#....it's been ten thousand years...(1 month)

[crunchybeards]

Very quick pouty Harvey doodle :)

[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!

[ama3003]

In the Middle

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: Being caught in the middle is always hard.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like mid to late 20s.

Also double whammy with these fics. Also thank you those who requested some fics. I'm getting on them right now. Keep em coming!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“I cannot believe this dude,” Sam says, pacing the living room like it personally offended him. His hands are moving almost as fast as his mouth. “I tell him Ross wants me to rebuild the Avengers, right? I open up—I mean really open up. I tell him I’m not sure I’m the guy for it. That maybe Steve made a mistake giving me the shield.”

He stops mid-step and points dramatically in the air, like he's building up his case.

“And you know what Bucky says? ‘No, he didn’t.’ That’s it. No discussion. Just—‘No, he didn’t.’ Point. Blank. Period. And I'm not gonna lie, that's all I needed to hear."

You open your mouth to say something, but Sam’s already spinning toward you.

“And I believed him! I believed him because I thought he was my best friend.”

"Hey!" you cut in, brows raised.

Sam waves you off. “Nah, nah—don’t ‘hey’ me. You know you’re like my sister. Ultimate mega best friend status and all that, but not the point right now. Lemme vent about your ugly boyfriend real quick.”

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Sam claps once, then starts pacing again. “Then I find out there’s already a ‘New Avengers’—capital N, capital A—already up and running. And guess who’s right in the middle of it? Bucky! Like I wasn’t gonna find out!”

He stops again, staring at you like it’s your fault. “You know what I call that? Betrayal.” He jabs the air for emphasis. “Straight-up betrayal.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, letting him work through it. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Bucky had called not ten minutes ago to talk about—of all things—the copyright on the Avengers name.

Now Sam wants to sue them.

“Fourteen months,” Sam says, voice rising, “of back-and-forth with this man and his ‘new family.’ You remember what we went through? What he went through? Guess what? We were his family first. And now he’s calling me like I’m the one stepping on toes? Like I’m in the wrong for trying to do what Ross asked me to do?”

“He told you to back off?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Sam gives you a long-suffering look. “He wants me to give him the rights of the name."

"So it didn't end well..." You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Y/N… if I’m venting like this, how do you think the call went?”

You try to offer something. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Combine the teams? Be the MegaVengers or something? Steve literally said ‘Avengers, assemble’ and there were like a thousand people who showed up. We all kind of worked together then.”

Sam looks horrified. “No. No combining. It’s not about numbers—it’s about principle. That man knew what this meant to me. And now he’s trying to sidestep it like it’s nothing.”

He crosses his arms and looks at you with purpose. “You need to talk to him. Get him to step back.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

You meant it. You’ve known Sam for years—he was your ride-or-die, your day-one, the brother you got to choose. But through Sam, you met Bucky. And he became your favorite person. You were in between your best friend and the love of your life.

You learned about the ‘New Avengers’ team at the same time Sam did. The two of you had stared at the screen in disbelief.

But after hours of yelling at Bucky—tears, arguments, explanations—you got it. You understood that he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. That Valentina made moves he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t betrayed you… not intentionally.

Still, the line between intention and impact? That’s where Sam lived.

He stares at you for a moment, then reaches into his jacket and hands you a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” you ask, skimming it. Then you stop. Your eyes widen.

“I want you to join my team,” he says simply. “The new Avengers.”

Your jaw drops. “Sam…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly. “You really think I’d build a team without you? Come on. We’ve never not been on a team together.”

“Sam, I… I can’t sign this,” you say, handing the paper back. “You know I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can. You should. Y/N, I’ve already started recruiting. I’ve got a plan, but I need my right hand. I need you.”

You stand, walking toward him. “And I can’t go against Bucky.”

He exhales sharply, then softens. “Just… think about it, okay? I don’t need a yes right now. Just don’t say no yet.”

“Sam…”

“Think about it,” he says again, looking at his watch. “Ugh—venting session’s over. Gotta go pitch Ross on the plan. Wish me luck.”

He leans in, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, "Please think about it," and walks out the door.

You sit back down, staring at the paper. Then you run a hand through your hair, heart pounding.

A few quiet moments pass.

Then you grab your bag and head straight for the other tower.

*****

“James Buchanan Barnes—you are in so much trouble.”

Your voice echoed through the tower as you dropped your bag with a thud. The team—scattered around the lounge doing everything from eating chips to watching TV—immediately snapped to attention.

A chorus of "Ooooooh!" broke out like a middle school lunchroom.

Bucky stood up fast, hands already in the air like he was facing down a SWAT team. “Okay, doll, don’t be mad.”

You marched forward, hands on your hips. “Don’t be mad? You asked Sam to drop the Avengers name.”

“He’s suing us!” Bucky shot back, already defensive. “We had the name first! Val got the jump on it—we just made it official.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn teenager. Behind him, his teammates exchanged exasperated looks, a few shaking their heads like, here we go again.

“Are you both five?” you snapped. “You need to talk. Face to face. Not through lawyers. Not through phones. Like actual adults.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Bucky muttered. “And honestly, I don’t want to see him either.”

He tried to hold his glare, but it faltered when he looked at you. He could see it written all over your face: this was tearing you up. And he hated that he’d played a part in it.

“I saw Sam today,” you said quietly. “He asked me to join his team.”

The room fell completely silent. Even Yelena put down her snack.

Bucky blinked. “And… what’d you say?”

“I told him no. For now. But he asked me to think about it.”

Bucky scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Think about it? What’s there to think about? You’re not joining them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Every single person in the room physically cringed. Even Red Guardian mouthed oh no.

“You’re not serious right now,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

“I’m saying Sam’s being irrational,” Bucky argued, digging his own grave. “He’s suing us, Y/N. You can’t join them. That’s not how this works.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your eyes. “He’s not being irrational. He’s hurt, Bucky. He thinks you betrayed him. And the truth? Even if it wasn’t on purpose—you kind of did.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I get it,” you added, softer now. “He shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit. It’s messy. But this—this whole thing—is a disaster. And you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”

Bucky slowly reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of this. I just... I won’t give up on this team.”

You let him hold you, but your heart was heavy. “I know,” you whispered, then gave him a small kiss. “But I can’t keep being the bridge between you two.”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Then don’t be. Move in with me. You said you were thinking about it. And hell, you could just join us too. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stepped back, blinking. “Are you seriously asking me to join your team right after I told you Sam asked me the same thing? Are you kidding me, Bucky?”

“Not cool,” Yelena muttered, earning a death glare from Bucky.

Then your phone rang—loud and dramatic. Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. You groaned and answered.

“What, Sam?”

“Figured you were over there,” he said. “So I’ll keep it short. Ross and I have a few new recruits saying yes already. We might fast-track things. So I need an answer. ASAP.”

“You gave me thirty minutes—”

“Thirty minutes for what?” Bucky leaned in, practically pressing his ear to your phone.

“Would you stop?” you muttered, pushing him back.

“Is that Barnes?” Sam asked over the line. “Yo, Barnes—fuck you.”

Bucky blinked. “What did he just say?”

You sighed. “He said—”

“I said fuck you,” Sam shouted, louder this time.

You snapped.

“That’s it!” you barked, stepping between the two of them. “Both of you, shut up.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I am so done being in the middle of your pissing contest,” you said, voice shaking now. “You used to be a family. We used to be a family. And you two are tearing it apart like a couple of overgrown toddlers.”

Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. Sam was silent on the other end.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you added. “You both say you love me, you both trust me—but you’re trying to make me pick between you. And I won’t. I won’t.”

Everyone was still, barely breathing.

Then Sam, faint over the phone: “Wait… Did Barnes ask you to join the FAKEngers?”

“We’re the real Avengers, for the record,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh my god,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m done. Until you both grow up and get your shit together, I’m out. I’m not picking sides.”

You turned, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

“Wait—what do you mean?” Bucky called, chasing after you.

You turned back, pointing between him and your phone. “I love you, Bucky. And Sam—you’re my brother. But if you two can’t stop acting like enemies, then you don’t get to have me caught in the crossfire.”

And with that, you hung up the call and walked out.

Back in the room, Walker slowly picked up the paper. “Ouch,” he said, wincing. “Don’t you just hate when they walk away?”

Yelena smacked him in the head. “You’re not helping.”

***********

It had been a few days since everything exploded—and both Sam and Bucky were unraveling in their own ways.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it: the quiet ache where you used to be. The texts left on read. The silence that said more than any shouting match ever could.

Eventually, they both found themselves doing the same thing—sitting alone, staring at their phones, thumbs hovering over each other's names.

Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and hit the contact.

Sam’s phone lit up. He stared at the screen for a long second before finally answering.

“Barnes,” Sam said flatly.

“Wilson,” Bucky replied, just as dry.

A beat.

Then Bucky exhaled. “I miss her.”

Sam’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another pause.

“We gotta fix this,” Bucky said. “This whole thing… it’s not worth losing her over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed. “We should talk. In person. Try to settle this."

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Alright.”

“Cool.”

“…Fine.”

“…Fine.”

They hung up.

No apologies yet. Not out loud.

But it was a start.

Maybe this whole MegaVengers idea wasn’t so bad after all.

[allsteddie]

Actor!Steve and Singer!Eddie AU where they have some sort of rivalry going on. But, here’s the thing, the whole thing is made up by the press.

It starts when a reporter, during an interview, asks Steve what kind of music he listens to in his free time. Steve names a few artists, mostly pop with a few classic rock bands in between, which leads the reporter to ask if he’s a Corroded Coffin fan. They’re not classic rock, but they sure as hell are popular, but Steve just looks at the reporter and says, “never heard of them in my life.”

And he honestly hasn’t! But the press gets this out of context and of course Corroded Coffin fans are pretty pissed off, offended that someone as famous as actor Steve Harrington, king of period drama shows and romcom movies, is belittling their beloved band like that.

Another reporter, then, after a concert, asks Eddie what he thinks about Steve Harrington’s last interview, where he basically says Corroded Coffin’s music is shit, and Eddie just says, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

And he also hasn’t! Because they have been on tour for months, then they were working on new songs, and it’s been at least five fucking years since Eddie had enough spare time to watch a show. He’s also no fan of romcoms or period dramas, so even if he had had the time, there was no way he’d have watched anything Steve was in.

That’s enough for the press to go wild with stories about disagreements that never really happened and thousands, maybe millions, of people on the internet discussing Steve and Eddie’s rivalry and distaste for each other.

Neither Steve nor Eddie tries to explain the whole misunderstanding because, really, they both think it’s so funny how so many people are buying all this crap. Tabloids talk so often about their ‘rivalry’ that Steve does end up listening to Corroded Coffin and enjoys them a lot; he adds lots of their songs to his playlists. And Eddie finally caves and starts watching one of Steve’s period drama shows; he gets pretty addicted to them, and Steve is hot as hell, so that’s kind of a bonus.

One day, a couple of months after this started, Steve is scrolling his feed and sees a post on a gossip page about someone who said they heard someone telling some other person that they heard Eddie Munson threatening to beat Steve Harrington up if the actor didn’t stop saying shit about his music. The post is so obviously lying that Steve spends a good five minutes laughing. Then, on a whim, he DMs it to Eddie’s official page, with a message attached saying “Just please don’t beat up my face, I need it for work”.

Ten minutes later Eddie replies by sending a second post, this one also from a gossip page that claims their sources might have overheard Steve Harrington saying to his friends that Eddie Munson’s hair is the worst thing he’s ever laid eyes on, followed by a message saying “Sorry, but nobody says shit about my hair. It's hard work making these curls look so good.”

That’s how Eddie and Steve start talking, first just sending each other posts and articles they find funny about their made up rivalry. Somehow, this evolves into an actual conversation about other stuff, like their works, their lives, themselves.

They never really stop messaging each other, their weird work hours and busy schedules preventing them from actually meeting, even though they are dying to.

Then, four months into their unexpected friendship, Steve is in New York shooting a new romcom and Corroded Coffin is expected to play on a charity event there as well. And that’s how Steve and Eddie finally meet; at 1 a.m., on a Thursday, just after Steve wraps up shooting his new movie and Eddie finishes rehearsing for the concert he’s playing the next day. They go out for pizza, even though is freezing outside and they’re both tired as fuck.

The press and their fans are in shock when, a couple of months later, their official accounts announce, on a joint post, that Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are happily dating and planning on going on an extended vacation together as soon as Corroded Coffin wraps up their tour. The couple also asks for people to respect their privacy and states that they don’t intend to give any interviews to discuss their relationship.

They spend the whole vacation laughing over the hundreds of posts and reaction videos their friends send them daily.

[technofeudalism]

on today's episode of "i only pay attention and pretend that i give two shits about the sanctity of human rights when there's a freaking Cheeto in the white house"

“While the administration should be lauded for its efforts to provide children and families access to the court system, its failure to ensure legal representation has produced a massive due process crisis,” said Talia Inlender, Deputy Director of the Center for Immigration Law and Policy (CILP) at the UCLA School of Law. “It should be obvious that immigration court proceedings are far too complex for children to navigate without legal representation, especially when the consequences are so dire. The Biden administration must take swift action to ensure legal representation for all children in immigration court.”

The report’s key findings include:

In a five-month period in FY 2022 alone, almost one third of immigration court cases initiated by the Biden administration–more than 80,000 in all–were against children, over 30,000 of whom were under the age of 5, according to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC).

Studies show that unrepresented unaccompanied children are at least five times more likely to be ordered removed than children with access to counsel. 

By the government’s own account, 44% of unaccompanied children and 51% of families on the Dedicated Docket lack legal representation.

The vast majority of removal orders entered against children are for failure to appear: Approximately 72% of removal orders against families on the Los Angeles and Boston Dedicated Dockets were issued in absentia, with over 48% against children, many under the age of six. Worse yet, 86% of removal orders issued against unaccompanied children were for failure to appear.

Immigration courts under the Biden administration ordered more than 13,000 unaccompanied children removed in absentia between Fiscal Years 2022 and 2023.

The report details how the Biden administration’s treatment of children in immigration court is unlawful, and calls on the Biden administration to: prohibit in absentia removal orders against unrepresented children; terminate the Dedicated Docket; and ensure legal representation for all unrepresented children in removal proceedings.

In handwritten cursive, a Russian immigrant named Marina wrote out the story of the day U.S. Customs and Border Protection agents took away her 1-year-old baby while she was being held in a detention facility in southern California. “I cried and begged, kneeling, not to do this, that this was a mistake, not justice and not right,” she wrote. “She was so little that no one knew anything about her. I was very afraid for her and still am!” This didn’t happen during the Trump administration, which separated more than 4,000 migrant children from their families under its controversial “zero tolerance” policy. Marina was separated from her baby in April of this year. The 40-year-old former restaurant manager came to the U.S.-Mexico border with her husband, mother-in-law and child to seek asylum. More than eight months later, she and her mother-in-law remain in federal immigration custody in Louisiana. Her husband is detained at a different Louisiana immigration facility. And Aleksandra is over a thousand miles away, being cared for by strangers in foster care in California. Aleksandra is one of around 300 children the Biden administration has separated from their parents or legal guardians this year, according to two government sources who asked not to be identified because they hadn’t been authorized to speak about the separations. Most of the cases involved families crossing the southwestern border, the sources said. These numbers haven’t previously been reported. Similarly, 298 children were separated from their parents in 2023, according to a government report to Congress published on Tuesday, even as overall migrant crossings have declined. According to the report, the average amount of time children separated between April 2018 and October 2024 have spent in federal custody before being released to a sponsor is 75 days.

Biden responds to Bernie Sanders' immigration plan: "We shouldn't abolish ICE. We should reform the system. ICE is not the problem. The policies behind ICE are the problem, and that's easy enough to fix if the President knows what he or she is doing."

unfortunately Joe never got around to fixing the Gestapo agency but he tried his gosh darndest and he isn't Drumpf so i guess the pride in being an American was still secure at that point for most liberals. i'm sure that when the next charlatan says the same thing that they'll retain this energy, right? right??

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

The children are dead

pt 2 of Damien x Ghoul.sib reader

──► as the two siblings grow ever so closer bonded by the cold love of their 'adopted' family and the monstrosity of their past , life throws them another unyielding cruelty that breaks them both entirely.

Tw : major character death , child neglect , revenge

Edit ty for 42 likes !!

part 1 , part 3

I'm done dreaming.

ACT I

It was late December , the air around the manor was grim and chilly , nothing but haunting and a grim reminder that life was harsh and would never be easy. Damien clenches his fingers within his gloves as he attempts to soak up what little warmth he had.

Bruce and his other siblings stood before him in the patio , discussing events pertaining to last night's stake out. Damien tunes out their annoying , scratchy voices, but his eyes trained to every other possible corner of the room searching for them.

The grandfather ticks by, and the conversation turns dull , he had to hold himself exactly ten times from clawing Dick's eyes out whenever he'd call him a demon spwan or ask him who he's planning to kill. He's at his bloody wits until he see y/n's figure limping in.

Damien pushes back his chair and immediately launches himself towards them. They didn't have to convey words as his eyes already gave away how bloody worried he was with them. He can hear Bruce and the others calling him back, but he can't give a bloody damn about them right now.

He watches as y/n's bloody form lean against the doorframe as they slide to the ground like a limp leaf . Damien kneels with them and place his hand on their bleeding stomach - it was a big gash like a vicious creature took a bite out of them.

" Oh my God, we need to get them to a doctor-" he could hear Stephanie say from behind him, and Damien has never unsheathed his sword any faster . " Shut the fuck up and leave them alone " he growled.

The last time y/n went to a doctor , the medicine they used on them caused them to turn into a ghoul for three days straight - for three days his precious sibling was forced to be driven to insanity as their ghoulish form fought with what little human control they had left to suppress themselves from consuming humans.

His poor sibling wore ghoulish scratch marks on their arms and cheeks for months after their attempt at manhandking themseleves . He can see in the distance Tim opening his big trap to give his unwanted opinion, and Damien sneered at him . His sibling couldn't heal from their medication in his own world , hell - no medication could heal them , they had to hope to God they regenerated fast enough.

" Fuck off Drake " he sneered before crouching before y/n once again.

" What happened ?" He questioned them as he pressed him hand onto their wound to stop the wound from gushing even more blood. " Ran into another ghoul - no - he was an investigator from my world that kills ghouls like me - the undefeated ghoul investigator , Arima," they explained through coughing fits.

Damien stilled. He now knew the gravity of how extremely grim the situation became , the white reaper of his siblings' universe has come to end their demise . He remembered y/n talking about him , about how Arima possessed superhuman strength and his immense 'hatred for ghouls' lead the man to kill hundreds if not thousands of ghouls in his 18 years of occupation.

Y/n gave him a small smile . " I'll be okay," they reassured him . Damien just held them as he ignored the outside world.

Oh, how he wished he didn't believe them that night .

ACT II

January 6th , the night was quiet, and still , the moon casted its opulence across the streets of Gotham. A simply routine was instilled tonight , everyone had a simple stake out tonight .

It was the first night in years Damien and y/n hadn't been with each other on a mission for years - something he'd live to regret later . He found it suspicious, but Bruce insisted he needed to join him tonight to test him out as Robin and y/n had persistently encouraged him to go.

So here he was following Bruce from rooftop to rooftop as they stalked some of Joker's henchmen . For the last hour or so , Damien had checked in on y/n , and they reported they were doing okay and had just arrested some petty thrives for the night.

The hour was coming to an end , and so far, everyone but y/n reported in . Damien grew anxious , and y/n was always a timely person, so for them to be late was entirely unheard of.

Bruce reassured him that they were fine but that didn't stop the nagging feeling in his stomach and it's not like Bruce ever cared about your existence to begin with - only cared you did what you had to do and the thought of it pissed him off.

Damien was now finishing up wrapping up his grappling hook when y/n's frantic voice buzzed through his intercom . " Help me - he's - come quick " came their frantic voice through the static. Damien felt dread weighing like lead through his veins as he clutched onto his own intercom.

" Y/n are you okay ? Where are you ?" He asked frantically but was only left with static. Damien immediately began to leave when Bruce stopped him.

" Damien y/n isn't important right now we have more important things to worry about " Bruce or rather batman says and he held his son by the shoulder . Damien harshly yanked it off . " Leave me the fuck alone - I am going to them and you aren't stopping me " He yells as he grappled off the roof.

Batman calls after him, but Damien ignores him as he grapples his way to the other side of Gotham city . His heart beats heavy in his chest as he appraches your last known location only to see the building left in ruin.

Blood splatters were everywhere, and ruins were left anew . " Y/N !!!!" He shouted as he grappled around the area , eyes frantically looking for your figure . He begs , prays to whatever God out there that you're safe as he continued further as he observes more buildings left to ruins.

Ruble covered the area as far as the eye can see , not a living soul in sight. Damien kept calling your name out , tears practically falling down his face as he continued searching.

Minutes ticked by dreadfully until he finally spots you. Your bloody figure lays there in a bed of red spider lillies. Damien lets out an ear, piercing scream at the sight . With shaky legs and arms, he approaches your figure . Your figure layed still as a gentle breeze blow, causing the spider lillies to brush up against your form like a warm blanket .

Damien holds your form with shaky hands as he keeps repeating no's over and over. Your dead brown human eye stared at him , soulless and unmoving while your beautiful red eye had a jaggery, long sword piercing right through it . Your right arm and both your legs were missing , but still - in the moonlight , you looked calm.

Damien grew quiet as he layed his head on your chest , no longer can he selfishly listen to your heartbeat and relish in the familiar love you bestowed upon him. No longer would he be able to share a laugh with you , your pain , your burdens , your bitter coffees to your exhilarating training.

He would no longer have any of those as now you lay dead , robbed from his safe embrace because life was too cruel and unforgiving and had to take away the one good thing he had his life.

He no longer felt angry at the world. No, he felt awake and mad . Be prepared , Gotham , for tonight two children died and your long awaited recogning is comming with nothing but cold , bitter , unforgiving blood shed.

A crow in the distance let out a war cry as Damien kisses your forehead one last time before the spider lillies cover your form one last time , shadong your innocence from the raging hell Damien is about to bestow upon the world.. A gentle breeze blows, and Damien unsheathes his sword, ready to bring destruction and ruin to the world.

dreaming world

prepare to be

awaken.

Part 3, anyone ?

[two-white-butterflies]

slowburn

Description: Harvey refuses to take a sick leave. You teach him the importance of staying home and resting while unraveling feelings towards each other that have been kept hidden for ten years.

Pairing: harvey specter/reader

There were a million adjectives that you could use to describe Harvey Specter. Dedicated was one of those adjectives. He is the type of person to put in more work than he was getting paid for - oftentimes, it gets him into trouble but the fucking genius always finds a way out.

You suppose that is half the reason why you hate his guts.

His actions never have any negative consequences. He just marches into the room with a self-absorbed smirk and wiggles out of trouble. Matter of fact, you are surprised to see that he hasn't been sued for any workplace-related incidents before. You can think of at least three charges off the top of your head.

"He stole another one of my clients. I've been buttering up Mr. Pritchett for three months now and he just swoops in and finds his missing dog!" Phoebe rants while pacing back and forth, her heels clicking against the marble floors in a manner that you pray does not leave marks. Phoebe was hired at about the same time as Mike. She's been working as your associate for about half a year now.

Phoebe was at the top of her class at Harvard. She marched to Pearson Hardman with a laminated copy of her recommendation letters, all the professors were singing praises about her, almost as if they kneeled on the ground which she walked upon. On paper, she is leagues better than Mike Ross - but in reality, it seems like Harvey's associate is too much like him. Thief, you thought to yourself.

"There will be other clients," you reminded.

"We need Pritchett's Closets!" Phoebe sighs.

"- and Blinds." You gave her a teasing smile.

You have been trying to build this marketable image to your clients, opting to stay on the side of paperwork when it comes to technical cases mostly concerning patents, copyright claims, and all those boring things that actually bring the most money. After that case with Montgomery Co. with the missing ballerina and the murdered grandmother - it had all been too much, leaning more towards the black than the usual grey that you were suited with.

Phoebe knew that Pritchett's Closet's (& Blinds) endorsement would mean cementing that newfound niche that you've burrowed into, but with Harvey grabbing into Mr. Pritchett's proverbial golden tits. He is making that very difficult for you.

"I don't get it, why do they always steal our clients? Louis always gets the second most interesting cases." Phoebe regains her composure, opting to sit on the chair in front of you - watching as you drafted through a thousand-paged contract about some thingamajink. Phoebe just couldn't understand why Harvey of all people was hellbent on stealing your clients.

He is renowned for the storm, not the calm rivers.

"Our cases bring in the most money," you answered. It is very difficult to remain composed in front of your associate, but Jessica emphasized the fact that you were here to teach Phoebe about law. Rule #1 - never show any emotions. The first to react is the first to lose. "I don't think that Harvey is that desperate for money," she says.

You glance up from your laptop, an eyebrow raised in intrigue.

The way that her lips are curled right now. She's thinking about something unorthodox (which is not the appropriate adjective to use but you cannot think of another word to describe her mischief).

"I don't have time for this," you groaned hearing her giggles.

"Do you ever think that maybe Harvey is doing this to get your attention?" She leans a little closer, her eyebrows wiggling insisting that a connection existed even though it wasn't there. "Why would he want my attention, huh?" You asked expecting no decent answer.

"- because you are the third most fuckable woman in this office." She says in a hushed whisper. If there was water inside of your mouth, you would have spit it out by now. "Who's the first and the second?" Your voice comes out louder than you anticipated.

"I mean this with absolute adoration, but Jessica and me, respectively." Phoebe shrugs and a laugh forces its way out of your lips, for someone who answered her interview with professionalism, Phoebe is not acting very professional right now. "Jokes aside. I understand why Harvey would want to want you." She points out.

"You seriously have to stop reading those books," you roll your eyes.

"Remember that time when you brought me to the company gala? You were wearing that random dress from an atelier in Paris. It wasn't even a revealing gown, cloistered nuns wear clothes more revealing than that gown you wore but Harvey was staring at you with hearts in his fricking eyes." Phoebe exaggerates with her grand hand gestures. You suppose that you didn't exactly pay mind to Harvey during that gala - he did try to speak to you before leaving, but at that point you were far too tired - you just got into a cab.

You didn't even stop walking to hear what he was saying.

Oh, don't let Phoebe's words get to you. You thought to yourself.

She's nothing but a fresh graduate student who (swears) that she has never had a boyfriend her entire life. What does she know of love?

You pried your attention away from your laptop, staring at Phoebe straight in the eyes - in a tone that you have used with witnesses. "Even if Harvey Specter likes me in the way that you're pointing out, it doesn't matter because I don't care." You lied.

"- and you should go back to work." You pointed at the door.

And she stands up with a huff.

"Close the door on your way out!"

"Whatever!"

Goddamn, Phoebe!

Her words echoed in your mind, memories of that gala keep repeating - it was three months ago for Christ's sake. You still remember every detail albeit a little blurry.

Harvey was trying to reach out to you, but at that point, you had already drunk too much whiskey, everything was happening in slow motion. It was raining, your car was nowhere to be found and Phoebe already called a cab to get you home - at that time, you didn't have the capacity or sanity to discuss a case with Harvey, so you just left.

You prayed that Harvey would just think that you didn't hear him. It would hurt his ego, yes, but he always deserves a little humbling.

But now your mind is just repeating that scenario.

What if he wanted to talk about something else?

What if he wanted to be friends? More than friends?

"What the fuck am I talking about?" You mumbled to yourself while fishing for the car keys inside of your purse. It was already twelve midnight. You were probably the last person inside the damn building. A yawn escapes your mouth as you walked through the dark corridors of Pearson Hardman, but to your surprise the lights to Harvey's office are open and his door was slightly ajar. 

Phoebe's words come crashing towards you again. There is only one way to know, and that is to ask. Well, not ask but most certainly try to feel around, you argued with yourself.

Your feet taking you towards the direction of his office.

"Harvey, are you still there?" You knocked on his door.

"What is it?" He inquires while blowing his nose.

You paused for a second. Your eyes trailed back and forth between Harvey and the tissue in his hand presumably filled with snot. You have been working together for ten years and this is the first time that you've seen him sick. "I was about to leave but I saw that you were still here, so I'm just giving a heads up." You informed.

He sneezes once more, and you tilt your body towards the side - dodging the pathogens. "Are you sure that you're capable of going home?" You inquired with concern. He probably has a driver...

"Why wouldn't I be?" He shakes his head, his tone a little kinder.

"You look like you're about to die." You answered bluntly.

His eyes were puffy and his nose was red. On top of that, he was pale as a ghost - haunting you with his whiteness.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" He chided.

You began to march in his direction, placing a hand on his forehead. The sudden proximity a little intimidating but still somewhat normal.

"You're going down with a fever," you said with certainty.

Your eyes trail towards his features, watching as his lips press into a thin line and his eyebrows merge together in frustration. It must feel horrible being sick during Q3 (which was the most important quarter in Pearson Hardman as all of your clients seem to get sued this season of the year). "You should take the day off tomorrow," you advised, almost surprised to hear these words escape your tongue.

You haven't had a decent conversation with Harvey for years. Well, you haven't spoken to him at all beyond business.

"As far as I'm concerned you're not Jessica and you can't tell me what to do." He shoves your advice down the drain, opting to return to the piles of paperwork sitting on his desk.

Oh yeah, stubborn is also a word you would use to describe him. Once he has his mind focused on something, it takes unstoppable force to pry him away. Heck, Phoebe calls him an immovable object referencing a reel that Donna sent to her. God, reels are awful.

"Suit yourself," you shrugged while turning around to leave.

"Goodbye," his voice is surprisingly soft.

No, this is just my mind playing tricks on me!

"Bye," you forced yourself to reply before shutting the glass doors behind you. Hopefully, he'll be better tomorrow - or else Jesicca will begin to realize that you aren't doing that much in the office.

You chuckle at the thought.

It was a stressful Friday in Pearson Hardman.

All Fridays are stressful in Pearson Hardman.

It was the last week of the month which meant that the accountant was going to come and audit the entire firm. Of course, the firm wasn't doing anything illegal per se but the accountant's presence did rattle Louis who would otherwise not be bothering you. "You didn't tell me that the check bounced," Louis barges into your office.

Jesus, you should really hire a secretary.

"I told you that we received an NSF Check but the client came and paid their dues in cash." You groaned. He isn't even the company accountant and he's going crazy over these small details. "You should have listed that down with the bookkeeper." Louis reminds.

"I did, that was two weeks ago!" You argued.

"Wait, two weeks ago?" Louis halts in his tracks.

"Yeah, and they sent me an email to confirm." You confirmed.

"I'm talking about the Fulgencio case," Louis repeats himself.

Oh right, that case that you made in collaboration with Harvey. It was about the inheritance of his illegitimate child yada yada. "Harvey was the one who handled the payments." You informed. Those checks should have been cashed in yesterday.

Normally you'd be the one dealing with the financial aspects of the case, but given the fact that Harvey was paired up with you - you threw those responsibilities to him. "Which means that you have to talk to him or I'm making Jessica write up a memo," Louis says.

"Why do I have to talk to him? You're the one dealing with the financial things." You complained. Seriously, Louis? Right when I'm about to start writing another contract with fucking Microsoft?

"You're the one who's supposed to co-sign the checks. You carry half of the blame." Louis reminds, and for someone who is Junior Partner - he sure as hell drives a good argument.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get it done Louis." You reassured.

Two things were for sure. You needed to talk to your co-workers with more decorum and that Harvey is seriously in trouble for not cashing those checks in. A groan escapes your mouth, already imagining all the paperwork that you were about to do - on top of that Mr. Fulgencio was probably sipping margaritas in Brazil, unreachable.

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc Did you forget to cash in Mr. Fulgencio's checks? 11:29 pm

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc We have to cash those in because we already recorded them in our books. Please reply with an electronic receipt ASAP. 12:00 pm

yourname@pearsonhardman.nyc Good afternoon, just messaging to check in with Mr. Fulgencio's checks. Cash them in ASAP before the weekend. 12:11 pm

"Harvey," you knocked on your co-worker's door.

After dealing with three back-to-back meetings, you expected at least a reply from Harvey, but he hasn't even seened your messages. "Come in," he replied hoarsely. For some miraculous reason, Donna was nowhere to be found in her desk.

It was a little uncharacteristic, concerning even...

"I sent you messages about the checks," you waltzed inside of his office. Momentarily taken aback by the sight of him. He looked bad yesterday and he looks horrible now. He looks like he hasn't slept the entire night - he was basically sleeping on his desk. It's a miracle that an associate has not stumbled upon the sight of him. Well, then again they probably already have. "I'll check it," he mumbled.

"Harvey," you said in a voice that was a little firmer.

You're not a sweet person. You're not the type of person who speaks in a concerned tone, catering to each and every problem that your co-workers face, but Harvey's was a different case. Ten years ago, he marched back into this office as an associate with his own legal secretary and he set the court ablaze. You were going to lie if you said that you didn't feel a tinge of attraction towards him - it was there, flickering like an almost dying star.

Nope, actually, not a dying star because that would mean that the attraction would have blossomed into something else and then died. More like a seed planted on loamy soil - and then someone trampled on the saplings before they grew into fully-formed trees.

Harvey was an almost, an almost turned rival but now he's a maybe?

Again, what the hell are you talking about.

Putting it in simpler terms, you simply cared about Harvey.

"Harvey," you repeated his name again, the realization beginning to settle. You're not the type of person who cares easily, so why do you care about Harvey so much? A real workplace rival would have rejoiced at the sight of him being this sick during the most important day of the most important quarter. But you weren't.

"I'll fix it, whatever it is." He says with certainty, his attention straying.

"You know that resting is not a bad thing, right?" You asked rhetorically. "I'm alright, I'm not sick," Harvey argued while fighting through the sneezes that threatened to make their way.

"Yes, you are," you replied bluntly.

"I have to work, I need to get these papers finished." Harvey rambled.

"It isn't selfish to put yourself first," you told him, taking another step closer until you were standing in front of him, leaning over his desk. "- and let's face it you're not getting any work done. You're only putting the people of this workplace in danger of infection," you persuaded, using words that you knew he'd be persuaded with. He stares at you.

Harvey wouldn't hurt a fly.

He wouldn't even dream of putting anyone's life in danger.

Harvey is a good person. (Bam, another adjective!)

He keeps staring at you, the sunlight casting a glow on his blue irises, and for a moment, you contemplate risking it all... He looks so handsome, basked in the warmth of the sunlight, that you forget everything that happened before. There are only thoughts of him. Harvey's golden curls were kissed by the gods of the sun and his aquamarine eyes proved to be beautiful in contrast to his lips...

His lips that you once dreamed of pressing kisses upon (in the caprice of your youth). Harvey looks like he's thinking of you too, but that thought is snapped away from your mind when he reaches for the telephone on his right, pressing a number that would connect to the phone on Donna's desk. "Yes, Harvey?" You hear Donna's voice from the other side of the call. "I'm going home," he informs.

A smile paints your lips.

How easy he was to persuade.

"Hi, Ray, please take Harvey home." You helped a very sick Harvey into the backseat of his car.

"Of course miss...?"

"(Your Name), oh here's my number - just call me if you need anything." You reached for your pocket, handing him a call card.

"Goodbye, safe driving." You waved.

It was already early morning when Ray Benghazi called your phone. "Hello, who is this?" Your voice was hoarse and your throat felt dry. Your eyebrows merged together in confusion, this was your personal phone number and not a lot of people knew about it.

"Atty. (Your Name) this is Ray Benghazi. I'm Harvey's driver, and I just called because Mr. Specter hasn't replied to my texts. He's supposed to attend a conference in the Hamptons, but his car needed some repairs, so I'm tied up in the mechanics. I was wondering if you could check up on him? I'm sorry, I just don't know the phone numbers of Harvey's other friends." Ray rambled off.

From his tone, you could make out his embarrassment and concern.

"Oh sure, just send me his address." You agreed.

"Thank you so much, I will text it to you, ma'am." He responded.

Harvey Specter, the things I do for you.

The sun was already beginning to shine when you reached Harvey's apartment. This will be your first time seeing him beyond work and work-related events and the circumstances were strangely domestic. Harvey is not the type of person who befriended people outside of work - and yet, here you were. You stopped at the threshold, your hands dancing against the metal button of his doorbell.

Is this a good time? You found yourself asking.

Ding dong! The doorbell echoed from inside his apartment.

Maybe he's still sleeping - or maybe he has company. He's probably fine, I shouldn't have come here. But, he could also not be fine and that would be a bigger problem -

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Harvey's eyebrows merged together. He was wearing a blue Eagles T-shirt paired with red sweatpants. It was seldom that he wore anything other than his silk-pressed suits. "Ray called me and told me to check up on you," you informed while raising your phone to show him the shadow of a text message.

He presses a hand to his face, chuckling. "Sorry, I wasn't able to reply to his messages but I decided to not attend the event. No need to worry," he whispers the last sentence. "I'm not accusing you of worrying about me," he is quick to correct and his phrase makes you laugh. Oh, you wouldn't be here if you weren't worried about him. You wouldn't have even woken up to Ray Benghazi's phone call at 4am if you weren't a bit worried about Harvey Specter.

"Why would I worry about you?" You tease and his face falls slightly.

"Do you want to come inside?" He offers. "- I was sick, so don't come in unless you have a fear of microbes." He opens the door slightly, prompting you to follow after him. "I don't care about that. I only mentioned the infection thingie because I know you'd care," you say.

"Good, I've never seen you wear a mask before." He says sarcastically.

"Please, I've never been sick before." You scoffed while sitting on the stool beside his breakfast nook. "Yep, the sniffling you were doing in January was just allergy season." He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't think that you were the one to keep score, Specter." You bantered while watching him make coffee. Your eyebrows merged together - you don't really drink coffee. You were more of a matcha person (ever since your aunt who had a vacation in Japan came back with matcha, you were hooked). "I don't keep score?" he scoffs.

He places a purple mug in front of you.

"I don't drink coffee," you gave him a polite smile.

"It's hojicha. It's not matcha but..." he shrugs and you freeze. How the fuck does he know about my hyperfixation on matcha? "Jessica brought those back when she came from Japan, but I'm not much of a tea connoisseur." He continues speaking.

"You don't look like the type," you mumbled while taking a sip of tea. "Your ancestors did throw tea on some river, or was it the ocean?" You pretended to be clueless about American history and he replies with an amused chuckle. "Whatever you say," he takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes on the city skyline in front of him.

"I hope that I don't owe you one - for checking up on me." He stops to look at you, his eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. He met you ten years ago inside a cramped office in Pearson Hardman, clawing your way to the position that you have now - and he always admired you. Always found you beautiful, educated and interesting but way out of his league.

"Please, you owe me for another thing." You smiled.

You know almost everything about every topic in the world. You're able to connect with Jessica and her love for watching tennis. You're able to connect with Donna and her love for fashion - almost everyone is absolutely engrossed in you, including him.

"Other thing?" He tilts his head.

He doesn't even purposefully do it, but he overhears your conversations with other people, and suddenly, he remembers all your likes and dislikes. Sometimes, he uses that information to tease you - but oftentimes it just sits in his head, stagnant, waiting to be used. He doesn't even know what to call your relationship - more than co-workers but less than friends? More than friends but less than lovers? He knows that he cares though.

"The checks. You forgot to cash the checks in." You lightly remind him of the checks with Mr. Fulgencio. "Oh, shit." He winces.

"How will I ever make it up to you? Patron saint of checks?" He teases. "Hmm," you pressed a finger to your lips.

"- I don't want to cash in that check yet." You winked.

Just as you said that word, it began to rain.

"Oh shit," you cursed, watching the strong blip blop of the raindrops. "Did you walk here?" Harvey asks.

You answer with a nod, mentally cursing yourself.

"I'll take an Uber home, it was nice hanging out with you." You smiled. Goodness sake, who says hanging out? You cursed yourself again.

"No, you should stay," Harvey insists adamantly. "It would be rude to send you home; it's raining cats and dogs outside." He points at his open window. It is pouring heavily, and you are wearing sandals. That sensation, along with the dirty stress of NYC, must be awful.

He forces a thin-lipped smile on his face.

"Just for a little while," he argued.

"Fine," you relented.

The both of you tiptoed in the direction of his home theater. It wasn't a grand home theater per se, but there were about eight couches all sitting in front of a big screen. The room was dark, only illuminated by downcast lights - and the room was cold, like you were inside of a freezer. "I didn't know you were this rich," you teased.

"We have the same salary," he rolled his eyes, both of you sitting down on the couch farthest from the screen. "But not the same bonuses," you argued. "Yes, you get more." He banters, earning a giggle from you. "I do not," you shook your head.

"Louis told me," he reaches for the remote, handing it to you.

"I'm gonna sue him," you mumbled.

"Choose a movie," he says while leaning down on the couch. "If you have a home movie theater that must mean you're real picky in the movies that you watch." You made an observation.

Heck, this streaming platform was the one worth $10k. Does Harvey know anything about fiscal responsibility? "Choose one and see if I'll judge you," he breathes, pulling a blanket over his body - the blanket which he must've accidentally also pulled over your lap.

"I feel pressured," you say.

"Princess Bride?" you asked while hovering over the button.

"Sure," he agrees while opening a pack of chips, offering them to you.

You Hey, thank you so much for today!!

Harvey Specter (cell) I thought I was supposed to say that Thanks for staying in and watching movies with me Seen. 12:22 pm.

Harvey Specter (cell) I was thinking that maybe we should have dinner sometimes? Seen. 11:11 pm.

You And when exactly is *sometimes*?

Harvey Specter (cell) Tomorrow, 5pm. Carrizima's? I'll pick you up. Seen. 11:12pm.

You Sure, I'll give Ray my address.

There were many benefits to having a stable job, one of them included luxury shopping - and boy, did you do that a lot, to the point that your sales associate had you on speed dial for limited edition items. "You're going on a fucking date? We cheered!" Phoebe chided.

"I guess it is kinda a date." You agreed.

You didn't even want to sugarcoat Harvey's invitation, the both of you are grown humans and it would be uncharacteristic to tiptoe like teenagers. But, that didn't mean that you were going to drape yourself all over him, it was just a date - meaning, the both of you want to test the waters. If there's some sort of compatibility.

"I guess that means my shipping days with Harvey Specter are over," Phoebe sighed. Yes, you learned that the word 'shipping' meant creating a romantic pairing of two people in slang. Phoebe says that she has been shipping you with Harvey for quite some time now. When she finds out that you are going on a date with Harvey, she is going to freak out - but, you don't have to tell her.

Phoebe and Donna know everything about everyone. What's the problem with withholding this information from her? It'll be funny and she'll find out about the date soon enough. "Tell me about the guy that you're going on a date with. Is he handsome?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, and he's not like those boys on social media that you like. He has a real job," you teased your associate. "What job?" She continued prying as your sales associate, Georgina, placed a stack of dresses on the clothes rack. "He's a lawyer," you confirmed.

Hoping that Phoebe would be able to piece the two things together.

"Damn, he's handsome and a lawyer. Harvey will be so jealous." Phoebe giggled. "You should wear this dress," she pointed at the white dress that reached past your knees. "- you should be very demure in your attack." She advises.

"Spoken from the mouth of a girl who has never had a boyfriend," you rolled your eyes while stepping inside of the dressing room. Thank you, Georgina for getting me a private room, you say.

"I have read a lot of books!" Phoebe defended herself.

The restaurant that Harvey chose was spectacular. It had the perfect aesthetic of Venice, curated with each decoration in beautiful taste, it felt real and authentic, not like the restaurants in Times Square which were obvious tourist traps.

You wearing a white floral Erdem shirt dress with cute Bresson lace sleeves, merging in with the restaurant's aesthetics. On your right, two young French couples were looking longingly into each other's eyes, and on your left, there was an older couple - doing the exact same thing. Your gaze returns to Harvey.

Where does that leave you and Harvey in this visual metaphor?

"I've never been here before," your eyes trailed against the restaurant's beautiful interior. "- ten years living in New York and not once..." you chuckled, wondering how this beautiful restaurant was able to eclipse your radar. "It's a hidden gem," He replies.

The first time that Harvey visited this place was with Jessica, where she begged him to return back to the firm. After that entire scandal in the D.A.'s office with Cameron Dennis, he hasn't really had the opportunity to revisit this restaurant - the restaurant that marked new beginnings for him. "I'm sorry about forgetting to take care of the checks. I already sent an email to Fulgencio's assistant, and don't worry I already talked to the accountant." He explained.

"Everybody makes mistakes, and you were sick, which meant that you weren't exactly yourself." You comforted, taking his apology.

The waiter places both of your dishes on the table, and you mumble a quick thanks. There was a moment of silence between you, only broken by the sound of jazz music playing in the background.

"I like your dress," he compliments shyly - reminding you of young love. A type of love that you missed out on in your youth due to the pursuit of greatness. The sound of him is refreshing. "Your tie doesn't look so bad," you teased while taking a sip of your merlot.

He places a hand on his tie.

"This is a special tie," his eyebrows merged together in mockery.

"I've never seen you wear that tie before," you scoffed.

"I've never had a special day," he defends himself while twirling the strands of pasta around his fork, taking a bite of bolognese. "- and why would today be a special day?" You raised an eyebrow.

Harvey freezes, but just for a split second.

He has thought about this scenario almost a hundred times. When he's washing his hair in the shower, he can't help but imagine what it would feel like to make this real, to confess feelings of attraction that he has kept buried for the past decade, masking it up with banter and stealing each other's clients. But now sitting in front of you, sandwiched between a young and an old couple - he cannot help but feel taken aback. What if you end up being like his mother? What if he loves you so much, he ends up like his father?

"- because we're having dinner together." He replies automatically.

You are not going to be like his mother. He's spent ten years in an office with you, kept his feelings hidden, settled with banter because he is terrified. Harvey Specter is terrified of confessing his feelings and losing one of the only friends that he has. He's terrified of you feeling the same way and watching you unfold under the weight of his anxiety, and he doesn't know if those fears hold no merit now.

He's scared, overthinking a simple sentence - overthinking this dinner, and on the outside - overthinking is not Harvey Specter's brand. He's confident, smug, aloof, but he is not. He's tired of being called smart, he's just scared. He's scared that without his law degree, without his work in Pearson Hardman, he's just a nobody with divorced parents who'll probably never experience real love.

"Harvey, are you alright?" Your voice suddenly sounded airy.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his chest constrict for a second. He continues staring at your face, allowing the light to lead him to peace. "Yes," he answers with a smile on his face.

He takes another deep breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

His heart is thumping furiously, he cannot think straight, but he knows exactly what he is supposed to do. "I'll be straightforward," he cleared his throat. "Yes?" You raised an eyebrow, the world continued happening beside you - but your attention was only focused on him.

The sound of the jazz band playing, the taste of the wine on your tongue, the casual conversation happening behind you - it all got drowned out because Harvey was the only thing worthy of your attention right now. "The thought of you makes me smile. I wake up everyday anticipating your morning remarks, because I find you funny and beautiful and interesting. I like you." Harvey confessed, he sat tall and confident, not for once second doubting himself.

There was another round of silence between you.

His face changes slightly, merging into confusion when you began laughing.

Laughing hard and uncontrollably.

"Is this funny to you?" He returns back to his cocky self.

"No, no, I find it - hilarious." You wiped away tears of joy.

"I planned this entire thing with a helicopter, and I was about to tell you that I liked you too." You professed a shocked smile paints his lips. "Damn," he leans on his chair.

Damn indeed.

GIRL'S GROUPCHAT

Phoebe Ya'll will never guess who (Your Name) is dating.

Donna who?

Phoebe Ya'll will never guess

Rachel You dunno, do you?

Phoebe Uhh no but I know he works in Pearson Hardman She sent me a picture and I swear he was holding a folder A YELLOW FOLDER WITH OUR FIRM'S LOGO

Donna seems like this is a mystery we're supposed to solve

Rachel It's intriguing ...

Part Two >>

[thenightling]

For those keeping score here are all the TV shows based on the work of Neil Gaiman from the last ten years. Lucifer - Loosely based on the version of Lucifer who quits ruling Hell and opens a piano bar, from The Sandman comics by Neil Gaiman. Originally aired on Fox and then moved to Netflix for seasons 4 through 6. Neil Gaiman also got to play God in a bonus episode for season 3. The full series can be watched on Netflix. And is available on DVD. The plot deals with Lucifer, the ruler of Hell, up and quitting and moving to Earth where he opens a night club called Lux and takes up playing piano. In the TV series he befriends (and eventually falls in love with) a woman homicide detective named Chloe Decker.

_______________________ American Gods - Based on the novel by Neil Gaiman. Aired on Starz. The plot deals with a man called Shadow Moon who gets dragged into the strange world of Old and New Gods vying for power.

________________ Anansi Boys - Originally written by Neil Gaiman as a spin-off of American Gods, the TV series version was filmed for Amazon Prime and is currently in post-production (Not yet released.) The plot deals with the sons of Anansi, the African trickster Spider-God.

__________________ Good Omens - Showrun by Neil Gaiman and based on the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Also Neil Gaiman has a small cameo in the first season. Available now on Amazon Prime. Seasons 1 and 2 are complete. Season 3 has not yet started filming and will very likely be the final season. Season 1 is currently available on DVD. The plot deals with two "differently competent" entities, an Angel and a Demon, who have come to love life on Earth and each other. And now must work together to prevent the apocalypse.

______________________________ The Sandman - First episode was co-written by Neil Gaiman, based on the stories and original characters created by Neil Gaiman with a few borrowed DC comics characters. Currently on Netflix. Season 2 is in production now. Neil Gaiman also voiced a ghostly bird in the bonus episode segment Dream of a Thousand Cats. Season 1 will be available on DVD and Blu Ray at the end of this month. The plot deals with Morpheus, the King of Dreams, who accidentally gets summoned and captured by occultists who had been trying to capture The Grim Reaper. After over a hundred and six years in captivity Morpheus finally escapes and has to track down his tools which had been taken from him when he was captured. He also comes to realize he had made many terrible mistakes in the past and struggles to set those wrongs right.

_________________________________________ The Dead Boy Detectives - First official spin-off of The Sandman. The Dead Boy Detectives were originally planned as an HBO Max series (now just Max) but moved to Netflix after the success of the first season of The Sandman. Based on characters who first appeared in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman is involved in the production. The plot is a pair of ghost teenagers decide to become detectives and are really bad at it. These two characters made a previous appearance in Doom Patrol on Max (Formerly HBO Max) but had been played by different actors.

[star-girl69]

Caught You Girl

Georgia Amoore x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: georgia fiercely defends what is hers

also hi new pfp 😝

a/n: sorry for not posting in 10 years lol… shoutout to my wifey @cosmopretty bc she helped me w this 🫶 also the pictures at the beginning are from her…. tbh this fic would not exist without her everyone say thank you! this is also so bad but it’s ok ❤️

Caught You Boy - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

warnings: mentions of sex, lots of swearing, that’s it i think but lmk if i missed anything!!

—-

@/georgiaamoore my girlfriend is hotter than you and smarter than you and just better tbh (anyways happy 6 months my sweet girl can’t believe we kept it hidden for this long)

y/n.l/n it’s sweet that you think so highly of me but i thought you knew… i’m straight…

georgiaamoore @y/n.l/n bloody hell spare me

kamoreaarnold SOOO WHEN WE GETTING YOUR GIRL ON THE LIVE

y/n.l/n @kamoreaarnold wait i’m important enough to be on a KK ARNOLD LIVE????

kamoreaarnold @y/n.l/n GIRL YES WTF??

user-1 OKAYYYY HARD LAUNCH 😍

user-2 WHO STOLE MY WIFE.

user-3 @/user-2 she’s @y/n.l/n and did you not read the caption? she’s better than you

user-4 let me in there 😫😫

user-5 OMG I’m so happy for y’all 🫶

nika.muhl I feel like a proud mother

You are definitely not famous, despite the ten thousand followers that appeared out of nowhere, but your girlfriend and your friends definitely are.

You’ve been sitting on the floor for a few minutes now, KK Arnold’s phone propped up on the low coffee table in front of you, staring in shock at the rising viewers and the comments that pour in faster than you can read some of them.

Your jaw actually drops a bit when the viewer count hits 300.

You’re not famous. You’re not good in the spotlight. You’re awkward and you stutter over your words, you can’t get it out of your head how many people are watching you and analyzing everything you do.

You’re the new girl. The new person to pick apart.

And even worse, you’re Georgia’s girlfriend. And if the fans didn’t know about her official 6 month post, they can definitely see now that you’re more than friends.

Georgia has her arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you into her side- allowing you to feel like you’re hiding away from at least some of the prying eyes as you play with her other hand in her lap.

Her fingers softly work out nonexistent knots at the ends of your hair, and the comforting sound of her and KK’s laughs makes you feel a little bit calmer. You don’t quite forget that all the eyes are there, but they dull.

Another one of the girls here appears over KK’s shoulder, talking to the live, so Georgia turns to you. She presses a kiss to your forehead, keeping her lips there while she whispers softly.

It’s nice not having to worry about keeping your relationship hidden. It’s not like you wanted a secret relationship, it was actually Georgia’s idea. She wanted to make sure you were comfortable and all-in before she introduced you to the world of social media fame.

The one thing that’s not a secret, that’s never really been a secret, is how protective Georgia is.

You joke that it must be something to do with her being Australian, although you don’t really have an idea where that comes from.

She posted a few pictures of you in them, but she never tagged you, and your face was always pretty much hidden- she even posted a picture of the sunset and blocked out your face with her hand, laughing the entire time she did so at how ridiculous it was.

Even though you both knew there was no way she was taking that picture without covering your face.

Georgia didn’t want you to get spooked by how overbearing the fans could be- and she admitted that she selfishly wanted to keep you to herself. But you kinda wanted everyone to know that you were hers and she was yours.

And Georgia was always down for that.

You were trying it. And Georgia was there, at least. And you know you never have to worry about anything when she’s there.

“You okay, princess?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble back, careful not to let your lips move too much so the camera can’t tell what you’re saying.

“Yeah?” She says, squeezing your shoulder, prodding gently.

“I’m good,” you reassure her, smiling. You still feel kinda awkward, and she notices the way you look away from her.

“Are you sure, baby? Because if you’re not comfortable then I’ll end it right now. Or we can just leave altogether. We can grab food, if you’re hungry. Or just go home and sleep.”

“Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes are wide and concerned, her entire focus is poured onto you. Her eyes rake over your body language, her thumb rubs soothing circles into your shoulder, and your hand is caressed softly by hers.

“Stop spiraling.”

She smiles, squinting at you. “Hah. You’re funny.”

“I know I am. Seriously, though, I’m fine. I’ll tell you when I want to leave, okay?”

She’ll drag you away from this live at the first inkling of you wanting to leave. And even if you want to stay, she might drag you away anyways if she’s decided she’s done sharing.

She blinks for a long second.

“Okay, yeah. But seriously, tell me. Even if-”

“Georgia.”

She presses a quick kiss to your cheek, but when that does nothing to lift your unimpressed frown, she kisses your lips.

“Sorry?”

You roll your eyes, looking away from her as she kisses your cheek yet again, this time letting her lips linger. She’s about to say something, you can tell- probably jokingly beg for forgiveness, but you can’t help but notice KK’s side eye in the camera.

“Yes, KK?” You ask with a smile.

She crosses her arms and pouts. “Some of us are single, you know.”

“Awww,” the other girl coos, wrapping her arms around KK’s shoulders. “Is little KK feeling a little lonely? Does little baby need a hug?”

“Man, get off me,” KK says, still with a pout on her face, eyebrows furrowed. She props her elbows onto the coffee table while the rest of you burst into laughter at her antics. “Anyways. Y’all got any questions or anything?”

Georgia’s arm falls down from your shoulders to your waist, her nails lightly scratching your side.

“Who is the new girl?” KK reads off of the screen. “Y’all so rude, damn. This is Y/N, my new best friend and love of my life.”

You laugh, awkwardly waving to the screen.

“Y/N who are you?” KK reads another awkwardly worded comment.

Georgia makes a face and squeezes your waist, silently telling you that you don’t have to answer.

“Who am I? Um… I’m Y/N, I’m twenty-two, I’m in college right now…” You trail off, trying to think of something interesting to say. “My favorite color is pink?”

“Girl why was that a question?” KK laughs.

“I don’t know what to say!” You exclaim, gesturing to the phone. “There’s- oh, my God there’s 856 people on here. Why are you like really famous? Holy shit.”

“Thank you,” KK smiles, twirling a piece of her hair.

Georgia puts her free hand on the side of your face, angling you towards her as she narrows her eyes at the camera.

“She is also my girlfriend. So don’t get any ideas.”

“Girl, I think they can tell,” KK laughs, gesturing to the way you and Georgia are practically glued together.

Georgia shrugs. “I love my girlfriend.”

“We can tell.”

The comments immediately flood in. Some of them are talking about how cute the two of you are, a few of them are obvious jokes about you stealing everyone’s wife, but the one that sticks out to you isn’t anything like that.

wbblvr552022 THAT is georgia amoore’s gf? does she need her eyes checked 😭

You swallow, but thankfully there are so many comments pouring in that no one else seems to catch it.

“When’d you guys meet?” KK reads. “Oh, Q and A time, guys.”

Georgia immediately breaks out into a wide smile, contagious, one that makes you smile too.

She squeezes your waist in excitement before immediately launching into a dramatic retelling of her seeing you with your friends after a game, then her subtle way of inviting you to the next game in the set, then her subtle way of getting your number.

“And… the rest is history.”

KK laughs at the corny phrase, and you can’t help but smile either.

You lean forward to read more comments. “Oh, Georgia- what is your favorite thing about me?”

Georgia immediately presses her mouth into a line.

KK exaggeratedly turns towards the two of you, waiting patiently for an answer. “Don’t be shy, girly. I’m excited to hear this one.”

“I don’t think I should answer,” Georgia says, grimacing slightly. “Feels like a trap.”

“Well, there’s definitely wrong answers.” You pat her cheek with a smile. “C’mon, give it a try.”

“Umm… everything.”

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I’ll accept it.”

“What?” She asks, her eyes wide. “What the fuck is the right answer, then?”

You press your finger to her lips, shushing her. “Don’t worry about it, babe. You’ll get it one day.”

She rolls her eyes, but kisses the pad of your finger pressed against her lips. You can’t help but smile, wondering if the camera picked up that small movement- but you also find yourself not really caring.

wbblvr552022 is it possible to have a favorite thing about y/n? girl is UGLY

user-1 @wbblvr552022 hey this is actually insane!

user-2 @wbblvr552022 wtf is wrong w u?

You frown.

You can’t keep the look off of your face, you can’t help the sudden tightness in your chest and the thoughts facing through your mind.

Why are they so mean? What did you ever do to them? Are they just jealous? Or are they just right?

Do you deserve Georgia?

KK, surprisingly, is the first to notice your frown in the reflection. Her eyes meet yours, and she doesn’t say anything for a second.

She subtlety covers her mouth with her hand.

“You good?”

You’re really thankful that Georgia has suddenly turned away from the two of you to talk over her shoulder with a few girls behind you. You don’t even know their names, you don’t even care.

You smile in response.

You grab Georgia’s free hand, and she automatically tightens her arm around your waist. You tuck yourself into her, breathing in her comforting scent.

She turns back to the camera, barely even noticing the way you’re tucked into her- she’s just happy you’re touching her. You watch her smile at the camera and feel her squeeze your hand.

“Y/N’s sad?” She suddenly asks. She frowns at the screen, and your eyes widen-

user-1 y/n disappearing into georgia over there 😭😭😭

user-2 @/user-1 GOD they’re so cute i cant

user-3 y/n looks kinda sad tho??

user-1 wait you’re right y/n girl what’s wrong

You make a face and do your best to brush it off.

“I’m just tired.” You swear Georgia can hear the lie. “Thank you guys for worrying, though.” You flash the camera a bright smile and a thumbs-up.

wbblvr552022 GIRL put those chompers away 😭

user-1 @wbblvr552022 HELLO???? YALL SEEING THIS?

Georgia is not convinced that you’re okay. You can tell. She’s kinda tense against you, and she keeps looking towards the door like she’s ready to just throw you over her shoulder and leave.

She tries to meet your eyes, but you’re persistent in avoiding her, instead staring at yourself in the camera. You know that as soon as she looks at you, she’ll see it in your eyes. The bit of doubt you can’t hide.

What if they’re just right?

She suddenly squints at the camera, her eyes narrowing as she grabs it- despite KK’s protest- scrolling up as your heart slams in your chest.

“The fuck?”

The pure venom she spits those simple words out with makes KK stop trying to get her phone back.

“Georgia-” You start, squeezing the hand you’re still holding- she lets go of your hand to hold the phone.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her eyes scanning over the comments.

user-1 nice up close view i see

user-2 you got something in your nose queen

wbblvr552022 break up w your ugly ass girlfriend… cause im bored 🎶

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Um, hey… G?” KK starts, confused and smiling in a slightly scared way. “What’s goin’ on..?”

user-1 who the fuck is @wbblvr552022 and why have they been literally bullying y/n in the chat…

Your heart is beating so fast right now it’s roaring in your ears. Something inside of you just knows that the only way someone could get this kind of reaction out of Georgia is if they hurt you.

And as much as you hate to admit it, your heart keeps snagging on something in your chest. It does kinda hurt, as much as you want to rise above it.

Georgia hands KK’s phone back to her. She turns to you. Fuck.

“You saw those, didn’t you?”

“Georgia,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s just some random person on the internet. Yes, I saw it, but it doesn’t matter what they say, right?”

Your words sound confident and mature, and maybe if your voice could have displayed that too then Georgia would have let it go.

But you’re lying to her- and yourself.

It does fucking bother you, it does make you feel like shit- it makes you want to never go in front of a camera again.

“It’s nothing.”

You finally meet her eyes.

Maybe her being this pissed off should scare you, or concern you- but honestly? The fire in her eyes only ignites a fire inside of you. Deep in your stomach.

“It’s not fucking nothing, the fuck? No, no one gets to treat you like that. No one gets to make you sad.”

You put your hand on her face.

“Babe, it’s really sweet that you want to protect me, but you’re just gonna drag it out and make it worse, yeah? Okay? I appreciate it and I love you, but it’s okay.”

She looks away from you, trying to take a deep breath that sounds more like a pissed-off huff, and your heart is still fucking snagging on something-

“You love me, right?”

You blurt it out before you can even think, all small and insecure, chasing her love and affection that you know you have. At least, you should know you have it. But it’s like something inside of you screaming that you just need to hear it, that she loves you, and you know you’ll regret it forever if you don’t hear her say it right now.

“Fuck this,” Georgia says, practically hissing the words.

She sticks her hand out and KK- who sweetly has been doing her best to not listen to the conversation- gives the phone back.

Georgia props the camera up again, angling it so it’s only on her.

“I’m not fuckin’ playing, okay? I don’t know what the fuck is your problem, but I will literally kill you if you keep saying shit about my girlfriend.” She laughs dryly, but everyone knows there’s nothing funny about the look in her eyes and the conviction in her words. “Don’t talk about her, don’t think about her- don’t worry about my girl, she’s good with me. Worry about yourself when I fucking find you.”

She lets the phone fall back onto the table, crossing her arms, and you can tell that there’s still thoughts racing through her head.

KK slowly grabs the phone.

“Well… y’all heard her. I think it’s time to go, though… so, bye-bye girly-pops!”

She presses a button and closes her phone, and you watch the screen turn to black.

“Well,” you start, looking between Georgia and KK. “That was… something!”

Georgia sighs, itching her nose. “Sorry, baby.”

“Excuse?” KK asks.

Georgia barely cracks a smile. “Sorry, KK.”

“So… uhm… what the fuck happened?”

Georgia gestures towards the phone, huffing. “Someone was talking shit about Y/N. Like, calling her ugly, I- fuck.” She takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Man, really? I’m sorry, Y/N- I would have blocked them if I saw it.”

You smile. “It’s not your fault, K. And it’s not that big of a deal, really. I mean, it sucks, but whatever. I should get used to it, right?”

Georgia laughs. “No. I am never posting you again. I’m never letting you be in a live ever again. They can’t treat you right then they don’t get to see you.”

KK makes a face that forces you to stifle a giggle. “Okay, Ms. Possessive-and-Controlling.”

She smiles. “Is that a bad thing?”

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot, because it’s really not. And you know Georgia is mostly speaking out of anger- she’s not really gonna keep you hidden from the world of social media. She might, for a week or two, but then she’ll probably forget.

“It’s been a lot of fun, KK, but maybe Georgia and I should go home..?”

Suddenly, she has the biggest grin on her face.

—-

Laying with Georgia in your comfy bed, wrapped in comfy blankets, shrouded by darkness with her chest as your pillow is probably where you feel safest. Nothing can reach you here. Social media or physical, you’re completely safe in her arms and the darkness.

“Happy?” You mutter into the darkness, smiling as you think of how mad she was just an hour ago.

“I’m really bloody happy, actually.”

“Very long night of sharing me, huh? Poor baby.”

“I agree,” she yawns. “We shouldn’t ever go out again. We should just stay in this amazing bed.”

“Okay, baby,” you mutter with an eye roll, humoring her.

“Y/N,” she says after a blissful moment. You can hear it in her voice. The concern, the hesitation. “I love you. I love you so much sometimes I’m kinda convinced you put a spell on me. Like, it shouldn’t be possible to love someone this much.”

You smile.

“I’ve caught you in my web,” you tease. “But you walked right into it.”

“Yeah, I did,” she laughs. “But I love you. You shouldn’t have to question that. I’m not doing my job as your girlfriend if you do.”

She kisses your forehead.

“All I want is for you to be happy… right next to me, though.”

You sit up, placing your hands on her chest as you swing one of your legs over her waist.

“I don’t have any plans of leaving. Do you?”

Her hands immediately move to rub up and down you thighs.

“Nope. Also, I change my mind. I want you to be happy on top of me. Or under me, I’m not picky.”

You laugh, leaning down so you can kiss her nose. You hands work out knots in her perpetually tense shoulders.

“Always thinkin’ about sex,” you mutter.

“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” she corrects. “And fucking you.”

You’re about to kiss her when she suddenly pulls back.

“You’re sure you’re good?”

You smile at her sweet concern for you.

“Yes, Georgia, I’m good. I mean… I felt kinda shitty for a second. Doubting that I was good enough for you- it’s silly. I know I am. And I’m… trying not to care about what they think.”

She brushes some hair behind your ear, nodding.

“You know I love you, right?” She smiles when she says it, because both of you know she tells you and shows you possibly too much.

“I know you love me,” you smile, your lips ghosting over hers. “I love you, too, my basketball star.” You press a kiss to the corner of her lips- then her chin, and you’re about to kiss her neck-

“As sexy as that is, I still want to show you how much I love you. You doubted I loved you today. We can’t have that happening.”

She sits up, and you sit back on your heels, rolling your eyes. “I know you love me. It was a millisecond, babe-”

Her hands squeeze your waist.

“Why don’t you just shut your pretty mouth and lay on your back?” She kisses your neck, that one special place that only she knows to kiss, the place that she found by loving you and now covets like treasure.

A moan immediately spills out of your mouth.

“I can do that,” you breathe, reveling in the way her hands feel as she helps you lay back.

“I know you can, baby,” she smiles. “Be a good girl, now, yeah? Let me love you.”

You’re really fucking glad that you caught this girl.

—-

[pharawee]

As if the BL industry news of the past few days weren't bleak enough already... it's now come to light that not only were the actors from the recently aired BL Eye Contact paid very (very!) little, they also weren't paid at all for promo appearances and commissions -- and that although their management received a fixed (and much higher) amount of money as their intended actor's fee. The actors in question (Bank Toranin, New Chunnawan, Jame Supawit and Thap Tepphong) have since hired a laywer and are seeking to terminate their contracts with their current management.

I already knew that actors in Thai BL dramas were paid very little but this is positively exploitative -- especially since none of them were ever paid for promotional events which should actually make them the most money. And again I'm reminded of when Yoon Phusanu experienced a very similar situation with his former management and urged his fellow actors to always stay on top of their contracts and advocate for themselves.*

*And apparently none of the actors mentioned here were ever actually given copies of their contracts. What the fuck.

The unfortunate reality is that lots of fans don't really care if the people behind their favourite show/movie/game/group are treated well as long as they get some good entertainment out of it (often stating that the show etc already exists so there's no harm in watching because it "honours" the actors' work etc - yeah no that's not how it works) . This is why it's so important to shine a light on things like this and showcase it so openly -- very public press conference and photo shoot with your lawyer included. I really hope that Bank and the others will at least get released from their contracts. As for Eye Contact? Yeah, fuck that show. I'm glad I never found the time to finish watching.

I'll put the machine-translated article from the Daily News detailing what's happened, the amount of money that was apparently embezzled and the ongoing legal proceedings behind a cut. Happy raging reading:

4 BL Drama Actors Appeal for Fairness: Claim Agency Deducted Their Pay and Sent Them to Events for Free

Four young male actors from a Boyslove (BL) drama have appealed for justice through lawyer Ronnarong Kaewphet, stating they want to terminate their contracts with their management company. They allege that their fees were deducted without notice, and they were made to attend numerous events without being paid or reimbursed for expenses.

On June 22, at the Office of the Ronnarong Foundation for Justice Restoration in Society, located on Chaeng Watthana Road in Nonthaburi Province, four actors—Mr. Toranin Manosukprasert (nickname: Bank, age 26), Mr. Thap Thepphong (nickname: Tup, age 23), Mr. Chunnawan Mandee (nickname: New, age 22), and Mr. Supawit Wongfz (nickname: Jame, age 21)—stars of the BL drama "เพียงสบตา" (Eye Contact) airing on Channel 25 (GMM Grammy), met with lawyer Ronnarong to discuss legal issues, claiming that they were treated unfairly by their agency.

Bank stated that he played the lead role in the series alongside his three friends and more than ten additional young actors, including high school students. They were paid per episode, totaling 90,000 baht (~€2,300). After tax deductions, he received about 80,000 baht (~€2,050), which was paid. However, after the drama ended, the company sent him to dozens of promotional events without providing any compensation or covering his expenses. He also helped the company sell thousands of books but did not receive the agreed-upon commission.

Bank further revealed that while he personally received 90,000 baht, he later learned that the company had actually been given 150,000 baht (~€3,850) per actor by upper management as their acting fee. This discrepancy, which was not disclosed to them, made him feel taken advantage of. All four actors had signed a 1 year and 6 months contract with the company. They are now seeking legal help to determine whether the contract can be terminated.

Tup added that he received only 20,000 baht (~€515) for his role. He is less concerned about the amount but questions why the company failed to pay or support them during the many events they were asked to attend. He also feels exploited and is asking lawyer Ronnarong to help them terminate their contract.

Jame said he was paid 18,000 baht (~€465), which he felt was extremely low, considering the company reportedly received 150,000 baht (~€3,850) per actor. When they tried to ask about it, the company refused and claimed the money had gone to various expenses and taxes.

New said he was promised 70,000 baht (~€1,800) but was only paid 20,000 baht (~€515). When he followed up, he too was denied the remaining amount. Upon learning that the company received 150,000 baht (~€3,850) each for the four of them and six other junior actors—totaling 1.5 million baht (~€38,500)—he felt even more wronged. However, he clarified that they are not seeking the unpaid portion, only legal help to cancel the remaining contract and be free from the company.

Lawyer Ronnarong stated he will take the case to the Minister of Justice to find a legal pathway to terminate the contract, which is possible if there's evidence of exploitation. He urged the company’s executives to show empathy, pointing out that all the actors are still students and should be treated fairly, not taken advantage of.

[vinelark]

Hi! I love you, your blog (wifeposting supremacy) and your writing and I hope you are doing well. I was rereading bbts, as one does, and I was wondering if you'd read fics where Tim also calls for Kon the way one would Supes? I don't know if it's a proper trope or not but I need to see it more... anyway, no worries if not and sending lots of love :)

thank you! wifeposting supremacy indeed! i’ve been slacking on my posting this month because fifteen thousand different things have been going on, but at least some of those have been good wife things. earlier today i noticed she added my last name to one of her social media accounts and i had to just collapse into the pile of clean laundry i was folding and stare at the ceiling being gay about that for like ten minutes. yes we’ve been married over a year yes i was still like “omg that’s my wife.”

and re: fics where tim calls for kon: yes for sure! i also adore it, to no surprise. i know there are way more than i have listed here, but these are ones i thought of off the top of my head:

Orientation by @smilebackwards, which is probably one of the first iterations of this trope that i read, and the moment tim shouts for kon never fails to delight me every time i reread it.

Wing Beats in Reverse by firefright, a reverse robins au with (excellent) jason pov, so timkon are technically background—but they’re still absolutely gut-wrenching, especially when the fic employs this specific trope.

speaking of reverse robins, i always love to rec Detours by miyaji_08, which has both identity shenanigans and tim (quietly) calling for kon in the middle of a Real Tense Situation.

Sore Loser by @hayleyhearts is (as always with this author) sharp and funny and a bit angsty and def has Tim calling Kon for a rescue, with a little twist that matches the rest of the story.

and i for sure have to include leap of faith by @funkylittlebidiot, which 1) is a fun and fast-paced oneshot centered around tim calling for kon, and 2) is the reason bbts has “(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)” which is such an honor to have on my fic.

and a bonus one where tim can’t call for help, but it’s okay because kon shows up anyway: midnight sun by @mamawasatesttube, which has both brilliant + kickass ttk usage and also tim saying “eep!”

[archivegyu]

masterlist

part 1: midnight rain

under the bridge

May 25, 2025

The Han River flowed steadily beneath the Jamsu Bridge, its waters reflecting the warm glow of the evening sky as the sun began to set over Seoul. The concert had just ended, and the area beneath the bridge was still buzzing with the energy of departing fans, their voices carrying fragments of songs and memories across the water.

She walked slowly along the riverside path, letting the crowd thin out around her as people made their way back to the subway stations and bus stops scattered throughout the city. The echo of voices still rang in her ears. SEVENTEEN's 10th anniversary concert, held right here on the Jamsu Bridge. A decade of their journey, and she had been there to witness another milestone, just as she had been at Caratland a few months ago.

The anniversary concert had been everything she expected and nothing she was prepared for. Seeing them on that stage—members who had grown from teenagers with dreams into men who had achieved them—should have felt like closure. Instead, it felt like reopening a wound she thought had finally healed after attending Caratland in March.

"God of Music" had thundered through the open air, and for those four minutes, she had forgotten to breathe. Seungcheol commanded that stage like he was born for it, every movement precise, every note delivered with the confidence of someone who had never doubted his place in the world. The leader, the protector, the one who carried them all.

But in the quiet moments between songs, when the stage lights dimmed and he thought no one was looking, she saw something else. Something that looked remarkably like the boy who used to worry he wasn't good enough, who used to call her at three in the morning just to hear her voice tell him everything would be okay.

She had attended both concerts for the same reason—not out of hope for reconciliation, but because some connections run too deep to sever completely. Even when they should.

The evening air was getting cooler as the crowd continued to disperse around her. She should head to the subway station with everyone else, should go home and try to process what she'd just experienced. But something kept her lingering by the riverside, watching the last groups of fans taking photos and sharing their excitement about the show.

꧁༺ ❀ ༻꧂

Thirty minutes after the concert ended, Seungcheol sat in the back of the company car as they slowly made their way through the departing crowd around Jamsu Bridge. Fans were still gathered in clusters, taking photos and reluctant to leave the magic of the evening behind. The adrenaline from performing was still coursing through his veins—the rush of singing with a view of an open sky, of seeing thousands of faces lit up with joy.

"Hyung, you okay?" Chan asked from beside him, concern evident in his voice. "You've been quiet since we left the stage."

Seungcheol managed a smile. "Just tired. Ten years of this, and my body still needs time to come down from the high."

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. The concert had been incredible—a celebration of everything they had built together, every struggle that had led them to this moment. Seeing the fans sing every word, watching his members shine under those lights, feeling the weight of a decade of dreams made real.

So why did he feel like something was missing?

The car crept forward through the crowd, fans occasionally recognizing their vehicle and waving excitedly. That's when he saw her.

Walking along the riverside path, moving slowly against the flow of departing concert-goers, she looked lost in thought. Even from this distance, even with all the people around, he would know the curve of her shoulders anywhere, the way she held herself when she was processing something emotional.

But then she turned slightly, and even from this distance, even after all these years, he knew.

"Stop the car," he said quietly.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Sir?"

"Stop the car. Now."

"Hyung, what's wrong?" Chan sat up straighter, following Seungcheol's gaze out the window.

But Seungcheol was already moving, already reaching for the door handle before the car had fully stopped. Distantly, he heard his name being called, heard the panic in his manager's voice, but it all faded to background noise.

Because there she was. After months of wondering if that glimpse from the car window at Caratland had been real, of catching glimpses of her in crowds that turned out to be strangers, of dreams that felt more real than his waking life—there she was.

And he was running.

The Jamsu Bridge area was still bustling with departing fans, but there were also regular evening strollers, couples enjoying the riverside, and groups of friends unwinding after the show. Any other time, he would have been more careful about being seen, more aware of the cameras and the consequences.

But some things were worth the risk.

His feet pounded against the pavement as he made his way through the dispersing crowd, his heart hammering against his ribs—not from exertion, but from something that felt dangerously close to hope. She was closer now, close enough that he could see she was wearing the same leather jacket she'd had years ago, the one with the tiny tear near the left elbow that she'd never bothered to fix.

Close enough to call her name.

"Wait!"

She turned, and the world tilted.

The months since Caratland had changed something in her face—not physically, but in the way she carried herself. There was a resignation there that hadn't been present even in their final days together years ago. As if seeing him again had settled something she'd been wrestling with.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other across the space that had once been measured in inches and was now an ocean of everything unsaid.

Then survival instinct kicked in.

She was alone on a riverside path in the evening, and a man was running toward her through the crowd. In the split second before recognition fully hit, her body reacted the way any woman's would. Her hand flew to her purse, her stance shifted, and when he got close enough to reach for her—

The slap echoed across the water.

"What the hell—" She spun around, her hand already raised for another strike, and then froze. "Seungcheol?"

He stood there, one hand pressed to his cheek, breathing hard and looking like he'd seen a ghost. Which, in a way, he had.

"Hi," he said, and somehow managed to make that single syllable contain too many emotions.

"You—" She looked around wildly, suddenly very aware of the people still milling about, the fans with their phones out, the possibility that someone might recognize him. "Are you insane? Running up on someone like that in the middle of all these people—I could have—" She stopped, her eyes widening as the full situation hit her. "Oh god, are there cameras? People are going to see—"

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a more secluded area beneath the bridge structure, away from the main walkway and the lingering crowds. She stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but followed him into the relative privacy.

"Okay, now I'm definitely calling the police," she muttered, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Please don't." He turned to face her, and in the dim light, she could see the exhaustion written across his features, the weight of ten years of carrying the world on his shoulders. "I just... I saw you, and I couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?" The words came out sharper than she intended, months of carefully buried confusion bleeding through since that moment at Caratland when she'd seen him and felt her carefully constructed peace shatter. "Couldn't let me walk away without completely losing your mind? Because that's what this is, Seungcheol. This is you losing your mind."

"Maybe." He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling that had survived an entire concert but couldn't withstand five minutes of panic. "Maybe I am losing my mind. But I saw you at Caratland in March—from the car, after the show—and then I saw you here, and I thought—"

"You saw me?" Her voice was barely a whisper, confusion flickering across her features. "At Caratland? But I was just... I was just in the crowd. I didn't think anyone would..."

"Never mind. Do you think you could just run up to me in the middle of the night like some kind of stalker?" She was getting louder, the stress and shock of the moment overriding her usual caution. "Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? I thought I was about to get mugged, or worse—"

"I'm sorry." The words came out rough, sincere. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just... I've been wondering for months if that moment was real, if I really saw you there, and I—"

"You did," she said quietly, and something in her voice made him stop breathing. "I was there. But I didn't know you saw me."

The admission hung between them like a confession.

"Why?" he asked, and his voice cracked on the single word. "Why did you come? Either time?"

She looked away, and when she looked back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Because some things you can't just walk away from, even when you should. Even when you've built a whole life around the fact that they're over."

"You didn't know I saw you," he said, more to himself than to her. "You went because..."

"Because it was Caratland. Because it was your anniversary. Because despite everything, I still..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"That's not—" he started, then stopped. Because even now, even after all this time, he couldn't promise her what she had needed then. He was still the leader, still the one who carried the weight of twelve lives, millions of fans, a legacy that demanded everything with him.

"See?" she said softly, reading his silence like she always had. "Nothing's changed. Not really."

"Everything's changed," he said desperately. "I'm different now. More sure of myself, more—"

"More successful," she finished. "More famous. More needed by more people. But still the same person who can't choose just one thing to love most."

The words stung because they were true.

"I loved you," she said, and the past tense was a knife between his ribs. "I loved you so much that I convinced myself I could be happy with whatever pieces of yourself you had left over. But you didn't even have that much space for me, did you?"

"That's not true." The words came out desperate, raw. "You were never—"

"Then why am I standing under a bridge at night, months after seeing you again and realizing that some wounds never really heal?" She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, angry at herself for crying. "Why aren't I home with someone who chooses me first? Why aren't you?"

The question hung between them like a challenge. Why wasn't he? Since their breakup, there had been opportunities. Beautiful, successful women who understood his lifestyle, who wouldn't ask for more than he could give. Women who made sense on paper, who fit into his world without requiring him to make space.

But none of them had been her. And after seeing her again at Caratland, he'd understood why.

"Because," he said, the words scraping his throat raw, "because seeing you again made me realize I'm still waiting for someone who doesn't exist anymore."

She stared at him, and for a moment, he could see the girl she used to be. The one who used to believe in his promises, who used to think love was enough.

"She doesn't," she said softly. "And neither does the boy I fell in love with."

A car door slammed somewhere nearby, followed by voices calling his name. His manager, probably. Maybe some of the members. The real world, intruding on this bubble of past and present that couldn't hold.

"I have to go," he said, but he didn't move.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You do."

Neither of them moved.

"The concert was incredible," she said finally. "SEVENTEEN's 10th anniversary... you've all become everything you dreamed of being."

"Have I?" He studied her face in the dim light, memorizing the changes time had made, the way months of thinking about that moment at Caratland had shifted something in her expression. "Sometimes I'm not sure the dream was worth what it cost."

She smiled then, sad and knowing and final. "It was. You know it was. You've touched millions of lives, made people happy, created something beautiful. That matters."

"So did you," he whispered.

"I know," she said. "But we can't go back."

"Seungcheol Hyung!" The voice was closer now, more urgent. Chan, maybe, or Seokmin.

"I should—" He gestured vaguely toward the sound of his name.

"You should."

He took a step back, then another. "Will I see you again?"

The question was pathetic, and they both knew it.

"Probably not," she said gently. "Not like this."

He nodded, because what else was there to do? "Take care of yourself."

"You too."

He made it three steps before turning back. "For what it's worth... I did love you. More than the world, more than anything. I just didn't know how to choose you and keep you safe at the same time."

She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn't answer. Then: "I know. That's what made it so hard."

When he looked back one more time from where the car was waiting, she was gone, disappeared back into the dispersing crowd of concert-goers making their way home.

☾⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Three weeks later

Seungcheol sat in the SEVENTEEN practice room, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall. The space was empty except for him—the others were scattered across various schedules, interviews, and recovery time after their anniversary concert under Jamsu Bridge.

The bruise on his cheek had faded to a yellowish-green that makeup could easily cover. He'd told everyone he'd walked into a door, which was close enough to the truth if you considered emotional devastation a type of architectural feature.

But the real bruise was deeper, the one that came from finally understanding that some chapters of your life were meant to stay closed, no matter how much you wanted to reread them.

The door clicked open behind him, and he didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Mingyu's footsteps were distinctive—heavy but careful, like someone who'd learned to be aware of his size in small spaces.

"Hyung." Mingyu settled beside him on the floor, close enough to offer comfort but far enough away to give him space to retreat if needed. "You want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"About why you look like someone died, why you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds for three weeks, and why Chan said you literally jumped out of a moving car after the concert to chase someone who clearly didn't want to be chased."

Seungcheol closed his eyes. "It wasn't moving."

"That's what you're choosing to focus on?"

Before Seungcheol could answer, the door opened again. This time it was Seokmin, followed by Joshua, then Hansol, then suddenly the room was filling up with members who were supposed to be resting.

"Did you guys plan this?" Seungcheol asked, looking around at the concerned faces surrounding him.

"Maybe," Seokmin said, settling cross-legged on his other side. "We're worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," Jihoon said flatly. "You've been distracted for weeks. More than usual."

"The concert went perfectly—"

"This isn't about the concert." Soonyoung bounced on his toes, too anxious to sit still. "This is about what happened afterward, by the river. About whoever you saw."

Seungcheol's head snapped up. "How did you—"

"You ran," Jun said quietly. "Right after the concert, with fans and cameras everywhere, you ran toward something. Or someone."

The room fell silent. These were the people who knew him best, who had lived with him through every triumph and breakdown of the past decade. Of course they'd noticed his distraction since Caratland, the way he'd been scanning crowds more intently, the way he'd gone quiet during their anniversary preparations.

"Was it her?" Seokmin asked gently.

The question hung in the air like a confession waiting to be made.

"Yeah," Seungcheol said finally. "It was her."

More silence. They all remembered her, of course. The girl who used to bring them homemade meals during trainee days, who had celebrated with them when they'd gotten their first win, who had been there for everything until suddenly she wasn't.

"How is she?" Mingyu asked.

"Good. Different. Tired." Seungcheol scrubbed his hands over his face. "She slapped me."

"Good for her," Hansol said mildly, earning a few chuckles from the others.

"She was at Caratland too," Seungcheol continued. "I saw her in the crowd, and I've been wondering for months if it was real. Then she was at the anniversary concert, and then by the river... I couldn't just drive past. I had to know."

"You had to know," Joshua repeated. "If there was still something there."

"And?"

Seungcheol was quiet for a long moment, thinking about her words on the bridge, the way she'd looked at him like she was seeing a stranger wearing a familiar face.

"There was. But not the way I hoped. Not the way I remembered."

"What do you mean?" Soonyoung had finally settled, concern overriding his usual hyperactivity.

"She's not the same person. I'm not the same person. What we had... it belonged to who we used to be. And those people don't exist anymore."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't real," Seokmin said softly. "That doesn't mean it didn't matter."

"No," Seungcheol agreed. "It just means it's finally over."

The words felt like admitting defeat, like giving up on something he'd been holding onto since that moment at Caratland when he'd seen her again and felt his world tilt off its axis.

"Maybe that's okay," Jun said. "Maybe some things are supposed to end so other things can begin."

"Profound," Jihoon said dryly, but not unkindly.

"I'm serious," Jun continued. "You've been carrying this since Caratland, hyung. This weight of what if, what could have been. Maybe seeing her again, talking to her... maybe that's what you needed to finally put it down."

"It doesn't feel like putting it down," Seungcheol muttered. "It feels like losing her all over again."

"Because you are," Mingyu said bluntly. "You're losing the version of her that existed in your memory, the one that was frozen in time. But maybe that's good. Maybe now you can remember what you actually had instead of mourning what you thought you'd lost."

The wisdom in the statement surprised them all, coming from someone who usually expressed himself through food metaphors and gym schedules.

"When did you get so smart?" Hansol asked.

"I've always been smart," Mingyu protested. "You guys just don't listen."

The laughter that followed was gentle, familiar. The sound of family trying to heal one of their own.

"So what now?" Soonyoung asked when the moment settled.

Seungcheol looked around at their faces—these people who had chosen him as much as he had chosen them, who had built something beautiful and lasting together. His found family, his chosen brothers, his everything that had made letting go of her feel like betrayal.

"Now we keep going," he said. "We have that variety show recording tomorrow, and the festival next week, and a hundred other things that matter to a hundred thousand other people."

"And you're okay with that?" Seokmin asked.

Seungcheol considered the question. Was he okay with it? With choosing this life, this family, this version of love that looked different from what he'd once imagined but was no less real?

"Yeah," he said, and meant it. "I am."

"Good," Jihoon said, pushing himself to his feet. "Because we have choreography to review before tomorrow, and you know how Soonyoung gets when we're not synchronized."

"Hey!" Soonyoung protested, but he was already moving toward the sound system.

As the room filled with music and movement, as his members fell into the familiar patterns of practice and perfection, Seungcheol felt something shift inside his chest. Not healing, exactly, but the beginning of it. The acknowledgment that some loves were meant to last forever, and others were meant to teach you how to love forever.

He thought of her words by the river: You've become everything you dreamed of being.

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was enough. Maybe it had always been enough, and he'd just needed to see her one last time to believe it.

The music swelled, and his body remembered the choreography even as his mind wandered. This was his life. These people, this music, this strange and beautiful thing they'd built together out of dreams and determination and the kind of love that didn't need promises to endure.

It wasn't the life he'd imagined, standing under an umbrella in the rain with forever stretching out ahead of them.

But it was the life he'd chosen. The life he'd built. The life that mattered.

And maybe, finally, that was enough.

꧁༺ ❀ ༻꧂

One month later

She was walking home from work when she saw the news alert on her phone: SEVENTEEN's Seungcheol Spotted at Children's Hospital, Donating Time and Toys to Young Patients.

The attached photo showed him crouched down beside a little girl's wheelchair, his face soft with the same gentle attention she remembered from when he used to worry about injured stray cats. The caption mentioned it was part of an ongoing charity initiative he'd been quietly supporting for years.

She smiled without meaning to, the way you do when you discover that someone you once loved has grown into exactly who they were meant to be.

Some stories, she thought, don't end with reunions or reconciliation. Some stories end with the quiet satisfaction of knowing that the person who broke your heart is out there making the world a little better, a little brighter.

Some stories end with gratitude for having been part of the beginning, even if you couldn't stay for the middle or the end.

She put her phone away and kept walking home, where someone was waiting for her with dinner and questions about her day and the kind of ordinary, extraordinary love that fit into the life she'd built after learning that not all dreams are meant to come true.

Both of them were exactly where they belonged.

And maybe that was the most beautiful ending of all.

[mariacallous]

The National Institutes of Health is responsible for more than 80% of the world’s grant investment in biomedical research. Its funding has sparked countless medical breakthroughs — on cancer, diabetes, strokes — and plays a fundamental role in the development of pharmaceutical drugs.

Scientists compete vigorously for a slice of the more than $30 billion that the agency doles out annually; they can spend years assembling grant applications that stretch thousands of pages in hopes of convincing peer reviewers of the promise of their projects. Only 1 in 5 gets chosen.

The NIH has rarely revoked funding once it has been awarded. Out of the tens of thousands of grants overseen by the institution since 2012, it terminated fewer than five for violations of the agency’s terms and conditions.

Then Donald Trump was reelected.

Since his January inauguration, his administration has terminated more than 1,450 grants, withholding more than $750 million in funds; officials have said they are curbing wasteful spending and “unscientific” research. The Department of Government Efficiency gave the agency direction on what to cut and why, ProPublica has previously found, bypassing the NIH’s established review process.

“The decision to terminate certain grants is part of a deliberate effort to ensure taxpayer dollars prioritize high-impact, urgent science,” said Andrew G. Nixon, the director of communications for the Department of Health and Human Services. He did not respond to questions about the terminated grants or how patients may be impacted, but he said, “Many discontinued projects were duplicative or misaligned with NIH’s core mission. NIH remains focused on supporting rigorous biomedical research that delivers real results — not radical ideology.”

Targeted projects, however, were seeking cures for future pandemics, examining the causes of dementia and trying to prevent HIV transmission.

The mass cancellation of grants in response to political policy shifts has no precedent, former and current NIH officials told ProPublica. It threatens the stability of the institution and the scientific enterprise of the nation at large. Hundreds of current and former NIH staffers published a declaration this week — cosigned by thousands of scientists across the world, including more than 20 Nobel laureates — decrying the politicization of science at the agency and urging its director to reinstate the canceled grants. Many researchers have appealed the terminations, and several lawsuits are underway challenging the cuts.

It has been difficult for scientists and journalists to convey the enormity of what has happened these past few months and what it portends for the years and decades to come. News organizations have chronicled cuts to individual projects and sought to quantify the effects of lost spending on broad fields of study. To gain a deeper understanding of the toll, ProPublica reached out to more than 500 researchers, scientists and investigators whose grants were terminated.

More than 150 responded to share their experiences, which reveal consequences that experts say run counter to scientific logic and even common sense.

[amyoffline]

It's done! The outline for—

—is below the cut. The goal of this project is to explore the following phenomena with as much context and nuance as I can manage, tracing our history over the past 15 years:

What about us, and what about Dan and Phil, drew in and continues to draw in a very specific audience. If they are a ranch metaphor, we are a pizza metaphor 🥗🍕🫶🏻

Why we were Like That™, by which I mean so parasocially invested in them that we became, at times, the most annoying people on the internet. Much of that reputation is undeserved, and the videos on the phandom to date have been strongly negative. So, uh, I guess I'm going to put my face on camera and (mostly) defend us.

Reblog, share in your Discord servers, reply, or send me messages/anon asks with feedback or resources if you have any! Especially if your experience being in this fandom community has been dramatically different from mine. There are TIT spoilers near the end of the outline, but I'm not tagging because certain individuals seem to be lurking over there. Thank you!

Chapters:

Full outline:

introduction

cold open

felt personally attacked by jonathan haidt's last press tour

showed up to the phrenaissance 11 months late

had an unexpectedly strong response to their new content, needed to find out why

what the hell are we doing here?

- phenomenology (academics are professionally insufferable) - research question 1: what drew the audience in? - research question 2: why were we Like That™?

what we're NOT doing here

- a strict content analysis or "wow we sucked" video - providing sources for things best left uncirculated, thank you

reflexivity (personal biases)

- american zillennial in public health - in the youtube audience by spring 2010 - lurking in the phandom on tumblr 2013-2015, back* since 2019 - fan behavior i did and did not engage in

(----): truly necessary background information, i swear

(pop) cultural trends, tech, and their intersection

- nerd/geek identity and the first online weirdos - broadcast tv & the music industry vs the internet - defining "emo" - blogging & vlogging - early internet comedy

broader social/economic trends

- so the U.S. economy collapsed in 2007 - a decade that sucked except for rom-coms and square enix games - the flip/slide phone + digital camera + mp3 player loadout

(05-8): early youtube and early phil

youtube: a great video uploader without a clear purpose

the content on the website

- crossposts, corporations, and creative/social outlets - omg guys it's amazing phil - contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: justin bieber

the audience of "early adopters"

contemporary social media sites and forums

(2009): origin story

a wild dan appears… in the comments

the global constant that is teenagers being messy online

daring my old school district to sue me

- "one town's war on gay teens" (literal rolling stone headline!) - epidemiology 101: rates of… ugh… "unaliving" oneself - ways kids cope when it seems no adults will help them

the earliest days of dan & phil

- hello internet + pinof - a chronically overexamined timeline - file deleted ---* so how big WAS the audience at the time? ---* acceptable funny/edgy language was just different

contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: lucas cruikshank

omg it's meeeeeee

- how amy & friends were using youtube - ways i was just destined to end up here - being in social environments with peers 3-6 years older

(2010): is it "twenty-ten" or "two thousand ten?"

youtube is a platform about to explode in popularity

- the algorithm before it was The Algorithm™, lost site features - let's take a trip through the wayback machine :3c - actual dan & phil content in 2010 - the green brothers found vidcon - contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: darren criss

social media: also about to explode in popularity

- facebook was cool at the time, believe it or not - law of equivalent exchange: 2010 amy cringe compilation - the birth of instagram and pinterest - youtube slash livejournal (the first phanfics… sort of) - shockfic and its place in the overton window

the beginning of "the great rewiring" as haidt calls it

- ways social media is about to dramatically change - third spaces become online spaces - confounding variable: changing expectations of teens

(2011): the end of an era, the start of an age

a very long tangent on fandom and pop culture

cultural exchange

counterculture and teenagers as concepts

the first british invasion: the 1960s

- beatlemania and its descendents - moral panic about the virtue of tween/teen girls - tv/film/fashion trends being imported from the uk - in parallel, star trek births the modern fandom

the second british invasion: the 1980s

- synth/new pop that came out of the punk movement (hi, emo?) - confined mainly to music and fashion - cool britannia

it's harry freakin' potter

- absolute titan of pop culture influence - the rise of online fandom: examining the horrors ---* what is "wank" ---* flaming, sockpuppeting, and general cyberbullying ---* censorship: ffnet purges, boldthrough, & strikethrough ---* other fandom shenanigans of the time (yaoi paddles, anyone?)

harry potter's over. now what?

- for those who needed coming-of-age hero's journeys ---* twilight and YA dystopia waiting in the wings ---* some pretty iconic tv shows start or hit their stride ---* the mcu's phase one ---* takeaway: the rise of "geek culture" generally - for those who just wanted to go to hogwarts ---* doctor who & the wider world of bbc programming ---* british vloggers, you say? where? on youtube? brb--

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

dan & phil in the first half of 2011

- a continuation of 2010… for now - the videos - british pancakes as a case study of bad fan behavior

streaming and social media

- the birth of snapchat, twitch, and younow - netflix starts developing original programming - multi-channel networks (mcns) - digitour

dan & phil in the second half of 2011

- and they were roommates (omg they were roommates) - fantastic foursome - youtube glitches out - the super amazing project - the first proper baking video + wait, is that the bbc?

~ baking interlude 1: christmas cookies ~

the family sugar cookie (sorry, delia)

amy's 2011

(2012): why is anyone nostalgic for this

the transition from desktop to mobile

- massive growth in smartphone ownership 2011-2015 - things one might do on mobile one might not do on desktop - non-online ways smartphones changed being a youth™

what is tumblr and why is my child using it

- how the site is meant to work - fandom, memes, aesthetics, and SOME public figures - want to be anxious and depressed in peace? come to tumblr - this site seems a little……… gay ---* tumblr's very queer, very neurodiverse userbase ---* legacy media representation in 2012: bad! ---* actual academic research on tumblr users (yes, it exists) - the tumblr experience for non-native english speakers

amy becomes a vibrating mass of panic and paranoia

- in context of the above - additional rant about the american public school system

the growing dan & phil audience

- investigating the origin of the term "phannie" - more collaborations = more viewers - more video uploads = more /invested/ viewers - younow and interacting with fans - watch time replaces clicks in the algorithm

online etiquette, or lack thereof

- mid-transition from the 2000s to the 2010s - "professional internet celebrity" is still basically brand-new - lack of boundaries - various ways to be an asshole online - unsupervised kids simply do not engage in best practices

the end of 2012

- dan and phil move to london - wikipedia vandalism - tiptoeing around a top contender for the phandom's greatest sin - super amazing project DONE, now it's BBC RADIO TIME

(2013): arguably the most important year

- wait. what's that six-second video platform over there--

[amy's curated vine compilation]

- a new wave of internet comedians (read: future youtubers) - the zillennial lexicon - other platforms start emphasizing short-form video content - magcon

emo is BACK - well, sort of

- fob hiatus ends, mcr breaks up. my god. you had to be there - more open ties to nerd/geek culture than in the 2000s - these things once again intersect at dan and phil

dan and phil in the first half of 2013

- siri, what's a "sex symbol?" why are you booing me i'm right-- - d&p are everywhere - radio shows, interviewing, hosting - youtube uploads on their individual channels

rapidly changing cultural attitudes towards queerness

- gay marriage will be legal in places other than canada soon - a lot of assimilationist rhetoric though tbh - parallels to the pop feminism of the decade

hey kids, let's talk about compulsory heterosexuality!!

- what is it and why do people do it - academic, tumblr-level, and anecdotal research - the dannies, the phillies, and the phannies

amy

- the closet™ - mental health stigma - 2013 dnp posts from my main blog

dan and phil in the second half of 2013

- subscriber milestones, vidcon - joint content before the gaming channel - phandom starts having a major presence outside tumblr

(2014): achievement unlocked!

it's time to talk about rpf

- definitions (a chance to be annoyingly pedantic) - academic perspectives and fan discourse on the ethics - when the subjects clearly aren't fine with it - so… we can acknowledge "shipping phan" was different, right? ---* sometimes the subjects are fine* with it, actually ---* how dan and phil started to handle the shipping ---* obvious differences between phan and other rpf ships ---* sharing my favorite passages as a first-time phanfic reader

dan and phil in 2014

- wikipedia vandalism 2: electric boogaloo - bbc request show → internet takeover - the 7 second challenge - youtube content, subscriber milestones, rewind - cons and award shows

tumblr reaches the peak of its influence

- yahoo's attempts to monetize the userbase - buzzfeed and aggregators steal our jokes and bait our clicks - legacy media dangles carrots and uses us for free marketing - the legend of korra breaks TV precedent, almost out of nowhere - the tumblr user experience ---* on mobile, without xkit ---* on desktop, with xkit ---* 2014 dnp posts from my main blog

gamergate and its long shadow

- trolling, renewed and revamped - algorithms push increasingly extreme content - the broad conservative backlash conglomerate - increased normalization of conspiracism in general

my greatest sin [not clickbait] [very funny]

- so, circling back to comphet… - the actual story

anyway, let's talk about danandphilgames

- a star is born: dil howlter - different types of gaming content on youtube at the time - why did 17yo amy not subscribe? well…

~ baking interlude 2: chocolate cupcakes ~

make your own frosting. it freezes well

roasting myself further

(2015): it's not queerbaiting when it's real people

facebook "pivots to video"

- mark zuckerberg lied. water is wet - causes other platforms to REALLY double down on video - the birth of musical.ly - corporate-branded creators (read: future youtubers)

queerbaiting enters mainstream public consciousness

- academic origins - early fannish and acafan writing - johnlock, destiel, and sterek - statistics 101: type i error, type ii error, and queerbait

dan, phil, and the phandom

- bbc, cons, & the brits - danandphilcrafts - phan conspiracies ---* japhan ---* body language experts ---* timeline truthers ---* floor plan investigators ---* no but seriously imagine it - regular youtube uploads ---* solo content ---* joint content ---* subscriber milestones, rewind - tatinof uk and tabinof ---* on "selling out" ---* revisiting the statistics 101 lesson: now with real people! ---* never meet your heroes (unless they're dan and phil)

amy's (temporary) exit from the phandom

- it's legal adulthood with a steel chair!! - growing discomfort with some fans' behavior - 2015 dnp posts from my main blog - the closer: final fantasy vii

(2016): season finale

vine's imminent demise

- content platforms behaving badly - content creators behaving badly

youtube after "the great rewiring" (as haidt calls it)

- version 1.0 of the modern youtube algorithm ---* deep neural networks for dummies ---* what's holding creators accountable, or not - advertising and sponsorships ---* basically every child and youth™ is watching now ---* the battle for our attention ---* regulators start to crack down on undisclosed ads - the rise of drama/tea content (and later, channels) ---* youtubers are now seen as regular celebrities ---* dan and phil as the butt of other youtubers' jokes ---* baiting the phandom for engagement

tatinof us and aus

- a proven new model for live show tours - show & documentary released to youtube red (now premium) - [sigh] the tour bus

sea change in online fandom

- the newer, sometimes queerer media in korra's wake ---* better and more representation in live-action tv shows ---* voltron (i'm sorry!!!) ---* the mystic messenger craze ---* alice oseman & heartstopper - the new dynamics of #discourse ---* proship is to anti as phannie is to phanti ---* the bad behaviors of the 00s get a new coat of paint ---* new, though: fans harassing creators ---* a personal note on ace discourse

dan and phil presence off-tour

- the internet takeover ends - regular content, subscriber milestones

so. uh. current events.

- brexit - sorry the united states is a font of chaos - ripple effects

closing out the year

- amy finally gets an anxiety diagnosis and treatment! hurray! - dapgo, rewind - bbc radio awards & the boncas - gamingmas

(2017): time for a rebrand

tangent - sit down!!! buckle up!!! today's lecture is on PSIs & PSRs!!!

"parasocial" as defined by the current zeitgeist

- summing up youtubers' and laypeople's opinions (not dan's) - an unfairly negative stance overall, imo

older academic literature

- the 1956 paper (yes, 1956) - with traditional celebrities - with fictional characters

current academic literature

- with youtubers and other content creators - positive effects on the audience - negative effects on the audience - broader societal implications

fandom spaces as a parasocial experience

- parasocial and truly social interactions with each other - phandom as a supportive, welcoming space for oddballs - what research i can find about neurospicy folks, + anecdotes - me and everyone else on planet earth move to discord

inherent transactionality

- the nature of celebrity - positive effects on creators - negative effects on creators

reexamining early phandom through a parasocial lens

- the good, the bad, and the ugly - the role audience demographics played in all of this - entering, exiting, and remaining in the phandom

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

vine is well and truly dead

- some had prepared to become primarily youtubers (smart) - some move to musical.ly, insta, facebook, or snap (less so)

the sun sets on danisnotonfire

- i am very normal about dan's hobbit hair, i swear. - the last dnp content before the rebrand - new apartment, new floor plan investigations

adpocalypse now

- youtube has become the village elder of platforms ---* increased scrutiny, increased responsibility ---* some youtubers had been getting away with !#$!#@% - the scandals ---* pewdiepie + logan paul ---* elsagate and being "family- friendly" (read: ad-friendly) - censorship and monetization ---* adsense revenue goes down as advertisers pull out ---* the glory days of posting whatever and making bank are over

amazingphil and ~daniel howell~

- youtube & younow content - that week in march - vacations and conventions - conjoined baking and the concept of a "soft launch" - daniel & depression → dan as a mental health advocate - truth bombs, ii announcement, rewind

(2018): the phandom vs the hiatus they told us not to worry about

interactive introverts

- "giving the people what they want" - in hindsight… - let's talk about dnp fans from the global south

youtuber burnout

- it wasn't just dan: (more examples than header fits) - the old model was simply not sustainable - newer contributing factors - research on burnout, plus personal anecdotal experience

other dan and phil content

- younow/rize lives - dan's last videos before… you know… - phil's solo content in 2018 (quiff!!) - pinof → wdapteo - the gaming channel

other stuff happening online and in the world

- youtube raises the barriers to monetization - many "pivot to video" creators are now independent - the modern youtuber's multiple streams of income - continuations of societal trends in 2016 - musical.ly becomes tiktok - notable: she-ra and the princesses of power

the hiatus™: part myth, part reality

- how long dan was actually offline - major confounder: tumblr implodes almost overnight - major confounder: perception of content density from '13-'16 - major confounder: rapidly maturing audience - major confounder: our temporal awareness is about to go way ↓↓

~ baking interlude 3: scotcheroos ~

minnesotans and their obsession with "bars"

amy has one last existential crisis (you know, to date)

(2019): demolishing the closet with a nail bat

phil videos in the first 5 months of this very important year

basically i'm gay

- my thoughts - its legacy in the canon of "coming out" stories - multiple things can be true at once

coming out to you

- my thoughts - its legacy in the canon of "coming out" stories - why phil waited (actual explanations, speculation)

amy's 2019

- return to the audience, not really to the phandom (rip tumblr) - strange coincidence that i also had a major life transition

dan and phil: still here, freshly queer

- twitter becomes the main nexus of phandom, by default - regular phil uploads + brief return to younow - vidcon

(2020): go home and stay there

so it's a goddamn global public health crisis

- infectious disease perspective - effects on overall well-being of adults - effects on kids and teenagers (sorry to all of you) - political and economic impacts

hitherto unforeseen levels of online content consumption

- tiktok replaces basically all short-form video content - yet another wave of new (otherwise unemployed) youtubers - you're watching a video essay. these got really popular now. - being young and isolated: thoughts from younger phannies

the Content™ bc that's the one word we use for this now

- phil's videos - when dan is around - that attitude magazine interview - pour one out for the phil solo project(s) the panini wrecked

further political disaster… avoided?

- checking in on the state of social issues previously discussed - unfortunately,

(2021): welcome to the 2020s, we have lingering trauma

THE PHOUSE?!?!?

- social media posts - the stereo shows

other dan and phil videos

- phil's solo videos - gay and not proud - hometown showdown - other joint videos - phil's #shorts (sounds normal in american english)

panini updates

- vaccines soon, uwu??? + entrenched misinformation - pros and cons of remote work - pros and cons of remote school - pros and cons of remote socializing

you will get through this night

- younger me really could have used this book too, dan - thoughts as a professional in a related field - reflecting on some of my more unique circumstances

daring my old school district to sue me (again!!)

- updates: racism and transphobia - updates: right-wing freaks take over the school board again - residents vote against improving mental health resources

(2022): dan returns (still not on fire)

hey so politics are um getting worse

- americans lose the right to reproductive freedom ---* the quickest of histories on where these freaks came from ---* this shit kills people. - trans kids become the punching bag of culture war discourse ---* fuck off! (gently) ---* fuck off! (i have a knife) ---* checking in on terf island

we're all doooooooooooooooomed

- dystopia daily my beloved - the style, the substance, the metatextual analysis-- - not everyone loved it, though. why? - the promo - dan on tour + sister daniel

amy's 2022

- i got covid - then i got long covid: brain fog, pots-like symptoms

some more news (i will work on my warmbo impression)

- dan joins tiktok + danisnotinteresting uploads - phil: uploading less, busy doing remote crisis management - twitter is acquired by an idiot jackass - heartstopper on netflix! ---* the show and what it means to people ---* drama (revisiting "real people can't queerbait") ---* why this has anything to do with the phandom

~ baking interlude 4: cinnamon rolls ~

- lovingly, recipe changes and corrections :) - if i have an opinion about anything, it's sweet yeasted breads

(2023): the phrenaissance

phil

- joins tiktok! - youtube uploads through september - what even is phannie tiktok. i've never used this app. help.

dystopia daily b-sides

- dan memes of 2022 - the 2023 dystopia daily episodes

amy: the doctoral candidacy process

- purgatory, privilege, poverty, and free pizza - checking in on what this is like outside the united states

pretending the panini is over

- complaining about post-adpocalypse censorship standards - honest take about "giving up" on covid - who gets the short end of the stick

the youtube algorithm is BAD and UNINTELLIGENT, actually,

- unhinged rant about not hearing about the gaming rephrival - because i was offline from other platforms. like, @amyoffline.

pov: you are a phannie (not me) on october 15th

- what i was doing on october 15th - saying goodbye forever, spooky week, and november - gamingmas - phil uploads through december

(2024): fifteen years of terrible, terrible influence

hey what the fuck is going on

- dan and phil ---* joint and phil videos ---* jokes they never would've made ten years ago ---* a collection of emotional posts about how far they've come ---* people want fun and silly content again. we'll get to why ---* nostalgia, hope, and other warm and fuzzy feelings - the phandom ---* ancient parasocial attachments, reactivated instantly ---* people are way more normal now. let's discuss why ---* tumblr vs twitter vs tiktok phandom

we're all doomed, youtube version

- my thoughts - thoughts on "dan should/shouldn't" do video essays - i can't objectively evaluate anything he makes bc [gunshots]

terrible influence tour

- legally phlonde - the concept: healing one's inner child / taking it back - we gotta talk about phannies in the global south again - no but seriously imagine it? ---*ogres are like onions, they have LAYERS ---* [placeholder for whatever does(n't) happen]

anglosphere current events once again

- the likely us tiktok ban - the tories get fired - [placeholder for whichever hell americans manifest] - witnessing genocide and feeling powerless

ffx full-circle moment to the intro of this video essay

- the night i found out they came back - why i am doing this, now with context - reflections on a nearly 15-year (parasocial) relationship

whatever youtube uploads we get during fall/december

AMY SEES TIT (nov 14)

- the vibes at the phamily reunion - buying merch to apologize for eternal ublock origin use - how much should i document?? (not during the show) - phanspiracies confirmed - atlanta confessions - favorite bits - the alternate universe where i went to tatinof and/or ii

(2025): the horrors persist, but so do we

whatever 2025 content is out while i'm still working on this

our parasocial social club

- let me be philosophytube for a second ---* every interaction has a parasocial element ---* what are we obligated to do as a phandom, actually? ---* as people who parasocially care about these two dorks? ---* what else should we be doing socially to be at our happiest? - "they're my gay uncles" vs "i'm a little in love, even now" ---* riffing about the boundary/overlap between these camps ---* sibling reads me for filth in a single text (sister daniel...) ---* at least we're all in this together

what's going to continue to draw people in

- grown adults drawing our cat whiskers back on - updates on queer/nd kids - updates on anxiety/depression rates - updates on tech and the broader environment of content - world still feels doomed

tangent - the "hard launch" and why people want it

what are people referring to, exactly

- general definition and other examples - when it comes to dan and phil - maybe they hard launched already and we just missed the memo

the ludonarrative of phandom

- if you got here early on - if you got here in the mid-2010s - if you got here after they came out - if you got here post-hiatus - final fantasy comparison: ffvii's chokehold over first-timers

a rom-com for the ages

- the tropes in play - brief tangent on the evolution of the genre - queer romantic comedies - final fantasy comparison: ffviii's plot and squall/rinoa

phriends… or…

- wholesome influence, slice-of-life - projection - final fantasy comparison: ffxv's gameplay loop, the chocobros

humans don't like ambiguity

- from a media perspective (narrative tension) - research from the hard sciences - final fantasy comparison: fanille ---* the first gay final fantasy characters, actually ---* ffxiii's character development process ---* fang and vanille in the text. brb, clawing at the walls ---* so, if anyone is looking for a phyuri au prompt…

tl;dr: reality is not fiction. make peace with not "knowing"

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

the phuture

- phil's big solo project when??? - dapg is just the joint channel now - youtube has changed since when dan last "regularly" uploaded - nothing lasts forever, and that's okay

~ baking interlude 5: ranch + pizza ~

- ranch propaganda and ranch metaphors - showing off my dough and sauce skills

conclusions

- a lot has happened in 15 years - [placeholders: don't write your conclusions before you do your research]

Proof this project can only be done in consultation with Tumblr: no other platform we're on could accommodate a post of this length and formatting detail lol