#i think that offering help if someone has specific questions is probably better

[boldlygayingwherenogayshavegayed]

Although I do agree that the concept that "goth/punk/alt styles is expensive" is bs, I don't like how people act as if it's cheap.

A lot of posts are like "just diy, it's that easy!" and completely ignore that even if someone somehow manages to acquire all the materials required for cheap (which isn't a given to begin with), it takes a lot of skill and time and energy. And if you don't have the skills, it takes MORE time and energy to acquire.

Time and energy are not cheap. For some people more than others. For some people, it's not even really feasible. I think it's kind of dismissive and people who are used to making stuff don't really realise how difficult it can be for people who aren't.

Also, some things aren't easy to make yourself. There are garments that you can't really make by yourself in a week? Obviously the alternative isn't to buy overpriced shit from dubiously sourced brands but like. "Make it yourself, there's YouTube tutorials" isn't always super helpful (especially if you're not in the US).

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple. 

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

-

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

-

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

-

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat. 

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

-

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks - 

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

-

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit. 

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

-

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

-

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

-

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

-

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

-

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck. 

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

-

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

-

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

-

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

-

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

-

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

-

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

-

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

-

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

-

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

-

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

-

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist. 

The absolute fucking prick.

-

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same. 

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

-

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

-

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

[astrolynnworld]

needs

pairing: chris x reader

summary: chris is struggling to figure out who he is and the reader offers her help

warnings: smut! confusion, worry, doubt, reassurance, help, comfort, sub chris, needy, lust, mommy kink, riding.

a/n- a request with my own little twist on it

word count: 991

chris has been acting so weird lately..

not even weird as in like abnormal but just weird as in unnecessary clingy.

well, sometimes at least.

one day he’ll be himself where he’s independent but the next day he’ll be so dependent and needy with me.

it’s even followed us into the bedroom where sometimes he’ll get all soft and needy instead of taking complete control

i figure that i should probably talk to him about it before jumping to conclusions.

i make my way to the bedroom and find chris coming out from the shower.

“hey babyyy” he says happily as he places a kiss on my cheeks

“can i talk to you about something real quick?” i ask

“yeah sure what’s up?” he says cautiously

“i’ve noticed that you’ve been really clingy and needy lately? is there any specific reason? .. that you would like to share?” i hesitantly say

“um? i haven’t really noticed .. in what way?” he questions

“like .. i don’t know .. you’ve just kind of been submissive lately..” i reply

“submissive? i’m not submissive.. why would you think im submissive? you know im not submissive..” he defends like he had been caught

um? why is he so defensive

“alright chris. what’s going on? cause that’s really just my opinion. why are you so jumpy at it?”

he lets out a sigh, “i don’t really know. i want to try a new dynamic in our relationship where you take care of me.. in a sense that i can rely, be clingy and depend on you. not all the time in every aspect but.. certain things” he confesses

“like what specifically?” i ask

“.. like sex”

“you want me to take more charge in sex?” i confirm

“yes- but not only that. when we have our romantic moments too.. i guess sometimes i wouldn’t mind being little spoon or someone you cling onto” he continues

“why didn’t you say anything earlier baby?”

“i was scared of how you’d react.. if you’d be down with it or kinda shut it down” he shyly confesses

“of course id be down with it baby” i grab his chin and places a kiss on his lips, “you don’t ever need to feel ashamed to tell me about a fantasy”

he whines as i pull my lips away from him and slowly chases after another kiss to which i complete

we slowly make out before i prop myself into his lap give myself a better angle at his lips

he whines at the contact and i push him back into the bed as i straddle on top of him, not breaking the kiss

i grind slowly into his lap as i start to take off my shirt

he continues to whine and look up at me

i bend back down and kiss his neck before sliding him out of his shirt

i hop up off the bed and slide him out his pants and boxers before doing the same with my own, slowly.. giving him a show

he whispers a “fuck” at the sight of my teasing

i hop back up on the bed and sit on his thigh as i start to jerk his cock

he leans back on his elbows and stares at the motion of my hand going up and down on his cock that was dripping precum

he whimpers a soft “please fuck me y/n. i need you so bad”

i smirk at the comment and tell him to beg for it

“don’t do this to me. please i need you so bad baby i need you to fuck me.. i’m yours mommy just fuck me please” he whines out

“mommy? so you wanna be a good boy huh?” i respond to his slipped up fetish

“yes mommy. fuck- i wanna be only your good boy”

i prompt myself on his cock and sink down onto the tip

“fuck- mommy you feel so good please bounce on me” he whimpers

i continue to bounce up and down a few times before slowly grinding on his cock

he looks up at me through squinted eyes from the pleasure and pulls me down to suck my tits

licking and sucking at my nipples while he tries to thrust up into me

“you like the way mommy makes you feel?”

i feel his cock twitch inside me as he hums at my nipple

“such a good boy baby! mommy’s gonna make you feel good. don’t worry” i say as i raise back up and start to pick out the pace

breathing heavy and throwing his head back into the bed, he continues to let out a series of gasps and whimpers

“fu- fuck mommy mmmm i don’t kn- know how much longer i can last.. feels too good” he mumbles out through his whimpers as he shuts his eyes closed to chase his high

“it’s okay baby. you can cum for mommy. cum for mommy like the good boy you are” i spit out before going down to kiss him as he cums

he moans sloppily into my kiss as he starts to fuck up into me and let his orgasm wash over

i sit back up on his cock and slow down my bouncing

“that was so hot chris.” i let out

“mhm. so good” he mumbles out as he tries to regain his breath

i laugh and make my way to the bathroom to pee

i come back with a little towelette so i can clean up the mess off his dick

after throwing it away i come back and cuddle him underneath a blanket that was pushed to the side of the bed

“im glad we did this. you make me feel so understood and complete”

“of course chris. i love you so much, you don’t have to hide anything from me”

“i love you more baby.” he says as we drift off into each others silence

————————————————————————

[bioethicists]

hm i really hope that someone has said this better than me but the betterhelp ads (specifically the video ones, as the podcast ones tend to be less scripted) are such poignant examples of alienation + the role of 'go to therapy' in perpetuating that alienation. keep in mind that, if you personally found a therapist who is genuinely healing for you + that therapist happens to be through betterhelp- i'm genuinely happy for you + that experience does not invalidate anything i have to say below! (but jsyk they're trying to sell your shit to facebook lol)

starting strong w/ the fact that betterhelp is essentially the uber of therapy (aka using an independent contractor model which is harmful + predatory towards its providers), rushing in to fill the market on largely uninsured and/or uninformed ppl who want the ease of a concierge system without the cost + lacks a meaningful supervision system (which led to one gay man being recommended a conversion therapist when he asked for someone to help with his identity struggles, btw!). smarter people than me have written about the ways in which these trendy independent contractor apps strip people of labor rights, fail to provide adequate wages, + in the case of healthcare apps, increase digital surveillance + decrease accountability demanded from providers while exploiting the failure of the US healthcare system in order to churn a profit w/o actually creating sustainable, equitable change.

the betterhelp video ads all circle around a theme- a millennial starts talking about some form of emotional pain or worry, usually relatively standard existential worries ("do you ever think nothing has meaning?") or life worries ("i hate my job" "i think i'm gay"). their friends or the ppl around them respond blankly + coldly, looking at them like they're crazy. while i understand these ads are supposed to be tongue in cheek, they demonstrate the crushing reality of our alienation from one another- the solution to your friends responding to your evident pain with confusion + apathy is to confine that pain to a therapy session! nobody wants to hear your struggles or understands them- come generate profits for us by facetiming a newly graduated 24 year old who can barely make rent!

this theme fits well with what already put me off about betterhelp's marketing- their goal has never been to provide access to therapy for those who want it or to altruistically fill in some healthcare gap. their goal, bolstered by the rise in emotional suffering following, you know, the worldwide pandemic, is to generate + increase demand for therapy as a commodity. their earlier podcast ads focused on convincing others that therapy "isn't just for crazy ppl" + "everyone should be in therapy". regardless of if you personally agree with that statement, it should be evident that this is a blatant marketing tactic in which therapy is a commodity to be peddled, not an offer of support or healing. in fact, they're probably actively shying away from treating "crazy people", bcuz their flimsy support systems could not possibly handle an influx of ppl regularly in crisis or experiencing breaks with a common reality. their target audience is your average millennial under late capitalism + post COVID - anxious, lonely, vaguely depressed, unhappy with their jobs, worried + hopeless about their futures.

i'm not here to tell anyone not to get therapy. that's a personal decision + is none of my fucking business. it's about questioning the total alienation we feel from one another, such that pouring our heart our unexpectedly to a friend + being met with a blank stare is framed as "haha you need therapy" + not "it's crushing that this is how distant we are from one another". it's about a company noticing that (unfortunately very real) distance + fear of vulnerability + using that to direct our emotions into the confines of a business transaction under abusive labor conditions. it's about a world in which we are not engaging with one another emotionally (despite, or i guess bcuz of: widespread suffering, recent mass death, class warfare/untenable working conditions, increased pressure of fascist politics, generational trauma + abuse, etc etc). commodifying therapy isn't going to make that loneliness go away- it's going to normalize it.

[nknoxe-n]

୨⎯ "MARRY ME" ⎯୧

Synopsis: How the professional player bllk boys would react to you proposing the idea of friendship rings, in which you are considered their best friend and teammate and decide to offer promise/good luck rings to play on the field with.

Warnings: [pr established friendship] [Implied male reader]

w.c 750

Yoichi Isagi: I doubt this guy would do promise rings, in the context of being your teammate, he doesn't want anything holding him back, but I think good luck rings would be an idea he's open to for when you guys aren't close. Since this would be set at the point of post Blue Lock program he'd wear it all the time, if you both aren't playing on the same team he'll take it off and expect the same from you because he wants to beat you without 'luck' but he completely believes that the ring works. When Isagi gets nervous before games he plays with the ring a lot because he does believe that it helps in gameplay, maybe not in a magical way but in that he never feels alone with it on.

Seishiro Nagi: He doesn't see the point but will wear one if you really want him to, he'd probably ask to have one of those rings with the spinney middle to fidget with when he's bored and has nothing else to do. Nagi does not at all believe it helps his performance or give him good luck, he only wears it to make you happy and if it helps you play better he's all for it, but most of the time Nagi won't wear it on the field because he's always aware of it on his finger, and it distracts him.

Meguru Bachira: Ugh he's so so so happy you asked, he cares about you so much and wants to try all sorts of things out that friends usually do since he missed out on so much in his childhood. He'd want promise rings over good luck rings because he thinks that you're such a great player you don't need extra luck, and he wants you to promise to keep playing soccer with him. This man is flaunting it by the way, he insists you guys are like 'friendship married' and is constantly showing off the ring to people as if he was recently engaged, tells the media you're only friends but maybe more in the future, he loves drama.

Rensuke Kunigami: He's kind of hesitant to agree at first because he doesn't understand why you'd get matching rings, that's something only married people do, right? Kunigami gets the idea after you explain it to him, and he'd want promise rings without a doubt, he'd probably want to promise trust in general, nothing specific he just wanted something simple but intimate. He never wears it on the field though because he's too afraid he'll lose it. Kunigami will act like it's no big deal but the first time someone asks about it, he's all defensive and tries to brush it off because he's embarrassed, not of you he just thinks of it as a personal gesture and won’t tell anyone about it.

Hyoma Chigiri: He would immediately be up for it not generally excited or anything but really open to the idea of a promise or good luck ring, but he'd want the rings to be nice because he will be showing it off to any interviewers, he'd try to be coy and allude to possibly being engaged, but he will never tell. That being said, if the media were to notice you had matching rings (assuming you guys are on the same team) he would call off the joke because he doesn't want people seriously thinking you're engaged. He'd find the idea of having something like that on him while he plays extremely comforting, and it motivates him to play harder.

Itoshi Rin: Now he'd be hesitant at first, but once he agreed he's barely ever taking that thing off, only to get it cleaned or resized because Rin is pretty sentimental. He'd wear it on and off the field if anyone asked about it, he'd ignore the question, if the media made assumptions or figured out the rings were matching he wouldn't care but refuses to confirm anything. He'd want promise rings, and he'd want it to be a promise of loyalty because he doesn't want you to ever leave him or make him feel excluded from your life. Rin does not believe it makes him play any better or worse, but it does give him a slight reassured feeling and a good sense of comfort knowing he can rely on you to be there. He sometimes just stares at the ring when he's alone, mulling all the time you've spent together.

[pray-montana]

As someone who is also a despicable me fan I’d love to hear some headcannons for Valentina (as someone who struggles with making headcannons I’d like to hear some from another persons view)

Thank you very much for your question. I couldn’t even imagine that someone would be interested in my opinion about the DM characters!

Unfortunately, the summary about Valentina is quite vague, but this has its advantages. So the field for thought becomes much wider ✍️✍️✍️

I'd like to start by saying that Valentina is an ally, but also independent of Maxime and his views on villainy (not like Harley and Joker.) This makes her not only a modern woman but also a strong character if the writers aren't lazy. It’s a pity that her summary and explanations contain no specific facts, other than the fact that she is cool and a proponent of a healthy lifestyle💀

• I think that in her relationship with Maxime, she is the voice of reason. Even if he believes that he's the head of the family, he makes the final decisions after considering her reasonable arguments. She's able not only to convince Maxime, but also to cheer him up in the worst times, even if it doesn’t seem so at first.

• Compared to Maxime's bright appearance and eccentric behavior, she silently shows who is trash here.

• She, unlike Maxime, is a perfect pilot of their giant ship. Plus, judging by her emotions in some of the shots, she really enjoys it! In this, I understand her 🏎️💨

• Sofía Vergara claimed that Valentina's arrogant personality also concealed a soft side. I believe that this side is personified in her dog, who, in contrast, looks very friendly. At first I even thought that it would be better for them to even swap pets with Poppy.

• I think she was that rich straight-A student in high school. BUT! It wasn't for nothing that she was considered the coolest girl at the Lycée. She looks very intelligent, reserved, and calculating, which is perfect for a villain. C'mon, she got her boyfriend out of jail?!?!?

• She has a whole ritual of preparing for going out, from beauty procedures to choosing outfits and combing her pet's hair. But Maxime still gets ready longer, even though he has half as much to do.

• Valentina looks like a trendsetter. She probably has a whole collection of branded shoes, handbags and other luxury items.

• Valentina is SINCERE in her relationship with Maxime. Have you seen the shot of her smiling enthusiastically when he shows her his invention? God, I want to wish this dynamic for everyone who wants to find a healthy relationship.

• I'm convinced that she knows a lot about humor, and in a way that not everyone will understand: Valentina will joke with the same serious face and voice as usual. You just need to listen to the words. (Perhaps her vibe is somewhat reminiscent of Daria series?)

• I think she actually doesn't treat Gru badly and may even enlist his help in the film. At the meeting, she simply doesn't care about Gru and everyone else. But she'll only help to take revenge for the sake of Maxime... as long as it's sounds like a good idea

• I think that before her relationship with Maxime, Val was disdainful of insects. However, she then worked through the issue and became neutral with it. By the way, she vibes like a dragonfly, don’t you agree?

• Val had to get used to the fact that her partner was special not only in personality but also... Well, in general, at the moment she has no problems with Maxime's features. Great message about accepting other people. I respect that!

• She may be soft on the inside, but she doesn’t act like she’s being overly cute. She looks like an adult woman and shows gentleness, attention, and care like an adult too.

• She often has to save Maxime from trouble, even from the stupidest ones, like a flytrap. But it doesn't annoy her at all🤲

• I am convinced that Valentina was the one who instilled self-confidence in Maxime and offered him a way to present himself, based on his hidden qualities!

In any case, I am sure that the relationship between Valentina and Maxime will be harmonious not only within the framework of being villains, but also as ordinary people. They don't look like people I'd want to wish bad things upon.

[spacexseven]

oooo a demon au! I like it! question, do you think demon chu and daz would be content with just tormenting darling for the rest of their days and leaving it at that, or would they want the relationship to... progress, at some point? like I feel like this can go one of two ways 1) demon yan just wants to torment their little human until they break and then move on or 2) demon yans possessive feelings take a more romantic, softer (soft used VERY generously here) note and they move onto courting practices. of course demonic courting is objectively terrifying and you probably won't realize that's what they're even trying to do but, you know. modern dating, amirite? I could see dazai specifically learning about what marriage is from watching your TV unsupervised and becoming VERY taken with the idea. chuuya would probably think it was stupid, he doesn't need a RING or a damned PRIEST to stake his claim on you! (though, maybe you'd appreciate the effort? hm... much to consider)

or maybe it'd be a mix of both, or a secret third thing I haven't thought of yet!

also what kind of demons do u think the boys are? dazai is giving me incubus vibes from the way you've written him so far but I can also see him being very torture-oriented, maybe even some kind of eldritch monstrosity entirely in his own league. demon!dazai saying he wants to lock you up in his little torture hell dimension for all eternity and thinks he's VERY romantic for saying it too! mmmm chuuya would definitely be a much more powerful sort than one might intitally assume. has a very large sphere of influence, possibly even his own cult (that might cause issues for you down the road). who knows!

- 🩹

cw: yandere characters + themes, implied imprisonment, mentioned murder and violence, chuuya has a cult

i like the sound of chuuya having a cult of fervent worshippers; since he's so well known and revered for his strength and his power, it would make sense as to why someone decided to curse you by tacking him onto you. it was obvious that under normal circumstances, you'd have been devoured by the demon by now.

speaking of cults, you're shocked at first to know that he has one. chuuya tells you he doesn't care for his human worshippers (does that mean he has demon worshippers, too?) but it's somewhat true that fear is power for him. he doesn't care about their antics, but he was pleasantly surprised to see them offer sacrifices and relics to him (though he doesn't mention the first to you, knowing how...weak human hearts are)

he doesn't take you to see it, of course, unsure of whether his worshippers would be happy to see you by his side, or feel offended that he had to be tied down to a human. of course, he was ready to slaughter them all at a moment's notice if you would feel better about it, but you seemed appalled by the suggestion.

for the most part, he's definitely a lot softer than dazai. sure, he has a better understanding of human relationships, having mingled more with people than dazai, but it doesn't mean his understanding isn't skewed. chuuya thinks that kidnapping a priest will mean that your wedding will be recognized by the divine law, and he doesn't know why you'd be upset when he offers you the corpses of every person who's ever slighted you as a wedding gift.

putting dazai with a human is the worst thing to ever happen because he has no understanding of how humans work. why are they so weak, and small? why are they so frightened by everything? why are they so preoccupied by that strange box with flashing lights??

initially, he's all about making your life a literal living hell. he almost felt embarrassed that you of all people summoned him, to be honest, and he takes it out on you. since you were able to bring him here, stupid human, you should be able to keep him as well! but as we've discussed, his torment turns into something strange. it's thanks to human technology that dazai learns that humans like when a potential partner brings them gifts and helps them out, so when he sees you suffering trying to finish all your work, he happily burns down the pile of paper and brings you the ashes in a little jar he made the other day. oh, and they like verbal assurances and physical affection? dazai is always cooing at you about how smart you are for a human, and then proceeds to literally wrap himself around you and pet your hair.

god forbid he decides to surprise you with a visit to his home. while he promises you that you'll just love his majestic castle, you don't expect to be shown a very...in-depth tour of his torture chamber as well. and then he grins at you and says that he'll love for you to stay with him longer, all the while holding his one-of-a-kind, custom made blade in one hand.

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere TF-141 with a Transgender Darling (ftm)

Warnings: yandere behavior, (to other people, not you!), talks about gender dysphoria; medical procedures; needles and self injection; slight violence.

A/N: my friend recently came out to me (so proud of him!) And asked me to write this for him; which, of course, I did :]!

Alex, if you are reading this, I'm so proud of you and happy you felt comfortable enough to come out to me. You are so amazing (and the other people reading this!!! <33)

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Doesn’t have a problem with it — when you come out, he looks at you before nodding, briefly raising his eyebrows in understatement before asking if that’s all.

“He/him fits you better. It's more you. If you think I’d hate you, you’re wrong.”

Of course, he will go through the basics with you: asking what your preferred pronouns and name are, as well as nicknames and comfort wise with name-calling in the bedroom. He wants to know everything as he doesn’t want to offend or upset you in any way.

Nevertheless, Simon is incredibly supportive; telling you that he’s proud of you and happy that you felt comfortable telling him. Nothing changes between you two — the relationship is the same, possibly stronger than it was before.

If you decide to go with medical transition, he will be there, supporting you with all his love and taking time off work or on his rare days off to head to your appointments with you.

HRT? He’ll research and tell you things, making appointments with the best doctor’s offices to call. He’ll be there with every single appointment, nodding and asking questions when he sees a chance to ask. If you are scared to do your injections, he will offer to do it, making sure to give you a cookie/or favorite snack of yours afterward.

Top surgery? Simon will make sure to arrive before the surgery, rubbing your back as you get escorted to the medical room; promising he’ll be there when you wake up. When it’s time for you to come home, he’s making sure to hand-feed you, and help you to the bathroom; reminding you every day that you’re incredibly handsome.

A man who will 100% let you borrow his clothes (not like he did that before!). It’s probably not surprising that his clothes are huge on you, with this said, Ghost will always reach over and pull you into his hoodies; specifically one that has a skull. He doesn’t mind one bit and enjoys seeing you wearing them.

When the days are hard when Dysphoria is being a bitch, Ghost will be there comforting you, reminding you that even how hard the day is — you’re still his man and fiancé; you are incredibly attractive and good-looking, even if you don’t see it.

While Ghost tries not to get into a conflict outside of work, the minute he sees/or hears someone making you feel uncomfortable or upset, he’s not afraid to throw hands or slurs at the douchebag. Especially if they are saying things to you.

With his big frame and thick accent, it’s a high chance the person will get scared shitless and run away.

Captain “Price” John:

With him being a bit older than the others (aged 37 to early 40s), he’s not very aware of the gay/or open community. Sure, he’s been around it and knows enough but he doesn’t have as much knowledge about it as you possibly do. That being said, he will ask questions or make a face when you confess to him; slightly confused about the whole deal.

While he’s confused, with the help of the internet and your explanation, Price will immediately catch on board and agree to your terms. Asking what name you’d like to go by and how he can do certain things without offending you.

“Proud of ya’ for finding your true self. I love you, ‘kay? Nothin’ ain't stopping that.”

Regardless, Price is extremely happy and proud of you; with you being his beloved husband, he wants you to be as comfortable and happy as possible.

If and when you want medical transition, Price will appear at every appointment, rubbing your hands and back if he senses you’re nervous, and always supports you with whatever decision you want. He will ask the doctor multiple questions, wanting to know everything and how he can help you.

When you want top surgery, Price will make sure to be there when it happens and comforts you with the pain and anxiety. He will help you get dressed and bathe you without hurting yourself; spoon-feeding you on the days when it’s extremely hard.

Want HRT? He’ll be there, ordering your testosterone and helping you with a well-scheduled time; talking with your doctor about any and all questions/or needs. If you are scared of needles, he will help you with your self-injection, distracting you as he does so; kissing your forehead, and praising you as he gets finished.

Is someone being an ass to you? Price has it covered with his tall and intimidating structure. He’s not afraid to get into their space, using this opportunity with his Captain’s voice and making sure they shake in their boots for being pieces of shit.

Gender dysphoria, needing reassurance, and doubting yourself are a hot piece of garbage. If a certain day is hard, Price is right behind you, rubbing your back as he tells you how manly and handsome you are — how nothing could and never will change his thought with that of you. While these thoughts can be hard to get out of, he wants you to know that he’s there to comfort you; whatever you request, no matter how big or small, he’ll make sure to deliver it with that sly smirk of his.

His clothes are incredibly comfy and he doesn’t mind one bit about you stealing them. Price loves seeing you in his hoodies or long sleeve shirts; it makes him smile big.

He may steal yours as well, possibly some of the ‘weird’ and ‘embarrassing’ worded ones. Nevertheless, Price adores seeing how baggy and comfortable they are for you.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

He smiles real big, before hugging you and congratulating you on finding out who you are. Not only is he quickly accepting, but he wants to know if he can change anything to fit your comfort zone (I.e the compliments he gives out).

“Proud of you! Glad you could tell me. Anyone who gives you shite will have to deal with me, alrighty? I love ya so much.”

Soap will ask you questions about what name you’d prefer to go by and pronouns. He’s quick to change — which includes correcting people.

While he’s kind and open, the minute someone disrespects you is the time he gets big time serious and angry; his accent comes out harsher and he curses them out. If they decide to stand up to him, he may or may not get into a flight; forcing you to pull him away before broken bones and blood spews out. However, Johnny will make sure to get you ice cream afterward.

Much like the two above, if you decide to go with medical procedures, Soap will make sure to be sitting beside you, making jokes and throwing flirtatious comments to ease your anxiety; rubbing your thighs while reminding you that he's happy for you.

HRT? Soap will make sure to appear at the appointments, reviewing the diagnosis they may give and ask questions when needed, and help with your self-injections; buying your favorite takeout when you get done each time.

Top surgery or binders? He’ll make sure to help you rewrap the bandages, wash your hair, and cook for you. If and when you wear binders, he has a strict schedule he expects you to follow — going as far as to tickle you in punishment. He’ll help do stretches with you, kissing your face when done.

Soap is excellent at distracting you when your mind is in the deep mind. He’ll offer to go to the aquarium, go take a walk and grab an ice cream cone or get your favorite food and eat it in the park, watching the night stars.

When Dysphoria is being unfair and getting up your ass, Johnny is reassuring and making you comfortable — with consent, he kisses the areas he loves about you and compliments you; talking about how handsome you are and the world’s best fiancé he could ever ask for. No matter what people say, you are incredibly manly.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

When revealing to him, he doesn’t think differently of you — rather nodding, smiling at you before asking questions (I.e your preferred pronouns and name). He’s calmer about it, but never less, Gaz is super supportive and understanding.

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me, that must’ve been hard. Have you told your friends (and/or family)? You do know that I still love you, right?”

While the others will research to a point, Gaz on the other hand, researches like a worried mother; going as far as to find someone he may know/or influencers online to ask or watch some of their videos to get answers he didn’t get online.

If and when you want medical surgery, Gaz will make sure to appear to be at every appointment; asking questions amongst questions, stopping once he sees you getting uncomfortable from how long the visit has become.

Want HRT? Gaz will 100% step up to do your injections, especially if you are scared of needles or pain; asking simple questions to make your mind look away from the injection.

Top surgery? Whenever you want it, he’ll make sure to comfort you when the time to have the surgery is due, promising that he will make your favorites. He’ll be there, massaging your body when the pain is too much and spoon-feeding you if needed.

Not one for violence but if someone dares to say something, Kyle will get angry and may or may not cuss them out. If they continue rambling on, he’ll tell them to fuck off before bringing you to a comfort zone of yours, buying your favorite snacks and drinks.

Gaz is good at reassuring and comforting you when your dysphoria is a bully. If you let him, he will touch and kiss you, roaming his hands all over you and whispering how much of a man you are and how much he loves you.

—

Masterlist || Please reblog or comment instead of liking, it helps me a bunch!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[qiangweirosa]

Thank you for taking my request! I loved it. The girls are just so amazing and I love them a lot 🩷🩷 p4 is also my favourite, the vibe there is just so nice😌🌸

Could I request some specific x reader thing? Like, I saw your latest post and ik you didn’t write headcanons before so just pick whatever form you find the easiest (and drop one character if you don’t want to do both)

This might be very specific but like, can I get something about a reader who used to be very sporty and graceful but has had a bad injury that kind of affects the way they walk and their balance. They don’t say it but they are secretly self conscious over it. They still do sports and stuff but they worry about never being enough again (and also ppl making comments about their limp). For characters that would be paired with the reader, I was thinking Mishima (love him sm🩷) and, unsurprisingly,, Ryuji (it’s a bit silly but this character helped me a bit to feel better about my situation)

Once again, thank you for doing my previous request and taking the time to read this one. I hope it’s not too heavy or self indulgent in my part, its a bit embarrassing to be fair haha

-★🐶

Mishima + Ryuji x Reader (separate)

relationships: mishima/reader, ryuji/reader tws: none wc: 462 extra: reader is gender neutral // I LOVE MISHIMA??? hes one of my favorite characters in p5 hes so silly... i actually had a lot of trouble writing this so i hope its good enough for you... dont ever apologize for being self indulgent with me i am literally the most self indulgent reader ever. ty for the request and i'm glad you liked the last one!

Mishima :

You stood in front of the diner in Shibuya, looking around with your bag on your shoulder and your phone in hand. Yuuki had texted you he’d be here in 5 minutes, exactly 5 minutes ago. You kept glancing at your screen, checking to see if he had texted you again. 

You usually tried to keep an eye on your surroundings, but you must’ve been too focused on your phone to see the crowd of people rushing into you. You tried keeping yourself up, but it was no use - you felt yourself falling over, almost resigning yourself to your fate before a pair of arms clumsily held you up. 

You looked to your side to see Yuuki, looking frantic and panicked as he slowly made sure you were back up on your feet. Just as you were about to thank him, he held you by the shoulders and yelled. 

“Are you alright?!”

After taking a second to recover, you chuckled and held onto his arms. 

“I am, no need to worry.”

He looked you over worriedly, and finally let out a sigh of relief as he saw that you were indeed alright. Yuuki brought you closer to him in a hug, which you returned. 

“Should we go inside? I don’t want you to get hurt if someone bumps into you again.”

He offered as he pulled back, taking one of your hands in his bashfully. 

“I’m not that fragile, you know… But sure, let’s go.”

He pulled you up the stairs behind him for your date. Yuuki could be a little too protective when it came to your injury, but he ultimately just didn’t want it to get worse for you. 

Ryuji :

Dating Ryuji naturally meant accompanying him on his runs, when he felt like practicing. 

Today was one of those days. You both sat down on a bench as you handed him a water bottle, which he thanked you for before drinking practically half of it. 

Your chest heaved with your breaths, trying to calm down the ache in your body as you took a break. Ryuji was sitting next to you, massaging his leg. 

“You okay?”

He glanced at you upon hearing your question. He flashed you a grin and a thumbs up, reassuring you with a nod. 

“Yeah, no worries! I can keep going. What about you?”

You nodded too. 

“Same here. Just need a short break.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, offering you the water bottle back. You drank a bit, and not long after, you two were back up and running for another lap. 

Really, you probably could’ve gone longer before your injury, and the same was true for him. Still, you two enjoyed doing this together, going at a rhythm that you were both comfortable with. 

[hornedstorys]

Ride it - Urizen x Reader/ Devil may cry - part 2 - nsfw

Description: Things get more intense between you and Urizen/Vergil, but Dante always manages to ruin everything.

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, sex with a demon, size difference, mating season

Note: It's a random story. I haven't watched a DMC Lets Play in a long time, so I'm not up to date. The story is written in freestyle, so it can differ significantly from the original story. I hope you still enjoy reading!

You woke up and rubbed your eyes. At first you didn't notice where you were, but the next moment you remembered and opened your eyes and pressed yourself against the stone. You noticed how stiff your neck was and your gaze fell on the Demon King. He had his cheek resting on his claw and was watching you with interest.

The way he looked at you made you nervous and you pressed your legs together. Of course the demon noticed your behavior and the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. A demon that has found its potential partner automatically releases pheromones that attract the partner and it doesn't matter what or who the partner is. Be it demon or human. But of course you didn't know anything about it and Dante, Nero and V hadn't told you about it either.

Your excitement grew and you didn't know what to do. He could probably smell it since his nose was a lot better than yours and it only embarrassed you more. But you didn't want to give in, but suddenly you remembered that you still had something specific with you. A knife that you took with you as a precaution. The only question was whether it would help you. After all, you were dealing with a demon and a powerful one at that.

You stood up and stared directly into Urizen's pupils. His otherwise narrow slits were widened and only now did you notice the thick shaft leaning against his muscular stomach. You swallowed. It was at least as big as your forearm, if not much bigger. You swallowed.

“It’s rude to stare,” his deep, gravelly voice snapped you out of your trance.

“Apparently you don’t have anything against me, the way I see it,” you whisper, still looking him straight in the eyes. His mouth opened slightly, but he couldn't form any words at first. He just stared openly and interestedly at you as you took a seat on his lap.

He was reluctant to admit it, but his demonic heart beat faster as your hands touched his legs and his hard cock twitched. The fire inside him bubbled and his paw grabbed your ass. You sucked in a sharp breath and stared at him with wide eyes.

You could feel yourself getting wet and you unconsciously moved against his thigh. He hissed when he could smell how wet you were.

"The offer, my king. I think we should talk about it again," you breathed, your mind becoming more and more foggy. It was like someone had poisoned you with a love potion.

Of course you had been careful not to meet any of his eyes. Urizen had already closed it, which was honestly more pleasant for you because you somehow felt like you were being watched too much.

You continued to ride his thigh and you felt your cheeks heating up too. The Demon King looked at you in admiration. He didn't want to hurt you, but he had a hard time holding back his dark side.

The next moment he grabbed you and ripped your clothes off. You felt dizzy with embarrassment, but what should you be ashamed of? After all, Vergil was a huge demon who may not have been particularly attractive to many people. Rather intimidating.

He gasped as he felt his bare, warm skin against his smooth, cold demon skin. He had placed you back on his thigh, but your attention was focused on something completely different.

His hard demon cock twitched further up his stomach and drops of pleasure had collected on his tip. You looked at it fascinatingly. It was ribbed and a lighter shade of blue, except for the thick tip. It was purple-blue and a thick vein ran from one end of the shaft to the other.

You wanted to feel him so much. But you knew he was too big to take, way too big.

Urizen saw your gaze and his pupils dilated even more.

“Ride him,” he growls and doesn’t accept any argument. You looked at him with wide eyes. But you obeyed and climbed further up his lap.

The demon leaned back a little further and watched you with an intense gaze.

You carefully sat down on his shaft. This was the only way you could ride him; anything else would have been impossible at this size. You started dragging your wet lips over his shaft and Urizen gasped sharply and growled.

“Good human, keep going,” you listened to him and continued riding him. You were so wet that you just slid over it and the friction on your clit was just too good.

A moan escaped your mouth but you didn't care. You were too caught up in your bliss that you didn't even notice demonic eyes roaming over your body. A clawed finger brushed over your pebbly nipples, making you twitch.

“Oh,” you moaned as his claw pleasured your clit. He was careful not to hurt you with his claws. You squirmed, his cock twitching beneath you.

"Aah… I want you inside me… please," you pleaded, your lust-filled eyes meeting the Demon King's. He hesitated for a moment, then something occurred to him and he closed his eyes. You stopped moving and stared at him curiously. Suddenly the large thighs shrank and gradually Urizen became smaller. But he still remained taller than a human, he was still a good two meters tall, if not a bit taller. You were amazed that he could change his size.

"I warned you, dove. Once I start… I won't be able to hold back. I'm not good with virgins," he growled and you looked at him provocatively.

"Maybe I'm not a virgin anymore, Vergil," you emphasized his name and you felt the demon tremble beneath you. His claws clenched into fists. You had made him jealous. He could always smell it when a man had his hands on you. Although they had always been your boyfriends, Vergil had still been jealous every time he could smell them. Just the way you said his name drove him crazy.

He grabbed you and pulled you off the throne with him. You gasped as he laid down on the cold ground of the demon world, staring down at you from above.

“I’m going to mark you so much even a human man can smell it, Y/n,” he growled. He grabbed your legs and almost ripped them apart, you gasped and watched as his huge shadow draped over your small form.

His cock pressing slid along your wet sex, making you exhale deeply. Then he pushed into you slowly but greedily and you tilted your head back and rolled your eyes. He stretched so well it hurt, but at the same time it felt so damn hot and good.

You spread your legs even further so he could be even closer to you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and Urizen also pulled you closer to him. Your eyes met and you both panted heavily. He thrust into you so hard that your vision went black and the air came out of your mouth in ragged gasps.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his thighs slapped against yours. The animalistic sounds the demon made drove you even more crazy. Suddenly it came over you and you pressed your lips to his. For a brief moment the world seemed to stand still and the demon's eyes widened.

He wasn't used to this physical closeness. It had been so long since his last kiss as a half-demon that he had forgotten what it felt like. But he got involved and the next moment he became greedier.

He pushed his big tongue into your mouth and you moaned. He explored every inch and you slowly ran out of breath. Then he suddenly pulled away and started licking along your jaw, down to your neck. You could feel the sharp canine teeth and it made you shudder.

He could easily kill himself if he wanted to. But he didn't want to and he couldn't either. He wanted to have you all to himself, he wanted to fuck himself every night until you couldn't walk anymore and mark you every time.

Suddenly he pulled away from you and let his still hard cock slip out of you. A bright ring of your juices had formed around his shaft and your scent was in the air.

"Turn around. Get on all fours," he growled and you obeyed. You presented your ass to him and he ran his claws along your hips. You sucked in a sharp breath as his tongue passed through your wet lips, stretching you even further towards him. He growled excitedly.

He licked you like your juices were his ambrosia and he couldn't have enough of them. His claws dug into your skin and you hissed, partly in pleasure and partly in pain. Pityingly, he pulled away from you and pushed your upper body down. You read it happening to you and wait for his next move.

You could clearly feel his hardness against your sex and your heart was beating so hard against your chest that you felt dizzy. You just had sex with a demon and he wasn't just a demon, no, it was Vergil's full demon form that just made you his and you almost felt pride in your chest.

He penetrated you deeply and you groaned. It surprised you, but the next moment you squeezed tightly around him as he stretched you again. He panted, leaning over your small form. His hips slapped your ass gently at first, but soon he increased the speed and fucked you without mercy.

Your body burned and heat rose to your face. Your skin shimmered in the light of the demon world as a layer of sweat covered it.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” Urizen growled, but you didn’t manage to say anything. You were too dizzy and it felt way too good.

Suddenly he rubbed his claw against your clitoris, making your body tremble even more. Your moans became louder and you could feel yourself getting closer. Vergil's strokes also became sloppy and the next moment, you were moaning and clenching around him and pumping him. Immediately afterwards Urizen came and his claws dug deeper into your skin again.

He pulled out of you and you could feel his seed running down your legs. You jumped in shock as his tongue licked over the spots and cleaned you. It made you blush, it was a very intimate gesture and you didn't expect him to do something like that for you.

“Everyone will now be able to smell who you belong to,” he growled, pulling you to your shaky legs. Your eyes got bigger. He still didn't mind that you smelled like him? Urizen noticed your look, his brow furrowing.

"You're mine now, Y/n. A demon-human pairing is forever," he explained and you tried to replay the words in your head. But before you could say anything, Dante suddenly appeared out of nowhere and attacked his brother.

Out of nowhere someone grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the fight, it was V. He put a blanket around you because you were still naked and the embarrassment rose in you, but V's look was friendly and neutral always. He didn't judge you.

“You didn’t stick to the plan, Y/n, but I see you had fun,” Dante teased, looking you up and down as he landed near you every now and then. Urizen growled and tried to hit Dante, but in the end Dante won and you watched in dismay as he struck down his brother.

But then something strange happened. V walked over to the Demon King, who was lying exhausted on the ground, and climbed onto his chest. He mumbled something about he had lost him and Urizen had lost V. Everything happened so quickly and the next moment he stabbed the demon with his stick.

Everyone watched in panic as a bright light shot into the sky and you closed your eyes. When you opened it again after a few seconds you froze.

There he stood, in his full form and with his Yamato in his hand.

"What is that?" Nero asked and Dante didn't look very pleased.

“Vergil,” you breathed, and the silver-haired man’s head turned in your direction. Your eyes met and suddenly your vision went black.

[saturnvs]

hellooo this might be kind of a silly question lol, but do you think you can learn to ride at any age? i've always loved horses but i've never really been around them. i've been contemplating signing up for lessons at this stable thats opened up near where i live, but doing just the bare minimum research into what to expect has me a little overwhelmed lol. since you've been posting about riding again, i was wondering if you had any tips or advice for someone who is a complete beginner :')

yes!! i’m a firm believer that anyone can learn at any age - all you really need is the desire and motivation to learn!

i completely understand feeling overwhelmed. there’s SO much to the entire thing, both regarding the riding itself and handling horses on the ground. i would recommend reaching out to the stable and asking basic questions about their establishment, like what to have in mind as a beginner! all stables have different ways of doing things, and a big part in feeling relaxed as a beginner is knowing what to expect.

i have no experience being a complete beginner at an adult age, but i do of course have experience of returning after many years out of the saddle. something that’s been very important to me is to find out a lot about the place i’ve been going to and most of all, not be afraid to ask questions that might seem silly. it’s much better to ask one time too many, especially in an environment where safety is so important.

if you’re feeling nervous or scared or uncertain - let people know! don’t push yourself to do something scary, instead let the instructor know that hey, this makes me anxious, and i might need some help. that goes for anything, both on the ground and in the saddle!!

as a returning rider i booked myself a private lesson with an instructor to get used to the feeling in a safe environment with no distractions as i find it difficult to be in a group setting. not all stables offer that though, but you can always ask! private lessons aren’t on a weekly basis (at least where i ride), but instead an extra hour of learning that you can have a few times throughout the term.

however, as a complete beginner it’s very beneficial to be in a group. you learn to not only keep track of yourself and your horse, but also how to manage being surrounded by other people on horses! and in a group where everyone is new, you have a chance to make some long lasting friends if you want to. it could also be calming to know that you likely aren’t the only one who is super nervous.

this advice probably is a little diffuse, so please don’t hesitate to ask more specific questions!! id be happy to try to help you.

but in short - talk to them and sign up!! you won’t regret getting to know these precious animals <3

edit: just wanted to add!!! my mother, who had never in her life been on horse before, started riding in her mid-40s and although she stopped after a few years she still thinks of it as one of the best things she ever did!! :’)

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Critique Partner Basics

What Is a Critique Partner?

A critique partner (CP) is another writer with whom you exchange writing to get feedback from each other on your drafts so you can get better. A partner for critiques!

Do I Need One?

You should really probably have one if:

You’re trying for professional publication/marketing/selling your writing

Getting better writing skills is something you aim for

Otherwise, no, not really.

Do They Cost Money?

No, they cost time and effort and mutual support.

Can’t I Just Hire an Editor Instead?

Sure, but honestly, they don’t work as well. Critiquing other people and trying to see how their story works and articulate it to help them is half of the skilling up having a CP provides.

What Does a Critique Partner Do?

This depends on the people involved and what they’re good at critiquing for and what they want help with. In general, I expect these two things from CPs:

My story document back marked up with live-reading comments from track changes or Google Docs or a PDF with annotations or whatever.

An edit letter of 1-2 pages of overall thoughts to edit towards.

The in-line edits help if something small isn’t adding up, two details don’t match, and gives me a good idea at what point something repetitive became a serious issue, so I know how much patience my CP had with a flaw before they started losing it. It’s also usually fun—this is where I get CP comments laughing at my jokes or yelling about how much they love characters or snarking at them.

In-line comments tend to look something like this:

A mix of pointing out problem spots and bits they love. Often they will fix your typos, but that's generally not what you're getting a CP for.

Edit letters are often broken into sections of things they CP wants to talk about: what they thought of the characters, the stakes, the plot, the pacing, the structure, or any other element they want to specifically call out. A lot of it will be reflective of the line edits, but since it’s written later, it tends to be more cohesive and thoughtful of how things feel by the end of the story after seeing where the entire story goes instead of the experience of puzzling it out as they read it.

Sometimes they will offer suggestions, some more specific than others. They will tell you the things that are working and the things they aren’t, ideally.

I like to also have a back-and-forth with my CP after getting notes to answer questions and brainstorm ideas. This is optional; not everyone likes this.

What Should I Look For in a Critique Partner?

Someone who likes your writing, respects your abilities as a writer, and provides feedback you find useful.

A lot of writers, especially without strong community ties, often find themselves willing to accept basically anyone who is going to read their thing and give them some notes on it. That’s a pretty surefire path to unhappiness and dissatisfaction.

I get it. I’ve done it a lot myself. But I’m going to advise you not to do it. If someone doesn’t get your writing or your story and wants to change it to something more like what they would like, that’s not helpful.

Here’s a few examples to illustrate the difference:

If your CP points out a few sentences that sound a little award or a paragraph is flat, that’s probably helpful! If they try to completely rewrite sections to better look more like their writing style, that’s probably not.

If your CP thinks maybe the story you have has themes or characters that sound more adult than YA and have you considered aging them up, that’s probably helpful! If they  suggest you age up the characters because adult books can tackle a concept that interests them and it wasn’t in your story, that’s probably not.

If your CP says the ending of your story left a lot of loose threads from subplots or other questions that were raised in the story and it feels unfinished, that’s probably helpful! If they say the ending of your story wasn’t satisfying to them because they didn’t like the message it sent to watch a character win, that’s probably not.

Basically, is your CP giving you feedback that will help you write the story you want to write? Do you both even want the same story out of the draft? Do they respect what you bring to the table?

How Do I Find One of These?

Ah, the million-dollar question.

Most writers find them through friends or writing communities they’re in. My best CPs have always been writer friends first, and then we start sending each other pages to test how well our vibes work. Make them on forums, on discord, on social media, in person writer’s groups, writing workshops and classes; whatever. You know a friend who is writing and whose writing you like and you’re both looking for someone to help edit? Great!

There are also sometimes events like CPMatch on Twitter, which are hashtag events to pitch your book and yourself as an editor to see if anyone is interested in reading it and swapping feedback with you.

Some people will run CP matchmaking. Sometimes this costs money. Personally, I don’t think I would bite for one of those, because if I didn’t get a useful CP out of it, I’d feel like it’s wasted money and time and not just time. But it is work for the matchmaker and some people are satisfied with matchmaking options, so having someone try to hook you up, for free or not, is also an option.

Websites like Critique Match also exist for the purposes of finding a CP. I don’t know how popular it is, but it’s also an option.

Most writing discords will have a “seeking feedback” channel and you can reach out there.

[nativestarwrites]

For the dialogue prompts (https://www.tumblr.com/nativestarwrites/739354673205624832)

29?

Thanks for the ask! These prompt fills are breaching the drabble length containment so they're taking a bit longer for me to fill but hope you enjoy!

This is set early S3.

“Tell me where it hurts, and be specific," Jamie asks, because Jamie Fucking Tartt is perched on the edge of Roy’s coffee table, his hands hovering over his knee as if he’s going to heal it like some kind of miracle worker. “No.” Roy says petulantly, resisting the urge to cover his knee protectively with his own hands. He barely slept at all last night, should probably have cancelled their early morning training if he wasn’t such a stubborn idiot, living in denial. He was not letting Jamie’s clumsy hands drive the pain home. “C’mon man, I can help,” Jamie turns pleading eyes to him and Roy doesn’t know why its bothering Jamie so much, why he wants to help so much. “Fuck off, unless you’ve been getting a physio qualification in the spare time I know you don’t have.” “Actually, I dated a someone who--” “Fuck no. You’re not fucking touching my knee just because you slept with a fucking physio or whatever.” Jamie’s shoulders sag, and his hands finally retreat to his own lap, tucking under the hem of his shirt. “She weren’t a one night stand, she was my first proper girlfriend. She was in her final year, studying physiotherapy and we dated for a while. I really liked her. Except she was busier than me with all her exams so to spend time with her, I helped her study and shit,” Jamie shrugs, “Learnt some stuff.” Roy grunts, and although he doesn’t lighten up on his glare, he nods at Jamie. He’s knee’s already fucked, what’s the worst that could happen? Jamie leans forward tentatively as if waiting for Roy to change his mind and slap his hands away. And when Roy doesn’t, he raises his eyebrows, silently asking his question again. “Here.” Roy says, pointing to the worst of the pain. “ACL?” “Yeah.” Jamie’s gentler than he expected, not clumsy at all, working with confidence as he massages around the ligament, loosening up tight muscles. “What was her name?” Roy says, if only to distract himself from the fact that Jamie of all people is giving him a massage that he willingly submitted to. “Rachael.” Jamie replies, a distant look in his eyes. “My dad hated her, ‘cause she was smarter than both of us combined, but that just made me want to try harder, you know?” “What happened?” Roy asks carefully, if Jamie’s dad was behind it he’d have to add it to the growing list of reasons to punch him should their paths ever cross again. “Got papped. Some fucking newspaper decided to write an article, WAGS of the future. She didn’t like the attention, it wasn’t what she wanted and when she graduated she took a job up in Edinburgh. Told me it was better to end it. That long distance never worked. But I knew she was looking for a way out.” “Fucking journos.” Roy curses. “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, I was too.” Jamie shrugs. “How’s that feel now?” Roy isn’t sure if it’s simply the heat from Jamie’s hands or if he really does know what he’s doing but surprisingly the pain has started to abate. He bends his knee cautiously, it still hurts, Jamie’s no miracle worker, but it does feel better. Looser, less aching. “Better. Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Jamie replies, sharing a small and satisfied smile with Roy. “Your turn now,” “What?” Jamie frowns. “Your ankle. Don’t think I didn’t notice you favouring it earlier.” “You don’t--” Roy rolls his eyes. “I know I don’t, I’m offering.” “It’s fine, I’ll see the physios at the club.” “Damn straight you will, but until then…” Roy trails off, and when Jamie doesn’t move, he sighs. “I’ve been playing football longer than you’ve been alive, you’re not the only one to know a thing or two about sports massage.” Jamie hesitates and just when Roy thinks he’s going to have to put his coach voice on and order Jamie, he moves, stretching out on the sofa next to Roy, his ankle resting on Roy’s thigh. “Thanks.” Jamie says quietly. Roy nearly replies with that’s what friends are for but he catches himself at the last second, because this is Jamie Tartt. They’re not friends. Except. That is what friends are for, isn’t it?

[aesterblaster]

No Good Family Dinners Here (2)

Summary: The meeting the parents via family dinner trope but y/n has a shitty family (gender neutral) , Part One linked here

Characters included: Kenyu, Reo and Kaiser

Songs: Worst Case Scenerio / The Hoosiers // SAD / Lemon Demon // I Guess / Sweatcult

Warnings: gets kinda dark or heavy at some parts, abuse and neglect mentioned (to be specific mental abuse during Kenyu's section, financial and physical abuse during Reo's and physical plus emotional neglect during Kaiser's), not proofread

Tagging: @strawberrymilk4u @maozne18 @effulgentfireflies @kryptic-krab

Kenyu was still trying to decide on which shoes he'd wear to meet your parents. At this point it was between his dressier, but admittedly much more uncomfortable, double strap dress shoes or his slightly scuffed yet soft loafers. It was clear, it was time for a second opinion. "(Y/N)! Which of these look better to you?" He really wasn't the type to be this indecisive, but when it came to something as important as meeting his possible in-laws Yukimiya couldn't help but second guess himself. No answer. "(Y/N)?"

For a moment he swore he heard you crying. Before he could go to check on you though, you responded. "The loafers look good, you look great. Really." You thought it ironic that your dashing, model and famous soccer player of a boyfriend was acting insecure. It was you who felt insecure, always questioning if you deserved him or if he'd up and leave you one day... And now you two were off to meet the people who installed that mindset in you.

When you arrived, you made sure they saw Kenyu first. Your parents greeted him with loud gasps and firm handshakes, and they simply kept the door open for you. They were taken with him as soon as he offered to help set the table. You watched him pull out all of his charm and desperately wished he'd save it for someone better. Saved it for someone who actually deserved his kindness and smile. Of course, your boyfriend on the other hand was just content that they didn't point out that his shoes were scuffed.

"Gosh, you're so professional at first I thought you were some new therapist (Y/N) hired!" your mother gushed after all of you were seated with food on your plate. Kenyu raised an eyebrow and glanced over at you. "Oh, did they not tell you? They insist that they need to spend all this money on these, these councilers but none of them ever work out. We still try to meet every one of them though, just to make sure they aren't a bad influence."

You almost choked on your water. Kenyu similarly wasn't all too good at keeping what he was feeling under wraps. The sudden change in tone and cadence hadn't gone unnoticed. It was like walking in a forest and suddenly falling into a sink hole. "Hang on you, uh, meet them- ?"

"I think it's a waste of time too." your dad chimed in, cutting him off. There was a small silence after that, only the sound of silverware against plates echoed through the room. Yukimiya dug deep and changed the subject. You didn't know how but even after that he managed to get your parents all wrapped up in a conversation about how he balanced soccer and his modeling carrer. Eventually he used the leverage he gained with them to excuse the both of you. Claiming it was getting late (It was only about 7:30 pm.) and by some miracle your parents agreed, letting you two go. For a minute, you were convinced he actually liked your parents.

As soon as you asked what he thought of them though he unloaded, running his hands through his hair as he groaned, "God, they were fucking insufferable! I'm sorry. I know you probably love them but that was rough! I had to get us outta there before my head exploded. I'm never going back there, I hope you know that." You started giggled, and soon it turned into a full on laughing session. He laughed with you for a while. "But really, they clearly don't really...respect you. I hope you know I do though." You nodded quietly, wondering what you did to earn a boyfriend who could turn your tears to laughter.

Reo already hated your parents before he ever sat down at their table. He was a man of strong convictions and you telling him about how they greedily took your allowance away for 7 months after you simply forgot to do a few chores gave him a pretty strong opinion of them. You also told him in passing about how often you visited the school nurse when you were younger with scrapes and bruises you were unable to explain away. He was astounded when he learned that you didn't fully understand how bank accounts worked or that you didn't need to be punished for every mistake.

He was even more agast when your parents managed to get in touch with you after some tabloid took a photo of you with him. As much as Reo enjoyed his life in the spotlight, he wished he could keep you safe from it. He still remembered how shaken you were when you showed him a photo some celebrity stalker snapped of you two. Admittedly, you looked great in it, the sun hitting you at just the right angles, your clothes matching his beautifully. Almost as soon as the photo was published, Reo's social media was flooded with jealous fangirls and yours with scathing accusations related to you guessed it, whether or not you were just a gold digger.

Your parents, though, they didn't see any of it as a negative just big green dollar signs. So here you were, in their house with Reo Mikage. You held onto his arm tightly, seeing your dad smile like that was starting to freak you out. "So, where'd you meet them?" he asked the same way an excited child would ask a stranger where they found their lost kitten.

"It's a long story." Unfortunately your boyfriend hated small talk. Normally he'd grit his teeth through it, but he was always a bit of a hedonist and there was, to him at least, no reason to hide that here. Pain or pleasure, that was also the stick and carrot technique your mom and dad used on you. You could barely touch your plate, honestly.

Your parents continued to try and milk their time with the billionaire. They had even used some sort of freshener that made the whole house smell like apple pie. It was nothing like the home you left when you went off to collage, or the one you miserably returned to when you needed more money for the next semester. They even turned your bedroom into an office space.

"I hope she isn't giving you much trouble, really. I know that both me and their father were so worried after not hearing from (Y/N) for such a long time. I'm glad they found you though, haha, no longer begging us for anymore money huh?" your mother said, shooting a pointed glare your way that you didn't meet. But you could feel yourself gaining confidence, just a bit, by sitting next to Reo. It was radiating off of him. What to you was controlling and downright terrifying was just pointless chatter to him that he barely bothered to answer. He was always eager to make you as comfortable as possible and hearing these, these people he'd never even met before talk to you like this was wearing on him.

"(Y/N), I believe I have a meeting to attend soon, and I don't know exactly how you're feeling but.... What do you think we should do?" You glanced up at him and met his gaze. You knew damn well that he could tell them off himself, tell them about how this was clearly going nowhere and just a grab to get you to talk to them again. But he wanted you to do it.

"We should leave." That's all Reo needed to hear.

Kaiser wasn't exactly the model boyfriend to bring to a family dinner. And that was exactly why you were dragging him out to your parents house now. You stared at the house for a long, long time. This wasn't the same house you'd lived in your whole life. It was nicer, they clearly did some upgrades. You'd warned your parents ahead of time about how you were coming over with "company" so you hoped they prepared a decent dinner. Just in case though, you brought a few dishes from a nearby restaurant

You were pleasantly surprised that the owner still recognized you. Although, you were far from the malnourished kid that used to skip the first period of school to help around at their place for cash. You prided yourself on that, how well you were doing now, in a loving relationship and much more stable. So, why were you back? That question rang in the back of your mind like a sad echo, but you pushed it away.

"Are we going to just sit in front of the door forever?" Kaiser groaned. You were nowhere near the door, he meant in the car but he forgot the word for car again. If there was one more thing you could say you were pleased with yourself for it would be convincing Kaiser to actually start practicing English again after he abandoned it in high school (You two had a bet on who could master who's language first, so far you were losing but at least you remembered the word for car). You shook your head before opening the passenger side door with a flourish and with that you two were off.

"....(Y/N)? You can stop, if they come they come." You didn't even realize how many times you knocked until Kaiser made his comment with a small chuckle. He had to admit that he might be more annoyed than you if they didn't show, he worked extra hard on his eyeliner today. But, just as you were about to turn around and walk away the door swung open.

"Oh! Hey, (Y/N)...long time no see." your mother said with a small smile as she let you and Kaiser in. "And who's this?"

"It's Kaiser, Micheal Kaiser." he hummed doing a small hair flip before shaking your mom's hand. She was more weirded out than anything and some selfish part of you wanted her to care that you brought this tattooed loud man into her house. Wanted her to look at you with that "What in the fresh hell" look you'd seen so many other moms give on those dating tv shows when their kid ran off with someone they didn't approve of. But all she said was,

"Oh, ok. Come on in."

The dinner didn't last long. There wasn't that much food to go around anyway, even with the extra dishes you brought, your mom just ended up squirreling them away into the fridge. You let her. Kaiser got along with your father well enough just because of all the strange stories he had under his belt. It was a strange mix of apathy and faked intrigue. You knew that your parents really didn't care all that much what you were doing or who you were dating. They didn't in your childhood, why would they now? If there was one thing Kaiser couldn't handle though, it was apathy.

After all, he was a damn star, a famous athlete and a main character in this little family dinner setting. You were the other lead, interesting, intelligent, witty. And your parents were a dull, rude audience. Not to mention that in the past they were villans, leaving you with unfit attire throughout your childhood and a sore lack of attention. Something Micheal didn't realize the true sorrow of until he was sitting in that cramped dining room with you. Watching your parents give one word responses or non related questions to all of your accomplishments. Their behavior was absolutely stifling, no one could entertain in this setting. He threw his napkin on the table before turning to you, "(Y/N), why don't we take a quick trip back to the, the.."

"Car."

"And not return?"

[cosmicjoke]

Do you think Levi has high self esteem and is comfortable in his own skin despite what some people may think of him initially? (E.g commenting about his height or possibly being afraid around his presence)

You know, that's an interesting question.

On the one hand, I DO think Levi has a healthy sense of pride, as in, he takes pride in bettering himself and maintaining certain standards about himself, and in living and surviving. I think Levi has enough respect for himself that he wouldn't just let people dump all over him and feel like he deserves it, etc... I don't think he would take shit from anybody.

At the same time, though, I think Levi tends to think of himself as expendable compared to other people, and he treats himself like a tool to be used by other people. I think he often sees himself as simply a means for other people to achieve their ends, and he allows himself to be used by them as such.

So I think Levi respects himself enough and has enough self-esteem not to let others treat him disrespectfully or badly, i.e., if someone tries to kill him or hurt him, he'll return the favor in kind. But I think Levi is also lacking in any kind of real ego, and doesn't really think of putting his own needs or wants above others he deems more worthy or important than himself, which I think is just people in general. He sees himself as someone or something which others can and should use to their benefit. Levi doesn't have to do that. He's plenty capable and independent enough that he could do whatever he wants and nobody could really do anything to stop him. But he wants to help other people more than he wants to help himself, and so he lets them treat him like a tool or a weapon. In that regard, some might consider Levi to be lacking in self-esteem. I would more say it's a result of Levi simply not having an inflated sense of self-importance or self-worth. It's not that he thinks badly of himself, per say, more that he just simply doesn't think his life or his personal wants and needs should be placed above that of others.

I do think Levi is a little insecure about his height, and I think that's probably a result of comments he got growing up, and from Kenny specifically. We see him call Levi a "midget" multiple times, and make fun of Levi's height. So I think Levi feels self-aware sometimes of his shortness. I also think Levi does carry with him, to some extent, a sense of being a disappointment, again, because of Kenny, and how Kenny abandoned him without explaining why. I think Levi might think there's something inherently wrong with him, even as he doesn't quite know what it is, or how to articulate it. I think there might be an underlying sense in him that he's unwanted, or that he's too "abnormal", as he puts it at one point, to really fit in anywhere. His social awkwardness and difficulty in expressing himself to other people probably exacerbates that feeling in him. As does just the circumstances of his birth and where he comes from. He's a literal outcast and reject from society, having been born in the Underground, and growing up there. So there's a double-sense of rejection, both from Kenny, and the circumstances of his birth. No doubt this has some affect on Levi's own perception of himself and whatever worth he might offer to others. That probably in some way shaped his willingness to let others use him as a tool or a weapon. Maybe he couldn't conceive of any other use anyone would have for him beyond that. Which is just heartbreaking and devastating to think about.

[blatantlackofdecorum]

Hi! I was wondering if I could get hunter x male reader who's got autism? If not, hunter x male reader where they're enemies but they get caught in a trap and the only way to get out safely is to dance in a specific way. (I've been listening to Underground by Cody fry on repeat and it's what gave me the idea 😅)

Yeah of course!

Hunter x Male! Autistic Reader

(I wrote this with a reader in mind but didn’t really fixate on gendered terms so this can be read as a GN Reader too)

(I also love Cody Fry dude, if you haven’t heard his other songs you should listen I’m sure you’d love them. Some of them are covers but honestly I think he outdoes himself with most of his music)

- not to push my agenda on here, but hunter’s also most likely on the spectrum, he just didn’t get the advantage of growing up in a place where diagnosis was an option. so when you first tell him about it prepare for lots of questions. it isn’t to overwhelm you (but if it does he will totally back off and give you some space) he’s just trying to make sure he knows everything he can. 

- asks around (specifically luz as she has her own experience with diagnosis) and finds a few books on it, though he’s especially excited to learn from you (especially if this means that he can help you cope with any symptoms better) 

- when he finds out about any interests of yours, he’s so beyond happy to see you excited about something, he wants to hear all about it, all your favorite facts, what first got you into it. (if this is also overwhelming he’ll opt to infodump about his interests instead)  - definitely gets you tiny gifts related to your interests or hyperfixations, (or will make them depending on if it’s a common interest or not) though as much as he loves to see your reactions to them, he’ll occasionally leave them in your room just so you can react without worrying about masking. (he stresses out quite a bit himself when gifted something and having to immediately react in front of others)  - similar to how he made his costume from cosmic frontier, if you want a halloween costume related to your interest this boy will put everything he has into making it for you. anything to see your joy.  - that being said if anyone were to ever make fun of your excitement for these interests, they’ll have an angry hunter to deal with 

- if you get overstimulated? he’s the best at finding hiding places. big closets, quiet gardens, places only the two of you frequent? his absolute favorite. he’ll hold you if you’re not uncomfortable with it, and if not he’ll sit beside offering verbal comfort (to his best capability)  “it’s alright, I promise, i’m right here.” 

- doesn’t realize it but he tends to mimic your stims, so if you don’t point this out to him someone in the group probably will. it’s both a case of mirroring and finding out stim’s he also likes. though has some of his own as well (chewing on things he’s holding, clapping, hand flaps) flapjack and him tend to flap together though. 

- he did pick up a stim where he sang the burger king whopper song because he heard it in commercials too many times. 

- if you have any sensory issues with food, he’ll be sure to advocate for them the best he can, whether this means helping you make safe foods or just reminding anyone making the food of these struggles. very “excuse me, they asked for no pickles” energy.