#also I'm so sorry everyone who found that post and followed me hoping for more poetic angst prompts

[laurasimonsdaughter]

absolute favourite comment on the necromance post, you get it @georgiedoesntfloat, you get it

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[sa2sugu]

....hi everyone......... i know that some of you already know about this but i have a bl comic that is currently being published on lezhin. it's called "처음의 여름" or "a first of summers". it's explicit and i'd be really happy if anyone who is interested in this type of thing or my art gives it a read.

you can read the english version at: https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/first_summer

(or the korean version here if you're into that): https://lezhin.com/ko/comic/first_of_summers

you can also follow me on twitter: https://x.com/pppanghouse

i have gotten many messages asking me if i was the one behind a first of summers (because apparently my art style is very recognizable i can't hide from you guys!!), and i've been ignoring them for months (sorry, everyone) because i was never fully proud of the work that i was putting out there. i still don't think i am at a point where i can confidently promote my work like a normal person would because me and shame are like this -> 🫂. but i am working on getting better at managing my shame and making this post is a step towards that goal. in a way, i felt more reluctant to post about it here because i see the connections i've made on tumblr as real tangible friendships rather than parasocial ones so it's even more embarrassing.

as a lover of yaoi, slice of life and queer media, i tried to make something that i personally would like to read, in an art style that i would have found inspirational when i started digital art. here are some panels that i am kind of proud of ahh hee hee

to be honest it feels very very weird to "make a story" and "share it with people", because i've never done something like this before and having to offer my personal themes and internal symbols to people in the hopes that some of you may resonate with them feels like i'm running down the street with my whole ass out in the open. idk how people do this.

also, i know a lot of you consume media illegally and i know that i alone can't stop you from doing that. which is why i'm all the more thankful to anyone who chooses to support me by buying the chapters on the official websites. i'm slowly learning that this (working on stories and drawing) might be something i want to keep doing and get better at, so i'm so deeply grateful to those who make that possible for me by supporting me financially. it always feels super nice when people show appreciation for my art and recommend it to other people and talk about it.

anyways, so that's me. i have a lot more to say but this post has already gotten long enough, and none of it includes any information on what the comic is about lol so here's a short synopsis: hyeonseon is a 40yo divorced salaryman who, after having a bit of a midlife crisis about where he is at in life, decides to learn electric guitar. his teacher, yeoreum (which means summer) is a 24yo college student who is also having a bit of a crisis of his own aaaand falls for the older dude. uhhhh and as i said it's explicit they are fucking it oppa homo style, and it does deal with themes related to age gaps but please don't come for meeeee!!!!!!!! i tried to make it tasteful and chose to work with age gaps because i had something to say about the concept of adulthood/life, also i enjoy a dude who's a little old getting dicked down by a younger lad what do you want me to say, damn......

if you have any nice things to say about my work then weeheee please go ahead, thank you

[mirohlayo]

Hi, can I request a Reader x F1 grid story where reader breaks her arm/leg and she can't race because of it, but she still attends the races to watch with her team? And then the drivers start to draw on her cast as a feel better soon gesture.

Maybe she also posts it on her social media throughout the day to show fans the progress of the drawings.

Thank you so much xxx

P.S. Love you writing

Hi !! So as you requested I used the F1 grid, but only the drivers who I write for originally (+ Albon). I also wrote reader as a F1 Academy driver to make it more easy to write and more realistic. It's the first time I write something like this, so hope you'll enjoy it girll !! ᥫ᭡

DRAWINGS ON MY BROKEN ARM

( because maybe you just need some love from your handsome friends. )

warning : none just a broken arm, a cast and fluff

note : I really struggled a lot to find some good cast pictures, these ones are a bit awful lmaoo sorry

word count : 1.3k

It was not planned. This was absolutely not what was planned.

As you get out of the car with difficulty, greeting pleasantly the driver who kindly accompanied you to the Suzuka circuit, you try as best you can not to move your arm too much. If you make unnecessary efforts you will tire yourself out for nothing.

You absolutely did not choose to break your arm. It was due to a mistake, a very big mistake indeed. While you were testing your car during free practice, during a session where the falling rain flooded the track with water, your tires did not grip effectively and you found yourself thrown against the wall, in a fairly serious crash. surprising.

The teams immediately helped you, and while everyone was asking you if you were okay after this crash, that's when you realized a big problem: yes, you were okay, but not your arm. . And after a short stay in the hospital, you now find yourself - or rather your arm - stuck in an amazing cast.

You obviously cannot participate in the next F1 Academy races. But you can, however, do something else that is much more energetic and beneficial for you in the state you are in: attend the F1 race which is currently taking place in Japan.

After all, being locked up for almost a week in your apartment was totally boring and you really need a little fresh air, and above all the passion for this sport to stimulate. Being a very close friend of certain drivers, you did not hesitate for a single second to accept your team's proposal when they offered to accompany you to the Suzuka GP.

Now there you are in the paddock, trying to slip through the others to get to the Mercedes garage. There where you find Georges, who smiles with all his teeth at the sight of you.

“Hello you” He walks over to you and starts to wrap his arms around you in order to give you a hug, but a reflex immediately makes him step back. “Oh sorry, I forgot you have a... little problem” He struggles to finish his sentence, grimacing at the sight of your wrapped arm in a cast.

You giggle before patting his shoulder. "Are you better since your crash? I saw that a few days ago and I was really scared for you." His eyes scan you, he is worried about you. You smile softly at him to reassure him. "Don't worry. I may have a broken arm but that won't stop me from supporting you in this race."

“Oh, Y/n!” Lewis' voice calls out to you, and you turn to face him, Charles next to him. They both smile at you, taking care not to touch your arm so as not to hurt you further. "I'm so sorry about your crash. You must definitely be disappointed." Lewis affectionately caresses your shoulder, a show of affection and support.

"At least you're alive, that's the main thing. It's good to see you here, the other guys miss you you know." Charles explains the situation, telling you how worried and scared the pilots were following your accident. You also received several messages from them on instagram, in which they supported you and showered you with kind words.

“Y/NNN!!” Daniel screams your name from afar, a big smile on his face as he almost throws himself at you. “Hey watch out for his arm.” Lewis alerts Daniel so he doesn't hurt you, but he doesn't seem to hear anything and comes to take you in his arms. “Daniel, I’ll go back to the hospital if you continue.” He finally pulls away, carefully observing your cast.

“Maybe I should call the others, they’ll be happy to see you.” Charles volunteers to bring the other drivers back, while you chat with your friends. They are all very respectful and very attentive, they are sincerely empathetic towards you.

In the distance, you finally see the rest of the boys arriving.

“Here’s my girl.” Lando comes to wrap his arm around your shoulders, a smirk present on his lips. You push him away, grimacing to tease him, and he holds his heart as if you had just broken it into a thousand pieces. "I know I shouldn't have sent you that 'get well soon' with a red heart on Instagram, hypocrite." He pretends to roll his eyes but his smile betrays him.

"Indeed, you shouldn't have. Your teammate was the first to message me and that's why he's my favorite boy today." Oscar tssk while crossing his arms, however amused by the situation. Max, Carlos and Alex are discreetly added to the group that has just formed around you.

“Even with a broken arm, you can do a lot of things you know.” Max told you in a confident manner. “Like Lance last year.” Carlos chuckled at Lando, both nodding at the same time because they thought the same thing. You can't help but feel alive again.

It's true that the last few days were difficult. Alone, injured and locked in your apartment, you no longer had much of a taste for life. You kept asking yourself questions about your future, about the rest of the races of the year. You were also worried. But you knew that coming here, being surrounded by your closest friends again, laughing and talking with them, was all you needed. You can only be grateful to them.

“I have an idea guys!” Alex then exclaims, drawing attention to himself. “Since Y/n is injured, and her cast is… white and bland, we should draw to give her courage.” He said while pointing at your cast. The other drivers nod, agreeing with the Williams driver's idea.

“I will have the honor of drawing first!” Then begins George, who is already ready to fight to have his drawing on your cast. "She wants a drawing of her favorite driver which is me. Too bad for you, George." Lando, and his sassy attitude, is ahead of the Mercedes driver. “I bet I draw better than all of you so let me do it.” Carlos steps forward to assert himself.

They seem to be on the verge of fighting over who will have the honor of drawing best, or who will draw first. You laugh while calming the situation. "Look, you're all going to be able to draw. We just need some markers." You remark, as you wave to your team in the distance to help you.

It doesn't take long before they arrive with a small pencil case filled with different colored markers. You then sit on a chair in a corner of the garage, the nine drivers around you. Oscar is the first to draw on your cast, while the others are still fighting over who will go second.

In the end, after a good session of laughter and slightly failed drawings, the result is there. Your plaster is decorated with designs, each one as extravagant as the last, but that doesn't matter, because their intention comes from the heart. This sincere gesture will certainly give you courage for the rest of your adventure, you are sure of it.

And as they all give you one last smile, one last hug, they leave to prepare for the approaching race. You end up joining your team further in the VIP stands, ready for the start of the race. “What a beautiful cast” Your engineer nods at the magnificent designs on your arm, and you smile. “Beautiful may not be the word, but it’s very precious to me for sure.”

And as you share a laugh, the red lights go out, as the din of cars echoes throughout the circuit. For a moment, everything seems wonderful. It's crazy how a simple little attention like drawings can brighten up your day a little more. And can also brighten up the day of others, like those of your fans for example...

yourusername just posted !

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and others...

yourusername: maybe no more arm but at least I have my handsome boyys ❤️

view comments

danielricciardo: if anyone wonders who drew the beautiful star, it’s me ✌️😁

⤷ landonorris: you wrote on her arm instead of her cast you dickhead

⤷ danielricciardo: I was feeling different 😜

user: Alex just writing his name makes absolutely sense

user: no cuz they're literally the SWEETEST ahww

⤷ yourusername: only oscar cuz he's the one who drew the best

⤷ danielricciardo: but you said it was me earlier

⤷ yourusername: i lied plus you literally drew on my SKIN instead of my cast 😠

landonorris: my girl not giving any credits to my amazing beautiful drawing 💔

⤷ yourusername: yeah cuz you have no talent, keep it up it's awful mate 🔥🔥

⤷ landonorris: hypocrite I hate you

charles_leclerc: take care of yourself y/n ❤️

georgerussell63: I slayed, my drawing is lit

⤷ yourusername: no 🙄🥱

user: i need friends as precious as them, love their friendship !!

[bloodwrittenletters]

KISS ME ONE MORE TIME

pairing . . . percy jackson x fem!mortal!reader

the cassette playing . . . waiting room! phoebe bridgers

the letter reads . . . perseus jackson was supposed to die at 16, not get a girlfriend who he could break.

warnings . . . angst, cursing ( slightly ), slight nsfw ( making out ), ptsd ( post-traumatic stress disorder ), survivor's guilt, mention of suicidal thoughts

a/n . . . hi guys! sorry it took me a little more than what I said to get it published, I got an emergency and didn't have time to work on it (everything is alright 🫡) I REALLY liked how this turned out, I love the son trio SOSOSO much so of course I had to give them a little mention, hope you all enjoy it!! actual part 2 is on the way, I promise :pp also, this doesn't really follow the canon, so just fyi!!

a continuation of this . . .

percy jackson knew he loved you the moment he laid his eyes on yours.

because they were pretty, full of light and happiness, two orbes made out of pure beauty that were protected by soft eyelashes.

and percy jackson was a sucker for pretty things. or he was a sucker for you in general, because every milestone he had given you with his hear full of hope (because, yes, he had saved a lot of his firsts for only you), or because for the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to want something for himself. only for him.

since he was twelve everything— everyone had told him he was going to die soon, 'you're not gonna make it' 'you're too weak to be the hero of the prophecy' 'you will die alone, just how you started' blah, blah, blah. it didn't matter, he knew he was doomed to die soon, and for a long while, he wanted it, too.

percy started the end of his life at twelve, and by the time he was fourteen he was exhausted.

he worked himself to exhaustion each summer, picking up on more quest (or forcing himself in some, for a little while), not even allowing himself to break after each loss.

luke, chris, bianca, zoë, lee, charlie, silena, ethan...

it was all his fault, they were supposed to live, even if one of them made it out alive, it was his fault they didn't have a better life— the one they deserved.

he lost so many people. and everything in his birthday, like fate wanted to remind him that this was his fault. for all the time where the camp was in Manhattan, he even had forgotten it was his birthday, he was too busy focusing on trying to keep everybody alive to remember his day.

for a moment, percy felt bad for forgetting, and for the next one he just wanted to cry and find his mother. he wanted to be six again and be smothered by sally in Montauk, while they were away from the hell of house that smelly gabe had made.

that couldn't be, though.

percy jackson had found you, passed out on the streets of new york, holding bags of gifts and a boque of blue roses and lilies, all of which you had gotten for him.

"no, no, no, no," he breathed, repeating the word over and over as he laid his hand on your forehead. "please... j-just—" he cut himself off when his thumb rubbed on your pulse point. "you're good, yeah?"

he left a soft kiss on your forehead, before pressing his hear over your heart, sighing when he heard it beat loudly.

listen to me, i'm here, i didn't leave.

percy gently detached your hands from the bags, grinning at your hard grip, as if you didn't want to lose what you've gotten him.

"i'm not taking them from you, sweet girl, let me hold you, please," he whispered to you, holding you up on his chest, and grabbing your things before taking you to the Empire State Building.

if olympus were to fall, it would be after overcoming hundreds of demigods; that was the only safe place for you.

the rest was the usual for a hero, his beloved one waking up to his breakdown and being convinced to date. usual stuff. happens every tuesday in your local divinity show to your favorite sweetheart. you pick it.

he celebrated every day of dating you differently, but all started with soft, gentle kisses.

though, your second month anniversary had gotten... a little heated.

"you're so beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing the exact vein he had rubbed to make sure you were alright two months ago. then, he left wet kisses up yor neck and jaw before kissing your mouth. "i'm so grateful for you, baby. so, so grateful."

"pers—"

"what do you need, sweet girl?" percy gently shifted the both of you, grabbing his stuffed penguin and turning it around, before looking at you with a grin. "we don't want to traumatize him," he said as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

there were soft giggles between the two of you, before percy took a hold of your jaw and tilted your head, kissing around your adam's apple with wet lips, gently nipping the skin with his teeth, giving you a tiny smile when you digged your nails into his shoulder, creating soft crescent moons into his skin.

"so, what was it, angel?"

"hush, your lips made me forget."

percy wiped his head out from the crook of your neck, and pressed his big smile against yours.

it was one of his favorite memories with you, one hera couldn't take away from him as well as a lot of his memories.

there were only two things he was able to keep, your name, and the soft memory of your lips.

his only two amulets against all the hardships he faced in the little time he wasn't asleep.

"you should really consider calling home," frank, of course, had called after percy when he was slipping away into the endless pit of loneliness that had grown into his chest.

green eyes met brown ones, and soon percy's eyes had the water his irises imitated.

frank stepped forward and wrapped an arm around percy's body, and then the other, hugging him tightly as he held percy through cries.

"i miss her so much," percy voice was broken and low, yet the words cut through sobs.

"i know you do."

"y-you would love her, and she would love you," percy cried harder. "i.. i'm sorry, frank."

when percy tried to pull away, frank held him tighter.

"you're okay, percy, just cry until you feel a little better."

frank's body was like a living teddy bear, warm and safe, soon percy was gripping the purple shirt as he cried in his friend's shoulder, breaking apart after months— years, of holding it together.

every day for all the months he was missing had taken form of tears, falling and falling through his cheeks, burning his skin as more and more tears fell.

huffs and puffs, sobs and tears, all fell out of percy. soon he fell to his knees, only being held together by frank.

the boys sat on the sidewalk, frank's hand gently patted percy's head, supporting him through everything.

"t-thanks, frank," percy patted the shoulder his head wasn't resting on. "usually i'm good keeping it together."

"me, hazel and that girlfriend of yours are gonna have a talk about you putting too much pressure on yourself."

"what—"

frank pulled two coins from his pocket, like a magic trick, and offered them to percy.

"call home, percy."

percy looked like a fish out of water, an o instead of a mouth as he stumbled over his words, before swallowing them and grabbing the money, to then run over to the closest phone booth.

he punched in the only number he could remember, being the one from the jackson apartment, and hoped with every bit of his soul for his mother to pick up.

for someone to pick up.

"hi?"

percy wasn't expecting your voice, his stomach fell to the floor, feeling his organs creep and drool around his feet.

he opened his mouth, but then closed. once, twice, until your voice revived the line.

"anyone there? is this just some stupid prank?"

it wasn't. percy almost broke down again, gripping the phone tighter.

please, just say something, he begged himself in silence, feeling like he could pass out in a moment.

"i'm going to hang up if you don't talk soon—"

percy finally spoke up, feeling like he could cry.

"hi, baby... i miss you."

"holy shit."

percy laughed, finally hearing your voice, he just wanted you to beg you to keep talking. to never shut up.

percy laughed, more like a breath of relief.

"hi, pretty girl... can you talk?"

"y-you— me— percy, oh my god. where the hell are you?! oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod, i'mgoingtocry."

"uhm... well, it's a long story."

there was sobbing on the other line, and percy's knees went weak. he had to take a long drag of breath to stop himself from crying, too.

"sweetie.. please, don't cry, i'm too far away to hold you."

you composed yourself, hugging tightly the blue bunny you had, tears rolling down your neck. you had to focus on him.

"'kay. percy, my love, where are you? i'll tell annabeth and we'll go get you."

"tell her to tell you about camp, and to come get me from camp jupiter."

"alright... we'll meet you there," and before he could fight you on it, you rushed to your next sentence. "i love you, percy jackson. please don't run off to where i can't find you."

holy shit, indeed.

"i... i love you, too."

[dresshistorynerd]

I don't know what motivated you to write out that super detailed response to the Choctaw kindness to the Irish, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your dedication to sharing humanitarian acts of kindness. I'm a trans guy in the US american south and I feel so alone and despised, but things like that story give me hope that someone, somewhere, will understand and give compassion. Thank you for sharing humanity.

Thank you very much for this lovely message. I'm really sorry things are looking so bleak for you. I'm not USAmerican, but I've been watching the the situation there spiral into fascism with horror. Things are not looking so good here in Europe either, in general, it's quite a dark moment in history.

I write about history because it gives perspective for times like these. Every time I read about a horrific moment in history, the horrors are not what stay with me but the endless human resilience that lead humans to endure and build something beautiful from the ashes. Human kindness, bravery and resilience - humanity - shines brightest in inhuman times. We have survived so many terrible times and we will survive this as well. One of my best friends is a trans masc German, a proof that even genocide can't erase trans people, so neither will this US administration. Knowing we are not the first people to face such times, nor to survive such times, makes me feel less alone. So maybe I can tell you some stories of trans and queer history in the US, and perhaps that'll make you feel tiny bit less alone.

The period of New World chattel slavery is one of the darkest periods in history, but Black people were able to survive even that and create vibrant cultural expressions from the ashes. People always resisted slavery. There was not a moment, when everyone gave up. In Caribbean, slaves escaped all the time and became Maroons, who found home in the insular communities of the surviving indigenous Taino people of the genocides against them. They formed mixed settlement of indigenous people and escaped slaves, where their languages and traditions were mixed together to create a new culture, that preserved two traditions under threat of annihilation. They resisted constantly the tyrannical colonial powers, waged guerilla warfare against them and assisted in slave rebellions even when the punishments for them were extreme and severe. There were maroons in US as well. They didn't have dense jungle islands where they could hide their settlements in the US South, but they had swamps they used in a similar way. In the swamp settlements the maroons also were joined by indigenous people escaping the genocidal onslaught as well as other outcasts of the colonial society. Together they survived and resisted. In US too the slaves didn't just escape to freedom, they orchestrated numerous slave rebellions from the very beginning to the bitter end.

There were also some white abolitionists too, who did the right thing. John Brown was of course one of them. He believed it was his secret duty as a Christian to wage war against US until slavery was abolished and he gladly died for it. But I want to shout out a trans masc abolitionist, Public Universal Friend. Public Universal Friend has possibly the most wild and interesting story ever. The Friend was a Quaker. Quakers have always been abolitionists, even in England before slavery was banned there. The Friend lived from 1752 to 1819 in New England, dressed mostly masculine, rejected gendered pronouns and used instead The Friend and PUF as pronouns (though some of the Friend's followers referred to the Friend with he/him), became a Quaker cult leader, made the Friend's cult followers to free their slaves and preached about gender equality, universal salvation and abolition of slavery. Basically the Friend was a cult leader for good. Truly chaotic good alignment. I write about the Friend more in my post about some cool historical queer figures.

Another story starts with a pioneering American trans man, Alan L. Hart. He was born in 1890 and presented as a boy from a very young age. His parents and grandparents accepted him as a boy. In school he was forced to present as a girl, but in college he fully presented as a man. He became the first recorded trans man to surgically transition in US in 1917-1918. He was not only pioneering as a trans man, but as a doctor as well. He was instrumental in developing x-ray screening for tuberculosis, which at the time was one of the leading causes of death. His contribution has saved thousands of lives.

He was undoubtedly a trans man (he expressed it to his doctors to gain access to medical transition and in an interview after he was outed once and in all the possible ways he could really), but still couple of decades after his death in 1980s and 90s, trans-exclusionary lesbians "reclaimed" him as a historical lesbian figure. This caused a battle in the Portland queer community. Trans people, who had of course been part of the community forever, did not take such blatant erasure lying down and protested the organizations, who insisted on misgendering Hart and touting him as a "lesbian hero". They were not alone though. After being presented with the historical facts, the Lesbian Avengers joined their trans siblings in the fight. Eventually the organizations, which had kept misgendering him relented, but some trans-exclusionary lesbians still kept bringing doubt to his very clearly expressed gender identity even afterwards.

Lesbian Avengers, a direct action group, has many amazing stories in their history. One of those is told in Weird Little Guy's podcast episode Fire Will Not Consume Us. The podcast is about fascists, and this particular episode tells the story of how KKK waged a war against a rural gay bar kept by a local elderly straight couple, who had lost a child to AIDS. Their gay patrons called the lady their mom. The Lesbian Avengers showed up to stand with their gay brothers against the KKK. They chanted "Fire will not burns us. We'll take it and make it our own." to burning crosses and a KKK preacher telling them they would burn in hell. They had an fire-eating act, during which they chanted that chant, they had started after Hattie Mae Cohens and Brian Mock, a lesbian and a gay man, had been murdered with a Molotov cocktail thrown into their apartment. I really recommend that episode, it's a beautiful story of solidarity and resistance.

The lesson I take from these stories, and history in general, is that survival is resistance and we survive with solidarity. Alone we are outcasts, but together we are strong. I can only imagine how lonely it must be for you right now, but you are not alone. You have never been. Behind you is a long line of trans and queer ancestors, who stood in the same ground before you. Around you are so many facing the same enemy.

[rabbidbunwy]

Hello!! I'm not sure if your request are open... but may I request a Yandere Sonic with fem reader, where reader ignores/avoids Sonic (maybe because she was weirded out on him idk) and Sonic doesn't know why she keeps avoiding him and since he has a romantic interest on her, he often tries to impress reader and it just doesn't work on her, and to top it all up reader is very friendly towards everyone including Shadow and when it came to Sonic she just goes silent throughout the whole thing. Maybe she also notices his weird behavior towards her too.

Sending loves to youu!! 🫶🏻🤍🤍

-Light anon

Sonic is in love with you but are you with him?

Contents:Yandere!Sonic[ x fem!reader-scary? [Sonic bheaviour]-begging-obssession-mention of stalking

Is it underlined that Sonic and reader were friends before but Sonic bheaviour changed trough the course of time.

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.s: [edit]man i never wrote something like this ever lol,i hope i hitted all the points you wanted as this is my intake in how Sonic would be and react as yandere+ i apologize that it tooked so long,i never wrote a yandere char. x reader,so sorry for the stand by

P.s.s:of course my request are open,just read my bio, i will also post it here: Request : open read rules here

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @satorkive @ponderingmoonlight @galaxylover46 @dreamcastgirl99

Sonic was feeling annoyed and frustrated as he watched you yet again interacting with someone else…this time with his "rival", Shadow. It was almost like you were avoiding him…no…YOU WERE avoiding him. Every time he tried to approach you you would find a way to avoid talking to him, and it was starting to drive him crazy.

Sonic sat on the sidelines, fuming with jealousy as he watched you and Shadow converse, their body language and the way they spoke making it clear that they were quite comfortable with each other. Sonic's eyes darted back and forth between them, trying to catch any hint of something more than just friendly banter.

And then you laughed at something Shadow said, a genuine, carefree laugh that echoed through Sonic's ears like a sharp pang in his heart. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. He was used to being the one to make her laugh, not Shadow…never Shadow.

As the conversation came to an end and Shadow walked away, Sonic found himself unable to hold back his anger any longer. He stormed over to where you were standing, seething with jealousy and confusion. He stopped in front of you, his emerald eyes blazing with a mix of annoyance and hurt. "Why are you avoiding me?" Sonic demanded, his voice betraying a hint of desperation.

You looked at him, taken aback by his confrontational tone. "What…?" you said, your expression puzzled. "I'm not avoiding you." Sonic bristled at the denial. "Don't lie to me. Everywhere I go, you're always there with everyone BUT me. What's going on?" He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on you intense and searching.

You took a step back, feeling uncomfortable with Sonic's aggressive demeanor. "I don't know what you're talking about…" you said, your voice wavering slightly. Sonic's eyes narrowed, not believing your words for a second. "Oh really?" he said sarcastically. "Then why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you manage to slip away right before I can even get a word in?"

You swallowed feeling scared "it's just you're weird" you spoked with fear "you're acting weird lately" Sonic recoiled as if he had been slapped. "Weird? I'm acting weird? That's rich coming from you." He crossed his arms, his annoyance only growing more intense. "I'm not the one who's been avoiding me like the plague. You act like you don't even know me anymore!" "i did at first…but then you changed,you keep..following me…and you try to push everywone away from me Sonic"

Sonic's eyes went wide with surprise at your words. "What?!? I-I'm not trying to push anyone away from you! I just…I just-" He found himself at a loss for words, unable to refute your claim. Had he really been acting that way? He thought he had just been trying to be closer to you…

Sonic's mind raced, trying to justify his actions. "I just…I just care about you okay? Is that so wrong? To want to spend time with the person I care about?" He felt something unfamiliar welling up inside him - something akin to desperation.

"Not if you keep following me,pushing people away" you spoke with determination "you ARE a stalker Sonic,don't try to deny it"

Sonic tried to protest, but the words died on his lips. You had him there. He had been following you like a shadow, watching your every move, and pushing away anyone who dared to get too close to you. He took a step back, his shoulders sagging as he finally admitted to himself…he was stalking you.

He felt ashamed and embarrassed, unable to meet her gaze. "I…I guess I have been acting like a stalker" he admitted quietly. "But…but it's just because I care about you! I don't want anyone else to be close to you…I want you all to myself…"

You looked at him, your expression a mix of pity and anger. You had suspected that Sonic had some…unhealthy feelings towards you, but you had never thought it would get this bad. "Sonic…you can't just follow me around and push away everyone else in my life. That's not love, that's obsession."

Sonic flinched at you r words, knowing deep down that you were right. But he couldn't help the twisted, possessive feelings that had taken root in his heart. "But…but I can't help it. I can't stand seeing you with anyone else but me. I can't stand the thought of anyone else holding you, or touching you, or…or…." He trailed off, the jealousy and possessiveness consuming him.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his eyes, his obsession becoming more apparent with every word he spoke. "Sonic, you have to stop this. It's not healthy. It's not normal. It's not love." You took a step towards him, your voice firm yet tinged with concern. He looked up at you, desperate and pleading. "How can I stop it? I've tried, but every time I see you with someone else, or even just talking to someone, I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like I'm dying inside." His voice broke, revealing the vulnerability underneath his obsession.

You took another step closer, your expression softening just a little. "Sonic, listen to yourself. This isn't love. It's possession. It's obsession. You're not even seeing me as a person anymore. You just want to own me, to control me." You reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before touching his shoulder. "And that's why i don't love you and i never will"

Sonic felt like he had been punched in the gut. Those words stung more than any physical blow ever could.

He recoiled at your words, looking at you with wide, pain-filled eyes. "No…no, you can't mean that. You…you have to feel something for me. I know you do. You just don't realize it yet." His voice cracked, the desperate pleading in his voice tinged with denial.You shook your head, your expression hardening. "No, Sonic. I don't. And I never will." The finality in your voice hit him like a sledgehammer. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You were denying him, rejecting him, saying you didn't felt anything for him…

Sonic's world seemed to crumble around him. He had never expected this, had never imagined that you would outright deny any feelings for him. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. You have to love me. You have to." He took a step towards you, reaching out to grab your arm, his desperation growing more erratic.

You stepped back, pulling your arm out of his grasp. "Sonic, stop. You're scaring me." You backed away, putting more distance between yourselves. "You need help. You need to see that this isn't normal." You looked at him with a mix of sadness and fear in your eyes. Sonic froze, stunned by your words. He had never seen you look at him like that before.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but his mind was racing and his heart was pounding. "No, I don't need help. I just…I just need you. I need you to love me." He felt the tears streaming down his face, the desperation and despair becoming too much to bear.

You looked at him with a mixture of pity and frustration. "Sonic, listen to yourself. You're not making sense. You can't force someone to love you, no matter how hard you try. And this…this isn't love. It's obsession and control. It's not healthy, for either of us." You kept your distance, your voice firm.

Sonic slumped, the fight leaving him as the full weight of your words settled upon him. He knew you were right. He knew he was being irrational and obsessive. But still, he couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of desperation and heartache.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with tears. "But…but what am I supposed to do? I can't just…just let you go." He sounded like a lost child, vulnerable and confused. "do i look like i care? you putted yourself into this mess Sonic" you spitted coldly

Sonic flinched at your cold tone, the words cutting deep into his soul. He was used to you being friendly and polite, never this cold. It was as if you had turned into a completely different person.

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "I…I didn't mean to. I just…I just wanted you to love me. I didn't mean to become this…this obsessive and possessive. I never wanted to hurt you." His voice cracked, the tears flowing freely down his face now.

You shook your head, your expression hardening even more.

"You think that makes it any better? You think that excuses your behavior? You've been stalking me, pushing away everyone who even dares to look in my direction, but you didn't mean to? That's bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You just didn't care about how it would affect me." You took a deep breath, your voice cold as ice. Sonic's ears dropped, his shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. He had no answer to your accusations. He knew you were right. He had been reckless and selfish, prioritizing his own desires over your feelings and well-being.

He looked up at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

"But I…I didn't want to hurt you. I never wanted that. I just…I just wanted you to be mine. I didn't think about anything else." His voice was small and broken, his usual confident demeanor shattered.

Your expression softened just a tiny bit, seeing the pain and remorse on his face.

"But don't you see? That's exactly the problem. You were so focused on possessively holding onto me that you didn't care about my feelings. You didn't care about what I wanted. You only cared about what you wanted. That isn't love Sonic. That's selfish and controlling." Your voice was still cold but not entirely without sympathy.

Sonic could only watch as you walked away, your words and the coldness in your voice sending a fresh wave of despair coursing through him. He wanted to call out to you, to beg you to stay, but he knew it was futile. He had messed up. He had pushed too far, and he had lost you. He slumped down to the ground, his head in his hands as the weight of his actions and the emptiness he now felt settled over him like a cold blanket.

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Dude, I just— I made a Tumblr account to follow you JANDKSND and ask for a request 🤧🤧

Can we have some of Kyley-B x reader? 😵‍💫 I would like to read a cliché of the innocent girl and the bad boy who incites her to do illicit things (with smut, of course). 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Heeeeeyaaaaaa my first request! ❤️

I am so so so so sorry for taking so long to get to it. Really need to make my writing more speedy and efficient.

Hope you liked it, and once again, really damn sorry 😭😭😭

Also, a belated merry christmas/happy holidays to everyone!

Kyley-B x Reader - trinitrotoluene

Also available on ao3!

Summary: An innocent librarian's whole views on the world - as well as her guts - are rearranged when she takes into the equation South Park's resident New Jersey asshole. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Doggy Style Position

A/N: Gods was this one hard. I never imagined writing Kyley-B would be this hard. Props to everyone who has managed thus far, because this guy wrestled against me in my mind for the whole 14 pages of the Google Docs and even now that I'm posting it I'm not sure I actually won.

I tried my hardest to put together what an adult version of Jersey Kyle would be if he really donned the mantle. Hope I did him justice.

The story of how my life changed forever was rooted in New Jersey, but happened nowhere near there.

When I applied to work at the South Park Public Library, I thought it would be an easy task. Library work in a small secluded town, in a day and age where people mostly forgot about physical books due to the convenience of Kindles or their own phones? How hard can it be? Turns out, very. The place greatly suffered from a lack of useful employees, so I ended up doing a lot of extra work that had nothing to do with what I was hired for, with no extra pay, when the salary was already not that stellar to begin with. Not a great headstart for a fresh-out-of-college English major such as myself, but it was this or the 7/11.

Days like that one kind of made the whole thing worth it, though. Summer weekends in the middle of July, when all the students were on vacation and people lacked the urge to read in favor of other activities, and the only people that would actually visit the library would be soft-spoken loners who just craved the social connection but at the same time didn’t want to chase it. In those days, I was able to just sit back on my chair at the reception counter and take full advantage of the amount of books around me, reading to my heart’s content for almost a full eight hours and getting paid for it.

Such a situation is how I found myself at that particular moment. Curled up as well as I could get in my tiny office chair, my shoes forgotten under the desk in favor of the comfort of being barefoot, yet another book in my hands that wasn’t part of my enormous ‘To Read’ list. It was all cruising up to be another quiet and peaceful day, just a few check outs and some small talk.

Except it wasn’t.

I heard the sizzling of a dynamite’s wick before seeing a full blown atomic bomb. Loud squeaky sounds of sneaker soles trudging across the hardwood, strings of profanities being spewed with each step, followed by the shocked gasps of some of the people seated nearby and their hurried movement as they got out of the way in every direction. Noise like this would usually have me kindly remind its emitter of the setting around them and beg for more silence, but as I raised my eyes from my book, I knew it would be of no use.

Already in front of the counter was one of the most obnoxious-looking men I had ever seen. His blazing curly red hair was slicked back with an obscene amount of gel on it, to the point where it made me wonder if it just started to stay that way after his showers. I couldn’t see him from the waist down, but he was wearing a loose fit wife beater, showing off the muscles of his arms in all their ‘glory’. A golden chain dangled around his neck, clearly fake, the paint already chipped in places where its links connected. His tanned skin already looked out of place in the cold town in the middle of the mountains, where its citizens were mostly pale due to never seeing enough sun to actually get a tan to begin with - but this man was just a few shades away from orange, painfully artificial, he’d stand out like a sore thumb no matter where he was.

“That’s right, you better fucking go, bitch!” The loud addition to my peaceful workplace called out angrily, looking over his shoulder, finishing up his threats on the last bypasser he could before turning his face forward again, which finally let me take a good look at his features. There I saw which had to be the only real thing about him - intense olive eyes that glinted with a fire unknown to me, pure passion and energy, the type that could either burn someone to the ground or keep them warm and safe in the winters. Right now, however, they could set the entire library ablaze by sheer feral glares alone.

I hurriedly scrambled to adjust my position in my seat and rested my book to the side of my computer. “Good afternoon and welcome to the South Park Public Library, restrooms are at the end of the first corridor to the left,” my explanation was kind and gentle, accompanied by a gesture of my hand in the general direction I spoke of.

“I don’t wanna know about no fuckin’ toilet,” the man spat, as if me merely opening my mouth to say something that was of no use to him was enough to make him angry beyond measure, “I’m here to return this.”

With an unneeded display of strength that made all the other items in the counter shake slightly, he slammed a book on it in front of me, his hand staying splayed on top of the cover, allowing me to see that his fingers were fully decked out in fake gold rings in the same fashion of his chain.

Even without seeing the full thing, I recognized that book immediately. My eyes widened. If I was to be honest, I didn’t even imagine the guy in front of me was capable of reading to begin with - and the book he brought was such difficult literature, even I struggled with it at first, so to imagine he deliberately checked that one out and allegedly read it to completion flabbergasted me.

I forced myself to blink and reel back from my shock before continuing the interaction. Get it together, I told myself mentally. My mother told me all the time to never judge a book by its cover - even if that defeated the whole purpose of book cover graphic designers to begin with -, and this was what I was doing right now; letting my prejudices get in the way of what could be a healthy interaction with a fellow bookworm.

Lightly, I placed my hands on the sides of the book and pulled it slowly towards me, letting it slide under his palm, which I avoided touching altogether lest it make him more angry. “Of course, sir,” I managed to assemble a gentle smile on my lips, trying my best to not let my previous thoughts show up on my face.

“Don’t call me sir, I’m not that old,” this complaint was slightly less persistent, but I was still not about to test his limits on it.

“Of course… Mister,” the word in that context sounded way too weird to me, but it was better than the two alternatives of either insisting on ‘sir’ or just not calling him by any title at all, “I’m just gonna need your library card, if you have it on you right now…”

His hand left the counter to retrieve something in his pocket, before swiftly passing to me a tiny rectangular piece of plastic - his library card, the old design of them at that, which meant he had it for quite a while now. My eyes narrowed as I scanned it, my brain multitasking with my fingers typing his card number on the database, and I found myself repeating the information out loud. “Alright, let’s see… Kyle Br-”

“Kyley-B,” his correction came harsh and immediate, stopping me from saying even one more letter of his government name, “And don’t you dare forget it.”

I really hadn’t. It wasn’t like I didn’t know his name, everyone knew it well - he was an infamous face in town. Originally from New Jersey and carrying with him every single terrible stereotype about the place, the man before me caused trouble wherever he went, having very little regard for anything that didn’t concern himself, and yet expecting everyone else to show him the respect he lacked for them. He had actually been in South Park longer than I did, but apparently what was said held true: you can’t take the Jersey out of someone.

“M-My apologies… Kyley-B,” I tried my best to abide by his request and use his nickname in a sentence no matter how ridiculous it sounded, while still typing on the computer to avoid enhancing his anger in any way, “It’s all set. Feel free to peruse the collection if you’d like to borrow something else.” Please don’t was the thought that came right after.

He nodded curtly, taking the card from me to put it back in his pocket, and I noticed his shoulders relaxing a little. Apparently, me being polite and understanding appeased him greatly, like he had understood that I wasn’t one of the assholes trying to get him pissed or something. For as long as I was respectful, I’d stay out of the path of destruction. I could swear I saw the intensity in his eyes shift a bit - but I avoided staring too long, both in fear of getting him angry again and in slight embarrassment at the thought that he might notice me doing that. “Thanks. I think I will.”

Leaning back in my chair and picking my book back up in my hands, I figured that was that. Kyley-B would go off somewhere looking for trouble and I’d be back to my silence and my reading. Yet I didn’t hear the same noises I had when he arrived; no cursing, no loud shoes, no nothing. When I raised my eyes again, he was still there - leaning towards me with his forearms on the counter and a curious expression on his face.

“Do you… Need any help?” I inquired, slowly placing the book on my lap and rolling the chair closer to the desk so he wouldn’t believe for a second that he didn’t have my attention.

A smirk curved his lips as he eyed me up and down. “Nah, just… Perusing.” 

Well, now that’s a word I would never hear out of the mouth of a Jersey guy.

“Okay…” My fingers nervously tapped the cover of my book. “If there’s anything I can do for you, then-”

“There is, actually,” his body swayed slightly as he shifted his weight on his feet, “Has to do with my phone. You can put your number in it.”

Another jolt of bewilderment crossed my features. Allowing myself to focus my eyes on his again, I then understood what it was I saw on them earlier. Attraction. Now that he wasn’t angry anymore, Kyley-B was allowing himself to see me as a woman instead of Personal Enemy Number Ten Thousand. And he made no attempt to hide that he liked what he saw. The blood ran to my cheeks and ears before I could compose myself, my body clearly not accustomed to such unabashed interest. “E-Excuse me?”

“Your number, baby,” he repeats as if it’s nothing, “Could say I’m tryna make a movie with you here, but you clearly rather have your erotica in book form.”

What kind of Jersey asshole even knows about the word ‘erotica’? “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

A ring-adorned index finger pointed towards the book on my lap and I froze. I had deliberately chosen the version of this book - a rather obscure piece of erotic literature, the first of a series - that had a more passable cover, absolutely nothing in it that could give away its themes, in a way that they could only be known by someone who already knew the title. And there was no way Kyley did, right?

“I’ll tell you right now, stop at the first one. The sequels are garbage.” Kyley did. He shook his head with his own advice, like the memories of having to go through the continuations of that book brought stress back to his mind again.

My hands quickly grabbed the book and tried to hide it behind my computer monitor, away from his eyes, but the damage had been done. I tried to retort, but the words got stuck in my throat, coming out as gasps that enhanced further my petrified face, my wide eyes and the intensifying blush in my cheeks and ears. 

“Cat get ya tongue?” Kyley teased as if reading my mind, his upper body leaning over the counter so his pointing finger could brush softly against my cheek, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’m no blabbermouth.”

Still I took a bit to relax and believe his words. This was a small town, gossip spread as easily as the snow fell, it would be hard to show my face anywhere without having jokes hurled towards me about being a ‘closeted freak’. Which was extremely far from the truth, to be honest - that genre of book was not amongst my most read, I was as vanilla as they came, it was literally an unfortunate circumstance that led to anyone finding out about this.

The fact that Kyley-B was so uncharacteristically decent and understanding about it too, despite the initial teasing when he was hitting on me, threw me off even more. He had no reason to help me, and he was notorious for being unhelpful, so this was odd behavior on his part. My mind raced with reasons as to why that would be, trying to make sense of the madness - maybe he had secrets of his own, or maybe he just understood how it was to be the subject of unsavory discussions everywhere he passed. Either way, I found myself thankful for his actions.

Eventually, I let out a deep sigh, my lungs almost hurting as I did. “Thank you… Kyley.” I murmured, nodding slowly, my eyes shining with the gratitude that I couldn’t express with words without sounding corny.

He brought his hand back to himself, and I looked at his face again, seeing the exact same intense expression as before. Maybe, in my slight delirium of trying to build up Kyley-B as an actual human being with thoughts and feelings instead of your stereotypical Jersey playboy, I had imagined it faltering.

“That’s something I like to hear,” the flirtatious tone of voice was back with a vengeance, “Now, about that phone number of yours...”

And just like that, I was avoiding his eyes once more, my hands drifting down to fidget with the hem of my skirt absentmindedly, making me look even more suspicious. “I… I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

“We only have to get inappropriate if you want me to,” his smirk grew. His voice didn’t even drop in volume as he said this, like he was completely comfortable with talking to unknown women like that - which he probably was, “We can just go party, have a couple drinks, make some noise, shit, whatever it is you like.”

Whatever it was I liked did not involve any of the things he mentioned. “I… I’m afraid I might not be the ideal person for that.” As I tried to let him down easy, I felt a striking pain in my chest; like the act of refusing made me uncomfortable, like I somehow wanted to accept it, even though it didn’t belong to me at all. “But thank you for the offer.”

“‘Not ideal’? What the fuck is that about?” He retorted, and for a moment I thought I might’ve riled him up again - but, although he was still loud, he didn’t seem angrier. More so confused about what I said rather than the circumstances of it. “I’m inviting ya, ain’t I? How the fuck is that not ideal?”

“It’s not the invitation!” I was quick to respond, “It’s just I don’t think I’m the right kind of company for all that… I’m sure there’s better people in town who would love to go clubbing with you.”

“Well, I’m not inviting those other people, I’m inviting you!” It was clear the insistence would not wane anytime soon. He rubbed his eyes with his palms for a bit, his mind trying to come up with a solution, before taking a deep breath and looking at me again. “How about some coffee, or tea, then? You into that?”

My eyes widened in surprise and he probably knew he struck gold there. A coffee shop was much more up my alley, but never in a million years would I imagine the likes of Kyley-B in such an environment - somewhere with no alcohol, no loud music, and where fighting was not tolerated. “I… I am, yes.”

“Coffee it is, then,” his tone was every bit as comfortable as he was when he mentioned partying, “Just gotta avoid that one place near the movie theater. Tastes like shit and the owner is a piece of garbage.”

A small giggle left my mouth. I had been to that coffee shop and knew its owner personally, it wasn’t hard considering the town was pretty small. For once in his life, Kyley-B was right, even if I personally wouldn’t phrase it all like he did. The business was probably only kept standing due to the fact people were too used to it by now, but it was the one place where I wouldn’t mind seeing a Jersey-level rage outburst take place. 

My reaction was stifled by a glare Kyley shot at me, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand if I was laughing at him or with him. “I’m sorry! It’s just… I don’t like that place either.” I admitted, immediately scanning the library hall with wide eyes, trying to see if there was anyone around that could’ve heard me say that. 

His expression relaxed and he nodded. “You ain’t gotta be so shy, you know,” he commented, his tone slightly more serious, “If you have your truth, then you gotta just say it. It’s how we do it in Jersey, and it works!”

It didn’t really work, but I wasn’t about to question him, not when the structure of his message was in the right place. My whole existence happened inside strict lines ever since I was a kid, I was one to keep my opinions to myself and rein in my actions to keep myself palatable to the people around me. This lifestyle had me sheltered to a fault, but until that moment I was fine with it; going through life avoiding trouble kept me healthy and safe, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. However, Kyley-B’s advice still held some sort of water, and I found myself willing to hear more, even though it came from such an unreliable narrator.

“I know, I know… I just didn’t want anyone to hear me say that. It feels weird.” I shrugged.

“Well, maybe if that place wasn’t so trashy, you wouldn’t have to complain about it, it’s exactly what I am saying!” He retorted, the serious edge in his voice gone and replaced by the usual annoyance. “And I keep telling people that, but they won’t listen!”

With every passing millisecond, Kyley-B managed to confuse me more. While a part of me was stuck on the still present image of the annoying jerk who only knows how to pick fights and be rude to others, another part slowly took form; one that was intrigued about that man, knowing that although he could be a little too much, he was still completely true to himself, which is more than what can be said about a lot of the people around me. Right now, he carried his actions like a motorcycle zig-zagging through the traffic of my mind. Its destination? The inside of my skirt. 

“I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.”

Kyley-B nodded with a smirk, content that I wasn’t disputing him like people usually seemed to do. Though something told me that even if I did, I still wouldn’t be subjected to the same type of verbal abuse others would if they tried that. “Now, back to that coffee…” 

I then managed to notice that we weren’t alone in our conversation anymore when a hand sneaked from behind the Jersey man, tapping his shoulder a bit. Immediately my brain was blaring sirens, the word ‘DANGER’ being transmitted by every one of my neurons. “Excuse me, sir?” Another male voice called out, well-mannered enough, yet still firm.

Kyley-B immediately turned to face the unknown third party, his eyebrows furrowing and whole expression hardening into anger. “What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”

Apparently the stranger had very little regard for his life, because he didn’t back out from the rude display, their tone instead becoming louder and more insistent in retaliation. “Well, your ‘something’ needs to happen somewhere else, because I have to check out this book and this is the only counter available!” He lifted his hand to show Kyley the book he was holding, as if that would drill the information into his skull.

All it did was make him more angry. He quickly snatched the book from the client’s hand, throwing it with such force it managed to hit the wall farthest from us, before stepping closer to the stranger and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The client was stunned for a second, both from his book being thrown and from the sudden inferred physical threat. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Through his shock he still managed to spit back, trying his best to mirror Kyley’s body language and tone; but it’s hard to be as violent as a guy from Jersey. “Can’t you see you’re fucking wrong? Back off!”

“No, you back off!” Kyley used both his hands to push his adversary away - the other guy stumbled backwards a few feet, but luckily didn’t fall. However, the Jersey man was quick to breach the freshly created distance with hard steps. “I’ll fucking teach garbage like you not to mess with me!”

Right in front of the stranger again, Kyley cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders. The other guy straightened his posture and balled both fists at his sides, prepared to strike the Jersey threat right back if it came to that.

Mustering the small courage I had in me and having to force my fear-frozen legs to move, I ran from behind the counter towards the two men, putting my hands on their shoulders and praying to all deities that my presence would make them back off instead of turning me into a casualty of the upcoming brawl. “G-Gentlemen, please, don’t…” My voice was thin and desperate, reflecting the state of my mind as I tried to diffuse this situation to the best of my abilities, “There’s no need for any of this! Please, calm down!”

Luckily, they heard me well enough, and my guess is having to acknowledge the presence of a woman put a damper, however small, in their urge to clash. For a moment, our little group was completely silent except for the heavy breathing noises coming from the three of us - the two men furious like bulls about to strike, and me in terrified anxiety over the situation. They maintained a quiet staredown for what felt like forever, and I knew that if they were telepaths, the offenses they’d be mentally hurling at each other would contain curse words that could make a sailor blush. Then Kyley-B did something I didn’t even think he could physically do - he took a step back from a fight.

“Screw this noise,” he huffed, before turning his face to me again and making a gesture with his arm that beckoned me to accompany him somewhere, “Come on, can’t fucking talk in here without a shithead butting in.”

“W-What? Come on where?” My hands gestured desperately towards both my counter and the client in front of Kyley, who the redhead was now clearly ignoring as if he was nothing more than a decorative piece of the library, much to the other’s confusion, “I mean, I’m working right now!”

Before I could stop him, he walked back to the reception and reached over to the space of my desk, his hand clumsily scattering a bunch of the items on it before he could retrieve what he wanted - a small desk sign that just said ‘Be Back Soon’. He placed it firmly on top of the counter, the text facing him. “There. Now you ain’t.”

Kyley-B didn’t even allow me to put my shoes back on before he grabbed me by the wrist and started taking me away from the reception. I sent the other client one last apologetic look over my shoulder as Kyley dragged me, his sneakers louder than ever as he brought a barefooted me all the way to the farthest hallways of the library, down the always empty and slightly dusty Latin Literature section. His hand only loosened its hold when we stopped walking completely. Place was empty except for me, him and one of the trustworthy metal library carts, containing an assortment of books that needed to be delivered back into their proper shelves.

When he put both his hands in his pockets, I realized that now, away from the reception counter, I could see the lower half of his body. Even though he wore a belt, his acid wash denim jeans still hung a bit low on his hips - when his shirt shifted slightly, I could see the top of his boxers’ waistband peeking out. A look that normally would have given me pause when it came to a guy, but at that moment, what paused was my gaze, that I had to forcefully tear away from the region as I imagined what he looked like minus the outfit.

“Fucking finally. Can’t stand those hicks sticking their nose in business that ain’t theirs.” He spat, looking over his shoulder a bit towards the direction from which we came, like he was still trying to send his message to the other man who couldn’t even hear him anymore. 

“I guess...” I didn’t really want to continue dwelling on what just transpired; Kyley’s anger was still fresh - was it ever not? - and the last thing I wanted was for him to decide to head back and finally start what he was about to before I intervened. Besides, from our small interaction in the reception desk, I had learnt that he had a ‘not complete jerk’ side to him that was much more tolerable to be around.

“I swear, people in this town stress me the fuck out. Gahbage, all of them.“ He shook his head and with that, finally turned his face back to me - his expression was still intense, but at least he wasn’t completely pissed off anymore, and a hint of that cocky flirtatious grin had returned to his lips. “Well, not all. But enough about that bullshit. What do they call you around these parts?”

The way he asked for my name sounded weird to me, but I guess that’s the type of sentence someone’s got to use when their name is ‘Kyley-B’ and they refuse to be referred to as anything else. “I’m Y/N.”

‘Y/N, huh? That’s hot.”

Of all the adjectives he could have chosen, he went for the one I had never seen used before to describe a name, especially mine. “What do you mean by that?”

Kyley frowned a bit in confusion. “I mean it’s hot, what of it?” The answer came with a dismissive shrug, as if it was obvious and I was dumb for even having something to question. “Your name is hot, you’re hot, there’s not much else to say.”

My mouth spoke before my mind could catch the words this time. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

His frown intensified and I put my hands over my lips, the mistake getting to me. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve seen you around,” my brain cells worked themselves into overdrive trying to find a way to say it that didn’t sound accusatory, “With some girls, and…”

Lively laughter that almost seemed to rumble the books on the nearby shelves interrupted my train of thought. “Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Kyley ran his fingers through his own hair - it almost didn’t even move due to the sheer amount of hair gel. “Don’t ya worry about it, baby. I like the covered up look too. You’re really pretty.” 

He eyed me up and down slowly, still grinning, as if he truly appreciated what he saw. I looked down at myself as well, taking in my outfit - a loose-fitting blouse, a skirt that ended just barely above my knees, my bare feet that were earlier covered by a pair of flats. Miles away from the style of the women that I’d seen Kyley-B have in his arms - women who wore clothes with much less fabric, shoes with much higher heels, makeup with much more vibrant colors. Women that dressed like they wanted the attention, in the way that Kyley’s personality denounced the same thing.

Yet that Jersey man still looked at me like he wanted me in a much worse way than he’d want any of those girls, beyond just flirting for the hell of it or so he could add another number to his body count. And I was eating it up despite myself - having the undivided attention of Kyley-B in a somewhat private setting like this, instead of fighting other women for it at a club or something, was deliciously feeding into my ego, and it took everything in my mind for me to remind myself that this was my job and I was working and there is no way anything can happen and oh my lord his eyes are so gorgeous.

My eyes drifted to the floor, suddenly very interested in the nail polish on my toes and the small creases on Kyley’s Jordans. “Thank you…”

 “See? This is what I’m talking about.” One of his hands made its way to my chin, tilting it upwards just enough to bring my attention towards his face again.“That’s the fourth time you’ve thanked me now. Makes me wanna actually give you something to be thankful for.”

Now forced to look at him - honestly, I don’t know how ‘forced’ I really was, considering I made no attempt to dodge my head away from his hold -, the fire reddening my face was on full display for Kyley, a sight that made his smirk widen.

“There’s no need for that,” I murmured, though the little vain monster in my heart yearned for him to continue talking about me like that, to continue making me feel actually interesting, “It’s just… who I am.”

He stepped closer, keeping his eyes on mine. “Who you are? I wanna know all about that… Inside and out.”

My nervous hard swallow was audible. I was sure I could boil a kettle using only the heat radiating from me at that moment. His voice was dripping with desire; the double entendre almost making the air around us crackle with how charged it was. Despite my whole body presenting all my real feelings, my personality still clamored for some semblance of that decorum that Kyley-B was trying to make slip away. "I don’t know… I don’t think we should…”

“Why not?” This time, there was no anger in his voice as he questioned me; its volume had dropped lower, matching the ‘private’ nature of the conversation. “I’m into it, you’re into it, I don’t see the issue.”

I could’ve denied, said he understood everything wrong and I was just being polite, thanked him for his time and left that place with my decency intact. But I was always a very bad liar, and there was no denying the way my heart beated like a drum with his proximity, how my face got beet red just from our simple conversations, or the way I eagerly paid attention to every word that came out of his mouth.

Why was I feeling so drawn to his offer anyway? Was it the forbidden aspect of it all, the knowledge that I’d be going wild and letting loose while still maintaining the looks of a productive member of society? Did I internally enjoy the attention of someone who usually went for women that had nothing to do with me in either appearance or personality? Was the savior complex acting up again, the ‘I can change him’ mentality? All of the above would lead to the same outcome.

Another thing that really led me towards the path of surrendering to Kyley was the fact that, during all of this, he still hadn’t touched me in any way that was inherently sexual, despite all of his verbal advances. He was still waiting for my consent, exhibiting atypical patience, which made me believe he would’ve been okay even if I legitimately rejected him - the thing he couldn’t take was me hiding myself from the both of us, my attempts at masking my interest, and that’s why he was still pressing the issue. He wanted to take me, but he also had to make sure I wanted to be taken.

“Come on, baby… Talk to me…” His voice dropped even lower as he took the final step towards me, our bodies inches from each other now, “Wanna know what’s going on in that pretty little mind…”

The deep shuddering breath I took brought to me the smells of old books and some very strong cologne, the latter of which I could easily imagine on my pillow. “Need you…”

His hands grabbed both sides of my face and he pulled me into a fierce kiss, groaning into my mouth once we collided. His lips were surprisingly soft, likely due to a religious application of chapstick, but the kiss as a whole was still rough in a figurative sense; tough, possessive, everything that man was now being transferred to me through the clashing of our mouths, basically demanding me to respond in kind.

Which was something I didn’t even know I could do. I wasn’t necessarily a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I was all that seasoned, either. My years in university weren’t necessarily the great breeding ground for sexual experience that they seemed to be for everyone else - turns out all the other English majors were more interested in reading about steamy affection and whirlwind romances rather than actually living them. 

So that moment with Kyley-B, in the back of my workplace, was the first moment of my life I actually felt desired - like my whole presence did something for the man in front of me, something he couldn’t ignore. And I found myself in equal measure wanting him as well, entranced by his untamed nature, like a tiny wild side of me I didn’t even know existed was slowly coming to life now that he was close enough.

We needed to have each other. So, letting my last sliver of rational thought become dust and settle on the books in the shelves around us, I kissed him back, my hands resting on his shoulders and gently bringing him even closer. Kyley’s hands tightened around my waist and he pushed me backwards until I felt my ass lightly hit the library cart, hearing the faint squeak of the wheels as they moved a bit from the slight impact. His tongue led mine in a sensual dance, one that I initially didn’t know the moves to, but that quickly became second nature under his expert tutoring. His hips pressed against me and I was a bit glad to notice he was clearly affected too, seeking whatever friction he could get by grinding his bulge against my lower abdomen. 

Both of us had our chests heaving heavily when we pulled back in need of air, and that’s when I realized my whole body was trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. “Please…” was all I could manage to say, and I didn’t even know what I was begging for; for Kyley-B to calm down, to keep going, to do more, to bring me somewhere else or take me right there. Just whatever it was that would calm down the heat on my lower abdomen, since I knew only he could take care of that now.

“You really know your magic words, what a good girl,” Kyley murmured with his mouth still inches from mine, his words teasing, but with an undertone of praise. One of his hands slowly drifted down from my waist, pulling up the fabric of my skirt a bit just so it could slide under, a feather-light touch making its way towards my inner thighs until it settled right over my clothed pussy - the material already thoroughly damp from just his previous contact.

Two of his fingers traced my slit over my panties before they stopped right on top of my clit, applying slight pressure to it before rubbing tight firm circles over it, the fabric of my underwear providing even more friction against my extra sensitive bundle of nerves. My teeth dug into my lower lip as I stifled my whimpers, squirming quietly under Kyley’s teasing moves.

“You’re real wet, ya know that?” He moved his head so that he could whisper in my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe. The tip of his tongue then slowly traced the outline of my ear, a seductive gesture that sent goosebumps through my whole body. “Love to see it. Basically dripping for me.”

His digits moved back lower between my thighs, tracing me yet again, but the pressure on my clit wasn’t missed for long, as his palm was now flat against it, applying a bit of pressure and moving just barely to still keep me sensitive. He pushed my very damp panties to the side, a finger now circling my entrance, the small wet sounds it made almost deafening to me, proving Kyley’s previous claim without a doubt.

When he pushed his index in, I grabbed hard on the library cart handle, making it rattle a bit with the sudden movement. My breath hitched with the sudden intrusion, and Kyley chuckled in satisfaction, his face lowering to my neck. The pleasurable pain of the bites he started to place on the sensitive skin came in tandem with his middle finger also plunging inside of me, all the way to the last knuckle.

Kyley-B wasted no time before curling his fingers in a come hither motion, pumping them in and out with a type of strength that made my whole body shake with each push inward. My hips moved towards his palm in sync with his ministrations, subconsciously trying to get extra friction on my clit. 

Despite never having seen me before, it was like he had a complete map of my body in his mind. He knew exactly what to do at all times to make me feel good, and handled my body with a type of care that I would never expect from the likes of him. My worries about his nature or his intentions were gone with the wind; he could be whoever he wanted, as long as he’d continue laying his passion on all the neglected erotic parts of both my body and spirit. Soon my nails started making scraping noises against the metal of the handle, like I wasn’t just holding on to it, but also to the last little bit of my sanity before Kyley-B would kick me right into the deepest ends of pleasure.

Then suddenly, it stopped. His fingers withdrew from me and he took them to his mouth, cleaning my whole arousal out of those digits as he sucked on them. Not saying a word, he then used both of his hands to hike up my skirt completely so that it would be bunched up on my waist, immediately pressing his body against me again while his fingers drifted to the side of my panties. With a fierce tug that would’ve made me lose balance if not for his presence, he tore the damp fabric clean off, dropping it on the floor near our feet.

“What… Why did you…” I stuttered a bit as I looked up at him with my mouth hanging slightly open, looking every bit needy and desperate for him, absolutely pathetic in my yearning for the touch of that man.

His response came as a series of quick yet sensual kisses, the last one prolonged by the soft pulling of my bottom lip between his teeth. “Think we’re both gonna like it a lot more if you cum on my cock, baby,” he cooed, “And ya want it too, right? Don’t think you’d want to come all the way here just to get two fingers in.”

My head moved in a meek nod. My brain would’ve normally scolded me for agreeing so easily to words like these, so overtly sexually charged, but I couldn’t exactly lie to Kyley, either. I wanted him to fill me up. Taking in my agreement, he pulled back just a bit so he could make quick work of the belt and buttons in his jeans and pulled both them and his boxers slightly down, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

A lot of times, when people see feisty men with boisterous personalities, they like to say that those men are compensating for a lack of something. Kyley-B absolutely was not. He had the inches and the girth to back up every single aggressive display and explicit word that left his mouth. I pressed my thighs together, both in a gesture of fear for my poor pussy and also as a way to create some sort of pressure in the area that could calm me down until he would finally give it all to me.

My light squirming did not go unnoticed by his ever observant olive eyes. For all his violent behavior, he was still a really sharp individual. “You can take it,” he stated in a way that left no room for questioning, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Kyley took my lips back in his as his hands then moved from my waist to my ass, the unfamiliar sensation making me gasp against his mouth. He kneaded the soft flesh a bit, feeling it around. Then, without warning, both his hands delivered hard smacks to each side of my bottom, and I broke the kiss with a loud high-pitched yelp - the sounds almost echoed in the quiet library. He immediately started rubbing circles with his palms on the areas he slapped, as if trying to soothe them, contented groans rumbling in his chest. His next sentence came as an order. “Turn around. Need to feel this ass on me.”

I spun 180 degrees on my feet without a second thought and he pushed my back unceremoniously, making me bend over the library cart in front of me before shoving my head down towards it so that my back would be even lower and my ass would be in a more prominent position. My face landed on its side on one of the books that I was supposed to put back in place - Don Quixote. I had the feeling that by the end of my encounter with Kyley-B I too would be crazy enough to fight windmills.

I could only hear the noises his shoes made as he settled properly behind me, the hand he had used to shove me now placed at my back, putting slight pressure to keep me bent. He held his cock with the other one, giving a few light taps with it on my ass, and I just knew his gaze was burning into me as he watched the soft flesh jiggle a bit. When he positioned himself to start dragging the head across my slit, gathering up my already plentiful arousal and spreading it around even more, I whined and bucked back a little with my hips, the library cart under me rolling a bit as well. 

Immediately the hand that had been resting on my back moved to my ass and grabbed it fiercely. “Damn desperate for my cock, are ya, baby?” I could almost hear the smirk in his lips as he said those words, “Don’t worry, Imma give it to ya… And you ain’t even gonna need to thank me for it…”

Fortunately Kyley-B did not make me wait much longer after that. He was all about that instant gratification, and my submissive behaviour fed right into it. He traced my slit a few more times with the tip of his cock before pushing it fully inside of me in one swift motion, taking advantage of my wetness buildup. 

Another yelp from deep within my throat, this time accompanied by a deep grunt from Kyley-B’s. Both his hands grabbed my hips with such ferocity it felt like he was trying to get his fingers to break through my skin - but he’d have to settle for them just leaving a couple bruises. The stinging sensation deep in my walls as they stretched around his cock was like nothing I had ever felt before; worse than it felt when I lost my virginity, yet it was better, as in, actually good. I took a deep breath, hoping the air coming inside my lungs might help ease the burning somehow.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Kyley-B grunted behind me, his tone of voice faltering for a moment, becoming less brutish than usual - he was lost in the feeling of being inside me just as much as I was on the feeling of taking him. “Gonna end up ruining ya… If I’m not careful…”

He already had.

His grip steadied on my hips as he pulled away from me, before slamming all the way back in, giving me no time to calm down as he quickly settled into a steady pace, each thrust burying his cock to the hilt inside of my cunt. He was so big I could feel his tip hitting my cervix, constant jolts of pain coursing through my lower abdomen with each hit - yet I didn’t feel any urge to bring myself away from it or make it stop. It was the best pain I had ever felt in my life, which is a sentence I never thought I’d put together. 

Before I knew it I was letting out loud pleasure whines, my perception of the environment around me slowly being lost. Kyley still seemed to maintain his for a bit, though - to stifle my noises, he quickly shoved his index and middle finger inside of my mouth, almost all the way to the third knuckle. As if on cue, I started sucking on those digits and swirling my tongue around them like it was second nature.

“Fuck, girl,” he groaned with a husky voice, “If ya pussy wasn’t this fuckin’ good I’d be using my cock on this great tongue ya got instead.”

His other hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled it with reasonable strength, making me gasp and bringing my head up - my mouth opened wider and I could now taste the brass of his fake rings on my tongue as he pushed his fingers all the way inside, having the surprising care of positioning them in such a way that they wouldn’t make me gag, while I continued to work on them.

He didn’t keep my noises muffled like this for long. Soon he seemed to realize it was of no use and we were already loud anyway; so he let go of my hair and my face immediately fell forward, his fingers leaving my mouth with a wet noise and slight pain to me as his rings clumsily hit my teeth from the sudden movement. His hands slapped both sides of my ass again and I yelled with full force of my lungs - now that I was free to make noise, he seemed interested in testing my ability of it, and I could swear the squelching noises my pussy made with each of his thrusts became louder as he sped up a bit.

With each potent snap of his hips against my ass, my whole body would jerk forward and cause the library cart to hit the tall wooden bookshelf right in front of me, shaking the whole thing up and making it bang against the wall behind it. Heavy hardcover books rained from the shelves, hitting the parquet floor with loud thuds.

Completely immersed in the pleasure the Jersey man was giving me, I failed to notice the danger I was in, of a book striking my head and knocking me out cold. I only realized that situation when all of a sudden Kyley-B had the whole weight of his upper body against my back, his harsh breathing on my neck sending shivers down my spine while his arm moved at the speed of light to backhand a falling book out of its path towards our bodies, sending it flying a few feet away like it was nothing. He hissed between his teeth, likely from the pain of the smack, but didn’t voice any complaints besides that, his pounding against me not faltering for even a second.

I adored the new sensation. Though I was almost fully trapped against the library cart, him leaning on top of me like this was strangely comforting, seeing all of that oppressive strength being used for my protection. Kyley-B clearly took care of what was his, and at that moment, that’s exactly what I was.

Best as I could, I sneaked one of my arms over my shoulder, my hand clumsily grabbing a fistful of his gelled up hair. He grunted roughly against my neck, apparently not used to being touched like that - maybe it was usually the other way around - but making no move to stop my awkward attempt at a caress either. His thrusts slowed a bit as he stayed like this for a moment or two, before he straightened his posture back up with his chest away from my back and gave my ass another slap, picking up speed again - maybe that was his way of taking for himself the smallest bit of control over the situation I held for a bit. 

Not that I minded. Him taking charge was all that I wanted at that moment. Not a single useful thought graced my brain while he fucked me senseless, all of my neurons hyper-aware of how his cock felt when it pushed against the most sensitive spots inside of me and not much else. Everything was Kyley-B, the world around us irrelevant, merely a void environment that could absorb all of my moans and screams of pleasure, as well as the squelching and slapping noises of his thrusts, with no repercussion. Even the swear words he grunted every so often now sounded like music to me; because it came from a place of intense pleasure, which I was giving him, so he could curse as much as he wanted near me as long as he’d do it in that lascivious tone.

Kyley’s thrusts became even quicker and more erratic, as if he couldn’t bear to have a single inch of himself not buried inside of me for any amount of time. He bullied my walls and my cervix with wild abandon, and I felt myself tensing up under his chest, my toes curling against the hardwood floor as my body braced for the impact of the release that his cock was about to give to me. 

He noticed the physical aspects of my buildup and a hoarse chuckle cut through the sounds of his hips slapping against me. “Gonna cum for me now, are ya, babe?” He murmured huskily, giving the lightest of taps to my ass, an action that felt weirdly reassuring. “Told ya it was gonna be better with my cock… Go on, let me see ya…”

My eyes rolled almost to the back of my head and I let out a cry that made my whole throat quiver as the most intense orgasm of my life crashed on me like a tsunami, my spine arching and making my upper body press even more against the cart under me. While I whimpered and trembled through the ripples of pleasure in my system, Kyley-B grabbed my hair again, pulling my head back some more as he used the newfound reins to jackhammer into me with my cunt clamping fiercely against his cock, trying to make it a permanent attachment to my body - a very smart decision on its part, really.

Despite riding my climax out to the fullest, I did not get any time to catch my breath - Kyley-B’s attack on my walls had already started to cross the line into overstimulation, making me whimper from the continuing massage on the extra sensitive region, before he suddenly withdrew from me. Although I already had way too much everything considered, that action surprisingly made me legitimately angry for half a second - I missed him inside of me. His breathing shook and faltered while thick jets spilled over my ass and lower back, his seed warm against my skin.

As he came down from his high and his breathing became more steady, I heard him reach inside of his pocket again, then felt the slightly rough sensation of lace being rubbed against me - he was cleaning up his release with the very same panties he tore away. Seemed thorough about it, too, as he took his time and by the end of it I didn’t feel sticky anymore. Yet, the knowledge of what we did had painted my body forever, the warm sensation still very much psychologically present, even if I was physically ‘clean’.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him stuff the panties in his pocket. The normal confusion I’d exhibit if seeing such an act did not grace my features, either because I was too fucked out to care or because I actually liked it.

He tucked his softening cock back inside of his boxers and closed the buttons and belt on his jeans before leaning towards me again, this time to put his nose to the side of my neck, inhaling my scent sharply while his arms wrapped around my waist.

”Did so fucking well for me, baby. You were so damn good.” Kyley-B whispered against my skin, his voice once more taking that less rowdy tone I heard earlier. Hearing it again, in a full sentence this time, sent shivers down my spine - different shivers from the ones that had coursed through my body earlier. Like I could catch a glimpse of the man behind the fake tan. He made sure to leave one tiny nip at my skin before pressing a kiss right on top of that region - a surprisingly soft kiss, like he was now trying to be careful with me.

He stayed like this for a little more before straightening up again and letting go of my body, giving my ass one last playful slap, chuckling as he watched it jiggle. “You’re the real deal, Y/N,” the Jersey playboy voice was back at full force, “Let’s go out sometime. I’ll call you.”

Which was a weird thing to say, considering I hadn’t given him my number at all, but for some reason I just knew that was the least of his problems. He knew where I worked. He’d find a way, and I’d give him as much direction as I could for that.

As soon as I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, my knees gave in, and I fell right on them, letting the library cart hit the now much less packed bookcase a final time. My hands clung to the side of it with what little strength I had in my body, that still felt like it was made of jelly. I could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, the exhaustion from the unfamiliar ‘exercise’ getting to me. Dozens of books laid around me on the floor, waiting to be put back in their places, but I decided to just make that a problem for future me, instead choosing to let my muscles catch a break.

When I finally managed to pull myself together enough to return, alone, to the reception desk, I realized I was in deep shit. Every single set of eyes in the location turned to me, wide and horrified; apparently, the whole time I was with Kyley-B back there, my clients at the library were frozen in place listening to the whole thing. I tried to avoid my shame by looking elsewhere, but then my eyes rested on a decorative piece of mirrored glass at the wall; I could now see myself clearly. My hair was messed up beyond belief from all of Kyley-B’s pulling, my whole makeup was smudged - with special attention to the huge pink blur of lipstick around my very kiss-swollen lips -, my shirt was creased everywhere. Not to mention that now my underwear was hanging out in a New Jersey man’s pocket, leaving me totally commando. And I had a few more hours of my shift ahead of me.

It didn’t affect me as much as it should.

༝���༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Surprisingly enough, I did not get fired from my job after that. My guess was they knew they couldn’t find anyone else who could put up with the extra work that had nothing to do with my appointed position, not for the money I was paid. So I got to stay.

What did happen was the influx of people at the library augmented significantly. This did not mean a proportional increase in the number of books checked out, however - it just meant way too many people were suddenly interested in Latin Literature, and my workplace became a lot noisier.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[chocodile]

Hiya! I was the advice anon from a few days back! First of thank you so so so so much for taking the time to not just answer but give such thorough advice! I really appreciate it so much, shared it with other friends of mine who have similar anxieties as I do. I really do appreciate it so much. Even if the internet isn’t how it used to be with less algorithms and numbers, I hope that I can still find my own enjoyment. I do have a best friend who I reconnected with 4 years ago and he gave me back that spark I was losing being one of the first people genuinely in love with my work much how I love his!

And yes please! I would love to hear your thoughts on meeting other creators and how to “launch” stories , and create that community! I love hearing the insight and introspection of fellow artists ! Everyone has different experiences that can be learned from and I just love reading what artists have to say about their work or methods ! Don’t worry about length, the more the better (of course please do not stress or worry about it, take all the time you need!)

Thank you again for answering my questions earnestly, made my week!

Hey Anon, sorry this took a while to get to! I've been pretty busy. I'm glad you found the first post helpful!

Regarding audience building and finding other creators... as I mentioned, I have a lot of thoughts. Here's a bunch of slightly disjointed notes on I've put together…

AUDIENCE BUILDING TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO KINDA DID IT:

TIP 1: FIND OTHERS WITH SIMILAR INTERESTS!

Making OCs and original stories can be kind of isolating compared to, say, fandom. Best we can do is find specific points to bond over.

What is your story about? Does it involve heavy research into a specific topic, like speculative biology or real-world history? Look up tags related to this and see if anyone else is doing characters or stories based around this topic.

Does it share a theme with a popular media property? See if you can sneakily trick some of the fans of that media property into looking at your thing, too. ;) For example, a high-fantasy story might do well to court D&D fans. If you're writing a romance story, try to think of other stories and popular fandom ships that share themes with yours. You can follow artists who draw for that fandom, draw fan art for it, or make an AU of your character in that setting. Or all of the above.

This can even apply to very superficial things. Like, is your main character a woman with red hair and glasses? Did you find another artist whose favorite OC is a woman with red hair and glasses? That's a connection opportunity! And chances are, that artist may have friends or fans who ALSO like red haired women with glasses. Superficial appearance might feel like a silly thing to bond over, but catching someone's eye with your design is often the first step toward them engaging with the character more deeply.

Of course, you shouldn't be doing this as a cynical attention-grab… I absolutely wouldn't recommend courting a fandom for something you don't personally enjoy, and I wouldn't recommend following artists purely in hopes that they follow you back. That's a recipe for feeling miserable and resentful when it inevitably doesn't "pay off" immediately. Building relationships and establishing yourself in spaces takes time, and it needs to be something you enjoy doing or you'll just feel frustrated and give up.

TIP 2: BE THE ONE TO REACH OUT FIRST, BE CONSISTENT, BUT HAVE REASONABLE EXPECTATIONS.

So you've found someone you think is cool! Their story has werewolves in it, and so does yours. You think their main character is pretty cool and would like to know more about them. (And, secretly, you want them to ask you about your characters, too!)

So, get the ball rolling! Go ahead and ask them about their guy! It's scary, but that's often what you gotta do. If, after a few messages, they seem amenable, you can eventually start dropping tidbits about YOUR guy and YOUR story. "Your description of how the transformation sequence feels is very vivid and cool! In MY OWN werewolf story, transformation goes more like this…" or "Your guy who hates his werewolf side wouldn't see eye to eye with my werewolf character, who sees it as a blessing because…"

See if they bite on that. If they don't, maybe they're just not interested. But a lot of creators are interested in that kind of connection!

Some caveats here:

While many artists love that sort of attention, some people can be kinda defensive of their creations and become standoffish and prickly when strangers try to chum it up with them about OC stuff. If someone is like that, leave them be and don't try to force it.

Super popular artists tend to have way more messages than they can keep up with. You're very, very unlikely to develop an equally reciprocal friendship with them as a stranger in a short amount of time, and it's absolutely not anything personal. That's not to say you shouldn't bother interacting with them, just don't feel stung if they don't respond or follow you back. (This kind of overwhelm happens at much lower levels than you might think!) In my own experience, friendliness with a popular artist tends to happen when you're a consistent positive presence over a long period of time (often multiple years, but at least a span of 6+ months). And even then you will not be in their "inner circle" with the friends they've known for a decade, and that's fine!

Artists with smaller followings are way more likely to be receptive to following you back and doing the reciprocal friendship thing.

TIP 3: FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT.

If you do manage to make a connection with someone, or get a friend or two on board with your story, commenting and sending asks and stuff publicly is extremely helpful for audience-building. Not only does it increase your visibility, but it gives shy audience members "permission" to comment themselves, and a template for what kind of comments you find agreeable. A lot of people will think "Oh I want to comment… but what if I say something wrong and they get mad? I'll just say nothing instead." If you demonstrate that you respond in a friendly manner, they'll feel more comfortable. People are herd animals like that.

Also, people love the audience engagement aspect of sending "asks" and seeing responses to comments drawn. It doesn't need to be an "ask", though--one of the first things I did for Amaranthine was draw Hyden reacting to people's tags. You could even invent a question no one actually asked and draw a response, just to show people that you are open to that kind of thing.

In fact, way back before Amaranthine, I proposed a plan to collaborate with my friends to astroturf audience engagement to launch a story by sending each other and ourselves fake anon asks with questions. I ended up not having to do that--Amaranthine's popularity caught me completely by surprise--but if I ever have to cold launch a brand new story, I would probably send myself some fake anon asks to get the ball rolling, hah. Feel free to steal this idea and try it yourself!

TIP 4: SHOW CHARACTER, SHOW LORE, OVERSHARE, AND DO IT OFTEN!

There are tons of characters on the internet. What makes them memorable is sometimes their design, but usually it's their personality and story. If people don't know anything about a character except their name, physical appearance, gender, sexuality, and three character traits, they might think "aw, that's a neat character!" but probably won't think much more than that. They may like the cool art but probably won't say a lot about it beyond #cool art.

But if you draw the same character living out their daily life, interacting with friends and lovers and enemies, hanging out in their messy room, a flashback to them as an angry teenager, a short mini-comic of the incident that got them expelled from necromancer school, all coupled with little lore tidbits that offer a deeper look into their life, world, and inner psychology… that's when they start feeling like a PERSON, not just a cool design. Couple this with the asks and stuff from tip 3 and they become "a person I, the viewer, can reach out to and engage with".

It feels vulnerable to put this stuff out there initially, when you're not getting much feedback. But by having this built-up library of art and info people can read through, new viewers will arrive, think "hey, this character seems cool!" and instead of stopping there, they'll binge on your archives. It's very fulfilling to see a new person find your stuff and then see a strong of "likes" on older pieces as they go through your story/OC tag.

…Also, people have short attention spans, and modern social media means a lot of people won't see and certainly won't remember everything you post. Kwillow and I occasionally joke about "whoa, I can't believe I got a question about a topic I already answered! Don't they remember this 1 single post I made about the topic four years ago?" NO, THEY ABSOLUTELY DO NOT. You need to restate things, repost things, etc because people are probably not paying THAT much attention. You can't just put it out there once, especially the really juicy stuff!

You also gotta stick with stuff even if it feels like it's not working. Put your stuff up on a bunch of different platforms and cast a wide net. You might only get 1 comment on Tumblr, but if you post it to Bluesky, DeviantArt, Instagram, etc, and each of those gets 1 comment, then that's 4 comments. Think of posting on other sites like extra slot machine pulls. Even the ones with bad odds are still worth doing when the cost to pull the lever is basically nothing.

TIP 5: THE BITTER PILL:

Bitter pill to swallow: Modern social media favors things that can be distilled down into hashtags/tropes/aesthetics. Furries, punks, cottagecore, monsterfucker, D&D-esque, enemies to lovers, princess-core, werewolves… the harder something is to reblog with #aesthetic, the harder it is to sell in general. It'll always be harder to sell Bob The Regular Human Guy's story than it would be to sell that same Bob as a furry, or Bob as a shy punk with a shipping-fanfic-trope-friendly crush on a guy at a coffee shop. This doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't try, but it is something to be aware of. Like, if your thing isn't doing social media numbers, odds are high it's not bad, just not hashtaggable enough.

This is one of the reasons I say to try to focus on yourself and a small group of like-minded friends first. You can't count on social media mechanisms to help boost you if you're marching to the beat of your own drum. You can try to use tropes and fandom for your benefit, as described in #1, but even so it's often kind of an uphill battle.

However, if you have a ton of energy and love for your project then the awesome glowing power of your passion will help draw people to you. People like that energy! It may never be huge social media numbers, but do remember that every single person who interacts with your stuff is A WHOLE ENTIRE REAL PERSON, and that's pretty damn cool. 10 notes on something is 10 entire people standing in your living room giving you the thumbs up.

Anyway, hope at least a few of these tips are helpful! The social media landscape for artists is, frankly, very bad right now, and if you are struggling and feeling discouraged you are not alone. But there are still ways to find each other even in this landscape!

[deleteddewewted]

I don't know if this might be an idea for you, but...

I'm still getting to know the Warhammer universe in depth, but I started a draft a while ago. It was supposed to be an oneshot, but it became huge and I ended up putting it aside because I lacked creativity.

But anyway : I had started that the emperor wasn't such an idiot, he sort of had some feelings for his children (not looking at them as tools) and in order for humanity to prevail he sort of goes from world to world looking for political alliances (so he marries his son and takes a planet for himself). Horus would fall into chaos because the one chosen him, in the vision of a shaman, she was the future with Guilliman after the fall of the emperor and also the OC had an enormous love for Guilliman (a beautiful feeling), but Roboute had a relationship with Yvraine, even if the emperor didn't approve.

The OC would be a witch/wizard (I don't know if she fits in this universe without being killed for heresy, or if they'll let it go because... script 😬 )

I'm still figuring out how to develop it or whether to delete it and start another way, what do you think?

It's a lot of information, you can ignore it 🙃

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my language .

Preventing Destiny

Horus x Fem! Reader

A/n: This is such a good idea! I hope you post it someday. This inspired something in me and now i have to make a series similar your idea anon. Consider this part 1 out of 2 or 3 parts.

MDNI

W: NSFW, Fluff, Angst, Jealousy, Baby Trapping, Abandonment, Pre-Heresy Horus, Fem Reader, Insecurities, Zero accommodation

If you want to buy me a Ko-fi

Love was such a finicky thing. It drove mortal men to madness, created wars in the battle of ideals, made orphans out of children, and made men into beasts. Horus watched as their crusade brought great benefit to the Imperium, one by one uniting the human colonies under the same flag and set of ideals Horus' father sought to make true. But war was not the only thing that united them all, no, unions and treaties did as well. His father bestowed upon him an offer he couldn't reject. Marriage in holy union over sought by the Emperor himself. His father told him of his adventures into the stars, how in his own search he had found an idealic planet with idealic people. That he had found a woman worthy of his son and his glory. Horus' ego grew as he awaited the day he would be introduced to you.

You met on your home planet. Your parents had agreed to follow the lead of the Emperor as long as he allowed them to continue to rule with his guidance. This was agreed upon but with a condition that left your parents speechless. The man adorned in golden armor mentioned a son of his, one that will one day become his heir to all that he had made. He wanted you to wed, to show that there is no ill will between your planet and the greater Imperium. Your parents eagerly waited with bated breath for your response, and when you agreed, the Emperor smiled down at you and promised you that this would bring great fortune to everyone. You met Horus not a day later. He was brought to your chambers and he had the opportunity to introduce himself to you. His hair was short and he had a faint stuble growing in. He looked rugged and handsome all the same and it lit a flame in your chest that you wished would persist.

Horus on the other hand was smitten even before meeting you. His father had described you after he insisted on knowing who his wife would be. His father described you as being a normal baseline, with nothing of importance other than your ancestry and the planet you bring with you, but Horus wanted more. He wanted details about your features, the way your voice sounded, he wanted to know if you were as eager as him to marry and to meet. He was like a child shaking in anticipation. He needed to know who you were as you would one day be his and he only yours. He begged his father to allow you both to meet on your planet as you make you more comfortable. Meeting in your chambers allowed him to truly grasp who you were as a person. You had a love for all things relating to your people, you adored your parents and you were educated in the law. You cared to learn more about the Imperium to better fulfill your duties as his wife.

"There's no need to push yourself so much, my wife." He had grabbed your hand in his, yours being dwarfed by his, and pressed the back of it to his lips in a chaste kiss.

"I will ensure you to date with everything but you do not need to worry about it. You will have greater things to do when it comes our Legion and our sons."

"Our sons?" You questioned, brow raised as you looked at the man before you.

"Yes, our sons. My Legion awaits for their mother. And if you will allow it, our own sons and daughters.” He had placed a kiss on your hand before pressing it against his cheek. He knew that you were the only woman for him. His eyes would never wonder, his love would never fade. You made him feel like a man and he would fulfill you as a woman.

Married life was blissful to him as his wife dotted on him hand and foot, and he would do the same. He would come back to his chambers only find her reading or sleeping and the moment his presence was made known she would drop everything to take care of him. You would take care of his wounds, ensure he was clean from head to toe by preparing him a bath. You devoted yourself to proving that you were an idealic wife only to be reminded that he had his own needs to prove himself a worthy husband. He would massage your feet and take care of you when sick. He would have the servants in the palace fetch you whatever you so desire. Only the finest food would be reserved for you. Only the best gifts would be given to you. Nothing would prevent him from sending you letters that were filled with promises of coming back and making you both complete with a child. He couldn’t have asked for a more dutiful partner that matched him.

But it all came crashing down when a shaman they had captured asked him if he wanted to see fate, to witness his future as it was already set. Horus had assumed that the old hag had simply done this to stop them from killing her but he was corrected when they did not flinch at the tip of his sword cutting into their skin. He agreed, curiosity getting the best of him. The shaman mixed powders, and liquids into a ranging flame and chanted words he did not know nor understood. In the smoke appeared your image but Horus was not the one standing next to you. Guilliman was there instead. You were kissing Guilliman, deeper and more lovingly than you’ve ever kissed him. You spoke his brother's name with breathless want unlike how you spoke his own. You were as dotting and as diligent as how you were with Horus but you looked more in love with his damn brother. Image after image of you and his blond-haired brother kissing and living in married bliss set a fire inside him he tried to quell and snuff, but it consumed him. It ate at him as the shaman prophesied that it was only a matter of time before this woman Horus wedded would leave him and fall in love with Guilliman. That if he wanted to preserve his marriage he had to keep you apart and even then it wouldn’t be guaranteed that you would remain faithful. That destiny and fate were never wrong and that no matter his efforts you would leave.

Horus laughed at the shaman in something that almost felt bitter as he promised that his wife was faithful and only had room to love him. But he knew deep down that he was lying to himself and he simply couldn’t have this hag have him bested. Either a swift movement he cut off her head and watched it roll onto the floor as her body slumped forward into the flame. Blood pooled around the corpse and dripped from his sword.

“You are wrong old witch. She is mine. She was promised to me!” He let out in a bitter rage. He walked away, not bothering to take any kind of trophy from his spoils and made it back to his ship with the rest of his sons. He told them to take off a she’s snack to Terra, that they were done here and that there was nothing of value on this planet but only lies and decit.

Once home, he arrived with a new fond vigor and let it all out on you. He smelled of sweat and musk, something manly and oddly attractive. He didn’t bother removing most of his armor but just enough so he could fuck you and have you near to his skin. He watched you pant and moan into the air as he grunted out promises to make you a mother. There was nothing that would take you from him. Nothing.

His father grew unpleased with Horus' petulant attitude. He was acting like a child with how he wouldn't introduce his wife to his brothers. He had promised you to introduce you to all of his brothers, that he would have you known to the galaxy and beyond as his wife and now he was planning on retracting that promise. What if you did leave him for his brother? Why were prophecized to be with Guilliman and not him? Anger consumed his thoughts but he quelled them as he promised his father that he would introduce you soon.

Horus spent an entire day with you, more than he had ever been allotted to spend with you since he was constantly busy, and asked you if you wished to meet his brothers soon. You said yes, happy to finally meet the rest of his family as you had only briefly met the Emperor and that was all. Even your wedding my was a private affair with only your parents and the Emperor to bear witness. To finally meet your husbands siblings meant a great deal to you as you had nine to your own and was desperate to find family.

So began his great plan to keep you faithful and longing for him as the date came ever closer for you to meet his brothers. He promised you riches, promised you children that he didn’t even know if he could give you, granted you every wish you had so you wouldn’t seek it from someone else. All of the nights he had available where spent keeping you in bed with him, cock warning him or him tasting your cunt hoping you would appreciate his careful and attentive care to your needs. He spent his morning showering you in compliments and promising you that he will return to you.

All of this was for not when he finally had to comply and introduce you to his brothers. His father had arranged a small event to host in the palaces garden, hoping to have all of his sons together to celebrate their success in their crusade. While many of his brothers and their sons had arrived already, there was still a few missing as they were busy with final reports and or just arriving. Horus had dressed in his best pelts and downed light armor in his legions colors. You did the same, wearing a loose fitting dress that was decorated with golden trim and design. There was not mistaking who you were, you were his wife and the mother to his sons. His father had warned him to play nice, that you were not a toy but a diplomat as well.

“Do not hinder her, my son.” He had scolded before leaving him be and heading towards the great garden that was filled with music, laugh, and cheer.

Pleasantries were easy as drink and food flowed through the palace. You found it oddly natural to speak to many of his brothers as they all seemed to be similar in personality or at least feigned politeness. You slowly made your way to each brother and finally arrived at the last one who had been entertaining some of his nephews. Guilliman was wearing his people’s attire, a toga colored blue and with the insignia of his chapter proudly displayed in a golden lapel that kept his cape still on his shoulders. His golden lorals were exchanged for real leafs and his armored boots were traded for sandals. He was relaxed, sipping on the wine that was in his chalice.

Horus hoped you would show disinterest in Guilliman, that you wouldn’t want to approach him, that his younger brother was disinteresting enough to make you look away. But no, you approached him, your small hand finding place on your beloved husbands arm as you dragged him over to meet his brother. He complied, hoping that the interecation would be short and brief as this was what he was dreading.

“Brother, this is my lovely wife, Y/n. Mother to my sons, Legionnaire mother of the Luna Wolves.” Horus voice boomed at the last part, almost as he was reemphasizing that you were already spoken for and already had a legion of your own. You smiled and bowed your head at Guilliman, Berle standing straight and meeting his eyes.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Guilliman. My husband has spoken good thing about you, I can assure you.” Your joked. Guilliman let out a small chuckle, a smile blooming on his face as he nodded and joked back that he sure hope so.

You smiled brighter than you ever did with Horus. His brother spoke about his latest victory, detailing the assault and the execution of his plan all while gesturing with his hands. You were entertained by his brothers stories and it left a bitter taste in Horus’ mouth. No, this wouldn’t happen and couldn’t happen. Not here. Not in front of all of these people. Not in front of their father who had promised you to him. You were his. You were his! His wife, the mother to his sons. You couldn’t do this to him!

He grabbed you by the waist and dragged you away to his chambers without even saying goodbye. He threw his brother a quick smile and lead you back to his chambers where he threw you on to his bed and began stripping himself of his clothes as he watched you intently.

“Horus-“ he cut you off with a kiss as he began stripping you of your clothes too. Your clothes were torn and your moans were muffled by his mouth. It only pushed him to go further. He grabbed you by your legs and pushed them up to your ears, his arms and legs making sure to keep you spread open for him. He made use of his hands, his mouth, his cock to pleasure you tenfold so you wouldn't think of anyone other than him. He watched you gasp as he fucked into you and promised you he would ensure that you lay pregnant with his child after this. There was no tenderness in his actions. The once gentle man who would treat you like porcelain when he made love to you was now fucking you like a dog in heat and you his bitch to breed. His mouth found hole on your skin, biting and nipping at it as he thrusted into you. His ablks slapped against your ass as he used one of his hands to play with your clit and rub it as you began to scream that you were close. He didn’t care of you were close or not. He just needed you to remember that you were his first and you were his forever.

“Horus! I can’t-!” You choked out, back arching as you clung to him for dear life as his continues thrust made the bed shake.

“Come for me, Y/n.” He huffed. He tightens his grip around your legs, making sure his hand kept them together and still as he watched your pussy take his cock with ease.

“Let me breed and film you with my children.” He picked up pace before slapping your ass and cumming inside you. His cum began to leak out do you but he wasn’t done yet. More and more of his seed was released into your womb and all he did was watch as it began to coat his dick and your ass.

“Good. I’m sure we will have a welcomed surprise in due time.” He panted out. You lay still as you waited for your husband to pull out of you but he never did. Instead, he grabbed you and pulled you closer to him before he turned you both over and had you laying on his chest as he later on the bed. You could hear the loud thrumming of his heart in his chest as he slowly came down from his climax.

“It was rude to just leave, Horus. You owe your brothers an apology.” You teased, not truly caring as you could barely think in the moment. You were full and could still feel how cum leaked out of your abused and swollen pussy. Horus had never been so eager or predator like before, not even when you asked him to be. You wondered if you would get more opportunities to experience this side of him in bed.

You fell asleep listening to your husbands heartbeat, warm and protected in his arms when Horus lay awake watching you. You were his, child ir jot he would make sure you stayed by him as you were given to him to wed. If you wanted to leave him for his brother you would find that nothing you did wojld set you free. Nothing. You were his and he was yours.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending (A Chaconne Story): Chapter 2 (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Ahead of your first rehearsal with the Los Angeles Symphony, you become reacquainted with Maestra Agatha Harkness.

Word Count: 4.6K

A/N: Helllooo, welcome to chapter 2 of The Lark Ascending! This chapter features a very, very special piece that I strongly recommend giving a listen, I'll link an earlier post with the video. I'm going to try to do updates around every 2-3 weeks but it will sadly depend on my schedule. I'd also like to give a special shoutout to 🫂 anon, who told me of an idea they had of Agatha using her baton to secure her hair back. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the inspiration, I hope I did your idea justice. As always I hope you enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think :)

Danzón No. 2

Previous Chapter

The head of marketing for the orchestra, Pepper Potts, motioned to the promotional materials laid out in front of you. “So what do you think?” 

Squinting, you tilted your head to look at it from a different angle, taking it all in. They were certainly…interesting. Your face had been blown up on all of them, some featured you holding or playing your violin. 

“Um….” You trailed off, trying to keep your tone cheerful. “Well, they’re a little different from what I was expecting, but they look nice.”

The last time you spoke with Pepper, you had explained how you were more interested in focusing on the music than yourself, you had even brainstormed on a few different campaign ideas. At the time you thought it had been a productive conversation. 

“I know they’re not what we originally discussed, but we’ve found that interest groups respond better to a face, or rather, the face of what we’re trying to promote,” Pepper explained, laying out a few different options in front of you. “As our newest artist in residence, you are the face, the center focus. We’ve been trying to appeal to a wider audience, as well as a younger audience. This is the perfect way to accomplish it.”

“What she means to say is, your original idea was boring. But she’s too professional to say that, isn’t that right, Pepper?” Tony chimed in from where he was sitting on the opposite side of the room, scrolling through his phone. 

Pepper let out an exasperated sigh, shooting Tony a glare. “That is not right, Tony.” She gave you an apologetic smile, something she appeared to be used to doing. “Just ignore him. Everyone else does.”

Tony checked the time on his watch, before turning his attention back to you. “If we could wrap this up in a few, is there anything else we need to cover?”

Pepper glanced at her tablet, shaking her head. “We’ve gone over everything as far as marketing is concerned.”

“Fantastic,” Tony said, standing up, stretching his legs out. “Let’s get those materials finalized before next week’s Donor Gala.” As he began walking to his desk, he paused, snapping his fingers. “See if we can get Harkness to conduct something? Something more modern, maybe, but not funky Glass modern. The donors will love that. She’s so much more entertaining to watch than Strange.”

“Well that’s not too difficult to accomplish when the man conducts like he’s performing surgery,” Agatha drawled out, and you jumped at the sound of her voice. 

The door to Tony’s office was now wide open as Agatha came strolling in, followed closely by Tony’s assistant.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I told her you were still in a meeting,” the woman profusely apologized, giving Agatha a terrified glance before adding, “but she wouldn’t listen.”

Tony waved off the apology, clearly unphased by Agatha’s behavior. “It’s fine, Sharon. Maestra! Please, come in. I hope you’ve found everything to your liking?”

“You know me, Tony, I’m not particularly picky,” Agatha replied, enunciating every last syllable as she gave you a simmering glance that resulted in you blushing and looking down at your feet. “But I must say, I’m rather enjoying my time so far.”

“Have you met our artist in residence?” Tony prompted, and you suddenly realized he had no idea of your history with the conductor. “Peps, why don’t we get a photo of the three of us for socials? Ask that one intern for a caption, she’s pretty clever. Kamala, I think?”

Pepper sighed in defeat, fishing around for her camera. “Don’t call it socials, Tony.”

Tony then turned his attention to you, as you finally broke the rather intense staring match with Agatha. “Y/N? Have you had the pleasure of meeting the Maestra?” 

Oh have you ever, you thought to yourself. Agatha merely smirked, arching an eyebrow as you stammered for a moment. “I, um, you know it’s funny you mention that, actually. I used to work for her.”

Both Tony and Pepper appeared to be equally surprised with that revelation, and the CFO’s face lit up. “You’re kidding. What a small world!”

“Y/N was my assistant a few years ago, right before she moved to Vienna,” Agatha interjected, still gazing at you with a look you couldn’t decipher. “I’ve been…quite proud of her accomplishments since.”

She was proud of your accomplishments? You knew she apparently watched a video of one of your last performances; you were curious if she had seen anything else (while also wondering why she never bothered to reach out). 

“Rather high praise coming from you, Maestra,” Tony said, folding his hands across his chest as he leaned against his desk.

“Well I wouldn’t have been able to have done any of it without Agatha,” you insisted, various memories of late night practice sessions with the conductor rushing back in nostalgic flashes. “She mentored me while I was still her assistant. She always believed in me, sometimes even more than I believed in myself.”

Tony nodded, and you watched him silently brainstorm as an idea hit him. “That’s it. The Maestra and her protegee. Who wouldn’t want to see a series of concerts with one of the most beloved conductors and her former mentee turned rising soloist? Pepper?”

Pepper was already typing on her tablet, nodding along to Tony’s words. “Already on it. I’ll book a shoot for promotional materials, and we’ll have the press release ready by the end of the week.”

Tony folded his hands together, grinning as he looked back and forth between you and Agatha. “Outstanding. What a lucky coincidence you happened to be in LA, Maestra.”

What a lucky coincidence indeed, you agreed, giving Agatha a curious look. The conductor shrugged her shoulders, her usual poker face hiding whatever emotion she was feeling. “What can I say, it must have been fate.”

Tony started rambling on to Pepper about various ideas for both the Donors Gala and marketing, all whilst you found yourself getting lost once more in the enigma that was Agatha Harkness.

Eventually, you found yourself back in the concert hall right before the start of that evening’s rehearsal. The meeting with Tony had been rather successful, even if your obligations now included doing a handful of press and events with Agatha. How the conductor felt on that subject matter was a mystery to you, as she remained uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, offering only the occasional sarcastic, witty comment whenever Tony suggested something particularly outlandish. 

Now, as you walked with your violin case in hand, you once again thought about being reunited with Agatha after all this time, as it forced you to think about your feelings for the conductor. Even after all this time, it felt as though a large part of your heart was reserved solely for her, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with that information. Agatha wasn’t exactly the most open individual, and last time you nearly had to wrestle her feelings out of her. Plus, who’s to say she even feels the same way- you knew a lot could change in five years. 

As usual, you were getting ahead of yourself. Right now, you just need to focus on getting through your first rehearsal, and worry about your relationship with Agatha later.

You greeted a few musicians you passed, and you nearly froze as you saw someone very familiar waving at you. Standing in the front row with her violin case was your friend and formed stand partner, Monica Rambeau. You stayed in touch with the violinist after you moved to Vienna, but she never mentioned coming to LA. Running up to her, you set your violin down before embracing her in a hug, fully in disbelief she was here. 

“Monica, what are you doing here?” You breathed out, grinning at your friend who smiled back at you.

“The MSO is off for the summer while they remodel the symphony building, so a few of us are filling in out here for the season,” Monica explained, and it was then that you noticed one of the MSO flutists, Dottie and the principal cellist, Hope, up on stage.

“Dottie certainly looks happy,” you noted, watching the flutist enthusiastically chat with a few members of the orchestra on the stage. 

“I think she’s looking forward to having a break from Harkness,” Monica admitted, taking a quick glance around to make sure no one else was listening before adding, “not that Maestra was even around for the majority of the season to terrorize her.”

You felt a twinge of pity at the mention of that. Poor Dottie. Agatha did seem to get some sadistic form of pleasure from tormenting her. But it was the latter part of Monica’s sentence that caught your attention, and you gave her a curious glance. “What do you mean she wasn’t around for the majority of the season?” 

Although you and Monica had stayed in touch over the past few years, you made a point to never ask about Agatha. While Monica never knew about your relationship with the conductor, she at least knew not to bring her up whenever you talked.

Monica shrugged, grabbing her sheet music from her bag. “She was traveling a lot this year, and missed a lot of rehearsals. You know how she gets. Anytime someone would ask where she was, she would change the subject and find someone new to pick on.”

It didn’t take much effort for you to picture that particular scenario. “That certainly sounds like Agatha.”

“A few people think she’s looking for a job with a different orchestra,” Monica quietly told you. “But between you and me, I think she’s seeing someone.”

You froze in place, choosing your next words carefully. “Seeing someone? Why would you think that?”

“She seemed different whenever she’d come back,” Monica explained as she gently grabbed her violin from its case. “Happier, or as happy as she can be, I guess.”

You fell silent at that, trying to keep your facial expression neutral. Was Agatha dating someone? Was it serious? Is that why she came to LA? The questions began to pile on in your brain, the biggest of all being why did you even care?

As if Monica sensed your discomfort, she changed the subject. “So, have you met Strange yet? I’ve heard he’s pretty straight-laced during rehearsals.”

Strange? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the question, until you remembered you never told Monica the news of the change in music directors. 

Clearing your throat, you nervously bit your lip. “Actually, Monica, I should have mentioned this earlier, but Stephen isn’t conducting-”

The all too familiar sound of clapping rang out from the entrance of the hall, cutting you off as everyone turned their attention to the noise, and you were unsurprised to hear frantic whispering at the sight of Tony Stark eagerly conversing with a brooding Agatha Harkness.

The conductor had changed from the outfit you last saw her in earlier that day, opting for a pair of black dress slacks and a violet button down. Her dark brown hair messily fell over her shoulders. In one hand she lightly grasped her baton, while a few music scores were held by the other. 

“Orchestra!” Tony called out, motioning for everyone to gather around him as he walked to the center of the stage. “Unfortunately, Maestro Strange will be taking a personal leave of absence for the duration of our summer season. But I’m very pleased to announce our interim conductor will be none other than Agatha Harkness. She’ll be taking over for the time being, so any questions or concerns are to be directed to her.”

From where you were standing, you watched Dottie’s face turn a sickeningly pale shade of white as Tony went on about what a fantastic marketing opportunity this was for the orchestra. 

“I’m going to turn it over to you now, Maestra. I think you’ll be pleased to see a few members from your orchestra are filling in for the summer,” Tony informed Agatha with a grin, giving her a final handshake before exiting through the side stage doors. 

Agatha leisurely strolled to stand on the podium, her music dropping down with a loud thud as she twirled the baton between her fingers. “Good evening, orchestra. I understand all of you on the West Coast tend to enjoy your relaxed, Erewhon smoothie drinking, sandal wearing, kumbaya lifestyles, but I have a lot to get through tonight. So, I would like to formally invite those of you not on stage to please grace the rest of us with your presence.”

“Sorry, I should have told you sooner,” you whispered apologetically as Monica stared in disbelief at the sight of the conductor. “She ambushed me earlier when I was practicing.”

“It’s fine,” Monica insisted, carefully managing to hold her violin and bow with one hand, while grasping her music with the other. “I’ll see you after rehearsal, good luck!”

While the rest of the orchestra filed on stage, quickly taking their seats, Agatha's eyes scanned the rows of musicians until she stopped, fixating on the empty chair directly to her left. “I see we’re missing our concertmaster? What a pity.”

As you settled in a seat towards the front of the hall, you noticed Dottie squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Unfortunately, Agatha also took notice, and you watched her shark tooth grin widen. “Dottie, I must say I’m rather surprised to see you. I don’t know if I should be more flattered or alarmed, are you stalking me now?”

A strikingly tall woman with jet black hair suddenly appeared out of nowhere, taking a seat next to you, as she gently opened a violin case on her lap. “She’s certainly something, isn’t she?” 

Cocking your head to the side, you frowned. “Who?” 

The woman nodded to the stage, where Agatha was still berating an increasingly embarrassed Dottie. “Harkness, she’s a bit of a wild one. Quite different from our usual Maestro.”

You nodded, watching as the mysterious woman applied a generous amount of rosin to her bow, before carefully placing her now empty case under the seat. “She’s definitely one of a kind. I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman quipped, a knowing smirk on her lips as she stood up. “Our esteemed artist in residence. I caught your performance with the Boston Philharmonic last winter. Your interpretation of Mendelssohn was…surprisingly tasteful.”

You weren’t sure if she was insulting or praising you, but you chose to believe the latter, offering her a polite smile. “Thanks, and you are?”

“Hela Odinson,” the woman introduced herself as she towered over you, giving your shoulder a brief squeeze before she turned away, adding, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have an orchestra to tune.”

Sauntering on stage, Hela cordially nodded to a few of the violinists who said hello to her, making her way to her seat at the front of the section.

It appeared Agatha also noticed the late arrival, as had she paused her verbal rant, curiously eyeing the violinist. “Nice of you to join us, Odinson. I see time management still isn’t one of your strong suits.”

“Well we can’t all be deranged tyrants, Maestra,” Hela playfully fired back, settling in her seat as she placed her bow on the stand, using her free hand to adjust her shoulder rest. “Some of us don’t feel the need to adhere to strict schedules.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair at Hela’s comment.

Rolling her eyes, Agatha’s grip on her baton tightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s always such a treat to speak with you, Hela.” Tapping her baton on the stand, she waited for the side chatter to stop. “Orchestra, your revered Mr. Stark has requested our presence at next week’s Donor Gala. So, we’ll be switching up our rehearsal schedule. We’re starting with Márquez.”

Dropping her baton on the stand, she stalked off the stage as the orchestra began to tune, the sound of winds, brass, and strings filling the hall, making her way to where you were sitting. 

“I thought you said Stephen was sick,” you reminded the conductor as she approached you.

“A personal leave of absence is just that, dear, personal,” Agatha waved off your concern, “I promise it’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.”

She looked at you and for just a moment it felt like nothing had changed, as if you were still her assistant and you hadn’t spent the past five years apart. You used to love sitting in on rehearsals, always eager for any excuse you could to watch Agatha conduct. Although you’d never willingly admit it, heaven knows her ego didn’t need it, you failed to find a conductor you enjoyed working with as much as Agatha. While most conductors shared the same stubborn, prideful qualities, there was no one quite like Maestra Agatha Harkness. 

But, as quickly as the bittersweet feeling came over you, it was gone again, and you were left with the reminder of how much changed, how much you’ve changed. Leaving you to wonder if Agatha has changed much too?

Taking a step closer to you, the conductor pursed her lips, humming to get your attention. “Did you hear a single word I just said?” The guilty expression on your face gave you away, and Agatha sighed. “I hate to do this, but I need to cut Vaughn-Williams today. You know classically trained musicians have difficulty with more…wild rhythms. I’ll need the rehearsal time to run the Márquez to beat every single last syncopated rhythm into their thick skulls.”

“It’s fine,” you insisted, and you should use the extra time to rehearse other music for the Gala, but you felt something urging you to do something else entirely. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay and listen? It’s been a few years since I last played Danzón, I’d love to hear it.”

As if she was somehow expecting you to say that, she smirked. “It’s funny you mention that, because I’m short a violinist today. I know you’re a hot shot soloist now, and I’m sure this is beneath you, but why don’t you sit in with them.”

It wasn’t a question as much as a demand, but you didn’t mind. You never did when it was coming from Agatha.

“I wouldn’t say it’s beneath me, but of course, Maestra. I’d be honored,” you accepted, turning to grab your violin from its case, and your expression fell as you saw a distraught Dottie slouching in her seat. “Hey, maybe you could try to take it easy on Dottie? She really isn’t that bad, you know.”

The once familiar scent of the conductor’s perfume, subtle hints of violet, jasmine, and sandalwood, overtook your senses as she took yet another step closer to you. “I know my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I seem to recall you used to enjoy being beneath me, hm?”

Of course she brought up the memory comment you made earlier, knowing the conductor she would torture you with it for all of eternity. You felt your face grow hot as you blushed, before remembering where you were. “Agatha…”

“Besides, I thought you liked how mean I was,” the conductor murmured, in reference to your comment on Dottie, as she stood far too close to you for far too long. “This is my orchestra after all, at least for the next few months.”

Agatha gave you an absolutely filthy wink, heading back to the podium. Raising her baton, she tapped the stand to signal for the orchestra to pay attention. “We’ll be joined by our summer artist in residence, Y/N, for the rest of rehearsal.” 

She paused as the orchestra broke out into a brief round of applause, and you dared to think she looked pleased at that reaction. After a few seconds she waved her hands to cut them off. “From the top, please.”

You were thrilled to find the open chair was next to Monica, and you grinned wildly. “It’s like I’m having deja vu.”

“I know, right. I’ve gotta say, Maestra seems happier than I’ve seen in a while,” Monica said coyly, giving you an inquisitive look. 

“What?” You whispered, wondering what she was implying. Surely Agatha’s good mood had nothing to do with you, there were a few things that occasionally made her happy. She always appeared happier after picking on Dottie, for example, or when one of the interns got fired. 

“Oh, nothing,” Monica innocently replied, getting the music ready. 

Agatha raised her baton, and the room fell silent in anticipation of her downbeat. Then it began, as her hands masterfully began to conduct, cueing in the solo clarinet, piano, and then oboe with a swish of her baton. You loved almost every piece of music you ever performed, but your heart always held a special spot for Danzón No. 2. Filled with sultry and exquisite melodies, it had several different tempo changes that required you to keep your eyes locked on the conductor. In this case, you had no difficulty doing that, as Agatha Harkness was the most engaging conductor you had ever met. 

You were always surprised at how well she was able to connect with any piece and make it her own, with every flourish of her baton and wave of her hands, it was as if she was the one composing the musical masterpiece herself. Danzón No. 2 was no exception, you realized, mesmerized at the sight of Agatha in her element after so long. There was a tempo change shortly after the start of the piece, and the conductor increased the speed of her baton, urging the orchestra to follow her with little difficulty. This was a particularly fun run to play as a violinist, and you allowed your muscle memory to guide you through the familiar rhythms and notes, as it had been a few years since you had last played it, bow moving in unison with the rest of the first violin section. 

As much as you loved being a soloist, there were few things that could compare to the feeling of playing in the violin section. Mastering difficult passages while your fingers moved completely in sync, counting every rest until you were cued back in, it was a special, tingly, heartwarming feeling that you hadn’t realized you had missed until now. 

One of your favorite sections of this piece was the violin solo, and you watched Agatha cue Hela in. The concertmaster was, unsurprisingly, extremely talented, as she used an impressive amount of vibrato on all of her notes, ringing out through the hall. It was a slow, seductive melody, and every shift of her fingers was exaggerated to draw out the intended luscious sound. As you counted the rests until the rest of the section came back in, you couldn’t help but notice the prolonged eye contact between the conductor and the concertmaster. You then thought back to their brief exchange at the start of rehearsal. Did they know each other? Is Hela the reason why Agatha seemed so happy?

The solo came to an end as Hela played her final note, and as Agatha cued the rest of the section back in, she did something you had never seen before. Using the hand not holding her baton, she pulled her hair back, twisting it into a bun before securing it with her baton. Both hands now free, the conductor took more freedom with the slower tempo, leading the orchestra through the gorgeous melody. As the strings took over, Agatha exaggerated her conducting pattern to encourage the orchestra to grow in sound. Closing her eyes to truly feel the beat, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away, completely content with watching her in all her beauty.

Her eyes opened, suddenly, and they landed on you, her lips twisted upwards to form a rare, but genuine, smile. You couldn’t help but smile back, you had missed this; had missed her. You never stopped missing her. The moment was broken all too soon, as the next tempo change was approaching, and the strings went back to the background syncopated rhythm, Agatha beat out the faster tempo with her hands, baton remaining in her hair. It continued on, with the brass leading the rest of the ensemble to the home stretch, as the violinists did another run up the fingerboard. 

Embracing her dramatic flair, the conductor whipped the baton back out, her hair flying every which way as she furiously laid out the last tempo change, and the orchestra followed suit. A final piccolo and piano duet played out as the brass accompanied, and you were pleased that Agatha wasn’t glaring at Dotite at all. The rest of the piece was a colorful, loud blend of syncopated rhythms and passages filled with scales that were embellished, pushing the orchestra forward with every measure, unrelenting until they reached the ending. Agatha conducted the last beat with a final twirl of her hands, effectively cutting the orchestra off.

“That wasn’t half bad,” Agatha offered, flipping back through her score and making half scribbled notes with her pencil. “If we could go back to the beginning, I need to hear more of the oboe when they come in, so strings make sure you stay below that.” She turned another page back, making a huge circle, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, and Dottie I need you not to fall over, but that wasn’t terrible. I need more piccolo, so play out more…please.”

From where you were sitting, you noticed the MSO cellist, Hope, raise her eyebrows almost comically high from shock, and Monica stifled a gasp. Craning your neck, you watched Dottie nearly fall out of her chair once more, and you were happy for her. You knew Agatha meant well, in most cases, but sometimes she could take things a bit too far. 

In the back of your mind you were still wondering if she had something to do with Stephen’s sudden personal leave of absence, but when you looked back to the podium, those thoughts were swept aside as the woman who occupied nearly all your thoughts was looking at you expectantly, her baton lowered. She didn’t give Dottie a half-compliment because of you, did she? 

Her hair was still flying all over, as it was even more uncontrollable than normal, and you could make out the beads of sweat on her forehead from the effort of conducting such a fast-paced, intense piece. A rather intrusive thought popped in your head as you stared, reminding you the last time you had seen the conductor that out of breath and glistening with sweat was when you were naked in her bed with her fingers curling inside you as she counted how many times she could make you come. 

No, you could not reminisce on those particular memories now, you thought as you tried to keep the blush from spreading on your cheeks.

It hit you full force, for what felt like the millionth time, how much you had missed Agatha Harkness. But here she was, in all her glory, looking at you for some sort of response and all you could do was stare dumbly at her, trying to wordlessly convey every thought, every feeling you had bottled up for the past five years. 

“Thank you,” you mouthed to Agatha, grateful if she had indeed listened to you.

Finally raising her baton, Agatha gave you a wink, another one of those special, rare smiles on her face. “Let’s take it from the top!”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Saw characters comfort you

Mark, Peter, Lawrence, Adam

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, tiny emotional, kissing, mention of smoking

Summary : Everyone has a bad day, a day when you're sad and can't go on, or a day when the world just seems to have got the better of you. How good that even in such a dirty city there is love and comfort that will help you no matter what.

info : Oh man it feels like years since my last Saw post so why not start with a bit of fluff to try and get back into it.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark

He had always been someone who was relatively alone well until the death of his sisters in law there had been at least the two of them but that togetherness came to a sudden end when he found her murdered since then it was just him and his target again as a successor to the man who had given him a new one.

So it seemed if he hadn't come across her during his work as an investigator as well as a follower for John, a woman who tried to show him that there could still be something good in this world if you just looked for it.

It was a time of love and emotion, but it was always a time when the shadow of John and the various spies was over them both and more and more often Mark came home less and less, much to the chagrin of his love, until the evening when she couldn't blink away the tears either and when the door opened Hoffman was confronted with a painful sight.

He just wanted to take a short break in the flat, thinking she was asleep, but when he entered and heard the crying and screaming he knew something was wrong, ,,Darling? Is everything all right, I'm-" he interrupted himself when he saw sir sitting on the bed in the bedroom, crying, holding a months-old picture framed in her hand, a present from him for her birthday when they had both come here from this town together, only for a few days but it had been the most beautiful days of her life.

Sitting down by her bed, he put his hand on hers and stroked her, ,,What's wrong?" he asked quietly, feeling the pain when he saw her tearful look and how reproachfully she looked at him. it hurt like he had only felt this pain the last time he had lost his sister.

She sniffled again and tried to pull away but he held her tightly and gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks, ,,Ma-Mark…how long? How-How long are you going to do it? I don't want to spend every day worrying that you won't come back," she said, looking back at the picture where she saw a smiling happy couple, a couple who knew that what he was doing could not go unpunished and as much as she ignored it, she knew only the utmost was about a future together.

In the past he would have withdrawn from something like this, but only he was so far from his goal that he could give up now, ,,I'm sorry about your pain…but believe me dear, I just need one last game, one last time and then we'll disappear, then we'll be free of all this," he said, gently embracing her face, looking into sad eyes that sought honesty in his gaze.

An honesty she actually found and slowly moved into his arms, ,,Please Mark keep your promise please" she murmured and sniffled away the last of her tears as she gave him a small smile before he pulled her into a holding kiss, holding her body and giving her the support she needed just for that moment to be free of hope again.

A hold they gave each other even in the last moments before the free ride, before the finish line and before the end of the game she believed Mark believed that if they could just hang in there together they would make it together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter

The FBI agent was the one above the law, at least in exceptions, and these exceptions arrived when the first victims were washed up, the first victims executed by Jigsaw in the most brutal way and with each new victim.

Not only Strahm and his colleagues became more nervous as they couldn't catch the killer but also his own drive to suspect his colleague Hoffman became more and more obsessive, an obsession that drew him more and more into this horror.

A horror from which he could only rarely emerge alone, either with his arrest or his death he knew he had to be right to keep the residents safe, to keep those he had sworn to protect safe but the question was if he protected the residents who would protect his partner, his love, his heart when she was home alone?

If she couldn't get back from her work at the vets until the evening and was alone, who would protect her? Questions to which he had no answer despite her pleas, ,,I'll take care of it love, just a little bit okay?" he had put her off every time he drove a short distance in his car in the city centre and left her alone again as he had done for almost the last few weeks…until he got a radio message from Perez that sent a shiver through his body and made him drive his car through the streets faster than allowed.

,,Where is she!" he shouted as he arrived at the police station, pushed past colleagues, victims and others and saw Perez pointing to an interrogation room. ,,Darling, are you all right?" he shouted as he pushed open the door and found his partner wrapped in a blanket with a plaster on her forehead and a small mark on her eyebrow.

,,Peter," she said weakly and fell into his arms as he held her and heard her crying Peter himself had to fight back a few tears as the pain was written all over his face, ,,I should have been there, forgive me for being so sorry" he said, reaching for the cold pack she had been given and pressing it gently against her forehead, looking towards her to see more injuries.

But he saw an amused, angry laugh next to the trembling body, ,,That's not the point…I defended myself through you…but-but if not Peter please I don't want any more" she sniffled, only slowly understanding what she wanted, what the bigger problem was and what was bothering her.

He hugged her to him, she held on to him, slowly trying to calm down and he stroked her back, ,,I'll stay with you every night, you can always stay with me, none of these bastards will hurt you, I promise you love," he told her, his gaze filled with gentleness and yet seriousness as she stroked his head, seeing that he was just as distressed as she was, perhaps not physically but mentally.

But even now as she slept in his arms he held her as they moved from the interrogation room to the couch he held her and watched over her and gave her comfort, comfort she needed now and he would never let her out of his sight again because in the end she was the greatest thing he ever had and would ever get from this filthy town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lawrence

The sound of metal clicking and a twitching noise could be heard as the blonde doctor made his way through the corridors of the old factory to his operating theatre, the walking stick kept coming up and his prosthetic leg made a clicking sound as the splints, screws and leather moved uncomfortably but slowly getting more and more used to it he had hardly given a thought to the day.

He was here to fulfil another task, to implant another key and lock in his stomach and then to stay here for a while before he would go home with his loved one, even after his wife had left him he only had John, but eventually he had found her, a lost nurse with a search for a new purpose and a goal, a purpose she had found in John.

With a slight smile he pushed open the metal door and stepped into the operations room not the best but it was enough, ,,Morning love" he said as he saw his heart sitting on one of the operating chairs a tea in her hand and a slight smile on her lips as she returned his words.

The two of them engaged in the kind of light small talk they always did as they went through the files together, she occasionally nodding to him when he didn't get to things and he gave her a kiss, ,,What would I do without you?" he murmured, seeing her wry smile as they put on the blue surgical apron together and turned to the body on the table.

It was a minor procedure, almost like a daily routine back at the hospital, but he didn't see her smile as she sighed as she looked at the scalpel and put it back in the tray.

,,Is everything okay? Are you unwell?" he asked immediately, circling the table and trying to prop her up to look for signs of pain but she just shook her head, ,,No…not so Lawrence everything here…can you keep it up with them?" she asked, settling into the chair and looking up into his bright eyes that gazed at her.

A look of guilt crossed his gaze for a moment before he took her hand and stroked it gently, ,,It's not easy, not even for me at first…but darling, I see it as the only thing I have left. We can't go back without being eaten by each other," he gave the harsh reply that told the truth, but she knew that if they turned themselves in they would never get back together and sooner or later would be executed or die in prison.

Releasing her hand from his, she hid her face in her hands knowing he was right and yet, ,,Isn't there something we can do?" she asked, hearing the twitching of the stick and the slight squeak of his prosthesis as he knelt in front of her, roughly sunken, taking both her hands and leaving kisses on them.

He was relieved to see that she no longer looked like she was about to cry, he always kissed her when she was feeling bad, ,,When we're done with this one, why don't we go into hiding? Just the two of us together waiting somewhere trying to get through it together…with you together we can do anything yes?" he asked leaning his head against hers for a moment.

Feeling how hard it was for her to get hope sometimes but when he saw her nod as she gave him a kiss and stood up to help him up and he took her in his arms they both managed to gather hope. Hiding didn't have to be out of fear, it could also be a no new beginning a beginning together for their love and hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adam

The music boomed in his ears as the itars and drums tried to combine with the shrill sound of snoring, each louder than the other as Adam was out of the bus, the bag of groceries in his hand swaying back and forth, the cigarette between his lips judging him and the metal music on his ears making him moan from time to time or just bob his head slightly to feel the dancing.

The camera hanging around his neck had taken the latest photos, one assignment after another he always got from John every week, always from the same man…he knew why.

He knew that as soon as the photos were finished, it would soon mean the death of the photographed person, but he barely entertained this thought in his head, he was too used to it.

Walking up the stairs of the old apartment building past the same door and people, he found his door and unlocked it, ,,Honey! I'm back!" he called inside and closed the door behind him but got no answer.

At first he thought she was asleep, he put down his food and put out his cigarette before he looked for her in the living room and bedroom but she wasn't there.

He checked the bathroom to see if she was in the bath but she wasn't there either, ,,Honey?" he asked in amazement and heard a rustling sound, knowing that this paper-like rustling sound could only come from one room, the enlarged storage room, the place where he developed his photos.

Adam went there and actually found her standing in front of the photos thinking she was going to develop a few more while he was gone but instead she just stared at them, ,,Hey is everything okay?" he asked as he heard a sniffle and saw her flinch, seemingly trying to wipe away tears and turn to him.

Despite everything you could see that she had wept, cried a lot maybe for hours he didn't know but immediately his heart tightened, ,,No Adam…it's not all his fault…these photos I-I can't do it anymore…it's like a death sentence" she mumbled and held the photos out to him seeing how he was torn.

He knew they needed the money otherwise they risked being arrested, there was little other option but he also knew that his love for her meant more to him than the money or the prospect of something better, letting the pictures sail to the ground he grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

He pulled her into a kiss her hands wrapped around him holding on to him, ,,Thank you Adam…I know we'll find something but please stop" she said putting her hand on his cheek he could see he was fighting tears, he himself knew what they were doing was wrong he knew they would find something else and until then they would make it together.

It touched him how much she cared for him too, ,,No thank you darling I love you and we can do this…I promise I'll stop" he said pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulling her into a warm embrace holding her until their tears had dried and he lightened the mood when he announced that he had brought muffins which they ate together on the couch wrapped in a blanket.

But most of all they were not only cheerful but happy, happy to at least have another morning without playing judgement on a person they would never meet, they had each other and that was all that mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@megustadilf , @magmabayvi , @faultlessheart , @blackbunnymayw , @s1lut4adamstanheight , @icarus-star

[sungiescheotluv]

falling dominos ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 3.1k

tags/warnings: angst, fluff, minor swearing, jaemin being the best

summary: after one particularly cruel lesson, you swear off anyone in order to protect your mending heart. in comes jaemin, who's kindness must run out someday, right?

notes: hii there! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა this is my first official post on here! this fic was honestly a very in the moment thing i scraped together, so if this doesn't make sense, i do apologise. it's 3 am here, and i can't be bothered to edit now lmao 😭 also, jeno makes a little cameo in this! (i'm sorry for making you an asshole in this T_T) i'm not totally sure if i'll be posting a lot on this blog, but i did want to contribute just a bit of comfort the dreamies are able to give me <3 thank you! much love! (˶˃⤙˂˶)

The first domino fell a while ago. 

Summer is drawing to a close, the smell of freshly-cut grass and sunscreen gone with the autumn winds. It’s to be expected -  things change, nothing lasts. Like your four years at university, they come and now, they’ve gone. It’s strange, adapting to a world that doesn’t revolve around 9 am lectures, that doesn’t include being within walking distance to your best friends, the always crowded student bars and bustling clubs. It feels like you were losing touch with yourself, a version you’ve bloomed into that’s brought you so many blessings. Friends to cherish, knowledge that takes you everywhere and a partner you’d do life with in a heartbeat.

Meeting Jaemin, like most social interactions, is unexpected. The bar you and your friends is unusually deserted for a Tuesday, disgruntled groans and beer bottles slamming against the bar at the ice hockey game broadcasted across the space. You have some interest in the puck movement, having been dragged weeks ago to the campus ice hockey arena for an exciting game against your university’s rival. The roof was moments from being blown off, the energy and screams so palpable you felt it in your frozen fingertips. You thought (naively so) that your night ended when the buzzer blared, ears ringing to commemorate your team’s 5-2 win. That couldn’t be furthest from the truth, your friends somehow convincing you to join them at a house party. Looking back, you should’ve declined - you had deadlines within the week and exams soon after, the smart choice would’ve been to bury your head in books and gain feeling back in your toes - and yet, there you were, tucked away in a dark corner, speaking in low whispers with a boy who was as troubled as he looked. 

You couldn’t blame yourself, once Jeno - or he who shall not be named - flashed his moon crescent smile and made a joke about no jeans fitting him from all the hockey he played. You were already a few drinks in, more approachable and less wise, so you gave in to your desires, let him put you through the mattress in a way that made your eyes roll and toes curl. Of course, he maintained his nice guy image throughout, checking-in with you every step of the way, cooking you breakfast the next day and kissing you in front of his housemates in a sealed promise on his doorstep. You weren’t the type to get your hopes up about men, because they always found a way to disappoint you, but the glimmer in Jeno’s eyes on his doorstep, holding your hand like he didn’t want to let go, you couldn’t help it. You texted a few times following that night, the rose-tinted glasses fading as time stretched on, him never finding the time of day to text you, much less meet up. You’d even gone the extra mile of watching his favourite pro-league teams’ games, becoming a fan of the game yourself. The nail in the coffin was right after exams, when your friends and you squeezed into a stuffy local bar to celebrate, so close to everyone you could hear whispers between lovers. In a familiar voice, you heard word-for-word what Jeno said to you, only to find him staring down at another with the same look in his eyes he gave you.

How foolish you were. Thinking you were anything more than a notch in his bedpost. And in all his audacity, Jeno catches your eyes, a polite nod sent your way before he reverts back to his other, like you didn’t kiss the breath out of you two weeks beforehand. It took you an embarrassingly long time to recover from the shock, the hurt - the whole Christmas break actually - and when you returned to campus, you vowed your friends only mattered because through your two years together, at least they didn’t disappoint you. Unlike the game playing.

Jeno’s favourite team was up against their fated rivals, a team you’ve switched to support out of spite. Unfortunately for you, they were trailing 3-1, and things were looking bleak. A heavy sigh empties out you, arms bracing yourself against the polished bar as you wait your turn to be serviced.

“Sounds like you’ve got the world’s weight on your shoulders.”

You cast the source a sidelong glance, an air of disinterest clouding you before you spare him a sliver of your attention, heart ceasing in the process. He’s a couple inches taller than you, chiselled face highlighted by the dimmed neon lights of the bar. His chestnut brown hair is shades lighter than the brown in his eyes, a twinkle so kind to them that you’re oddly at ease. He’s got an easy smile too, one full of a life you see together years down the line. He’s beautiful. Surely, there’s a catch? Maybe, this is the universe’s way of testing you. Seeing if you’ll make one and the same mistakes again. You wouldn’t, not after how discarded you felt after Jeno. But in the low chatter of the bar, you feel nudged towards him. Like if you take this chance, maybe you’ll rewrite your fate. End the curse of selfish interests and find someone worth loving.

“Hockey will do that to you,” you shrug, averting your eyes because you can’t stand how intentional he looks at you. “Something I’ve recently discovered.”

He laughs, hearty and genuine. “Comes with the territory, unfortunately. Planning my team’s cup parade has been an on-and-off thing since I can remember.”

“Leafs?” He nods and you snicker, recognizing his pain. “At least we’re in the same boat.”

“Misery loves company, I’ve heard,” he smiles, a stutter in your chest the after affect. “Well, since we’re gonna be subjected to this torture for the next two periods, might as well get to know each other. My name’s Jaemin.”

He offers his hand, a formal act that takes you by surprise. You simper regardless, accepting the handshake with a burn against your skin rivaling the sun, telling him your own name.

“Could I interest you in a drink? That usually helps with the sorrows.” he offers, a teasing grin amidst his charming features. As if you could say no to him. 

Jaemin flags the bartender over, two drinks placed before you two. You glance back at your table nearby, catching your friends huddled together on the edge of their seats watching the interaction unfold. The sea of nods and thumbs up makes your eyes roll, a gesture Jaemin catches onto as he looks over his shoulder. He’s playful enough to be amused, politely waving to your group who waves back, falling into a series of audible chatter afterwards.

“They’re not usually that uhm…forward.” You reason, gazing down into your drink.

“I don’t mind forward. It’s funny, if anything,” Jaemin says, running his fingers through his hair. “Do you?”

There’s a hidden layer to his question, nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. Would you like me to be forward? Let you know how much of my interest you hold?

 “Not at the moment,” his eyebrows raise slightly. “Depends on what’s in store.”

Jaemin hums, the corners of his lips lifting which he shields taking a swig of his beer. “I can think of a few things.”

You curse at yourself, opening the door for something that’s already led you down a treacherous path. However, to Jaemin’s credit, those few things conclude at casual brushes of the hand, warm smiles accompanied with heartfelt compliments and his number. He even gets a round of shots for your friends when you part ways, lending all the power to you who is quickly surrounded by squeals and eager looks from your friends. You try not buy into the hype, because you know how this story ends, but you can’t help but hope you’re wrong. 

How wrong you are unfolds the weeks following your encounter, texts sent back and forth at the speed of light like you’re the exception to his day, more encounters following. Jaemin shows up as who he is - warm, insightful and stupidly kind. You’re waiting for the sheep to shed its clothing, but the moment never happens. He treats you like you spin his world around, finding every and any excuse to speak, to see you. You bond over the very thing you started to resent - hockey - and turn it into something more. A topic of conversation, an excuse to spend time together, a date idea you toss around, all until other things fill in the gaps. Become the glue that joins your hearts together, beating in sync. 

You’d promised yourself you’d never fall for another selfish guy again, and you didn’t. Jaemin gives you every bit of himself, devoting himself to being the partner you deserve. A partner that remembers the little things, that picks you up when you’re feeling low, the one person who despite the constant change in your life remains constant. It’s refreshing having his stability in your life, particularly when that first domino falls. When you graduate and have to face the real world.

Jaemin accustomizes himself to the new change relatively quickly, finding a job and apartment before you even graduate. Some people are lucky that way, like some of your friends. You, on the other hand, struggle beyond your graduation day, your smile unnerved in your portrait because you’re so unsure of your future. Friends and family alike assure you you’ll find better luck as the sunny days go by, but when the leaves turn from green to yellow-brown, when they start to fall to the ground, your worries set in.

Another domino falls when the friends you could see on an given whim take over an hour to see, the end of university dispersing you back to hometowns or big cities that promised adventure. You’re holding yourself together, appearing unaffected when you have to move back in with your parents and take up a job you left to go to university. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is, especially when you’re gathered at a cocktail filled table with friends glowing from their new lives polished by elite jobs and new experiences (new friends too). All you can contribute is how many customers have nagged you about the ice cream machine not working.

It isn’t all bad, per se. Since you’re living with your parents again, you save more money which you direct to a travel fund. Ever since you’d met, Jaemin and you always talked about traveling. He’d capture you in front of famous landmarks with his camera, but also capture you in candid moments - pleased that everything ended up working out. It was something you were working towards, a goal you’d taken concrete steps towards but soon, they had to crumble.

A string of bad luck begins to permeate your life, nothing too worrisome at first, but after spending more than necessary to fix your car, being publicly humiliated at work and watching your friends live their best lives online, your patience wears thin. The straw that breaks the camel’s back is the necklace Jaemin gave you early in your relationship breaking. It would’ve been fixable if it weren’t for it falling in between machinery at work that couldn’t be moved in case of a casualty and at this point, you’re no longer strong. You’re not bracing the dominos with all your might and as a result, they crush you, falling against your back and trickling down all the way until the end. 

It’s a wonder how you make it to Jaemin’s apartment for your at-home date and when you step inside, the scent of your favourite meal wafting in the air, you shed a tear. Or a few. Sniffling while you’re taking off your shoes, and of course, the shoelaces somehow get tangled and you’re suddenly fighting a battle you can’t win. Every tug of your laces a test of your willpower.

“Baby love?” 

Your bottom lip quivers, bitten down into as you turn your head to your boyfriend. Bathed in soft lighting, he wears a pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron across his My Melody pajamas that match your Kuromi ones. He looks as charming as he did the first day you met, even kinder than you’d known. Luna’s circling around him, her tail curling around his leg and it makes your poor heart burst, the tears overflowing.

He’s at your side before you blink them away, collapsed on the entryway ledge with you as his warm hands cup your face.

“What’s wrong, love?” he calls, gentle like he’s always been. “Please tell me so we can solve it together. Your heart’s too beautiful to be crying like this.”

You sob harder, his thumbs not fast enough to dry the stream from your eyes. “I’m so lost, Jaemi. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“With what?”

“I’m so far behind,” you sulk, looking at him through tears. “Everyone’s got their shit figured out. Life is happening for them, not at them.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, bringing your body closer as you cradle into his arms, letting your heart break into a million pieces. “Life’s no race, no one knows where they’re going.  There’s nowhere you need to be right now. Everyone moves at their own pace, right?”

“But-”

“Don’t make yourself the exception. Life’s never easy, but you’re making the best of your situation. Yours is the only one that matters, because it’s your story,” Jaemin rasps, a soothing hand caressing your back. “It may not go according to plan, but if there’s anything I know, it’s that you have it in you. To pick yourself up and do the hard things, because you know you deserve more. You know you deserve better.”

A kiss atop your head. “And I’ll be there to support you, each step of the way,”

Another on your forehead. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need, okay?”

Your last tears absorb into your eyelashes, peering up at Jaemin, who on your worst days, looks at you like you hold all the secrets to the universe. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” And you mean it. With every fiber of your being.

The collapse of dominos seems to wear you out, surrendering yourself as you go limp in Jaemin’s arms. With a kiss on the forehead, he shuffles to the edge of the doorway ledge, scooping his arms underneath your legs and supporting your back as he stands to his feet. Instinctively, you cling to him, Jaemin providing that same stability he’s given you from the moment you two met. Venturing further into his apartment, he plots you down on the living room couch, all his three cats coming to rest alongside you in his absence. You hear the bath start to run and sink into the couch at the thought, being lulled to the sounds of soft purs and fur.

In your sleepy daze, you don’t realise Jaemin’s finished running the bath until the cats are launching off you, cradled in his arms again as he hums his way to the bathroom. The only lights hat occupy the space are scented-candles, lavender filling the air as Jaemin steads you to your feet, your shared chill playlist blaring a speaker nearby.

Working at the buttons of your blouse, your eyebrows furrow at the shirt he removes. “You’re getting in with me?’

Jaemin offers a sweet, reserved smile, hands picking up where you left off. “Of course. Who else is going to wash your back, hmm?”

He kisses your nose once done, shedding his own share of clothes before slipping into the bubble-filled tub. He makes a comment about how much you’d enjoy the temperature of the water, his flinching a clear indication as he pats against his chest for you to lay. Somehow, with your body sagging with prolonged exhaustion, he draws a simper out of you, tensions dissipating from your muscles as you turn your brain off and simply be. 

Head against his chest, Jaemin’s heart sings to you at a slow and soft pace, his hand overlapping yours as he massages the pressure points on them. It’s as if you’re transported to another world, all you know being quiet and serenity as your problems melt away for just those few moments together. 

“Thank you,” you croak, a sleepy film blurring your vision. “For everything.”

“No need to thank me,” he murmurs, fingers intertwining with yours. “I’ve got your back - forever and always.”

You give his hand an affectionate squeeze, turning your head to give him a peck, only to find his jawline lathered in foam. Jaemin does his best Santa impression, moving his chest with his laughs. It’s lame, but it does the trick, filtering laughter out of you with the shake of your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You still love me though,” he presses a kiss against your cheekbone, bits of his foam beard left behind. 

“Unfortunately.”

“Must be feeling a lot better if you’re speaking like that,” he squeezes your hand, a series of kiss down your neck making you giggle and splash around the tub. 

“I am,” you admit, an instinctive hand going to clasp against your necklace, only for there to be none. “My necklace - it broke off at work.”

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry baby,” another squeeze. “Is it in your bag?”

“It fell between some machinery at work, I couldn’t get to it,” a lump of emotion wells in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Accidents happen, it’s okay,” he reassures you, steady and calm to ground you. “Wanna know something?”

“What?” you ask.

“I actually bought you another necklace earlier today,” he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “There’s this store on the way to work that had one with your birthstone. It was going to be your Christmas present but,”

“Santa came early this year,” you chuckle, the tilt of your head giving you access to kiss his jaw. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

You spend the rest of your night like this, basking in the boundless love Jaemin and you share, wrinkles forming against your skin before you climb out the bath, sitting in your matching pyjamas while enjoying your favourite meal and Leafs hockey game. It’s a bit different from your normal date nights, but it works for you two. Like how everything leading up to your meeting - good or bad - led you here, in the arms of a man who loves you like no other. A man who proved you wrong at every turn and never turned away, staying with you until all the dominos were in place again.

[glowettee]

Hey girly~~

I'm a writer and blogger recently navigating Tumblr. Sometimes I worry that no one will really care what I have to say, or care about my ideas. What's the best thing to focus on when I feel this way? I think I'm just looking for a little encouragement💗. I hope this makes sense!

hey sweetheart, so sorry i've been extremely inactive. finals have been draining, exhausting, and overwhelming!! i'm almost done, but i wanted to answer your question because it made me sooo freaking happy!!!

this question literally touched my heart because i've been exactly where you are!! that feeling when you pour your thoughts and creativity into your writing, hit post, and then wonder if anyone out there is actually connecting with your words? i completely understand that vulnerable feeling, bestie! 

first of all, i want to say how brave it is to create and share your writing in the first place! putting your thoughts out into the world takes so much courage, and the fact that you're doing it already shows how much passion you have. that's something to be proud of regardless of the notes or reblogs!

when those doubts creep in (and trust me, they visit all of us, even people with thousands of followers!), here are some gentle reminders and perspectives that have helped me create my blog:

1. remember why you started writing

   ✧ was it to process your own thoughts?

   ✧ to connect with others who feel the same way?

   ✧ to create something beautiful?

   ✧ to document your journey?

   returning to your original purpose can be so grounding when the external validation feels uncertain. i keep this in mind whenever i'm planning ideas, writing my posts or even when i feel unmotivated to write a bunch of words onto the tumblr word processor. this generally just helps you focus on the purpose for your blog/writing.

2. focus on quality over quantity

   ✧ one genuine connection with a reader who truly resonates with your words is worth more than hundreds of passive scrollers

   ✧ some of my favorite writers and bloggers have smaller but incredibly devoted followers

   ✧ meaningful engagement > follower count (always!!)

3. celebrate the uniqueness of your voice

   ✧ no one else has your exact perspective, experiences, or way of expressing things

   ✧ the internet doesn't need more people trying to sound like everyone else

   ✧ your specific voice is exactly what someone out there is looking for

   ✧ authenticity always shines through and attracts the right people

4. remember that growth takes time

   ✧ most "overnight successes" actually took years of consistent posting

   ✧ tumblr especially works on connections and community building

   ✧ your words might be quietly collecting in someone's bookmarks even if they haven't engaged yet

   ✧ some of my posts that got almost no notes when first published suddenly found their audience months later!

5. create for yourself first

   ✧ write what brings you joy, healing, or clarity

   ✧ if you're excited about your content, that energy will naturally attract others

   ✧ when you love what you create, external validation becomes a bonus rather than a necessity

   ✧ the posts i'm most proud of aren't always my most popular ones!

   ✧ make sure to utilize aesthetics in your post, ones you enjoy are always a bonus, and it's so fun to design your post according to whatever aesthetic/vibe

6. engage with other writers/bloggers and creators

   ✧ leave thoughtful comments on posts you love

   ✧ reblog with your own additions

   ✧ join writing challenges or community events (example: tag games)

   ✧ respond to asks and messages

   ✧ community building is a two-way street! this is my favorrrrittee part of being a girlblogger.

7. trust the timing of your journey

   ✧ some days will be quiet, others will surprise you with connection

   ✧ consistency matters more than immediate results

   ✧ your words might be exactly what someone needs to read tomorrow, or next month, or next year

i also want to remind you that even the most popular writers and bloggers have moments of doubt! it's part of the creative process to sometimes wonder if what you're making matters. but just know your perspective is inherently valuable. your experiences are worth documenting. your creative expression deserves space in this world.

when i first started my blog, i would sometimes post things that got almost no interaction. but then i'd get a single message from someone saying "this was exactly what i needed to read today" and it would remind me why i started in the first place.

keep nurturing your writer's heart, keep showing up for your creativity, and keep sharing your unique voice with the world. the right readers will find you, i promise. and in the meantime, take pride in the courage it takes to create and share in the first place!

sending you all the creative inspiration and confidence vibes!! hope this helps <3

xoxo, mindy 🤍

> submit to the hotline so we can trauma bond: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[wolfjackle-creates]

Hi!! I haven't been on Tumblr for a while but I used to read a fic you made out of a prompt (?) Someone else made about Danny who freaked out when he realized the Waynes are the Bats and accidentally shot Bruce(?) And if I'm not mistaken you made a part 2 of it (idr remember if it was a wip or finished) but do you have a masterlist so I can re-read it :D? So sorry if I sound weird (´⌒｀;)

It is absolutely never weird to ask an author about their works!!!! Thanks so much for sending this in.

It's been ages since I've worked on this one, but it's definitely on my short list to get back to. Especially since I'm pretty close to having it finished?

Here's chapter 1 on AO3. And the Subscription Post.

Chapter 2 is limited to Tumblr right now, only two parts currently. Part 1 can be found here.

Currently it's called Want to Hold on and Feel I Belong. However, when I do start updating on AO3 again, I plan to change the name. (I'm just waiting so people who have subscribed are more likely to remember what they're getting an email about.) Mostly I refer to it as my Bad Reveal AU. Though I get that's not a great working name as that's usually reserved for the Fenton parents reacting badly rather than Danny reacting badly.

Also, as a thanks for reminding me that it's been a while since I've posted anything about this fic (or, well, in general), have the next bit!

Here's a random 1.5k.

Previous

-----

Having a potential lead so close meant the hours until J’onn’s arrival were spent in prep mode.

Every uniform had to be checked for the slightest damage and upgrades done where possible. Supplies and go-bags were organized so they could leave the moment they had a lead. Fuel levels in every vehicle were checked and topped off where necessary.

And finally, the zeta tube activated and J’onn stepped out. “Good day to all of you. I heard my assistance was needed?”

Bruce went to greet him. “J’onn. Danny’s room is upstairs. Did Clark explain the situation?”

“Yes. He said that your newest ward has density shifting powers and left things behind in his walls and floor before running away a few days ago.”

Bruce nodded sharply. “Follow me. Clark will show you where the items are hidden so you can retrieve them.”

Dick happily zipped up what felt like the hundredth bag he’d had to pack and joined them. “Hey, J’onn. Welcome. How have you been?”

“Greetings, Dick. It has been a long time since our last meeting. I have been well. I want to wish you luck in finding your brother swiftly and easily.”

Dick nodded his thanks. “Same. We’re really hoping he left behind something to help because we haven’t had much luck so far.” Dick pulled out his phone and notified the family of J’onn’s arrival and requested they meet in Danny’s room.

On the way, Bruce and Dick filled J’onn in on the situation. At the implication of government experimentation, he face went hard and he vowed he would help them however he could.

Clark, Jason, and Alfred were already there when the group arrived and the rest weren’t far behind. With everyone present, the room felt crowded.

“Where should I start?” J’onn asked Clark.

“Behind the NASA poster. I think that’s where he keeps the weapons. One of them is an object that looks like it might be the same as, or at least similar to, the weapon that shot Bruce.”

Under Clark’s direction, J’onn removed not just two more energy guns, but also a glowing-green net, a boomerang, a tube of lipstick, what looked like a weird, high-tech thermos, and a wooden baseball bat with a sticker that said “Fenton” on it.

Dick couldn’t help but whistle at the pile. “Damn, he was packing all this?”

“Apparently,” said Damian. But Dick could tell his youngest brother was impressed and mentally reassessing his beliefs of Danny. “Perhaps he is not as helpless as I previously believed.”

“Why’s he got lipstick?” asked Steph as she picked up the tube.

“Don’t!” ordered Bruce even as she opened it and released a laser beam that left a small scorch mark on the ceiling.

She stared in shock before laughing. “Oh, damn! When he comes back, I’m so asking if he could get me one of these. That’s so cool!”

“Can I see that?” asked Barbara.

“Wait until we’re in the cave,” said Bruce with a sigh. Both women grinned at him.

Dick reached down and grabbed the net. Despite the color, it seemed normal enough, maybe a little smoother than most rope he’d handled. He pulled out a pocket knife and was able to slice through one of the ropes easily enough. Jason came over to look at it with him.

“Anything weird about it?” he asked as he reached out to touch it. “Huh, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd about it? Seems pretty normal to me.”

“It just… It feels weird. It almost hurts to touch.” When Dick looked at him sharply, Jason quickly added, “It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like it should. If that makes sense.”

“Feels normal to me.” Dick showed him the break he’d made.

Jason shrugged. “Dunno, then. I just get a weird feeling from it.”

Damian picked up the energy gun, Tim the thermos, and Duke the boomerang when Alfred cleared his throat.

“Before we get distracted, might I remind you that there is more to find? We can bring everything down to the cave to examine them with no more damage to Master Danny’s room.”

Everyone sheepishly put down the things they were holding. Dick bit back a laugh when he noticed Clark push the baseball bat away from himself with his foot.

“So, J’onn,” Clark said. “I think the next area of interest is behind this poster.” He gestured at a poster of the horsehead nebula. Dick had helped Danny find it and hang it up and the kid had talked about nebulae for over an hour as they did. The memory caused his eyes to burn.

From this stash, J’onn pulled some notebooks and two external hard drives, which Barbara took. Dick and Bruce both grabbed a notebook. Dick opened his to the first page.

Journaling is such a stupid idea. I don’t have any time for it but Jazz says I need to get my feelings out. Pointless. So what if I can’t sleep and Skulker attacked me again today during English getting me another detention. Its not my fault! Shit, haven’t done that essay for Lancer. If I miss any more assignments he’s gonna fail me for real.

Everyone knew Danny had been failing before he’d been brought to them, but he’d refused to discuss why. Once he was in school in Gotham, he’d gotten straight A’s. Even if he did ask for the occasional help in English from Jason.

But this raised so many questions. Who was Skulker and why were they attacking Dick’s little brother during English class. He flipped through the pages. Interspersed between journal entries were drawings of schematics. Dick thought he recognized some of the designs as the weapons they’d uncovered.

His eyes caught on an entry that started with a string of curses.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. My parents saw Dani today. In ghost form. They actually managed to hit her. Only her second visit and I couldn’t keep her safe. Some big brother dad cousin whatever I am. I did get her to the Far Frozen. Frostbite fixed her up. Taught me what to do if it happens again, too. And gave me the medicines and supplies to do it. I’m so glad I have friends in the Zone now. It makes it so much easier. I can’t get the image of Dani’s blood staining my hands out of my mind. Going to Tuck’s tonight. I can’t be around my parents right now.

Stomach dropping, he flipped a few more pages until he found one with a photo. It was a grinning Danny with white hair and wearing a jumpsuit standing on a curved balcony. Behind him, spire buildings rose into the air, many rounded in a way not often found on Earth.

Clockwork took me to Mars today! Holy shit it is so cool. Just, everything. We went back to when they were thriving and I had to stop an invasion. But that’s not important. Everyone here can go intangible despite being alive. Some of their buildings don’t even have doors because they’d be pointless! And the plants and animals are all so different, too. Clockwork helped me find some books on Martian history and biology and evolution. He’s also gonna show me where the Martians exist in the Zone so I can learn their language. Maybe one day I can go to Krypton or Tamaran as well?

Dick stared back at the picture. It did have that distinctive feel of wrong that extraterrestrial landscapes always had. He swallowed. “Uh, J’onn?”

“Yes, Dick?”

“Um, Danny. This is his journal. He said he went to Mars. Before… Just, before. He’s got a picture. Is this real?” He handed the photo to J’onn who hesitated a moment before taking it.

J’onn froze as he stared at the simple image. “I… Yes. This is my home. How…?”

Dick shrugged and wished he had an answer for the last of the Martians. “Someone called Clockwork brought him there apparently. To stop some sort of invasion? He didn’t discuss that much. He was too interested in the planet and people to talk about what he did. He was hoping to visit Krypton and Tamaran, too. Also said something about Martians existing somewhere he called the Zone. He wanted to meet them to learn the language.”

The look on J’onn’s face at the mention of other Martians existing somewhere was heartbreaking. Maybe Dick shouldn’t have said anything? When Danny came home, would he maybe want to talk to J’onn about Mars?

With clear reluctance, J’onn handed the picture back. “This is your brother in the photo?”

“Yeah. I mean, Danny usually has black hair and blue eyes, but that’s him. Do you recognize him?”

J’onn nodded. “Of course. He is the Omen. His coming foretells death and destruction which he will then try to avert. I know what invasion he is speaking of, it is, was, taught in our history books. He saved all of Mars that day. We thought him a god.”

Dick’s mouth fell open. His little brother? A god?

-----

Did you enjoy your little surprise update tonight? Let me know what you think!

[unofficial-underfell]

Hey guys, I've been thinking about making this post for a long time and I think its finally time I do so. After realizing that some of my last work was done over a year ago, I don't think I can really ignore it anymore. While I haven't quite thrown in the towel on this quite yet, it's pretty evident to me and I'm sure to everyone who still follows this blog that my fervor for the project has drastically decreased. And has been kind of dead for a while. The comic has not been a priority to me, or posting online much at all actually. I did some soul searching and found that I'd started relying on outside approval for my art instead of doing art for the sake of wanting to tell a story and express myself throughout my work. I have limited energy and depression and sometimes it feels like i get such little progress done even though it takes all of my energy. While I'm trying to go to the gym more and build better habits my energy levels and mood still have a lot to be desired, and I'd rather use the limited energy I have to work on something I'm more passionate about.

I've been trying to grow my skills and absorb more stories and I've moved around a lot and started to listen to what I really felt, and I found that a lot of the art I want to focus on deals with heavier and more mature topics. I do love this story, and all of the characters and I feel like I could make a really clever subversion of what is expected from an Underfell comic. But I feel like in these uncertain times with the world and with all of the stuff going on right now, I'd like to use my energy to work on stories that hit closer to the things that I feel are important. So that's why I've not been posting much.

I'm working on a book, and I've actually got quite a lot of progress done on it, but because of all the horror stories online about people stealing author's original works, I'm kind of holding off on publishing any chapters before I can copyright the first draft of the novel. So my online activity will still be pretty scarce for a bit, though I'll still post occasionally on my @cosmicpixel01 account. I'll try better to not be so radio silent though lol. Even if that means I'll post something boring about my dog or books I'm reading just so everyone knows I'm still alive.

I don't want to call it quits on the story. But I also feel like you guys have been kept waiting to see what happens for a really long time, and that makes me feel so guilty. I will try to finish up the pages I have in the works, and I'm probably going to switch to a different format that is some drawings, some writing to finish the story. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish it the way I intended for you guys, even with all of the support and kind words and even the fanart that I've kept in a folder on my desktop. I am letting a lot of you down, but I feel like the radio silence is probably more irresponsible than just going out and saying something. And I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting for a not-so-happy update on the blog.

I hope that some of you will continue to follow me for some of my other exploits and see whatever other things I have going on, but I understand that you all followed me for Undertale so I don't want you to feel any sort of guilt if you decide not to. I'm just happy you all supported me for so long.

I'll try to work on this blog again soon, and if anyone has any questions, my asks are open, though I'll probably keep the asks private. Until then I hope everyone stays safe out there. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

-Avery