own body, but it is my space to do that and I don't need people telling me what I should feel about my own body.

Here is my pronouns page: https://en.pronouns.page/@_Rin-

Other Blogs:

Vent 1 - @rinbowroses

Vent 2 - @i-hate-myself-love-that

Writing - @rinwritiesbutitssecret

Diary - @rins-diary-entries.

Poetry - @rins-poetry-blog

Gay thoughts - @rin-is-very-gay

If you want my 7th or 8th blog msg me

If you want my discord msg me :3

Rules:

- Don’t be an asshole

- Please only message me if we’re moots

I don't use many tags, but #shitty poetry is all my poetry :3 and #save for sad are things that make me happy and I want to look at when I’m sad

I’m an INTP-A personality type

LINK FOR SOMETHING I NEED TO REMEMBER

Send me messages please, I’m extremely bored.

NOTICE: Recently I’ve gotten a lot of asks for donations. I’d like to ask people for refrain from sending me these kind of asks as sadly, I’m really not in the position to donate and it really stresses me out

And as a warning, any of my posts could be tw sh, suicide, weight, starving or ed. I try to tag but sometimes I miss it

Here’s my moots board, I update it sometimes but it could be outdated

Below the cut is a list of my current interests:

Music:

Dayglow

Wallows

Vacations

Clairo

Last dinosaurs

Good kid

Ricky Montgomery

High sunn

Rex orange county

Rare occasions

Rare Americans

Vansire

The arctic monkeys

Beach Bunny

Slipknot

Cave town

The drums

Baby Queen

Tally Hall

Cage the Elephant

Mother Mother

I’ll stop listing here for the sake of time

Books:

Anything Alice Oseman

Hell followed with us

Anything queer really

Good omens

Movies/TV:

Fear street

Harry potter

Star wars

These are the shows

Fandoms:

Osemanverse

Mcyt sometimes

[sehodreams]

last day surprises

TW and Tags: slasher!Wonbin, mentions of violent acts (death of a character), heavy dubcon/almost noncon (well... hard to explain), dark!riize, blowjob, p in v, no condom.

WC: 3.4k

Summary: Wonbin swore he had changed, he was better, he had a job he liked, and he had met you, so why did you have to ruin everything?

Comment: don't you hate when I'm such a cunt? having a thousand unfinished drafts I decided to write something nobody asked for. I just wrote this because I NEEDED TO WRITE SOMETHING TO NOT LOSE MY MIND, I've been swamped with work so I wanted to relax a bit, it's something I did pretty quick so it probably has inconsistencies and grammar mistakes (when have I done a fic with perfect grammar in first place?).

Breathing as silently as you could, you watched the shadows moving in the dim light of the night that trespassed the curtains of your room.

Tears were still flooding and your shoulders were shaking, but you couldn’t do anything about it, even if you tried to force yourself to stop, they kept moving on their own, and the only thing you could do was bite your lip and cover your mouth with the palm of your hand, praying with open eyes that god, if there was even one, helped you and let you live at least one more day.

One more day and your cab would go for you in the morning, just like you had planned with your best friend the day before.

The thumb of his steps over the hardwood kept tricking your mind into believing he was far away from the closet you were hiding in, and you had thought that perhaps God had given you the gift of protecting you, but he was the one making the decisions at that moment, he was playing God, and he wasn’t as kind.

If only your friend had never teased him. If only she had listened to you and had left him alone. If only.

‘’You’re too noisy’’ he opened the door and you tried to close it back immediately, nails almost breaking from how much force you were using to not let the door go, gripping on it to not let him in (or to not let him drag you out).

‘’I didn’t do anything’’ you cried and did your best to fight him, ‘’I swear I never laughed’’.

‘’Don’t lie to me’’ the same hand that prepared your cold drinks when you woke up, that carried your bags and held the door open for you when you arrived now held it to stop you from closing it, ‘’I saw you, you were laughing with her, you’re just like her’’.

‘’Wonbin, I never laughed at you, I swear, I always treated you good’’ you tried to make him remember, ‘’We talked a lot, don’t you remember? I told you about my family, and my job, and my home.’’

Your voice waved with every word that left your mouth, and when you thought he was finally weakening, he used more of his strength to create a bigger gap between the door and the frame, enough for one of his arms to enter and grab one of your wrists and tighten it to hurt you.

You hissed, trying to shake him off, but it was useless, and soon, when he got tired of your little game, he completely pulled the door open, pulling you with the same strength and rage, grabbing your hair instead of your wrist, dragging you out of your cave.

‘’Liar’’ he repeated with his stern voice, full of hate, and with a touch of what seemed like pain and deception. ‘’You’re just like her, and you’ll end up just like her’’.

His grip on your scalp made your head burn, and you closed your eyes and cried his name when he dragged you to his feet.

Not knowing what else to say, you don’t know why you said it, but you didn’t have many options to ponder, so you said the first thing that came to your mind ‘’I-I never agreed with her, I thought you were cute, I think you are cute, really’’.

You felt the weight of your words on your head, when his hand debilitated for a second, and you felt a light of hope illuminating you, the same ray of light that infiltrated between the curtains and that told you how late it was.

‘’Then why aren’t you looking at me?’’ he asked, tugging even harder your hair, making you yelp in pain before you answered.

‘’I’m- I’m’’ I’m scared, you wanted to say, but you knew it would make him angrier. ‘’I’m sorry’’.

You opened your eyes, looking at his feet first, dirty brown shoes covering them, to then move your eyes up, passing through his dark pants, and his silver black belt, arriving at where you were trying to avoid when you closed your eyes.

His shirt still had your friend’s blood drenching its front, and you could even distinguish the prints of her hands when she tried to push him away.

His green-striped shirt was the last thing your friend teased him for, telling him how he looked like a creep when you two arrived from your night walk.

You saw how his eyes were different after she left the comment in the air, and you had no idea why, but all your instincts said he wasn’t in the mood for it, so you quickly pushed her inside when he opened the door for you, telling her with your eyes to shut up when she lifted one of his eyebrows at your attitude.

But she never listened.

Hours later when the lights went out in your shared room, she decided to go to the first floor of the old cabin to leave a piece of her mind one last time before the two of you left first hour the next morning.

‘’Can’t believe I paid so much for this shithole’’ your friend said, leaving you alone while you took a shower, wait for me, you screamed under the water, but she was already gone when you finished getting dressed in the darkness.

You found your phone as you could in the obscure room and turned on your flashlight to walk down the stairs and search for her.

Five minutes later, after calling her name numerous times, receiving no answer from her, inside the kitchen, you saw her body on the floor, blood pooling around her and dirtying your sandals, liquid touching your feet and starling you with the wet sensation before you illuminated her and saw her lifeless eyes.

You screamed and your phone slipped from your hands, falling to the pond and splashing the red fluids to your bare legs with the fall.

His steps, because of the shoes he wore all the time, boots perfect for the woods but heavy on the floor, made soundly thuds, indicating how close he was to you.

Running to one of the single rooms on the first floor, you tried to hide from whoever was out there, but deep inside, you knew who did it.

And you weren’t wrong, your hunch, as almost always, was right.

Your hunch had told you to treat him good, to sweetly say good morning and ramble about the weather and other things you saw with your friend while he prepared breakfast and she got dressed for the day.

Wonbin wasn’t exactly bad at the start, he was just… different.

He never smiled when you two arrived, he didn’t even dare to maintain eye contact, and when you talked with him sometimes you felt you were talking more to the air than to a person, but there was something inside you that pushed you to be overly nice to him, perhaps the same thing that pushed your friend to treat him like shit.

‘’You’re still not looking at me’’ his voice interrupted the memories of you telling your friend to not treat him like that, and you had to move your eyes from the stain on his shirt to his face.

His blonde dry hair seemed lighter at night, almost white, and you sobbed when your eyes inspected his face and a drop of his own blood dripped down his cheek because of a scratch.

It definitely was product of your friend’s manicure, nails always long and sharp enough to cut skin, she once even hurt you when you tried to hold her hand while you were walking through a tough area in the woods and she tripped over one of the many rocks, so it wasn’t hard to deduce how he got that cut there.

‘’I’m sorry Wonbin, I’m sorry’’ you didn’t know what you were apologizing for, it was the only sentence that came out of you.

‘’How sorry are you?’’ he replied to your constant mumbles.

You couldn’t answer, how sorry were you? You didn’t do anything at all, you shouldn’t even feel like that, but there you were, on your knees, with his hand on your hair, his eyes looking down at you, and your heart flinching of fear.

‘’Show me how sorry you are’’ he continued.

The same hand holding you in place pushed your face to his crotch, a bulge was already there, and your breath hitched when you understood what he wanted.

‘’I never- I’ve never done it’’ you sobbed, palms over his thighs to stop your chest from touching him.

Your cheek was pressing his zipper, which felt cold and slightly painful against the soft skin of your face.

‘’I never let anyone free either, there’s a first time for everything’’ he answered, both hands now resting over your head and pressing you to give him what he wanted.

He smelled earthy, like the wet puddles near the river, and you somehow found yourself inhaling the aroma again, to maintain you sane and ignore the stronger smell of your friend’s blood in his shirt had.

With shaky hands you pulled down the zipper, the sound extremely notorious in the quiet house, and your sobs were quickly silenced with his cock intruding your mouth.

He let you take your time with it, sighing with the superficial licks you gave to his shaft, letting you get used to it before he ordered you to open your mouth enough to accept him inside.

At least he wasn’t rough, his hand wasn’t a grip on your hair anymore from the moment he made obvious his needs, posing on the back of your head and even caressing it while guiding you.

Not daring to interrupt the sudden softness he had with you, you let him use you, as if you were only an object for him to satisfy himself, and it was wrong, but you found yourself not hating it.

Your brain turned off for a second, a line of saliva escaping your lips when he pulled out and pushed back in with a deep thrust, making you dizzy with his flavor, and an unrecognizable pressure started to build in your abdomen.

Tears kept rolling down your cheeks, it was horrendous how you were giving the first blowjob of your life to your friend’s killer, and it was even worse that you weren’t dying to push him away from your face.

‘’Shit’’ he exhaled when you started to move your head on your own, choking yourself with his length and gripping on his pants with the pressure traveling from the pitch of your abdomen to your cunt. ‘’You like sucking cock, uh? Were you lying when you said you had never done it before too?’’

You stopped for a second, wrapping one of your hands to the base of his cock to move it up and down while you talked. ‘’I’m not a liar’’ you defended yourself.

 You never lied, you did think Wonbin was cute.

Even with his terrible outfits, his ugly straw-like hair and his awkward attitude, he gave you unusual amounts of attention you had enjoyed, like always receiving you with fresh juice when you walked down the stairs and preparing bags with things you might need in the forest.

Your friend had noticed it too, saying how it was his job and for you to not get swayed, he was only the service there, and the treatment you received wasn’t anything special, but you knew why she was like that, resentful, because she wasn’t the one receiving it, and you, her fat friend, were doing it when it should be her.

Grabbing you by the hair again, he dragged you to the only bed in the room, covered by a clean set of bedsheets, laid flawlessly by him, without a single wrinkle in sight, until he tossed you over them and ruined the perfect image he had created.

He felt you were sincere when you said you weren’t a liar, but how could you think he was cute? No one had ever called him that, saying how his face was frightening instead, with those big eyes and his forever dark gaze studying them, hating his equally black hair so much that he decided to dye it to avoid those comments.

It didn’t work, they said how he looked even more like a freak now, and he thought he had left those violent responses well behind in his life, until your friend appeared and broke him again.

She wasn’t the only one breaking him though, you had played a significant part in his mind wanting to repeat past patterns, he even swore he could’ve ignored her if you hadn’t laughed that day.

It was just hours ago, before your daily walk, that he recognized the gray clouds gathering in the sky, and that his body moved on his own, running to give you one of the raincoats he had stored for emergencies. He gave you the coat with a small smile, and you accepted it with a wide one, making him feel something warm install in his chest, making him weak for you.

He thought you were different, and then he heard you laughing when your friend called him an idiot, finishing the job your friend had started so eagerly since you two arrived there.

You had laughed because you thought he was adorable.

‘’Take your shorts off’’ he ordered, watching you stay still in the bed, tears flooding and your hands shaking on your sides. ‘’I’m getting tired of you not listening.’’

You heard him clear, and not wanting to see what he would do when he got fed up with your behavior, your hands tucked down your baby blue pajama shorts.

When you watched them slide down your legs you saw how little red dots appeared on the fabric and the dry blood scrap down like old paint.

His hands were clean, unlike his clothes, so it was probably he was washing them when you walked down the stairs.

They felt cold over your thighs when he made you open your legs for him, and you shivered for the sensation of his big palms touching your large thighs.

He put force into his grip to see how deep into your skin he could go, thinking how good it would feel to sink into your bare skin.

Moving your panties to the side, he was welcomed by your shiny entrance leaking for him. ‘’Fuck, are you enjoying this?’’ he asked, happily surprised by your excitement, ‘’You’re even sicker than me.’’

You didn’t like that affirmation, but you didn’t want to deny anything to him anymore.

His thumb grazed your clit teasingly, enjoying how the little bud jumped in front of his eyes and you shook from something else than fear.

You would rather die than admit it, but it felt good.

‘’You like it so much’’ he said more to himself, showing you the first wide smile you had ever seen from him since you got to that place.

He licked his thumb and groaned at your flavor, admiring you there for a good minute. Your hair was ruffled, your gleamy eyes were looking at his, and your chest was moving up and down, making your hard nipples noticeable through the white t-shirt you wore to sleep. When he saw you wearing your pajama a couple of days earlier, you keeping him company while he made your breakfast, he had salivated more to the picture of your round unsupported chest calling for him to taste them than to the fresh food in his hands.

Now that he had you dripping for him, pussy clenching around nothing, waiting for him to touch it again, he pushed his middle and ring finger inside you.

Knuckles deep, he felt his cock twitching every time you moaned his name when he shoved his fingers with force in and out, biting his lip to not moan at the feeling of you making a mess in his hands.

‘’Fuck-fuck’’ you let your head fall, and you should’ve wanted him to stop, but you were so close to your orgasm, you closed your eyes to ignore the reality of the moment, permitting him to touch you, only begging to cum inside your mind.

His hands pushing your legs up made you aware of your surroundings again.

You couldn’t even ask him what he was doing when he plunged inside you, sliding his cock without any kind of signal, forcing your walls open to accept his length.

It was a pain you had never felt before, a good pain, but the stretch had burned a little, making you whine as a response.

He, on the other hand, sighed of relief, shuddering at the long-missed sensation of a warm real person accepting him.

Messily moving his hips, he didn’t wait for you to get used to him, and he thrusted as deep as he could, completely bottoming out, making you slightly bounce in the bed with each hard smack.

Your skin and his were creating a loud echo inside the room and you moaned his name with how good he was fucking you.

You honestly would’ve enjoyed it so much, free of guilt, if he hadn’t done that. You would’ve even pulled him closer to you if only your friend’s blood wasn’t drenching your t-shirt too.

‘’Take it off’’ your fingers tried to reach for the hem of his shirt, but he kept with his rhythm, groaning with your velvet walls perfectly wrapping him, ‘’please, please.’’

The begging was hot too, but he didn’t want to do it, so he only stopped his movements to take yours off instead.

You lifted your arms for him, and when he had the impure fabric in his hands, he decided to clean some of the sweat accumulating in his forehead with it, tossing it to the floor when he finished.

He looked strangely handsome when he did it, like a normal man you would’ve met in the city, maybe in a club or a bar, one of the kind that usually ignored you to dance with your friend.

But he was with you that night, and you cried when he went back to fucking you, remembering that he wasn’t just any man, making you feel even dirtier with his wet shirt sticking to your abdomen.

It was on purpose, he couldn’t hide it, the amused breath he let out told you how much he wanted to taint you too.

Launching to your breast, he rocked into you while his mouth maintained itself busy with your nipples, taking turns with his hand, making eye contact until you felt the past interrupted orgasm coming back.

He looked so drunk with your chest and your cunt, you couldn’t help but moan louder when the same hand playing with your nipple went down, pushing its way between his solid abdomen and your soft tummy, until it found your clit.

You were already clamping his cock when he started to play with your clit, and he left your chest to moan on your mouth when you cried and writhed under him.

Spreading your legs wider, you didn’t care that his shirt felt disgusting against your skin anymore, or that his steaming breath was directly falling in your open mouth, you simply wanted to cum.

His mouth joined yours when you said his name one more time, a broken Wonbin that made him weak once again, pressing his lips against yours while his hips rutted harder into you to help you obtain your well-deserved orgasm.

He came not much after, letting all in your insides, painting you with his cum to mark you.

You were his the minute you smiled at him and said his hair was pretty the first morning of your stay.

‘’One time is not enough to earn my forgiveness’’ he said, and you eagerly nodded.

You convinced yourself that, when you straddled his lap, it was because you wanted to live, and that it had nothing to do with the fact that he had made you cum for the first time in your life and how you wanted to feel it again.

The next morning you woke up with his weight sinking in the mattress and his hand moving your hair out of your face, making you open your eyes to see him staring at you with a tenderness you had never seen before. He was wearing a clean change of clothes, but with a particularly weird aroma, like the smoke after a campfire.

‘’It’s raining, roads are closed until it stops’’ he murmured to not startle you, ‘’sorry honey’’ he finished, and you closed your eyes, tired of thinking, only praying that your cab didn’t ask you to reschedule, because you doubted he hadn’t burned your things too.

[ixxivvv]

lads boys w they find out u used to "side hustle"

aka night work, bar girl, hostess, etc

(a horribly self indulgent, semi-vent, written by me, a hostess club girl).

- xavier: i dont think he would immediately put the pieces together, but every small thing would make sense all the sudden.

- would notice bc you used to leave ur apartment at like 7:30 pm and come back in a car late at night.

- from the way you raise your hand in a restaurant, to intimacy struggles, pessimistic and sarcasm like you were so tired. to the clothes you liked or seemed to put him up.

- maybe he wouldn't even know what any of those kind of places are or do. he just fears its sexual, which, sure no judgement but.

- it makes him protective and possessive of you. which, you hated at first but you knew he meant well.

- zayne: he worries first about your mental health or development.

- he did see "alcohol: 1-6 at a time, not daily" on your records, or made sure your physical wellbeing was well.

- he still worrys about your mental health: but you assure him you feel safe with him. you are just ashamed or embarrassed for being you.

- he does see you different and you feared he might want time off after you tell him.

- instead, he treats you like something so fragile- feeding you sweets, asking if you need anything, making sure you "rest" at all times. it makes you feel ashamed- but you were lucky to be with him.

- rafayel: open to it, being an artist/model or so handsome.

- "really? given the way i dress.. i actually get asked a lot if i wanna be like, a host boy. i mean, same kind of tabloids."

- i think because he knows how fake those clubs can be, to you think you fake laughed or acted loud or fawned for some overrated moët chandon, he views you in a new light.

- but it adds to your strength or beauty. how hes all yours.

- suddenly asks your favorite kind of fancy drink. you surprise him that it is something cheap. but he wants to buy it and display the case out.

- relieved you weren't the "ig model! cash! yacht trips!" kind but just a girl that did it for money you needed at the time.

- makes sure you are never seen by tabloids.

- sylus: was forced or invited by other groups into a club- hated it but was popular with the ladies.

- he knows a few rival groups that organize clubs or bars for a source of income. but he dosen't allow it for omnicytus members out of respect, an industry of vulnerability, exploitation for a quick buck.

- so when he finds out, he isnt surprised- but he finds a new found confidence that you, someone so pretty yet out of reach, is all sweet and proper for his eyes only.

- no wonder you suit the dresses he bought you. no wonder you could style your hair up so pretty. no wonder you could walk in pin red bottoms. it just made sense.

- he wants to gift you all the gifts and drinks, but he also wants to see you with flowers or sweaters, all the plushies and most of all, he melts with your genuine smile.

- both of you being night owls, scheduling is easy or hard depending on each others work load.

- caleb: oh... as much as i am a caleb girl, hes the most messiest 😭

- he kept tabs on you, being obsessed at all. but all your pieces in your story and maturing attitude made sense all the sudden.

- but hes the messiest and possessive, im talking crazy texting when you go out now.

- mentally ill to mentally ill, licking each others wounds and dependency.

- his job demands him a lot- inconsistent schedule includes night patrols or sudden calls. he would still text you safe.

- hed honestly need some time off, but he pledges you to keep you safe no matter what. his jealousy intensifies, but he understands hes your safe space. your only safe space. if you need a hug, youd let him. he becomes more addictive after you tell him the truth.

- you deserved the whole world but the world is so cruel. his desire to shelter you and provide for you. his meals had more love, he looked into you more.

[tillythemenace]

what do you think about the light fury then? cause I know some people love her but still think she's a bad character.

I think that her existence was a mistake, she shouldn’t have existed in the first place..

First of all, to me the themes of HTTYD3 as a whole are a mess. The Light Fury is the representation of all the mistakes they made with this movie. They started to treat it as something it was not. They stripped it of its essence, they centered romance in the story (which was NEVER a theme of HTTYD as a whole) and the LF was the target. She’s a plot device, not a character. She’s specifically designed to be alluring and feminine, she’s treated as nothing more than a ploy and an object and I hate it. Not only that, but apparently they had to change the whole animation system JUST for her and it made everything look worse; plastic, smooth and definitely NOT viking or dragon like. It made the whole movie feel like a popcorn family-friendly cashgrab instead of treating it like it should have. (Now I’m not saying that it should be this metal edgy thing btw I’m saying there’s a clear difference in tone in the movie that’s inconsistent to the other two)

Like it's fairly common and I won't say anything new on this, but like yeah i hate her design, like she's so fucking ugly sorry I could NEVER get behind it. She looks so super feminized (like HUMANLY) and it gives me the weirdest uncanny valley.... she looks SUPER out of place in this world, NO SHE'S NOT AQUATIC, she never was, she's just animated that way to be ✨graceful and feminine✨. I don't like how she moves, I don't like her expressions, I don't like her attitude, I don't like that she was supposed to be "wild" and legit the ONLY thing she did was be somewhat hostile to ppl but ✨GRACEFULLY✨ like yeah she's wild but she HAS to remain cute while at it, unlike the ACTUAL other wild dragons in this whole ass franchise... like no I don't buy that she's supposed to be "wild" when she's mean to Hiccup alone lol (yes she attacked Hiccup but I hate that that served nothing and had no impact on toothless) idk I just don't buy the stakes when she's such a non character with no goals or motivations... no character development, just a plot convenience to separate Hiccup and Toothless (and yes I'm strictly saying this cause ppl love the phrase "toothless didn't leave hiccup for the light furyyyyyyy" fuck you yes he did), also i hate how EASILY she was manipulated by Grimmel and used by him and she just didn't care about it lollllll

I HATE HATE HATE that the themes of MF HTTYD in the last installment of this franchise suddenly shifted to Romance... I just will never make my peace with this, it's so disjointed. I didn't like the furies in love scene cause the more I thought about it, the less relevant it is to this whole thing. I didn't BUY their romance at all precisely cause she has NOTHING going for her, she's a non character that gave Toothless a chance because??? because what? what did he DO for her?? I hate that he,not only didn't give af about Hiccup, but also he didn't even offer her anything, when he tried to woo her, while being a cute scene and all out of context, she just left and in the very next scene she's ok with him

Like I stated Here, Toothless didn't need to have this "mate" arc to "finally give him independence" (funny cause that did the exact opposite), I don't like how his whole character is just focused on her and ignores literally everything else...

anyways I'm sure there's more things that I have reblogged that show my opinions about her but yeah that's mostly it summarized.

[neilarmstrongssmile]

Ok, I need to talk about it. The Five x Lila thing is uncomfortable and kinda gross to me. But mabye I'm not seeing the vision/my discomfort is not the reason it's a bad idea necesarilly. So... here are some reasons besides that on why it's just a bad idea:

1. Why give Five a love story at all? He had a love story, has had it the whole show - love for his family. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve romantic love (with an actual human), but knowing it's the last season and knowing they have only 6 eposodes mabye don't? Introducing the romance in the second to last episode? And developing it through a montague? It's not enough time

2. What's the purpose of the subway station to the story? The only characters on it are Five and Lila (later also Lila's family + Claire), they don't accomplish anything with it, don't find anything useful, don't learn anything new. It's an excuse to have them get lost there, so that they could fall in love. IT'S THE LAST SEASON! Don't waste a cool location like that! Why didn't other characters get there? Why didn't they get Bennifer there and put Ben on one train and Jennifer on another while they think of another permanent safe solution? Use the subway station for actual plot or get rid of it - and that way we don't have the out-of-character falling in love crap

3. Ok, thay are lost, it's been years, they are loosing hope, they are clinging to the only other real thing. There's no guilt? No talk of Diego, Lila's children? There's no false start? They just kiss, remark it's not weird and live idyllicly together? I don't need depressing scenes of them crying for their family and hating themselves for being together, but what we got was not a relationship created by necessity but a normal falling in love story as if Lila isn't MARRIED CURRENTLY to Five's BROTHER! There should be some weirdness, some discussion of what exactly their relationship is, what would happen if they managed to come back. It's inconsistent (with previous characterisation but that's another thing) - are they genuinly in love, or using each other? Is Lila trully happy and in love, or pretending, while being desperate to come back to reality with Diego and her kids? They seem really in love, but after Five finally (5 months!?!?? WTF that's gross) shows Lila the notebook and she leaves she makes it seem as if she's choosing Diego and her marriage. But then she cannot answer 'Do you love him?', gives Five longing glances, is holding his hand... I know that she could be confused and unsure but it doesn't seem as if she doesn't know, it seems like she acts in the way for all the scenes to be dramatic even if it contradicts what happened previously.

4. So they manage to go back, Lila doesn't immedietly confess to Diego, and when the truth comes out Five is mad? He is in the wrong! He went after his brother's wife, he should be apologetic, he should feel weird to be in Diego's home, not combative. Yeah, your love life is complicated and not everything is roses after your return but it's on you YOU WENT AFTER A MARRIED WOMAN! WITH KIDS! And you're mad at her husband for being mad at you? No, he should be ashamed. And ok, get mad later, say that you were finally happy, and now it's gone, scream it at Lila or Diego, but not from the get go. That makes him seem like such a scumbag .

5. You wanted Five to have a romance. In my opinion unnecessary, but do you. You wanted it to be with Lila. In my opinion very weird choice, but sure. Why have Lila and Diego married? We have a 6 year time skip. They could have been just co-parenting and no longer together (and never married). Why make a subplot where Diego thinks Lila is cheating on him (as a joke) to then make it a reality? Why not have Diego and Lila have this season to grow close as friends and co-parent as a unit after years of conflict and have Diego be supportive of this weird incestuous relationship? (TUA unfortunately is no stranger to that, and UA already has weird and complicated relationships all around) instead of falling apart in such a fashion? IT'S THE LAST SEASON at the very least have all our main characters go out without conflict with each other. Five's lat words to Diego were 'I'm gonna kill you'.

It seems they made this whole thing as messy as possible, but then didn't dive deep into the mess to have some actual drama, didn't adress the mess, didn't vindicate any of those characters. And if you're just creating mess and don't engage with it, and it's THE LAST SEASON mabye you should've just left it alone - Lila and Diego together and happy, and Five doing everything to be with his family, safe. I'm dissapointed.