To Put A Leash On The Master
Now all she sees is the handsome dude glaring through my lock-screen with the words ‘Love, Hunter’ scrawled in dark ink over his silver hair.
Saturn stands contrapposto, her blonde ponytail dangling to the side. She tilts her head, smirking as she drawls, “Hunter, spiiicy… How did you hook this man, huh? Or is he your celebrity crush?”
I DO NOT indulge in fangirling, bitch.
“Kindly fuck off,” I retort.
But the girl’s too invested in the image to be fazed. “Mhm. He’s gorgeous,” she moans, and I can only think of trolls devouring rotten livers. Very. Disgusting. “What’s his username?”
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