Fff-class Trashero Novels & Stories

Just share him—Monday, Wednesday, Friday for Betty, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for you! Everyone thought they were hilarious. I just sat there, staring at my screen while this sour, bitter feeling crept up and choked me. Tears slid down before I could stop them, splashing onto my phone. They were so in the wrong. And yet somehow, they had the nerve to act like I was the problem. How ridiculous. People like that weren't even worth my tears. I wiped my face and scrolled through the chaos. Among the trash comments, one caught my eye: [Can I be your groom?]

Sneering, I stepped forward and reached into his pocket to take out his phone. Lester tried to snatch it back, but I glared at him. "What's wrong? Deleting the video is better for both of us, isn't it? This thing can be a big deal or a small one—it all depends on what we choose to do with it." Lester understood what I meant. He reluctantly retracted his hand. Using face recognition, I unlocked his phone, opened his photo gallery, found the incriminating video, deleted it, and cleared the trash folder. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief and toss the phone back to him.

Almost too perfectly timed. Then a voiceover. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” It was Marla. One-half of the snarky influencer couple who’d always seemed suspicious of them. “But what if I told you it wasn’t real?” she continued. “What if they weren’t a couple at all… but two strangers who faked everything to win a fifty-thousand-dollar prize?” Gasps. Lake’s stomach dropped. Ivy stood, eyes wide. “No…” she whispered. The video kept playing. A voice recording—not clear where it had been taken, but unmistakably Lake’s:

Then she dumped him for some actor-slash-douchebag and ghosted him mid-rent. He’d ranted about it on F******k once. A two-paragraph poetic meltdown under a photo of spaghetti. Perfect. I logged into my old, dusty F******k account. The one I used when my only friend was a ramen cup and a school library computer. I searched him. Tomas De Nero: Web Developer | Freelance Security Consultant | “Don’t Cross Me” Oh, sweet karma. His DMs were open. I typed: Hey Tomas. Long time no talk. I think we have a mutual enemy… and I have a very interesting offer.

Fuck. What does this guy thinks he's doing

Fuck me. *****************************************

Aisie loves teasing me every time she discovers something new to me or changes. As we walked down the field, the supreme student's organization was already cleaning up the mess. Plastic bottles, confetti, banners, plastics, and other junk are everywhere in the area. Why do students even leave their trash unethically? Can't they take it with them and throw it in the proper place—like a garbage can?

said Fero loudly. "You haven't forgotten how you and Alex insulted me? You act like I'm the ugliest human being. even though the despicable one is Cassandra. A woman who is willing to do anything to get wealth. That's you. And you should be ashamed of that. But because you have no shame. You actually came to see me. Isn't that very disgusting?" Fero mocked again. "I even want to throw up when I see your face Cassandra. Your body has been touched by a masher. You sold your body to an old lekaki. And it makes me want to throw up!"

"Can we please start over?" I looked at his fake, desperate face and felt nothing but disgust. Calmly, I asked, "Hey, Liam. Do you know anything about sorting garbage?" He was caught off guard. "What?" I pointed at him. "You… are the hazardous waste I threw out. I have a bit of an obsession with cleanliness. Once I throw something away, I never pick it up again." His expression shifted from pleading to shame and anger. He wanted to say more, but I turned and walked away, leaving my bodyguards to stop him behind me.

By then, I had already been tortured to the point of losing consciousness, barely keeping track of what he was doing to me. An employee guffawed. "Oh, my gosh—look at him without eyebrows! He looks like a freak!" "Serves him right. We should strip him naked, take photos of him, and paste them on the walls of our lobby. That way, anyone who tries to hit on Ms. Judd will automatically back off!" Soon, one of them righteously pulled out their phone and aimed the camera at me. Ignoring my humble pleas, Ethan ripped open my shirt, borrowed a lipstick from a female colleague, and wrote plenty of profane words on my body.