#i think i disassociated during that actually

[lmkwritings]

GASP, ASK'S! Hello lovely writer! it is I, an fellow notefication on reader! SO can i get some Like Mk headcanons? and some redson with an bunny demon s/o? (Asking bc i love just imagening hugging someone witha fluffy as hell boobs as the gay af person i am) gender can be ither fem or gender nutrol Sorry for my bad gramer and spelling- first laungueg is swedish and english is my 5th laungeg so so sorry for gramer mistakes

Lots of love from the friendly snake!

some quick grammar tips for you before we dive in;

“with a bunny”

“i love just imagining”

“can be either fem or gender neutral”

“Language”, but otherwise, i probably wouldn’t have noticed you weren’t a fluent speaker if you hadn’t pointed it out!

MK has Inattentive ADHD, like me!

this form of ADHD makes it Hard to stay on track and keep a steady schedule, often needing it to be either; a) consistent or b) predictable.

MK has a Lot of fun learning new things, and is often found with his face buried in a book (usually titled “{this thing} for dummies!”)

when idle/not doing anything, he start spinning the staff around his hand/fingers like a pen

the bandana was a gift from pigsy’s ma! (his grammy)

he has, can, and will, rearrange his entire apartment to find something he lost

hates sitting still- the only time he’s found it easy to do so is in the Tuk-Tuk

he is “heavy footed” meaning that when he drives, he is almost always pressing down on the gas, consciously or not!

MK is a “Maladaptive Daydreamer”, and one of his biggest triggers for it is Music, a few of the smaller ones are Repetitive Movement (ex; swaying boats, rocking, moving cars), bright flashing colors (Mei often has to snap him out of it when he falls under in the club), and sitting still for too long!

MK has “fallen under” (Ex; Disassociated, Daydreamed, panic/anxiety attack) in multiple places-

once, in the zero-gravity club when a bright light beam flashed him in the eyes, and he “woke up” to Pigsy sitting on his bed rubbing circles into his back, Tang reading to him, and Mei quietly tapping away on her phone with a weighted blanket and comfort/attack clothing on.

again, on Sandy’s boat when he sat still long enough for his “Lizard Brain” to recognize that the boat was rocking, and “Waking up” again, with cats draped over him, Sandy quietly chatting idly while sipping on tea, and himself covered by a weighted blanket and holding a (warmish) cup of tea.

when MK daydreams, his head’ll twitch and jerk, hands twitching and/or clenching. sometimes he’ll start pacing and he’ll sway, lean a bit too far or turn around really fast and slip/trip over himself. he’ll make facial expressions and get emotional with the scenarios and worlds unfolding in his head.

((he’s woken up a few times to a demon with mind reading abilities wailing out “no wait it was just getting good!”))

——————————

Red Son was- Unsurprisingly -rich.

and rich people? the wealthy?

really have a thing for “very feminine, looks dainty, could probably be royalty, can absolutely kick your ass into next week”

Red Son’s head lifted, raising an eyebrow at you, he stares questioningly, to which your tail flicks a bit, and you knock some of his pillows askew as you burrow into his sheets.

a soft call of your name, and a chair screeeeching over marble floors, and then a warm hand settled on your back, the sheets over your large rabbit like ears drawing back, allowing you to look up at him through your bangs.

he smiled softly down at you, head tilting as his horns glinted in the low lighting- those fuzzy bull ears of his enticing you onto your knees, fingers immediately running over and petting, caressing his ears. with a low chuff chuff chuff, Red Son melts into your touch, sighing softly as he slides up and onto the bed, and then your lap.

straddling you briefly, he settles down on the mattress in between your (verrrry fluffy) legs, hands settling on your thighs, fingers slowly gliding through your fur; just like your fingers gently squeezed and caressed and massaged his ears.

he smiled in a quiet kind of bliss when he heard the soft little “click tik click tiktiktik”of your teeth clicking together.

[mercutiotakethewheel]

Kendra, inwardly: Omg I am so scared right now. I’m going to die here. This freakyass magical creatures about to do me in. And could do so easily, which I am imagining very vividly right now. Those are huge teeth. I am fighting god to hold it together right now. I don’t want to die. Why am I here? Just to suffer, every night I close my eyes and—

Kendra, outwardly: I cast vicious mockery.

[moonshynecybin]

marc being soo lonely and unpopular is my roman empire. you're telling me he's really just a weird kid with no friends, his best friend is his brother? my heart breaks for him. and he's had so many highs and lows in his career and the only one who Really understands is vale but vale won't talk to him and is also the one who made his loneliness a lot worse? turned everyone and especially the media against him.. vale's kids hate marc even though they're too young to fully grasp their history! vale has sooo much work to do after the reunion... getting his boys to like marc and be nice to him, being there for marc again. getting marc to trust him again! no marc, you don't have to deal with everything all by yourself anymore! something is bothering you? talk to me about it i'm here for you! it'll be so worth it though, can you imagine marc finally coming out of his shell again, comfortable to be himself again, still a bit disbelieving that all of those people are his Friends now? he's not alone anymore?? i think about this daily

i love nice things for marc so it is fun to imagine vale looping him in on his abundance of community and that being very healing for both of them... marc IS a pretty isolated dude as a result of being like. ruthlessly competitive and a prodigy and his crazy schedule etc we've all seen it. that being said. i do wonder about that boy's social skills bc vale has a lot of similar traits/life experiences and has like half the grid convinced he's their daddy.

[suckinitup]

lil writing I foud in the drafts. TW disassociation and brain fog

Vyncent doesn't feel awake.

He blinks down at the stove, slow, and tries to remember what he was making. Soup, his mind supplies, but that's obviously not right. It's a frying pan in front of him with little cubed pieces of beef. His knife is in one hand, a spatula in the other. There's still muck on his knife. He puts the spatula down in the pan to stir, but his attention is drawn again to his knife. Why hadn't he cleaned it off, yet?

Hands to pocket, finds his cloth, hesitates. Raw meat juice. Can't contaminate anything. That's the important thing in cooking. Not contaminating your surfaces.

Wait. Aren't people raw meat? His cloth is already contaminated, and so is his knife. That's okay then. They're allowed to be gross, the way that cutting boards are allowed to be gross. He'll just have to wash his hands afterwards.

He puts his cloth to the knife and pauses, stares at it. He's just standing there. Everything feels like cotton, like fabric between his finger and an edge.

Careful, that's right, that's what he was trying to remember. Careful along the blade so he doesn't cut, doesn't dull. Just wipes clean.

Knife away. Cloth in pocket. A pan in front of him, sizzling, and a spatula left inside it. He goes to grab the spatula by the handle, remembers the contamination, and withdraws. The sink...?

Behind him. Washing his hands is important. He goes to do that. Nothing is connecting right and he tries to focus on the steps. Water, soap, lather. The sink keeps running. Vyncent stares at the water flow, uncomprehending as his hands run over each other.

"Vyncent?"

Vyncent looks up to see Dakota. "Oh. Hey."

Dakota's eyes sweep over the scene. His eyes narrow a little and he frowns--his thinking face. Vyncent resigns himself to patient waiting, but the expression disappears as quickly as it had arrived. "Bad day?" Dakota asks, voice soft.

"Huh?" 

Vyncent looks down. His hands are still under the running faucet. He doesn't know how long he's been here.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess."

It's a little easier with Dakota there, moving around behind him. Like watching the hands of a clock, seeing the time move in front of him. Vyncent turns off the water, starts dying his hands as he listens to the little click of the stove turning off behind him. Oh, that weird smell is like burning. That's probably what drew Dakota in here. "...Is it rude to order pizza?" Dakota asks, almost hesitant. It's weird for Dakota to act delicate, like Vyncent is fragile. That's a mode usually reserved for William. Vyncent isn't sure how to act when its turned on him. Not sure how to feel about it.

"Nah," Vyncent answers, putting extra effort into the casual shrug of his shoulder. Look at him, feeling fine. "Pineapple?" 

"Will's going to kill you," Dakota says easily. "Yeah, pineapple. Hey, how about a movie?"

"Something scary?"

"I'll ask Will to pick," Dakota decides. He presses forwards, effectively herding Vyncent towards the other room. Vyncent feels mildly irritated, and mildly fond. The cotton is thinner, and his thoughts are easier to hold on to. He's awake enough, even, to go to the couch without prompting and have the forethought to adjust the pillows, grab the blankets. He hears Dakota on the phone behind him, already ringing up the pizza place, so he takes it upon himself to pre-choose a few movie selections for William. He doesn't have to. It's probably a little rude. He wants to pick at least a little, like he has to prove that he can. But also. He doesn't want to watch the Bee Movie right now.

It's nice, though, when William comes in and takes a pick from Vyncent's selections. It's nice when they're all bundled onto the couch, Dakota's head in his lap and William a warm line against his side. Solid weight. It's still a bad day. Still hard to focus on the movie, hard to follow the plot. It's a nice bad day, though, and right now that's enough.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[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!

[krirebr]

All Things Go 1

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Summary: It's been a few months since Steve was pulled out of the ice and immediately had to fight aliens with the newly formed Avengers. He is doing fine with all that, all things considered. Which is why he's so upset when he's suddenly benched from missions and forced to welcome a support omega into his home. He's fine!

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), panic attack, disassociation flashback, Steve actually having to deal with the PTSD and depression and anxiety he would so clearly have if he'd been through everything in the MCU, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possible slow burn - we'll see All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Oh boy. Here I am. Back on my angsty bullshit. This story was kickstarted by this ask. It's an inverse of the program at the center of Still Life, but not in the same universe.

This idea was helped along a ton by @stellar-solar-flare who helped me overcome my fear of writing a mostly canon compliant Steve and dipping my toes into an Avengers AU.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Steve checked his watch for a third time as he paced around his apartment. It was bad enough that he had to indulge this ridiculous idea, but she was late on top of it. Four minutes, now. He’d been pacing for the last fifteen. He’d tried to sit down while he waited, but the buzz of the adrenaline just under his skin had been too strong. 

It was the disrespect, that’s what it was, that really bothered him in her tardiness. That was going around lately. A whole team that refused to listen to him. And then had the gall to go to Fury behind his back after what happened during the last mission. And yes, of course, it was all couched in concern. But he saw it for what it was: a mutiny. And he’d been benched because of it. From all missions for the foreseeable future. So what was he supposed to do now? Thawed out 70 years in the future just to be stranded without a purpose.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst part was now six minutes late. A support omega. He’d scoffed right in Fury’s face when he’d “suggested” it. Of all the stupid, 21st-century things he’d encountered, this took the cake. Like there could possibly be some base alpha part of him that was so broken it could only be soothed by an omega with a degree in psychology. Ridiculous. He was fine!

But it’d been the kind of suggestion that didn’t come with the option to say no. Not if he ever wanted to get back on the team. So fine. He’d play nice, show her there was nothing wrong, and get her to sign off on him going back into the field. He’d be back in action in just a few days. And then he might be able to breathe again.

As he was about to start another lap of his living room, the doorbell finally chimed. He took a moment, so as not to seem like he’d been standing right next to it. Then he took a deep breath, pasted on that Captain America smile, and opened the door. “Hi,” he said, immediately stepping aside to give you room. “Come on in.”

“Captain Rogers,” you said with your own big smile as you introduced yourself, then picked up your valise from the ground beside you and stepped into his apartment. You were sharply dressed, professional. In how you held yourself, too. But your eyes were warm. And you were beautiful. It reminded him of some of the nicer omegas Buck used to go out with. There was a sharp pang in his chest. Like always, he ignored it. 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” you continued. As if he’d had any sort of choice. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The security checks took longer than I’d expected.”

“No problem at all,” he said. Ten whole minutes. “I hadn’t even noticed. Here, let me put your bag in the room I set aside for you.”

“Oh, a guest room?” you asked. He stopped at your question, a little confused. Where else would you sleep? “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll definitely appreciate having my own space. But, sleeping arrangements are something we can discuss and customize to fit our goals. Sharing a bed can be really helpful if sleep is something you’re struggling with.”

Absolutely not. No. Definitely not. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he demurred. “With the serum, I really don’t require much sleep,” he called down to you as he quickly took your bag to the small guest room he’d finally furnished because he had to have somewhere to put you. It’d never occurred to him you’d want to share his bed. Did people really do that?

When he came back into the living room, you were still hovering by the door, your messenger bag slung over your shoulder and your hands clasped in front of you. You were looking around, taking in the blank walls, spartan furniture. Judging him probably. Well, it’s not like he’d had much time to decorate in between saving the world. What did any of that matter? “Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you said, with a benign smile that seemed aggressively professional. “If you don’t mind, I’d love if we could sit and chat for a few minutes before we move on to anything else.” 

“Of course,” he said, with his own benign smile, as he gestured to the two couches that had come with the apartment. He waited for you to sit in one and then took a seat in the other, a mass-produced coffee table covering the chasm between you.

“First,” you said, your hands resting neatly in your lap, “I just wanted to make sure that my scent is one you’re comfortable having in your home on a long-term basis. I know that the real thing can sometimes be a little different than the sample you based your choice off of.”

Steve had just randomly grabbed one from the box he’d been presented with. He’d thrown it at Fury with a grumbled, “That one’s fine,” as he left the small room they’d given him to make his choice. He’d never even opened it.

He only got a vague hint of it now, sitting across the room from you. Floral maybe. He didn’t bother to take a deep breath, to catalogue it. You’d only be here for a few days max. Not enough time for your scent to permeate. So, it didn’t really matter what he thought about it.

“Yes, it’s fine,” he nodded at you.

“Good,” you said, your smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Well, first I can take a few minutes to talk through what it is we’re going to be doing here. I'm sure you've already gotten the whole spiel, but it might be helpful to hear it from my perspective. Get a feel for how I do things.”

You paused like you were waiting for a response so he nodded along. “Sure, sounds great.” He already knew what the program was. He already knew he didn’t need it. This was a waste of time.

“Mostly, I’m just here to help you as an alpha get back to feeling like your most grounded, best self. Stability and comfort are mainly what I’m here to provide. Listening and guidance too, if that’s what you want. This is fully customizable, very collaborative. I’m not a therapist, but I do have my masters in behavioral psychology. And I’ve been doing this for a while now. So whatever you throw at me, I can handle it. Basically, this arrangement can look like whatever the two of us want it to look like. The biggest requirement, on both sides, is honesty.”

He leaned forward. This was the in he’d been waiting for. “I really appreciate that. And I do want to be completely honest with you. I don’t want to waste your time. The truth is, this is unnecessary. I think people expect me not to adjust well, so they’re treating me like I’m not. But really, I’m fine. I’m doing fine. And I just don’t think I’m going to get much from this.” 

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at him curiously with your lips pursed. At one point, your eyes flicked down to where his hand was resting on his knee. Could you see the way it shook? His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d come out of the ice. He straightened it out so it laid flat on the denim of his jeans, willing it to be still. That didn’t mean anything.

Finally, your eyes left him as you turned to your messenger bag, pulling out a thin file. “Do you mind,” you asked, “if we talk about some of the concerns your team has for you?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. Not for. About. Fury had already done this. “I know their concerns. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

You shrugged casually, like it didn’t much matter to you either way. “I think it could be instructive to what we’re trying to do here.”

“Fine,” he ground out, but you didn’t react to his tone. You just opened the file. Before you had a chance to say anything, he leaned forward and spat out, “Listen, I know what’s in there. They think I don’t listen to anyone. That I’m a bad leader. That my plans are too risky. That I can’t keep anyone safe. Did I get everything?”

You bobbed your head a little, your expression impassive, your voice soft. “Not exactly. They did say that you refuse to listen to people. But they never said anything about you being a bad leader. Or not keeping them safe. They said the thing you’re most likely to risk on these missions is yourself. They’re worried about you.” He couldn’t hold in his scoff and you paused to look him in the eye. “Do you really jump out of planes without a parachute?”

He felt his eyes go a little wide like he’d been caught, doing what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He shook his head. “No, that’s not– You know what’s in my veins. If I were a normal man, sure, that’d be suicidal. But I have more strength, better reflexes, I heal faster. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

Your brow furrowed as you leaned forward too. “But, you still get injured, don’t you? Even if it doesn’t last as long. You still feel all that pain. Steve,” and the way you said his name, for the first time, different somehow than the way any omega had ever said it before, he felt it like a knife to the heart, “why would you want to put yourself through feeling all that if you didn’t have to?”

He was up off the couch before he even realized it. The room was suddenly smaller than it’d been a minute ago. His mind was racing and he didn’t know why or how to make it stop.

“Captain Rogers.” You were standing right in front of him, holding your hands up at your chest, your palms out. “I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t mean to push. Are you alright?” All he could do for the moment was blink at you. “Hey, how ‘bout you take a deep breath with me, ok? A slow breath in through your nose.” 

He followed your lead and took a deep breath in. And, oh. He was struck by the scent of you. Lilacs and oranges. You smelled like spring.

“And out through your mouth,” you said quietly and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and you smiled. “Do you want to take a break?” you asked softly. “I have a few more questions, but I don’t need to ask them right now.”

He shook himself out of whatever daze he’d been in. “No,” he said, standing up straighter. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” 

He sat back down on the couch, but you hadn’t moved yet. “Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let’s go.” It was only at the look on your face, that he realized how short he’d been. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said, forcing some calm into his tone. “I’d like to keep going.”

“Okay,” you nodded and finally sat back down across from him. You opened your folder again. “You were a little… vague in your intake questionnaire. So, if you're able, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me a little about what you’ve been going through, how you’ve been feeling.”

He fidgeted a little in his seat and he saw you clock it. He stilled himself, then said, with as casual an air as he could muster, “If I was vague, it’s only because there really isn’t much to report. I’ve been fine.” He was using that word too much. He knew it. But he didn’t know how else to say it.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s just, on paper? You’ve been through a lot in what must feel like a very short amount of time. And that’s just the widely reported stuff. What’s in the history books and on the news. It would be understandable if you were struggling. Anyone would be.”

“Well, I’m not anyone, am I?” he snapped. 

“No, you’re not,” you said slowly, calmly, and he hated how unflappable you were. “You’re a hero.” He just barely stopped his lip from curling up into a snarl at that. He’d had enough. “But–”

“Listen, I just need to get back in the field, okay? I just need another mission. That’s all I need. We don’t have to– None of this will be necessary if I can just get back out there. I understand that you’re a professional and you’ll want to seem thorough, so we can wait a few days. But I’m fine and that’s what I need you to tell Fury. If the team doesn’t want to work with me right now, that’s– that’s okay. I’ll do solo missions. Whatever they want. I just need to get back out there.” He was pleading by the end of it. He could hear it in his voice. But this was important. He needed you to understand.

You just sat there for a moment, staring at him, your brow furrowed. “I–” you started. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve,” he corrected, “please.”

“Steve, I–” you paused, your lips pursed. “I’m sorry, whether or not you eventually get back on the team, that doesn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t work for SHIELD. I can’t make that decision.”

“What? No. Yes, you do. You can tell Fury that I’m fit for duty.”

“Steve. I work for a support omega agency. I’ve helped a few agents before, but I don’t know Commander Fury. I’m not here to report back to anyone. I’m just here to help you.”

All he could do was shake his head. No, this wasn’t right. There had to be a way to get back to work. You had to be the key.

“I’ve been contracted for a three month period, with the option to extend as needed. I thought this had all been explained to you. I–” You looked at him, pained, like you were willing him to understand 

  ‘Three months to start’ had been said to him at some point in this whole process, but he hadn’t thought that’d been serious. He’d been sure there was a way around it. Sure that you were the way.

He wouldn’t be able to survive three months. That he was sure of. Not without something to do. Not without a purpose. Not without something to fight. The room was getting smaller again. Closing in on him. All of that time stretching out ahead of him, without any purpose, without any point to him. It was all closing in on him.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. It didn’t do anything. Didn’t get him any air. There wasn’t any air. He was pinned down. Under all the water. Under all that ice. He was so cold and he couldn’t breathe.

“Steve!”

He was distantly aware of someone calling his name, but no one would be able to get to him. He was too far under. There was too much ice. He’d done too much.

“Steve. Hey, Steve! I’m here with you. I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

No, that couldn’t be right. He was alone. All alone and–

Lilacs. How was he smelling lilacs? And oranges. Fresh and bright. Spring.

He blinked his eyes open. He didn’t know when he’d shut them. He was huddled on the floor in front of the couch. In the living room. You were kneeling in front of him, your hands held out in front of you, not making contact, but one of your wrists was extended. Right under his nose. 

When he made eye contact with you, you exhaled, like maybe you’d been holding your breath. “Hi,” you said, relieved. “You back with me?”

All he could do was blink at you, at first. Then he looked around. The blank walls. The prefab furniture. The apartment. He hated this place. He looked back at you. “Yeah.” It came out in a croak. “I– Yeah.”

“Is it alright if I touch you?” you asked, inching closer. “You can say no.”

He shook his head without even thinking. “Please.”

As you reached out to touch him, hug him, maybe, he collapsed into you. You let out a little “oof” but didn’t pull away. You just wrapped your arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched, really touched, like this. Not just in passing. Not in battle. Before the ice. Decades. Everything had been decades. 

His eyes were wet and he was so so tired. He felt wrenched open. Emptied out like there was nothing left. He exhaled in your arms and with it came a whisper, completely out of his control. “I just want to go home.”

You didn't say anything, but your grip on him tightened.

Tag list is open

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[theskywithin]

Toxic Zodiac Traits: Everyone Else Is Just as Emotionally Unstable, Don’t Worry

( read for Sun and Rising )

Aries

Absolutely incapable of waiting for anything. Will cut you off mid-sentence and mid-relationship. Thinks every inconvenience is a personal attack from the universe. Starts a new project every 3 days and finishes approximately none. If Aries texts “I’m outside,” you have 3.5 seconds before they leave forever. Will argue with a traffic light and still think they won.

Taurus

Would rather eat drywall than change their mind. If they’ve blocked you once, they’ve blocked you in their heart forever. Will act like they don’t care while remembering exactly what you said on May 14th at 4:23 PM. Refuses to compromise unless it involves brunch. Emotionally attached to objects, TV shows, and the one person who gives them nothing.

Gemini

Will tell you every detail of a breakup they had six years ago and forget your birthday. Overthinks nothing, underthinks everything. Can hold five contradictory opinions before breakfast. Ghosts you and then messages you “I had a dream about you” two weeks later. Says “we should talk more” with no intention of ever replying. Flirts for sport.

Cancer

Pretends to be chill but is actually holding a ten-volume emotional encyclopedia on everyone they’ve ever met. Has cried over a memory that wasn’t theirs. Will bring up something you said in 2018 just to watch you squirm. Makes you a playlist, a home-cooked meal, and a passive-aggressive guilt trip all in one sitting. Thinks emotional manipulation is just good communication.

Leo

Can’t walk past a mirror without giving themselves a TED Talk. Will give you a whole therapy session about their unhealed inner child and then forget your name. Thinks “subtle” means wearing sunglasses indoors. Posts thirst traps during existential crises. Believes every compliment is true and every critique is character assassination.

Virgo

Thinks emotions are a puzzle to be solved and you're a cluttered spreadsheet. Hypercritical, hypo-compassionate, and fully convinced their control issues are just "high standards." Say "I’m fine" while internally dying over your misuse of apostrophes. Gives unsolicited feedback with the energy of a disappointed parent. Probably gave their therapist a 3-star Yelp review with grammatical corrections.

Libra

Would rather fake their own death than make a decision. Flirts with the bartender while processing a breakup from 2016. Says “no drama” while actively starring in a love triangle they directed. Needs a mood board to text you back. Believes aesthetics are more important than stability. Could be in love with you. Could also be in love with your sweater.

Scorpio

Has never forgiven anyone, not even their kindergarten teacher. Will emotionally soul-scan you within five minutes of meeting, then vanish for three days to see if you panic. Knows your birth chart, your trauma, and your passwords. Shares nothing but expects full access to your emotional hard drive. Trusts no one but expects loyalty like a blood oath. Falls in love once every five years and never recovers.

Sagittarius

Will disappear mid-conversation to follow a butterfly and call it personal growth. Thinks commitment is a threat to their “freedom journey.” Forgets your birthday but remembers an ancient Mayan prophecy. Thinks monogamy is a government conspiracy. Avoids feelings by going on a spontaneous road trip and posting cryptic captions.

Capricorn

Has three side hustles, a 5-year plan, and no idea how to relax. Thinks rest is a character flaw. Controls their emotions by pretending they don’t have any. Plans your vacation like it’s a military operation. Feels personally insulted by inefficiency. Will judge you for crying at work, including themselves. Emotionally constipated, but will Venmo you for half the toothpaste.

Aquarius

A conspiracy theory in human form. Thinks emotions are “low-vibration.” Invents new relationship dynamics for fun. Disassociates mid-hug. Could write a 42-slide presentation on your attachment style but can’t tell you what they’re feeling. Emotionally invested in your trauma but only if it’s framed as a social experiment. Will text you “thinking thoughts” at 2am and never elaborate. Will befriend your ex for the plot.

Pisces

Says “I don’t care” while sobbing into a vintage sweater. Cries during commercials. Will fall in love with someone they made eye contact with for three seconds at a coffee shop. Romantically unavailable but emotionally entangled with everyone. Forgets to eat but remembers every detail of a dream they had two weeks ago. Constantly oscillating between “I love everyone” and “no one gets me.” Still not over what you almost said in 2019.

[pinkmalibuprincess]

I asked chat gbt to give me ways to enter both the void state or shift realities during the day. Shifting and inducing the void are not limited to when you’re sleepy. I struggle with only inducing the void during the time I go to sleep but with these possible methods I plan to induce the void or shift during the dayyy!!!

First, just so we’re aligned:

• Reality shifting usually refers to consciously moving your awareness into another reality (like a desired reality, alternate version of your life, or fictional world).

• The Void is that infinite nothingness — a dark, silent, powerful space where you can manifest instantly, heal, or shift realities easily. It’s pure awareness, no body, no mind.

Doing it during the day is a little harder because you’re not sleepy/dreamy but not impossible, it’s actually really easy! You just have to tweak your techniques for waking mind energy.

⸻

Ways to Shift or Enter the Void During the Day

⸻

Micro-Meditation Drops

• Throughout your day, practice micro-drops into stillness.

• Example: Set a timer every hour. When it goes off, close your eyes, breathe deep, and “drop” your awareness backward into your mind imagine falling backward into black velvet nothingness.

• Do it for 30–90 seconds at a time. Over the day, this conditions your mind to find the void state faster.

Think of it like “training wheels” for sudden immersion.

⸻

Saturation Method

• Focus obsessively on your desired reality or void state all day — but softly, like background music.

• Whisper affirmations like:

• “The Void is my natural home.”

• “I enter the Void instantly and effortlessly.”

• “I am already in the Void.”

• Every action you do (walking, eating, typing), imagine you’re already in your desired reality.

• This builds a saturation effect where you “tip” into the shift naturally.

You’re basically blurring the line between your normal day and the other reality.

⸻

Mirror Gazing / Daydream Gazing

• Sit in front of a mirror (or even a blank wall or window) during a sunny, sleepy part of the day.

• Stare at your reflection without blinking much, or past it.

• Relax your eyes and imagine your face isn’t “you” it’s just a mask.

• Let your mind slip into daydreaming.

• Suddenly, you may feel a “slip” — like you’re detaching from this version of yourself.

It’s like triggering a soft disassociation which can lead to a Void portal or shift jump.

⸻

Breathwork + Eye-Roll Technique

• Do slow, deep breathwork:

• Inhale 4 counts

• Hold 7 counts

• Exhale 8 counts

• After a few minutes, gently roll your eyes upward (like looking at your third eye) while staying relaxed.

• This can force your brain into a theta/void-like state even during full daylight.

• You might feel lightheaded or “floaty” — that’s a good sign you’re nearing a void pocket.

⸻

The “Already Shifted” Illusion

• Instead of trying to get somewhere, pretend you already shifted this morning and today is just a “memory” of your original life.

• Every time you remember you’re “trying,” stop and say mentally:

• “I’m just remembering the old timeline. I’m already there.”

• It tricks your brain into syncing with the new reality field without brute force.

Shifting is all about convincing your subconscious — not pushing or forcing.

⸻

Music Frequency Entrancement

• Listen to brainwave entrainment tracks (Delta waves, Void-themed subliminals, deep solfeggio frequencies like 528hz or 963hz) while doing light tasks.

• Wear headphones if you can.

• Let your mind drift while you do chores, walk, or relax in sunlight.

• Sometimes, you’ll naturally slip into a void state without expecting it.

⸻

Daytime Nap “Drop” Method

• Lie down in the afternoon with the intent to nap, but don’t fall asleep.

• Instead, keep your body completely still (like a body scan meditation) and let your mind drift without controlling it.

• If you feel your body getting heavy, floaty, vibrating, don’t move — you’re entering the threshold where void shifts and reality jumps happen.

⸻

Signs You’re Close to the Void or a Shift Mid-Day

• You feel extremely floaty or weightless.

• You hear ringing in your ears (like a frequency change).

• Time feels weird (minutes feel like hours or vice versa).

• You get “pulled” backward or inward in your mind.

• Your body feels like it doesn’t exist anymore.

[justnother-user]

It’s every time I say shit like this that I have a weird dream afterwards. Like tell me why I had a dream I got into a relationship with someone I haven’t seen since high school and I like genuinely fell in love with him? Like I fully went into our current dms irl and was expecting to see a bunch of sappy stuff because of how real it felt

Alright guys I’ve come to the conclusion that I am still indeed bi. I just have a very very heavy preference towards women which made me think I was a lesbian. I also hate men which also made me think I was a lesbian. It’s like I could fall in love with and sleep with a woman yes, but I could not fall in love with a man, I would sleep with a man yeah but loving one? Sorry that’s a no for me.

And thus the question that’s been on Risa’s mind for the past 8(?) months finally has an answer :3

[dearestzaychik]

Missing Posters.

Rehabilitation AU

Silly little AU I thought of with my friend, Meos!

TW : Maybe a bit ooc, Cussing, Violence, Blood, and an attempt that was made to harm reader.

WORD COUNT : 5k+ words!

NOT PROOFREAD

(Once again I can't be bothered.. Please do point out any mistakes you can spot once more!)

.

.

.

READERS POV.

Each day was the same as always. wake up, get ready, go to work, come back home, eat, sleep.. Although you were grateful to be able to actually work at Roblox World HQ, the work that was assigned to you was starting to burn you out a bit. Looking at your own desk of piled and messy papers, you couldn't help but feel even more exhausted.

It all started on the sudden disappearance of the Administrators of Roblox, and it wasn't just an easy task either. After that, there has been a chain of disappearances that began a few months back, starting with some admins like Builderman and Shedletsky, then a top employee of the Builder Brother's Company disappeared. More over a big problem considering a big portion of the works at a Pizza Place suddenly slowed and that said employee was actually the son of one of the builder brother's, then right after was another Administrator, Dusekkar.. Then it just kept going, ranging from either Administrators or Normal Robloxians that were just trying to live a normal life and It was just a lot to take in. Who ever was causing these disappearances didn't seem to only go after Big Models for the community or Normal Robloxians too, as even robloxians that were banished to the Banlands suddenly disappeared as well. Such as 1x1x1x1, John Doe, 007n7.. you name it.

This was a genuine problem for the state of Robloxia, it dug itself deep to the point where your own superior, Roblox themselves doesn't know anything about the situation nor can they even get anything to start as an investigation. You could only glance at the Missing Posters that were at the center of your desk, seeing the familiar faces too much every day you go to work. Like this casino owner named Chance, or this sleeveless shirt with a spawnpoint symbol wearing civillian, named Two Time.. Okay, now that you think about it their names sound pretty weird, but that wasn't the point nor was it uncommon, especially knowing Robloxia's very odd law when it comes to names.. You weren't even supposed to be here at this time. It was already late at night, and usually your shift ends during the afternoon or so. You were practically the only person in the office of your batch, and it gave a empty feeling that setted in you once more. Although you practically did have a great work and future ahead of you, it was hard to interact with other co-workers in the office or to just other people in general knowing how the social hierarchy works. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. Especially knowing you had a bigger problem at your hands, but that sounds like a problem for future you as you decided then and there that enough work was done for today. You were definitely not staying in this office for any longer, stretching your body as you cracked a few joints.. Feeling your body finally relax after a while. Genuinely, whichever deity was looking upon you right now.. You hoped that every single one of these missing people will come back soon. Technically, its not for the selfish reason of finally being able to lay off work after a while but it's to also ease the tension and fright within the Town of Robloxia itself.

Getting up from your office chair, you didn't bother cleaning up your messy desk. You'll be in the same situation all over again anyways, so not being able to clean up after yourself was the least of your worries. Getting the keys that were left to you by the Janitor as you closed the office for the night, practically disassociating with reality through out the entire process as you snapped out the moment when you were finally outside the building. It looked so peaceful, seeing how there was no people that can be seen outside since nobody was usually up at this hour. Exhaustion crept up to you once more, burnt out from your core as you begrudgingly had to drag and force your body to move through the empty streets.

Although the journey was peaceful, it was definitely quiet.. Almost too quiet. Its been a long while since you've actually took the time to take care of yourself now that you've realized it. Looking at a window of a random, already closed building as you took in how disheveled you looked. You definitely need to schedule some sort of spa day for yourself. Although, looking at the reflection of the window.. You could've sworn something moved in the background of the reflection you were looking at. Looking behind, seeing the deep forest as you observed the landscape. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it, until there was a rustle from the bush. A hand came out, clutching onto a tree as the figure revealed themselves to be injured. It didn't take a genius, especially one in your situation where you'd have to look at missing posters 24/7 to know who this was. Having a burger on top of his head and on top of that said burger was a little noob head..- This was 007n7, one of the Missing People. Locking eyes with him as he looked to be relieved upon seeing you, as if he hasn't seen someone else in a long time. (More on so of a face he specifically hasn't seen.)

"..P-please!- We need help!-"

He stated, stumbling upon his words yet he rushed and pushed his body to run up to you. He was practically battered with wounds and was on the verge of passing out. Before you can even reply to him in any way, you noticed how much he trembled as he held your arms in desperation, practically holding onto you as if the world was ending any minute. You were sure he was in no shape or form to respond right now, so you had no choice as you pulled up your phone and called your boss. The moment you mentioned that you found one of the missing person, There was sudden crash and movement on the other side as Roblox hung up on you. Seems like he'll be disturbing some other workers schedule, and soon enough there were a lot of other employees and even whole entire helicopters and other machinery that you didn't recognize off arrived as they pulled you away from 007n7, taking you both away for questioning. But of course, your interrogation was short compared to 007n7's and you were let go. It was a mess, but at this point seeing the amount of cameras and deconstruction going on.. Yeah you slipped away from everything, you couldn't be bothered to stay any longer.

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It turns out, every single missing person was found that night. The others were found deep in the woods, as the forest was practically taken down to find every single one of them. They even started checking out every robloxian that was on the missing person list and making sure that nobody was left behind or forgotten. The case was solved, but not without problems. Some of them like 007n7 were greatly injured. then some of them gave weird behaviors that isn't usually like them back before they went missing like John Doe. The News rung loud on the Small TV that you owned before you turned it off, closing the door of your bedroom as you crashed down immediately onto your bed, not even bothering to take any of your work clothes off as you were too exhausted to care.. But none the less, whatever deity was listening to you heard your wishes, so that means you'll finally be able to rest, right?.. Maybe you should actually schedule a self-care day for yourself tomorrow. After all, you definitely deserved it.

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As you stood infront of the facility that Roblox themselves quickly made for these 'survivors', you couldn't help but internally die a bit as you couldn't have been more wrong than ever. Turns out, being the person that found them will bring you to be the head lead on this new project, and now you'll need to figure out what the hell happened, especially considering how all of them to be in a terrible state after being found. If they weren't physically harmed, they were mentally fucked up thats for sure.

None the less, keeping your head high as you tapped the Identification Card at the scanner. It gave the green light, as the doors opened upon your entry. The moment you entered it seemed to be just a small room first, yet before you knew it your own face was blown by white mist, practically 'sanitizing' you before you actually come in the facility. They might as well purify your entire being with the amount of things that were being sprayed and blown onto you. It was an annoying surprise, yes. But when were you to decide and complain about the facilities made by Roblox themselves? You would practically loose your job if you ever spoke the words that you thought about in your head.

After being sanitized, you finally got into the actual facility. There were many faces that you didn't recognize, the other workers probably coming from other departments in the company. But then again, who were you to bother recognizing your co-workers faces when you don't even interact with them outside of work? Someone came up to you, bowing as they handed you a few folders before they took their leave. Wow, people here really didn't like talking. Oh well, that wasn't a problem you'll need to worry about. Looking through the folders, you realized that these contained the files of each missing person that you once experienced headache's on. One folder seemingly being the main folder as it told you the Instructions for the job and your objectives.

FILE 01 :

OBJECTIVES.

1.

Find out what happened during the span of the 10 months of them being missing.

2.

Check on their behaviors and health daily. Make sure their sanity and health is improving, not deteriorating.

3.

Don't make bonds or relationships with the Robloxians while in confinement. Wait upon further instructions for interactions or when your presence is requested by them.

STATISTICS

Observe, Learn, and Investigate on the survivor's..

• SANITY

• BEHAVIOR

• HEALTH

• KNOWLEDGE ABOUT THE SITUATION

• ANY EVENTS THAT MAY HAPPEN DURING INTERACTION.

Made by Roblox™.

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Well, even though it was explained in a simple and easy-to-understand way, you couldn't help but be uneasy about it. There were definitely some strict regulations when it comes to interacting with the missing robloxians, but it even applies to the Administrators that went missing along with them? You definitely needed to be careful, if your life isn't in the line then certainly your job is. Looking through the other folders, your eyes landed on a familiar name once more. 007n7, perhaps you can start with him considering you already met him last night.

Walking to the confinement rooms, you can notice from the window of the doors that each room was designed for the comfort of each person. You didn't bother looking yet though, as you made your way through the set of doors before your eyes landed on one. The Name Plate on top of the door stating 007n7. Putting out your ID as it was scanned, you were granted permission inside.

Walking inside, your greeted with a room that's seemingly the control room. In front was a bunch of buttons and switches you definitely shouldn't press and a Glass Panel on the wall. It seemed to be a one-way glass panel, seeing how 007n7 didn't react upon your entry. He was just staring at a wall, with that wall having frames of Him and a little red child. None the less, you went up to the control panel and sat on the chair, placing the rest of the folders you had on a place where it was far away from the buttons and switches. You didn't want to mess anything up when you haven't even started, that would be embarrassing and so not your style. Anyways, you should really stop with this inner monologue you have in your head, it makes you look AND sound crazy. you focused on 007n7's file folder, as there were many things to fill up on that's for sure. The only thing that was really filled up here was the Basic Information, such as 'Name', 'Height', 'Last Seen before Missing', type things like that. You adjusted the microphone to your liking first before you pressed the Mic button, enabling the microphone for 007n7 to hear.

"Hello, Can you hear me?"

Your voice rung out through the room, snapping 007n7 from his thoughts as he looked at the one-way glass panel. He recognized that voice from the night before, remembering how he saw a robloxian when he finally found a way out of the woods. Although he didn't heard much, when he was asking for help he could vaguely remember hear whispers of voice from that person as they called someone up, and then rescue finally arrived after that. It was no doubt that the person talking to him right now was the same person he met during that night.

"It's.. you-"

He stated, looking at the glass panel as he looked to be recalling the events that happened last night. You could only let out a sigh, scanning through his files as you thought about what to reply. It was only rational for you to interact with 007n7 first, considering you already met the guy. He was the safest individual to start off this whole entire fiasco with.

"Yes, it's me. How have you been feeling since last night?"

You said, Looking at him as you inspected his wounds. His wounds seemed to be patched up, but it was obvious it was still healing. After a moment of pause, the silence lingering in the air as 007n7 seemed to be thinking about his response before he finally replies..

"It's.. been fine. I-if I can ask, How long will we stay here?.."

007n7 stated, looking at the glass panel as he awaited your response. Although he couldn't actually see you, the way he stared at you felt like he could. As much as you like to answer his question, you didn't even know what to say yourself. And either way, it was forbidden to have any bonds during their confinement. You shouldn't get too comfortable with any of them.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that, nor can I give you the answer your hoping to look for if I did have an answer. I'd like your full cooperation at most for this meeting, consider it as compensation that you can give me for last night."

You stated, dying a bit with how formal you seemed to be right now. You really couldn't stand professionalism, even more so when you had to keep up an act like one. He seemingly contemplated what you said, a deal he can't really refuse considering his current circumstances. After all, if it weren't for you he wouldn't have been found along with the others, and he actually did something to help them after all this time.

"..It sounds reasonable enough."

007n7 said, seemingly finding the statement you said quite reasonable. You could've sworn you can give yourself a pat on the shoulder, but none the less you looked through the file that gave the instructions. There was a part of the file itself that had multiple sets of questions laid upon you. These were probably the questions you can only give, considering the earlier instructions before this. But the thing was you were only allowed to ask 3 questions of each survivor every day, and you weren't even sure why. What was even more interesting is the fact that there were a set of instructions that was telling you to record the interaction. As you yourself were provided with a record log to keep track of the events that will happen. This job is definitely asking a lot from you, and you weren't even sure what they saw in you. You would prefer to be in your bed more than anything at this point.

Either way, you didn't have a choice as you finally turned on the recording. After all, you couldn't proceed with the interrogation if you didn't do so. You might as well get over it so that you could leave early.

- Start for log record of 007n7. -

2025 / 10 / 18, 12:31:07

"What happened during the months you and the other survivors went missing?"

"We were transported to some otherworldly realm. We decided to name the times each survivor got transported in the realm as being Forsakened in the realm. We came at different times and some in different locations, but it was still all in the same realm. Some were.. unfortunate enough to get forsakened as something else entirely."

Although his voice was quiet and calm, there was a hint of turmoil inside his eyes. Yet he looked like he was used to it long ago, and it was frightening to think about to say the least. Noting down his response, you moved onto the next question.

"What did you do inside the realm itself?"

"..We were forced to play rounds of games that required us to turn on 3 to 5 generators in order to survive. There was someone.. no, something always after us everytime. And if we were unfortunate enough to get caught, we will be killed."

That last sentence made you freeze for a minute. What did he mean by killed? Was he trying to pull something? But his expression didn't give off any hints that he would be lying right now. Just what did they really experience in that realm?

"..Elaborate on that.-"

WARNING :

The question the interviewee provided wasn't in the list of questions, This will take up one question attempt. Please try again.

Thank you for your Cooperation.

The voice of an intercom stated out loud, both to you and 007n7. It hasn't even passed a minute yet, you didn't know why they would restrict the only way to gain access to information.

- End for log record of 007n7. -

To be damned with these strict regulations. The information you were given was a whole entire different situation, and these strict regulations were simply just holding you back from doing your job properly. You could only let out a frustrated sigh as you finished up your observation, looking at 007n7 as he looked confused. It seems like any questions that wasn't allowed to be asked wasn't detected on the mic. Especially noticing how the Microphone was suddenly disabled the moment you even muttered the first letter. You couldn't turn it back on either since you already used up three questions.. You could only grumble to yourself, seeing 007n7 in the other window as he stopped looking at the panel itself, looking back to the frames on the wall once more. He probably thought you left already considering the intercom stated the interrogation was done, and for some reason you can't help but feel bad for the poor lad. But what's done is done, you'll make sure to interact with him tomorrow to both check out how he's been doing and get more answers considering he's pretty compliant.

Picking up your files, you stood up and left quietly. After all, there wasn't really a use staying in that room if you couldn't talk to the man anymore. You weren't the one to complain about Roblox's set of rules, but sometimes these regulations suck ass. Going through your files, you landed on a familiar face. Guest 1337. If you were right this was the very Guest that fought during The Last Guest... Wasn't he supposed to be dead? At least presumed dead, since during the ultimate sacrifice his body was never found, so it was never confirmed if he actually perished during it. He looked sane enough to interact with, you'll probably be alright when you talk to him. You needed more information on what really happened after everything, because what 007n7 gave you wasn't enough for your undying curiousity.

As you exited the confinement room, you walked along the hallway as you were searching for Guest 1337's confinement. Along your way, you saw something move in your peripheral vision. What was that? your gaze looked at another door, looking at the nameplate on top of it. 'Two Time'. You remember their name that's for sure, as while you were dreading on your work last night you could recall looking at their missing poster that was on the entire mess you would call your office table. Something was moving inside that door, and you didn't know any other employees that could have access to this part of the facility either. None the less, you went near the door as you looked through the small window that was given at the upperhalf of the door. Nothing seemed to be inside though, was your mind fooling you? There was a part of you that wanted to explore further, but another part of you wanted to leave and move on. Curiosity kills the cat, but you only live once, don't you? Driven by your curiosity, you pressed your identification card on the scanner as you gained access through the door, stepping inside as you were greeted with the similar control panel like the ones in 007n7's confinement room. Although, the only difference was the room at the other side of the panel. The Room was pretty plain besides for the fact that some of the furniture or decor had the.. Checkpoint Symbol? No, they were called something else for sure but you didn't bother thinking about it. All you knew about that symbol was the times you participated in many Obstacle Course events during your youth, it always appeared when there was a dangerous and deadly obstacle coming up.

The more you examined the room, the more it looked like a shrine for it at this point. but you did recall about seeing some information about this said Two Time person being in a Cult or whatever during your work with the missing posters, so it somewhat made sense if that information were to be true. Wait... Speaking of the occupant of the said room, Nobody was in the room of the other panel. Before you can even react and call authorities about the sudden disappearance, a hand covered your mouth as you felt a sharp pain behind you. Someone had the audacity to fucking stab you. Before this said person made any more moves, you held a tight grip on the stack of files that you carried as you turned around and swung them at the one responsible for this, making sure you hit them right on the head. You grunted, feeling the pain in your back as the dagger was still and most definitely lodged behind you. Looking at the person, you could only stumble backwards as you tightened your grip on the files even further. Two Time can be seen on the floor, as they seemed to have stumbled upon the hit you just gave them. Although they didn't seem to look hurt though, they were smiling through out all of this as they seemed to actually be enjoying this...

"..The Spawn seemed to have blessed me with encountering such an Individual that's just... Like Him."

Two Time muttered out, looking at you with a wide smile. This person was definitely insane. Hell, even the way they look at you with such... Enthusiasm scared you. They recovered from your blow, standing up as they continued to look at you with such glee. They were unarmed right now, but that definitely doesn't mean they aren't dangerous anymore just yet.

"You almost have the same presence as him. It's almost nostalgic, really."

Two Time mentioned, still looking at you as their smile faltered. Leaving behind a blank expression as for a moment before they smiled again. Just what were they talking about? Who's Him?

"The Spawn has blessed us both to meet on this very day, and I, for one will be forever grateful about their mercy... Shall we thank them with a dance?"

Two Time stated, and before you could even react they took advantage of the opening laid upon them, as they shoved your files away from your hands, the said files scattering everywhere. They grabbed the Dagger that was lodged into your back, seemingly twisting it before pulling it off from you. You could only wince in pain, especially when this little shit decided to twist the dagger. Blood was on the very dagger as they took a moment to inspect it. You could've sworn their sick smile grew wider from it. Stumbling onto your feet, you grabbed your ID as you ditched the files, slamming your ID onto the scanner as the door opened before you as you ran out of the room. The door was about to close before a hand stopped it from closing, activating the sensor system as the doors opened again. You already knew who that individual was, so you shouldn't bother to look behind you. Although... The more you ran, the more you realized of the fact that you went the wrong way, as this was the way to the security room, not the exit to go to the main facility. Cursing yourself, you could only move forward as your own blood was dripping onto the floor. There were footsteps behind you, following you and with eyes that stalked your every move.

Reaching the end of the hallway, you slammed your ID on the scanner once more, opening the door to the security room as you made sure to shut the door. Relief washed over you for a minute, stumbling onto the ground as your wounded back leaned onto the control panel right behind you. Although the door to the Security Room didn't have a window, There was a camera outside of the door. You could only look at the screen as Two Time stood there menacingly outside the door... They couldn't possibly get in, right? After all, they needed access. An ID, which you had and they didn't. You'll be safe for the time being... Looking around the security room, you scanned for any items that can be used to defend yourself. Your eyes locked onto a gun, but the problem was it was locked behind a glass case, and you didn't have anything to break it. Nor did you know the code to the glass case itself, and you were too weak to break it with your bare hands. Cursing yourself, you stumbled back on our feet once more, glancing at the monitors that displayed different things. Each screen displayed each of the rooms that were in this very hallway, this was probably a seperate security room to the actual security room of the Facility, specifically made to monitor their behaviors. But one monitor caught your attention, the very screen that was monitoring the place outside of the room.

You could see Two Time seemingly kneeling, as they managed to pry out the scanner and looked to be connecting the wires of what's left with the scanner. Hell, how do they even learn how to do all of this? It even looked like this wasn't their first rodeo either. This place definitely wasn't safe anymore, and you needed to find a way to get out, fast. Looking at the control panel at your disposal, none of them looked like it can help you. Well, except for the big red button at the very top that even had a case on it. Without much thought, you opened the case and absolutely slammed your hand onto the button. There was nothing to loose, its either you die at this maniac's hands or your own stupidity. Who knows, maybe this said button was a self-destruct button.. or more reasonable, an alarm button. But you hoped for the first thought was right.

Alarms went off as the entrance to the confinement rooms opened up, it wasn't long before a set of guards raided into the area. Muffled Shouting can be heard outside, but you couldn't care much longer about it. Slumping back down onto your knees, your vision was starting to black out, your forehead pressed onto the control panel's side. You definitely lost too much blood, as you can feel the large wound that was inflicted upon you. Yes, it was only a stab at first but that damned Two Time twisted the dagger, making the damage even more impactful and painful to deal with. Hell, you could've sworn your own spine almost got crushed as well. As chaos ensued, you blocked all the noises away as you felt your body relax further and further. The last moments you can remember were that of something wrapping around your legs and arms, with black tentacles coming into your vision and wrapped itself around your eyes... As if ushering you to take the rest you deserved already. Although it was unfamiliar, it didn't feel threatening and soon enough, you found yourself going unconscious. Before you completely blacked out, you know one thing for sure... You were definitely gonna complain about this to the community board of the workplace after this.

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???'s POV.

He could only scoff at the pathetic sight that was infront of him. But none the less, they were impressed on this individual's quick thinking skills during the whole entire mess that was made despite the overbearing irrationality that came along with it. But he knew whatever this individual pulled off will definitely rat out is disappearance for to his own room as well.

Looking up at this person as he raised their now unconscious body up. Seems like that freak managed to wound their back pretty badly. None the less, he looked back at the security feed before right back at this individual. As much as he hated individuals that were gullible and naive... Nobody deserved to have a similar fate like his. Much to his own dismay, they made use of the medicinal plants that was provided in his room that they took with them for safe measures, and started treating the wound this individual had on them. Making sure that he didn't cause the wound to get even worse as they took their time during the process. After all, there was no more reason to rush considering they'll be caught red handed anyways.

This individual definitely owes him big time after this, and he could only think about the possibilities that he can make with this oh so kind favor he's giving. Considering the fact that they could've used this time to escape and avoid the mess they have made. They'll find a way to escape this damned place another time. For now, he'll have to make do with the choices he made and plan this escape plan another time.

After a while, he finished up on the treatment. Right as soon as he finished, the doors to the Security Room was opened. Guns were pointed right at him yet the gazes that befell upon him were ones of fright. He doesn't blame them, after all, Who would love or appreciate a monster like him? Although he could easily wipe this whole entire team away, he knew the consequences of the action. Especially with how much information he found just by staying around this security room, he raised his hands as he was apprehended as well and lead back to his room for further questioning.

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NOTES

Thank you all for waiting! This is a different fic from the Our Forsakened Destiny series because I wanted to experiment a bit on a different setting! Considering most fics take place in the realm and the reader seems to know about the fact everything is a game, etc, etc.. How about we make the reader actually be apart of the Robloxia as one of the employees of Roblox HQ working under Roblox type thing!! ( that was alot of roblox mentioned. )

I've seen all of your decisions, and I was definitely surprised on how close of a battle the other two choices had.. Hell, while i was even observing through out the time of the poll there were times were Truth was in the lead. But in the end, Silent won!

Its great to finally start writing again after a bit of a lengthy hiatus, so to celebrate this I will be opening my requests as well! If you have any ideas or things you guys want written feel free to send either an ask or request! Once again, Thank you for your everlasting patience and thank you for reading!

( could you tell I'm going through a desperate azure phase )

P.S... I'm not sure if this is a series I will continue though! I'll have to wait and decide for myself if I will actually make this another series compared to the one im working on rn

[themsource]

Stan's Mind and Stress

Thinking about Stan and how seemingly skilled he is with the mindscape business, and how Ford doesn't appear to be what with a reliance on a metal plate and project mentem to encrypt and hide thoughts from Bill, when Stan easily did that just by focusing on a paddleball during the final episode

What if Stan has such great control and awareness in his mindscape because of all the studying he did on theoretical physics every single night for thirty years, barely getting any sleep with how driven he was and became a lucid dreamer because of it to help accomplish his goal? What if he grasped learning so much because he used his mindscape to practice?

Maybe this is why he’s probably grumpy so much, other than the bitter loneliness, dude hasn’t had a good deep dreamless sleep in literal years. He’s all wrinkly and worn out because he put his body through so much stress and never gave it time to actually relax and recover. He’s been working on that portal nonstop since the night of the incident, so much so he became a mind wizard. And he never even got to relax from the stressful life he was living in the ten years before that too.

Ford may have gotten 12 PHDS and a homicidal muse plus 30 years of survival training, but Stanley got mind powers that even shocked Bill Cipher, given how Cipher reacts to Dipper’s knowledge of how the mindscape works during their fight when he can’t fathom anyone besides himself having told the kid in the first place. A legit ‘who have you been talking to?! only I should know that!’

Poor Stan was under so much duress for so long, his mind—rather than breaking, chose to evolve, I swear. He disassociated right into X-men territory. Because what do a lot of people do when faced with things they can’t handle? Daydream and escape. I bet he spent the first few weeks cat napping a lot before the food ran out what with all the frustration and struggle to understand Ford’s science jargon he was going through. Perfect mind training and escapism time to practice how physics does and doesn’t work and the science behind it when looked through a comparative lens of the real world vs dreams.

Think it just goes to show how rough Stan’s had it oof... and how powerful his ability to adapt and cope is.

[azurefanfics]

Collapse

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings/tags: Established relationship, explosions, graphic description of injuries/gore, slight disassociation, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: During an Arkham breakout, you’re tasked with evacuating a building that the Riddler has planted a bomb in. What happens when it all goes wrong?

A/N: This is my first fic I’ve written for the Batfam (and the first fic I’ve written in a LONG time). It’s basically just a non proofread, tropey, long self-indulgent mess that I chucked together because I’m a fiend for angst and love to make my man suffer. I have used a lot of creative license with the medical stuff and have just ignored the concept of realistic physics so please forgive me if it's not accurate at all!

—-

The night started out as a relatively peaceful one in Gotham. Although the two of you were normally Bludhaven birds - Nightwing and Nightingale - you had decided to spend some time in the manor following a mission gone wrong. Your husband had managed to make it out unscathed but you weren’t so lucky. He had managed to wriggle free from his bonds just too late to prevent you from receiving a nasty leg injury, which had left you benched for the last few weeks. 

Dick had managed to get a couple of blows in - enough that the villain wouldn’t be a threat to the citizens of Bludhaven for a while - before the villain slipped from his grasp. But with the threat still out there, neither of you were happy with the prospect of Dick patrolling without backup whilst you were in your shared apartment injured, vulnerable and alone. The two of you had chosen to head to Gotham instead, where your beloved father-in-law welcomed you both with open arms, always happy to have more of his family under his roof.

Your husband was happy to be back in Gotham too - being in the same city made it much easier to bother his siblings. Although he visited very often, extended stays like this one were few and far between so he wanted to make the most of the opportunity to be an irritant in his sibling’s lives. Case in point - Dick was currently suspended upside down on the trapeze in the Batcave, swinging mindlessly back and forth whilst heckling his little brother below him. 

“Jason. Jaybird. Jaaaaaaaay!”

Jason, to his credit, had been doing his utmost to ignore Dick’s existence since he’d stomped into the cave a few minutes prior, muttering something about ‘needing to borrow B’s shit to upgrade his gun’. He’d taken one glance at the mischievous gleam in Dick’s eyes and rolled his eyes, focusing on dismantling his gun instead of his older brother’s valiant attempts at getting on his nerves. That didn’t deter your husband though.

“Y/nnnnn” he whined, changing tactics.

“Yes, Dickie?” you respond, bemused. You love watching your husband like this - carefree and childish, doing what he loves surrounded by people that he loves - so you’d never hesitate to humour him.

“Jason’s so mean! I’m just gonna cry myself to sleep! He’s just ignoring me, its like he doesn’t even lo-”

“Am I gonna have to shoot you to get you to actually shut up?” Jason interrupted with no real heat behind his words, trying to disguise the touch of fondness in his voice with fake anger. Dick grinned in victory.

“Oh yeah? With what gun? What are you gonna do, throw a little spring at me?” he taunts, gesturing at the gun pieces scattered on the table. Jason snorts in response.

“You think I’ve only got one? I’ve got plenty to choose from, Dickface. I’d be happy to give you a demonstration."

Just as Jason started to reach for his duffel bag, the brothers’ bickering was interrupted by an alert from Oracle. The message was simple and to the point: ‘Arkham break out. All hands on deck.’

Jason cursed and turned to gather up his gear, meanwhile your husband scrambled to get down and suit up. Whilst you longed to do the same, Alfred still hadn’t cleared you to be back in the field as your leg wasn’t fully healed yet. Instead, you sighed and headed towards the Batcomputer, intending to join Alfred there and lend a hand. As your husband sped by, you quickly reached out to him.

“Be careful out there, love. Stay safe.” 

“Always am, honey!” he responded with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.” he said, more sincere this time. And with one last peck on the lips, he headed towards the locker room to suit up and join the fray.

You sat down at the secondary Batcomputer - a contingency for this exact situation - and placed your comms in your in, switching it on. You were greeted by Oracle’s familiar voice, sounding harried.

“Gale you’re online, good. There’s 3 major players out tonight - we’ve got the Joker in Amusement Mile, Scarecrow in the Bowery and the Riddler down in the Kubrick District. B and Robin ran into the Joker on patrol so they’ve engaged, but B has requested extraction for R. It's too dangerous for him. Scarecrow has released his toxin in a dangerous location - high population density, lots of weapons in the area, minimal gas masks available. Spoiler and Red Hood are en route. I’ve got N and Red Robin coming in from opposite ends of the city to get to the Riddler as well.”

“Ok. I assume Agent A is supporting B?” you asked. As you turned to see him nod, you spotted a lithe figure in black, followed by a bleary-eyed, sleep-ruffled Duke. The poor guy always seemed to get his sleep interrupted, especially when there was an all-hands call. “Signal and Black Bat are incoming. Black Bat can support B and Signal can head to the Bowery, but we need more hands there.”

“Agreed. Black Bat can lighten the pressure on B and allow Robin to slip away. Can you get him to the Bowery?”

“Yes. Can you get GCPD support as well? I can coordinate over there so you can focus on the Riddler.”

“On it.” Oracle responded.

For the next half hour you focused in on your job: getting Damian out of the clown’s line of fire, tracking down Scarecrow and sending Duke and Jason over to deal with him, coordinating Damian, Steph and the GCPD to get civilians to safety and passing on information to minimise the impact of the fear gas as much as you could. Everything was going well, with Jason and Duke in active combat with Scarecrow and Steph and Damian taking over coordination of the GCPD on the ground. It seemed like there wasn’t much left for you to do. 

You had just switched over to open comms, ready to see if anyone else needed your support, when you heard a curse from Oracle. 

“What happened?” you asked with urgency. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It seems like the Riddler’s been out for longer than we thought. He’s got bombs planted across the city.”

“Shit. They planned this.” you whisper, realisation sinking in. “How many are there?”

“4 - in Burnley, Coventry, the Fashion District and Chinatown.” Oracle lets out a huff of annoyance as she continues. “I’ve got the general areas down but there’s some kind of interference in the areas so I can’t pinpoint the locations. I need eyes on the ground.”

“The GCPD?”

“They’re stretched too thin. They won’t be able to cover all 4 locations and assist in the Bowery.”

You hummed in consideration. Although things were going relatively smoothly in the Bowery, that was heavily reliant on the manpower lent by the GCPD. Damian and Steph were great vigilantes, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. While there were other officers in the city, a majority of the forces had been directed towards the Bowery, and those that weren’t were mostly around the GCPD headquarters.

“Tell them to focus on downtown. I’ll pull a couple officers from the Bowery and send them over to Burnley. As for Coventry, I’ll handle it.” you said, sending a quick message to Steph before you stood up to get changed.

“Miss Y/N!” Alfred said sharply in protest. “What about your leg?”

“Don’t worry Alfie.” You shot your pseudo grandfather figure a comforting smile. “I might not be ready for combat yet, but there won’t be any of that. People’s lives are at stake. I can still walk and run, I’ll be fine.” You appreciated his concern but you couldn’t stand idly by while civilians were in danger - that was why you became a vigilante in the first place. You were determined to go out there. Alfred must’ve seen it too, as he met your eyes and simply sighed.

“Be careful, Miss Y/N.” 

“Always am, Alfie!” you respond, echoing your husband’s earlier words before heading to suit up. 

Once you got to Coventry, it was relatively easy to locate the bomb. Although the interference was frustrating for Oracle, it acted almost a honing beacon for you, leading you straight there. By the time you had found the right building, your comms were useless, unable to get signal from the outside world.

The bomb was located in the basement of a large apartment complex, clearly having been placed there to maximise the number of civilian lives at risk. Although you would’ve preferred to deal with it right away, you knew your priority had to be evacuating and getting everyone in the building to safety. Without Oracle in your ear to warn you, you had no way of knowing when the building was about to come down and you couldn’t put lives at risk like that.

Instead, you ran back up to the building lobby and yanked down the nearest fire alarm you could find. A shrill piercing noise filled your ears and, although the sound was headache-inducing, you breathed a sigh of relief - people would start evacuating.

You watched as residents began to trickle out - slower than you would have liked, but this was Gotham so it was probably the third fire alarm they’d had that week. Even so, when they spotted you in the lobby, they began to move with more urgency. Although you were a Bludhaven vigilante, you started out in Gotham and still helped out there often enough that your costume and status as a Bat was well-known. If a Bat was here, it was serious.

You began directing them further away from the building, making sure that they were safely outside of any potential blast radius. You asked a couple of them to try and get in touch with the GCPD as soon as they were out of range of the interference. Although they wouldn’t be able to provide any assistance, they would at least be able to let Babs know that the evacuation was underway.

Eventually the flow of people slowed to a stop, but you knew your job was far from over. There was no telling how many people were still in the building, unwilling or unable to respond to the alarm. You had to go door to door to make sure that every last person was out.

Your suspicions were quickly proven to be correct as you wound your way up the building, coming across a number of individuals and families who were shocked to see you. Whether it was shock at the fire alarm being real or shock at having a Bat on their doorstep, you weren’t sure. Either way, they all quickly understood the gravity of the situation and made their way out of the building as fast as they could. 

Since the fire alarm had automatically deactivated the elevator, there were a couple of residents with mobility issues whom you had to help get down the stairs as well. Usually this would be a simple task for any Bat-trained vigilante, but the combination of the extra weight and the stairs caused your leg to scream in protest. Even so, you were able to deliver them to a safe area outside where other residents were able to assist them, before turning back to continue the evacuation.

Eventually you made it to the top floor, escorting the last family struggling with their young children out with a request that they inform the GCPD that the building was clear. However, even having checked the building meticulously to make sure that every last person was out, you decided to do one last sweep of the building just in case. While it might not have been necessary, you would never forgive yourself if you left anyone behind. 

Your leg was beginning to bother you more than you would have liked, so you ended up limping more than running through the hallways, shouting to alert any possible stragglers. Nevertheless, you were still hopeful that you could get the final sweep done quickly. Perhaps when you were done, you could go out and check on the civilians, try to get in touch with Oracle, and then head back in to finally disarm the bomb.

While you were limping your way down the hallway, making your way out as your check was complete, you were abruptly overcome with a sense of dread. Something was wrong. Something was-

A deafening, thunderous crash echoed out as vibrations shook through the entire building, sending you reeling. The whole world appeared to shake around you as your ears began to ring. Panic seized your chest as you lost your orientation, being thrown around like nothing more than a ragdoll. You were rendered completely powerless as the forces pushed through your body, tossing you in the air before gravity brought you right back down again. 

Your body hit the cold concrete for a split second, before you felt the floor crumble beneath you. You watched as the ceiling above you began to cave in as well, raining down thick chunks of concrete and debris all around you.

Instinctually you reached out, scrabbling to find purchase anywhere as you hurtled through the air. Your fingers met cold metal and you quickly wrapped your fingers around it, closing your eyes and praying that it would be enough. You cried out as your arm was wrenched out of its socket, pain lacing through your body. But even still, you endured, desperately holding on to the piece of rebar that had become your salvation.

Unfortunately, your relief was short-lived. You shifted, attempting to pull yourself up to a more stable position, when a crack rang out above you. With a low groan and screech of metal scraping metal, the piece of concrete above you gave way, taking the piece of rebar with it. Within the blink of an eye, you found yourself falling once again. Your head collided with something mid-air, causing you to see stars as blood trickled down your temple. You almost wished it hit you harder so you would at least be unconscious for what was to come, but the universe was rarely so merciful.

Instead you felt it moment by agonising moment as something pierced through your abdomen, ripping through muscle and sinew, uncaring of the organs in its path as it tore through your body. For a second, there was nothing but your own heartbeat ringing in your ears as you reeled from the impact. You just hung there for a moment, held up by the piece of metal impaled through you, dimly aware of the thick, sticky liquid beginning to drip onto the floor. 

You released a shaky exhale as reality began to sink in, and that’s when it hit you. A searing, white-hot pain erupted from your stomach as a scream tore from your throat. Fire crawled up every nerve ending in your body, eating you alive from the inside out. You writhed in agony, only worsening your injury, sobbing as your ears filled with static and black dots invaded your vision.

Eventually, you managed to battle back the black from your vision as you forced yourself to recall your training from Bruce - training you and your husband had gone over a thousand times. First - remain calm. You could feel your chest heaving as you drew in panting breaths, shaking hands pressed to your abdomen. Calm. You had to remain calm. 

You closed your eyes and thought of your husband holding you tight, gently rocking you back and forth as he softly whispered in your ear, remaining steadfast in his support even on the worst nights of your life. You thought of your father-in-law Bruce, with his blunt words but oh-so-comforting hugs. Of Alfred and his cookies. Of Babs and her knowing smiles. Of Cass and her kind eyes. Of Jason and Tim and Steph and Duke and Damian - of every single member of the crazy vigilante family that had welcomed you and loved you as one of their own.

Unbidden, a tear slipped down your face. Unable to summon the strength to lift your hand and wipe it, you felt it drip down off your jaw, trailing across your body and onto the cold concrete below. You watched it mingle with the blood pooled below you with a detached sense of calm. On the bright side, at least your breathing was under control.

Oh. That’s right. Remaining calm - that was the first step. What was it that was next?

Observation - that was it. You had to take stock of the situation around you. Although you felt seconds away from floating away, from checking out of your brain completely and just leaving your body to deal with the pain, you wrestled back control of your limbs and forced yourself to focus on the next step. What could you see around you?

Looking at your surroundings, you could tell that you were largely encompassed by rubble on all sides. The space you were in was fairly big - about the size of a room in the manor - but was largely shrouded in darkness, making the details hard to see. However, cracks and gaps in the rubble above you did allow small streams of light to flow in, thankfully saving you from being in pitch darkness. 

For a second, you were tempted to shout - to scream as loudly as your aching vocal chords would allow. Gaps meant sound could escape, that someone could hear you. But then you realised, nobody knew you were in here. Nobody was looking for you, searching to hear a voice calling out. Nobody was stupid enough to enter an empty, collapsing building on the off chance someone hadn’t got out. You were on your own. You were better off saving what little energy you had left to deal with the situation you were in. 

Speaking of the ‘situation’, the first thing you saw when you looked down was the object that had punched straight through your body - it was a piece of rebar. How ironic. What you thought would be your saving grace had turned out to be your doom. Still, in a way you were lucky. The piece of rebar had arrested some of the momentum of falling, simply causing you to sink down further on the blood-slicked steel rather than become a smear on the floor. That hadn’t saved you from the falling debris though, as you could see that you were pinned down by a chunk of concrete over your left leg.

Looking at the metal again, you could tell that it wasn’t pointed straight up from the ground, pointing at a 50 or 60 degree angle instead. Rather than a simple puncture wound, the piece of steel had created a messy tear, leaving a gaping hole in your stomach. Ah. So that’s why you were bleeding so much.

Your mind started reeling as you began to comprehend the full extent of the situation you were in. You gave yourself a second to panic - to despair as you recognised how low your odds of survival were, before forcing yourself to set your emotions aside and think logically. How could you even begin to get out of this? That was the next thing you needed to do: make a plan.

Since nobody knew to look for you, you had to make yourself visible to someone who could help you. You had to get out of there. 

The first thing you had to do was pull yourself off the piece of metal that was skewered through you. With the angle of the steel leaving no clean entry or exit wound, there was no point in keeping the object in the wound anyway. You were going to bleed out either way, especially with no guarantee of help on the way. To be honest, at the rate you were losing blood, you weren’t sure if you were even going to make it that far, but you didn’t allow yourself to think about that. You could only allow yourself to focus on the next step, the task right in front of you.

What you needed to focus on was freeing your leg from the piece of concrete that was pinning you down, trapping you in place. You gave the chunk a rough kick with your good leg, causing sparks of pain to shoot from your leg and your stomach in unison. Bile rose up in your throat as stars danced in your vision. 

You steeled yourself for what was to come. You needed to do this, it was the only way out. You closed your eyes tightly and kicked out again, putting as much power behind it as you could muster. This time when the kick connected, you felt the chunk shift, allowing you to pull your leg free despite the excruciating feeling of the rebar being driven further into your body. You breathed and breathed and breathed, praying for the pain to pass. 

Eventually, you had recovered enough to realise that you could barely feel your leg at all. That should have been alarming, but honestly it was a welcome change since fiery hot pain was emanating from every other part of your body. Your head felt heavy and dizziness set in as you shifted in an attempt to get a better look at it. It was purpling and swollen, bleeding from a deep gash, with numerous smaller cuts littered across it. At your ankle there was a large lump, and where the skin had split you could see a hint of silvery white underneath. Your whole leg looked like a mess, and honestly you doubted that you would be able to stand on it at all. 

Even still, you gritted your teeth and forced it to bear your weight for even just a second. It was just enough for you to wrap your hands around the sticky, crimson-dyed steel and haul yourself forwards, pulling yourself off the piece of metal that had pierced through you. You stood upright for just an instant before you felt yourself listing, tipping forward to meet the ground. Black filled your vision as you crumpled into a heap, concrete and dust pressed against your face as your blood dripped between the fingers of your hand that was tightly pressed against your abdomen. 

You didn’t know how long it had been - long enough for blood to have begun pooling on the floor - before your vision returned and you finally found the strength to lift your head. 

Amongst the darkness, you were able to see a bright spot of light in front of you - a way out! It wasn’t far - maybe about 10 metres - but in your state it may as well have been 10 miles. You attempted to push yourself up onto your feet, but your leg gave way beneath you almost instantly. You had no hope of getting out of there like that. Finding yourself on the floor once again, you resigned yourself to crawling over instead. 

You moved slowly on your stomach, half crawling, half dragging yourself across the concrete, nails of the hand on your good arm scraping across the floor with a primal desperation to drive yourself forwards. Your body was singing in agony as you felt each movement scrape dust and debris into the open wound of your stomach and grind your arm bone against its empty socket. Despite the pain tormenting your body, you were still able to continue on, moving inch by torturous inch, ever closer to your escape.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, you were able to reach the gap in the rubble. You had just started to pull yourself through when the ringing in your skull got more insistent, black invading the edges of your vision. Despite your best efforts to push on, you found that your body refused to listen, refused to move another inch. It had finally become all too much and your body had begun to shut down, just close enough to salvation for the adrenaline to wear off. 

You prayed that your efforts would be enough as you finally surrendered to the darkness.

—-

Dick was frustrated. 

It was a mistake - a calculated risk that hadn’t worked out in their favour, that had allowed the Riddler to slip out of their grasp just long enough to detonate the bombs he had planted. Although they had got him back under their custody quickly, it was just a moment too late, so he and Tim were left waiting with bated breath to hear what their mistake had cost Gotham. Last they’d heard, the bombs had been located and evacuation efforts were underway. That had been a while ago, so they were cautiously optimistic, but you never know in Gotham.

“N. RR. We’ve heard back from the GCPD about the extent of the damage”. Babs’ voice rung out through their comms, putting them out of their misery. “3 of the 4 bombs were successfully disarmed. The 4th was located in an apartment complex that was confirmed to be clear of civilians.”

While it was upsetting that so many people lost their homes because of him, he was thankful to hear that the evacuation was complete. Dick wanted so badly to breathe a sigh of relief at the news, but something in the way she spoke made him hesitate. It was cold and toneless, focused on delivering facts only. It was the voice she used when she was forced to compartmentalise.

“O?” he asked, prompting her to go on.

“Nightingale was the one evacuating the building” she started, as distress began to leak into her voice. “We don’t know if she was clear of the explosion. She hasn’t checked in yet. There was-”

Dick stopped listening at this point, sucking in a sharp breath to try and clear the buzzing in his ears, to try and focus on anything but the dread that filled his body from head to toe. Why were you even there? You should have been resting in the manor with Alfred instead of bearing the consequences of his own stupidity. His mind spiralled with worst case scenarios and what ifs, as a pit settled in his stomach. 

No! Catastrophising wouldn’t help the situation. You were a vigilante, you were a Bat - you’d faced worse odds than this before. He had to pull himself together and focus on the next step in front of him.

He took a restrained Riddler and shoved him towards Red Robin, trusting his little brother to deal with the villain while he took quick strides towards his motorcycle. He had to get to the bomb site. If he was lucky, you’d greet him with a smile and he could help lighten your load in dealing with the aftermath. If not… If not, then he had to find you. 

When he finally pulled up to the site, having broken multiple traffic laws to get there as soon as possible, he began searching the crowd for you. He looked around desperately for the flash of blue of your costume, but couldn’t spot it in the packed crowd. Damn the whole family for prioritising stealth. He was about to continue weaving his way through the crowd when he was stopped by a young woman surrounded by a gaggle of children. It was times like this that he regretted his reputation as the friendly, approachable Bat, but he knew that you’d want him to stop and help. 

He did his best to hide his desperation to get back to his search and plastered on a fake smile, greeting the woman.

“How can I help?”

“Nightwing!” the woman responded. “I think Nightingale might still be in the building! She helped us all get out but I haven’t seen her since and I think she might have headed back inside. I wanted to tell someone but there was no one to talk to and I left my phone inside but now you’re here and you can find her. Thank god!” the woman started rambling, panic lacing her voice.

Nightwing, for his part, had closed his eyes, fighting to regulate his breathing. There it was. The worst case scenario he had been steadfastly ignoring, all spelled out in front of him. Terror filled his body, sunk into his bones and left his knees weak. He wished he didn’t have to be strong right now. He wished he could fall apart like he so desperately wanted to, that you would be there to hold him close and help him pick up the pieces like you always did. 

But he couldn’t afford to do that, not with your life on the line. Instead, he offers the woman a curt nod of thanks - too preoccupied to be more polite - before spinning on his heel and breaking into a run in the direction of the destroyed building. His eyes scanned the wreckage from afar, looking for any sign of you. He braced himself for the worst, but focused on the flicker of hope in his chest that was the only thing still driving him onwards in that moment. Either way, he promised himself that he would bring you home. 

With no sign of you visible as he came to a stop in front of the pile of rubble, he began wading in to search more thoroughly, careful not to shift the piles of rubble too much just in case. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours (but was probably more like a couple of minutes) of being alone with nothing but piles of concrete and his own anxious thoughts, he saw it. Peeking out through a gap in the rubble, there was a gloved hand with a stripe of blue running up the fingers. An homage to one of his worst looks, you had joked when you first revealed your new suit to him. Although he had acted offended at the time, he was now astonishingly grateful for the pop of colour allowing you to be visible amongst the wreckage.

He raced over and dropped down to his knees in front of you, forcing himself to compartmentalise his own anguish and assess the situation. You were laid out on your front, arm outstretched into the light while your body remained bathed in darkness from the rubble. From where he stood, he couldn’t see much but he did manage to make out enough to tell that you were breathing. Laboured, shallow breathing, but breathing nonetheless. 

The relief was dizzying. His eyes drank in your beautiful features, thankful beyond measure to just be seeing you once again. Although some of your face was covered by your domino, he could see that it was twisted in pain. Right. He had to focus on the task at hand. 

His first priority was to get you out of there. Despite beginning to crawl through the gap in the rubble, almost all of your body was still under concrete. If anything shifted or gave way above you then you would be in serious danger. Luckily, it seemed like there was enough space to pull you through without any trouble. Dick managed to hook his hands underneath your armpits and began pulling you out. 

To his horror, the drag of your body left behind a wet, red smear on the ground. As you were pulled further into the light, the true extent of your injuries became clear. He paled as he observed the mess of your abdomen, cursing as he flipped you over to reveal the exit wound. He was able to spot a number of other injuries as well - a gash on the leg with signs of a crush injury, as well as a dislocated shoulder that his pulling had probably aggravated - but the most pressing issue was the gaping hole in your abdomen.

He began to apply pressure on the wound, desperate to keep as much of your precious lifeblood inside your body as he possibly could, while propping your legs up on a piece of concrete to elevate them. He tried desperately to control the jackrabbit of his heart as he reached his trembling fingers into his pouch, with one hand still applying pressure on the wound. 

He quickly found the supplies he needed and pulled out his emergency trauma dressings, ripping the packet open with his teeth before pressing them to your abdomen. He applied heavy pressure, only distantly registering concern that you were completely unresponsive, despite the fact that it must’ve been extremely painful for you. 

After a few minutes of applying pressure and more dressings, he was finally able to get the bleeding under control enough to be able to bring out the trauma compression bandages. He wrapped them around you briskly, pulling them tight to ensure that they were applying enough pressure on the injury. 

With your wound finally somewhat stabilised, he was able to pull back and assess your other injuries. Something felt off to him as he mentally triaged your injuries. Your shoulder and leg needed treatment, but that could wait until you were back in the Batcave. He mentally winced in sympathy, remembering how you were sick of being benched and couldn’t wait to get back in the field - that certainly wouldn’t be happening any time soon after this.

It was only then as his eyes raked over your body methodically, cataloguing every detail in his mind, that he realised what was wrong. Your chest was no longer rising and falling. His blood ran cold as he rushed to press two fingers to your neck. Nothing. No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening! He cursed his own stupidity and lack of observation - how long had you been like this? What if he was too late? Why was he always too late….

In that moment, he felt like he was moving through molasses, each second stretching out to an agonising eternity as he struggled to move, to act. He crashed to his knees at your side, placing the heel of his clasped hands at your breastbone and pressing down firmly with his body weight. He had to get your heart pumping, had to do something to resuscitate you. Desperation filled his body - he was so close to getting you out of there. So close to wrapping you up in his arms and whisking you back to the manor. But instead here he was on a cold Gotham night, hands covered in your blood as he prayed to whatever deities that would listen for the chance to see your beautiful eyes open once again. 

As he continued on with his chest compressions at a steady pace, he felt the sickening crack of something giving way beneath him. Fuck. He had never hated himself more than in that moment. This was all his fault. He wished beyond anything that he could swap places with you right now - that he could take all of your pain and suffering on himself and save you from it. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do anything. And now he can’t even do the one thing he needed to do to keep you alive without hurting you! 

He pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to swallow him whole and instead tilted your head back, pinched your nose and blew firmly into your mouth. He had to focus and keep going. He can’t allow himself to fail. He won’t. It will destroy him utterly if he does.

“-t’ll be ok. I’m on my way. I’m 3 minutes out. You’re doing so well. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’ll be ok. I’m on my way. I’m 2 minutes-” 

Just as he was beginning to falter, as doubt began to creep into his mind, he tuned in to a voice over his comms, low, steady and soothing. He didn’t know how long he’d been blocking out the voices for, but from the rasp of the voice it was clear that Batman had been repeating the same words for a while now, trying his best to provide meagre comfort as his son's life fell apart on the other end of the line. 

Clearly, whatever had been blocking Oracle’s signal earlier had been destroyed in the blast, and she had been providing updates to the other Bats, even as Nightwing failed to respond to her words. The idea of her being witness to all of his failures tonight - failures that could cost you your life - made bile rise up in his throat. Maybe if he had actually been listening, he could have got to you sooner. 

He shook his head and refocused on his chest compressions, even as his strength faltered. He couldn’t afford to be distracted or tired. He had to hold out a little bit longer - just 2 minutes, Batman had said. He could do that. With your life on the line, he would do it a thousand times over if he had to.

Even still, when the lights of the Batmobile pulled up beside him, he almost broke down in relief. Holding back a sob, he called out for Batman and when the black cloaked figure made it to your side, he finally allowed himself to collapse and shatter completely. His dad was here. His dad would save the day.

—-

You rose to awareness slowly, reaching through the fuzzy haze to pull yourself to consciousness. The first thing you registered was a faint monotonous beep followed by the woosh of pumping air. Feeling the weight of an oxygen mask on your face, you heaved in a deep breath - what felt like the first one you’d been able to take since the explosion - and finally eased your eyes open. 

You stared up at cold, damp rock which stretched far above your head. You were in the Batcave then - in the medical area, presumably. Glancing down, you saw the extent of it all.

Tubes came out of your hands, your arms, your thighs, seemingly everywhere. Down on your leg you saw a row of neat stitches, caged in by metal pins which snaked around your entire lower leg. You were covered in more bandages than you thought were possible - stark white criss-crossed across your entire centre and yet more white was wrapped around your arm, while a sling held your shoulder securely in place. You reached your good arm up to feel the stitches on the side of your head, wincing as they felt tender under your touch.

At the first sign of movement, Dick bolted upright from where he was sat, hunched over at your bedside. He drank in your presence greedily, as if trying to convince himself that you were real, and not simply a cruel trick of his mind. 

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, love?”

You paused to take stock of your body for a moment. By all means, you felt better than you had any right to feel. Sure, it hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing like the chorus of agony that you expected to be met with. It was probably because Bruce kept the Batcave stocked with the good stuff - that would explain the faint floaty feeling that you couldn’t shake off. 

You unstuck your tongue from the roof of your mouth, wetting your lips before responding.

“Feelin’ great! How’re you doin’ tho?” You asked, offering him a smile as best you could behind the oxygen mask. Although your words slurred, the sentiment behind them was sincere.

Dick looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days - perhaps he hadn’t. Even when he knew he would be in the way, he found it difficult to tear himself from your bedside from the moment you had got back to the Batcave, he couldn’t bear it. Thank god for the Batcave being just as stocked as Gotham General - there would be no way to ensure your identity was safe in the hospital so he was thankful you could be treated at home. That also had the added bonus of him being able to stay by your side the whole time, rather than being constrained to visiting hours. However, that naturally meant that he hadn’t got much sleep over the last few days, aside from a couple naps in the chair he was currently sat in.

Instead, he watched on anxiously as Alfred, Leslie and Bruce had worked tirelessly to save you. They had burned through their entire stock of blood in the Batcave trying to get your heart pumping again, and even then it wasn’t enough. Luckily, Dick was a compatible blood type and, desperate to help in some way, he had jumped at the opportunity to give up his blood for you.

Whilst the two of you were hooked up together through an iv, the eldest three continued their work to get your stabilised. At one point, you had even needed intubation as your lungs failed you. The three of them worked hard to examine and stitch and mend until they were finally able to pull you back together in one piece. 

Dick let out a shaky exhale as he finally received irrefutable proof that you were alive, that you were going to recover. 

The tension that had him wound up like a spring the last few days, had him replaying every last moment in his head, had finally released and he collapsed back into his chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Your blood had haunted him these past few days. It clung to his skin even as he scrubbed himself clean over and over. But finally, seeing you whole and on the road to recovery, he felt his sins wash away in the wake of your smile

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” he said quickly, before wincing at how short he was being with you. He never wanted to take his turmoil out on you. “Careful-”

At his tone, you began to ease yourself upright in bed to get a better look at him, suppressing a gasp of pain as your abdomen tugged in protest.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your eyes searching his for any hint of how he’s feeling.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” he started, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone as he fought without success to reign his emotions back in. “You’re here, stuck in a hospital bed and it’s all my fault! You’ve been out for days - we weren’t sure if you would ever wake up. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bury another loved one - couldn’t bury you. I just- I almost lost you, and it’s all because of me! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” he sobbed.

“Shh Dickie, love, it’s ok. I’m alive.” you cooed comfortingly. “Why on earth would you think that it’s your fault?”

“I was in charge of dealing with the Riddler - it was my responsibility. I was the one who took the risk that let him escape and detonate the bombs. And when I came to find you, I was almost too late - your heart stopped and you could’ve died all because of me. I screwed up, and you got hurt because of it.” he muttered miserably. 

Instead of responding, you shifted over to the side and patted the space next to you, knowing that your husband needed more than just words to snap out of his spiral.

“C’mere.” You invited your husband up on the bed, and watched as yearning and concern warred over his features. Your husband had always been a tactile person, and you knew that it was exactly what he was in desperate need of in that moment.

“I can’t! You’re hurt! I don’t want-”

“It’ll hurt me more if I can’t hold you right now. Just get over here.” You cut him off, knowing that it was something he so desperately wanted and needed, despite his protests. 

At your insistence he sighed, recognising a losing battle when he saw it, and carefully clambered up onto the bed. You wasted no time in wrapping your arm around him cautiously, making sure that none of the tubes or wires were tugged. You wished you could lay his head on your chest, but with your other arm in the way you simply settled for making sure that the pulse point at your wrist was free for him if he needed reassurance. You did your best to one-handedly wipe his tears as he sobbed into you.

“Shhh, listen to me for a second, ok honey?

The Riddler did this to me, not you. He is responsible for his own actions and the consequences of them. You don’t need to martyr yourself - and I know you were doing that - over this. Let the blame sit with the person who is responsible, no-one else. You did your best with the information available to you. 

More importantly, you saved my life. You came when no-one else knew to. You looked after me and got me back here and kept me alive. That is worth so much more than whatever mistake you blame yourself for. None of us blame you for that mistake, but I am so incredibly thankful for everything that you’ve done to save me. I just need you to know that.” 

You desperately hoped that he would take your words to heart - that he would stop taking on the weight of the world on his own two shoulders. At his wet sniffle you continued:

“The last few days must’ve been so hard for you, right? Thank you for saving me, for pushing through even though it must’ve been horrible for you. You don’t have to be strong anymore, you can let it all out. I’m here.” 

You knew your husband’s tendency to set aside his emotional needs in the face of any mission or duty, and you needed him to know that it was ok to fall apart - that you would be there to catch him. Something anxious in your chest loosened just a fraction when you felt him lean into your shoulder, tears dampening your neck as shudders wracked his body. The thought of him bearing that burden all on his own for so long made your heart ache. You wished you could wrap yourself around him and rock him back and forth, but you settled on nuzzling your head into his and whispering soft reassurances whenever you could.

Dick, for his part, was clinging onto you like you were his lifeline. Even when facing the storm of his emotions, you were his anchor - the lighthouse to guide him home. He was so immensely grateful that you were here, whole and in one piece. But he was also so, so tired - filled with a bone-deep weariness from trying desperately to hold himself together for so long, for his family’s sake, your sake and his own sake. Finally given the chance for catharsis, he felt himself fully fall apart under your watchful protection.

As his tears slowed to a stop, he was filled with a rush of affection and gratefulness. He would never stop being in awe of you. Even though you were the one in the hospital bed, the one with your life clinging to your lips just days before, still hopped up on all manner of painkillers, you still found the strength to be there for him and comfort him. He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but he was immeasurably thankful to have you in his life.

He shifted to wrap his own arms around you - careful not to disturb your injuries - and kissed the side of your head, whispering into your ear. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much for being alive. Thank you for always being there for me and looking after me, even though you must be hurting as well. I love you so so much.”

“I love you too.” you replied, heart feeling so full that it could burst, before snuggling down deeper into his arms.

Even as your in-laws trickled into the room, bringing with them well-wishes, laughter and joy, Dick simply stayed by your side, holding you close and silently vowing that he would always be there to look after you and protect you from ever being hurt like this again.

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3

[rederiss]

In today’s session of Rederiss Rambles, we will be talking about: Jeremy Knox

Buckle up guys, this will get sad. (This is your warning. If you have not read TGR, STOP NOW!!!)

Thesis: Jeremy Knox has a disassociating problem, and I will be shedding light on how this affects the narration, his views on himself, and his views with sex. (This is a very shitty thesis, but whatever. Im graduating soon, so i dont give a fuck)

Before we get going, I am not saying he has a disorder. I am specifically looking at disassociating as a form of coping and disconnecting from the world.

The very first time we, as the audience, may experience may experience a potential disassociating moment from Jeremy Knox is when his brother texts him, and he drops his phone into his coffee (Exhibit A below). I’ve only added these parts of the whole scene to show the full shift. Jeremy literally went from casually talking about the issue at hand to completely a whole different side of him. He starts feeling dread, reads the phone, then drops his phone into his coffee a moment later. He does not even move. Laila had to take the mug out of his hands and the whole scene feels as if everything becomes a fog. The tone Jeremy uses goes from focused to distant, and he’s not fully back until Laila presses a kiss on his temple. Now, we all know that he very much so needs that touch to anchor him…

But sometimes touch doesn’t always anchor him! Sometimes, he uses it as self harm, though he labels it as “rebellion.” Yes, we are now going to talk about his sex life becuase that is such a huge part of Jeremy. Has anyone noticed that Jeremy never details the sex? At first, I thought it was because Nora purposefully omitted those parts, but then after thinking on it, this is Jeremy. If Nora is omitting in Jeremy’s POV, it probably means we should focus on what is being omitted and how she details the omission… and yes you can detail omission. Jeremy Knox is notorious for omitting that we need to focus on it to know more.

For instance, a great example is when he saw the police and kept his eyes forward, trying to ignore the police. We all noticed this, of course. Jeremy was omitting information from us and framing it in away where he attempts to gloss over him doing that, but in reality, it’s a focus point. Why is he doing this? So, we need to really dig into his narration to have some understanding… it’s actually how I figured out he had a sex scandal before TGR came out (look, I made that post as half a joke, as a meme…)

OKAY, so let’s look at an example omission scene… Actually two and compare them now that we know we need to look at how he is framing these omitted information. If you compare both the Leo and Faser sex scenes, you’ll notice the same framing: Jeremy describes some foreplay then omits the entirety of the sex and describes how he leaves. It’s like he mentally goes in and out. We don’t even know that his neck gets bruised until much later. When we learn about the bruises, he passes it off pretty easily and quite literally says “he remembers…” and that it was “easy to ignore” which show some sign of dissociating/disconnecting.

At face value, we wouldn’t think much about Jeremy omitting those scenes, but when you compare them and then add in the “Jeremy remembered Faster’s bruising grip” we get to see a more clear picture. We all know that Jeremy is using sex as self harm, but he also uses it to disconnect from what he doesn’t want to face. Him dissociating during sex is very harmful, which we see with Faser. He remembered, but he ignored since he was more focused on the pleasure (we see this in the next line, I purposely didn’t include).

What I am trying to say is we don’t get details… because Jeremy may just completely disconnect and allow himself to fall into sex. With the extreme that he does this, he no longer uses sex to cope, he uses it to harm himself.

There is one more that I wanted to discuss, that I think is a missed sign of Jeremy having a problem with disociating…

Did not want to add the full scene because it is a couple pages long, but this is the most relevant part. Though I do suggest rereading how this part is framed. Jeremy and Jean are talking, then Jean gave him a reassurance, causing Jeremy to immediately go into a full LONG paragraph about his family’s lackadaisical care for Jeremy/how they view him and how Jean views Jeremy (which Jeremy mischaracterizes). We get this in Jeremy’s POV so it may not have seemed like he became disconnected, but then the above ^^ happened where Jean brought him back.

Jean saying “You go away when you go home” shows how much Jeremy does disconnect, and it’s framed as a coping mechanism… but then the sexual encounters becomes so extreme that it becomes unhealthy, so therefore his coping mechanism is unhealthy. Jeremy needs touch to feel grounded, which is why he uses sex, but it’s now going so far that he’s completely disconnecting and causes himself harm.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

"Where do you think Harry would live after the war? I personally think he would stay at the Burrow for a while, but I can also see him coming back to Grimmauld Place. I know Harry sees the Weasleys as family, but I doubt he'd want to live there long-term. Harry's an introvert, and the Burrow isn’t the best place for someone who needs time alone. But yeah, it’s my headcanon, so I’m curious about your opinion on this."

I really like the idea of Harry returning to Grimmauld Place, though, I don't think it'll be immediately.

The first night after Voldemort is dead, he sleeps in his bed in Gryffindor Tower:

he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the fourposter bead lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there

(DH)

He might stay in Hogwarts for a bit to help out McGonagall and the others. While they're going through the bodies, preparing burials, until Mrs. Weasley insists it's bad for him, and he should come stay at the Burrow with them.

I actually think Harry would decline because I'm not sure how comfortable he'd feel there right after Fred died. How he could sit there, having died and came back, but Fred just died. He didn't come back. And, I don't think most of the Weasleys would really think it's Harry's fault, but, there will be some tension there. Like, I think Harry would feel really awkward about the whole thing and like when he's upset early in DH and in OotP, he'd want to be alone.

Harry tends to go quite and isolate himself when upset, so I see him finding himself back at Grimmauld with Kreacher, secluding himself from everyone for a bit and disassociating like early in OotP:

On the fourth night after Hedwig’s departure Harry was lying in one of his apathetic phases, staring at the ceiling, his exhausted mind quite blank, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked slowly around at him. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and an expression of enormous smugness.

(OotP)

Or after Ron left in DH:

She [Hermione] threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry. Harry felt dazed. He stooped, picked up the Horcrux, and placed it around his own neck. He dragged blankets off Ron’s bunk and threw them over Hermione. Then he climbed onto his own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain.

(DH)

Hary, when upset and depressed, tends to just, shut down. So I can see him going into this state in Grimmauld Place for a bit early after the war. (Except for a few visits to Andromeda and Teddy, since I think he'd take his godfather role very seriously).

That is until Ron and Hermione drop by to drag him to dinner at the Burrow.

During this first time at the Burrow is when Ginny probably corners him about their relationship, how that goes depends on what AU/ship you're writing. But even in canon (with the epilogue), I'm not sure how quickly they get back together. I mean, Ginny still goes back to Hogwarts and Harry would try to find his footing in his life, so, it's up to the writer.

Anyway, I think Harry is more likely to stay most of the time at Grimmauld Place but stop by the Burrow often enough in the year after the end of the war (after that first lunch/dinner Ron and Hermione drag him to).

This guy is going to use Sirius' bedroom again (like in DH) like the traumatized mess that he is.

Now, the question is, where is Teddy in this time?

We know during the battle he's with Andromeda, and I think Harry is going to take his godfather responsibility super seriously, as I mentioned. Harry doesn't trust adults in general, so I think, initially, he wouldn't really know what to think of Andromeda, so I think he'd be more inclined to visit her and Teddy before going to the Burrow — he feels responsible for Teddy and guilty over Fred. And Andromeda I think would feel familiar to him. I think she has the same arrogance as Sirius, she carrys a similar pain to Harry — she, too, lost everyone. They both only have Teddy.

(Yes, Harry has the Weasleys, and as much as he loves them and appreciates how Molly tries to make him feel included, I don't think he really feels like he belongs, yk?

The aftermath of Fred's death shows this well:

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink, as Harry reeled backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . .

(DH)

And after the war, he skips Ginny and Molly to get to Ron and Hermione:

He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder: There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk. [...] Everywhere he looked he saw families reunited, and finally, he saw the two whose company he craved most.

(DH)

Ron and Hermione are the closest to family for Harry, not all the Weasleys. When he wants to reunite with family, it's Ron and Hermione, not Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. (And Luna earlier, but that's because she is comforting to him in general, but he doesn't see her the way he does Ron and Hermione))

Eventually, though, he'd probably move out of Grimmauld and to a different place of his own. With who and when is more up to personal headcanon and whether you consider the epilogue canon or not.