#energy consumption patterns

[monicascot]

First Trade | Potential UPSIDE in Natural Gas Market | Short-Term Outlook

“First Trade” by ETO Markets is live🔥 If you’re not trading now, you definitely should start. 📢 If you have any questions on how to trade DM me the word TRADE to start a conversation. ✌ The purpose of this video is to inform investors about potential investment opportunities in the natural gas market, specifically focusing on the short-term prospects

[engineeringdesignresources]

Energy Calculations

Mechanical Systems – Energy Calculations ARCHITECTURAL ENGINEERING PE EXAM SPECIFICATIONS Mastering Building Energy Calculations: A Guide to Efficient Construction In an era of environmental consciousness and rising energy costs, understanding and optimizing building energy calculations is crucial. Whether you’re an architect, engineer, or construction professional, having a firm grasp of energy…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An end to the climate emergency is in our grasp

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

The problem with good news in the real world is that it's messy. Neat happy endings are for novels, not the real world, and that goes double for the climate emergency. But even though good climate news is complicated and nuanced, that doesn't mean it shouldn't buoy our spirits and fill our hearts with hope.

The big climate news this past week is the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's clarion call about surging CO2 levels – the highest ever – amid a year that is on track to have the largest and most extreme series of weather events in human history:

https://www.noaa.gov/news-release/during-year-of-extremes-carbon-dioxide-levels-surge-faster-than-ever

This is genuinely alarming and you – like me – have probably experienced it as a kind of increase in your background radiation of climate anxiety. Perhaps you – like me – even experienced some acute, sit-bolt-upright-in-bed-at-2AM anxiety as a result. That's totally justifiable. This is very real, very bad news.

And yet…

The news isn't all bad, and even this terrible dispatch from the NOAA is best understood in context, which Bill McKibben provides in his latest newsletter post, "What You Want is an S Curve":

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/what-you-want-is-an-s-curve

Financier and their critics should all be familiar with Stein's Law: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." This is true outside of finance as well. One of the reasons that we're seeing such autophagic panic from the tech companies is that their period of explosive growth is at an end.

For years, they told themselves that they were experiencing double-digit annual growth because they were "creating value" and "innovating" but the majority of their growth was just a side-effect of the growth of the internet itself. When hundreds of millions of people get online every year, the dominant online services will, on average, gain hundreds of millions of new users.

But when you run out of people who don't have internet access, your growth is going to slow. How can it not? Indeed, at that point, the only ways to grow are to either poach users from your rivals (through the very expensive tactics of massive advertising and sales-support investments, on top of discounts and freebies as switching enticements), or to squeeze your own users for more.

That's why the number of laptops sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of cellphones sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of "smart home" gizmos slowed down.

Even the steepest hockey-stick-shaped exponential growth curve eventually levels off and becomes an S-curve, because anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop.

One way or another, the world's carbon emissions will eventually level off. Even if we drive ourselves to (or over) the brink of extinction and set up the conditions for wildfires that release all the carbon stored in all the Earth's plants, the amount of carbon we pump into the atmosphere has to level off.

Rendering the Earth incapable of sustaining human civilization (or life) is the ultimate carbon reduction method – but it's not my first choice.

That's where McKibben's latest newsletter comes in. He cites a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute, which shows a major reversal in our energy sources, a shift that will see our energy primarily provided by renewables, with minimal dependence on fossil fuels:

https://rmi.org/insight/the-cleantech-revolution/

The RMI team says that in this year or next, we'll have hit peak demand for fossil fuels (a fact that is consistent with NOAA's finding that we're emitting more CO2 than ever). The reason for this is that so much renewable energy is about to come online, and it is so goddamned cheap, that we are about to undergo a huge shift in our energy consumption patterns.

This past decade saw a 12-fold increase in solar capacity, a 180-fold increase in battery storage, and a 100-fold increase in EV sales. China is leading the world in a cleantech transition, with the EU in close second. Cleantech is surging in places where energy demand is also still growing, like India and Vietnam. Fossil fuel use has already peaked in Thailand, South Africa and every country in Latin America.

We're on the verge of solar constituting an absolute majority of all the world's energy generation. This year, batteries will overtake pumped hydro for energy storage. Every cleantech metric is growing the way that fossil fuels did in previous centuries: investment, patents, energy density, wind turbine rotor size. The price of solar is on track to halve (again) in the next decade.

In short, cleantech growth looks like the growth of other technologies that were once rarities and then became ubiquitous overnight: TV, cellphones, etc. That growth isn't merely being driven by the urgency of the climate emergency: it's primarily a factor of how fucking great cleantech is:

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/the_incredible_inefficiency_of_fossils.pdf

Fossil fuels suck. It's not just that they wreck the planet, or that their extraction is both politically and environmentally disastrous. They just aren't a good way to make energy. About a third of fossil fuel energy is wasted in production and transportation. A third! Another third is wasted turning fossil fuels into energy. Two thirds! The net energy efficiency of fossil fuels is about 37%.

Compare that with cleantech. EVs convert electricity to movement with 80-90% efficiency. Heat pumps are 300% efficient (the main fuel for your heat pump is the heat in the atmosphere, not the electricity it draws).

Cleantech is just getting started – it's still in the hockey-stick phase. That means those efficiency numbers are only going up. Rivian just figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle. That's just one rev – there's doubtless lots of room for more redesigns that will further dematerialize EVs:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

As McKibben points out, there's been a lot of justifiable concern that electrification will eventually use up all our available copper, but copper demand has remained flat even as electrification has soared – and this is why. We keep figuring out new ways to electrify with fewer materials:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This is exactly what happened with previous iterations of tech. The material, energy and labor budgets of cars, buildings, furniture, etc all fell precipitously every time there was a new technique for manufacturing them. Renewables are at the start of that process. There's going to be a lot of this dematerialization in cleantech. Calculating the bill of materials for a planetary energy transition isn't a matter of multiplying the materials in current tech by the amount of new systems we'll need – as we create those new systems, we will constantly whittle down their materials.

What's more, global instability drives cleantech uptake. The Russian invasion of Ukraine caused a surge in European renewables. The story that energy prices are rising due to renewables (or carbon taxes) is a total lie. Fossil fuels are getting much more expensive, thanks to both war and rampant, illegal price-fixing:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/an-oil-price-fixing-conspiracy-caused

If not for renewables, the incredible energy shocks of the recent years would be far more severe.

The renewables story is very good and it should bring you some comfort. But as McKibben points out, it's still not enough – yet. The examples of rapid tech uptake had big business on their side. America's living rooms filled with TV because America's largest businesses pulled out all the stops to convince everyone to buy a TV. By contrast, today's largest businesses – banks, oil companies and car companies – are working around the clock to stop cleantech adoption.

We're on track to double our use of renewables before the decade is over. But to hold to the (already recklessly high) targets from the Paris Accord, we need to triple our renewables usage. As McKibben says, the difference between doubling and tripling our renewables by 2030 is the difference between "survivable trouble" and something much scarier.

The US is experiencing a welcome surge in utility scale solar, but residential solar is stalling out as governments withdraw subsidies or even begin policies that actively restrict rooftop solar:

https://twitter.com/curious_founder/status/1798049929082097842?s=51

McKibben says the difference between where we are now and bringing back the push for home solar generation is the difference between "fast" and "faster" – that is the difference between tripling renewables by 2030 (survivable) and doubling (eek).

Capitalism stans who argue that we can survive the climate emergency with market tools will point to the good news on renewable and say that the market is the only way to transition to renewables. It's true that market forces are partly responsible for this fast transition. But the market is also the barrier to a faster (and thus survivable) transition. The oil companies, the banks who are so invested in fossil fuels, the petrostates who distort the world's politics – they're why we're not much farther along.

The climate emergency was never going to be neatly solved. We weren't going to get a neat novelistic climax that saw our problems sorted out in a single fell swoop. We're going to be fighting all the way to net zero, and after that, we'll still have decades of climate debt to pay down: fires, floods, habitat loss, zoonotic plagues, refugee crises.

But we should take our wins. Even if we're far from where we need to be on renewables, we're much farther along on renewables than we had any business hoping for, just a few years ago. The momentum is on our side. It's up to us to use that momentum and grow it. We're riding the hockey-stick, they're on that long, flat, static top of the S-curve. Their curve is leveling off and will start falling, ours will grow like crazy for the rest of our lives.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

[harmonysanreads]

Dosis Sola Facit Venenum

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Yandere!Jiaoqiu x Reader

cw(s) : yandere themes, force feeding, drugging, implications of munchausen syndrome, biting, gaslighting, non-consensual touching, intrusive thoughts, victim blaming. read at your own discretion.

「 word count : 900+ 」 「 read on ao3 」

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Tagging @yandere-romanticaa I did not expect to write Jiaoqiu content so soon TvT

Your naïveté knows no bounds. Pushing, objecting, fighting and defying a phenomenon your senses can't even perceive. Blinded in spite of a functioning vision, immobilized even at the absence of tangible restraints. You protest and mewl and reject, but you're oblivious to what against. It's enough to lure out the claws kept in check, entice them to sink into layers of tender flesh.

Your turned head and stretched palm before his insistent advances are delightful to spectate, so much so the healer can't for once peel his eyes away. “I feel full.”

“Full? From two measly spoons of medicinal stew?” he tilts his head as though to better gauge the increasing pressure between your reddened lips. Blood rushes to and paints your skin in a flush, he can very well predict your next words.

“You call that medicine? It's spicy enough to burn my whole digestive system!” you all-but roar at his placid face, Jiaoqiu gives but a hum in exchange.

The bite of the capsaicin renders you restless, his scheming gaze doing little to soothe your distress. You are a pitiful, confused thing ; aiming your arrows without direction in hopes of eliminating whatever it is that sends you in disarray. A hunter lost in a maze of a forest, soon to lose their titular identity and succumb to the shadows' calling.

Your stare is dumb when his thumb swipes across the residue stew clinging to the corner of your lips, a shudder nearly cracks his facade when his tongue acquaints with the taste.

“Barely stings. If I add any less of a spice than this, it's going to taste like distilled water.”

Jiaoqiu nearly tsks at the way your fingers clench the ends of your garment, it should've been him — not some measly piece of fabric in the clutches of your attention. But the silence that now spreads around the room intrigues him, for once you have nothing sassy to say.

“Whatever. I'm not eating any more of that Jiaoqi—mmph!”

Silly little thing. Cloaking yourself in sickness in order to escape your duties, provoking a famed healer to cure your mystery, non-existent ailment. You're a sinner just as much as you're a sin, bit by agonizing bit, ensnaring his soul in your dainty grasp yet sporting the audacity to not see it. Jiaoqiu knows he could never escape from beneath your fingertips, but he can attempt to seize your flighty little being in a death grip.

There's a scintilla of defiance in your pupils even as his hand grasps your jaw, shining through the discomfort induced by the silver spoon shoving a mouthful of that detestable stew and not relenting until the movement of your throat determines its consumption. Your breaths are stirred in abrupt patterns, titillating the Foxian's interest. You eye his lingering fingers absentmindedly squeezing close the flesh of your cheeks, a few dots of darkness almost blurring your vision.

“Was that necessary?” you bite out vengefully.

“I think I need to cure that attitude of yours before whatever sickness it is that prevents you from doing that one particular work. As for whether this is necessary?” Jiaoqiu's free hand slides down to your right wrist, the fabric of his glove makes unwanted gooseflesh appear on your skin.

“Look at how skinny you're getting. Even an old fox like me could snap this in half and you're whining about me keeping you under observation? You really don't know what's best for yourself.”

You sputter at his pointed words, “I'm not that weak... and I definitely don't need your specialized medicinal stew to cure me—heck, I'm not even actually sick!” you snap with vigor but can't find the energy to snatch back your wrist.

“Oh really?” a squeeze to your cheeks shuts you up, the heat in his orange eyes threaten to engulf the spark still keeping you alight.

“But that's where you're wrong. You are sick and you do need me and my healing art. If you aren't in fact sick, how come you can't even keep your eyes on mine anymore?”

No amount of spice could rival the image that paints itself before him, muscles fighting the pull of slumber and sagging before his voracious gaze. Not even a single coherent word can escape from your heavy tongue and shut lips, no finger vigorous enough to lift against his grabby hands.

Jiaoqiu observes the pliant face in his grasp. The scent of fear and desperation tickles his nose and beckons him closer to the sin, fangs so insistently obscured now sinks on the first bite of his demise. You flinch upon the intrusion of something sharp on the skin of your throat, collapsing to a pair of awaiting arms. Indentions marr the previously flawless canvas, a sheen of saliva shines obscenely and the Foxian is certain he's too far gone.

Your resilience is an infuriating trait, especially in response to the forces that try to weaken the fire in your soul. When one drop of Tumbledust fails, a second is added and if this continues for more than one meal — even the most roaring flame will be rendered suppliant.

The dosage of medicine is an area of caution for any physician, prescribing more than what is necessary can accelerate the erosion of health. But without sickness and ailment, what value does a healer hold? Without the presence of this flame that brightens his stale life, what purpose is there for Jiaoqiu to continue pursuing this existence?

Naïve, pitiful, agonizing, sinful, intoxicating — he'd never run out of adjectives to describe you. You brought him to ruination, and an eternal damnation he'd choose still before the prospect of losing you, too.

[alexiroflife]

"second place"

sorry y'all

suguru geto x reader

Synopsis: suguru reminisces over loving you and losing you to satoru

to sum it up: no matter what, satoru will always be number one while suguru comes second

WC: 4,122

Warning(s): angstttttt angst angst angst, jjk season 2 spoilers, mentions of death

One thing that Suguru Geto always understood was that he would never compare to the world’s strongest sorcerer.

When Suguru met Satoru, he instantly knew that he was different. Aside from his unique physical properties that drew more attention than most like his porcelain white hair and his brilliantly vibrant sapphire eyes, there remained Satoru Gojo’s destiny to become the greatest, which he undoubtedly already was at such a young age. 

Satoru gathered all of the attention whilst simultaneously doing so with such arrogance and pride, and while Suguru understood that anyone who found themselves in Satoru’s place would likely behave the same way, it proved to be rather taxing at the worst times. While Suguru was subjected to the confines of his curse technique, exorcizing and absorbing filthy curses then repeating the pattern all over again, retaining and manipulating the very objects of his consumption at will, Satoru snapped his fingers and the entire world was at his feet.

Suguru somehow never envied Satoru despite his clear advantage. Satoru was his best friend above all else, and Suguru was secure enough in his own power and skill not to compare himself to the godly likeness of the Gojo clan’s most prized possession. The black haired boy did not deem himself capable of envy, for it was a rather cruel form of torture to grow jealous over something that you yourself could never obtain.

Suguru didn’t mind being the second best in high school, for the role to carry first place would always be Satoru’s, and who was he to desire a burden like that? Satoru had the entire world’s eyes hovering over him, monitoring each breath that was sucked into his lungs and each step he took upon the concrete. Satoru had the power to strip the world of all its life, and while it sounded enticing to withhold that strength from an outsider’s perspective, to have that skill constantly surveyed under the pesky gaze of an untrusting, possessive, and manipulative society was not up Suguru's alley.

Envy was for those who were insecure, for those who could not accept that Satoru would remain above all for now and ever more. Suguru was not an insecure man, and he was far too close with Satoru to want what he would never have.

That was, however, until you came into the picture.

You were a new student during their second year; a transfer. You appeared seemingly out of nowhere, catching the attention of the students who were eager to know more about your impedance into such a small society. Suguru remembered the exact day he met you. He and Satoru were saddled with the responsibility of showing you around and helping you acclimate into your new environment. The boys initially didn’t understand why they had to be burdened with such a chore, but Yaga reminded them that this was their punishment for being sloppy during their last mission. He hoped for it to teach the two of them some patience and discipline.

The boys waited for you in an empty classroom, Satoru complaining about how lame it was that the two of them had to do something so stupid when your face peered into the room followed by a swift knock on the door frame.

Suguru and Satoru looked up from their seats to identify you, and Suguru’s face dropped. You were beautiful, gentle with your approach as you stepped in cautiously and waved in greeting. You had an air about you that exuded confidence though it was clear in your reserved introduction that you were slightly nervous to have been put on the spot, and forced to locate a room in a school that you’ve never been inside on your own for that matter. You were a little rattled, but you still made a good first impression.

Your cursed energy warbled inside you like a gentle, roaring flame, encapsulating your figure in an assertive matter. You didn’t look it, but your cursed energy within you was fiery, fierce, yet tamed well within your mass.

Your (e/c) eyes looked between the boys and they sat up, suddenly impacted by your presence. A soft, amiable smile touched your lips as you batted your pretty eyelashes and lowered your hand. “Are you two Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru?” your voice fluttered out heavenly, gazing curiously at the teens. 

Suguru suddenly stood to his feet to introduce himself properly, while Satoru followed with a hand on his hip. “Yes,” the curse manipulation sorcerer spoke up. Normally, he would have casted a smile your way to make you feel more welcome, but instead his face was blank, somewhat overcome by your attractiveness, both internal and external. “Sorry, you’re the new student?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. “(L/n) (Y/n). Probably should’ve led with that,” you laughed lightly at yourself, and Suguru’s heart skipped a beat, touched by the angelic sound. He was taken aback by himself momentarily, unsure of how you managed to catch him off guard when he was normally so cool and collected. There was just something about you though, the way your eyes sparked life. 

“No way, can’t be,” Satoru said, his suave voice lifting into the room as he stepped toward you and tilted his head, studying you through the round dim lenses of his glasses. You looked at him in slight confusion, unsure of where this white haired boy was going with his initial reaction. “You’re way too pretty! I was expecting a nerd who looked like a troll,” he announced bluntly and Suguru lowered his head with a disappointed exhale.

You pinched your brows and parted your lips. “Huh?!” you exclaimed, and Suguru was quick to step in behind Satoru, punching him in the back of his head. Satoru yelped, rubbing the tender area he was hit with a grimace. 

“Don’t pay attention to this dumbass,” he told you, finally allowing a smile to slip onto his face, one that you associated with trust and kindness. “It’s good to see you. I understand you’re transferring from a different school.”

You softened and turned your attention to him, cheeks slightly warm. “Mhm! I’ve been working on my cursed technique for a long time now, but I went to a normal school in the country until I was pushed into this direction,” you explained to him lightly.

“I see,” Suguru nods. “What brings you to Jujutsu High then?”

“Getting sick of watching innocent people die,” you responded rather casually, a soft smile still on your face and Suguru understands completely.

“I hate to break it to you, sweets, but here’s not the place where you’d really stop seeing all that,” Satoru jumped in again, smirk sneaking its way onto his face.

“Satoru, be nice and don’t scare the poor girl off please.”

“I’m just being honest! She’s gotta know what she’s getting herself into. She seems too nice.”

“I mean it, before I tell Yaga to break your legs.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckled slightly as you watched their interaction, concluding that the two of them must have been good friends. “No, you’ve got a point. A lot of people told me that when I started my admissions process here,” you said lightheartedly, catching their attention again. “I know what I’m signing up for. While death is inevitable, the least I can do is put forth my strength toward helping others who can’t help themselves.”

“Looking out for the weak,” Suguru agreed, and you hummed in affirmation cheerfully.

“Exactly.”

Suguru found that the smile he gave was more genuine than the last after listening to you, having determined that you would fit in amongst him and his fellow students quite well. 

You grew close to the boys within a matter of weeks, training alongside them, studying with them, or hanging out with them outside of school. You learned a lot about the two within a short amount of time, from Satoru’s otherworldly strength to Suguru’s somehow serene brutality when it came to fighting curses. You were thoroughly impressed by them and in turn, the boys learned a lot about you. 

Your close friend from school had died a week before your enrollment at the hands of a curse you hadn’t been able to fight, truthfully posing as the motivation that pushed you into Jujutsu High as well as your previously mentioned goals. Though you were weaker than the guys, you withheld immense promise, physical strength, and plenty of room to improve and polish yourself. You were determined, generous, disciplined, selfless, and devoted, and Suguru found himself falling for you quicker than he would have liked to admit.

You swept up his heart into your hands effortlessly, somehow managing to trap the student into a frenzy of your warmth. Suguru didn’t know what it was about you that got to him first when he met you. Perhaps it was the expression on your face displaying a cute sense of eagerness intertwined with uncertainty before it snapped away in an instant when you introduced yourself, your beauty and sureness blossoming with your socialization with other students. No, maybe it was the smile that graced your face that stretched your glossed lips into a curve and pinched the corners of your cheeks and the light in your eyes.

Or it could’ve been the fact that you were so caring, so completely indulged in the lives of others that he didn't understand how someone like you could stomach an occupation like sorcery, how you had always asked how he was doing when you saw him with a genuine interest playing at your lips, how you praised him when he told you, Satoru, and Shoko that he had tweaked and improved one of his manipulations over a powerful curse and threw your arms around his neck with just as much excitement for him as you would have had for yourself. You were just so good, so bright, so beautiful that it was impossible not to be drawn to you.

Nevertheless, beneath all that sweetness and charm was a fire that raged within you, revealing itself in all its glory when you were out on a mission exorcizing curses from grades four to three, and at later times, even grade two. Suguru stared at you with surprise the first time you’d leapt into the air, spinning your body swiftly and descending recklessly over the head of a nasty curse with a hand outstretched, lips warping into a twisted grin and eyes sharpening with rabid intensity. 

You were as crazy as you were generous, and Suguru was captivated by it. By you. 

He began growing closer to you, reaching out to touch you at any chance he got by picking imaginary lint from your hair, or grazing your lower back with his palms as he brushed past you, or grabbing your wrist to hold you back and tell you to wait for a moment while you were on a mission, when in actuality there was no threat to prevent you from walking into you. He was always listening to you talk, nodding his head in engagement with a soft smile and locking his eyes over your face with loyal concentration, bringing up the things you had mentioned into later conversations to spark your interest and keep you engrossed for hours. He even liked to sit with you in silence, claiming that he was studying with you when Satoru would ask what the two of you were doing sitting alone in an empty room when all he truly desired was the constant chance to be near you. 

You had got to him, enraptured him in your essence without struggle. He developed the biggest crush on you and planned to one day ask you out until the day both you and Satoru approached him on separate occasions to inquire about the other, and whether he believed either of you would be interested in dating the other.

That day, Suguru sank into himself as he was reminded, once more, of Satoru Gojo’s everlasting advancement over him.

With no reason to tell either of you otherwise, Suguru told you both that if you wanted to pursue each other, you should have. And so you did, and the dark haired man was forced to watch as Satoru Gojo took away the very first thing that Suguru believed he could have that he didn’t, and that was you. 

Consequently, cold calculating envy slithered into Geto’s life and captured his mass within its slimy coils. 

Suguru didn’t believe that he would’ve been bothered too much by the shift in dynamic at first, for he had always seen the way Satoru had begun to cling to you and the way you’d welcome yourself to his attention happily. Previously, he just hadn’t identified it as any more than friendship, but looking back, he supposed that he was likely so desperate to win you that he turned his head away from the signs. Even so, he didn’t believe that his reaction to seeing the two of you together would be that bad, but it was. 

The dark haired man had accidentally walked in on the two brushing shoulders closely and giggling to each other privately on Satoru’s bed. He froze upon seeing you, the image seizing him in his tracks and stripping him of the decency to be happy for you. Instead, when he looked at you, the sight of your skin touching his, your normal smile replaced by a love-stricken beam and rosy cheeks, and your eyes shining under Satoru’s gaze, he felt his heart clench to the point where he could feel his heartache in the bottom of his throat, choking him up and making his eyes go wide. 

It was far worse, however, when you both looked up at him as though he had interrupted, giddy smiles fading to make way for a friendly facade. Suguru hated it. He hated the way his gut churned when a giggle sparked by Satoru slipped into your stunned greeting of him. He hated the way you pretended as though you weren’t just glowing red and laughing with the sprite of a love-stricken toddler before he walked in. He hated that the way you looked at him was so different from the way you looked at Satoru, the gorgeous glimmer in your eye diminishing and the muscles beneath them relaxing. 

He hated watching you with his best friend. Watching your love bloom for the man who could have had anyone in the world, and yet he chose you.  

But Suguru could not say that he blamed him. You were perfect, everything about you, from your head to your toes. You were strong, you were intelligent, you were stunning, you were joyful; what star in the sky wouldn’t stun the mightiest man on earth up close?

And who was Suguru to be envious when Satoru Gojo was his competition? He had told himself before that Gojo’s position didn’t bother him in the slightest, at least not when it came to jujutsu. But after you, after watching him wave around the privilege of holding your hand, of kissing your lips, of caressing your waist, of holding you close, Suguru could not fight the urge to wish with everything in him that he was in Satoru’s place. Though you wanted Geto as his friend, he selfishly longed to have more.

He selfishly dared to compare himself to his best friend.

Then, the mission with Riko happened. 

Suguru watched as a bullet whipped through the young navy haired girl’s head after promising her that she would return to her loved ones and to the outside world, ripping into her brain and stealing her life as she crashed to the floor. Suguru witnessed the fear of a world stripped of Satoru Gojo during a fight with an astonishingly strong non-sorcerer who claimed to murder his closest friend, then murdered the little girl he was expected to protect. Suguru watched Satoru descend a bright hall with Riko’s body cradled within his arms, eyes dull yet body intact against Toji’s words, emerging like a ghost manifested into life and once again reminding Suguru that Satoru Gojo remained on a level above all else, avoidant of rejection and avoidant of the natural laws of life. 

Suguru grew empty, the sound of your laughter fading into the darkest caverns of his mind, echoing into his nightmares riddled with dreams of your body lying helplessly beside Riko’s. Images of you sitting on Satoru’s lap or kissing his cheek flashed across the holes of his mind as it shadowed itself into inky darkness, a hatred for human life manifesting within his gut. You and Satoru would mention that he had lost weight, or that he looked tired, or that they barely saw him around anymore, but Suguru became numb to it. To all of it.

He thought of you when he wiped those lives from that village, pupils shrunken and strands of hair whipping about his head as the cries of agony- of the weak sang over the mountain, angering him. He missed you, he thought as he slaughtered those villagers. He wanted you with him. 

He found you after disappearing, a few weeks following. You sat out at a nearby park, taking some space for yourself to think, when he emerged from the trees. You jumped to your feet, taking a few steps away in alarm as he waved at you with a smile, the same kind smile that led you to trust him upon first meeting. “S-Suguru?” you called out, brows curling in what he could not determine to be sadness, anger, or heartache. 

“Hi, (Y/n),” he said to you softly, and you ached, the sound of his voice just the same as it had always been. You didn’t know why you expected it to be any different, but it felt stranger that he was behaving like himself, as though he wasn’t a mass murderer. 

You stilled when you saw him, eyes wide and body trembling. “What are you doing here?” you demanded and he approached you slowly, tired eyes turning kindly down upon you. You looked at him, pained, his eyes carrying a hint of insanity in them that you had never noticed before. 

“I came to see you,” he admitted, eyes looking over you. “You look nice.”

“Suguru,” you begged him with the call of his name alone. “Why…”

“I wanted to ask you to come with me,” he said to you abruptly, and you stared at him incredulously, nose turned up and brows angled. 

“What?”

“I’ve loved you since the second I knew you, (Y/n),” he spoke to you earnestly, jumping straight into the point without turning back. He knew that if he were to approach you, he had to put all of his cards on the table with little room for miscommunication or time for hiding his true emotions. He needed to present the choice to you, his feelings to you. He needed to try. “Satoru was my best friend, but I loved you then and I love you now.”

You looked mortified, bottom lip quivering and cheeks reddening as you rejected the information physically initially, muscles in your face tightening with discomfort, then disbelief and pity. “Suguru…” you breathed in an awed, devastated whisper. “Suguru, what do you mean? Why are you saying this to me?”

“I want you to leave with me,” he proposed to you, standing close and taking your quivering hands in his. You shook your head rapidly, looking between your hands in his palms and his earnest expression, hazel eyes melting over you with hope. 

“Leave?” you whispered, shaken by the things he was saying in addition to his physical appearance before you, touching you, speaking to you. 

“Leave Jujutsu High,” he pleaded gently, firmly. You were speechless, staring up at him with such intense pain in your normally shining eyes. “Come with me. Make a better world with me, we can do it together. You can do it by my side, and we won’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

You were thrown by his bluntness in asking you to kill human beings alongside him, against your morals, against your life’s devotion, against your school, against Satoru. “You’re asking me to become a murderer with you.”

“I’m asking you to be with me.”

A lump built in your throat as your best friend gazed at you tenderly, helplessly, and you didn’t have the strength to pull away so quickly from the person you lost. Suguru Geto was a criminal. He was no longer your friend, no longer someone you could stomach thinking about, but the love you had for him remained, feeding into your grief over a boy you once knew to never hurt a fly as long as it was weak and innocent. And suddenly, he wanted to slaughter every non-sorcerer with you in his partnership. 

And he loved you?

“Please, (Y/n),” his hand lifted to hold your cheek and you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw and tugging at your lips. “You were always there for me.”

It looked like it took every fiber of your being to muster up the strength to shake your head and lower his hand. “No,” you frowned, your lashes dotting your bottom cheek with tears. “You can’t ask me to do this. You can’t tell me you love me knowing that I’m with Satoru. Knowing that what you did is unforgivable.”

Suguru’s heart snapped inside as he stared down at you with a melancholy smile, tilting his head to gaze gently at you. He knew what you were going to say before he had even come to you, and that was okay. You didn’t have to want to be with him, you didn’t have to agree with him, and you didn’t have to love him. You were good, naively obsessed with the protection of non-sorcerers that were the scum of the shoe worn by someone like you, but good, and you were allowed to choose whichever path you wanted to take, even if that path led you away from him and further into Satoru. 

He hadn’t come to argue. He hadn’t come to convince you. He hadn’t come to harm you. He simply meant to ask, and he did. 

He nodded his head softly toward you, acceptance washing over his slightly wounded face. “Okay,” he said, his voice low and quiet. 

Your face fell, shocked by his quickness to oblige. You were prepared to fight, but instead, the look in Suguru’s eye made your heart tremble and your eyes well. 

“Wha…?”

Suguru stepped in and lowered his lips to meet your forehead gingerly. His lips were warm against your skin as he lingered for a few moments before pulling away, releasing your head from his hands. You looked up at him wistfully, frightened for what he was about to do. “That was all I wanted to say. I wish you and Satoru all the best,” he nodded his head lightly again before turning over his shoulder and walking off.

You stared after him wistfully, eyes blurring over as the vision of him washed away with his presence. “...Suguru?” you murmured weakly, but he was gone, and you were left alone.

A decade later, you were face to face with Suguru once more at Jujutsu High, standing close to your husband, Satoru, with your posture rigid and your face frozen in shock, Satoru glaring ahead through his blindfold from beside you. 

Geto smiled, arm tucked over Yuta Okkotsu’s, your students standing perplexed around you as your former best friend greeted you. “Satoru, (Y/n)! Long time no see!” he called kindly, eyes opening slyly to look between the two of you. “Still together, I see? And as professors no less?”

“We’re married, Suguru,” Satoru revealed sternly, and Suguru’s brows raised and his chin tilted up slightly in response.

“Ah,” his eyes slid over to you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Really?”

You couldn’t respond, for you were too shocked to see him. The last time you did, he was confessing his love to you and asking you to join his absurdity. You never told Satoru about it. You felt as though the moment was too private, too alarming to reveal to your now spouse. 

Even years later, Suguru felt the claws of jealousy dig into him again as he scanned the silver ring you wore around your finger. He chuckled slightly to himself, releasing Yuta harshly and turning completely to face you. 

“I can’t be too surprised,” he smiled, Gojo lifting a brow at the comment. “After all,” he kept his gaze on you. “The great Satoru Gojo will always get any and everything he wants.”

-

me personalliy i would've folded, idk.

[eiightysixbaby]

cruel summer

no rules in breakable heaven

word count: 6.7k

pairing: modern!fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader

summary: eddie is your summer fling, your friend with benefits - or at least, that’s all he’s supposed to be. what happens when your feelings get in the way?

cw: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI - SMUT. eddie is a fuckboy!! he acts like an ass in this, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, angst, hurt with no comfort (yet), alcohol consumption, use of pet names, reader cries, like a lot honestly, miscommunication/misunderstanding, use of Y/N, as always if I missed something feel free to lmk!

author’s note: this fic is, of course, based on the song cruel summer by miss taylor swift, so I highly recommend listening to that if you haven’t! part two will be in the works soon! no idea when it’ll be posted, but it is coming >:)

Your fingers dug into the soft material of the mattress, face smooshed against the cotton sheets. Your brain felt foggy, the alcohol in your system making your whole body buzz slightly. Your back arched almost involuntarily as Eddie’s hips snapped roughly into your aching heat, bringing you fully back into the moment. He was railing you relentlessly from behind, rough hands taking a firm hold on your hips, keeping them in place for him. If it didn’t feel so good you’d almost feel bad for fucking in a bed that didn’t belong to either of you, Eddie having pulled you into a spare room at Steve’s house, escaping the noise of the party for some alone time. This is how things went with the two of you as of late, the wild and free atmosphere of summer leaving you craving each other and crossing boundaries. He’d call you late at night or maybe you’d call him, asking the other to come over. Letting Eddie fuck you raw till your insides burned and your body was spent. Leaving his trailer at 2 in the morning with your mascara running and his cum dripping down your thighs, just to do the same thing all over again in a few days.

You knew Eddie got around, knew you weren’t the only girl he was hooking up with. But the way he’d look at you when you were riding him and the way he’d caress your face as he’d lean in to kiss you made you feel like you were the only one. Like you were his. His energy was intoxicating, the sex even better, and you couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how hard you tried, he kept pulling you back in for more. Another hard thrust into you brought you back out of your drunk haze, his cock pulling all the way out just to slam fully back in. Your pussy welcomed him, enveloped him in the warmth of your walls, never wanting to let him go.

“Shit, baby, this pussy loves me,” Eddie grunts. “Suckin, me right in, fuck.”

You bite down on your lip hard, stifling what would’ve been a rather loud moan. Eddie pulls out and flips you onto your back, pushing your thighs to your chest, folding you right in half for him. Your pussy is on perfect display for him, wide open and pleading for him to come back in. He moves his hips expertly, cock gliding into you with complete ease despite his size. Your moans are staggered as he fucks you at a brutal pace, your whole body bouncing on the mattress with every thrust.

“My favorite fuckin’ girl, such a slut for me. No one lets me fuck them like you do, baby, mmmmmfuck,”

Your head spins at the praise, his choice of words. His favorite girl. You can’t help but wonder how many other girls he calls his favorite, too. You shake the thoughts away promptly, trying to allow yourself to just enjoy this moment with him. Enjoy having him for as long as you can. His calloused fingers are pressed into the doughy skin of your thighs, gripping with such intensity it almost hurts. Before you can fully process it you’re cumming around him, walls tightening over and over in a staggered pattern.

“G’na cum inside this pussy, baby, shit,” Eddie grunts before finally letting go.

His release paints your insides, your tight cunt milking every bit out of him. He pulls out once he’s fully spent, smacking your ass for good measure. You hear him zipping up his jeans, his belt buckle clanking as he secures it. He grabs a few tissues from the bedside table, gingerly wiping you clean before tossing them in the wastebasket.

“You’re such a doll, you know that right?” he asks, bending down to give you a quick peck on the lips.

You give him a half hearted smile, but he doesn’t seem to notice there’s any sadness behind it. He cautiously opens the bedroom door, slinking out under the guise of “letting you get situated”. Just like that, the euphoria is over. Your moment with him is gone, and he’ll slink back to the hustle and bustle of the party, leaving you in the shadows. You didn’t want to fall so hard for Eddie when your whole charade started, you really just wanted a fuck buddy. It’s just that he’s so goddamn alluring, and he’s sweet when he wants to be. He makes you feel good in ways no other guy has been able to, and it’s like you get drunk on him. You’re tumbling head over heels for Eddie, and to him you’re just one of many notches on his belt.

You fix yourself up, tidying up your appearance before heading back down to the party. A song you don’t recognize blares over the speakers, colorful lights flashing in the otherwise dark house. You check your phone for any texts, reading one from Nancy asking where you went. You decide you really don’t feel like answering that right now, slinking into the kitchen for another drink and slipping your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. You pour yourself some of whatever inebriating mixture sits in the pitcher on the countertop, the bright blue liquid filling your red plastic cup. You sip the drink, probably quicker than you should, walking past groups of people - couples getting a little too friendly with each other, a shirtless guy you don’t know standing on a table, a few girls huddled together on a sofa taking selfies.

You walk out to the backyard, the noise of the party becoming too much. The night air is warm and it smells sweet, a bonfire lit in the fire pit on the opposite side of the backyard. The unmistakable scent of the burning wood clings to your nose as you glance up into the trees where fireflies blink slowly. Your thighs ache, and you swear you can feel Eddie’s cum still leaking out of you. Your stomach twists in knots at the thought of it, wishing he’d stayed to help you clean up, wishing he’d kiss you in front of everyone to lay claim on you, wishing he’d let you snuggle into him as you sat around the bonfire. Wishing so desperately that he’d make you his, the way your friends always joke that he should because they can always sense the tension between the two of you.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear a high pitched squeal and then a splash, looking up to see a girl’s head protruding from the water in the pool.

“Eddie!” she squeals, over exaggeratedly loud. “You got me all wet,” she pouts, “you’re gonna have to come in here with me.”

“No can do, sweets, can’t ruin the hair,” Eddie jokes, sitting down at the pool’s edge.

The unfamiliar girl pulls herself out of the water to sit beside him, reaching out and pretending to scrunch his hair with her wet fingers. Eddie laughs and leans away, grabbing her wrists with his much larger hands to stop her. She giggles as Eddie pulls her closer to him, slinking an arm around her waist. You feel like you could throw up, the skin of your cheeks heating up significantly. Eddie notices you standing up against the side of the house, meeting your eyes for only a moment before you turn and enter the large house once more. Your cup trembles in your hand, your stomach turning as you process the scene you just witnessed. He just fucked you raw upstairs, and already he’s got a new girl with him. He doesn’t even have the decency to wait until you’ve left, prick. You scowl, but the worst part is you know you can’t stay mad at him. You don’t actually think he’s a bad person, and you don’t know if you ever could. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you feel a delicate hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N? Hey, are you okay? Where have you been?”

“Nance - hey. Uh y-yeah I’m just… not feeling so well all of a sudden? I think I’d better get going-” you stammer, furiously wiping the wetness from your eyes.

Nancy’s eyes are no longer trained on you but instead are gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the sun room. You turn to follow her gaze, and see that she’s looking right at Eddie, who’s now in the pool with the giggly girl, kissing her with her arms around his neck.

She looks back at you, catching the way you nervously chew your bottom lip and also catching the hickey that was left on your neck.

“You say the word and I swear to god I’ll kill him,” Nancy says, getting the sentence out just as Jonathan comes up behind her.

He doesn’t even need to ask who she’s referring to, and you see his eyes flicker up to look out the windows, becoming another witness to Eddie’s bullshit. He frowns slightly before turning his attention to you.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” he asks, patting you on the back with one firm hand.

You try to open your mouth to speak, but you can’t bring words to come out. Your throat feels thick and your lips start to wobble. You shake your head ‘no’ in favor of trying to talk and starting to sob, and your friends can tell you’re close to tears. You can hear Eddie and the girl shouting outside, and before you can turn around to look Nancy’s hurrying you out of the sun room. Her and Jonathan guide you into an empty bedroom, Nancy sitting beside you on the soft mattress of the bed, rubbing your back tentatively.

Your friends don’t know all of the details to what’s going on with you and Eddie, but they know enough. Considering most of them are your and his mutual friends, it’s not hard for speculation to go around based on the way the two of you act towards one another. And, quite frankly, they’re not stupid. You and Eddie disappearing for the same amount of time at group hangouts, the occasional flirtatious glances you share, you being visibly upset when he hasn’t spoken to you in a while, the pieces add up. They know you’re more sweet on Eddie than you let on and they know he’s a complete fuckboy asshole half the time, never quite knowing what’s going on with him and why he has to act the way he does with women. They never let Eddie in on your presumed feelings, they keep that secret guarded with their lives and for that you’re grateful. You know they know and you also know they’ll never make you say it out loud unless you’re ready to. But you have a feeling they must grow weary of picking up your pieces when he lets you down yet again, in ways they don’t have the full details on.

Nancy and Jonathan offer to get you a glass of water, both of them embarking on the rather simple task solely so they can discuss the situation at hand.

“What the fuck is his problem!?” Nancy seethes loud enough for her boyfriend to hear over the music.

“I don’t know, Nance, I don’t know. But I do know that if I have to see Y/N break one more time because of him I’m gonna lose it,” Jonathan responds, weaving past people in attempt to keep up with her.

Nancy just looks at him, her eyes sad and a little defeated. Jonathan understands the look. The look that says she knows Eddie upsets you far more than you ever tell them, a look that says she wishes she knew what to do in this situation.

She turns on the tap in the kitchen sink, filling a cup with ice and then with cold water. She jumps, spilling a little bit of the cup’s contents as Eddie walks in from outside, whooping and hollering and very intoxicated. The girl from the pool is clinging to his side, her hands roaming all over him. Jonathan rolls his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter and facing away from the commotion.

“He’s such a fucking asshole sometimes,” Nancy says finally, having refilled the cup, now wiping her wet hand on her skirt. “Someone needs to knock some sense into him, or I’m gonna knock his teeth in.”

“Oooo, kitty’s got her claws out,” a voice purrs from beside her.

Nancy gasps, earning a roar of a laugh from Eddie. She smacks him on the arm, typically open to Eddie’s jokes and antics but extremely done with him in the present moment.

“Who’s got you so worked up, Nance?” Eddie slurs, stumbling a little before Jonathan shoves him back upright.

“He’s talking to me right now, actually,” she gives him a fake tight lipped smile, trying to push past him and get back to you.

“Me? What’d I do? You’ve barely even seen me all night!” Eddie shouts, almost knocking into a couple party goers as he tries to catch up.

“I really shouldn’t have to tell you what you did wrong, Eddie. Get your head out of your ass for once and figure it out yourself!” Nancy yells.

There’s a lull in the music as she says it, and several people turn to look in their direction, Steve and Robin sharing confused glances at the sight. Nancy storms off, leaving Jonathan face to face with Eddie.

“Think about it, man,” is all Jonathan says before he walks away, following after his girlfriend.

Eddie stands there, in the middle of a room packed with people, suddenly feeling very, very alone.

•

It’s been a week since you sat in a bedroom in Steve’s house, crying into Nancy’s shoulder as she did her best to console you. It’s been a week since you’ve had any interaction with Eddie, and your heart ached. Not because of how he behaved at the party, no, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay mad at him. Your heart ached with a longing to see him, a deep desire to have him. You’d kept the ringer turned up on your phone, hoping he’d call or text and ask you to come over, but to no avail so far. You huffed, dropping your phone down onto your bed beside you after checking it for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. Your bedroom window is open slightly, letting the soft breeze and the sounds of summer nights penetrate your otherwise quiet abode. You lay with your legs dangling off the edge of your mattress, staring up at your ceiling and trying to will yourself to get up. You finally bring yourself to stand, pulling your coziest sweatshirt over your head and slipping on some shoes. You trod down the stairs to the lobby of your apartment building, stopping in front of the vending machines they so nicely placed there for residents. You were running out of snacks because you couldn’t bear to go out and go grocery shopping, so this was your best bet. You deserved some Cheetos and maybe a chocolate bar, god dammit. You stand there for a moment, skin glowing a blue-white hue from the fluorescent lights inside the machine. Your phone chimes in your pocket, breaking you from your haze. You grab it embarrassingly quickly, almost dropping it as you hold it up to look at the screen. It’s only Robin, sending an embarrassing photo of Steve at work.

You sigh, stuffing your phone back in your pocket and letting your head hang. You take a breath, trying of make yourself feel some sort of normal right now. You’re fine. You don’t need Eddie. You’re not gonna die. You press a few buttons on the vending machine, inserting your card before it dispenses your selections. You’re trudging back up to your apartment, ripping into your bag of Cheetos when your phone rings. You manage an impressive amount of self control as you wait till you’ve fully opened your door and taken your shoes off to see who’s calling. Eddie’s name lights up on your screen, and you feel your stomach do a somersault. You answer the call with shaky hands.

“Hello?” you force out around your mouthful of cheesy snacks, trying to sound as graceful as possible.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’ve been a little MIA lately. I missed you,” his voice purrs into the phone.

“I missed you too…” you admit, going against your brain telling you not to give into him.

“What’re you doing right now? Can I come pick you up?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’m not doing much of anything,” you can’t help but smile as you say it, your cheeks heating up.

“Cool, I’ll be there in fifteen,” Eddie promises before ending the call, leaving you standing in your living room with your cheese powder covered fingers, smiling at your phone like an idiot.

You hurry into your room to change, slipping on a loose little tennis skirt and a snug fitting crop top, the fabric hugging your body and accentuating your breasts perfectly. You pull a thin cardigan sweater over top of it to ward off the chill of the nighttime air. Eddie’s true to his word and in about fifteen minutes your phone chimes with a text from him.

‘Here. Don’t keep me waiting ;)’

You scurry out the door, grabbing your bag and your keys. You hurriedly apply a bit of lipgloss as you run down the stairs, knowing Eddie likes the flavor of this one. Eddie watches you from out his windshield as you come bounding towards his car, giving him a sly little wave in the process. He licks his lips as his eyes rake up and down your frame. You swing open the passenger side door, sitting down on the seat and letting your bag drop to the floor.

“Hey, sweets. You look pretty tonight,” he says, grabbing one of your hands and kissing it as he winks at you.

You blush, wondering if he’s sweetening you up to make up for the events of the party. You once again find yourself clinging to the notion that this time it’ll be different, this time he won’t leave you, this time he’ll stay the night after and you’ll make breakfast together in the morning and dance together in the kitchen. His hand squeezes yours as he drives, and he turns up a song on the radio. His stereo is tuned to the oldies station, as per usual. Hysteria by Def Leppard blasts through the speakers, Eddie tapping the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel as he sings along exaggeratedly.

“I gotta know tonight, if you’re aloneeee toniiiiiight!” Eddie sings, off key and purposely pitchy to make you laugh.

You giggle in the passenger seat as he steals glances at you while he sings along, his right hand entwined with your left.

“Can’t stop this feelin’, can’t stop this fiiiiire,” he continues on, bringing your hand to his chest and pounding on it in a passionate performance.

The drive continues that way, Eddie singing any song he recognizes and turning every single one into a ballad somehow, serenading you. You’re a fit of giggles and stolen glances in his direction, smirking whenever you meet his eyes. You feel more alive in this moment than you have all week.

Tires crunch over gravel as Eddie’s car finally pulls into a parking spot behind The Hideaway, a local bar-slash-restaurant that leans further into the bar aspect with cheap drinks and greasy food, perfect for a summer night. Eddie jogs around to your side of the car to open the door, grabbing your hand and helping you out. He’s being much more chivalrous than usual and it makes your heart swell. This feels like a real date, and your hands tremble with giddiness. The two of you grab a table once you’re inside, the skin of your thighs sliding over the cool material of the booth. You order a couple drinks and whatever food strikes your fancy, one of Eddie’s hands reaching across the table to stroke your arm now and then as you sit and talk. You don’t miss his wandering glances down to your breasts and your lips, and he doesn’t miss the way you eye his ringed fingers and the chain around his neck.

Once you have a few drinks in you, you’ve loosened up quite a bit. Music plays loudly throughout the building and several people have gathered on the makeshift dance floor, moving to the rhythm. You’re pulling Eddie out of his seat, walking backwards onto the floor to dance with him. You pull him close till he’s pressed against your backside, letting your hips sway against him. You don’t miss the way he stiffens when your ass presses into his crotch, his body going tense and his grip on your waist getting tighter. You lean your head back a little bit, inviting him in to kiss your neck. His soft lips press into your sensitive skin, nipping at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder. His dark curls hang in his face and tickle your skin, the cold metal of his rings digging into the soft skin of your waist left exposed by your crop top.

You dance like this for a while, touches growing more intimate and lips becoming more reluctant to leave each other’s skin. Finally, Eddie decides he can’t take it anymore. He’s rock hard pressed up against you and the way your body moves is sinful. He pulls you off the floor and into a private bathroom, locking the door quickly behind him. As soon as he does he pulls you to him, kissing you with fervor as his hands roam your body. You melt right into him, your body pliant to whatever he wants to do to you. Your tongue prods into his mouth and you roll your hips into his, taking what you want. Your hand tugs on the collar of his shirt, his breath coming out of his nostrils in heavy huffs as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

He walks you backwards to press you against the small counter for the sink, smiling into the heated kiss when you jump to sit on the counter immediately. His fingers find their way up your thighs, roaming further until they reach the sticky heat between them. Eddie wastes no time, hooking a finger under the fabric of your panties and sliding them to the side. You groan into his open mouth, and his cock twitches in his jeans at the sound. He dips two fingers inside of your warm, wet cunt, the digits being sucked in instantly.

“Pussy’s so fucking greedy for me, did my favorite girl miss me?” Eddie’s voice is a husky growl as he speaks, lips mere centimeters from yours.

All you can do is nod, a high pitched moan escaping your lips. His favorite girl his favorite girl his favorite girl. It never gets old hearing him call you that, he knows exactly what to say to get you to bend to his every whim. His fingers scissor inside of you, your wet walls squelching as he pries them apart.

“Fucking filthy, baby. Such a little whore for me, hm?” he grins, his pink tongue rolling over his front teeth.

Your moans leave your mouth in breathy spurts as he continues to pump his fingers in and out, curling them right into your sweet spot. You lean your head forward, resting on his chest as his free hand comes to rest on your lower back, keeping you close. His thumb presses to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bead with just the right amount of pressure. He knows exactly what you like, exactly how to bring you to the edge. You’re whimpering for him, his lips coming to crash against yours, teeth nipping at the plump skin. The alcohol in your system amplifies your senses, making every touch he gives you feel magnified.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me so soon?” Eddie groans, sensing how close you’re getting by the way your walls tense around his fingers.

You can’t even reply before waves of pleasure wrack your body, your orgasm hitting you incredibly quickly. You cry out his name as his fingers continue to curl inside of you, a smirk gracing his face, cockiness taking over completely.

“Suuuuuch a fuckin’ slut for me, hm? Gonna let me fuck you baby?” his husky voice fills your ears, along with the sound of his belt being undone.

He knows you won’t deny him, knows how badly you need this. You hear the zzzzzzzip of the zipper on his jeans being tugged down, watch as he pulls the black denim down just enough. Keep your eyes trained on him as he grabs his cock from beneath the green cotton of his boxers, yanking it into view. His boxers get shoved down with his jeans, resting just below his ass. The pink head of his cock is shiny with pre cum as you wrap a hand around it, lining him up with your aching hole. He sucks in a breath as he pushes the tip in, reveling in the way you tilt your head back in ecstasy as he parts your folds. Your tits are propped up perfectly thanks to your snug top and your push-up bra, swells of skin on display for his eyes to rake over. He dips down, attaching to your collarbone and sucking the thin skin, licking over the stinging bruises he leaves behind.

“F-feels so good, Eddie,” you choke out, gasping as he thrusts as deep as he possibly can, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“I know it does baby, know how much you love this cock,” Eddie growls.

His hands dig into your hips, holding you in place while he fucks you ruthlessly. The lewd sounds of his shaft gliding in and out of your soaked cunt echo off the bathroom walls, his balls slapping with every jolt of his hips. You tangle your fingers in his curls, knowing it drives him crazy. Eddie doesn’t let you in on a whole lot of the things that make him weak, but the hair pulling one was discovered involuntarily. You’d done it the first time you ever hooked up and he’d moaned embarrassingly loud before he could stop himself, and you’d been using the knowledge to your advantage ever since. He curses as you tug on his dark brown locks, his cock pounding into you even harder. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way, so close to release again already. Another bar patron knocks on the bathroom door, only grabbing your attention for a fraction of a second before Eddie grabs your face with one hand, turning you to look directly at him.

“Don’t worry about that, focus on me,” he instructs, his jaw hanging open in a moan as he drives particularly deep into you.

His forehead rests on yours, brown eyes staring straight into yours as he ruins you. The movement of his hips grow messy, and you know he’s close. You’re free falling over the edge in no time, your heavy-lidded eyes trying their best to focus on Eddie as your second orgasm crashes through you.

“That’s it, baby, so good for me,” he grunts, not slowing his movements even a bit.

“Cum inside me, Eddie, please,” you whine, clawing desperately at the collar of his shirt.

“Gonna give it to you, baby, gonna fucking cum,” he’s panting, rolling his hips a couple more times into your soaking cunt until he’s a goner.

You feel him twitch slightly inside you as spurts of his cum fill you to the brim. His eyes squeeze shut as he rides it out, slowly rocking in and out of you, milking himself for every drop. He pulls out of you carefully, causing you to wince at the emptiness. You hop down from the counter on shaky legs, his cum mixing with your release as it slowly rolls down your thighs.

“You’re so fucking hot, babe,” Eddie almost whines, grabbing your face to kiss you.

He situates himself back in his jeans and leaves you to clean up, telling you he’ll be at your table from before. You wipe the mess off your thighs with the horribly thin toilet paper the bar offers, sitting on the grimy toilet seat to pee. You deem yourself good to go after washing your hands and open the door, catching Eddie giving you a little wave from the booth you’d been sitting at. You bound over to him, an unmistakable wave of relief at the fact that he was waiting right where he said he’d be. The two of you are about to leave, throwing cash on the table for the staff to pick up, when you hear a chipper voice call your name.

“Y/N!?”

You spin around, searching in the direction of the voice when your eyes land on a head of strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

“Chrissy? Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!” you shout, turning to Eddie briefly. “I’ll be right back, kay? I have to catch up with her real quick!”

You jog towards your old friend, wrapping her in a tight hug. She doesn’t seem to take note of who you were with, or if she does she doesn’t pry for details, and you’re grateful for that. You hadn’t seen Chrissy much at all since high school, and the two of you get right to chit-chatting. You tell her about your job, she tells you about her breakup with Jason, so on and so forth. A little more time passes than you’d intended, so you leave her with a mutual promise to get together soon and yet another hug. You turn to find Eddie so you can leave, your brows furrowing when you don’t see him.

Finally your eyes land on him, sitting on a stool at the bar, a blonde bartender leaning over the counter with a hand on his bicep, and another woman standing on his one side, eyeing him up. The bartender leans further over the counter, her tits pressed together and on display from her low cut top, basically staring Eddie in the face. He seems to be laughing, striking up conversation in his disgustingly easy manner. Your stomach turns and your face grows hot, and you bring a hand to your mouth to muffle a cry as you rush out the door of the bar. The tears flow instantly, there’s no use in even trying to stop them. You grasp your phone in a trembling hand, dialing Nancy’s cell. The lights from the street go blurry as your eyes burn with tears, your chest heaving as the dial tone rings in your ear.

“Hello?” her voice picks up, concern evident in her tone given that it’s 11pm and you’re calling her.

“Nancy,” you sob, trying to steady your voice but it’s fruitless, “can- can you please pick me up? I’m at The Hideaway,” you stutter, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Jonathan and I are on the way. Sit tight, ok?” you agree and the call ends, leaving you alone until they arrive.

You tilt your head back, leaning against the brick wall of the old building, sobs wracking your entire body. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You curse yourself for believing that this night with Eddie would go any differently than the others. Your mind replays the way he sang to you in the car, the way he held your hand, the way he opened doors for you and stroked your skin at the table earlier. The lump in your throat is impossible to swallow, and you gasp for air between your cries. Nancy’s car pulls up at the curb in front of you, Jonathan in the drivers seat. She immediately jumps out and runs to you, leaning down to your shriveled frame as you curl into yourself. She all but scoops you up, an arm around your shoulder as she guides you to the backseat of the car. She gets in beside you rather than returning to the passenger seat, a gentle and soothing hand resting on your knee as Jonathan starts to drive. You catch the way he glances warily at you in the rearview mirror, face riddled with concern. Your head is pounding, the drinks you had earlier still making your thoughts slightly hazy and everything around you feel slow. When Eddie picked you up, you’d imagined yourself going home with him, making out in his van, tangling up together in his bedsheets. You hadn’t predicted yourself to be drunk in the back of your best friend’s car, crying like a baby on your way home. You mentally scold yourself, embarrassed with the way your friends have to see you, the way they have to try and pick up your pieces when they don’t even know what’s wrong. This is the second time in a week that these two have consoled you, and you feel horrible for making them put up with it.

“Were you with Eddie tonight?” Nancy asks cautiously, but there’s no judgment in her voice.

All you can do is nod, your eyes glassy as you gaze out the window. She squeezes your knee, and the rest of the ride back to your apartment is silent.

Nancy makes sure that you get safely inside, leading you into your room to help you change into some comfortable clothes. She fills your favorite water bottle and grabs your favorite blanket off of the couch, handing them both to you.

“Nance-” you go to thank her, but she cuts you off.

“You don’t have to thank me. You don’t have to say anything. Just take care of yourself, alright? Call me if you need anything,” she squeezes your hand and gives you a tight smile before leaving, closing the door quietly behind her.

The sobs that had started to subside come back in full swing once you’re left alone, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. You take shaky breaths, your heart feeling like it’s been shattered to pieces in your chest. You wanted to believe that Eddie was going to redeem himself this time, and to see that he had no shame about flirting with other women while in the bar that he drove you to stung deep to your core. What hurts even worse is that all you crave, still, is his arms around you, his lips on yours, a moment of peace in a fragile heaven. You curl into a ball on your mattress, letting all of the feelings out in the quiet of your lonely apartment.

Eddie was in a slight panic when he couldn’t find you anywhere in the bar. He had gotten bored while you were catching up with Chrissy, so he went to get himself one last drink before the two of you went on your way. He sunk himself onto a seat at the bar, where a brunette about his age was chatting with the bartender. The second he sat down, he could feel their eyes roaming all over him. The flirting was incessant from the get-go, and truly, all Eddie wanted was to take you home with him, his body craving a second round of you. He had no interest in the two women before him, but for the sake of keeping the peace he just allowed them to fawn over him, roaming hands and seductive eyes drinking him in. He made small talk, forcing smiles and even a couple laughs just to appease the crowd before he could dip. He downed his drink fairly quickly, intentionally so, so that he could make his exit and find you. All he wanted was to grab your hand and kiss you and hold you all night long and- fuck.

He shakes his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts. His brain had been overwhelmingly full of you since the party at Steve’s, and he was uneasy about it. The situation with you was strictly friends-with-benefits, nothing more. It can’t be more. Dark eyes scan the premises, searching for you but coming up unlucky. He checks with Chrissy, who didn’t see where you went after you said your goodbyes, he knocks politely on the bathroom doors to no avail. He goes out to his vehicle only to find it empty. He calls you once, twice, three times, only for the line to ring and ring. With ever perfect timing, a text pops up on his phone screen.

Jonathan: Nancy and I drove Y/N home. What happened, man?

Eddie’s brow furrows as he reads the message, why did you call them to take you home? What did happen? He curses to himself, climbing into his car and peeling out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of your apartment. His fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel, every red light feeling like it takes years to change to bright green. He finally pulls up to your building, his body feels unsteady as he walks up the stairs to your door. He knocks with a shaky hand.

You’re startled by the knock at your door, your crying having stopped for the time being and your body starting to relax. The knock comes again, urgent sounding, and you trod down your hallway and towards the door. Your head pounds and your sinuses are stuffy from your breakdown, and you wince as the loud banging sounds on your door yet again. You pull it open, met with the shaggy hair and big eyes of the man you’ve been wallowing over.

“Y/N, what the fuck!? You scared me half to death, why did you leave without me?” Eddie nearly shouts, running a hand through his hair.

His question dumbfounds you, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity.

“Why did I leave? Why did I leave!? I don’t know, Eddie, why don’t you ask the bimbo bartender and her friend, and god knows what other women you flirted with when I walked away for maybe twenty fucking minutes!?” the words spill out of you, and you’re shocked at your ability to call him out.

“The bartender-? What? Sweets, I wasn’t flirting with anyone I was just-”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Eddie, okay? You pulled the same shit at Steve’s party last weekend! Hook up with me and make me feel sooooo special and then turn around and woo someone else right after. I’m sick of it!” your voice is raised, leaving Eddie wide-eyed in front of you.

“Oh, you’re sick of it? You’re sick of me?” Eddie no longer feels like he owes you an explanation, his need to defend himself taking over.

“I’m sick of keeping secrets, Eddie! I’m sick of not telling our friends what the fuck is going on between us because I don’t want to make you out to be the bad guy! I’m so god damn tired of watching you flirt with every woman under the fucking sun,” your voice wavers, anger trickling in.

“Why the fuck do you care if I flirt with other women? Why does it matter?” Eddie counters, holding his hands out in exasperation.

“Because I love you, Eddie! I’m in love with you!” you shout, tears streaming from your eyes now in a mixture of sadness and anger and passion.

The silence is palpable as Eddie just stands there, shaking his head a little bit. Your heart feels as though it might beat out of your chest.

“What, is that the worst fucking thing you’ve ever heard?” you challenge.

He turns on his heel and exits without a word, leaving you to slam your door shut. You sink down on the inside of it, tears flowing harder than ever before. His silent exit was worse than any words he could have said, cutting you right to the bone, leaving you to bleed all alone.

[transform4u]

my phone started playing some shit called chavlad.mp3 when I tried to hack my Spotify for free. Don’t know what is this!

The moment your phone blared that excruciatingly obnoxious track named "chavlad.mp3" while you were furiously trying to hack your Spotify, it felt like a bolt of chaotic energy had struck you. It wasn’t just a sound; it was an electric jolt that seemed to alter the very fabric of your existence. The music—brash and aggressive, with its pounding bass and lewd lyrics—was like a sonic mallet, hammering away at your previous self, chipping away at your identity and replacing it with something grotesquely alien.

At first, the transformation was almost imperceptible, like the quiet creeping of dawn over the horizon. You felt a strange heat coursing through your body, a sensation that seemed to bubble up from within, causing your muscles to swell and harden. The wiry frame you had grown accustomed to began to change, expanding into a more robust and imposing figure. Your clothes, which had once draped limply on your lean frame, now clung tightly to newly formed biceps and a broad chest that seemed to grow with every thudding beat of the track. The process was mesmerizing and alarming; you watched in disbelief as your physique evolved into a spectacle of brute strength, the kind that exuded an overt and almost comical sense of machismo.

Your face underwent a similarly dramatic metamorphosis. The once gentle, nerdy features hardened into a chiseled, almost predatory visage. Your cheekbones became more pronounced, and your jawline squared off with an angular intensity that seemed to radiate arrogance. The once-messy hair that had been a testament to countless late-night study sessions and scholarly pursuits was now styled into a deliberately messy, yet somehow immaculate coiffure, enhancing your new, almost cartoonish bravado. The glasses, once an integral part of your identity, now seemed ridiculously out of place; you tossed them aside, reveling in the newfound sharpness of your unadorned eyes.

Mentally, the shift was no less dramatic. Where once your thoughts had flowed in intricate patterns, analyzing and questioning, they were now replaced by a constant buzz of shallow, self-centered pursuits. Your mind, which had been a labyrinth of intellectual curiosity, was now a playground for the most banal and vulgar thoughts. Conversations that once sparked deep, meaningful exchanges were now riddled with crude slang, boastful claims, and an insatiable hunger for attention. Your vocabulary transformed overnight; every sentence was laced with a brand of slang that made you sound more like a caricature from a trashy reality show than a genuine individual. The sophisticated, thoughtful responses you once offered were now replaced with loud, brash declarations that sought only to provoke and entertain.

Your wardrobe, too, underwent a radical overhaul. The practical, unassuming clothes that had defined your previous existence were cast aside in favor of an array of flashy, branded attire. The transition from worn-out graphic tees and ill-fitting jeans to ostentatious tracksuits and neon-colored trainers was jarring. The clothing didn’t just fit; it shouted for attention with every movement. Chains of gold, chunky and gaudy, now hung around your neck, catching every glimmer of light and drawing eyes in a way that was both deliberate and desperate. The formerly subdued fashion sense that had reflected a preference for comfort and practicality was now an over-the-top display of conspicuous consumption.

Socially, your new persona was a force of nature, a polar opposite to your former self. The shy, reserved figure who used to lurk on the periphery of social gatherings was replaced by a loud, brash presence who thrived on disrupting the status quo. Parties and gatherings were now stages for your performances, where every joke, every comment, was aimed at drawing attention and eliciting reactions. You were no longer an observer; you were a performer, and the world was your stage. The quiet introspection that had once been your solace was replaced by a relentless drive to be noticed, to be the loudest, the brashest, the most over-the-top version of yourself imaginable.

As "chavlad.mp3" continued its relentless, pounding loop, it was as if the music had become the soundtrack of your new life, a constant reminder of the seismic shift from a thoughtful nerd to an overtly obnoxious chav lad. The transformation was both exhilarating and disorienting, leaving you in a state of bemused acceptance. What began as a simple attempt to hack Spotify had somehow unleashed a whirlwind of change, turning you into a caricature of every stereotype you once scorned. Yet, amidst the chaos, you found yourself embracing this new persona with a mix of bewildered pride and a fierce, if misguided, sense of identity.

You stand in front of the mirror, mesmerized by your new reflection. Gone are the days of gay thoughts clouding your mind - now you're a straight chav lad with nothing but pure lust coursing through your veins. As you gaze into those piercing blue eyes staring back at you, something stirs within.

Your mind begins to wander as memories from before fade away like dust in the wind. All that remains is this moment, this powerful urge to satisfy yourself and let go of all inhibitions. Slowly but surely, images flash across your vision: buxom women strutting their stuff on stage; tight jeans clinging to toned legs; muscular arms flexed beneath tattoos depicting everything from dragons to tribal symbols - each image more arousing than the last!

Without thinking twice about it, you reach for your laptop and begin scrolling through porn sites without any idea where exactly they lead or what kind of content awaits inside those pages (because honestly who cares). Every tab opened reveals another treasure trove filled with lustful desires begging for release - women engaging in various acts both intimate and daring while men watch eagerly awaiting their turn at playtime!

And then it happens… an image so intense that every other thought flees from consciousness leaving only one clear objective behind: pleasure yourself until satisfaction is achieved! A curvaceous brunette lies spread eagle on top bed sheets beckoning seductively as she teases viewers by slowly undress herself bit by bit before finally barring all - revealing her perfectly formed breasts glistening under soft light… In response, unbridled passion consumes every fiber within resulting into uncontrollable throbbings between legs prompt immediate action which involves hastily pulling down trousers followed shortly after by swift strokes aimed directly towards achieving climax.

[macgyvermedical]

can you talk a little about wegovy and muonjaro for weight loss?

The answer is maybe.

If it were just the drugs themselves, I'd say absolutely. But there is a surprising amount of cultural baggage associated with these medications, and I don't really know that I can do them justice.

So first, let's talk about weight. There's a fantastic book called "Fat Talk" by Virginia Sole-Smith, about being overweight or obese in an age that prioritizes thinness, and how diet culture in particular is a threat to young people. Another, called "Intuitive Eating" by Elyse Resch, discusses how calorie restriction- commonly cited as the "way" to lose weight along with exercise- only works once or twice, because our bodies get wise to it and want to hold onto fat.

Humans evolved to gain weight. Fat is how we store energy for times when we might not have enough to eat. And if "not having enough to eat" (whether because of famine or because of calorie restrictive dieting) happens repeatedly, we have evolved to change hormones and metabolism so we a) don't need as much food to stay alive and b) are primed to eat more food than we need when it is available.

Aren't human bodies cool?

In the medical world, there are a lot of things tied to weight. For example, statistically, being overweight or obese means you're more likely to have health conditions like high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease. It is unclear, though, if those problems are caused by the weight itself, or other dietary, activity, and behavior patterns that may also happen to contribute to the weight gain. Things like a sedentary lifestyle, frequent consumption of foods with low nutritional value, avoidance of medical care due to stigma, or even chronic calorie restrictive dieting.

Unfortunately, due to this statistical tie, there is a lot of effort made in the medical world to get patients to "lose weight at any cost" instead of recommending dietary, activity, and behavior changes for health reasons alone.

Culturally as well, we prioritize thinness as attractiveness. I remember in high school there was a poster in my health classroom that read "Ideal weight- or it might be hard to get a date!". There are lots of negative associations with people who carry more weight, including that they are lazy or stupid- things that have nothing to do with body size.

Now, that doesn't mean that there aren't things that could be benefits of losing weight. For example, joint and back pain can be improved with weight loss. But weight loss is probably not the end-all be-all cure-all it's touted to be.

Because it is really hard for most people to meet this standard of "lose weight at any cost", there has long been medications that purportedly help people lose weight. Most of these medications have been stimulants, which decrease appetite and make it more comfortable to engage in calorie restrictive dieting. They also increase energy, which can make it easier to exercise or tolerate more exercise than would otherwise be possible.

Before we talk about the drugs, I want to say- there are risks and benefits to all medications, including these! The discussion you should always have is what risks are you and your healthcare provider willing to tolerate for the potential positive outcome. Also, this is a discussion of the drugs when used for weight control. The same drugs used for diabetes are at different dosages and have potentially different risk/benefit comparisons.

Ozempic/Wegovy (semaglutide) and Mounjaro/Zepbound (tirzepatide) are both a type of medication called a GLP-1 agonist. GLP-1 agonists are also called incretin mimics, because they mimic a type of hormone (incretin) that tells the brain and body that it is full. This makes it easier to eat a small amount of high nutrition food and feel satisfied. They also work by increasing metabolism. Between the decreased consumption and the increased metabolism, weight is lost.

Over the course of a year and a half, tirzepatide causes about 15-20% average reduction in body weight with continued use. Over the course of about the same time, semaglutide causes an average of about 15% body weight reduction with continuous use. Say, for example, you weigh 100kg. A year and a half on one of these medications could get you down to 85kg.

The problem is, as soon as that drug is withdrawn, the body realizes it was starving, and tries to compensate. These drugs are good at getting rid of weight, but maintaining a new weight usually means staying on a lower dose of the drug perpetually. Most people regain all weight (and potentially more than they lost) within 5 years of stopping the drugs.

Some studies suggest that repeatedly regaining lost weight may be more detrimental to health than remaining overweight or obese when it comes to statistical risk of type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and other "weight-associated" illnesses.

The main side effects are GI-related. Most of these are nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, gas/bloating, constipation, dizziness, and abdominal pain. More severe side effects include pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas) and gasteroparesis (paralysis of the stomach and part of the digestive tract).

[soadawritesstuff]

Video games

Pairing: best friend!touya todoroki x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut with too much plot, fluff (?), Minors DNI, quirkless au, friends-to-lovers, unprotected sex, penetration, oral sex (fem. receiving), mild swearing, pet-names (doll, princess etc.), intoxication, alcohol consumption, reader isn't referred to by name, reader has female genetalia, probably some grammar mistakes

Synopsis: What was supposed to be a comfortable game-night with your best friend quickly took a drift as the drinking game Touya suggested leads to something way steamier

A/N: I don't know why and how this ended up this long but I had a bunch of fun with it. Also this turned out fluffier than intended, you're welcome lol. Of course all characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. The banner is from the Manga Dengeki Daisy.

You were excited for this weekend. Not that you weren't excited for every other weekend as well, but you have been looking forward to seeing your best friend since he texted you a long awaited: "Hey, I finally got this weekend off, wanna hang?"

You haven't seen Touya in MONTHS, both his job and your schedule occupied too much time for a proper meet-up. Every time you planned something, a random emergency prevented it from happening: a curse that seemed to haunt the both of you.

So Touya and you agreed to just have a slow day, veg on his couch and play video games. Maybe watch a Ghibli movie as well. Anything else was too stressfull and neither of you had the energy to do something more elaborate. Both of you organised snacks (which were, of course ,already carefully chosen over text) and you brought games from home in case Touya didn't already have them.

At exactly 7pm you stood in front of your best friend's apartment door, knocking your usual knock-pattern the two of you created when you were kids. His doorbell didn't work and he was too busy but also too lazy to fix it, he wouldn't even contact his landlord about it.

You heard mufffled curses shortly after you knocked followed by rushed shuffeling which you presumed was Touya's attempt of quickly cleaning up. A notorious procrastinator as usual. The door openes and in front of you appears a slightly messy looking Touya in black sweats and a white shirt. A wide grin spreads on both of your faces as he steps forward to hug you.

His hugs were the bomb, you always felt so safe and warm whenever you hugged him. His cologne sneaks it's way up your nose as your face is comfortably smooshed against Touya's chest, a boyish chuckle escaping from the man that you call your best friend.

"I missed ya, you clown", his big hands ruffle your hair making you squeal as you shimmey out of his hug, your hands trying to fix what he so shamelessly destroyed.

"My haiiir, Touya you ASS"

"What, doesn't matter anyways, it's just me", a mischievous glint flickers in his eyes, "Or did you pretty yorself up just for me?". Not even 5 minutes in and he already got an eyeroll out of you.

"In your dreams, dirtface"

And with that you waste no time and march right into is apartment. You just hear a "yeah yeah" behind you but you will not give into his bs just yet.

You toss your sneakers next to the entrance and flop down on his comfy couch. So many mario kart sessions were held on that couch. Glorious victories and devastating losses.

"So, what are we playin'?", you hear Touya shifting around in the kitchen that is connected to the living-space.

"Mario Kart and whatever I have laying around", he carries the chips bag he just got over to the couch, already snatching one from the bag before you even got the chance to grab some.

A grin spreads on your face.

"Oh I will so kick your ass"

"big words for a loser"

"You are dead meat Tou"

And with that the two of you busy yourselves with cussing each other out and laughing, both of you blue-shelling the other countless times. Touya's winning tactic consits of trying to block your range of motion so dealing with him taking over all your couch-space made it hard for you to get a win.

After two hours both of you got bored, you played every track a billion times.

"I wish there was a new game-mode or something" you sat criss-cross on Touya's couch, head resting on his shoulder as he puts his controller to the side.

"How about we turn this into a drinking game?", you turn your head too look at him. He just smirks. The suggestion lingers in your mind for a few seconds.

"And how exactly would that work?"

"Hold on"

Touya swiftly makes his way to the kitchen. You hear glasses clinking and the fridge being opened. Shortly after your best friend returns with two shot glasses and a bottle of Vodka.

"Woahh, I haven't had a sip of alcohol in a year, ain't that a bit much?"

"Oh relax, you're gonna be fiiine", Touya puts the two shot glasses down in front of you on the couch-table.

"It's simple. We play rainbow road. Whenever someone falls down the track, they take a shot. First one to finish the race wins. Easy enough, right?"

"..I don't know Touya"

"You're just scared you're gonna lose", that mischievous look returns on his face.

"Am not!"

"Oh? What was that?", Touya begins to make chicken noises "I think I just heard a chicken"

"Stop it Touya!"

"There it was again, chicken." You try to swat him, unsuccessfully. "What's wrong chicken? You scared that you're gonna lose?Hm? HM?!"

"FINE", there was no way getting out of this one. Once Touya has an idea you basically already lost. It's not like you want to be a killjoy or boring, you just weren't sure what would happen if both of you were highly drunk. You weren't sure nothing would happen. And you didn't know what would happen to your friendship. Touya and you were always playfully flirty around each other and you would be lying if you said you didn't wish you were more than best friends sometimes.

But you couldn't lose your oldest and strongest friendship in your life. Everything was way too risky for your liking. But Touya's pain-in-the-assery left you no other choice.

You forgot all about your previous worries as soon as you started playing.

The first few rounds weren't too bad, you only fell off the evil rainbow-track a couple of times and even won one race. But with every round it got significantly harder, with every shot the track got even more evil. Touya fell off a good amount of times as well, but he seemed to be holding up much better than you.

.

You were laughing histerically as Touya fell off the track shortly before the finish line, allowing the Luigi NPC to win instead of him. Both of you lost count of how many shots you drank and how many rounds you actually played.

"Tou I am exhaustedddd"

"Jus' one more doll", Touya had swung his arm around you some time before this round but you honestly didn't remember when.

"Nah Tou, I can't anymoreee", Touya leans close tou your ear, squeezing you closer to him.

"Please doll, I promise 's the last one" his tired and gravelly voice slurred against the shell of your ear.

"I can't hold my 'ontroller right, I'll die if I fall off one more time"

"Y'don't have to play alone, w'can play together, see", he grabs your waist and shifts you between his criss-crossed legs, your back hitting his torso.

"Ya don't need to drink, I jus wanna play one last round", He loops his arms around your waist, putting his chin on top of your head and pulling you closer.

"Here, we'll play with my controller"

Touya pushes his controller into your hands, placing his on top of yours while his head still sat on top of yours.

He was so painfully close, your face turning hotter and hotter the longer you played. Him guiding your hands lazily while watching the track had something oddly comforting as well as feeling his heartbeat pressed against your back. Everything was just so warm and fuzzy, you didn't even notice the growing hard-on in your best friend's sweatpants.

It was only after you made the finish line that you felt a certain something poking your lower back. Holy crap.

"Touya.."

"Mmm?"

"I can feel you.."

Silence. He probably didn't immediately catch what you even meant.

"I mean your dick"

Oh.

His body shifts slightly, you can feel it even more now. Touya grabs your waist again, electricity rushing through your veins.

"Sorry doll, 's just what happens when your body is that close", his voice is just above a whisper by now. Touya's hot breath trickles your neck, all your hair stands on end.

"I just don't really know what to do" your voice left the chat long ago. You can't bring yourself to speak up, even now your words come out shaky.

"Do you want to do something?" Touya starts to nibble just behind your ear, freeing a whimper from your lips.

"Tou~..."

"If you wanna stop, y'gotta tell me now. Because I won't.."

You can't even think straight. Everything turned foggy and you don't know if it's Touya or the alcohol.

"I...don't want to stop"

"Good", his voice is barely audible yet so dominant.

Touya proceeds to place a trail of kisses down your neck, stopping at the base to leave a nasty hickey along the way. Your hands find his hair as Touya slowly starts to peel off the layers of your outfit, one-by-one. You turn around to face him, all of your garments on the floor except for your underwear.

The look in his eyes is swarmed with lust and something unreadable, that face of his is so incredibly close but something keeps you from connecting your lips to his. He places a hand onto the small of your back and lays you back-down onto the couch. Something about him hovering above you gives you the worst case of butterflies in your stomach, excitement and arousal bubbles up and spreads across your entire body.

Sitting on his knees, staring down at your exposed body, the white haired man pulls his shirt above his head, revealing just the silver chain around his neck and a trail of white pubic hair down his abdomen. He tosses the shirt aside and leans down, him now nestled between your legs and caging you with his arms on either side of your head.

"You don't know what you do to me, doll", you just hear the jingle of his necklace as he leans down, engulfed by him and his smell. The tension is intoxicating, his forehead on yours, heavy breathing. The heat radiating off of both your bodies.

"I wanted this for so long", you swallow, your tounge feels endlessly heavy. "Please..", you can only mouth that word.

His lips brush against yours, breath hitching. You need to dive deeper into him. You grab his head and let your lips crash together, both of you finally fusing into one. It's so strong, his lips taking control as he devours you with one passionate kiss. Your head spins. You've always imagined this moment yet it was never as intense as it really is.

You feel Touya's hands wander down your body, grazing your sides and gliding to your hips, where he slowly slides his fingers underneath your panties. Goosebumps follow everywhere he touches. Still mid-kiss, your panties are slid down and tossed across the room, followed by your bra. He finally breaks the kiss only to slide down your body and plant himself between you legs, eyes looking up and finding yours. The boyish grin on his face sends a shockwave through your body.

You are too dazed to react in any sort of way, glossy eyes just pleading for him to eat you out. His hungry gaze fuels the fire in your lower abdomen, causing heat to pool between your thighs. Touya dips down, carefully placing kisses and licks to your inner thighs and outer folds, diving deeper and deeper. The man has you squeaking and yelping in no-time.

You always knew he got around plenty yet it never hit you until now, his experience clearly showing as he licks every little crevice and circles your clit expertly. Your legs are shaking violently, somehow you're gonna crush his head between your thighs with your orgasm oh so close. Closer and closer until it suddenly rips through you, hands buried in his white hair as your whole body tenses up and then collapses right in front of the man that makes your world crash down. It's like a supernova exploded right inside your mind, everything goes blank. Nothing but euphoria.

You've never experienced a climax that overwhelming before, you can't stop shaking while tears roll down your eyes.

"Shhh, woah, it's ok, it's ok" Touya's voice calms you as he brushes your tears away with his thumb.

"Are you alright? We can stop if you need a break", you slowly calm down from your high and take his hand to press a kiss against his palm.

"I'm good Tou, just...need a second" you try to supress the sniffles while you wait for your nervous system to rebuild itself again. A few seconds pass by when you finally collect yourself.

"wanna keep going", you smile softly.

"As you say, princess".

With a quick peck to the cheek and a squeeze to your thigh, Touya sits up to slide his dark sweats and boxers down. His length is impressive yet not monstrous. The nice curvy shaft and pretty pink tip make your mouth water, you didn't know a dick can be this pretty.

Your awestruck gaze makes Touya chuckle as he pumps himself a couple of times before positioning himself between your legs again.

"One last chance to stop"

You place your hand on the side of his face as he leans forward. "I want this Touya, please", and with a passionate kiss your once-best-friend slowly slides into your messy folds, stretching you out so deliciously you could've cum just from that.

After some adjusting, the both of you start to settle for a slow but balls-deep rythm, moaning into each other with hands and lips everywhere. After some shifting and re-positioning Touya eventually finds that one special spot that makes you scream his name like a damn prayer, hitting it over and over again.

You clamp down, the sensation too much when he reaches down to fondle your clit. After a few more thrusts you collapse again, this orgasm even stronger than the first one. Your eyes meet Touya's as he fucks you through your orgasm, dick twitching and gaze clouded with so many emotions at once. "Fuck, princess you squeeze...so..hard", with that he fills you up to the brim, cum shooting into your still convulsing walls. You remain like this for a couple of minutes to come down from both your earth-shattering orgasms.

Touya just collapses on top of you, still inside you but too tired to do anything about it. He hugs you tightly.

"You are..so amazing doll"

You are both still slightly out of breath as you fall into a deep sleep with you in Touya's arms. You forgot to turn off the Tv, the dim light shining on both of your intertwined bodies.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Prerequisite

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You attempt to move on from your time with Professor Hansen, but can't seem to shake the past.. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, some Lloyd Hansen

A note on reader characters:

For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Flora, previously featured in Below Average. This fic also features characters from various installments.

Note: Finally got this on paper.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at the front of the lecture hall. It's your last choice in elective but the only one you could get to pad out your schedule. Law. Hardly riveting stuff.

What's more intriguing is the professor. No, no, you haven't acquired a taste for them, if anything Hansen taught you to be wary of them. The very lesson that has you glaring down at Professor Barber, waiting for his first slip.

You're not clever by any means, you're just the only one looking for the signs. The same ones you saw in Tweed at your first meeting, those that you catch in yourself, and the other girls who won't say the truth aloud. 

Brownie, that's the one. You see the way he looks at her and you note how she stays after class, every week. Only three weeks so far but a pattern is a pattern.

You twist your pen, the nib poking out, then do it again, retracting it. The clicking noise forms a tempo at your listless fidgeting. You have a study date tonight with the girls, what’s one more? You’re forming a habit of taking on lost souls, yourself just another wisp floating in the void.

You scribble down the date for your next quiz, your mind hardly processing the words as you guide the pen. You’re trying to plot your approach. You think you have an idea.

As Professor Barber dismisses class, you slide your notebook into your bag and hike it up onto your shoulder. At the edge of the row, as usual, you quickly descend as Brownie stays in her seat, waiting and watching her feet. You catch the small glances aimed in her direction from the man behind the podium.

You take out your phone and quickly text Cookie; ‘you got room for one more?’

You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind, it’s a warning, not a question.

“Hey,” you come around the front row. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Or she’s ignoring you, “um, Brownie?”

She looks up, startled. She sends a look towards Barber but you ignore him. You cross your arms and sway, your skirt stirring around your legs.

“Remember me?” You ask, “you lent me your pen?”

“Oh, uh, I remember,” she squeaks, her voice thin and raw, as if she never uses it, “hi.”

“Um, so,” you try to sound casual, “I’m not really a law student. English,” you touch your chest and smile, “and I think I could use a study buddy, if you’re interested?”

“Er, oh?” Her brows draw together, “I don’t know…” she scratches her neck, another peek at the professor, “I–”

“Do you have plans? Or maybe you already have someone to study with,” you look away and frown, “sorry, I just figured I’d ask. I need someone to help me make sense of all this. I’m totally lost.”

There’s a subtle rumble, a noise you likely wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know to listen for it. You don’t even glance back at Barber as you hear him packing up. You sit in the chair next to Brownie and smile.

“I just figured you’re like, the smartest person in the class, and I need this grade to bring my average up. Please?”

She chews her lip and plays with the high collar of her turtleneck. She hides beneath her lashes, shrugging before she manages a tiny nod. Her fingers flutter and she shivers nervously.

“I can help,” she presses her fingers to the ribbed fabric of her shirt, “sure, I…”

“Me and my friends are meeting tonight, we’re getting pizza,” you chirp, “wanna tag along?”

“Friends?” She bats her eyes at you frightfully.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re all super friendly and they’ll love you.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not very…” she speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say much,” you assure her, “Cookie always bakes way too many brownies. You could help us finish them, huh?”

She looks terrified. Her mouth scrunches and shifts back and forth as she measures her options. You know exactly what she’s thinking. That man will be disappointed. Well, let him be. Unless he wants to step forward and admit that he’s fucking a goddamn student.

“Hm, okay, but… just for a little. I can’t stay very long.”

“Just until I figure out what actus reus means, alright?” You stand and send a sharp look towards the professor. He quickly dips his chin down in feigned concentration as he looks over his notes. Not today, fucker.

“Okay,” she gets up and lifts a crochet bag, her hand shaking as she tucks away her laptop in the slouchy purse, “um, I’m sorry, but… I forgot your name.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you wait for her to pass you before walking at her side towards the door. She’s still hesitant and reluctant as she looks over her shoulder, “Flora.”

💮

“This is Brownie,” you introduce the mousy addition to the girls as she tries to fade into the blue wall, “she’s in my law class.”

She doesn’t move. She just looks up with round eyes as the others cheerily call out their welcome, already clustered around the table amid coffee cups, laptops, and a few baked goods. The scent of cinnamon mingles with the stale caffeine.

“Welcome, Brownie,” Muse gives both of you a start as she appears at the girl’s other shoulder, “I’m Muse! Oh, you have wise eyes.” She flutters around the girl, a boa around her shoulders, “you would look wonderful in jade. Yes, it would highlight your undertones.”

Brownie frowns and mutters, but you can’t tell if it's a thank you or just a whimper.

“She says I’m a sapphire type,” you remark as you wave her away from the door, “you can toss your coat with ours,” you motion to the bench bench piled with outerwear, “then I’ll introduce you to the rest… they’re not as bouncy as Muse.”

Brownie gives up her dark gray coat and steps out of her plain boots. She dresses in a very simple way. Turtle necks, corduroys, nothing with much shape or structure. Her style can be best described as part of the wall.

“So,” you walk just ahead of her. She stays behind you as if trying to hide, “Tweed, Foxy, Sunny,” you point out the three girls at the table, “you met Muse,” you look at the artsy wraith fluttering around the counter, “and Cookie, our host.” 

The woman in question puts down a plate of sugar cookies, “hi, nice to meet you! I’ll find an extra chair.”

Brownie doesn’t say a word. You realise it might be a bit overwhelming. She reminds you of Tweed in that way. You point her to a chair and assure her you’ll take whatever Cookie comes up with. She sits, hugging her bag in her lap as she stares at the table.

Foxy gets up as you head for the counter, you pause and look back at Brownie, “you want some tea? Something to drink?”

She chews her lip before she answers, “water, please, if that’s okay.”

You nod and go to the cupboard. Foxy comes up next to you and leans on the counter as you shift to pull out the water jug from the fridge. You come back to her as she keeps her voice low.

“What’s up with that one?”

“Law professor, I think,” you mutter, “could barely get her here.”

“Fuck, another one, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, you know, shitty men everywhere,” you fill the glass, “I brought her here to try to forget all that. Like the rest of us.”

“Sure thing,” she taps the countertop with her nails and pushes off.

You put the jug back and take the water over to Brownie as Cookie emerges with a small white stool. You accept it, the seat lower than the rest so that you feel like a kid at the table. You pull out your laptop and open it up. Your phone slides out with it and you catch it as notifications flash on the screen.

You tap your thumb to expand the preview; Insta, emails, and a text that neither surprises or interests you. Professor Dillhole’s message is swiped away without reading a single word. You got your grade and now you’re done with him. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“So, Brownie, you’re in law? Are you going to be a lawyer?” Foxy asks.

Brownie shrugs and nods. You wonder for a moment how she’ll manage a courtroom when she can barely give a vocal answer. Well, she has lots of time to figure that out.

“That’s really cool,” you say, “you know, I don’t have the mind for all that. I can’t really sort out one act from the rest. I’m more into bigger narratives than the tiny details.”

She looks at you, still hugging her bag. She’s ready to leave at any moment.

“Why don’t you stay a while?” You poke her bag, “how about we compare notes? I’m sure I missed all the important stuff. This tort gibberish is doing my head in.”

She puts her chin down and slowly lifts the flap of her bag. She slides out her laptop and gently lowers the bag between her feet. She opens the lid, almost reluctant, and her desktop comes to life. You see the email in the corner right before the notif flicks away. A.Barber… Mmm.

For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your impromptu invitation doesn’t cost her anything. That he doesn’t hold it against her. You should’ve thought of that sooner.

“Let me find…” she trails off, her finger running over the trackpad.

You wait patiently. No, you don’t feel bad. She deserves this. Like the rest of you, she needs a place to get away. Just a single space where she doesn’t have to be crushed under his thumb.

💮

You sit outside of Dean Drysdale’s office. His secretary types away at her keyboard and you twirl your phone in your grip. It’s mostly a paperweight these days as you ignore almost every message that comes in. Blocking didn’t work on that jag off.

You jiggle your foot anxiously. This meeting is important. You really need this scholarship and through the grace of your hard work, and the regrettable cooperation of a particular professor, you’ve met all the requirements. The last piece, an interview with the dean.

The clock ticks, drawing your attention in the stagnant office. It’s five after. The dean is running late. That doesn’t really matter, he can do whatever he wants. But you’re early and that can only help in his consideration.

You hear muffled voices near the other side of the door. Shadows darken the frosted glass emblazoned with the dean’s name and credentials. You sit up straight but try not to look too eager. The door opens and your heart falls into your ass. Fuck, not this guy.

“Friday,” Dean Drysdale claps Lloyd’s back as they emerge from the office.

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd returns but his eyes are on you, “ah, sorry,” he says to you, “didn’t mean to keep him so late.”

“No problem, professor,” you stand and grip the strap of your bag, masking your disgust with a smile, “Dean Drysdale,” you greet the other man, “nice to meet you. I’m Flora.”

“The one and only,” he doesn’t offer his hand, “looks like you’re running behind so better get started.” He points you into his office, “later, Hansen.”

He tosses the last remark over his shoulder as he turns to follow you through the door. You enter and hover across from his desk. You hate to be presumptuous. He shuts the door with a click.

“Sit,” he orders tersely as he rounds the desk and falls heavy into the leather chair.

You lower yourself. Your nerves are wily, especially after seeing Professor Hansen. You had no idea he was close with the dean.

“Hansen speaks highly of you,” he begins, “as do the rest of your professors.”

“Oh, I, that’s great.”

“So, I have thirty candidates. Why should I choose you?” He leans back, elbow on the armrest, posture nonchalant as he swivels.

“Um, well, I work hard. I keep my average up where it needs to be. I have gotten involved in quite a few extracurriculars, I helped with the library bakesale and–”

“Boring. Got it. That’s all in your application,” he dismisses, “just like all the other ones. Bunch of filler. But why you?”

You’re speechless. You prepared for this but you feel as if you fell into this from thin air. You don’t know what he wants to hear.

“How many parties have you been to?” He asks suddenly.

“What?” You can’t help your surprise.

“Come on. You’re a young coed. I know how it is. So, let’s narrow it down. Fall term, how many?”

You squint and look at the wall, thinking. You’re not much of a partier. You twiddle your fingers and count in your head.

“Four, maybe,” you push your shoulders up. “I don’t really… I mostly just spend my spare time with my friends–”

“Are they hot?” He chuckles and sits up, your mouth falling open. “Relax, I hate these things. So uptight,” he rolls his shoulders as he wheels closer to the desk and plants his elbows, “at least you're honest. The last six freshmen that sat there insisted on a big O. Think they would see the plaque and realise I’m not stupid.”

“Well, I… yeah,” you chew on the tip of your tongue. You really don’t know how to proceed. “I brought a portfolio of my essays–”

“No time for that,” he waves his hand at you, “think I got the picture.”

“Oh,” you frown.

He stares at you, poking his cheek with his tongue as his brows draw together. He hums and sits back, once more swiveling back and forth. He tilts his head and clucks.

“You’ll hear from my secretary,” he declares at last.

“That’s it?” You gulp.

“Yeah, whatever, I got about five more of these today and I need a fucking coffee,” he lifts his feet onto his desk. “Be a doll and send in Sienna when you leave.”

“Um, okay,” you stand slowly, “thanks for your time.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes out his phone. You hide your unease and leave. As you emerge you see the name card on the secretary’s desk. Sienna.

“Er, he told me to send you in,” you approach.

She looks up at you and snaps her gum, “great.”

She gets up as she rolls her eyes and you swiftly march past the desk. You don’t understand what just happened. Did you fuck it up? What did Hansen say? Oh my fucking good, you swear if he–

Your thoughts race ahead of your feet as they carry you without intention. You find yourself in the stairwell, stunned and confused. You turn down the first flight only to dodge out of the way of a figure coming up. You yipe as you find yourself shoved into the corner, Lloyd’s arms outstretched to pen you in.

His hands brace the painted brick as he smirks down at you, “hey, sweet cheeks, long time, no suck.”

You curl your lip at him and snarl, “get away from me.”

You shove on his chest and he retracts his hands, grabbing your wrists. You struggle with him but he easily pushes your hands up, pinning them to the wall. He leers as looms in front of you, his eyes scanning down your body.

“Damn, I forgot how good you look in those skirts. Panties or nah?”

“Fuck off–”

“Always looked better around your waist–”

“I said get the fuck off of me. I’ll scream–”

“I’d love to hear it,” he snickers, “what happened to us, flower? We were doing great. Living life, fucking hard.”

“You’re an animal–”

“We had a good thing, the whole professor-with-benefits gig worked for us, didn’t it? It sure as hell loosened you up. Look at you, all wound tight–”

You snap your teeth at him and he recoils, barely saving his nose from the chomp. He cackles and keeps you trapped, squeezing your wrists tighter. His laughter rolls out to a growl.

“You know, if you get that scholarship, they need two professor’s to sign off on it… but you know, I don’t just put my name on anything–”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I fucking am when I got blue balls, honey,” he scoffs, “just touch em. A little bit.”

You grit your teeth and throw your knee up. You yank your hands free and shoulder past Lloyd as he bends and grips his crotch. He chokes on his breath as he leans against the wall. You bluster away as quickly as you can.

“Not like that,” he gurgles as you charge down the stairs, dizzy as you turn down the next flight. 

So much for that scholarship.

💮

You stare at the C circled in red on your last quiz. Law isn’t your forte, that’s clear. Your GPA and hopes for that scholarship are dwindling in that simple little letter. You look up at the front of the lecture hall as Professor Barber reclaims the podium, preparing to take up the answers as he does every other week.

You sit closer than before. You’re always sure to take the seat next to Brownie and she has yet to tell you to stop. Something about her though suggests that she won’t ever do that. No has been erased from her vocabulary.

You don’t miss the Professor’s eyes as they flit up to your study buddy but quickly meet your own. He darts them away, caught. You wonder, however, if your middling grade has something to do with that. Oh well, you won’t regret doing the right thing.

As you open your laptop, an email pops up in the corner. ‘On Behalf of Dean R. Drysdale’. You click on it before you can stop yourself. You’re holding your breath. You read it slowly.

‘Schedule a follow up for the dean’s decision’.

What? That’s not an answer. Fuck. Why can’t they just put it right there? Yes or no. You have to stop yourself from slamming your laptop shut. You grab your quiz and rest it over your keyboard. You look over at Brownie, she stares at the paper in her hand. She got an A, as always.

“Good job,” you whisper.

“Mmm, yeah,” she returns as she drops the quiz onto her folding desk. “He’s a good teacher…”

“Sure,” you accept dryly.

She glances at you but says nothing. You hate to be sharp with her but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. You’re just smart enough to know to be cautious. You can only be there for her when she needs you. It would be too risky to do anything else. And not fair to Brownie, that man could destroy her career. You’ve been her, you just hope she finds her way out.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Barber calls out, quieting the class, “it seems we need a lot of review on case law.”

💮

The hour is unexpected but you don’t think much of it. A dean is busier than most and you can’t help but imagine that Drysdale is even less elated to be meeting at such an off-time. Seven in the evening on a Friday is prime time, even for those outside the coed population.

You show up to an empty office. Sienna is gone, the place desolate. The vibe is off. Something about it reminds you of another meeting. No, this isn’t Hansen. Still, you’re on edge, vigilant as you approach the dean’s door, an amber glow through the frosted glass.

You knock and cross one arm over your chest, clutching your upper arm. You sway as you wait. Deja vu paralyses you on the spot. It can’t be. It can’t happen twice. This is about the scholarship.

The door opens and Drysdale steps back as he gives a flippant greeting, “come in.”

He has a glass in hand, a dark brown liquid in marbled crystal. He sips as the door falls open. You step inside and look around the office, the framed degree behind his chair and the several photographs placed around them; a previous dean with his imperious features, and a large house with a rustic landscape crowded around it. You hover at the threshold.

“Close the door,” he sits heavily, “these old buildings are drafty as–” he stops himself and smirks. 

He drains the last of his drink, liquor by your measure, and puts it on the marble coaster. You shut the door and sit, just like last time. You can’t help but be slightly irked to think he brought you all the way here to issue you a rejection.

“So, top three,” he points a finger gun at you as he slumps in the same lackadaisical way, “Flora… you’re a star. Shining reviews. Can’t say my professors ever said anything nice about me but you… you even got Hansen singing your praises.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“I’ve known him a while. We were in the same frat, you know? He was a senior when I was a freshman, hazed me real good but look how things turned out,” he leans an elbow on the armrest and cradles his chin. He watches you. “All these years and I never heard him say anything nice about a fucking student.”

You’re put off by the obscenity. Further, upended by his history with Lloyd. What does that have to do with anything?

“You know, he’s all about self-discipline but you get a few scotches down his gullet and he’s like an open book. Also…” he raises a finger, “leaves his phone unlocked.”

You try not to let that suspicion turn to panic. He can’t know. Even if he did, it’s not your fault. He should be talking with Hansen, not you. He’s the one abusing his position.

“You let him fuck you in his car,” he sits up and laughs, his hand on his stomach, “looking at you, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? How–”

“I mean, he was hitting it from quite the angle so I don’t blame you for not noticing the phone in his front pocket…”

“No.”

“Yes,” he cackles. “Listen, sweetie, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Some girls just don’t have anything else to offer, so who am I to be mad if they use what they got.”

“I’m not– I’m not like that. He made me–”

“Oh, I’m sure the promise of an A plus helped,” he scoffs as he lets his hand drift down his stomach, “so what can a scholarship get me?”

He gropes himself through his russet coloured pants. Your throat constricts as you clutch your purse tight in your lap. You’re rigid, alight in horror and shame. Of course Lloyd didn’t walk away without something.

“I’ve waited twenty years for this,” he plants his feet.

“No, I’m not– I’m not doing this again.”

You stand and Drysdale rips his hand away from his crotch, snapping his fingers, “with that video, I could take you to the review board and have you kicked out. Not only that, all your credits would be invalidated.”

You swallow and wince. No, this can’t be happening. Again. You’re stronger than this. You’re worth more than these men’s dicks.

“So, sweetie pie,” he reaches forward and takes his phone off his desk, “we’re gonna make a nice little video for Hansen and show him how it’s really done.”

You shudder and hug yourself, “I…” your throat is dry, your heart hollow. What other choice do you have? You’ll lose everything. “I’ll do it, but no video. Please.”

“My rules. I am the dean and you are… the slutty coed.” He tuts, “mmm, classic Pornhub fodder.” He taps the screen of his phone, “let’s go. Get your clothes off.”

He aims the lens at you. You look at the floor. You can’t move.

“Please, turn it off.”

“Get your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, “I want to remind that fuckface what he’s missing out on.”

You dig your nails into the back of your arms then let go. You keep your head down as you lift the strap of your purse over your head and throw it in the chair behind you. You unzip your coat and shrug it off. The room rings in your ear and blurs in your vision. Your breaths are shallow and painful. Your skin is buzzing.

Your coat falls and you pull down the straps of the denim dress you wear over a flowered blouse. You shimmy it past your waist and peek up for just a minute. Drysdale bites his thumb as he records you.

You quickly tear away your gaze and continue. You unbutton the blouse and turn as you fight to free your wrists from the cuffs. Goosebumps speckle over your skin. You close your eyes and ball your hands before pushing your fingers wide. You touch the top of your stockings.

“You can leave those on, cheeks.”

You gulp and retract your hands. You pause and turn back to face the desk.

“Tits out, ass out, go on.”

No wonder he’s tight with Lloyd. Birds of a feather. You reach back to undo your bra and sling it onto the chair. You hook your thumbs in your panties and step out of them.

“I always liked an extra helping,” Drysdale taunts, “her cups overfloweth… is that Shakespeare?”

You don’t answer. You fight the urge to hide behind your arms. You raise your head. You have a morsel of dignity left in you.

“Come here,” he demands, “I wanna fuck those tits.”

You cringe but obey. If Lloyd taught you anything it was to just get it over with. You round the desk as he opens his fly. He pulls himself out above the zipper, playing with himself, rolling his thumb over his tip as he growls.

“Knees, baby, I’m sure you know the drill,” he snickers. You get down as he wiggles his dick in your direction, “push those things together.” You grab your chest and smush it together. He taps your tits with his tip and laughs, enjoying his mocking.

He guides himself down under your tits and slides between. He cups a hand around yours as he refocuses the phone on you. He rocks the chair back, moving his pelvis as he slowly starts to thrust. He groans at the friction. You clench your jaw tight, dreaming of biting off the end of his overinflated worm.

His breath hitches as he fucks faster, the bottom of his wolly sweater rolling up his muscles stomach. You could just punch him right there. You could grab him by his balls and twist. No, that would only assure you of your scholarly doom.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You snap your eyes open as he shoves the phone in your face. You shy away but he keeps fucking, turning the lens down towards your tits. He gives a breathy laugh and it trickles into a moan. Weak and pathetic.

“Shit, yeah, that’s good,” he groans, “give it a kiss, baby.”

You grit back your disgust. You bend your neck and kiss his tip as it pokes through.

“With tongue.”

You force your tongue out as his tip pops up again and you swirl around it, planting a sloppy kiss on the salty flesh. He twitches and hisses. He pulls his hand away from yours and grips the chair.

“That’s good, get up,” he snarls, “turn around.”

You suck in a chestful of air and do as he says. You get to your feet and turn away. He grabs your hips and rolls closer. 

“Bend over.”

You bend and rest your elbows on the edge of the desk. He angles you down into his lap, your body stretched between the two. He rubs his dick against your ass, once more tapping. He kneads the flesh. You shake your head as he tilts you further down.

He prods at your cunt and you can’t help but clench. He pushes against your entrance, tight and burning as he grunts, bulling his way past the resistance with a slap against your thigh. He latches onto your hip and pulls you down another inch.

“It’s all you. You just gotta fuck that scholarship outta me.”

You bite your lip and force yourself to take him. You hip down until you reach your limit but before you can pull back up, he grabs on and holds you in place.

“More.”

You sink your teeth in deeper, urging yourself lower until it’s unbearable. You take him in fully and let out a shaky breath through your nose. You raise your ass as he lets you go. He lets out a raspy noise and you repeat the motion. You keep your motion mechanical and slow, trying to adjust.

“Faster. I wanna see you jiggle.”

You roll your eyes and claw at your arm, arms crossed over the desk as you rock your weight over him. The flesh claps loudly as his chair squeaks with each descent. He groans and gulps, hand wandering over your flesh, along your thighs, across your ass, up your back.

“Fuck, look at her go,” he snarks, “you work that dick. Just like that.”

You close your eyes and let the scowl mar your features. You speed up. He’s almost there. You can feel the tension, you can hear it in his voice.

“Ah,” he pinches you meanly, “stop!”

You try to keep going but he pushes you off of him. He growls and the chair jars as he sits up. You puff and peek around your shoulder at him.

“I’m cumming in your fucking mouth,” he cradles his balls, half-keeled over. “Open the fuck up before I blow–”

You get back to your knees and glare at him. You won’t falter. You have nothing over these men but that. You lean your head back and open your mouth. He lets himself go and holds the camera over you.

“Well, not gonna finish itself.”

You grab him, roughly, and he grunts. A warning. You ease up and stroke him, placing your mouth by his tip. 

“Look into the camera, cheeks.”

You glare at the camera, you hope it can catch the sheer loathing radiating from you. You stroke him, squeezing harder and harder until he spasms and mewls. He spurts all over, missing your mouth and streaking up the bridge of your noises and across your brow, a few strings over your cheek. 

He gasps and clings to the chair as if he might slip out of it, the camera drooping with his arm. You let him go and wipe your slimy hand. You stand and snatch a tissue from the box on his desk and wipe the mess from your face. His heavy breaths fill the silence.

“Can I go?” You ask flatly.

“I got nothing else for you,” he spits out.

You refuse to look at him as you dress. He chuckles. You fight not to turn around and throw every single thing on his desk at him. You hate him. You hate Lloyd. But more, you hate yourself.

“Congratulations,” he says as you pick up your purse, “did I mention, paperwork went through yesterday.”

You whip around and stare at him. You quake with anger, eyes hot with unspent tears.

“Hey, even I got deadlines. Had to make the call last week.”

You take a step back. What the fuck? You stumble away, ready to scream, ready to strangle this man. For now, you’ll settle for never having to see him again.

[triviallytrue]

@gamingavickreyauction moving this so op doesn't have to deal with tons of climate change discourse on their post

I don't really think there's any coherent model of the world where having fewer kids makes a positive change for the climate - emissions are driven primarily by patterns of production and consumption rather than by the sheer number of humans. A billion people who get all their energy from solar or nuclear power will generate fewer emissions than 100 million using coal.

Moreover there are pretty bad societal effects of having a collapsing population pyramid that East Asian societies are going to start seeing within our lifetimes. So I think treating not having kids as "the biggest thing you can do" is almost exactly backwards - having more young people is basically always prosocial.

Necessary caveats here: no one is ever obligated to have children, any policy that attempts to coerce childbirth or restrict access to contraception and abortion is extremely antisocial, etc etc

Climate change will probably have unpredictable effects - it's a massive disruption to the planet's ecosystem - but deciding preemptively that the world will no longer be worth living in 50 years from now seems alarmist and uninformed to say the least

[monicascot]

First Trade | Potential UPSIDE in Natural Gas Market | Short-Term Outlook

“First Trade” by ETO Markets is live🔥 If you’re not trading now, you definitely should start. 📢 If you have any questions on how to trade DM me the word TRADE to start a conversation. ✌ The purpose of this video is to inform investors about potential investment opportunities in the natural gas market, specifically focusing on the short-term prospects

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ep 3. take your time | myj, jjk

sugar, spice, and everything nice ep 3. take your time.

pairing(s): yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: Er, how to put this? The previous mission was a total fail. Min Yoonji can't face Jeon Jungkook after being so overly confident in her plans - so she avoids him. Yup. Surely this means she'll avoid his fuckbuddy too, right? Wrong. The universe must be working against her... or is it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; pan!f!reader; pan!Yoonji; internalized homophobia; gay panic + w/w sexual tension; best friend!Jung Hoseok visits; minor alcohol consumption; boiled dumpling Yoonji; f/f/m love triangle? slow burn; minor smut (sex dreams); non-idol!AU - Yoonji's POV

--

She did her very best.

In the end, it wasn’t enough.

It was pretty easy to not interact. After all, scheduling conflicts made it difficult to have the entire friend group meet up. Everyone was an adult with their own lives now, like it or not, and they were all at different stages in life. Still, they made an effort to at least meet up in small groups.

Min Yoonji had started making sure that she wasn’t alone with Jeon Jungkook.

She wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes without him knowing something was up. He was spacey, not an idiot. Acted like one, ha, but she didn’t really want him to change that.

Turned out, though, that Yoonji had nothing to worry about.

“Oh, Jungkook? He said he had to cancel last minute. Something came up. But, hey, that kid gave me some money and said we can eat on his dime today,” Park Jimin had laughed, holding out some folded bills. “Can you believe that kid? I tried to tell him we were older than him, but he just replied with, whatever, Jimin-ssi. Rude!”

And, well, Yoonji herself didn’t accept invitations sometimes. She was, at heart, an introvert after all, and at times it was difficult to muster up the energy for a social interaction. She used to feel bad about that, but therapy – and her best friend Jung Hoseok, surprisingly – helped her understand it. Strange that high-extrovert Hoseok was the one who insisted Yoonji to stay home and rest sometimes. Perhaps it was because he could easily sense the disparity in their tolerance for social situations since they were so different. She had always told Hoseok that he was rather wise, but smiley Hoseokie had always laughed and swore it was the opposite when it came to the two of them. She always trusted his judgement, or, rather, his lack of judgement. He had always been easy to talk to. It was rare for him to be without a smile.

Jung Hoseok smiled now, hugging Yoonji without hesitation when she came to pick him up at the bus stop.

“Thanks for spending one of your vacation days to come see me.”

That cheerful laugh stuck the air and Yoonji realized how much she missed the infectious, bubbly quality of it on the regular. “Don’t be silly. And, you know, before this I went to see Namjoonie too.” Bright orange beanie, caramel-colored coat, big eyeglasses with a rainbow pattern printed on the inside of the black plastic frame. Hoseok still had his healthy tan complexion but he seemed more built now, which was a little strange since he had always been a slender, lithe man. That hug had some real strength behind it. “I saw my parents the day before too. My mom cooked me a feast even though it was only a few vacation days, haha! So many plates! If you hadn’t been working, I would have invited you to come to Gwangju but that would have troubled you too much. My dad asked how you were too. I asked him how I was supposed to know when I’m stuck at the base?! He’s so funny!”

Yoonji couldn’t help but smile at his healing energy.

They walked to a restaurant with Hoseok doing most of the talking and Yoonji listening, passively beaming at his presence. She had missed him. She didn’t say so, but she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like her to be sappy anyway. Not without a drink, at least. Hoseok knew, anyway. He would tell his animated stories, lightly holding her arm for emphasis, and at the right time Yoonji would provide the exaggerated reaction, causing Hoseok to double over in laughter, his shining eyes getting crinkly and his mouth forming his signature heart-shaped smile.

They naturally settled back into their friendship as if Hoseok hadn’t been away for months for his mandatory military service.

With Hoseok, it was hard to have any worries.

They sat down, ate, conversed. It would have been nice to have the rest of the friend group there too, and maybe they would have a chance to all configure together later, perhaps at a karaoke bar late at night, but for right now it was only Hoseok and Yoonji. She had asked him if it was possible to have a conversation, but Hoseok had set several hours aside instead and suggested to get dinner.

“Something’s on your mind.”

They had half-drunk glasses of wine in front of them. Their plates were cleared now, and they were patiently waiting for dessert. Hoseok leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. A comforting, gentle one. For a moment, Yoonji looked away. A mixture of embarrassment and collecting her thoughts.

“It’s obvious, hah,” she mumbled.

“Hey, only because I’ve known you for so long,” he chuckled, waving away her doubts. “If it was something you didn’t want to talk about for the sake of hurting others, you would practice avoidance. If it was something you wanted to be asked about, you would come for advice but not forget to treat me first.” Hoseok shook his head, smiling warmly. “But, noona, you know you can say anything to me whenever you want, right? You always listen to my worries right away. I want to return the favor, too.”

She sighed ruefully. “It’s not just for you. Me, too. I can’t say something without working up the courage to it.”

“Courage? Aish. You’re a lot stronger than you let yourself know.”

Hoseok was, as always, wise. Maybe without he himself knowing it.

Sure, Yoonji had been able to push through a lot of hardships. Loving music when her parents had been against it. Bullying at school and trying to avoid troubling her parents with what was going on. Rough financial patches during university where she had to choose between one meal a day or going home on the bus. More than once having to weasel her way out of a potentially dangerous situation that involved alcohol and potential harassment.

But none of these things were love.

Intense attraction. Layers of guilt. Daydreams bordering on delusion. Unseen, intangible, and yet unmistakably there. It made no sense. It made all the sense. She had tried to push the thoughts away, but they always came back with a vengeance.

In dreams.

Yoonji bit her lip.

The dreams.

Even just last night. Another dream that had forced her awake with her blankets twisted around her body like snakes, her heart pounding and shivers all over, breathing fast. Often, her dreams resembled a house of cards, stacks of different images, imagination and memory blending. Thoughts colliding, collapsing into each other, and Yoonji would wake up catching bits and pieces but ultimately mostly remembering the last scenes. The ones that woke her up.

Darkness.

A weight over her eyes. Her breath catching as a soft touch traced her inner thigh. Her brain catching up, the weight on her eyes resembling fingers. A hand. An elegant one. A whisper, smokey-sweet, that became lost to the abyss even though the impact of those words lingered, causing an addicting tingle throughout her veins. Pleasure. Warm and encompassing even though it was only between her legs. Familiar and yet unfamiliar because Yoonji knew it wasn’t herself that was doing it, but effect was the same, if not stronger due to the foreign excitement and maybe slight fear too, not because she was exposed but because there was some level of expectation, wasn’t there?

Nervous?

Of course not. Just because she had never done it before herself didn’t mean she didn’t know how it worked. She had seen enough porn in her lifetime.

Don’t let acting mindfuck you into being unable to appreciate the now.

That was true. She tried to clear her head, tried to simply feel what was happening, and that turned out to be easy. Her breath catching in her lungs as she felt soft, plush lips against her neck. Teeth nipping at her throat. A hand over her eyes and another between her legs, stroking her clit and making her hips flinch with the sensitivity, profoundly aware of how slippery those fingertips were against hot, wet skin, electricity crawling over her chest, short on air, and then.

The hand lifted.

Scorched eyes close, darker with desire.

She couldn’t look away, even as she felt another pair of hands against her side, kneading her thigh and up her torso. Afraid? Shook her head, too nervous to speak and then she saw the tousle of black hair, the two lip rings punctured into the right side of a lower lip graced with a small mole under the center of them.

Her head jerked and Jeon Jungkook grinned back at her, his naked chest glistening with sweat.

Last night, once again, Yoonji had been jolted awake by the shock.

“Hoseok, I…”

Guiltily, she looked up, into inquisitive, bright brown eyes behind lenses framed by black and rainbow colors.

“I think I might do something stupid, and it involves a girl.”

-

The roar of the train tried to deafen her thoughts.

Unfortunately, Yoonji’s mind was a persistent bitch.

Hmph.

Despite it all, she couldn’t even begin to confront the tumultuous whispers within. It was a not-so-complicated problem with a simple solution, as long as emotions weren’t factored into it. As long as daydreams of day dates and nightmares of lost nights weren’t factored into it. As long as Yoonji didn’t sit on the subway using every minute to analyze every tick of the head and struggle to recall exactly how those fingers fell upon each object held, she’d be fine.

She simply couldn’t bring herself to let go.

Yoonji sat against the window, headphones in, clutching her phone as if she was scrolling, but all she could see was the unfairness of life and its impossible choices. Her music had paused. At the moment she didn’t notice for, once again, she was mulling over Hoseok’s words. Not much had changed since her best friend had provided her a listening ear. After some time and more wine, they had chosen to walk along the streets, reminiscing with each step, but then eventually Hoseok brought up the subject again.

“I don’t ever want to see you sad, noona.”

“That’s literally impossible. Sad shit happens all the time.”

“I know it’s impossible,” Hoseok had laughed, and then sighed softly. His cheeks were still rosy from drinking. “I know it’s impossible, but I can’t be your friend and not wish that. As your friend, I’m always on your side, yet I’m no problem-solver either. You were always better at that.”

Yoonji had snorted even though it was unwomanly.

Hoseok had chuckled, not minding it. “There are no right answers in life, remember? You told me that a long time ago when I was having a hard time.” Like waves, her words drifted back to shore. “Life isn’t meant to have correct answers. Life is meant to live.”

Then why did it have to be so fucking complicated?

Of course it would be logical and lovely to stay silent and distant. Of course it would be reckless and exciting to get closer to the flame even with the foreboding threat of trampled sandcastles and broken hearts. Was it better to burned and better for it, or burned into ashes with nothing but the smoke of regret? It would be so much easier living in a vacuum without knowing other people could be affected by her choices, but love was not that kind of space, no matter how vast and endless it seemed. Yoonji chewed the side of her lip, focusing on the tug of velocity from the moving train underneath, searching for the physical sensation to ground her. The train slowed, yet she couldn’t help but be jolted by the stop nonetheless. People filtered out. People filtered in. The crackling announcement overhead murmured out warnings no one quite listened to but everybody knew. Stay away from the doors when they close, keep track of one’s belongings, those standing should hold on as the train begins to move. Next stop was–

Yoonji felt the air being sucked out of her lungs.

If love was not the vacuum of space, then why couldn’t she breathe now?

She looked away quickly. The image had already burned into her memory. Between the business suits and the trendy streetwear stood the instigator of all her current conflicts. Tousled hair, tight little black top, red plaid miniskirt. Oversized leather jacket over her shoulders. The woman leaned against the wall with a relaxed stance. Not a care in the world. What is she doing here? It was quite late but not so late for the drunkards and creeps to crawl out onto the streets. Yoonji, well, she had been working late taking over a shift for a vacationing co-worker. Although the shop wasn’t open late, she had been busy doing repairs. She noticed the heavy black boots and torn fishnets out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes flickered up and she saw something sticking out of the inside pocket of the leather jacket. A swaying black strap with a grey flame, hanging off a shiny black plastic rod with mother-of-pearl accents.

A lightstick?

She froze up as she felt the burn of scorched eyes.

Looked up and Jeon Jungkook’s girlfriend was staring back at her.

Maybe?

The train slowed.

The ricochet in Yoonji’s ribcage ramped up in speed and intensity as she realized people filtering out, people filtering in, and one gliding towards her. She kept telling herself they hadn’t locked eyes, even right up to the moment that she had a good view of that manicured hand, black with red glitter, wrapping around the train strap in front of her.

“Oh, hey.”

A wry smile and light bow.

The politeness both confused and flustered Yoonji. She sat in her seat, the others next to her indifferent to the mild confrontation that was shattering her composure.

“Ah… hi,” was the best Yoonji had.

The harsh overhead train lighting made the tangle of silver necklaces in front of her face gleam and sparkle. She tried not to look, because that would mean staring at another woman’s chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at that face either. She tried to appear nonchalant, except she forgot what that even meant.

“Hey, about last time we met,” she heard above her. Soft, silky, and smokey. “I wanted to apologize.”

They were close enough for Yoonji to smell the remnants of a heavy, sweet, boozy fragrance. It filled her lungs and made blood thunder in her ears. She couldn’t, for the life of her, recall what an apology was needed for. Although, she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts right now.

“A… Ah.” Yoonji shifted her eyes. “For what?”

“For being a dick, heh.”

She glanced up.

One of the woman’s arms was in her jacket, the one that was holding onto the train strap. The other was tucked behind her back, causing her hips to angle out a bit from the jacket, towards Yoonji. She had fantastic legs. Not that Yoonji was looking or anything. The other woman cleared her throat a bit and looked sheepish.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was rude of me to pick you apart like that.”

That day in the café seemed like it happened ages ago. “Oh… I haven’t thought about it that way,” Yoonji confessed. She looked down, feeling a little bit ashamed. “You weren’t entirely wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it then.”

“Hmmm.” A brief pause. “The date didn’t go well, then?”

Her hands clasped together. She tried to chuckle to let out the tension. “Hah… You were right that there wasn’t one. The purpose was more to…” Yoonji trailed off. She didn’t know what to say now. Her eyes cautiously flicked upward. Those dark orbs looked down in return, so shadowed they seemed almost black. Burned. An eyebrow raised.

“You really were trying to scope me out, then.”

Yoonji felt her insides wince. “I’m sorry myself.”

A light scoff. “Don’t be. I get it. I give off that vibe, huh?”

There wasn’t a good response to that. She glanced again at the lightstick inside the woman’s jacket. “Did you go to a concert?”

That observant gaze followed hers. “Ah, yeah.” She tucked her head down, and Yoonji noticed the black belt around her waist now. “I try to keep everything on me. Essentials only.” There must be a leather pouch attached to her waist, then. That was why she was keeping a hand on her back.  “Since I go to these events alone.”

She couldn’t help but ask. “Why alone?”

The other woman mused with a pensive expression. “I guess I don’t have many friends that are into the same music I am into. Besides, there’s no stress of looking silly when you’re by yourself. You can enjoy however you like without considering others.”

“That’s just how you are?”

Those scorched eyes locked with Yoonji’s.

“That’s how I’m made to be.”

The sounds around her sounded all muffled. The people around her seemed not all there. She looked upwards with her heart aflutter, her thoughts racing, goosebumps popping up under her hoodie and jeans as Jeon Jungkook’s sort-of, kind-of, definitely-so-damn-hot girlfriend tilted her head at her, and Yoonji wondered why she couldn’t be the cool one, the smooth one, anything but the timid one.

“What brings you out so late?” that hazy, calm voice asked.

“Work,” was all Yoonji could manage.

An understanding nod. “Ah. Must be difficult.”

Not as difficult as this. “When are you getting off?”

The other woman raised her head and looked up to the LED sign. “Hmm, dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Yoonji furrowed her brows. “What do you mean by that?”

“I feel like wandering around,” was the lackadaisical answer. “Are you crazy?” She straightened, frowning. “You can’t go wandering around at this hour.”

A striking gaze under lashes. “You worried about little ol’ me?”

She scowled. “That’s simply common sense.”

It happened so fast that she couldn’t react. In a swish of leather and chains, that teasing face was suddenly centimeters from Yoonji’s. Eye-to-eye and inescapable. The layered scent of her perfume became more intense, sweet and heavy and boozy, reminding her of Friday nights and bad decisions. That smirk was as annoying as it was arousing, and immediately after thinking that Yoonji wanted to unthink that, but it was too late and she was too fucked.

“Don’t pretend like you want to take responsibility for someone like me.” Her soft breath brushed against Yoonji’s lips. “You don’t like me that much.”

The other woman winked.

She fucking winked.

And as soon as the interaction started, it ended. She stood back up, letting out a soft sigh as she took her perfume away from Yoonji. She glanced at the doors as the train was slowing down again, not saying anything more. It was an ominous comment with an ominous connotation. Unsettling. Definitely dangerous. Borderline infuriating.

No.

Actually infuriating.

“Hey.”

The woman was about to back up, her lips parting, but Yoonji twisted her knee and hooked her leg around the back of those shapely calves, locking her in place. People around them hurried to their destinations, not looking down at their feet, not noticing the shot of tension and challenge between two women. Not that they would know the history between them. It could easily be interpreted as Yoonji helping her friend stabilize from the jerky train.

Those dark eyes darkened.

Yoonji frowned back, not backing down.

The crackly announcement flitted overhead. The train doors closed in unison. The train started again.

“I can’t let you do that,” she said tightly, unsure what the fuck she was doing.

A tilt of the head.

“And why’s that, Min Yoonji?”

There was a low purr in that question. It must be her imagination. She tried not to think about how her heart was doing backflips and quaking in terror from hearing her full name like that.

“I can’t in good conscience let you be so careless.”

They were at a standoff now.

Those berry-stained lips curved into a smirk.

“So your very good, respectable conscience is why you want to interfere?”

Yoonji relaxed her leg. They hadn’t been skin-to-skin because of her jeans, which was a good and bad thing. It was impossible to take a deep breath without being obvious, so she simply didn’t. She didn’t entirely back off though. She should have pulled her leg back. Her little stunt had made those boots take a step forward, nearly colliding with Yoonji’s other knee.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Strangely, Jungkook’s fuckbuddy didn’t back off.

“Oh, but that’s how you’re acting.”

No, she wasn’t. “I’m not.”

Instead of answering, spiced perfume and leather closed the distance and placed herself right between Yoonji’s open legs. She started, trying to scoot back in her seat, but it was impossible. No one seemed to notice, or at least no one was saying anything. There weren’t that many people now. The train was reaching the end of the line soon. Plenty of seats were empty and people were shifting to sit further apart as the space was freed up.

Point was, there really was no reason to be closer.

“Ah, sorry. There just isn’t that much space, you know?” Cocked eyebrow. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Yoonji gritted her teeth.

She didn’t know if she wanted to slap that smirk off that face or make out with it.

“I have to get off at the next stop,” Yoonji stated as matter-of-factly as she could. Tch. This wasn’t increasing her blood pressure in a good way. No. This wasn’t what she imagined at all. Yeah, of course people were different than daydreams. The other woman didn’t respond. She just smiled. Knowingly. Yoonji didn’t have a type. Nope. She also wasn’t scared of her either, no matter how hot, no matter how seductive, no matter how many positions Yoonji was putting them in her head right now.

The train slowed down.

That head of tousled hair tilted to the right exit behind her.

“Well, of you go, then,” she said with a resigned sigh and inviting smile.

The announcement overhead crackled. The train began to slow. A couple people stood up, getting ready to leave, accounting for their belongings with them. Headphones on, or immersed in conversation with their travel partners.

Yoonji growled under her breath, grabbed Jungkook’s definitely-not girlfriend’s free hand, and dragged them through the open doors and onto the platform.

-

Yeah, um.

She hadn’t thought this though.

“What was your grand master plan, Romeo?” came the amused, husky tone from behind her.

They were standing at the train platform, with Yoonji’s right hand in her crush’s right hand, wait, no, that wasn’t what I meant, and then she stiffened up when she felt spiced perfume and leather brush up against her back. Yoonji clutched her tote bag with her left hand, spinning around quickly, immediately locking eyes with a mischievous expression. Scorched eyes and berry-stained lips. She twisted her gaze away, trying to let go of that hand, but her fingers got caught in the other woman’s rings and a hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Don’t freak out.”

Don’t freak out?! She bristled but all the woman did was unlock their fingers and push down her silver rings. “You know Romeo and Juliet die at the end of the story, right?” Yoonji snapped to that nonchalant hand, not making eye contact.

“Yeah.” A wispy chuckle. “They’re also sixteen and thirteen, but something tells me you’re way past that. It doesn’t apply, but it did get a cute reaction out of you.”

She glared. Jungkook’s lady friend gave her a cheeky grin.

“You’re rude.”

Was it her imagination or was the tip of a pink tongue tracing that smirk?

“I can be a lot more than that, so consider yourself lucky.”

Either it was very warm in the train station or Yoonji was getting red in the face. She was about to turn her heel but then this lunatic spun around and began sauntering off the opposite direction. For fuck’s sake, what the hell? Before she could think about it too much, Yoonji crossed the distance with her long legs and snatched a handful of that leather sleeve, dragging the woman with her.

“Oh!”

“You don’t even know where you’re going,” Yoonji muttered with gritted teeth.

“Sure I do.” That relaxed tone was beginning to aggravate. “Your scary face is telling me you don’t want me to bother you.”

“My face is not scary.”

“Oh yeah? Then look at me in the eyes, then.”

This annoying–! They had arrived at the escalator. Yoonji let go of her hand and spun around with one smooth motion, checking if her unpredictable travel companion behind her was about to run off again. Her eyes widened when she realized they were nearly colliding. They were occupying adjacent steps. Due to the platform boots versus Yoonji’s sneakers, the other woman was taller. It wasn’t much of a difference, and then the steps of the escalator became more evident, creating a greater height disparity so now Yoonji was looking up into those piercingly dark orbs. She froze, unsure how to react.

A slow smile formed on those full lips.

“You’re not scary. I just wanted you to look at me.”

Irritation flared. Yoonji narrowed her eyes. But before she could spit out her distaste, the other woman spoke again.

“What?  Are you mad that I think you’re pretty?”

Fuck.

She couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer. Her face was burning. I can’t do this. Yoonji quickly turned around, using the excuse of stepping off the escalator to keep her eyes forward, hurrying quickly, not sure if the woman was following or not. It was obvious that she was out of her element. Out of her league, shit. She was playing ball while her opponent had trapped her in a pinball machine, Yoonji being the target, knocked this way and that with whatever obstacle that came out of her mouth, how could such ridiculous statements fluster me that much, and she was aware that she was annoyed yet also unable to stop thinking about that face, those words, and how their closeness had made her heart race just like how her body reacted around a hot guy.

Which was stupid.

So stupid.

“Ah, wait, let me make a stop here.”

Yoonji almost yelped, suddenly yanked by her hoodie sleeve into a small convenience store. She faintly registered that Jungkook’s – oh, for fuck’s sake, her, um, never mind, the woman was picking something up from a far aisle and hurrying to the counter. Paying for the item in a flash and politely refusing a bag while looking like a damn delinquent that could star in a porn movie. What? Yoonji shook her head furiously and was pulled out back out to the train station, right before the entrance to the street, which was how they ended up standing in front of a bookstore closed for the day.

One woman tore open a package of lemon-flavored gummies and the other clutched her tote bag, white as a sheet of paper.

“Want one?”

Yoonji only stared at her.

“Mm. I’ll save some just in case.”

How is this even happening?

“Are you a kid?” Yoonji sighed, feeling annoyed at herself more than anything.

“Are you an adult?” was the chirp back, complete with the same condescending tone.

She shot her an indignant look. The woman raised her eyebrows and popped another bright yellow gummy into her mouth. She was about to snap, of course, I am, but then her witty comeback was interrupted for possibly the nth time that night.

“’Cause, ya know, most adults wouldn’t do what you just did with me.”

Actually, night was better in this case. “Don’t make this weird,” Yoonji mumbled, looking away again.

“Who cares?”

She jerked her head away and stared at the black sky, wondering how she was losing her cool this fucking fast. How could someone be this smart-mouthed, this devil-may-care, this freaking annoying? It was like hanging out with an extra cunning, female version of Jeon Jungkook. It was driving her absolutely bananas on how to feel. Who cares? Hmph, so irresponsi–

Oh.

Oh my god.

“So, what’s the plan, kidnapper?”

Yoonji grumbled. “I’m not kidnapping you.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to being tied up.”

What the fuck? “Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not?”

“Look, are you drunk or something?” Yoonji scowled, gripping her tote tightly and sneaking a side-glance. “You’re just saying whatever you want.”

She was bouncing on her heels, enjoying her sour sweets. “That would be convenient for you, huh, if I was drunk,” she hummed.

“So you’re simply weird.”

A half-smile. “Better weird than putting up a front.”

A short pause. Her anger dissipated a bit. What am I doing? This isn’t like me at all. She sighed, somewhat defeated. Yoonji pondered how she got swept up like this. I don’t like her. But she did. Shit. How did all her buttons get pressed so fast and with such playful aggression? Damnnit.

“For the record, I don’t drink that much. And especially not when I’m walking alone in places. That would be stupid. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had a drink in a couple years now.”

Yoonji didn’t know if she appreciated the clarification or not. “And why’s that?”

No answer.

She turned her head and was given a pointed, disbelieving look.

“Come on. If I’m this irritating now, imagine me drunk?” Cock of the head. “You’d be on the floor.”

In what way? She didn’t respond to that. Yoonji could tell when she was getting provoked. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

A snort. Classy. “I can call myself a taxi.”

“I don’t trust you to get in it,” Yoonji countered, frowning.

“You don’t trust me at all.”

“That’s not true. I trust you to be a smartass.”

A sly grin at her deadpan words. Those scorched eyes glimmered from the low light of streetlamps. “How about this, then?” She folded the little packet of lemon gummies and tucked it into one of the many pockets of her leather jacket. “Let’s go somewhere together. Chill. Have some conversation. I feel like we are grossly misunderstanding each other. I don’t want us stuck like this. And then I’ll go home and pretend to be the good girl you want me to be.”  

You’re the one causing all the trouble. No. She sighed again, realizing it came out a bit shaky. This whole situation was giving all gas, no brakes, and Yoonji didn’t know why she was considering getting on this ride. What was she supposed to do? What was right? And then there was the way she was being spoken to, Argh.

“Too scared, huh?”

Yoonji glared. “Don’t try anything.”

A deep exhale. The other woman shook her head solemnly. “Hah, what are you thinking I would do?”

-

Min Yoonji concluded that she must be the stupidest person on the planet.

It was late, which was precisely why it wasn’t too busy at this hour. It was surely busier on the other side, considering late-night salarymen and odd-hours workers were getting off their shift. But on this side, the women’s side, well, there really wasn’t anybody at all. There were a few small groups of two or three women, crowded in their semi-private spots, but a lot of open space in the warm, medicinal pools of the public bath.

Yes, that was right.

Yoonji was in a public bath with Jungkook’s lover.

Fuck, she was stupid as all hell.

She sat in the bath with a towel wrapped tightly around her body and tried not to stare. A smaller towel was wrapped around her head with a bun twist at the sides. Yeah, sure, Yoonji didn’t have to get fully naked, but it wasn’t like she brought a set of extra clothes with her. Neither had her companion, of course, so renting towels was a must. That was fine. Everything was fine. Her face was ten thousand degrees. So was the bath. Everything was fine.

As soon as the towel had gotten wet, Yoonji had gotten a pretty good look at that womanly waist-to-ass ratio. Plus those perky tits. Slim, pretty shoulders. Pretty obvious why Jeon Jungkook was coo-coo for those delicious curves. The other woman had opted to tie her hair up instead, not wanting it to get wet, oblivious to the few strands that brushed sexily against the nape of her neck.

“Nice legs,” she had commented, keeping her voice low.

Yoonji sank further into the cloudy medicinal bath. “Keep your eyes to yourself.”

The faintest of smiles. “You aren’t good at following your own advice, are you?”

She couldn’t believe that she had gotten cornered into this. She also couldn’t believe that she was acting like a teenager caught with dirty magazines. She also couldn’t believe that her eyes weren’t deceiving her and there wasn’t a monster under those clothes but an actual hottie who damn well knew it. Just her luck. Not that it mattered, considering Yoonji had apparently forgone all logic. Hmph. She could be like that too.

Not right now, obviously. Wrong situation.

“I haven’t visited a public bathhouse in a long time,” that husky voice mused.

“I used to come with my family,” Yoonji replied distractedly. “But it’s been a while for me too.”

“It’s kind of nice.”

She floated a bit, her shoulders still above water, clavicles glistening with dew. In contrast, Yoonji was neck-deep, soaking like a boiled dumpling.

“Don’t have a group a girl friends to go with?”

Yoonji frowned. Sighed. “No, not really. You’ve seen my friends. I’m sure they’ve gone without me,” she added, flicking her eyes to wandering ones. “You?”

A light scoff. “I don’t have people I’m close with.” A quick, fleeting glance. “Unless it’s in bed.”

Crass but honest. This time, though, didn’t seem like those words were said to catch her off guard. She accepted the moment of mercy. “Why is that?”

“Because everyone loves the idea of trying to tame the outcast.”

The steam was nearly as heavy as the silence.

“Being lonely doesn’t make you cool,” Yoonji quietly murmured, watching the ripples in the water.

“Not trying to be cool. Just trying to survive like the rest of us.”

The heat was almost as soothing as her tone, but her words held the weight of a past full of nightmares. They stayed quiet. Eventually, both of them floated to the edge of the pool. Maybe it was an outcast thing. Yoonji thought to offer some consolation, but she didn’t know the words nor what the other woman had been through.

“You haven’t had it easy, huh?” she mumbled to the milky liquid.

“Heh. Has anyone?”

She soaked for a few minutes. Ripples fanning out. Such a small thing becoming so large. She was vaguely aware of arms resting against the side of the bath.

“You strike me as a lone wolf yourself.”

Yoonji shifted her eyes to see a poised hand millimeters above her barely-covered shoulder. She looked away again. “I’m not. I don’t need many friends, but I need the ones I have.”

“I don’t think you’ve always felt like that.”

Damn. She wasn’t surprised anymore though. “Hah… You’re right.”

A wispy chuckle. “What made you change your mind?”

She thought about it. “Before I knew it… I had begun to rely on them. I’m close to my older brother, but my parents… and then my brother went off to university. Started working long hours in a high-class hotel restaurant. I was just the daughter that fiddled with guitars. My parents paid for my music lessons, starting with piano and then whatever instrument I wanted to learn, but I don’t have anything interesting to show for it. And, anyway, you know how it is. I can’t blame my brother for being a son. It was probably because of his support for me that my parents paid for my music degree.”

“Or because you’re good.”

“Even if I am,” Yoonji exhaled, blowing ripples in front of her. “I wouldn’t enjoy standing out.” She ruminated on that a bit. “With the emotional distance between my parents and the physical distance between my brother… I chased a lot of dead ends. Didn’t know where I was headed or where I wanted to go. I don’t know why those guys… Don’t know why they bothered with such a mess.”

“Probably because of your cute face.”

Yoonji scowled and flicked water next to her.

An unbothered laugh. “Maybe they saw something in you.”

Can’t imagine what. “Through school, shared hobbies, friends of friends.” She thought of each of them. It had happened organically, beginning with Kim Namjoon during university, bonding over books and music. “We just ended up like this.”

“Mhm, that’s usually my explanation too when I wake up the next morning.”

A muscle in Yoonji’s eyelid twitched. The implication was obvious. “Is that all people are to you?”

“That’s all people want me to be.”

She said it so casually, so calmly, that those words didn’t seem to hold the gravity that they should. The steam around them curled and snaked in the air. Several women were leaving now, chattering away with their gossip. The whole situation felt surreal.

“You don’t mean that,” Yoonji finally said.

A sigh.

“Sometimes I believe that’s all I am too.”

They listened to people pad away to the sauna. Someone in the corner was getting a thorough back scrubbing. Yoonji snuck a glimpse of a meditative profile. Glistening cheekbones, lips, clavicles. The top of the towel was saturated and stuck to softly rounded mounds that skimmed the surface of the water. She tried not to look for too long. The prominent peaks were noticeable and tempting.

She understood why Jungkook was so attached now.

What?

“Don’t feel bad for me.”

Somehow, Yoonji had sunk nearly chin-deep into the water. “What?” she mumbled. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a delicate hand plant onto the crown of her toweled head. Five points of contact. She clutched her body towel in a death grip, as if it was going to be ripped off her.

“I said, don’t feel bad for me,” chuckled the teasing voice beside her. “Getting all emotional?”

She was about to shake off the hand forcefully but it moved away just as quickly as it came.

“I don’t feel bad for you,” Yoonji muttered.

She regretted saying it when she did, and yet it was too late to take it back. Long, agonizing seconds ticked by along with ripples of moving water. She wanted to reach out somehow, but it wasn’t possible to do so. They weren’t that close. She was Jungkook’s, well, his in general. And Yoonji felt the way she did, which was complicated altogether.

The silence was broken by softness.

“You just feel something you can’t quite explain.”

Slowly, Yoonji turned her head.

Curled, damp strands of hair clung to an undefinable expression, framing burned eyes and a not-quite smile that seemed more like a hint than an actual answer. Yoonji was neck-deep in hot water and half-crouching at this depth. Her hands were twisted around themselves. She carefully pulled them apart, looking away, then back, heart racing. The bath was opaque with medicinal salts and herbs. She had to feel her way forward, feeling more confident as she waited for her companion to react.

And then.

There was nothing but water.

“Let me get out first.” There was a slosh of water and Yoonji backed up instinctively, seeing the other woman slink upwards, standing to step out. She quickly jerked her line of vision away from wet towel plastered to prominent curves. “I can endure the embarrassment, heh.” She did not sound even an iota of embarrassed.

Her cheeks flared hot. Yoonji kept her eyes firmly on the water. “I’ll… I’ll finish up and follow in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Light, drippy steps faded away, leaving Yoonji alone, sinking into the water with only her eyes showing, terrified someone could somehow tell she was red-hot from seeing an almost naked woman. Not just any woman. Fuck. She closed her eyes, screaming in her head. Why does it have to be her? Eight billion people and counting on this planet and this had to happen.

That’s all people want me to be.

Yoonji really didn’t like how that sounded.

Don’t feel bad for me.

This dumpling boiled for a little longer until her redness could be explained away by the heat.

Eventually, she got out and padded off to the locker room too, both startled and relieved that she was alone. She dried off and got dressed, thinking about the undertones of those statements. If she had been a liar, Yoonji would have assured with, no, not to Jeon Jungkook, but that idiot’s actions were the complete opposite. Yes, Yoonji knew otherwise because she had known him for such a long time – but did she, though? How well did she know him, really? She paused, holding her hoodie. She hadn’t been talking to him lately, trying to avoid giving herself away.

The memory of his Instagram post lingered in the back of her mind.

And then the image of those scorched eyes surrounded by steam.

Yoonji pulled her hoodie over her head. She couldn’t pretend to ignore the trees in front of her even though she hadn’t seen the whole forest yet. She looped her hand over the handle of her canvas tote bag. Gathered the rented bath house items, preparing to return them. Jeon Jungkook. The nightmarish woman of her dreams. These complicated feelings she both didn’t recognize and knew all too well. First and foremost, she was a friend. She would not betray that.

She couldn’t bear that.

It took a moment to pay for the rented items and then Yoonji found herself in the waiting room at the front. Sitting at the bench was none other than the one of leather and silver, her spiced perfume faint and replaced with the sweet herbal scent of the bath. She stood up as Yoonji entered, tucking her arms into the sleeves of the jacket and flipping out her hair from the collar. The sides of the oversized jacket flapped open. The lights of the bath house were dimmed for an ethereal glow, and it was just enough light to spot the jutting peaks of large nipples against that tight black top.

Before she could stop herself, Yoonji raced forward in her sneakers and snatched the sides of the jacket, yanking them shut over that chest.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, gripping the leather between white-knuckles fingers. “Are you crazy?”

“Hm?”

Yoonji froze.

She gripped the jacket closed, not looking up. Couldn’t.

“What’s with you?”

Confusion above her. How does she not know? “Weren’t… Weren’t you wearing a bra?” Yoonji tried to ask as calmly as she could, hands shaking as they slipped down to the bottom of the placket where the zipper head was. She prayed the fabric was thick enough so the other woman couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, I put it in this bag the bath house gave me.” There was a rustle and Yoonji perceived a brown paper bag held up in her periphery. She fumbled with the zipper, letting out a puff of air to appear as annoyed as possible. “But all I’m gonna do is go home and go to sleep. What’s the point of putting it back on for twenty minutes?”

“You…”

“I called for a taxi already, by the way. I wanted to wait for you to finish, though. Want me to get one for you too?”

“No,” Yoonji blurted out a little too fast. She cleared her throat and busied herself with zipping up the jacket. “My place is close to here.”

“I can walk you there. Change the address of the taxi.”

She clicked her tongue. “I’ve walked home alone for years. Don’t flatter yourself.”

All of a sudden, a hand caught one of hers in the middle of retreating from the zipper.

Fingers wrapped around hers tightly.

She snapped her head up and became the closest she had ever been to kissing another woman.

They stared at each other for seconds that felt like hours. The hand was warm with slim and elegant fingers, similar to Yoonji’s own. She felt searched. Exposed. Her hair was a little damp from the bath so Yoonji had pulled the hood up to cover it. They were so close she could see the edges of her bangs curl towards those dark eyes. With a start, she realized that meant that the other woman was bent down ever-so-slightly due to their current height difference.

Silence.

She could have said so many things but Yoonji watched her hold her tongue.

For some incomprehensible reason…

The silence made Yoonji’s heart ache.

A small, pleasant smile. She didn’t say anything still. Instead, she took a step back and let go of Yoonji’s hand, letting her gaze stay only a second longer, and then those scorched eyes slipped away, disappearing behind waves of wild hair, out the door and into the street where headlights waited.

Yoonji watched the taxi purr away into the night.

She walked home, one of her hands pressed to her racing heart, a lasting tingle radiating from her fingers.

-

She couldn’t take it.

She should, and she would. But she couldn’t take it, knowing they shared moments that existed only for them. She told herself she would get over it, but some part of her didn’t want to get over it. Some twisted, masochistic part.

Min Yoonji sat in front of her computer and keyboard in the dead of night and composed a song.

She needed something to occupy all of her mind. Or something to explain it all, this strange high and down low all at once. Her sound could never be called overly optimistic, but she tried a bit of a higher key this time, with brighter, chirpy samples to go alongside her keyboard. She just sang words into the mic that came to mind, not really thinking too much about what it meant or why.

It was one of those jumbled tracks that she probably wouldn’t listen back to in a long time, but something in her needed to make it.

She fell asleep in her chair with her headphones still on and her head nestled on her hoodie arms.

She told herself to get over it.

Don’t feel bad for me.

In her dreams, Yoonji wasn’t guilty.

In her dreams, she could watch them. She knew how Jeon Jungkook was around the person he liked. He seemed all tough and cocky, but there was no way he could be. Not to such powerful femininity, and certainly not to kind eyes that had obviously been burned so many times. Jungkook was playful. Gentle. So obviously trapped but acted like he wasn’t.

I could have been you.

Not really.

Could have.

She was lost in her dreams.

Black nail polish with red glitter. Deft fingers gliding over his chest. Fingers tracing his tattooed shoulder, followed by soft, full lips that made no sound. Hands that traced his body, framing him like art as lips brushed against his ear. Whispers of things unsaid. Barely visible under messy hair – dark, scorched eyes shadowed by lashes and lust. Fascination at quickened breath falling from parted lips adorned with a small mole underneath them, right at the center. She continued to watch, transfixed at how they moved like water, seamless and in unison, twisting their bodies to face each other. Lips hovering over lips. Bare shoulders, bare waists, legs over the other, the hand cradling Jungkook’s face elegant, possessive, holding him in place as that wet, pink tongue extended, tracing his open mouth with the tip, teasing him, making him moan softly.

She blinked slowly.

Now it was her holding Jungkook’s face, staring into his lidded eyes.

She tilted her head, leaning in.

Yoonji shot up from her desk, gasping, overturning her lyric notepad and sending it flapping to the floor, along with her pen catapulting across her bedroom. Her muscles screamed in discomfort, cramped from the hunched position, and Yoonji winced, placing a palm on her chest and sensing the layer of uncomfortable sweat that had suddenly appeared.

Her heart ricocheted in her ribcage.

Her face burned. She tried to take in several breaths, pulling her hand away from herself. Slowly. Carefully, as if denying such physical reactions. She spotted the picture frame on her desk. Her and her friends standing next to each other, ages ago. A visit to a ski resort. Jungkook was standing next to her, flashing a peace sign and a toothy smile.

His arm was around her shoulders.

Bundled up, she looked a mix between disgruntled and pleased.

I have to do something or I’m gonna lose it.

Yoonji got up from her desk and flopped face down onto her bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

-

ep 4. hey, you alright? sugar, spice, and everything nice

--

min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

[kradogsrats]

thinking about Terry and idk it actually kind of makes sense that Earthblood elves in particular would be like... not receptive, per se, but possibly the least unreceptive to dark magic of the elves??? or at least the most susceptible to reasoning that attempts to justify it

All of the other primal sources are very abstract in their nature, much more energy or concept than tangible reality, and also extremely constant: the sun and moon don't need anything to be able shine, the wind doesn't need anything to be able to blow, the tides will go in and out no matter what. That energy just exists, it doesn't come from somewhere and it doesn't really go anywhere. The part of the Earth primal that relates to living plants and creatures is the only primal source that relies on a cycle of consumption—you can't have herbivorous animals without plants that they eat, and then you can't have carnivores without herbivores that they eat, and if you're out of animals you're going to have some challenges with your plants growing because their waste and remains aren't around to return nutrients to the soil. The concept of consuming something, even something living, to strengthen yourself is not going to be as anathema to Earthblood elves as it is to others. Literally a part of their core nature, what they are born understanding, is tied to things eating other things. There's not gonna be any "eating the flesh of animals is a disgusting abomination on a similar level to dark magic" bullshit, there.

Now, there are definitely still things about dark magic that would be a problem: humans, and dark mages in particular, are not exactly discriminating in what Xadian creatures they consider to have sentience or personhood. Additionally, I think there's a strong case to be made that dark magic inherently disrupts the harmony of the cyclic or interdependent nature of life and consumption, in that the magic that is consumed is not eventually returned to the primals, but is corrupted and lingers as unusable waste or poison. However, that might be something that requires a fairly advanced understanding of how dark magic actually functions, which an elf would be unlikely to have (aside from maybe powerful mages). Actually, it's not really even 100% clear whether human dark mages understand that aspect of it.

The other thing with Earthblood elves in particular is that they are the most diverse of the primal elf types, probably because the Earth primal source is so broad, and they become very in tune and adapted to their environment. The Earth primal and arcanum are associated with things like stubbornness and endurance, as well as resilience. From there it's pretty clear, I think, why Terry likes and even admires Claudia: she's a human, deep in Xadia (a place she does not naturally belong, and is very different from the home she's used to), and with her dark magic has adapted so well to that environment! She doesn't let anything stop her in pursuing her goals, she just finds a solution—one that frequently has to involve understanding and working with what is naturally available around her.

The conceptual pattern of behavior for dark magic—harvesting something from your environment, consuming it, and using what it gives you to survive—is very similar to things Earthblood elves understand and even value. We also see where it breaks down for Terry: when Claudia uses dark magic or even just behaves viciously purely for emotional satisfaction (taunting Rayla with the coins, or unnecessarily fighting and then almost killing the dragon that was following them) and not because it supports her survival or goals.

so yeah basically for an elf to be chilling with a dark mage in the way that Terry does (i.e. not for business purposes) I think it does make the most sense for them to be an Earthblood elf (like Terry)

[yanderes-galore]

And if you can can you do a fluffy lefty au with your prompts 31 and 42

Sure! First Fluffy AU Lefty content, I hope you enjoy how I take the character. Lefty is referred to as They/Them in this as idk if I want them male or female for the AU (Since they are no longer two different beings).

Yandere! Fluffy AU! Lefty Prompts 31 + 42

"I'd make you bleed just to get an even better taste of you...."

"Even if I have to break you... I'll never stop loving you."

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic? (Really hard to tell)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Gore, Biting, Blood, Graphic descriptions, Blood consumption, Half consumption in general, Graphic scene of you essentially being bitten into, Violence, Disturbing content, Guilt, Marking, Accidentally took inspiration from Beastars, Dubious but forced attachment/companionship.

Lefty has always been rather quiet. Even before their accident they never said much. Lefty's been rather isolated throughout their time in the facility, not quite a failure, yet no longer perfect either.

Lefty was a black, gray, and red bear created for the Rockstar line of experiments. Their chest is adorned with a golden star pattern and they used to have the most stunning gold eyes. However, after an incident, the bear was left scarred.

They looked mostly the same except for a missing eye. The sight is disturbing, a gorey hole decorated with what looks like claw marks. Lefty was quiet and isolated before, but they only ever got worse after the incident.

As their caretaker you noticed this change in behavior. Their mind was never the same after the traumatic event. The bear was still very reserved, but now their gaze seemed off.

They always kept staring at you. You had tried your best to socialize Lefty after the event, even tending to their wound whenever you can. They weren't quite failed so you could still be around them, just... damaged. Mentally and physically, Lefty was damaged.

They never really improved, they just stayed quiet... all while staring at you.

Perhaps you should've known their quiet nature meant danger somewhere down the line... it's always the quiet ones, huh?

Were they feral, is that what happened? Was Lefty just another monster kept in this place, only to be let out after a break out? Should you have never shown them kindness? Maybe you should've just been cruel, if you did would you still be in this situation?

The blaring sound of alarms and sirens violate your ears. The room is bathed in red, the light making it hard to see the color of the substances on the ground. You knew better... it was blood, blood from monsters and blood from friends.

At this point... maybe even blood from you.

Pain shoots through you as claws dig into your sides. The black bear's teeth dig into the flesh between your shoulder and neck with such uncharacteristic ferocity. Each pulse of pain was met with a lick, like the bear was trying to apologize.

You didn't understand why the bear was doing this. You thought you were on the bear's good side. You thought they liked you!

Oh.. if only you knew.

The bear did indeed like you, a bit too much honestly. Like some form of cuteness aggression the bear bit into you to release some tension in their mind. They love your taste, they love you, they want to surround themselves with you.

They'd do anything to keep you to themselves.

"Even if I have to break you... I'll never stop loving you." The bear whispers, pulling away from your wound with a blood covered maw. Their whispers sound so sweet, so comforting, yet they are still the one causing your pain. It's like they mean well... all while consuming your flesh like they'll die without it.

You doubt you'll leave this place alive.

"I'll make you bleed just to get an even better taste of you...." Lefty whispers again, licking your face. You feel the saliva they produce stain your cheek, yet you don't have the energy to care. "I can't get enough of you... I'm so sorry...."

They sound like they have remorse in their tone. Their instincts are driving them, the scent of blood making their eye blown wide. They aren't sure what they want to do with you.

Do they want to mark you? Maul you? Eat you? They don't know. All they know is they want more.

Lefty looks at their human with a sad lock. You're in so much pain. You have such a look of betrayal in your eyes. It makes the bear hesitate.

But then the scent of blood drives them to continue. It's all around them. It swirls like a captivating meal and scent... it makes them want more.

Lefty remind themselves that they want more... they want more of you.

So... they'll take more... they'll take more until they're satiated.

Even if it hurts you both.

[pinksobg]

Messages that need to be delivered 🌷'

Pile 1) 5 of cups, The Moon

hello pile one 💞 welcome your reading. after difficult times you are finding yourself again.

"do you have healing energy? I seem to want to vent to you so here it goes: it's been a long journey, I get tired easily, I'm like the little prince. I came from a light feather, I promise I won't get in your way. I like tea, I like to talk, but right now I just want a place to relax. Could that place be you?" — "the know unknown" masculine energy, soft, fast, blond hair, "could be a mirage", traveler, soul family, calm, seems to talk fast/ with ease, serene passage, cure of headaches, relief, serene, water.

Pile 2) reversed knight of cups, Queen of Cups.

TW: deep, long reading. take only what/if resonate and make sense with your reality now for your wellbeing please. ♡︎

hello pile two 💞 sounds like you're not doing things your way, sounds like you might be wanting too much to fit a certain pattern. I will ask more experienced readers for help. seems like a very serious matter so I want to be careful with my words. Have you been experiencing symptoms similar to imposter syndrome? pile two, looks hard... be careful with your health (not for you to be scared, but to take care of you); it seems like some of your actions aren't being healthy for you, maybe you've been doing things that could be making you feel sick: like frequently doing something you don't like (seems to be about work but I'm not sure), sustaining an addiction (like abusive consumption of something) and/or hiding yourself or what you really want. I wish only the best for you. from now on, take the proper lead. believe. take care little by little and the magic will happen. invest in treating yourself better, little by little. you will clearly become who you want to be. take care of your health, be patient and hope/wish/manifest/make peace on your way. 💞

Pile 3) Strength, Hermit rx.

hello pile three 💞 you seem like the easiest energy to work with in my humble and flawed perception (may be, may not be the easiest). here comes the need for you to speak for yourself, have frank conversations, listen to learn about the other and not merely to respond.

♡︎ moodboard for you:

peace and love,

pinksobg.