#..is provided for the security and convenience..

[hawkuletz]

[muffinlance]

Fellow Prisoner Li, Part 3: Subtle Zuko is Subtle

Continued from the original post || Read all chapters on AO3

Li, Sokka was coming to realize, had the worst sense of direction. 

“Where you going, buddy?” Sokka inquired, as one does, when one’s former fellow prisoner and current traveling companion was dragging the Avatar off into the forest by his arm. Given the kid’s excited bouncing, the arm grabbing was probably to keep him on the ground. Or at least, ground-adjacent. 

“Firebending training,” Li said. 

“Firebending training!” Aang beamed.

“In that direction?” Sokka clarified.

“Yes,” Li growled, as the Avatar continued to echo him, but with a hundred more years of pent-up enthusiasm.

“The direction we saw that big Fire Nation base in as we flew in?” Sokka further clarified. 

“Y— No. Pohuai isn’t this way. It’s—” their resident directionally challenged firebender looked in many other directions, before picking the one exactly opposite of where he was leading Aang, and pointing with the complete certainty of a gambler who couldn’t take back his chips. “That way?”

If we ever need to know where the nearest Fire Nation presence is, we just need to spin you in a circle and tell you to walk, Sokka did not say, because Katara was already pointedly glaring at him from over by the fire, projecting her sibling telepathy so hard he could practically hear the lecture she was rehearsing in her head. Something something be nicer, something something traumatized prisoner. Also, and more importantly: Li had started helping with meals. Particularly in the delicious delicious pan-searing of meat and fish (and, if Aang was to be believed, various fungi, which Sokka did agree needed to be lit on fire). Sokka’s plate could get suspiciously crispy if he upset their broiler’s delicate Shout-o-Meter. 

“And even if it is,” Li was continuing, because being wrong was an art form that he practiced diligently, “it’s easier to predict military patrols than random civilians. So this is better. For not being seen?”

“You,” Sokka said, ignoring his sister’s increased attempts to shut him up from across the camp, “really don’t think things through, huh?”

Their broiler let go of the Avatar, with a certain sulky slumping.

“...No firebending practice?” Aang also slumped.

“Yeah, no,” Sokka said. “We need to talk flight paths. I am getting really sick of that Zhao guy.”

* * *

“So,” Sokka said. To summarize. “We can’t travel in the Earth Kingdom, because you’re a firebender, and they would kill you.”

Their firebender nodded.

“We can’t go deeper into the Fire Nation colonies, because you’re banished, and they would kill you.”

Additional nodding occurred.

“All right,” Sokka said, with a great deal of patience. “Then we’ll just have to find a way to travel from here to the North Pole. Instantaneously. Without crossing any intervening Earth or Fire territories because that is the entire map.”

“We could go to the Fire Nation,” Li said.

“Li,” Sokka said, “remember the ‘thinking things through’ thing?” 

Li crossed his arms. “No one would expect you to go there.”

“Because we will be in the Fire Nation,” Sokka said.

“There won’t be wanted posters for any of us.”

“Because,” Sokka said, “we will be in the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t know why you even want to go to the North Pole,” Li shouted, throwing up his hands, and also a few sparks. 

“Explain that,” Sokka said.

* * *

The North didn’t teach women to fight. 

The North had not seen the look on his sister’s face upon hearing this, or they would know that women did not require tutelage in the concept, only the techniques.

* * *

“So where can we find a waterbending teacher?” Aang asked.

“You’re from the South Pole,” Li said. “Why don’t you get a southern master?”

Sokka exchanged a look with his sister. Then Katara spoke. “Li. We… don’t have any left. That’s why we left.”

“You might not have any,” Li said, “but the Fire Nation does.”

Oh no.

“They’re alive?” Katara asked.

“I don’t know how many still are,” Li said. “But there’s a prison in the southern isles, it wouldn’t even be far to fly if we go straight across the ocean—”

Oh no no.

“Li, buddy,” Sokka said, even as his sister and Aang were leaning towards Li and, by extension, his terrible idea. “We are not breaking into a prison—”

“Didn’t you already break out those earthbenders? Why not your own people, too?”

“Yeah Sokka,” Katara said, with a scowl she’d learned since Sokka had made the mistake of exiting his own prison break with a friend, “why not?”

Oh no they were doing this.

Continued in Part 4: Zuko Goes to the Time-Out Thinking Corner || Read all chapters on AO3

[orionrealtor]

Exploring Residential Projects in Gurgaon: Luxurious 2/3/4 BHK Flats

Gurgaon, located in the state of Haryana, has emerged as one of India's most sought-after real estate destinations. With its rapidly growing infrastructure, world-class amenities, and proximity to the national capital, Gurgaon has become a hub for residential projects that cater to the aspirations of modern homebuyers. This article aims to delve into the thriving real estate market in Gurgaon, focusing specifically on the availability of luxurious 2/3/4 BHK flats in the city. Whether you are a first-time homebuyer or looking to upgrade your living space, Gurgaon offers a wide range of residential projects that provide comfort, convenience, and opulence.

The Growing Real Estate Landscape in Gurgaon

Gurgaon has witnessed a remarkable transformation in recent years, evolving into a bustling metropolis known for its corporate offices, commercial establishments, and residential complexes. The city's strategic location, excellent connectivity, and robust infrastructure have made it a preferred choice for real estate developers. With an increasing demand for quality housing, several prominent developers have launched residential projects across Gurgaon, catering to different budgets and preferences.

Luxury Living: The Essence of 2/3/4 BHK Flats

In response to the evolving lifestyle preferences of homebuyers, Residential Projects in Gurgaon offer a wide range of 2/3/4 BHK flats that exude luxury and sophistication. These flats are designed to provide residents with spacious and well-planned living spaces, along with a host of modern amenities. From well-equipped kitchens to plush interiors and from landscaped gardens to state-of-the-art security systems, these residential projects leave no stone unturned in offering a comfortable and lavish lifestyle.

Top Residential Projects in Gurgaon

Gurgaon boasts a plethora of residential projects that cater to the varying needs of homebuyers. Here are some of the top projects known for their luxurious 2/3/4 BHK flats:

Imperia Esfera: Located in the heart of Gurgaon, Imperia Esfera offers a range of 2/3/4 BHK flats designed to provide residents with a blend of modern amenities and a serene environment.

Ramprastha Primera: Situated in a prime location, Ramprastha Primera is known for its spacious 2/3/4 BHK flats that come with top-of-the-line facilities, including a swimming pool, clubhouse, and landscaped gardens.

Navraj The Antalyas: Navraj The Antalyas is a gated residential project that offers 2/3/4 BHK flats with contemporary designs and world-class amenities. The project focuses on providing a sustainable and eco-friendly living experience.

Conclusion

Gurgaon's real estate market offers a plethora of residential projects that cater to the growing demand for luxurious 2/3/4 BHK flats. With their well-designed living spaces, premium amenities, and prime locations, these projects redefine modern living. Whether you seek a comfortable home or a lucrative investment opportunity, Gurgaon's residential projects are worth exploring. Embrace the charm of luxury living and make Gurgaon your

dream destination for a perfect home.

Visit: https://www.orionrealtors.com/residential.html

[sukunahs]

give me all of it | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x reader

summary: in the process of seeking out a sugar daddy to give you a life of luxury, you bite off more than you can chew when you meet ryomen sukuna

word count: 3.9k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, bondage, hogtie, gagging, dom/sub dynamics, hard dom sukuna, anal, spanking, blowjob, spit as lube, degradation, praise, age gap, sugar daddy situation, sukuna is strict and mean but he loves her really

All you’d been looking for was an easy arrangement. Some boring old guy who’d reward you with money for just existing in his presence like some pretty object. 

How you’d gotten so in over your head was beyond you. 

You were naked, spread out over silk sheets, body trembling ever so slightly at the cool air flowing over your skin. He’d left the air conditioning on because he was cruel like that, knowing that you could make no effort to warm yourself in the position he’d left you in. 

Red ropes bit at your ankles and wrists, your hands starting to go numb from the way they were awkwardly pulled behind you, restrained in a carefully constructed hog-tie. Your face was pressed awkwardly against the sheets, jaw aching from the ball gag he’d secured between your lips. He hadn’t even been kind enough to leave your vision untampered with, your eyes covered with a blindfold. 

It was hard to gauge how much time had passed since he’d left you like this. He’d given no indication of when he’d be coming back - he never did. There were times when he’d left you  like this for hours, going off to work in the morning with you tied to his bed, often with a remote control vibrator between your thighs. 

He liked to have complete control over you at all times. Those were the terms of your agreement after all. He’d provide you with a life of luxury, and in exchange you’d be his entirely. It hadn’t seemed like a bad agreement at first, especially considering that Sukuna was far from the level of ancient you’d been expecting when initially seeking a sugar daddy. 

With him being only in his late forties, and immensely attractive to boot, you’d really thought that you’d hit the jackpot. You’d gladly have sex with him - you’d pictured bouncing on his cock whilst wearing the finest jewelry, making him happy by virtue of you being young and attractive. 

Ideal. 

What you hadn’t been anticipating was that being his meant living out a dom/sub dynamic in every aspect of your life. For him control wasn’t something confined to the chambers of his bedroom, a little bit of fun only at your convenience - he expected you to be his, to follow his orders and obey whatever the setting, whenever he demanded it. 

During the first few days of the arrangement you’d considered quitting, finding your lack of freedom somewhat stifling. However, his estate was grand and he followed through on providing you all the luxury you’d been seeking, and for that reason you figured that you might as well adapt. 

Better to be some rich guy’s pet with a diamond collar than broke and unemployed. 

Besides, somewhere along the line there was a sick part of you that started to enjoy his total control over everything that you did. No more difficult decisions to make, no more uncertainty, just him and his commands, a place where his word was absolute. He always knew what to do to make your body react, opening you up to new experiences and pleasures that you never would’ve imagined. 

It was why you were shivering with anticipation at the sound of the door opening, significant amounts of slick already gathered between your thighs. You hated it when he’d leave you restrained, but always loved the sheer rush of dopamine that flowed through your brain whenever he came back. 

You wriggled a bit on top of the sheets, wishing you could see him. He said nothing, but you could hear him moving about the room, taking his sweet time before turning his attention to his impatient pet. You’d learned the hard way not to demand his attention, lest he ignore you for longer. Over the last few months he’d punished you in many different ways for certain errors, molding you into his perfect little whore. 

“Did you miss me, brat?” 

A shiver ran through you at the sound of his deep voice, nodding desperately in agreement. You had missed him. 

His hand came down hard on your ass, your body jolting at the impact. “Words.” 

You did your best to slur out a yes around the ball gag, hoping that the barely intelligible speech was enough for him. It seemed to do the trick, because the next time his hand came to your ass cheek it was to soothe it tenderly. He’d only ever do that if he was pleased with you. 

His other hand moved down to your pussy, running roughly through the folds. A soft whine bubbled up from your throat at the touch, desperate for more, only for disappointment to form in your stomach as he pulled his fingers away with a chuckle. “So wet. You’ve been waiting for me to get home, huh? Good girl.” 

You rubbed your thighs together at the praise. At some point in the duration of this arrangement, his words of encouragement had become like crack to you, something desperately addictive, always seeking out his validation, unable to overcome the feeling of guilt any time you’d disappoint him. 

Slowly he moved his hand to your ass. You knew that he was taking a look at the heart-shaped buttplug he’d pushed into you earlier that day, checking that it was still in place just as he’d left it. He’d had a fascination with your ass lately - he still hadn’t fucked you there, claiming that you weren’t ready, but considering the way that he was slowly increasing the size of plug he’d push into you, you were aware that he was getting you prepped for him. 

Even through all his sadism he was still considerate with things like that, refusing to rip you apart without an adjustment period. He’d always make sure you were ready.

He pulled the plug back ever so slightly, letting out a low whistle of appreciation before pressing it back to its original position, your body twitching ever so slightly at the movement. His hands roamed over the curve of your ass for a moment before pulling away entirely, leaving you cold. 

For a nervous couple of seconds you wondered if he was planning on leaving you alone for a while longer, but your question was quickly answered with the feeling of his hand raking roughly through your hair, yanking your head up forcefully. With one hand holding you up, the other undid the gag, letting it drop from your mouth. 

There was no opportunity for you to revel in the feeling of your mouth being unoccupied, because the moment the gag disappeared it was promptly replaced by his cock. He pushed the tip past your lips with no regard for preparation, expecting you to accommodate him immediately. 

“Wider,” he hissed. “Can feel your fuckin’ teeth, was that what I taught you?” 

You shook your head, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and wetting the blindfold. You stretched your mouth open wider all the same, eager to avoid catching his skin with your teeth. The last time you’d done that he’d forced you to suck on a dildo for hours, telling you that until you could do it right on silicone you didn’t deserve to suck his cock. 

Even at the difficult angle, you did your best to please him, taking him as deep as he’d go just like he’d taught you. Your tongue ran along the underside of his cock, following a prominent vein along his length. He groaned softly, his harsh grip on your hair loosening as you got to work servicing him. 

There was a part of you that hoped he’d praise you, but you knew you were likely asking for too much. Doing a good job sucking his cock was an expectation, it wasn’t something extraordinary, you weren’t deserving of praise for simply doing your job. That wasn’t how Sukuna operated. 

By the time he reached his release, your whole body was aching from the awkward position. Usually he’d have you on your knees, giving you the best access to suck on his cock in the way that he liked - but being hogtied you had to crane your neck up awkwardly, constantly fighting for balance. 

Not that you could complain. If you dared express discomfort he’d punish you with something worse. It was always better to simply do what you were told. 

His cock twitched a couple of times in your mouth, a sure sign that he was about to cum. When you’d first become his, you’d made the mistake of pulling away whenever you’d feel that movement, not used to swallowing a load. Now you knew to stay still, to swallow everything he was about to give you and not waste a single drop. 

Else he’d make you lick it up off the floor. 

But it was him that pulled back today, releasing himself from the confines of your mouth just before he came, opting to spill his seed all over your face, with some of it falling into your still open mouth. There was the sound of rustling and pulled the blindfold from your face, grinning down at you as you stared back with wide eyes. You swallowed heavily at the sight of the camcorder in one of his hands, pointed at your ruined face. 

“Smile, brat,” he ordered, satisfied as you did as asked, wearing your prettiest grin for the camera. 

He’d often show you these videos at a later date - you weren’t really sure why, all you could imagine was that he liked the humiliation aspect of it all, watching your embarrassed expression as you witnessed yourself get used. 

Releasing his grip on your hair, he watched as you struggled to keep your head raised, aware that he'd be displeased if you tried to break eye contact or hide away. Clearly happy enough with your effort, he reached forward with his free hand, brushing your face and gathering his cum on the tips of his fingers. 

Knowing what was coming next, you opened your mouth obediently, heart picking up at the hint of pride in his expression as he pushed his fingers into your mouth, crimson eyes observing you carefully while you licked them clean. You’d learned quickly that enthusiasm would get you a long way with him. 

“Mmm, so well-trained.” 

It wasn’t really a compliment to you, you were well aware of that, but it still had your stomach fluttering with joy at his praise. Lately you’d been doing lots of things wrong, encountering stern words more so than his flippant praise. You were desperately seeking out the latter in everything you did these days. 

“Since you’ve been so good, how about you tell me what you want next?” His eyes were twinkling with mischief. This question, one that you’d encountered a handful of times throughout your arrangement, was a trap. The first time he’d asked you, you’d answered honestly, requesting that he eat you out or something of the like. 

It had turned out that there were wrong answers to his question, and that was one of them. 

What he was looking for was evidence of your complete submission to him, something along the lines of I want whatever you want or anticipating what it was he was going to do next anyway and requesting that of him. Any genuine, selfish request would be met with punishment. 

“I-” you hesitated for half a second, “I want you to fuck my ass, please.” 

You were sure that had been his intent for the night anyway, he wouldn’t have left the plug in you all day if it wasn’t - his preference was always to have you hooked up to a vibrator of some sort, and the fact he hadn’t done that today told you that it was solely because something else was on his mind. 

His grin was desperately wide as he let out a small huff, almost in disbelief. Even if he’d been the one to train you, to inflict punishment for wrongdoing, he always seemed impressed when his taming of you shone through so perfectly. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

In an instant he was moving away from you, raising himself up on the bed and positioning himself behind you. He put the camera down for a moment as he undid the hogtie, freeing your ankles and leaving only your wrists restrained behind your back. A soft sigh of relief left you as, for a fleeting moment, your legs and back could take a break, cramped from being stuck in one position for too long. 

Although it wasn’t long until Sukuna was moving you. Positioning you carefully, he had your knees beneath you, your face pressed down into the sheets, ensuring that your back was in a perfect arch for him. Once again his hands moved to your ass, slowly pulling out the plug. A few whimpers escaped you at the movement, still not accustomed to any sort of anal play. 

Sukuna paid you no mind, leaning forward and spitting on your ass, using his thumb to move the saliva about, effectively lubricating your opening. “Look at you, all ready for me,” he cooed. Your body twitched under his touch, his thumb moving teasingly slowly as it dipped into your ass. 

You did your best to monitor your breathing at the simple intrusion, Sukuna had taught you from the start that finding pleasure in pain was always easier if you stayed calm, taking deep breaths and relaxing your body as much as you possibly could.

“What do you think, baby?” He asked, using the nickname he reserved for when he was pleased with you. “Think you can take my cock in here?” 

“Yes.” You didn’t miss a beat in your response, knowing that hesitation was another thing that could potentially lead to punishment. You’d told him what you’d wanted, if you reneged on it now there was no doubt that he’d be displeased. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Removing his thumb, your breath hitched at the sensation of the tip of his thick cock pressing up against your asshole. You wished your hands weren’t tied, because more than anything you wanted to clutch onto the sheets beneath you for comfort, having to settle for digging your nails into the palm of your hand instead. 

His hands were firm on your hips, keeping you still as he pushed himself into the opening, chastising you with a hard slap on your ass cheek when you started to squirm in discomfort. “Stay still. You’ll just make it worse for yourself.” 

You were well aware of that, but it didn’t stop the discomfort by any means, the intrusion completely foreign. In an attempt to manage the stretch, you bit down on the sheets beneath you, grinding the silk between your teeth. If Sukuna noticed, he said nothing, continuing to slowly feed his cock into you inch by inch. 

There were no words of encouragement, there never were. You’d receive praise after you’d done something good or endured a gruelling situation, at this early stage where you still had the potential to act out and displease him, he’d give you no softness. 

Letting out a pathetic groan, you buried your face further into the silk sheets as Sukuna finally sheathed himself fully inside you, his hips pressed up snugly against your ass, pink pubic hair tickling your skin ever so slightly. He let out a deep sigh from behind you, sitting still for a few moments. 

One of his hands trailed up the length of your back until it reached your neck, swiftly finding its way into your hair. You’d expected him to tug at it, only to be pleasantly surprised at the way that he lightly caressed it instead, stroking you like a pet as he allowed you time to adjust to being so painfully full. 

“Look at me, baby.” It was an order, but the harsh edge to his words was absent. 

You complied all the same, twisting back to look at him as best you could. He’d picked the camera up again with his free hand, giving the lens a perfect view of your body arched before him. You’d assumed that he was going to start moving soon, feeling a little confused as he shot you an expectant look. 

“You can move can’t you? You wanted this, why’re you expecting me to do all the work?” 

Catching his drift, and aware that there would be no merit to you disobeying, you did your best to bring your hips forward and move them back, shivering at the strange feeling of his cock dragging against the walls of your ass. It ached, and you really wanted to stop and let him do the work, but the way his grip tightened in your hair told you that wasn’t an option. 

“Let's see some effort, please,” he hissed, red eyes following your clumsy movements as you tried your best to pick up speed, struggling to stay balanced and move with your hands restrained like they were. He wouldn’t accept that reasoning as an excuse for anything less than perfection though, you knew that from experience. 

It was why you were trying your very best to move your hips in a way that pleased him, aware that you’d failed when he let out a deep, disappointed sigh from behind you. 

“And here I thought we were making some progress,” he said bitterly. “Have I not taught you how to take my cock?” 

You said nothing, assuming it was rhetorical, still doing your best to move your hips to a rhythm. You knew how to do this when he was buried in your pussy, but the sensation was so odd, and everything felt so tight, that you felt your movements were restricted. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t do what was expected of you. 

The hand on your hair tightened, yanking you backwards. “I asked you a question.” 

“Y-you have.” You stuttered, movement stilling as he pulled you up by your hair. He closed the camcorder and dropped it down onto the bed, snaking an arm around your midsection, his hands moving up to a breast. Your restrained hands hit his chest, followed by your upper back. The change in position had his cock buried deeper in your ass and you squirmed desperately in his hold. 

“I have?” His breath was hot against your ear. The hand in your hair moved down to your neck, wrapping around it carefully. His fingers settled just above the golden locket that you wore at all times, donning his initials on a heart shaped charm, proof of his ownership. “Because you sure aren’t fucking acting like it.” 

“I’m sorry, it just hurts-” 

He pinched your nipple hard, pulling a cry from your throat. “Aw, it hurts? What did I tell you about excuses, brat?” 

“Y-you don’t want to hear them.” 

“That’s right.” He rolled a nipple through his fingers, toying with it easily. “So tell me again, why are you acting like you don’t know how to take my cock?” 

“I don’t know.” Your response came out as a bit of a whimper, especially with the way he’d started to squeeze at your neck, the oxygen not getting to your brain as easily as it usually would. If he didn’t want to hear excuses you really didn’t have an answer. 

“Is it because you’re a stupid whore who doesn’t know her place?” 

You wanted to say no, you really did, but if you said anything other than yes he would ask you to provide another explanation, and right now you really didn’t have one. 

“Yes,” you breathed. 

“Say it all.” 

“I’m a stupid whore who doesn’t know her place.” 

He chuckled in your ear, satisfied with your words. “We’ll have to correct that, won’t we?” 

This time he gave you no chance to respond, deciding to take matters into his own hands and fuck you properly. You let out a gasp as he drew back before sheathing himself inside you once more with a brutal thrust, setting a pace far beyond what you’d allowed him when it had been your hips doing the work. 

You wished he’d drop you back down into the position you’d been in before, where you could hide your face and wipe your tears on the sheets, instead he kept you pulled up flush against him, one hand restricting your airflow while the other pinched at your nipples, leaving your head swimming with a blissful mix of pain and pleasure. 

To be fair to him, the distractions had you forgetting all about the ache in your ass, practically floating outside your body with all the stimulation. You were aware that you were babbling, saliva dripping from your lips at just how good it all felt, relying on Sukuna to keep holding you up, knowing you’d fall flat on your face if he were to let you go. 

But you knew he wouldn’t do that, because even through his sadistic actions, the reality was that he enjoyed this deeply. He liked being deep inside you, holding your body close to him. You were his and his alone. He could treat you however he wanted, but at the end of the day, you held a special space at his side, an honored position. 

It was why he reached a hand down to your clit when he could feel you really losing control, your head lolling back against his shoulder, gazing up at him with that fucked out gaze. His grip on your neck loosened ever so slightly, and he watched you with fascination as you came undone on his cock, your body trembling desperately in his grip. 

He didn’t stop rubbing at your clit until he was ready to reach his own release, keeping you distracted as he shot his load into your ass with a contented sigh. He kept you pressed up against him for a while longer, pressing open mouth kisses against your neck before lowering you down gently. 

If he was in a worse mood he might’ve simply dropped you down, but you’d been largely good today and deserving of more gentle handling - much to your relief. He pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill from your ass. Your chest was rising and falling with quick breaths, feeling immense relief at being left to lay down on the silk sheets. 

You barely registered the feeling of Sukuna untying your hands, rolling you onto your back and cleaning you up with a cloth. He only ever did this when he was really happy with you, and it made you feel all warm to receive positive attention for once. His approval was all that you really craved. 

“You did well,” he hummed softly, a hand coming to stoke your hair. “I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, as a reward.” 

If you were more aware you would’ve rejoiced at such an offer, rarely offered his comfort after sex in such a straightforward manner. But your body felt too heavy for any sort of reaction, simply leaning into his touch affectionately, letting yourself be pulled into his side as he clambered into bed beside you. 

“Thank you, sir,” you mumbled, concerned that he might revoke his offer if you didn’t show him the proper reverence he’d taught you to address him with. 

He just scoffed, giving your tired body a squeeze. 

“Don’t get used to it, brat.” 

a/n: want him to be mean to me

sukuna perma taglist: @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich @chaos-4baby @t4ters @sukubusss @pandabiene5115 @solarlovesxyz @fysalia @goofiebags5678 @yarimarjane @aayeonas @dreeaambiigstuuff-blog @raspberryvv @i0lovepink00 @sunqi053 @makeaflowerbloom @iaminsanelmfao @sophiethelesbian @irlbrainfart

© sukunahs

[cinnabambishifts]

Don't Overthink a Fact ᵎᵎ

(𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞-𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐁i𝐭𝐜𝐡)

── .✦

I know that many members of the community are strongly against robotic affirmations. I used to be as well, because they genuinely felt repetitive, exhausting, and pointless to me. But as the illusion of time passed throughout my process, I realized that a romanticized, sentimental belief doesn’t make an affirmation more valid. While it may decorate it, it certainly doesn’t make it more useful—let alone more practical.

── .✦

I’m aware that the Law of Assumption can sound absurd when you first come across it, but it’s a reality that’s practically unquestionable. The entire world around you is your creation and no one else’s—you hold all the copyrights, and there’s no way anything external could be the cause. Ultimately, our existence can be reduced to a vast nothingness that serves as the origin of everything.

── .✦

Now, getting to the point I wanted to illustrate in this post: a constant affirmation that isn’t subjected to deep analytical scrutiny—one that doesn’t endlessly compare the external world with your inner one—ends up being the most effective when it comes to shifting or even manifestation.

── .✦

The reality surrounding you is made of exactly that: assumptions, repetitive affirmations that embedded themselves into your mind until they became an undeniable reality.

── .✦

Make no mistake—the tangible scenario in front of you is not the one in control. This isn’t a “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” dilemma. This is simply the structure of how things work: everything—absolutely everything—always happens first on the imaginary plane and only then translates into reality in a subtle, unconscious way.

── .✦

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ᝰ.ᐟ

── .✦

I used to hold the toxic belief that the more I thought, the more intelligent, critical, and analytical I became. Thanks to spirituality, I realized that thoughts aren’t necessarily yours—and they’re rarely helpful, especially within processes we once labeled as unreal. Overthinking will never be pleasant or effective. You don’t need to dissect your affirmations by tying them to the supposed logic of this reality, to a feeling that validates them, or to a sensation that confirms you’re already in your desired reality.

── .✦

Don’t question your affirmations. Take them for granted the same way you take gravity for granted.

── .✦

And by conveniently misinterpreting 𝐑𝐞𝐧é 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐬 in our favor—“𝐉𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐜 𝐣𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐬” (“𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦”)—we can arrive at several conclusions. But after a generous dose of mental masturbation and microwave philosophy, one thing remains clear: 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬. (I can hear the sighs of disappointment from philosophers after this vague and convenient analysis, but honestly, who cares?)

── .✦

Repetitive affirmations provide a foundation of security that, as the natural process demands, eventually becomes reality. Don't overthink it!

With much love,

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ cinnabambi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[ryozai]

⤷ ❝ CHERRY SWEET ❞

>>> ❝ SYNOPSIS : winning people over was easy, just shape yourself to the perfect sweet girl and they will be fooled immediately, shame sunghoon picks up on your act immediately, and you’ll let nothing slip through. ❞

ᛝ ꒰ pairing : p.sh x fem!reader

ᛝ ꒰ ... word / count : 12k+

ᛝ ꒰ ⁉ warnings — dubcon , profanity , oral f receiving , oral m receiving , unprotected sex , rough sex , alcohol , mc is EVIL (manipulative and steals her bff boyfriend type) !!! , smut , degradation , noncon filming , spanking , idk the smut is filthy … , dom & sub dynamics

a/n : i do not condone any of this behaviour irl & this isn’t representative of sunghoon !! also might cross post this into jjk ~ this isn’t proof read either!! might write part 2 if it does well idk ..

The first thing people noticed about you was your voice— soft, gentle, beckoning you to stay. It's like words you uttered were alike to honey, sweet, but dissolves into a mellow taste.

It's gentle enough that people lean in when you speak, calming, or so you've been told. Reassuring is what they'd say, but they wouldn't know the meticulous crafting behind your words, your tone, your actions. Like a theatrical performance, parading for others to enjoy. People only heard what they wanted to, so you gave into that, telling those who searched for comfort any twisted truth that would give them some mindless reassurance.

There's steps to comfort, anyone would know if they weren't such a dimwitted fool, or so you thought. It's a rhythm. Let them finish speaking, hold eye contact for a fraction of a second— enough for them to feel seen, to feel heard. You tilt your head, only slightly. Tilting your head too far feels predatory, there's a fine line between them, mockery and concern. It's easy for you to distinguish.

It's easy being so sweet for others. You could be as convenient as others wanted, because when it truly came, you'd never be suspected. No one would realise the sickeningly sweet, albeit obvious truth. Lies are fabricated from words, and words were truth, if people wanted them to be. It was like an art, a form of alchemy — your own display of ego, playing in the faces of those who trusted you the most, who regarded you as the "innocent and sweet" friend who'd always be there to comfort and help you.

It's important that you don't acknowledge that, acting bashful and flustered— you don't accept compliments easily, because sweet girls don't know they're sweet. You don't get tempted by the sweetness of your honey, because that's when you get caught, like a bunny in a trap, a rope tied around your leg, that's when you become limited, when people see you for what you are, but most importantly, what you do.

"I'm sorry, Yunjin, you don't deserve that," you mumble, touching her wrist, grasping her hand gently. You can only wear a warm expression outright, silently cringing at her wails, her obnoxious sobs over her boyfriend for the 3rd time this month.

A routine— Rinse, repeat.

You were accustomed to it, of course. Providing silent security for her was like second nature, completely unaware of your true intentions, or the fact that you were disgusted at her sheer, utter stupidity. It was almost embarrassing how predictable she— anyone, could be.

It was completely satirical to you, knowing if anything that Heeseung did inevitably care for her, a lot, actually— but you could always paint the picture in the colours you wanted. After all, that's really no fun seeing something so nice and beautiful.

Yunjin's hand carefully steers around yours, hiccuping, her fingers curling onto you like she's afraid you'll disappear.

You had noticed that about Yunjin, easily enough, she didn't want to be left behind, abandoned, so she would settle down in the storm if it meant someone could see her. It made you cringe, as if you two were completely separate entities, a harsh, foreboding barrier that would loom around you. Not like she'd realise, anyways.

"That's why I have you, [Y/N]," she whispers, looking at you with glossy eyes. You could feel bad.

You don't.

The words settle in your chest, not warmly, but like a fact, a scientific piece of information that establishes, not comforts. That was your game to play, and this was your move to make. It felt steady, earned, and elicited a smile from you— sweet, caring, loving, your expression softening at her, brushing your thumb over her hand in absent strokes, timed, measured, every 3 seconds apart. You've learned the system.

"Do you think I'm too much?" She hiccups, looking at you again.

You stay silent. Experimentally, intentionally, or almost strategically. It's the moment of hesitation you've calculated that forces her to doubt. Letting the silence stretch — letting her mind wander, and the thoughts to linger.

Her fingers tighten, and you exhale softly. There it is.

"Too much.." you start, softly, attentively, "for who?"

The question makes her pause. To you? To him? It's the kind of attentive question that can be perceived as care, but to you, it feels calculating, and you're almost embarrassed at the way her eyes flicker with gratitude, as if you were understanding her. Well, you understood her for sure, you'd be her support system if she wanted.

Everyone wanted something, everyone needed something — craved it, and you'd simply shape yourself to that.

"I don't think you're too much," you add, smiling, as if it's a great exclamation — or a declaration, tightening your hand around hers gently.

Stimulus, response, reinforcement.

Your voice slowly drifted, the sweet, honey tone still trickling off your tongue, laced with care and concern.

"But.. Heeseung.." you murmur, eyes flicking away, which Yunjin picks up on, quickly, her eyes moving with you, "I saw him out with Ahyeon the other day."

"She's refined. Delicate, isn't she? The opposite of you," you murmured, not outright belittling— that would be bait, but even so, even the most bold and basic laughing in her face could still be excused.

Because if Yunjin didn't have you, who would she have?

It wasn't a lie— well, completely, of course. Maybe you had seen them together, maybe it was only for a moment, but it was enough to elicit ideas in Yunjin's head, especially with their past, it was enough to make her crumble.

Yunjin goes still.

"Ahyeon?" She repeats, immediately, eyes darting to you, searching for answers— there's nothing to infer from your demeanour, you're defensive, and there's a barrier that she will never cross. No one could cross, none of them would know.

You soften, "Oh — it's probably nothing. They could've just run into each other."

You let it sit, she swallows, her voice silent trembling, as you caress her hand lovingly, looking at her.

"They were laughing together," you add gently, "but that doesn't mean anything."

But it means everything to her. You witness the exact second her thoughts start spiralling.

"Ahyeon has always been his type, hasn't she?" She whimpers, and you hesitate.

Not because you're unsure — in fact, you're certain, but that's meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Moreover, it's the hesitation that settles deep, burrows inside of her that hurts more. That makes her value you more, listen to you more.. trust you more than anyone else. Because you listen, you care, more than anyone else.

"But really— don't think anything of it, I'm sure. You know him better than I do, right?" You smile again, and even you feel amazed at your audacity sometimes, triumphant, the feeling of control tightening around her, and it feels like pure joy for you.

Yunjin buries her head against your shoulder, and you're almost certain her mascara is staining your shirt, and you grimace in return.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she murmurs on your skin, and you look over her shoulder — expression dulling into something of boredom.

You do, and that's why you wouldn't let her find out. Not anyone.

You can only feign innocence in the midst of the chaotic party, playing it like a game, to conquer, accepting drinks with shy reluctance, fluster delicate and deliberately, letting embarrassment bloom into a flower before you, watching bored as idiots drunk up the nectar you offered like a dessert. Everyone was so easy to please, you could deliver a performance with just the right amount of flustered and feigned hesitation that you’d believe without a second thought.

And so when Heeseung comes to you, bewildered by how abruptly everything ended, you arrange your expression into something gentle, offering him a practiced smile that gives him the sympathy he wants to receive, like a birthday gift, neatly wrapped with a pink, silk ribbon. He’s holding a drink in his hand, clumsily, and he looks almost pitiful.

You almost marvel in delight at the sheer expression he has, painted on his handsome face. He’s always been so handsome, and it was seriously a shame he was only limited to Yunjin – where was the fun in that? Things that weren’t yours should be shared. Best friends share everything, Yunjin would be selfish to keep to him all for herself.

Well, regardless of the direction of your objective, or how you’d achieve it – you were always right about one thing. You would always get there in the end.

The music is too loud for conversation, offering an almost too easy steer. After all, how could you provide the comfort he wanted without a comfortable, intimate atmosphere. That’s where you worked best, in a domestic, small circle. With a false sense of attentiveness, you guide him somewhere quieter – a random bedroom, quiet, albeit for the pair of you, faces slightly reddened with the tint of alcohol. You don’t force him, that’s not the game you like to play, you like when they come to you, when they completely surrender themself, trusting only the sweetened facade you display. You don’t elucidate yourself further than necessary, as that’s the job of everyone else, to overexplain, overshare, to the point where they no longer have a choice but to keep you inside their circle – eternally.

You choose how to shape their future. You don’t let them leave, only you choose when you’re no longer entertained and find yourself a new, shiny toy to play and orchestrate.

He follows you, naturally, because he trusts you, or simply because they all follow. They like the image you have, the sweet, innocent girl, who would give a taste of ruin if cornered, it made them feel powerful, in control, like they had a grasp of control in something in their life, unknowing of the fact that they were playing right into your hand, offering themself up as a pawn.

The room is still, and he’s wavering, you can tell, he’s intoxicated with sweet, unforgiving liquor, as are you, but you don’t let that play into your mind, immovable. You close the door softly behind you, attentively, not missing a beat to lock it behind you.

There’s always countermeasures to questions. Why did you lock the door, he may ask, and you could quickly deliver – safety, comfort, privacy. He doesn’t ask though, he doesn’t question, because that is what you’ve built yourself up to. Trust the sweet, innocent girl.

“Hee, take a seat,” you murmur, not commanding, offering, in fact, whilst you take your own seat on the grey duvet of the bed, and he exhales a small laugh, taking a seat beside you.

“She won’t answer me,” he says, quietly, not casually, like there’s a deep hurt within him. It’s unsettling for you. There was nothing that extraordinary about Yunjin. What even caused him to feel hurt about it? Did it really mean that much to the both of them? Your eyes narrow slightly at the shifting of his posture, and you mirror his action, shifting your body to face him completely – opening up yourself to him. It’s what makes them feel comfortable. It’s a false sense of security, carefully fabricated, studying his actions and his body language.

He wants to be vulnerable. He just feels unsure at the moment. That was no challenge, you would steer the direction until he felt like he could take control again. You let the silence settle first, for a mere moment, your eyes softening, meeting his own.

“I don’t think I should involve myself in this,” you murmur, almost vulnerably, innocently, like you’re protecting Yunjin, furrowing your eyebrows carefully, letting out a small breath, searching in his eyes, almost bashfully. Hesitation looks good on good girls.

“I just want to understand,” he replies, carefully distant, “she mentioned that you saw something.”

Bullseye.

You glance away, as if you’re cornered, challenged by the sheer weight of his request, your lips parting, then closing again – a theatrical performance of conflict, a silent, dangerous battle that he believes he’s witnessing. You make sure he plays into the part, watching your flustered nature, innocently staring up at him with sweet, big, doe eyes.

“She was already hurting – you see,” you reply, at last, voice lowered, “I wanted to be honest with her.”

His eyebrows tightened – not denial, merely concern.

“What did she think she saw?” he asks, eyes flickering onto you.

You could almost kiss your tongue in annoyance, as he steers the conversation back onto that point, no matter, you could play it perfectly. After all, how would you be yourself if you couldn’t divert a more challenging opponent right to where you wanted.

Not what you say, but what she believed.

You fold your hands together, thumb pressing rhythmically against your knuckle, controlled to tell of discomfort, just for a second, before releasing, your hand gently resting on his knee, it’s not intrusive, and it just appears as sweet, for the moment, at least.

“She worries that she isn’t what you want,” you reply gently, “I told her she was overthinking.”

It’s not an outright lie, it just shifts things into place.

“Here.. have the rest of my drink. It might help,” you mumble softly, a facade of attentiveness depicted in your eyes, leaning over and gently pushing it against his lips – he doesn’t refuse, he instills it within him as a mere act of kindness.

“How are you taking things?” You added your body closer now, noticeably enough for him to feel a slight embarrassment, but not enough for him to push you away or claim that things are going north in the way he wanted.

“It’s.. I don’t know how to feel,” he exhales, swinging the drink in his hand, and you smile softly, nodding.

“I never meant to hurt–”

“I know,” you reply, softly, lowering your voice carefully, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Relief moves through him, and you can instantly see the flicker of his demeanour, and you know you’ve hit the mark, your hand lightly brushing up from his knee to his thigh, caressing it softly, looking up at him with those sickeningly honey filled eyes that have gifted you anything you’ve ever wanted in life.

His eyes meet yours, delicately, his mind blurry in all the right ways, and you take the cup from his hand, finishing the rest of the drink off, letting the alcohol enter your system with open arms, gracefully, enough to numb and dull your senses in the right ways.

“Why are you so sweet, [Y/N]?” He asks, softly, quietly, and you let out a small giggle.

Calibrated, of course– your gaze meeting him in a way that feels too intimate. It’s a charade that everyone accepts as truth, and you couldn’t love it more than anything else, the feeling of acceptance and everyone writing you off as the sweet, caring girl that prioritises everyone else but herself, when in reality you could shift the narrative however you chose. You always got what you wanted, and you buried those who crossed you. No one doubted you.

“Sweet?” You echo softly, as if the very idea surprises you, shaking your head dismissively, smiling, “I just don’t like seeing people alone when they’re hurting.”

Your thumb traces a slow pattern on his thigh, and he studies you as if the permission is a gift. In this moment, you can calculate when he measures his options up, feeling so seen, and he pushes his lips against yours, and it comes smooth, smiling softly, like a win.

You let out a small mewl against his lips, enough to entice him, enough to keep him wanting more, your hands delicately meet his chest, lightly pushing him away.

“H-Hee.. We shouldn’t do this,” you murmur, softly.

It’s a lie, it’s exactly what you want, and you know he’ll play into it when he's vulnerable and the only security he feels is with you. He needs someone, and you’re right here.

“It’s okay.. I got you,” he replies, gently, as if he’s never been so assured of anything else, and you let him take control, to finally steer himself in the direction he wanted, and you give in – deliberately. You act hesitant, but it’s exactly what you want.

…

Everything just seems to simply fall into place for you, and it makes the game so easy, conquering and dividing, you felt powerful, a subtle authority that no one could challenge, after all— how could they challenge it if they had no idea it even existed?

You could only shift the guilt of the situation onto the alcohol that you were both intoxicated by, despite the orchestrated vulnerability and intimacy. Perhaps he felt guilty, you certainly didn’t.

“Yunjin, I saw him with another girl.. at the party,” you murmur, softly, as if you’re treading on eggshells, caressing her back softly, comforting— maybe even protectively.

Yunjin stiffens in your arms, glancing at you.

“What?” She laughs, but it’s thin, “no, you must’ve seen wrong—”

You shake your head quickly, dismissively, enough to make her feel like a fool in front of you. It’s enough to make her doubt. Except you leave the most important detail regarding your statement, that the girl he slept with was you.

You feign sympathy, pouting, staring at her innocently.

“I’m so sorry, Yunjin. You deserve better, I don’t think he’s right for you..” You whisper, as if it’s something that fills you with nerves to state, resigning to the dignity and shielding of the innocent facade you’ve painted, sweetly comforting her despite being the reason for the thorn in her side. Well, not like she knew anyways.

It was simple like this, it was how you always got your way.

Even as a child, you taught yourself to never snatch the toy you desperately wanted from the other girl in your sandbox. You learned that wanting too loudly made you small, not respected, and denied.

You learned how to politely ask, or well, shift the rules. Words were the easiest tool, and it came even easier when you portrayed yourself exactly how the other person wanted. You would play by their rules so you could play by yours. Snatching would never get you anywhere, you would wait until it was handed to you, a habit you never really outgrew.

It’s how you sweetly explained yourself out of trouble anytime, like that time you started seeing that one cute boy, Jake, and left without a second glance under the pretense of school filling your schedule the moment you felt bored.

They adored you— always.

It wasn’t difficult. You listened when they spoke. You remembered their little quirks, their small insecurities. You tilted your head just slightly enough when you apologised, as if the world might crumble under the weight of disappointing them.

You made them feel chosen, made them feel heard, you made them feel seen for who they were. When they began to choose you back, you never reached too quickly— you’d let them lean first.

Jake cried the night you told him you were “overwhelmed.” He said he understood. He always understood. He thanked you for being honest.

You almost laughed at that.

Honesty had nothing to do with it— what’s the problem with a broken heart if you take accountability, or so he believed. No one would question your sudden departure because of your carefully crafted lies — to them, all it was you being busy and overwhelmed, maybe even the victim of an unfortunate situation amidst it all?

It was enough for him to forgive you completely, assimilating into his friend group easily, security in numbers.

You just knew the exact moment affection started to feel like an obligation. The exact moment someone started believing they had you for themselves. That was when you loosened your grip, just enough for them to panic. People tried harder when they thought they were losing something.

Even now, as Yunjin rests her head against your shoulder, fragile and trusting, you smooth her hair the same way you used to smooth Jake’s doubts, patiently, softly.

You don’t snatch— you never have. You just wait until what you want begins to reach for you, and it always does.

You’re sitting on the couch when he first arrives. It was originally a small hang out with you and your friends— Yunjin, Daniela, Jake, Jay, Heeseung, Soobin, and Giselle. Tensions are still rising between Yunjin and Heeseung, it’s unmissable, yet you completely feign ignorance, smiling at him sweetly as if you weren’t the catalyst for all the pandemonium.

Blissful ignorance.

Yunjin is beside you when the door opens halfway, you don’t look up immediately, a deliberate decision you make. It’s better when the greetings come from them, after they take a moment to notice you, they don’t analyse, it’s quick, a momentary glimpse that decides their opinions.

“Yo! Hoon, you made it!” Jake grins, standing up from his seat, from somewhere behind you and greets him instinctively.

So that’s him. Park Sunghoon.

You finally glance at him, scanning his cold demeanour. He’s handsome, his appearance is striking, his features dark, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. You smile, sweetly, you mind working overtime to categorise him, and you suddenly felt like a new plaything had been dropped into your hands, delicately. He’s tall, his eyes are sharp, and his quiet, unnervingly so, scanning the room, almost studying it.

Maybe you could give him more credit than due, he seemed to be more attentive than those around you. Nothing of the sort of your caliber, he would quickly fall under the daunting radar of your charm, like a snake seizing its prey.

You’re quick to make the first move — those who strike first have the upper hand after all, standing up and standing before him, smiling gently, sickeningly sweet.

It’s soft, measured, the way you speak, a degree warmer and gentler than usual, starkly contrasting his cool aura.

“Hi,” you smile gently, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Most people respond in one of three ways, you had calculated. Always a friendly smile, or a small laugh, a short, momentary softening.

He doesn’t do either. That’s no wonder, of course there are exceptions to the rule, like anything, but that isn’t enough to throw you off.

His gaze flickers over you, analysing, not lingering in admiration or anything of the sort, just assessing you.

“Have you?” He questions evenly, his voice deep, affirming, questioning you.

There’s no subtle gratification.

You tilt your head — slightly, deliberately, the same calculated angle and direction you always chose to do, the calibrated one that’s been perfected to complete and utter precise execution, nodding.

“Jake speaks about you a lot,” you laugh, softly, sweetly— almost bashfully.

“That’s unfortunate.”

His eyes narrow slightly, before cutting the short silence that follows.

“Let’s speak in private,” he says, unprovoked, unprompted, and you’re a little taken aback. Heeseung can only watch, his mouth opening as if he was about to say something. You nodded, feigning confusion.

“Hey, don’t be too long Hoon, [Y/N]’s soft around the edges, she’s real sweet so don’t be mean to her like you always are,” Jake teased, patting his shoulder, and Sunghoon nods, merely observing.

“I’m sure she is,” he replies, gesturing to you to follow him to a quieter, more private atmosphere. No big deal, you could simply work your magic more intimately now. They always follow, one way or another— and he’s no different.

You’re greeted by the cold, gentle night wind outside as you step out onto the balcony, watching as he slides the door shut behind him, leaning against the railing, and you glance at him, smiling bashfully.

“Is there something you need?” You murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your voice shifting to a slow, steady, and reassuring register, and his expression shifts — but only barely.

“There it is,” he replies, curtly, quietly.

You blink, softly, innocently. He wasn’t registering in your head, he wasn’t calibrated like others, but that was no issue, it’s not like he even knew. People always feel some sort of suspicion when a girl is too perfect — when she’s too sweet, or too pretty, there’s always a catch, well, except for you. You were undetectable, like a mutation refined so precisely that it blends right into the genetic material of your being.

“There.. what is?” You reply, confused, almost flustered.

“That voice. You use it on purpose.”

There’s a beat of silence that follows onwards, and you can only let out a small laugh of confusion, not letting your perfect facade crumble now.

His words aren’t accusatory, they’re observational. That’s what concerns you the most. When someone realises a point of exploitation, they’ll dangle it above your head like bait— except he isn’t. That’s what makes him feel dangerous to you.

Your smile doesn’t falter.

For the first time, someone isn’t reacting in the way you have measured in your head, your predictions are off key, and it’s dangerous. He isn’t leaning in, he isn’t opening up, he isn’t admiring— he’s studying you.

And it feels even worse when it looks like he’s enjoying it.

The silence stretches between you. There’s nothing wrong with silence. People feel the need to fill it, regardless of what they share, it fills the gaps, they reveal a little too much when they feel awkward.

He doesn’t. He just looks at you, and it’s not mocking, nor is it deprecating. Just.. watching.

The night air is colder than you expected.

“I think you’re just overthinking..” you reply softly, smiling playfully, “this is just how I speak.”

A harmless, sweet smile. His jaw shifts slightly, like he's suppressing a laugh.

“No, you’re calculated.”

It’s not harsh, and maybe even alike to admiration, but not in the way you wish to receive. Your fingers still, and he steps closer, not enough to completely invade your personal space, but enough to force you to look up — at him.

“Your voice softens when you’re reassuring, but when it’s neutral you take that sweet tone,” he continues, “the way you tilt your head, the mirroring of body language.”

A pause.

“You make them feel like they’re leading.”

Your heartbeat doesn’t change, but your mind quickly stifles. You smile again — carefully, almost wounded in his words.

“You think?” You reply, softly, dismissing him, “I just pay attention to people.”

“You’re not attentive. Attentive people care. You don’t,” he replies.

“That’s a strange way to describe someone being kind,” you reply, quietly. He’s beginning to tick you off, when he acts so self assured, and it’s starting to piss you off. You can feel your grip tighten around the railing, your eyes shutting slightly, as if you’re mirroring a smile rather than the unbridled disgust and disdain you’re experiencing currently.

He doesn’t bite, in fact, he looks amused.

“That’s a strange way to describe someone who plays with people like they’re chess pieces.”

Your eyes flicker, just for a mere second. He recognises the glint immediately.

Sunghoon straightens, tilting his head back to look at Yunjin, through the glass door where you see her letting out a small laugh at Jake, his gaze drifting onto her.

“You couldn’t care less about her, could you?”

For the first time in so long, irritation prickles at your skin.

“She’s my best friend," you reply, or almost state— your voice is straightlaced, and the smile has dropped from your face. Even the most genuine person would feel slightly irritated by his personality right now, and you were no stranger to that.

You tilt your head again — automatically, like a second nature, and he hums at the movement, instantly noticing.

You step closer now, invading his space.

“What exactly do you think I am?” Your voice is warning, and he meets your gaze without hesitation, smirking.

“Do you really think you’re the only one who watches people?” He adds, calmly, “though, you’re good. Really good. No one else would notice.”

A beat — a moment, and the wind shifts.

“But I did.”

And those words are deeply unsettling, like a declaration. He isn’t exposing you, nor threatening, just simply alarming you that he sees you, and he isn’t impressed. Not like anyone could before. His motive is unknown even now, which makes him more dangerous, a threat to you — the crack that could destroy everything you’ve carefully curated to this day.

He pushes off the balcony railing, glancing at you one final time.

“You don’t have to perform with me,” he says lightly, “it’s boring.”

Then, he slides the door open and steps back inside, leaving you outside, furrowing your eyebrows, turning out of sight and biting your thumb furiously.

…

You don’t chase. You’d never chase.

But he is your fatal flaw, he’s like an input error, a scratch that never seems to be soothed. It has you restless, much to your dismay. You can’t figure him out, and it sickens you. You don’t know what he wants. He could out you tomorrow for all he wanted.

Or — you were thinking too extremely. Who would believe him? You had refined this image. Maybe that was your checkmate over him, even if he exposed you, he elucidated you for the true thing you were, who would really believe him. You were carefully constructed, with years and years of building up precisely. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Regardless, you couldn’t let any cracks be left, he had to be destroyed, removed, and replaced.

It bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

You find him alone, a few days later, in the library. He’s resting in a quiet corner, headphones resting around his neck. He’s handsome so effortlessly that it almost annoys you.

You approach him softly, smiling sweetly. No one is immune to everything.

“Studying?” You ask, murmuring almost.

He doesn’t look up immediately, almost as if you’re some sort of nuisance.

“Yeah, usually.”

No warmth behind his voice. You step closer regardless, letting your waist brush his shoulder, leaning against the table, close enough to test him.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” you say, gently, “you seem to misunderstand me.”

Deliberate. You divert the blame onto him, misunderstanding implies depth. Like a misread of character, a wrong judgement to be testified. He closes his book, looking at you, finally.

“I don’t misunderstand you.”

You smile sweetly — tilting your head slightly, “then.. What is it?”

He studied you for a moment, before sighing.

“You’re trying too hard again,” he scoffs, “I told you to drop the performance around me, doll.”

Doll? The sheer audacity.. Who did HE think he was?

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, smiling softly.

“This will get us nowhere,” he adds, shutting his book and collecting his bag, leaving you in the dust again. It has you biting your cheek, masking the irritation at his rejection, refusing to even engage or acknowledge you practically.

…

The next time you encounter him is when you’re left with him and Yunjin. Jake left prior, and now you’re sitting beside her, watching as she begins to spiral unknowingly.

You notice it as soon as her fingers tremble around her phone, soft and attentively glancing at her.

“Hee didn’t reply?” You question, tilting your head only slightly.

She shakes her head in dismissal, and you let the pause settle, absentmindedly following your similar procedure you always followed.

“Maybe he’s distracted,” you offer, gently adding, “you know how he gets around certain people. Ahyeon..”

The first step to it—

“He’s at practice,” Sunghoon says from afar, interrupting the growth. Your gaze flickers up, and at him. He’s manspreading on a couch, scrolling on his phone.

“Really?” Yunjin asks— quietly, her eyes lighting up slightly.

“Yeah. Jay swung by earlier too,” he shrugged, “his phone is in his bag. He always keeps it there.”

Yunjin relaxes instantly. Simple, direct, enough to stall the spiralling completely.

You smile lightly, “Mm.. that’s good then.”

It doesn’t meet your eyes. He could’ve confronted you, embarrassed you, but instead he just chose to neutralise you, and maybe that sickened you more. He derails your plans with a quick sentence, and it’s enough to reassure Yunjin entirely.

“See?” He adds, quietly, scrolling on his phone, “you overthink.”

It strikes a nerve. There’s ambiguity to his sentence that has you questioning his intent. He never rules you out of it, he says it plural. You watch him for a moment too long, and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You lean back, slowly, recalculating. There was no point in being reckless now, it was a momentary setback, nothing more. It was needless to concern yourself. You don’t strike back, because that’s not how you play, painting yourself as the villain in the situation isn’t enough, it’ll make people question, make them doubt.

“Sunghoon,” you say, softly, sweetly again — less honey, but more air, testing the waters. He finally glances up, looking at you.

You hold his gaze forcefully.

“You’re very observant.”

Silly Yunjin doesn’t register the shift in your tone, mindlessly typing on her phone. It irritates you. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, you didn’t calculate it like this.

He recognises it instantly.

“You two are so funny! I’m gonna head out for a bit, Heeseung just messaged me,” Yunjin beams, standing up.

You barely acknowledge her presence, only until you feel the correct social cue that would initiate an interaction, nodding and smiling at her, telling her some words of encouragement before she disappears off.

The mask is unnecessary now, you’re alone with him. Silence settles in almost immediately, provoking you. Neither of you concede, it’s a battle that doesn’t require a winner at the moment. You don’t rush to fill it, neither does he.

When you finally break the silence, you don’t reach for the same sweetness you always do, letting your expression flatten into neutrality.

“Why interfere?” It’s a short question you ask, it requires no negotiation or excess words, it’s finalising, perhaps a challenge in its own form, and you can only construct an idea, analysing his presence.

“I don’t like watching people get pushed,” he replies, “and I can’t agree with treating people like pawns.”

“She pushes herself,” you reply, your lips curving faintly, and he tilts his head— mirroring you this time.

“No. You do.”

You could deny it, and administer your role as the perfect, sweet little girl who bashfully rejects compliments. You could perform for him, but something shifts within you, and you acknowledge it regardless, under a pretense of falsehood and denial, but it’s truthful. He isn’t one to conquer, he plays by his rules, and he has no qualms on whether he wins or loses. He likes control.

That makes you think he’s nearly as corrupted and sickening as you.

You step closer, slowly, stopping in front of him.

“Careful,” you murmur, tone low, challenging, “people may seem to misunderstand you.”

He doesn’t move away.

“I don’t care about that.”

You study his face, and it ticks you, because you see he isn’t seeking anything much. He doesn’t require validation, nor security, or admiration. Nothing. You can’t bait someone who isn’t hungry. He has no desire that you can read, and it makes him a wild card.

“Interesting,” you murmur. You step back, not escalating, or threatening him this time. If you can’t control him, the easiest next solution is to control how those perceive him. This alarms him more than retaliation could.

You can always starve them socially.

The opportunity presents itself to you approximately two days later, and you can only marvel at the beauty of potential opportunities that arise. Jake finds you alone in the library, swinging a seat beside you. He’s always been caring. Jake is the epitome of sweet, and nice, maybe if you weren’t how you were you could’ve fallen for him. But that doesn’t change things because you are like this, and there was no point dwindling on useless or boring things.

“You and Hoon good?” He asks, casually, smiling at you like a puppy, “he says you two talked about something.”

You blink up at him, registering the idea for a mere second before transcripting it into a potential future, shifting into a sweet demeanour, with a slightly pitiful expression.

“Of course,” you reply, gently, dangling the bait before him. You let the silence creep, let it slip between you and settle. You let him lean, and forcefully fill the silence.

“He didn’t say anything weird, right? He can be kinda intense,” Jake adds, frowning.

You let out a small laugh, timed.

“Nothing weird. It’s just..”

You look down at your hands, and Jake notices, reeling in immediately.

“What?” He presses, gently, concerned.

You shake your head lightly, pitifully, enough for him to sucker up some form of sympathy for you. Poor, poor girl.

“It’s nothing, really. I just.. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

It’s not accusatory, or solidifying, it leaves an air of uncertainty, one that strikes with a simpleminded person like Jake. You frame yourself as confused.

“What do you mean?” He asks, straightening, pouting slightly.

“It’s just me overthinking,” you reply, calculating. You hesitate for a short moment, before continuing, “he just.. watches me sometimes, like I’ve done something wrong.”

Let him doubt.

Jake’s expression hardens slightly, stiffening up.

“He does that sometimes. He’s just blunt.”

“I know,” you say, quickly. Defending him was important, if you depicted yourself entirely as a victim it can be off putting, resign sympathy, recognise doubt and utilise it to your gain, “I’m sure he means nothing by it.”

You swallow gently. Silently.

“He said something, didn’t he?”

It’s this protective instinct that Jake has that makes you internally grin like a Cheshire Cat, swallowing your devilish joy, and looking up at him almost pitifully.

“He just said that I was performing. I’m not sure. I must’ve come off wrong, I don’t blame him.”

Jake scoffs, laughing in disbelief and shaking his head.

“That’s just how you are. I tell you, the guy misinterprets everything. You’re a sweet girl, [Y/N], he just has trust issues,” Jake comforts, tapping your arm.

You shrug lightly, “maybe I am too much.”

You let your eyes gloss over, not in an extreme amount, but enough that makes him notice. You don’t overdo things, they can fall apart like that, just enough to let them notice.

“Don’t let him get into your head, he’s just rough around the edges, he’s a good guy, seriously,” Jake reassures, and you let him lean closer.

You never insulted Sunghoon, or accused, or lied. You just framed the reality in a narrative that helps you more. You don’t destroy something you’ve built in a day, you create doubt before it destroys itself. That’s the most pleasing outcome, the most satisfying and beautiful for you.

Around a week later, Jake lightly confronts Sunghoon. Not enough to cause or stir anything.

“Yo, Hoon, what’s up with you and [Y/N]?”

Sunghoon goes still, staring at Jake, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“She thinks you don’t like her.”

Sunghoon exhales, slowly, shrugging almost, the silence lingers for a moment. It’s not for control, or dominance. Sunghoon has no greedy desires of control and victory like you do, he treats Jake like a friend. He enjoys Jake’s company, except it’s moments like this when he wishes he could knock some sense into the unassuming boy.

“I don’t trust her.”

Jake stiffens.

“Why?” He questions, and it’s twisted in the way he asks so confused, so genuinely.

Sunghoon doesn’t reply, because anything he says comes off as sheer paranoia, delusion almost, and it was unnecessary for him to think like that. Jake and everyone else have already registered you as the sweet, caring girl who always offers a shoulder to lean on, and disrespecting the major leads to ostracising.

Sunghoon never really cared for drama like that, especially unnecessary drama, so he would let you win this one, especially when it came to your perfectly poised reputation, you never liked to play too much.

Sunghoon glanced across the room, laughing softly at something Yunjin said. You don’t look at him— you don’t have to, because you know. You always do.

He doesn’t bring it up again, not for a while, and it has your mind reeling. You could always read people, analyse their body language and alter yourself to their preference, albeit for this one anomaly, Park Sunghoon.

He withdraws, and you’re unsure if he’s backing out the game entirely or rather rearranging his tools. It’s almost worse, in your opinion, the ambiguity that follows. You almost want to confront him, to break him down.

But you don’t.

He corrects your trajectory when you attempt to lead Yunjin astray, always him, and it’s debilitating, to consistently have your plans foiled. The real shift in dynamics soon starts to come, and you’re at a loss.

Yunjin begins messaging him more, over you, over Heeseung. Sunghoon. He always responds, he’s always there, looming in the shadows behind, and you can’t seem to get rid of him no matter how much you try.

He’s reliable, steady— exactly what Yunjin seeks.

It’s subtle, the change. She begins going to him more often, it’s barely noticeable to anyone else but you, but you feel it, and deeply. It’s like a toy being nudged out your hand, and you don’t snatch it back, you never have. But for the first time, you want to.

The next time arises when you’re walking back after a lecture, in the hallway, along Jake and Yunjin. Sunghoon lingers shortly behind the three of you. You’ve zoned out slightly, like a passenger in your own body. Yunjin mentions something about Heeseung cancelling last minute again that has you instinctively replying.

“Maybe he needs space,” you murmur softly, “sometimes people pull away when they want to be chased.”

You don’t think about it too hard, it's a habit for you, practically.

“He's been busy recently,” Sunghoons cuts in, slicing the air around you. You smile lightly, nodding. Of course.

Yunjin hesitates for a mere moment, looking at him.

“Should I message him again?”

It’s an opening — like a gate opening before yourself, and you jump at the opportunity.

“Yes, keep him interested.”

Sunghoon scoffs, lightly, calmly.

“That’s not healthy.”

You freeze, looking at him slightly. It’s the first time he’s directly confronted or challenged you, in front of anyone else. It’s subtle to them, they’d barely pick up on it, but you do. You notice immediately, and it almost makes you feel cornered.

“Dude, chill,” Jake laughs, almost awkwardly, placing a hand on the small of your back, like a form of reassurance.

“That wasn’t advice. More like a strategy,” Sunghoon continues, and the word lands wrong. It tastes savoury to you, subverting the sweetness on your tongue.

“What do you mean?” Yunjin asks, genuinely confused and seeking answers.

Except you don’t have an answer.

Nothing calculated comes out, because you’ve never accounted for this. You’ve never checked out the possibility of being acknowledged.

“I’m just trying to help,” you reply— it’s too sharp, you notice, it’s more than intended, enough for Jake and Yunjin to blink at you. You, the one who constantly replies in only sweet, calming gentle replies with an almost bitter tone. Defensive, your tone, your posture, the inevitable cracking of your demeanour.

Sunghoon notices plain and simple.

“You’re overthinking again.”

He isn’t completely wrong, he has your mind going into overdrive, trying to assess the situation and account for this anomaly, it's like your program hasn't updated yet, and hasn’t uploaded this new variable. The silence that follows feels different– like you’re being judged.

You don’t like it.

You find him alone again. He’s leaning against the balcony while everyone drinks out of small shot glasses, pouring shot after shot, exams are over, that’s how they justify it. You had no qualms about justice and morality, you never cared what they did. This time, you don’t even bother to soften your voice. After all, he has your entirety already mapped out, there was no point performing if there was no audience.

“You’ve been speaking to Yunjin a lot.”

“Yeah.”

You lean against the railing beside him, staring at him, no sweet resignation in your tone, no gentle observation– just pure calculation and judgement.

“Why?” You ask. You cannot formulate a proper justification for this.

“She deserves someone who isn’t managing her.”

You step closer, staring at him dangerously.

“So you’re a justice warrior? You abide by moral rules to feel prestigious. Does it make you feel like a hero?” You question, bitterly, venomously, “I don’t manage her.”

He averts his gaze to you, meeting you directly.

“You’re scared of losing control, aren’t you?”

You laugh once, furrowing your eyebrows.

“That’s overly dramatic,” you reply, scoffing.

“You’re just covert about it. You don’t care about fixing her and Heeseung. In fact, I think you’re the very catalyst to their terrible dynamic,” he continues, stating precisely, “you only care about whether she needs you.”

You feel a heat rise in your chest.

“You really think you know me?” You reply sharply, challengingly.

“I don’t. Not at all,” he replies– calmer than ever, “but I recognise patterns. I see things that the others don’t. I don’t buy into your sweet, pretty personality at all, not one bit.”

He steps closer to you, not threatening, and not in a way to highlight the evident size difference between his towering figure and you, but it is an almost certain way that has you narrowing your gaze.

“You don’t want Yunjin happy. You could care less about their outcomes, as long as it benefits you positively.”

You hold eye contact– unblinking.

“And what do you want?” You question, perhaps this moment will truly unravel his unnatural patterns, his hidden intentions, maybe it could be a compromise– a pivoting moment that will allow you two to play on the same field, perhaps as equals, perhaps raising the white flags between enemies to allow for neutrality. But it doesn’t.

He shrugs.

“Nothing from you.”

That’s the part that destabilizes you, that unnerves you. The very moment that reminds you that he’s an unaccounted variable. He doesn’t challenge you entirely, he doesn’t expose you completely. It’s uncanny. Everyone wants something, everyone desires something, even instinctively.

“You’re not my enemy,” he adds, striking your plans with a singular dart. You’re unsure how to respond, because being hated is usable, being desired is usable, being feared is shiftable– but being irrelevant? That leaves you in a deadlock.

You’re prepared for suspicion, jealousy, and confrontation. Not indifference. You can still faintly hear the music from inside, laughter, glass clinking, normal– unaware. Completely, and utterly unaffected.

“You don’t have to fight me, doll,” he says, evenly, certainly, “I’m not trying to win.”

He had already crossed you, and he would understand what it means when someone crosses you.

Your schemes are thrown off routine. Your timing used to be perfect, ideal, now it's hesitant, reactive. When Jake makes a joke, you miss your calibrated cue to laugh, when Yunjin asks something, you respond half a second too late, enough for Sunghoon to swoop in and direct her gently. She notices, and is quick to comment on it as soon as you two are together.

“You’ve been distant lately,” she says, gently, looking at you attentively. It's almost laughable, the paradoxical nature of the situation, you almost feel belittled.

You’ve always been distant, simply embedded, like a concept.

…

A new piece is added to your archive, and you can distinctly note her potential in shifting the game dynamic. Her name is Asa, she transfers mid-semester. Confident, observant, and social in a way that is acknowledged and admired. She’s pretty, she absorbs attention without reaching for it. You don’t feel threatened, not in the slightest at all.

She gravitates to Sunghoon. Perhaps she was interested in his icy cold personality, or the looks that complimented him. It’s consistent– she laughs at his dry comments, walks beside him after class, always chooses the seat beside him without hesitation. It’s enough for Yunjin to notice conscious decisions that add up and leave assumptions.

A week later, Yunjin is quieter.

Two weeks later, she asks, casually almost, “Do you think Asa likes Hoon?”

And it's a blissful opening that has you plotting, but rather than initiating with words or leaving a conclusive answer that leaves Yunjin jealous, you lean back, and you tilt your head slightly, the same calculated posture that has people exposing themselves naturally.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, they’ve just been around each other a lot," Yunjin replies, shrugging, almost as if she was barely acknowledging it. You had seen it though, you knew that this was highly affecting her. You hum thoughtfully, then– you pivot completely.

“You’ve just been used to him being available,” you reply, sweetly, like second nature, “you don’t own him.”

You’re not isolating her again, or making her feel dependent on you. It doesn’t provoke any insecurities, if anything– you're planting independence. Perhaps this was one thing that Sunghoon never foresaw.

That you can always evolve.

Yunjin sighs, leaning against you.

“So I shouldn’t care?”

“You can care. If you like someone, you go to them. If they like you, they stay. If not, you’ll survive.”

Yunjin smiles softly, burying her head against your shoulder, and you’ve never felt more pleased now, it feels liberating, creating a new playing field completely, if you cannot direct or steer her with a sentence, you wouldn’t calculate a strategy for her– this time, you let her take reigns, like a bird leaving its cage for the first time. You’d let her fly.

Asa begins to join the friend group, sitting opposite to you, Sunghoon sat calmly beside her. She’s warm, effortless, and she smiles at you first. You can read a certain genuinity to her, maybe she’s what you’d be like if you were genuine. Maybe you could’ve been like her in another world, except you don’t, you live in your twisted security, and you're perfectly content.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, [Y/N]. Jake says you're the sweetest girl he’s ever met, and also Yunjin’s therapist,” she laughs, nodding slightly, eliciting a gentle smile from you, timing your laugh perfectly, matching the group dynamic.

Yunjin looks slightly embarrassed, but Sunghoon is watching you carefully. He knows about your common courtesy– your gestures, your role as the jester, performing for those to see and enjoy, but it feels uncanny this time.

Your smile looks a bit more genuine than usual, and it’s throwing him off.

You could reclaim the role, but this time– you wanted to rewrite it. There’s a deliberate lightness to your tone.

“Retired now,” you laugh softly, “people grow out of needing a manager for themself.”

You don’t even glance at him, you know he’s staring, he understands almost immediately.

You’re no longer competing for reigns over Yunjin, you’re withdrawing, or stepping above the competition entirely, in a way that makes you completely unpredictable. The shift is subtle but seismic, and when Yunjin starts going to you again, regarding Sunghoon, you no longer steer decisions, you question her– and when she chooses messy decisions, you let the chaos unfold. After all, the blame cannot be directed on you when these decisions are her own accord.

...

Heeseung and Yunjin are ambiguous. They are enough to be dating, but not enough to stay consistent. It’s a routine that no one interrupts, except for you, of course. They are on and off, and it’s most elucidated at a gathering.

It’s Asa’s first time in a party like this, playing a game of truth or dare to break the mold, or such. Alcohol bottles litter the room, red cups are strewn beside people, and sat in a circle.

You’re sitting beside Jake and Jay, watching quietly, a small, pleasant smile plastered on your face. The bottle lands on Yunjin, and Jay immediately chirps in.

“Truth or dare?”

Yunjin replies instantly, maybe even safely, “Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss the person you would pick first in this room,” Jay replies, shockingly so, challenging her.

You’re not alarmed, you know she won’t pick you, and that’s what’ll make this game more fun. Instead, you’re almost excited to see the chaos unfold right before your very own eyes– and the most interesting part of it all? You did none of the work this time.

She laughs, under the influence of alcohol, slightly, enough for her to challenge the dare, leaning over and kissing Sunghoon. You watch carefully, for those most affected in this turn of events. Heeseung, Asa, and finally Sunghoon.

The room buzzes immediately.

“Wait, what about Heeseung?”

“That’s crazy!”

“I thought Asa liked him?”

Jake gulps, Jay whistles.

Heeseung looks humiliated, almost pitiful, and excuses himself immediately. Asa’s eyebrows furrow, and she looks far from pleased, almost offended, whilst Sunghoon sits, his eyes wide. The spotlight’s on him, and it's time he performs for you.

His eyes darted to you, smiling, aware of your triumphance.

Yunjin is half-laughing, half-realising the true gravity of her actions.

Everyone looks at him now, no eyes fall onto you, as he’s the main act of the show. He’s in a difficult position. He can choose to humiliate Heeseung, or embarrass Yunjin, or confirm– he’s in the spotlight. He wanted unpredictability, and here you were, serving it on a platter for him.

“Well,” you hum softly, tilting your head, “that answers a few questions, doesn’t it?”

“Isn’t that kind of messed up?” Asa murmurs, sitting awkwardly, shifting in her seat. Jake coughs– filling the awkward glances.

“I’m gonna check up on Heeseung,” Jake adds, quickly departing from the spectacle.

The group chat is quiet that night, not a single message has been uttered, no exclamation has been provided, and leaves questions with no answers. Both Yunjin and Sunghoon message you that night, but you don’t respond. You don’t feel the need to, especially when victory has manifested itself for you, rather than chasing after it, perfectly poised to you.

...

Sunghoon corners you at your own house, quietly, the following night.

“You changed your approach.”

You shrug, smiling pleasantly, looking at him, having the audacity to even invite him inside.

“Did I?”

“You’re not interfering anymore,” he replies, watching you, and you simply sit beside him on your own couch, relaxing and lounging.

“I have no need anymore,” you shrugged, and he studied you, watching with uncertainty, “control isn’t always about holding or directing something, sometimes you have to let them think they’re free.”

He smiles slightly, and you furrow your eyebrows slightly, looking at him, analysing and constructing an idea.

“You’re not doing this for her,” he states, like a fact.

“No?”

“No,” he replies, firmly, “you’re doing it for me, aren’t you?”

A beat – silence, you’re staring at him, almost in disbelief. What even made him think that? The very idea was prosperous to you, you’d never get caught up on anyone or anything. Your motive for control and power wasn’t anything noble, your intentions were never hung up on one particular thing, he just happened to be in the crossfire. You enjoyed watching people bring upon their own downfall, especially arrogant people like him. It wasn’t for him.

“You want to see if I’ll break first.”

“Do you really think you mean that much to me?” You laugh, in disbelief, looking at him.

“You didn’t respond last night because you wanted me to come to you,” he replies, standing before you, as he gestures lightly around the room, “and I did.”

You lean back, letting the edge of the couch press against your spine, casually observing him as he lingers in your living room. He steps a little closer, and the air surrounding shifts– his presence fills the space like gravity. It feels suffocating. Times like this allow you to appreciate the genuine attractiveness he displays, albeit you don’t play into his hand, time seems to pass inevitably.

His biceps peaked out from his grey sleeveless top, his face was sharp, staring down at you, confidently, his sharp canines peaking out– even arrogantly. It was almost a stark contrast from the icy aura he alludes usually, this demeanour coming off a lot more intense.

“You act more untouchable than you think you are, doll,” he adds, bitterly, “when you’re as human as the rest of us.”

His eyes darken, staring at you, his hand drifting towards you, hovering above you, studying your face with precision, one that made you feel too seen. It felt like he was playing in your face, and with your tactics moreover.

“The stunt you pulled the other night was my last fucking straw,” he scowled, grabbing your chin harshly, and forcing your face in his direction, “you don’t get to toy with me like that. I chose neutrality with you because I know you’re dangerous. I wasn’t underestimating you. You’re a sweet girl and that makes it hard to expose you for what you are.”

You scoffed– staring at him, “and what am I?”

“A fucking bitch that needs to be put in her place for once.”

Your mouth widened– agape, as if you were about to say something, only for his lips to crash against yours, painfully so. Then instinctively, hesitantly, you kissed him back– lips clashing against each other, obviously stricken with desire and pent up feelings and emotions.

The kiss deepened almost immediately, urgent and greedy, his hand moving to cup your cheek while the other pressed lightly against your waist, holding you in place.

You shivered, in disbelief and desire, your body betraying your attempts to resist. His hands wander down, to your hips, lifting you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist quickly after, stumbling through your house as if it belongs to him, throwing you onto the bed without a second thought.

“You wanna be a bitch? Then I’ll treat you like one.”

His touch was violent, harsh, thrashing your clothing off, and despite it all, you couldn’t bring yourself, not even your pride, could throw him off, reluctantly, desire clouded your thoughts. If you couldn’t control him, then control was always evident intimately, you’d just have him submit to you like this. His hands meet your hair, yanking you back against him, greedily, and you understand you’ve probably pushed his buttons more than anyone else.

“I should’ve known that you wanted me too, everyone wants something,” you mock, staring at his awfully handsome face, nails digging crescent shaped moons into his biceps.

“Yeah? You know what I want?” He continues through gritted teeth, breathing heavily, unclasping the white bra on your back swiftly, “to make you cry and beg, and ruin that fucking ego of yours.”

He took a sharp breath at the sight of you, groping at you, admiring the sight before him. You looked absolutely beautiful, face flushed, hair cascading onto the white sheets below, body bare for him– he felt his cock twitching in his pants, hardening against the cotton at the mere sight of your pretty body. Shame you had such a fucking mouth on you. You were going to end him.

His fingers dove down, hooking onto your waistband and dragging your cotton shorts down, met face to face with your core wet, dripping, just the way he imagined. He scoffed at the darkened fabric of your panties beside you on the sheets, almost mocking you.

“Slut,” he murmured quietly, enough for you to hear, enough to make you shake your head in dismissal.

“You’re hard as a rock, don’t act high and mighty,” you scowled, yanking his sweats down, eyeing up the very obvious bulge in his boxers, and you can slightly admire the sheer size of it, swallowing slightly.

“You’re salivating at the sight? I knew you were a whore– but not as much as this,” he replied, grabbing your ankles with brutal force, forcing your body to give out and be manhandled, as he dragged you onto your back.

His face wandered lower, his lips placing a single kiss against your core, before his tongue began to circle your clit, inhaling the sweet smell you exuded, and he licks and laps at you with such obscene greed, letting out small mewls in response to his expertise, groaning against your pussy at the sounds you let out. Your hips moved involuntarily, grinding against him, and he scowled, one hand grabbing your hip firmly– keeping you in place.

You wouldn’t run from him– not anymore, at least. He watched your expression with a half-lidded gaze, eating you with such greed. His other hand reached up and probed a finger against your hole, sliding in easily without much resistance, adding another soon after, stretching his fingers within you, before beginning to continue with a pumping motion, curling them against your g-spot as he lapped at your clit.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum– keep going,” you mewled, back arching off the bed, your bed, hands grasping at the sheets for leverage, before reaching his hair and pulling it painfully, leading him to grit his teeth in response. You felt the pleasure building up, and he quickly detached his mouth from you, his fingers exiting with a wet noise.

“Why’d you stop!” You hissed, staring at him, watching as his fingers parted your sweet folds, analysing the fluttering hole presented before him, feeling the ecstasy of your orgasm ridding itself from your abdomen, pathetically.

“Only good girls get to cum,” he responded, ignoring your venomous tone, “you’ve finally dropped the sweet act, huh?”

He leaned down, biting into your thigh with painful precision, leaving a mark for certain.

“You’re such a dick,” you replied, curtly, and he seemed to not take it well, wrapping his hand around your neck, forcing you off the bed and down onto your knees before him.

“Why are you always speaking?” He sighed, staring down at you, his thumb gliding across your perfectly pouty lips, in a manner that feels almost too sweet for it to be him, “I have to shut you up somehow, doll.”

“You’d be so pretty if you just kept that mouth shut. Or around my cock.”

He pushed his painfully tight boxers and sweats down, his cock hard, your eyes widening slightly. He was fucking big, much more than you expected. You hardly could take control, his hand fastening around the back of your head and fabricating a makeshift ponytail, shoving your mouth around him in one swift motion.

He finally gets a good look at your face, when you're kneeling before him, and shit, he had no idea you could make such a fucking slutty expression for him, your lips pouting, drool travelling down the corner of your lips as he thrusted into your face violently, and what gets him fucking harder is the way it looks like you enjoy being face fucked like some cheap whore or sex toy. It makes him think he should’ve just done the first moment he saw you rather than putting up with your attitude, instead of entertaining your brattiness, he should’ve just fucked some sense right into you.

It pisses him off– since the day he met you, he just couldn’t think about fucking any other women. He had no problem with it in the past, going out and meeting whatever pretty girl wanted him, but since he saw your fucking dangerous attitude, he felt hung up on you. It really pissed him off how he couldn't stop thinking about the fake, manipulative girl who puts on a sweet act for everyone.

He groaned at the delectable feeling of your throat wrapped around his cock, enjoying the tears that well up in your eyes from being deepthroated. Your hands meet his thighs, pushing against them, your nose pressing against his pelvis.

Your own hips grind at nothing, except for the floor below you, brushing your clit against it with desperation, probably leaving a pool right below you. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, scoffing at your sheer sluttiness, and with the way you looked so fucking feverish, he would’ve thought no one had ever fucked you before.

With a few more violent thrusts, your mouth fills up with his warm seed, his hand forces you completely onto him, with no chance to escape, nor to spit it out and laugh in his face, rather to swallow it. Your throat convulsed, swallowing as much as you could, before yanking your head back and painting your face with white, sticky ropes in a way that feels too degrading, and it drips down your chin, and onto your tits. The moment he pulls out from your mouth, you start coughing, and he watches you in amusement.

“There it is, pretty, taking it all like a good girl,” he hummed, releasing your hair.

“This is disgusting,” you can only murmur, trying to collect the remnants of dignity you could, despite the very obvious desire dripping from your thighs, glistening for him.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re rutting your hips against the floor like an animal?” He replies, and you’re silent, raising yourself up to stand before him, taunting him, he harshly pushes you against the bed, flipping you so your face is pressed into the cotton below, one hand clutching your hands together, another pushing your face down, before releasing the grasp on your hands, jerking himself off momentarily and placing his throbbing tip against your hole, yet it never enters, much to your dismay.

“Ask nicely for my cock,” he hums, keeping himself steady, and it irritates you how he’s much more composed than you expected, and you tilt your head back at him.

“I’m not begging for you to fuck me,” you scoff, “you’re lucky I’m even fucking you now.”

He sighs in response, pinning you down still, “then I’ll leave you here to deal with yourself.”

You laugh eagerly at the thought, challenging him.

“You wouldn’t. Not like I care, anyways.”

It’s silent again, and your hips involuntarily push back, greedily, and he’s almost offended at your audacity, striking your ass with a harsh, violent slap, enough to leave a painful, throbbing mark, yet you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips, loud enough to elicit a small smirk in amusement from him.

“You're shy, huh?”

You scoff immediately, shaking your head in disapproval.

“Fucking ask already, I’m getting impatient,” he scowls, irritation rising in him. The personality he’s displaying now is a stark contrast to the icy demeanour from before, and it has you questioning if you ever really knew him at all.

“Ugh! Just fuck me, please?” You reply, sarcastically.

“Seruously? You call that beggin’? You can do better than that, doll,” he tutted, staring down at you– he had the power.

It pissed you off, but desire was clouding your vision, as if it was any other moment, you would’ve probably flipped and left, “I want you to fuck me, Hoon.. Need you inside of me, please?”

“Attagirl. Wasn’t so hard was it?” He nods, even praising you in a way that has your hole clenching at nothing, embarrassingly. He was satisfied despite your sarcastic tone, as he’d work his way up until you were completely submissive someday.

“Let’s see how smart you are when I’m ruining you,” he adds, pushing himself inside– with one swift, desperate movement, his hands finding a perch at your hips, holding you roughly, his movements immediately more erratic, greedy, pounding your sweet pussy with feverish intent, before one hand reaches up and shoves your head down again, forcing your moans to be swallowed by the duvet below you.

Your cunt clenched around him covetously, his hips slamming, whilst he drives into you– hitting a certain spot within you that has you seeing stars, biting your lip, to try and stifle some of the moans that left your lips.

“Fuck.. This is all you’re good for, just a pretty hole for me to fuck.”

You can only respond in broken sentences, each thrust winding you and eliciting a whimper or moan from your throat in a guttural form.

The erraticness of the rhythm he thrusts is filthy– desire clouding both of your minds, so much that you could care less that this was the person you detested most, not when he had you seeing stars, your back arching off the soft sheets, eagerly looking up at him– your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Your pussy grips onto him like a vice, greedily taking more of him– starving for him, as you let your body get used by him. Humiliation filled you, and you knew as much as he did, that you were sickeningly enjoying this, basking in your own pleasure as he split you open on his length. It felt degrading, to be in a position with no control, something that completely fabricated the very being of yourself.

You’re like a pornstar, letting out the most loud, greedy moans as he rutted into you violently, and the room is disgusting. Fluids litter your and his body, and soak into your bed, only the noises of wet sex and loud moans fill the room, his cock bullying into you. His hand travels up your bare back, past your throat, shoving two fingers into your mouth.

“God, you’re such a fucking whore, I know people who have money, y’know– pay to put you in their place. How about it?” he grins, humiliatingly so, and you shake your head in disapproval, “you’re right, doll, only I wanna fuck you like this. Can’t let anyone see what you’re really like– a slut who likes being ruined.”

His eyes trail down, where you're dripping onto the sheets and onto his cock, marvelling at the sight, and he doesn’t even think twice before pulling out his phone and taking a video. It’ll be for his eyes only, after all, and he wanted this sight to forever be reminded. It also served as another form of control over you, it’d liberate him from the position of just a plaything.

“You know, doll, I like your secret, I like how twisted you are, I’ll keep it as long as I can keep fucking this hole– you’d like that, right?”

“Yes.. Fuck, yes! Gonna.. cum!”

It fills him with delight the way you submit, finally, and not act like such a fucking bitch, the way he has power finally against you. Your legs began to shake with desire, your lips parting– crashing down on you like a wave, climaxing, squeezing his cock tighter, convulsing as you dripped down him, letting out a loud moan with his name– as his movements become more animalistic, chasing his own thrill now, using you as a fleshlight for his own pleasure.

“You’re crying?” He taunts, feeling the wetness of your tears trickling down your face, “so pathetic, huh?”

“Just like all the rest of us, even though you act so high and mighty.”

His cock throbs as he lets out a large load with a final, delivering thrust, filling you up completely, reaching places beyond anyone should, bruising your cervix deliberately, slamming his hips against you.

“Like a cum dump, aren’t you?” He grits, thrusting for a few final times, savouring the aftershocks like they’ll disappear forever. He turns your body over, staring at your messy appearance.

“Open,” he murmurs, his thumb reaching over your glossy lips, and you reluctantly follow, only to be met with him spitting into your mouth forcefully, swallowing it instinctively, eliciting a nod of approval from him. His cock remains inside of you, his seed dripping out of you lewdly.

There are purple and red marks left all over your body, a little dried blood from where he was holding your hips a little too tight, and he thinks it might very well be the prettiest you’ve ever looked. He pulls out, immediately pulling his clothes back on, not even bothering to check up on you.

“You’re a big girl, hm? You’ll take care of yourself,” he mocks, and it has you scoffing in embarrassment, but you can't really combat his words, knowing that his cum was quite literally dripping out of your hole.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, defensively.

“Yeah,” he replies, conclusively, and it has you a little dumfounded at his audacity, watching closely, yet your pride refuses to acknowledge it. He’s already fully dressed, and about to leave through your bedroom door, before looking back at you, and showing his phone screen at you, and it has you scoff– your body below him, taking his cock brutally, your moans of his name vibrating from the speaker.

“Better be careful about your sweet, innocent act now, yeah?”

He’s as fucking evil as you are.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Overnight in Davos, Switzerland, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney delivered what I suspect will be recorded in future history text books as an era defining speech. It is profound, accurate, and very relevant to another "Middle Power" like Australia.

Here is the full text of that speech. I urge you to read it in its entirety:

"It’s a pleasure – and a duty – to be with you at this turning point for Canada and for the world.

Today, I’ll talk about the rupture in the world order, the end of a nice story, and the beginning of a brutal reality where geopolitics among the great powers is not subject to any constraints.

But I also submit to you that other countries, particularly middle powers like Canada, are not powerless. They have the capacity to build a new order that embodies our values, like respect for human rights, sustainable development, solidarity, sovereignty, and territorial integrity of states.

The power of the less powerful begins with honesty.

Every day we are reminded that we live in an era of great power rivalry. That the rules-based order is fading. That the strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.

This aphorism of Thucydides is presented as inevitable – the natural logic of international relations reasserting itself. And faced with this logic, there is a strong tendency for countries to go along to get along. To accommodate. To avoid trouble. To hope that compliance will buy safety.

It won’t.

So, what are our options?

In 1978, the Czech dissident Václav Havel wrote an essay called The Power of the Powerless. In it, he asked a simple question: how did the communist system sustain itself?

His answer began with a greengrocer. Every morning, this shopkeeper places a sign in his window: “Workers of the world, unite!” He does not believe it. No one believes it. But he places the sign anyway – to avoid trouble, to signal compliance, to get along. And because every shopkeeper on every street does the same, the system persists.

Not through violence alone, but through the participation of ordinary people in rituals they privately know to be false.

Havel called this “living within a lie.” The system’s power comes not from its truth but from everyone’s willingness to perform as if it were true. And its fragility comes from the same source: when even one person stops performing — when the greengrocer removes his sign — the illusion begins to crack.

It is time for companies and countries to take their signs down.

For decades, countries like Canada prospered under what we called the rules-based international order. We joined its institutions, praised its principles, and benefited from its predictability. We could pursue values-based foreign policies under its protection.

We knew the story of the international rules-based order was partially false. That the strongest would exempt themselves when convenient. That trade rules were enforced asymmetrically. And that international law applied with varying rigour depending on the identity of the accused or the victim.

This fiction was useful, and American hegemony, in particular, helped provide public goods: open sea lanes, a stable financial system, collective security, and support for frameworks for resolving disputes.

So, we placed the sign in the window. We participated in the rituals. And largely avoided calling out the gaps between rhetoric and reality.

This bargain no longer works.

Let me be direct: we are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition.

Over the past two decades, a series of crises in finance, health, energy, and geopolitics laid bare the risks of extreme global integration.

More recently, great powers began using economic integration as weapons. Tariffs as leverage. Financial infrastructure as coercion. Supply chains as vulnerabilities to be exploited.

You cannot “live within the lie” of mutual benefit through integration when integration becomes the source of your subordination.

The multilateral institutions on which middle powers relied— the WTO, the UN, the COP – the architecture of collective problem solving – are greatly diminished.

As a result, many countries are drawing the same conclusions. They must develop greater strategic autonomy: in energy, food, critical minerals, in finance, and supply chains.

This impulse is understandable. A country that cannot feed itself, fuel itself, or defend itself has few options. When the rules no longer protect you, you must protect yourself.

But let us be clear-eyed about where this leads. A world of fortresses will be poorer, more fragile, and less sustainable.

And there is another truth: if great powers abandon even the pretence of rules and values for the unhindered pursuit of their power and interests, the gains from “transactionalism” become harder to replicate. Hegemons cannot continually monetize their relationships.

Allies will diversify to hedge against uncertainty. Buy insurance. Increase options. This rebuilds sovereignty – sovereignty that was once grounded in rules, but will be increasingly anchored in the ability to withstand pressure.

As I said, such classic risk management comes at a price, but that cost of strategic autonomy, of sovereignty, can also be shared. Collective investments in resilience are cheaper than everyone building their own fortress. Shared standards reduce fragmentation. Complementarities are positive sum.

The question for middle powers, like Canada, is not whether to adapt to this new reality. We must. The question is whether we adapt by simply building higher walls – or whether we can do something more ambitious.

Canada was amongst the first to hear the wake-up call, leading us to fundamentally shift our strategic posture.

Canadians know that our old, comfortable assumption that our geography and alliance memberships automatically conferred prosperity and security is no longer valid.

Our new approach rests on what Alexander Stubb has termed “values-based realism” – or, to put it another way, we aim to be principled and pragmatic.

Principled in our commitment to fundamental values: sovereignty and territorial integrity, the prohibition of the use of force except when consistent with the UN Charter, respect for human rights.

Pragmatic in recognising that progress is often incremental, that interests diverge, that not every partner shares our values. We are engaging broadly, strategically, with open eyes. We actively take on the world as it is, not wait for a world we wish to be.

Canada is calibrating our relationships so their depth reflects our values. We are prioritising broad engagement to maximise our influence, given the fluidity of the world order, the risks that this poses, and the stakes for what comes next.

We are no longer relying on just the strength of our values, but also on the value of our strength.

We are building that strength at home.

Since my government took office, we have cut taxes on incomes, capital gains and business investment, we have removed all federal barriers to interprovincial trade, and we are fast-tracking a trillion dollars of investment in energy, AI, critical minerals, new trade corridors, and beyond.

We are doubling our defence spending by 2030 and are doing so in ways that builds our domestic industries.

We are rapidly diversifying abroad. We have agreed a comprehensive strategic partnership with the European Union, including joining SAFE, Europe’s defence procurement arrangements.

We have signed twelve other trade and security deals on four continents in the last six months.

In the past few days, we have concluded new strategic partnerships with China and Qatar.

We are negotiating free trade pacts with India, ASEAN, Thailand, Philippines, Mercosur.

To help solve global problems, we are pursuing variable geometry— different coalitions for different issues, based on values and interests.

On Ukraine, we are a core member of the Coalition of the Willing and one of the largest per-capita contributors to its defence and security.

On Arctic sovereignty, we stand firmly with Greenland and Denmark and fully support their unique right to determine Greenland’s future. Our commitment to Article 5 is unwavering.

On plurilateral trade, we are championing efforts to build a bridge between the Trans-Pacific Partnership and the European Union, creating a new trading block of 1.5 billion people.

On critical minerals, we are forming buyer’s clubs anchored in the G7 so that the world can diversify away from concentrated supply.

On AI, we are cooperating with like-minded democracies to ensure we will not ultimately be forced to choose between hegemons and hyperscalers.

This is not naive multilateralism. Nor is it relying on diminished institutions. It is building the coalitions that work, issue by issue, with partners who share enough common ground to act together. In some cases, this will be the vast majority of nations.

And it is creating a dense web of connections across trade, investment, culture on which we can draw for future challenges and opportunities.

Middle powers must act together because if you are not at the table, you are on the menu.

Great powers can afford to go it alone. They have the market size, the military capacity, the leverage to dictate terms. Middle powers do not. But when we only negotiate bilaterally with a hegemon, we negotiate from weakness. We accept what is offered. We compete with each other to be the most accommodating.

This is not sovereignty. It is the performance of sovereignty while accepting subordination.

In a world of great power rivalry, the countries in between have a choice: to compete with each other for favour or to combine to create a third path with impact.

We should not allow the rise of hard power to blind us to the fact that the power of legitimacy, integrity, and rules will remain strong — if we choose to wield it together.

Which brings me back to Havel.

What would it mean for middle powers to “live in truth”?

It means naming reality. Stop invoking the “rules-based international order” as though it still functions as advertised. Call the system what it is: a period of intensifying great power rivalry, where the most powerful pursue their interests using economic integration as a weapon of coercion.

It means acting consistently. Apply the same standards to allies and rivals. When middle powers criticise economic intimidation from one direction but stay silent when it comes from another, we are keeping the sign in the window.

It means building what we claim to believe in. Rather than waiting for the old order to be restored, create institutions and agreements that function as described.

And it means reducing the leverage that enables coercion. Building a strong domestic economy should always be every government’s priority. Diversification internationally is not just economic prudence; it is the material foundation for honest foreign policy. Countries earn the right to principled stands by reducing their vulnerability to retaliation.

Canada has what the world wants. We are an energy superpower. We hold vast reserves of critical minerals. We have the most educated population in the world. Our pension funds are amongst the world’s largest and most sophisticated investors. We have capital, talent, and a government with the immense fiscal capacity to act decisively.

And we have the values to which many others aspire.

Canada is a pluralistic society that works. Our public square is loud, diverse, and free. Canadians remain committed to sustainability.

We are a stable, reliable partner—in a world that is anything but—a partner that builds and values relationships for the long term.

Canada has something else: a recognition of what is happening and a determination to act accordingly.

We understand that this rupture calls for more than adaptation. It calls for honesty about the world as it is.

We are taking the sign out of the window.

The old order is not coming back. We should not mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy.

But from the fracture, we can build something better, stronger, and more just.

This is the task of the middle powers, who have the most to lose from a world of fortresses and the most to gain from a world of genuine cooperation.

The powerful have their power. But we have something too – the capacity to stop pretending, to name reality, to build our strength at home, and to act together.

That is Canada’s path. We choose it openly and confidently.

And it is a path wide open to any country willing to take it with us."

[Thanks Mikhail Iossel]

[machiavelliam]

THE MAN NEXT DOOR ‧ B.P

──── ` The intense, frustrating, and mortifying feelings that your charming neighbor provokes in you end up drowning you enough to sink him as well.

TAGS: Gender neutral amab reader | Poor plot | Dex goes by the name Tony | Mix between DDBA Dex and Netflix Dex | Neighbors AU | Age gap | Friends with benefits (? | Unhealthy dynamics | Obsessive behavior | Eventual smut | Needy Dex | Sub Dex | Subspace | Masochism | Rough Oral sex (reader receiving) | Blood mentions | Tags missing

She left you again.

And it's become a routine you wish you didn't have, because you almost always open the door after midnight, your shoulders aching from your shift, your head full of half-finished thoughts and deadlines, and the apartment greets you empty and silent.

No soft weight nuzzling against your ankles, no insistent meows demanding attention, no warm, living being to give you security after hours of forced politeness and unbearable people at work.

You sigh deeply, leaving your keys in the bowl by the door, and you stand there staring into space, listening intently to the background sounds as if she could magically materialize out of guilt and run to snuggle in your arms.

And the worst part is, you can't even feel bad because it's not the first time you've had a cat, which means you're aware of what you were getting into when you adopted her.

They grow up and become independent, and decide that affection can be optional, but food isn't; in the end, you're just a convenience.

Yes, a provider of food and shelter.

You exhale, rubbing your eyes with the hand you consider cleaner, and then think that if she repeats the established pattern, she'll come back scratching at the window, chirping and complaining as if she'd been tragically abandoned instead of leaving of her own accord.

How much does that give you? An hour? Two? Enough time to do absolutely nothing, which is precisely what you intend to do now, though you'd do the same thing if she were here; the only difference is the scratching.

You sink into the sofa, phone already in hand, unlocking it and scrolling aimlessly, searching for the first thing you know will catch your eye. Your body sinks into the cushions, a wave of satisfaction washing over you as the silence stretches out comfortably.

After about ten minutes, you decide your leisure time is over, but you still struggle to get up, concluding that you should at least get to your room before falling asleep fully dressed. The idea of ​​sleeping in your work clothes repulses you, so you'll shower and continue enjoying your time for yourself.

You've barely taken four steps away from the sofa when three firm knocks on the door stop you in your tracks, leaving you paralyzed. A rush of adrenaline surges through your chest before your brain can process it. You take a deep breath, calm yourself, and turn toward the door. Your hand hesitates for a second on the doorknob—an unconscious pause that you don't bother to analyze—before opening it.

And there he is.

“Hey,” Tony greets you, standing there as always calm and serene. In his arms is that traitor, snuggled up to him, quite content as she's purring so loudly you can hear her from where you are.

Her tail is comfortably curled around his forearm, one of Tony’s hands sliding lazily across her belly, his fingers gently scratching her tummy, burying themselves in her fur.

She looks happier with him than with you.

“Hi, Tony,” you manage, blinking to dispel the momentary shock of seeing such a lovely scene before you. “So sorry she came to your place again.”

You reach out to take her, and he lets you, handing her to you without resistance and you feel his warm fingers brush against yours briefly to then disappear.

“Don’t worry,” he says, an easy smile in place, “always happy to have her.”

You pull her towards your chest, hugging her a little tighter than necessary, and she immediately begins to settle in, stretching her front paws towards him, trying to catch his hand between her claws as he ruffles her head.

Tony chuckles, petting her for a second longer, letting her play with his fingers before stepping back.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” he adds. “She could have stayed, but I left a chicken defrosting, and I don’t wanna share.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Wow, you wouldn’t even do it for those eyes?” you joke, and he glances into the furry creature’s big and dark eyes. He shrugs, impassive, and his gaze briefly shifts from the cat to you.

“Maybe I'd have given her a chance if she’d come up with better negotiation skills.”

You shake your head, muttering, “unbelievable,” as you pet the cat who keeps trying to come back to him.

“She loves you more than me,” you complain quietly, feigning sadness.

“Smart girl,” he replies.

“Traitor,” you correct him, looking at her with mocking indignation before setting her down on the floor, and she simply trots into the apartment as if she hadn’t just publicly chosen someone else instead of you. You straighten up, and when you look ahead again, he is staring you intently.

There's a pause too long to be comfortable, and his hands slip into his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed, but his gaze drips with intensity.

“So,” he finally begins, picking up the thread of the conversation, “how have you been?”

“Tired,” you reply honestly, “Finals week is almost here and I don't even know where to start. But... it's just a matter of managing my time.” you shift your weight from one foot to the other and add, “And you?”

Tony hums and then replies after a second, “Tired too, but good despite everything, trying to figure out how to help a friend with a few things.”

You nod, understandingly, as if you don't realize that he always answers with just enough and nothing more, and another silence settles between you.

It shouldn't be like this.

Talking about normal, harmless things always turns awkward after more than twenty seconds. But maybe it's the abrupt way you've drifted apart after being together almost constantly, or maybe it's just that your heart is beating too fast for such a trivial conversation.

Before you can dwell on it too much, you hear yourself say, “You want to... come in?” in a firm, somewhat indifferent voice. You even raise an eyebrow, trying to downplay it when all you really want is for him to say yes with a joyful smile on his face.

Tony smiles.

And for a moment, you think you've won, but then he shakes his head and his eyes drift away from yours as he lowers his head, looking at the ground and then returning his gaze to you.

“Sorry,” he replies politely, somehow worse than being dismissive. “I have some things to do,” he continues. “Been pretty busy.”

There's a pause and then he adds, “maybe another day? hm?”

Sure, of course, you nod immediately, a little too quickly. “No—yeah, that's fine. Don't worry. I have things to do too, so... good night. See you later.”

The words come out in a breath, with such fake ease, and he watches you for another second, then nods slightly. “Night then, good luck on your exams, you'll do fine,” he adds with a small thumbs-up before turning and whistling away, not even giving you time to thank him.

You mutter a small good night as you close the door a little harder than necessary when he disappears from sight.

The click echoes, and for a moment, you stand there, staring at the door, and you simply can't take it anymore. Months have passed since that day, since things changed into something you still can't quite define but that felt right at the moment, and whatever this is now, it's not working at all.

And you believe it's not for you because you know Tony has always been… peculiar, so maybe it only works for him.

Unfortunately that's nothing new, and you accepted it a while ago that he keeps himself slightly out of reach even when he's right in front of you, and then out of nowhere he appears wanting to close the distance, acting possessively, needy, melancholic, and then acting fearful, afraid that you might somehow want to end whatever it is you have.

This push and pull, this almost-there, is exhausting, and you just want to be with him and stay up all night spending time with him like in the old days. Either way, you understand that space is necessary sometimes; dependence isn't healthy and can lead to dangerous things you don't want to think about right now.

So all that's left is to grieve in silence and go take a shower.

After you're done, you change into lighter clothes and slide onto your bed while all you can think about are gorgeous hazel eyes, a strikingly attractive scar, and his incredible ability to never miss when throwing things. You try to shake those thoughts out of your mind, reaching for your phone to drown yourself in social media, but your brain plays tricks on you, replaying memories of your first interactions with him.

You can't fight your stubborn mind, so you let these memories haunt you, at least in an attempt to make yourself feel better after being appropriately and respectfully rejected in some way.

You remember the beginning of the strange but functional dynamic between you, and as expected, you were the first to notice and approach him.

Tony had moved into the building four months after you, so you had to interact first, as you were trying to build more connections with the people around you. You weren't going to remain isolated forever just because you'd moved to a new place, and meeting people works sometimes.

At first, Tony seemed to respond automatically; it was as if he was also learning to relate to his surroundings, just like you, something that struck you as odd given his age. But later, the more you interacted with him, the more you realized he was quite private about his life and what he did with it.

He didn't know anyone well enough to do everyday things like go out for drinks with friends or simply chat with someone late into the night.

And soon you realized that he preferred listening to talking, and when he did talk, he asked for details about you, which you were happy to share just to keep him close. It was also clear that he enjoyed your voice; his body language told you so, and within a few weeks, the conversations started to get longer.

You would go to his place, and he would come to yours occasionally, but you preferred his apartment because of how impeccably clean he kept it, despite it being such a small and cramped space.

You enjoyed spending hours there with him, he radiated tranquility and didn't ask for much; he just needed company, he was a lonely person.

There was something about him that compelled you to watch him for long periods until you saw him become slightly nervous and suddenly fall silent, giving you the opportunity to speak.

You can't pinpoint the exact moment your relationship deepened, but you began to see facets of him that attracted you even more, especially because he became more attentive, reminding you of things you didn't even remember mentioning, helping you with everything you needed, including schoolwork, and even visiting you at work and college. He maintained a considerable distance, yet remained present, watching over you, making you realize he was moving cautiously, probably gauging how far he could go before you gave him a negative response.

And just as you saw these unsettling facets that inexplicably drew you in, you also saw others that bothered you.

Among them was the fact that he would distance himself seemingly out of nowhere, and when you firmly asked him what was wrong, all you saw was fear in his eyes.

He seemed unsure how to handle all the attention you gave him and your need to solve the problem, your desire to move forward despite the difficulties managed to make him spiral. And when you gave him space to feel better and think about what to do next, he would get worse and start seeking you out.

So contradictory, so intriguing, silently begging you to see more of him, and “unexpectedly”, you began to feel something more than friendship for him.

You always recognized that he was very attractive, well, too handsome; in fact, you mentioned it to him a couple of times, and he responded with a chuckle and a very awkward joke that you wished you had understood at the time, so you simply laughed it off and let it go. Even if you didn't fully understand him sometimes, that didn't change the fact that you were attracted to him and cared about him, especially because of how he seemed to loosen up around you.

Before, it seemed like 80% of the time you spent together he was analyzing you, observing you, studying you; he was too cautious for your liking, and you didn't quite understand why. As your relationship progressed, he became more confident, along with a touch of arrogance that had always been there, but which he hadn't seemed to acknowledge before.

Despite his flaws, he managed to get under your skin in no time, and you knew you had to do something as soon as possible. He couldn't make the first move because it always seemed like you were in control. He invited you on casual dates, like going for coffee or simply to dinner at the nearest restaurant of your choice, and he always ordered the same thing as you. He always asked you what you wanted to do, always waited for you to say something; sometimes you noticed he was mirroring you, and the pattern formed before your eyes, so clear it was overwhelming.

With that, you concluded that he wasn't going to make a move on you since he had his own internal conflicts, and you couldn't stand the hungry, brazen way his eyes would suddenly wander to your mouth.

So you decided that enough was enough, and one night, it just happened.

Your heart was pounding when you leaned in first, quickly, without thinking twice, and were surprised by a large hand gripping your throat immediately. Tony looked startled and flustered by what you wanted to do, and you felt like dying right then and there because maybe you were wrong and his signals meant something else.

But to your pleasant surprise, he smiled slightly and released your neck, leaning in for a ridiculously shy and quick kiss that made you laugh and made him swallow hard.

That's when you lost yourself.

After those days, the kisses intensified, the gazes lingered, the conversations grew more intimate. He opened up more about his past, and you listened intently to everything he told you, including some things he had done during his time with the FBI that he wasn't proud of. You found it hard to believe him because there was something strange about his tone of voice and the look on his face. But you pushed it aside, figuring you could think about it later; your own desire to be with him made you ignore signs that might have been important.

Tony started seeking your company more often, trying to contact you at every opportunity. He texted and called you more than necessary for anything, and you knew it was just to listen to your voice. Sometimes he even slipped into your apartment unannounced, just to feel your presence, using some ridiculous excuse that was actually amusing.

And during those more intimate nights, he would snuggle up to you, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. He liked to place his hand on your chest and feel your heart beneath his palm, confirming that you were there with him.

The line into other kinds of intimacy was never crossed, and it seemed neither of you needed it. Skin-to-skin contact did exist, but the touches were gentle and longing that you never progressed further.

A hand on a bare waist, fingers gently tracing a long, prominent scar that belongs to warm freckled skin covering a spine, lips touching flushed skin, legs intertwining on the bed, little tickles eliciting soft giggles.

The touches were present and enough, however you had wondered several times whether they would ever go further than that.

There were no words to describe the fullness you felt when you were with him, the kisses, the caresses, the conversations, the looks, the trust, all of that made you want to have him for yourself forever, but not everything was rosy because you had no idea what was happening between the two of you, obviously you were friends, friends who kissed and cuddled sometimes, you were definitely not a couple, and you weren't going to ask him for fear of losing him or that he would back out because of having to put labels on the relationship.

Eventually, you reminded yourself that it wasn't necessary to label it; the most important thing was to enjoy the moment before something like what's happening right now happened.

The time came when you started drifting apart. Weeks, possibly more, went by without even a quick kiss, no more chats in his apartment, no more Tony invading your space to obsessively clean it while you complained that it was already clean.

All of that stopped, and now there was only silence.

The distance felt heavier, even though you lived just steps away from him. You wondered if it was emotional distance or more physical; either way, it hurt.

There's a pressure in your chest that forces you to turn over, facing the wall. Suddenly, the bed is no longer comfortable. You miss his warmth behind you, his breath on your neck as he sleeps, his unusual body temperature making you feel extremely warm.

You miss that unsettling, cocky mass of awkwardness and muscles more than you miss your ability to sleep earlier.

Nevertheless, you force yourself to sleep, closing your eyes and letting the memories fade, secretly hoping that tomorrow everything will magically change and that the knock on your door will be for some other reason than to bring your cat back.

Three weeks.

Three fucking weeks and absolutely nothing has changed. If anything, it's gotten worse because you don't even talk to him anymore, just glances, smiles, and polite words before he disappears.

At first, you kept the excuse you were giving him in your mind:

It's finals week, focus on yourself.

And that week is over, and you haven't been able to talk to him like you used to and it's frustrating since you have free time, and you can't see him enough, which makes you wonder if maybe he's found someone else? Did you do something wrong? Has he started thinking a lot about the age difference? Are you interfering with something important in his life, and have you become a distraction he needs to get rid of?

It's an unbearable nuisance. You can't even keep an eye on him because something always comes up and you end up getting distracted. You can't even break into his place when he's not there because the mere thought of him suddenly appearing, seeing you there, and asking what you're doing could trigger a defensive reaction; turning you into an insufferable, possessive, and unpleasant person who doesn't respect boundaries, all to avoid the shame and end up looking even worse than before.

Is infuriating.

You can't even walk down the street in peace to clear your mind because of everything that's going on, and it's really frustrating because there are more important things happening, and here you are, on the verge of a breakdown because your neighbor, with whom you're supposed to share a deep connection, is drifting further and further away, about to become that stranger you wish you had around again.

The echo of your footsteps reverberates throughout the apartment; your footprint is already imprinted on the floor, a mark of sheer impatience. You pace in circles, then back and forth, then forward and backward again, and your phone vibrates once more somewhere in the living room, illuminating the gloom for a fleeting moment before fading away.

You ignore the messages from your friends begging you to go out for a quiet evening, since they'll all be watching the mayor's boxing event, which meant a peaceful night, so to speak, without the authorities causing any trouble.

Although the suggestion sounded tempting, your mind had other plans, so you continue to ignore each notification and its vibration.

Finally, your body gives way, and you collapse onto the sofa with a deep sigh, running a hand over your face and then pinching the bridge of your nose, tracing the crease between your eyebrows with a finger, trying to erase the unease reflected on your face. What you're doing is really stupid, and it's simply because your thoughts are revolving around the same point like a horrible compulsion—correction, it is a compulsion.

Your gaze wanders, a little unfocused at first, before settling on the cat. She lies carefree, her small body stretched out on the bed, her belly exposed in absolute and brazen comfort, and you wish you were her, so unperturbed and adorable.

A thought creeps insidiously into your mind.

You could use her.

The idea arises naturally and could work as a seemingly harmless excuse. Cats go wherever they please, she adores him, and he adores her, so you could send her to his apartment, let her in through his window if it's open, then he'd come to you, bringing her back. It could work...

No, you're better than this, for Christ's sake.

The idea is dismissed immediately after you yawn, and you find yourself lying down in a better position, letting the impulsive thoughts dissolve, and for a second you think that tomorrow will be better; you can't even notice when sleep overtook you.

Loud knocks on the door jolt you awake, leaving you slightly disoriented, surprised, and startled by the first sound you hear upon opening your eyes. You stagger up from the sofa and wipe the drool from your cheek with the back of your hand as you head to the door where the knocking continues.

“I’m coming, just a second,” you huff, annoyed; people have no respect these days. As you turn the doorknob, a thousand unspoken insults form in your mind.

But they all vanish before the sight before you.

He’s there, and for a moment, your brain refuses to process it until you accept it. Tony is in the doorway, too close, as the image before your eyes comes into sharp focus. You’re still groggy from sleep, and when you can finally see colors clearly, you only make out red.

Blood.

There’s blood in his mouth, staining his lips; on his nose, dark and unpleasant where it's starting to dry. A cut runs across his lower lip leaving it raw. He has an ugly, alarming wound on his temple that stains his hair with a deep red streak that runs down the side of his sweaty face. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his breathing is ragged, each inhalation labored and seemingly painful.

He's wearing dark clothes that only make things worse, concealing any wounds he might be hiding. His posture is alarming; he's unsteady, as if his body can no longer support itself, and it makes your stomach churn.

“Tony—” You don't even get to finish the sentence because he moves, or maybe he's just collapsing.

He's clumsy and unsteady as his entire weight suddenly shifts toward you, barely giving you time to react before he's there, managing to slam the apartment door shut. His hands begin to grip you, and you can't tell if he needs something to hold onto or if he's outright attacking you.

The force pulls you back a few steps, losing your balance as you try to grab him. Then you inhale, and his mouth is on yours. You gasp, and the harsh taste of iron and his breath fills your mouth.

You try to breathe through the aggressive steal of oxygen, and the smell of blood, of death and filthiness coming from him manages to seep into your nostrils, and it's repulsive. It should make you recoil or at least gag, but it turns out to be the most perfect smell you've ever experienced, and your pulse races even faster. Something dark and electric twists deep in your chest before you can stop to think straight.

You don't have time to think; he's kissing you.

There's a desperation and an uncontrollable aggression in the kiss where you let him take the lead for a few seconds, just long enough to feel his unusual warmth, the taste of his blood, the way his hands grip your body until there's no space left between you, and his breath quickens against your lips.

After a moment, you finally decide to take control.

Your hands slide down to his waist, and his are on your head; you feel gloves instead of the incomparable warmth of his hands, which makes instinct take over, and you return the kiss with the same intensity and urgency.

He makes short little huffing sounds against your stained mouth, giving you the opportunity to seize the moment he pauses to slip your tongue into his slightly parted lips, tasting what's inside that wet place forcing him to let you in and he groans painfully right against your mouth when you bite his injured lip, without even realizing what you're doing.

He pulls you deeper, drawing you in further, and you don't know how long the kiss will last, but in the end, breathlessness forces you to pull away.

You break the kiss with difficulty, feeling your head spin, your grip on him weakening because he's so heavy, but he clings to you, balancing you both, and you speak when you catch your breath, licking and tasting your raw lips first.

“What... happened, Tony? What happened to you? What's going on? Are you—”

He barely hears you, possibly not even paying attention because he leans forward again, quickly chasing your mouth, craving the contact as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. A muffled sound escapes him when you stop him, pushing him back without letting go. Your hand rises to press against his chest, trying to keep him still even as his weight sinks deeper and deeper into you.

“Wait… wait, stop…” He doesn’t hear you, still breathing heavily, still too close. Then he stays still when you force him, and your eyes flick to his face.

God.

His pupils are dilated, the color is now gone, and behind them, you can’t see anything clearly. They just glow with hunger, even in his critical state. A small, crooked smile plays across his lips. He seems fully aware of it; his blurry state doesn’t even affect his expression.

He murmurs your name, leaning forward again, and you press the hand resting on his ribs to keep him steady but he grunts immediately as if you've hurt him, and then you notice the dampness on your palm.

You look down and see the deep red on your hand; you feel nauseous as you realize what it is, and panic grips you in a breath. Your chest rises and falls and your hand is returning to its place but a little lower. There's a hole in the fabric right there, and you start pulling at it, desperate and without thinking. He snorts, trying to push your hand away, muttering, “no, no, no” constantly.

Tears well up in your eyes from helplessness. “Let me help you, what—what are you doing? Let me help you,” you stammer, the lump in your throat tightening as you tug at the fabric. He shudders, shaking his head sharply and muttering through gritted teeth.

“Get your fucking hand off th—there” he spits out furiously, and you couldn't care less. You need to see how bad it is; you need to help him. He keeps pushing you away, even though you're so close. “Please,” he pants weakly, gently moving you away. You swallow hard at the sound of his voice, “Please,” he repeats, hearing him sound so vulnerable, so exposed, shatters your heart.

Your world crumbles when you see his face, filled with need. It makes you wonder what his fucking problem is, but maybe it's the blood loss that's making him act this way. He knows you're considering it; he can see it even in his state. He can feel your arousal pressing against him, and his only response is to smile foolishly, making you feel ashamed of how inappropriate this all is.

Being aroused by seeing him like that is disturbing, revolting even. You want to hit him for not thinking straight and he falters once again. You struggle, trying to keep him on his feet, but you realize he's doing it on purpose. He's kneeling, and when his knees touch the ground, he lets out a wounded groan. Your face burns at his intentions, and there's a tingling in your stomach when he moves his hands to your crotch. You quickly grab his wrists, but he pushes them away, so stubborn even as he bleeds out.

“You don’t have to do this... Fuck, let—let me clean your wound, let me help you, you’re not thinking straight…” Your pleas are cut short by a stifled gasp as he presses his face against your clothed arousal, you hear him hum as he's rubbing his face against the bulge making you shiver in place.

“Thank you, for everything,” he mutters, and then he presses so hard it hurts you, pressing the side of his head right where the fabric of your pants is taut and you realize the sick piece of shit is trying to reopen the cut on his temple, trying to make it bleed more using your… your cock? He’s out of his mind as he's drugged and stupid while panting against your length.

You reach for his dirty, sweaty hair and tug, tilting his head, and he stifles a whine at the loss of contact.

“You need to calm down, stop it,” you spit, trying to quell the burning desire inside you. He slips out of your grasp, nuzzling his face against your crotch again, and you bite back a little moan to keep it from escaping your lips, “why won't you let me help you?” you plead, trying to hold his head and he's purring, drooling and nuzzling his face all over it, moaning with need, searching for anything he can reach.

“You already helped me,” he says breathlessly, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your cock, wetting and staining the fabric covering it. And that's when you realize he won't change his mind. He'll continue until you control him the way he so desperately wants.

He seeks contact, desperate to know you're truly capable of wanting him this way, seeking your attention, your warmth, after whatever it was that drove him to hurt himself like this.

You sigh, giving in, and let him rub a few times before directing your left hand to his hair and moving him away from your crotch. He's looking up; you can observe him for a fraction of a second. You know he's grinning like a maniac, and you wonder if the blood has already drained from his body.

With your free hand, you pull your cock out of its confines, hissing at the air hitting your warm flesh. He takes a long breath, then it becomes more ragged, you can hear him making pathetic little sounds trying to escape your rough grip, and with that same grip, you guide his face to the tip. He quickly starts licking it, and you hiss at how carelessly he does it, so needy.

He immediately starts circling his tongue all over it to further soake the head, in addition to the precum drooling from the slit. He closes his eyes as he licks, then finally you insert the tip between his thin battered lips, and he immediately hollows his cheeks, causing a broken whimper to escape your lips, and your hips thrust against the wet heat of his hungry mouth without any gentleness. He receives it, licking the dripping slit as his lips suck greedily, you watch him mesmerized, his gloved hands are pawing at your thighs, clinging to you as he moves his head in fluid, rough motions, you moan, he's too desperate, not taking the slightest care; his lower teeth occasionally graze the delicate flesh without even realizing it, and that only increases your satisfaction as he gags loudly on purpose, trying to swallow more than he should.

You feel the flex of his throat and wonder how deep he can take it, and you try to test it, pulling his hair to draw him in further. Your hips set the rhythm too. The obscene, raw sound of his wet sucking makes you leak directly against his tongue. You bite roughly your lower lip as he tries to swallow more.

Hearing him choking around you is such a sweet melody to your ears, and there are tears in his eyes, so lost in pleasure as he swallows as much of you as he can. You pull his hair again, fucking his mouth a couple of times before you rough up his scalp by pulling his head away and you can't control yourself either, so you end up hurting yourself thanks to his upper teeth when you pull out of his mouth, cursing because of the burning pain in your weeping cock making it twitch.

You squeeze your eyes shut in pain, and Tony makes a loud, sloppy sound as your cock slips out of his mouth, coated in whatever you'd just pulled out of his throat. Blood sticks to the sensitive skin, saliva soaks it all over, glossy and leaking. There's a wet, translucent white ring formed by all the precum and drool that had been on his lips surrounding your cock, and you huff a laugh at how gross he can be.

The pink—thanks to the blood— sticky strands of saliva connecting the tip of your cock to his lips snap as he coughs, drooling like a dog after, and the cocky little shit licks his lips, leaning down to place a loud kiss on the head, sending a shiver down your spine.

You want to wipe that smug smile off his face contorted in shameless pleasure. The need forces you to shove it back into his mouth, and the moment you do, he chokes again, making a mess. You force him to swallow even more than before; Tears now flow freely, saliva and precum drip from the corner of his stretched lips, running down his chin, and God, his face is so fucked up, even his nose is leaking, staining the skin of your length.

How can someone so clean end up like this?

You let out little broken gasps while you're bruising his throat, and think you're in control until he starts to swallow, feeling his throat tighten around you. You're so close in such a short time it's embarrassing, but that only heightens your ecstasy; you're both ruined beyond repair.

It's too hot, your clothes feel so uncomfortable because of the sweat, and he continues feeding on you, moaning and sobbing around you. The vibrations have made you lose your composure, so you can't control what comes out of your mouth and what doesn't.

“Dex...” you murmur without thinking, and you hear him whimper something and almost immediately, he's struggling trying to pull away but you react quickly, both hands on his head, holding him there by his hair making him finally swallow everything that belongs to you, his nose plastered on your crotch as you reach places inside his throat to bruise.

Oh, he's choking, trembling, trying to breathe, and letting out a series of sounds you can't fully identify, you don't know if he's laughing or sobbing, but most likely, it's the first option because you just screwed up in the stupidest way possible.

“Fuck, shhh shhh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'm sorry, Dex, I can't let you stop,” you huff as you are squeezing his hair tighter, slowly killing him almost tenderly in its cruelty, the way you keep him suspended on the edge of the abyss, slowly undoing him is causing his brain to stop responding as it should.

He squeezes your hips painfully, fighting for breath, and your heart is about to burst out of your chest. “Sorry, I'm sorry—you feel so good, I wish I could have called you that from the beginning, you—shit— you have no idea how hard it was to play along with your lies,” you muffle between broken sobs as you're about to come and just when you feel his grip weaken, believing you just put him down, you pull away.

Gasping from the loss of contact, your cock throbs, leaking with need, and he releases it with an obscene pop, it costs him to start coughing, catching his breath, his whole face is red and now he's completely crying.

Dex chuckles, so amused it seems to hurt, but it's a genuine laugh that comes freely as he struggles to breathe. He looks like he's on the verge of death, and you have to shake his head a little to bring him back to consciousness.

“Of course you knew,” you murmur, not waiting for him to hear, and he nods slightly, his eyes closed, a euphoric expression that irritates you. You bring the tip of your cock to his lips, tapping it roughly to force his mouth open again, and he does so weakly, humming as you begin to fuck his mouth once more. “All... all those months, lying to me, when all I wanted was to know the real you,” you gasp and your hips are quivering, hurting his tight, wet throat with each thrust.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, so much so that I had to go along with your shit so you wouldn't—wouldn't leave,” he lets out a muffled whimper at your words, and you lower your gaze to see his face. Poor thing, you can tell he's about to make a mess without even touching himself.

It's embarrassing how turned on he gets by those words.

You begin to loosen your grip on his hair, letting him move his head as he pleases, feeling that you've already reached your goal even though you haven't climaxed.

“It won't happen again, will it, Dex?” you murmur, stroking his head, and he subtly nods. His eyes remain closed, he continues to suck your cock lazily, nodding at everything you say, so cockdrunk.

“Good boy…” you purr before tensing completely and thrusting directly into the deepest parts of his throat, spilling deep inside him. He responds by cupping his cheeks to swallow as much of you as he can, feeling the salty taste flow down his throat, not wasting a single drop of your pleasure. You watch him in awe, freeing your cock from his lips and Dex licks away the excess saliva before letting his head fall onto your thigh.

“Thank you, thank you for everything,”

He murmurs and you almost can't hear him... He's repeating what he said moments ago and the way he says it doesn't feel right, but he must have his reasons, and you'll find exactly what he meant.

© machiavelliam | masterlist | 18 / 04 / 26