#Archive record scanning

[transxfiles]

Falsettos CDs from the 2016 Broadway Revival Cast Recording

[manic-maniac-man]

HUgE July 2012

MYLifetimeVINYL

NOBUHIKO KITAMURA (HYSTERIC GLAMOUR

JUN TAKAHASHI (UNDERCOVER)

These two outstanding creators have built a unique worldview by crossing over music and fashion.

Stimulating the sensitivity to such a life's work

Through the medium of vinyl,

A free session where each of us talked about the music and artwork that we feel sympathy for.

from OUR YOUTH

---When you two started listening to records, CDs didn't exist yet.

Takahashi Jun (hereinafter J): Yes, when I first started listening to music, there were no CDs, so I would borrow records and record them onto cassettes.

Nobuhiko Kitamura (hereafter N): In our case, it may have been because we were moving from records to CDs, but other than the sound, it touched many of our senses. We were visually shocked, and sometimes we were troubled by the question, "What is this?"

J: The jacket visual is exactly like that.

--What was the first introductory thing that influenced you two?

J: I think it was already the Sex Pistols... I had seen and bought various album covers before, but I was in elementary school. For the first time, I saw the pink and yellow Jamie Reid jacket and thought, "SEX PISTOLS."

The solid balance between the name and the jacket artwork made me think, "Is it okay for something like this to exist!?" It was also difficult to even say the name out loud.

N: I first learned about the Sex Pistols in the newspaper. There was an article in print that said something like, "A British right-wing group attacked the Sex Pistols' lead singer on the subway."

J: Your name is in katakana (laughs).

N: Yeah, I thought, "What, Sex Pistols?" On my next day off, I went straight to a record store in Nishi-Shinjuku, but they hadn't been in Japan yet. Later, I got a call saying they had arrived, and I was able to buy the imported version just before the domestic version came out. The domestic version even came with a badge.

J: It came with a badge. Where did you buy the imported version?

N: Maybe it was something like Edison... But the image of the name was more inflated than the visual, and when I listened to it it was unexpectedly pop, so I thought "What is this?" all the more.

J: Well, that's true.

N: When I listened to them later, I realized that the Pistols were made possible by the Modern Lovers and the New York Dolls. I also felt the connection between America and the UK, but I didn't understand that much at the time. They sounded like an overly pop band, and I wasn't satisfied with them.

J: I think I was in the sixth grade. Someone showed me one and then I listened to it. The Clash, Led Zeppelin, Sex Pistols and Anarchy all came out at the same time. That's how it was in my rural area. Another thing that shocked me at the same time as the Pistols was the White Album (by the Beatles). It had nothing written on it and it was white! (laughs). And it sounded good too.

N: My older cousin wanted the White Album, so I bought it for him as a birthday present. The jacket was thick. There were large portraits and posters inside, and it was so gorgeous that at first I didn't know what the main feature of the box was, and then I found three records. I thought, "Why does he think he's cool even though he has a bob haircut?"

01- "There are many different versions of the domestic version of the Sex Pistols' song 'Do What You Want!!' with different obi strips" (Takahashi)

02-The infamous cover of UFO is pictured at the top left, and the artwork by Hipgnosis is fantastic.

03-German progressive band, ASH RA TEMPEL's original jacket with Kannon motif

04- "Can's 'Monster Movie'. A demo released before the release of their first album. This is super rare." (Takahashi)

05- "The Scorpions jacket is something I've been carrying around with me since I was a child. I don't think Hysteric Glamour would have been born without it." (Kitamura)

06- "The sound, lyrics, artwork. The first thing that bothered me was Brian Eno's "Another Green World" (Kitamura)

07- "Kraftwerk's 'RADIOAKTIVAT!' is my favorite album. I don't see many copies with stickers on them. This album has a slightly different sound, it's heavy." (Takahashi)

J: Nobu, how old were you at the time?

N: I think I was in 5th or 6th grade. When I entered junior high school, the guy who gave me the White Album took me to a Suzi Quatro concert, and it was quite a shock. It was like seeing Fujiko Mine for the first time. Looking back, the shock I felt from Pink Lady and the Runaways that came out after that was definitely traumatic for me from Suzi Quatro.

J: That's especially true for music-related things. Maybe it was the same with my White Album, but it's like a big shock, and the influence of music is strong.

N: That's what happens. When I was in junior high school, I didn't have much money, so I was lucky if I could buy one record a month. I couldn't collect them all, so I'd choose a group of friends to be in charge of Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, etc. I was starting to get interested in Hipgnosis, who also designed record jackets, so I was in charge of Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Other than that, I basically bought them because of the jackets, so there were a lot of really bad ones.

J: In our time, each artist had their own established direction for their album jackets and sound, and the jackets and designs showed the flow of the music. It wasn't as messy as it is now. Heavy metal and hard rock were popular in my time.

the GOLDEN 70S

N: Just like the Pistols, looking back now, '76 was the most prosperous time for the music industry.

I certainly thought back then that music would reach its peak in the 80s and 90s and become even more amazing, but things started to get worse for record companies and the rock business itself started to falter. Around the middle of the 70s, punk came out, reggae became a central sound, and hip hop was just starting to be born. Other than that, there was progressive rock, and hard rock was getting bigger and turning into heavy metal, and then there was jazz and disco music.

I think all of the recordings were so diverse and high-level. Other than that, there was German progressive rock that nobody paid attention to at the time, but was later rediscovered by DJs. There are a lot of masterpieces among them.

J: Yes. Speaking of jackets, especially punk jackets, they tend to look quite similar, but there are actually a variety of designs, and I used to buy them just for the jacket, so I couldn't predict what would come out. For example, if you look at the jacket design of Joy Division's "Unknown Pleasure," you can't get a sense of the music at all. Even in the punk era, the jacket doesn't give any hint of that at all, and I like things with that kind of gap.

N: It's the same with hypnosis. When I first saw Zeppelin's "Presence," I was so scared I wondered what it was.

J: That was quite a shock. My friend's brother is a rock fan, and he had posters of "Presence" and The Clash's "Radio Wave" hanging in his room, but the "Presence" poster was kind of mysterious.

08- "The artist who shocked me the most along with Hypgnosis was Roger Dean" (Kitamura)

09- "The jacket for the 12-inch record that Nobu and I designed for a fictional band (photo on the right)" (Takahashi)

10- "The Who's QUADROPHENIA comes with a very thick photo book. This has influenced my later photography." (Kitamura)

11- "This is a record from before Cluster started, when the initial letter was K. The CD reissue also had this uneven jacket design." (Takahashi)

12- "Talking Heads by Robert Rauschenberg. This was $7 on Ameba at the time (lol)" (Kitamura)

13- "When RIDE first came out with this jacket series, it didn't look like a rock band at all,

From the first to the third album, the cover art is on matte paper with a conceptual design." (Kitamura)

14- "Mark Stewart and pop groups have posters included, which is something you wouldn't get with a CD." (Kitamura)

N: When Storm Thorgerson, the leader of Hipgnosis, came to Japan, I asked him, "What is that (the object on the jacket)?" and he said it was a black hole. It wasn't an object.

J: It looks like a completely physical object, but that's what I mean.

N: It looks like an objet d'art, but I think a black hole doesn't have to be round.

J: I was recently talking to someone about how I thought the cover of Yuming's album "Let's Meet Last Night" was really cool, and then I realized it was by Hypgnosis.

N: Wow, seriously.

J: The sound is cool too. I think that's typical of a Japanese person.

N: Apparently Hipgnosis doesn't work with record companies. So they'll work with artists they like, from big names to unknown prog artists.

J: But I wasn't on time in the mid-70s. I was a junior high school student in the early 80s, so the Sex Pistols came a little later. Also, what I remember very well at the time is that I liked and listened to Japanese music as well as Western music, and I listened to Yusaku Matsuda's "In the Rain."

When the album "Interior" was released and I went to buy it, I found that (Matsuda) Ryuhei had drawn the cover.

N: The jacket has something like a portrait of Yusaku Matsuda on it.

J: That album was really cool, and I thought it was drawn by a child. It was an album from a time when the sound was shifting from folk rock to new wave, so the content was completely different. The design was also drawn by a child who had nothing to do with the music.

N: If it was just the sound, I'd just be a listener, but when something with a special jacket or something with a story comes along, it becomes an object. Once you have one, you want to collect them all.

J: If you think about it, there are still a lot of them. I've been listening to Tatsuro Yamashita again recently, and at the time the cover and sound were refreshing, but there was something about the sound that caught my attention. There are things like that, don't you think? There are things that betray (the sound you expect) based on the cover, and there are things that go right to the point. It's not interesting if it goes right to the point, though.

N: When listening to prog rock, it's awesome to put your face in the cover and listen to it with headphones. When I was in elementary school, it was popular to get together at a friend's house, spread a mattress on the floor, close the shutters, turn off the lights the moment the needle drops on the record, lie down, and listen to "Yopparai Returns."

J: In that state, when I listen to a German Progressive record while looking at the front page, I can't understand anything (laughs).

GERMAN PROGRESSIVE

J: A while ago, Nobu introduced me to German progressive rock and I started listening to it. At the time, I only knew about Can, but Nobu played me a bunch of stuff on the way to camping and Fuji Rock, and I thought it was amazing. After that, I started going to that record store in Nishi-Shinjuku all the time. There were a lot of different versions of German music, and they were expensive, and the store was only open at odd hours, so it appealed to me even more. The sound was great, of course, but

15- "FAUST's first release is a skeleton version" (Takahashi)

16- "PIL's Metal Box was my first album, and the second album was released with the same contents. It contains three vinyl discs, and it's really elaborate." (Takahashi)

17- "This is a French Heldon from the late 70s." (Takahashi)

18-[Embryo Opal's first issue. The first six or so albums released by Ohr label had a balloon in the center of the cover, but this one didn't have a balloon, but I got it recently. This label's specifications are really detailed." (Takahashi)

19- "The 7-inch "Red Elegy" by Morio Agata and Seiichi Hayashi comes with a menko. It's sad and erotic." (Kitamura)

20- "A box set of Mikami Hiroshi's vinyl and the original illustrations by Saeki Toshio, who designed the jackets. Before I knew it, I was collecting not only records, but also books by the artist and posters from that time.

"Japanese underground music gets better and better as you get older" (Kitamura) "Japanese music is so direct" (Takahashi)

21- "Tone Float," an experimental album by ORGANISATION, a precursor unit to Kraftwerk (Takahashi)

As for the artwork, it was exactly what I wanted.

N: There are some addictive elements to it.

J: That's right.

N: Jonio's concept for "Undercover"

It's similar to Al's stance, right?

J: It's very similar. The way we create sound and the way we think about design are very similar.

N: The way the German prog guys thought at the time.

J: Avant-garde and improvisational.

N: At that time, we were using analog computers, but we weren't particularly focused on using only regular instrumental instruments. I guess it's because classical music is at the foundation of our national character.

J: Maybe so.

N: The 12-inch size was determined by classical music to begin with.

J: As I listened to it, I was completely immersed in it, the cover was amazing too.

N: In Germany, sales aren't really a priority.

Right.

J: For me, most of the things that make me think "what is this?" are German. Whether it's rock, new wave, or prog, German stuff has more of a musician element than a musician feel.

N: A bit scholarly.

J: I thought it was really interesting how it mixed together research, research using my own body, and things like drug culture.

N: It doesn't have that show business vibe.

J: There isn't. That's the basis of manufacturing in this country. I find it very interesting to watch. It's different from England and American commercialism, so it's reassuring to watch. I learned about it as an adult in my late 30s, so I have some money and can afford it, but first of all, there are no products themselves.

N: The colors vary greatly depending on the region in Germany too.

J: It's different. For example, Kraftwerk, I usually knew them from the progressive rock scene, but when I followed their albums, I found that they started out with an analogue ethnic sound, then turned into a more folksy sound.

It starts off with a folk-like sound, then turns into the mechanical sound that everyone knows. You can't tell that from the cover. When you listen to German bands individually, that kind of progression is interesting.

MORE ABOUT VINYL

--The number of records released has increased again over the last two or three years.

J: I see. I guess there aren't many people who want CDs?

N: I buy CDs. As for downloads, I download the one song I want, but I've never bought an album.

J: I definitely buy all the albums on CD.

N:: For example, even if the sound is saved on the computer at the end, I don't like to carry all the songs with me, so I use an iPod because it's convenient, but in terms of sound quality, I think the compressed data of the download has a lot of fine details.

``There's more to records than just sound.

It shakes all five senses."

(Nobuhiko Kitamura)

"It's like a sound that doesn't anticipate the sound.

I like jackets that have a contrast." (Takahashi Jun)

I do DJ stuff and I like records because they have a softer sound than CDs, but in my case, it's a problem that goes beyond just liking the sound of records. Record jackets are a certain shape. I prefer a jacket that opens up rather than a standard record jacket. But even originals don't have a double pager, and I wondered why when I was a kid. There was very little information, so the only music magazines I could read every month were "Music Life" and "Ongaku Senka," and I would buy the rest depending on the features, but other than that, it was just radio or record jackets. It was a time when there weren't even imported records, so I explored from the obi and liner notes.

J: First of all, even if you know the music or haven't listened to it, when a new album comes out you are drawn in by what it looks like visually, but now that the size has gotten smaller, the emphasis on the jacket design is less than before.

N: It's probably close to zero.

J: There are some books whose designs interest me, but buying a book just for the cover doesn't happen as often as it used to.

N: It's just like how to express a CD in an analogue form, with the packaging simply swapped out. With vinyl, I think they also thought about how to express it in a 12-inch square paper package, and the quality of the paper. They were very particular about the things they were particular about.

J: That's true.

N: But there are a lot of unexplored things, and we start to become interested in them later in our 20s, 30s, or 40s and pursue them, but when we reach 50, we go back to the things we were into in our teens or early 20s.

J: Is that so? (laughs)

N: I listen to things that I thought were lame and would never listen to again, but from a different angle. Especially when I was 13 to 15 years old in the mid-70s, I was crazy about rock music even though I didn't know anything about it, and I listened to things that I thought I would never listen to again.

When you listen to the reissues, there are many bands that seemed like they were a dud after just one album, but you think, "If they were to release their albums now, they'd definitely be a hit."

J: I see...there may be a lot of them.

[cliperry]

Source: x I ♥ Harry HARRY Date of Birth: February 1, 1994, making him the youngest member of One Direction. EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW ONE ON ONE

Star Sign: Aquarius Hometown: The village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, England. Harry's musical heroes are The Beatles, and he's also a huge Coldplay fan.

Q&A

Favorite TV Show: Family Guy

Favorite Movie: Love Actually—although he tells everyone it's Fight Club to seem more manly!

Favorite Song: Free Fallin' by John Mayer.

Fun Facts:

He can play the kazoo.

Harry makes a brief cameo in Ed Sheeran's unofficial video for "Drunk," filmed backstage at London's Shepherd's Bush Empire.

When Harry was younger, his hair was straight!

He doesn't like mayonnaise.

Harry has a sister named Gemma.

Before auditioning for The X Factor, Harry had ambitions to become a lawyer.

Juggling is one of Harry's hidden talents.

Interview Highlights: What's the best thing about being in One Direction? "Being with four friends all of the time, going to cool places, meeting lots of nice people, and having a laugh constantly. Even if we're really tired, we're still having a good time."

What's the secret of your success? "I think people see us as down-to-earth. We don't try to act like big pop stars. We're attainable and friendly. None of us have changed, and I honestly don't think we ever will."

What's been your craziest celebrity moment? "Probably meeting Michelle Obama. She was so nice and cool, and her kids were amazing—so comfortable talking to people they didn't know. America was incredible in general. It's crazy to be recognized everywhere, but we loved it."

Do you have any other celebrity numbers on your phone? "I have some people I'm friends with, but if I say who they are, I'll sound like I'm showing off! We've met a lot of people since we've been in the band, but we're still friends with all the people we were friends with before, too."

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? "I don't know exactly what I'll be doing, but I hope it's something I'm passionate about. You can always reinvent yourself and follow your dreams."

What are the most important qualities in a potential girlfriend? "The most important thing is being able to connect with someone easily. Feeling comfortable with them, no awkwardness. It’s great when you can laugh together."

I ♥ Harry

Exclusive Interview HARRY DOB: February 1, 1994 Star Sign: Aquarius Hometown: Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, England

I think people see us as down-to-earth. We don't try to act like big pop stars. We're attainable and we're friendly. None of us have changed, and I honestly don't think we will.

When did you last cry? Why? "It was on a plane when I was watching a film, and I was so embarrassed. I was trying to hide my face so no one else could see me. I'm too ashamed to say what the film was because it shouldn't even have made me cry. It wasn't even that sad—I was just very tired and emotional because we'd been traveling for about 30 hours straight, and I was a bit all over the place."

Do you have time for dating? "I do, but it's hard because we're traveling so much. I guess you can always make time for things you want to do."

What are the most important qualities in a potential girlfriend? "The most important thing for me is being able to get on with a girl easily. There's nothing better than being totally comfortable with someone and chatting for ages with no awkwardness. It's great when you can spend hours with someone and feel so content that you don't even have to talk that much if you don't want to. And a sense of humor is so important too. I think being able to laugh with someone is great when you find the same things funny and you get each other."

Where do you want to be five years from now? "I still want to be hanging with the boys, traveling the world, and having fun. There isn't anything I would rather do than this."

[amethystsoda]

Anodyne 2 OST insert scans + Kitty on Fire Records shipping package stamp

[deerinthefield]

scan of the opening page of Vivienne Westwood by Claire Wilcox

[lookingforwcrd]

Tag Drop

♎ | unblueberrys your ultramarine / ooc

♎ | going out of control / mobile

♎ | courage and honor / ic

♎ | for the glory of Ultramar / threads

♎ | contacting for backup / asks

♎ | heretic or guardsmen / anonymous

♎ | searching the archives / memes & prompts

♎ | he has reduced me to a damned antenna! / crack

♎ | looking forward to it / dash comm

♎ | a welcome challenge / dash games

♎ | scanning through records / visage

♎ | the fragments of a memory / headcanons

♎ | from a noble to a hero / musings & isms

♎ | dealing with death and charm / aesthetic

♎ | honoring my brothers / promo

♎ | my badge of honor / self promo

♎ | currently on a mission / queue

♎ | records on a dataslate / status

[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!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

Chapter Two

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

 “Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face.  “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

[amoressb]

───── CLOSE THE DISTANCE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ when he misses you so bad you surprise him on tour ｡｡ idolbf!riki x reader .

FLUFF (hes very clingy) & wc. 2900 + / kissing, skinship, petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

you sat in your tiny apartment, scrolling through your phone while rikis voice filled your ears through the speaker. he was on tour in the US, while you were stuck at home. it had been weeks since you two had seen each other and the distance was starting to weigh on both of you.

“i wish you were here,” riki said, his voice tinged with a pout. “it’s not the same without you. i can’t even eat properly because you’re not around to remind me to.”

you laughed softly. “baby, you’re surrounded by people. i’m sure jungwon or heeseung can nag you about eating if you ask.”

“it’s not the same! they’re not you,” he whined. “you don’t understand, everything feels off without you..even my dance steps feel weird.”

your heart squeezed at his words but you played along, trying to lighten the mood. “are you blaming me for messing up your choreography?”

“maybe” his voice dropped to a playful grumble. “but seriously, baby, i miss you so much. i keep telling the guys and now they won’t stop teasing me about it.”

“teasing you how?” you asked grinning.

“sunghoon keeps calling me a ‘lovesick bf’ and jungwon literally recorded me complaining about you yesterday..i caught jay watching it on loop during rehearsal.”

you burst out laughing, the mental image too good to ignore. “aww my poor riki, they’re bullying you, huh?”

“YES!” he exclaimed dramatically. “and it’s all because i miss my girlfriend too much. can’t you just teleport here or something?”

your smile faltered slightly, “you know i can’t ki..i wish i could, though.”

what you didn’t say was that you had already booked a flight to LA for his next big show. you had been planning the surprise for weeks, coordinating with jungwon to make sure you’d have backstage access. the wait was killing you, but you knew it would all be worth it when you saw his face.

a few days later, riki sat in the back room of the LA arena, fidgeting with the hem of his stage outfit. his members were lounging around, chatting and laughing, but he couldn’t seem to focus.

“you’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” sunghoon said, smirking as he tossed a pillow at him.

“of course i am,” riki replied without hesitation. “what else am i supposed to think about? it’s been over a month since i’ve seen her.”

“riki, we’re in LA about to perform in front of thousands of people and all you care about is your girlfriend,” jay teased, shaking his head.

“bro i can’t help it,” riki admitted, slumping in his chair. “she’s my good luck charm. every time i look at the audience, i imagine her face, but it’s never her and it sucks.” jungwon, who was in on your plan, exchanged a knowing glance with sunghoon but kept quiet.

that evening, you arrived at the arena just before the concert started. the venue was buzzing with energy and your heart pounded in your chest as you made your way through the crowd. with your hood pulled up to stay inconspicuous, you found a spot near the middle, close enough to see the stage clearly but far enough to avoid catching anyone’s attention.

when the lights dimmed and the group took the stage, the crowd erupted into cheers. your breath hitched when you saw riki. he looked incredible, his movements fluid and precise as he danced across the stage. his voice carried through the arena, powerful and mesmerizing.

but as the performance went on, you noticed the moments where he faltered—his eyes scanning the crowd during quieter parts of the song, as if searching for something..or rather..someone.

then it happened. his gaze landed on you for a split second and you saw his eyes widen. he blinked, his head tilting slightly as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. you froze, your heart racing as he stumbled slightly in his choreography.

he turned back to the stage continuing the song, but his focus was clearly elsewhere. every few seconds, he glanced back toward the spot where you were standing.

when the first part of the concert ended, you followed jungwon’s instructions to head backstage. your hands trembled as you waited in the back room, the sound of your heartbeat louder than the muffled voices outside.

the door burst open and there he was. rikis eyes locked onto you, his expression a mix of shock, disbelief, and pure joy.

“y/n…” he breathed, standing frozen in the doorway. “surprise,” you said, your voice shaky with nervous laughter.

riki didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in two long strides and swept you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he spun you around. “you’re here! you’re actually here! i thought i was imagining things out there.”

you laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “i couldn’t let you go through your whole tour without seeing me, could i?”

riki pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “do you know how much i’ve missed you? how much i’ve been whining to everyone about you?”

“i might’ve heard a little bit about that,” you teased, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes. he groaned, resting his forehead against hers, “i don’t even care if they tease me, you’re here. that’s all that matters.”

your heart was still pounding in your chest as riki hugged you tightly backstage. his warmth, the way he smelled faintly of sweat and cologne, and the sheer disbelief in his expression made you grin wider than you thought possible.

“you’re really here,” he said again, his voice filled with awe. he cupped your face and looked at you as if he was memorizing every detail. “i can’t believe it.”

“i am,” you replied softly, brushing your thumb along his jawline. “i couldn’t stay away any longer, ki.”

he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “i thought i was losing my mind when i saw you in the crowd. i almost forgot my choreography, y/n. you’re too distracting, too pretty.”

you laughed quietly, your cheeks heating up. “sorry about that but you were incredible out there.”

“i was only incredible because i thought i saw you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a tender whisper. “you’re my muse, you know that?”

before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you softly, his lips warm and gentle against yours. it was as if the world had stopped for the both of you, the chaos of the backstage area melting away. you felt your knees go weak as you kissed him back, your hands tangling in his hair. but then, a knock on the door interrupted them. “riki! five minutes until the next encore!”

riki groaned, pulling back reluctantly but keeping his arms around you. “no. i’m not leaving, tell them i quit,” he muttered, glaring at the door.

“you can’t quit, ki,” you teased, smoothing his hair. “your fans are waiting for you.”

“but you’re here,” he said with a pout, his hands resting on your waist. “how am i supposed to go back out there when all i want to do is stay with you?” you smiled, resting your hands on his chest. “go finish your show, ki, i’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“promise?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“promise.”

with a sigh, riki kissed you one more time—this one longer and sweeter, as if he was trying to pour all his feelings into it. when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again. “you better be right here when i get back,” he said softly, his voice both a plea and a demand.

“i will be, now gooo” you reassured him, giving him a light shove toward the door. riki dragged his feet toward the hallway, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “don’t disappear, y/n. i mean it.” you laughed, your heart swelling, “i won’t silly.”

when he finally returned to the stage, rikis energy was completely different. the crowd erupted as the group launched into their next mix of songs and he gave it everything he had, his movements sharper, his voice stronger, and his smile brighter than it had been all night. he caught himself stealing glances toward the backstage area, knowing you were waiting for him just beyond the curtains.

at the end of the concert, he stood at center stage, catching his breath as he waved to the crowd. “thank you everyone for making tonight unforgettable,” he said into the mic, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

the audience roared and the group bowed deeply before retreating offstage. the second riki was out of sight, he broke into a run, weaving through the maze of corridors until he found you waiting for him in the back room.

“i’m back,” he said breathlessly, pulling you into his arms again. “and you were amazing,” you whispered, kissing him softly. his lips curved into a grin against yours.

you two stayed locked in each others embrace for what felt like forever, content to let the world keep spinning outside. for riki, the concert had been incredible, but this—holding you, kissing you, and knowing you were there—was the real thing he’d been waiting for.

riki refused to let go of you as you stood in the back room after the everything. his arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in your neck as he inhaled your familiar scent. “you smell like home,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but full of affection.

you laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “you’re sweaty, you know that?”

“i don’t care,” he murmured. “you’re still hugging me, so i’m not letting go.ever.”

“baby, you can’t stay like this all night,” you teased, though you made no effort to pull away. “why not?” he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. his thumbs brushed your cheeks as he stared at you with a soft smile. “i’ve been dreaming about this moment for weeks. you, here, in my arms. i’m not rushing it.”

you felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze. “i’ve missed you so much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i missed you more,” he countered, leaning his forehead against yours. “you have no idea how hard it’s been. every time something good happened, i wanted to call you and tell you about it in person. every time i felt tired, i just wanted you there to hug me. even the guys got tired of me talking about you.”

“they didn’t seem tired of you just now,” you joked, thinking of his members grinning knowingly when they passed you on the way out of the room.

“they’ve been saints, honestly,” he said with a chuckle. “they’ve listened to me whine nonstop about how much i miss you. sunghoon even told me, ‘just wait until the next tour, you’ll see her when it’s over.’ but i didn’t want to wait.”

“well you didn’t have to,” you said, smiling up at him. “i was coming to you all along.” he groaned dramatically, resting his head on your shoulder. “you’re too perfect, my love. how am i supposed to focus on anything else when you do things like this?”

you giggled, kissing the top of his head. “you seemed pretty focused out there during the concert.”

“only because i wanted to finish fast so i could get back to you,” he admitted, lifting his head to meet your gaze. his eyes softened as he tilted your chin up. “and now that you’re here, i’m never letting you go.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, “you have to let me go eventually, like when you need to sleep or eat—”

“shhh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. “don’t ruin this moment with logic.”

you laughed against his finger and he took the opportunity to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as if he was trying to make up for all the time you’d had spent apart.

when you two finally pulled away, he tugged you over to the couch and sat down, pulling you onto his lap. “you’re not allowed to sit anywhere else,” he declared, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you’re clingier than usual,” you teased, but you nestled into his embrace, resting your head against his chest.

“can you blame me?” he asked, his voice soft as he traced random patterns on your back with his fingers. “i feel like i’m dreaming. you’ve completely spoiled me now, how am i supposed to survive the rest of the tour without you?”

“you’ll survive,” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “and i’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”

“next time, you’re coming with me,” he said firmly. “i don’t care how far we’re traveling. i’m not doing this without you again.” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “we’ll see, pretty boy.”

“i’m serious!” he whined, pouting at you. “i know you are,” you said, your laughter making his pout disappear as he broke into a wide grin.

for the rest of the night, you and him stayed like that—talking, laughing, and stealing kisses, completely lost in each other. riki didn’t care that he was exhausted from the performance or that his schedule was packed for the next few days. at that moment, all that mattered was you, the girl who had flown halfway across the world just to see him.

as you fell asleep in his arms later that night, riki couldn’t stop smiling, his heart full of love and gratitude. for him, this wasn’t just a perfect moment—it was the kind of happiness he wanted to hold onto forever.

the next morning, you woke up to the soft sound of birds chirping outside the hotel window and the faint hum of the city waking up. riki was still fast asleep beside you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. his head rested on your shoulder, his soft breaths tickling your skin.

you smiled to yourself, carefully reaching up to brush a few strands of hair away from his face. he looked so peaceful, his usual playful energy replaced by a calm, almost angelic expression.

not wanting to wake him, you stayed still, savoring the warmth of his embrace. but after a few moments, riki began to stir, letting out a sleepy groan as he shifted closer to you.

“morning,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. he groaned again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “no morning. too early,” he mumbled, his voice muffled and groggy.

you chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “it’s not that early. don’t you have a schedule today?”

“don’t remind me,” he whined, tightening his arms around you. “could we just stay like this forever?”

“as tempting as that sounds, i’m pretty sure your manager would have a heart attack if you missed your schedule,” you teased. riki finally lifted his head, his eyes half-open as he looked at you. “you’re too responsible,” he grumbled, but his lips curved into a soft smile. “good morning, pretty girl.”

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. he sighed contentedly, flopping back onto the pillow. “i think i just had the best sleep of my life. you need to stay with me on every tour now.”

“ki, we’ve been through this,” you said with a laugh. “you know I can’t—”

“—not yet,” he interrupted, cutting you off with a grin. “you can’t yet. but someday, right?” you shook your head fondly. “someday,” you agreed, earning a triumphant smirk from him.

after reluctantly getting out of bed, riki insisted on ordering room service so you could have breakfast together. the two of you sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing pancakes and fruit while chatting about anything and everything.

“hey,” riki said suddenly, his tone turning serious as he set his fork down. “yeah?” you asked, tilting your head. “i just…i wanted to say thank you,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “for coming all this way. it means more to me than i can put into words.”

you smiled, reaching across the tray to take his hand. “you don’t have to thank me, ki. i wanted to be here. for you.”

he squeezed your hand, his gaze soft. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting you go.”

“you’d better not,” you teased, leaning forward to kiss him.

the moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. “riki! we need to leave in thirty minutes!” riki groaned dramatically, falling back against the pillows. “why does the universe hate me?” you laughed, pulling him up. “come on, you’ve got a job to do.”

“only if you promise to be waiting for me when i get back,” he said, giving you his signature pout. “i promise,” you said, smiling as you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

as riki got ready for the day, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the time you’d spent together. even though your visit was short, it was enough to remind you both of how strong your bond was. as he headed out the door, he turned back to give you one last look, his smile wide and full of love. “see you later, baby. don’t miss me too much.”

“i’ll try not to,” you called back, laughing as he disappeared down the hall. little did he know, you were already counting down the minutes until you’d see him again.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva

[empty-movement]

GOGAI, GOGAI!!! COME GET UTENA KIBBLES

It's September 3rd. It's 1997. Princess Diana just died, and that's very important to lots of people. You, however, are chewing your nails to nubs waiting for the climax of Revolutionary Girl Utena's Black Rose Saga. It's going to air today.

But like any good fan, you're already one step ahead, because you've spent the last couple days thumbing through Animedia's September issue supplemental, the 100 page Duelist Bible. Strangely, it appears to be in English??? Wow! Thanks Nagumo for translating, Ayu Ohseki for Japanese editing, teasot for proofreading, and ME, FUCKIN' VANNA, for scanning and scanlating this massive booklet!

We've got duel summaries! We've got character design sheets! We've got a school directory! We've got THE DUEL RULES. We've got cast interviews! WE'VE GOT THAT CHU-CHU DOLL CRAFT GUIDE. Check it ALL out here, in the Something Eternal Bibliothèque! You can flip through it page by page here, or you'll also find on the page a link to a PDF version for your at home viewing/archiving needs!!

This gargantuan tome really gets it across that in 1997, you didn't have a fandom wiki or on demand viewing. If you didn't catch and record the episodes, a booklet like this becomes a critical tool for keeping track of everything that's happened up to now, and is also a way for the series creators to tap fans on the shoulder and draw attention to details they want seen but not explained in the show directly. For example, this drops at the close of the BRS, but points out Touga's sword isn't the same in Keiko's duel and in the opening sequence. A thing we don't see cashed in until MUCH later!

This has been a true and absurd labor of love on my part. I even rescanned the booklet from my originals because their quality (decades old lmao) was not worth scanlating. This took a ludicrous amount of time, and has been a main project of mine for over a year now!! I'm so happy to have gotten it done in time for the Something Eternal Watch-Along thread, and I really really hope everyone finds something cool and interesting about it! The really cool thing is this now completes the set of magazine supplementals by the big three magazines made for Utena during its run. We now have fully scanlated this, as well as Animage's June Utena Dossier, and Newtype's November Utena? (Oh My!) UTENA! Take a stroll through memory lane, be they yours or someone else's!

As always, if you like this kind of content, consider supporting us on Patreon! Especially right now, a holy grail acquisition is in the works that I will bleed to share with y'all. More on that later, lmao.

Revolutionize the World! Love, Vanna

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - I - NOT IN THE DARK ANYMORE 🌒

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

I - Not in the dark anymore

Author's Note: Record scratch … I was working through some writer's block when this concept came to me. Instead of letting it pass here it is. I can promise part two because it’s already outlined.

Pairing: Rio X Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Mature themes and mentions of cheating.

Summary: What is supposed to be a romantic date night with your husband quickly descends to a night of nightmares after meeting a charismatic entrepreneur named Rio with what you perceive to be an uncanny insight on your current situation.

Rio scans the floor of his newest business endeavour. He’s been successful at counterfeiting but now he needs new ways to wash his money. His bars had been doing so good he decided to move into the restaurant business. While notoriously fickle he didn't have the same financial restraints as other new owners. It only took him six months to find his foothold in the industry and now he had one of the city's most in demand establishments for special occasions. Looking around he spots a gentleman who was in the last time he’s stopped by to check on things. Looking across from the man he sees you sitting all done up. He needed strong attention to detail in his line of work. It was a safety precaution but your body language brings the situation into full view. Sitting back he looks under the table only to have his suspicions confirmed. The other woman had her foot up halfway to your dates crotch under the table.

“Table twelve seems familiar” he mutters to his general manager.

“Ahh, he was with a different girl. Excellent tip” His GM responds and Rio takes another look locating the ring set on your left hand. You were the wife.

“Decline all his reservations moving forward. I don’t care how well he tips. Only friends should be here that often.” Rio says watching closely. He had his principles in business and in life. There were simply some things men didn't do. Bringing their girlfriends to the city's best restaurants before their wives was top of mind. 

“Done” the GM says as Rio makes his way into the back to look at the accounting. Everything needed to be in perfect working order for things to work. The restaurant would be a stepping stone to more. Food had never been a passion of his but he could sell an experience to people who wanted to pretend for a few hours. Besides, it had cost him virtually nothing and turned a huge profit every week. He steps out tucking his weekly take home pay behind the bar, walking around it to be served a drink. You're in his perfect line of sight. He watches you reach for your husband as he gets up, throwing cash down onto the table and kissing you goodbye. He watches you sigh and watch as he leaves. Shaking his head he turns back to his glass. 

“Hey can you give the waiter this. I was sitting over there” Rio hears turning to you.

Fuck, shes bad.

His thoughts run the gamut as he looks you over. Thinking back to the other woman he rakes through his memory for her. She had nothing on you besides maybe being slightly younger.

“Thank you” hears cluing back into the conversation you're having with his bartender.

“I’ll have the third course brought to the bar” the bartender says with a smile. 

“Perfect” you nod, sending him a smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Rio asks, looking you over. Turning, you are startled by a second by the handsome stranger wildly underdressed for the establishment.

“My husband took care of it thanks” you smile, making him do the same. He’s handsome.

“My husband took care of it” He mocks, chuckling to himself more amused than anything else. “Where is he?” Rio says bringing a glass to his lips.

“Something came up at work” you respond.

She believes the lie too. Rio smiles to himself looking up at the clock, “What, does he deliver babies? Is the hospital short staffed?” 

“No, he’s a consultant with a global clientele. You know time zones” you explain.

“Time Zones couldn't keep me off my wife on a Friday night if she looked like you.” Rio comments. Your cheeks burn at the forward implications just as the third course is placed in front of you.

“Compliments of the chef,” the server smiles.

“Thanks” you smile. It looks great. 

“Is it good?” Rio asks after a few minutes.

“Mhm” you nod weary of the flirtatious stranger. 

“Which time zone clients do I have to thank for this?” Rio asks, pointing between the two of you.

“Japan” you respond.

“To Japan” Rio raises a glass. “Rio, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand.

“Y/N” you respond, shaking his hand.

“Y/N you’re too trusting” Rio says stirring the pot.

“If you want to keep this pleasant please don't disrespect my marriage” you respond and Rio raises his hands.

“Boss, can I get you anything?” the GM says as he sees Rio at the bar.

“Good thanks,” Rio nods.

Looking at him suddenly his simple attire makes sense. Simple and all black was classic and understated in spite of the black tie dress code. Clearly no one was sending him home and the restaurant's food was never on delivery menus. Owner. Not a service professional. You nod to yourself impressed with his accomplishment. 

“You own this place?” you ask and he nods reluctantly.

“A few more lowkey spots around the city as well”

You offer cordial conversation.“Congrats, the food is good and it was hell to get reservations”

“Not for Y/N, not anymore.” he smirks and you shake your head. Rio laughs a little, he can't remember the last time he had to try so hard. Clearly you’d signed up for a lifetime of attention and here he was taking up for your husband's shortcomings.

“How kind” your tone is laced with sarcasm.

“I’m not kind, when you realise your man ain't shit you should eat good and stay fine. Do it here where I can see it. If you need to hire someone to beat his ass on your behalf come see me and I got you. I know people.” he says so cavalier it's off putting. There’s no more smirk and you feel slightly queasy in your stomach.

“That’s not funny” you frown.

“I don’t think so either but there’s a very short list of things that could make me leave you at the table. Work isn't one of them, Love” he mutters. Deep down you know he’s right. Something isn't right with your husband James. Recently work has taken precedent. His promotion has been taking all of his attention leaving very little to you. To make matters worse you moved here away from your family, friends and support system to be his. He’d been reluctant to have you move and has put very little time into helping you adjust to the move along with spending quality time. Work has affected all facets of your life including his libido. It was why Rio was practically foaming at the mouth with dilated pupils at the sight of you. It was a three hour process and special creation to set the mood for the night but James hadn’t reacted how you wanted him to. Japan had been at the forefront of his mind. He’d checked his phone more times than you found necessary before getting a call. He spent five minutes in the washroom before coming back and telling you he needed to rush to the office. Reaching forward you wave for the bartender.

“I've lost my appetite. Please thank the waiter” you smile standing from the bar stool. He nods and Rio rises at the same time. His hands go into his pockets following you out as all the staff bid the ‘boss’ goodbye. You hand the valet your ticket first and yet somehow Rio’s G-Wagon appears before your car. He smirks, having made an impression. When your car rolls around Rio gets the door after the valet gets out.

“I’m at the Clique most weekends. Sevens bar during the week, in case you need a man handled. Drive safe, Love” he says once you're in the driver's seat and buckled in. You wonder why you havent told him to fuck off yet until you see an eerie honesty in his eyes.

Your drive home is in complete silence with the exception of your signals and the natural sounds of the road. You feel too unsettled to relax. Once in your house you have to stop yourself from walking a track across your living room rug. You take a bath which does not work to settle your nerves. You brew valerian root tea when all else fails and there is still no peace. You lay in your marital bed tossing and turning until you hear the garage. It’s after three in the morning. You contemplate your options and hear James coming up the stairs ten minutes later. You slow your breath and close your eyes pretending to be asleep. The door opens and he enters walking straight into the ensuite bathroom. Silent tears roll down your eyes. He gets in bed without giving you any affection allowing your mind to run wild. Your alarm wakes you at 7am and you head downstairs to prepare his breakfast for his day ahead. Saturday mornings and afternoons are for golf and client relations. You throw something together quickly and head upstairs to find him in the shower. You spot his phones on the nightstand and grab his personal device.

You try a few passcodes when his work phone starts buzzing. Forfeiting his personal device something drives you to check his work phone. You unlock the phone from memory and scroll through his messages. There are client names you recognize, all with flags attached to them. A message from Japan comes in and you open it only for your stomach to fall.

You scroll for what feels like forever screen recording quickly as you make it up to three weeks. Heartbroken you airdrop yourself the evidence before breaking into his personal phone with new conviction. You nearly drop it when you see nudes and explicit messages. Your hand is trembling as you hear the water stop. You delete your screen recordings from the work phone, locking both devices and laying them as they were. Your hearts in your ass, your eyes stinging as tears threaten to fall. You walk into your office screaming into a pillow. Unable to act like all is well you stay put in there. James shouts you a goodbye before leaving. You pull up the security footage and scroll as far back as you can see. Your only consolation is he hasnt brought the whore back to your home. Still, it doesn't erase the intimacy of the messages. It doesn't erase the deceit and callousness of his lies and actions. It doesn't erase your heartache or the fact that he’s been lying heartlessly for months. Doesn’t negate the truth of his libido being well and intact, not for you but for her.

You sit for hours in a daze ignoring your daily routine before deciding to head to the spa. Heading upstairs you take off your rings, unable to wear the gifts from such a low down asshole. A manicure, pedicure, sauna and a full body massage doesnt bring you any reprieve. You still feel terrible as clarity dawns. You get the full picture of his betrayal. The pain is too much. Eight years together, five married and this is what it's come to. The visual of his mistress pleasuring herself is etched into your mind, along with the messages between them. Worst of all was the most recent. The mistress thanking your husband for blowing you off to care for her needs. Sitting in the lot of the spa after hours you punch the steering wheel before leaning into it and honking until you’ve stopped screaming. 

Anger wins. Visualising James in the hospital brings you more peace than everything else you've tried. Looking in his eyes pretending to be shocked and concerned while being the root of his current predicament is the kind of sweet karma that allows you to exhale for the first time in hours. Hospital visits because you got him fucked up for his indiscretion. After years of being whatever he wanted whenever. Without even a heads up or him expressing any discontent. Blindly trusting him when he’s been in another relationship. Bystanders look in shock as you pull out of the lot burning rubber with one destination in mind.

Club Clique, to see a man named Rio. 

Author's Note: thanks for reading, this one will be a little fast paced and unhinged. Very toxic because from what I can see that's what you all enjoy most. Rio being messy was my favourite part! Like, Comment, Reblog and interact with the poll.

» next part

All my love,

xoxo

[cliperry]

HAPPY DAYS

I sometimes get flashbacks to when I was a kid, and I think my earliest memories are of being at Disney World when I was about five. Everything seemed so big and fun, and I loved it.

The first time I was ever away from my family was when I started going to a nursery called Happy Days. And they really were happy days, to be fair. I always got on really well with the staff, and the lady who owned the centre was also our babysitter, so I probably got to play with the best toys more than the other kids did. I was pretty well-behaved and didn’t get into much trouble. I was more interested in playing than being naughty.

I remember my first day of school quite clearly. My mum came and sat with me in the class, and then, about halfway through the day, she left. All the kids were playing together, but some were crying a bit. I felt fine about it, and I had a few friends there, so I settled in quickly and never minded being there.

My best friend in primary school was a guy called Jonathan. He’s still a good friend of mine now, and I see him all the time. He came to see me on tour, and we always keep in touch.

I was in the school plays from a really young age. Once, I played Buzz Lightyear in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I know that sounds a bit weird, but basically, when the children hid from the Child Catcher in the toy store, they had Buzz and Woody in there, so I got to dress up as Buzz. That was one of my first-ever performances—if you can call it that. I also did a play called Barney about a mouse who lived in a church. I played Barney, and I had to wear a pair of my sister's grey tights and a headband with ears on and sing in front of everyone. I like to think I was a good mouse.

I always loved singing. The first song I knew all the words to was Girl of My Best Friend by Elvis. My dad introduced me to his music, and when I got given a karaoke machine by my granddad, my cousin and I recorded loads of Elvis tracks. I wish I still had them so I could listen to them now.

I liked maths from an early age because we got to use bricks and cubes, and it was fun. But as I got older, I found it harder, so I got much more into English. I could produce really good pieces of writing, and I felt proud when I got an A for my first-ever essay. Unfortunately, I was so easily distracted that I started spending more time chatting with my mates in class or daydreaming, and I never quite reached that standard again.

I liked PE too and played football a lot. When I started playing as a goalkeeper for the local football team, I made friends from other schools as well, which meant I had a lot of mates. I’ve always liked being around people and getting to know new faces, so I’ve always had a wide group of friends.

I was also friends with girls as well as boys. I wasn’t one of those boys who thought girls were smelly and didn’t like them; I was kind of friends with everyone.

I got a bit cheekier as time went on, and when I was about eight or nine, I started testing the boundaries. I'd often try to get one over on the teachers. I also got much more interested in girls.

I only ever got into one fight during my time at school, and that was in primary school. I'm not the type to pick a fight, and if someone ever tried to start one, it would make me laugh more than anything.

When I was seven, my mum and dad divorced, and that was quite a weird time. I remember crying about it when my parents told me they were splitting up, but after that, I was alright. I guess I didn’t really understand what was going on properly—I was just sad that my parents wouldn’t be together anymore. My mum, my older sister Gemma, and I left Holmes Chapel and moved further out into the Cheshire countryside.

Our new home was a pub, and my mum became the landlady. There was a boy called Reg living nearby, and he was the only other kid in the area, so even though he was my sister's age, we used to hang out all the time. The summer we moved there, Reg and I would go to Great Budworth Ice Cream Farm every day, about two miles away. We’d borrow two pounds off our mums, cycle up there, and get an ice cream. I can remember that so clearly. It’s the same ice cream farm I took all the boys to when they came to stay before Bootcamp, and the ice cream is still as good now.

On the subject of girls, when I was about six, I was friends with a girl called Phoebe Fox. Her mum and mine were best mates, and I bought her a teddy bear the same as mine and everything. She was the cutest little girl. I had a few other girlfriends here and there when I was really young, but I didn’t have an actual girlfriend until I was 12. Then I went out with a girl called Emilie, and we were together for quite a long time considering how young we were. She’s still a good friend of mine now. I was also with a girl called Abi. I guess you could say she was my first serious girlfriend.

I’ve been single since the end of 2009, and I’m fine with that. I’m not consciously looking for a girlfriend, but if I meet someone I like, it would be great. I do like being with someone, and if the right person came along, then we’d see what happened.

When I was about 12, we moved back to Holmes Chapel, and that’s when my mum met my stepdad, Robin. I really liked him and was always asking her if he was coming over, but she wanted to make sure that Gemma and I were okay with him being around. She worried about it a lot, so in the end, I used to text him and tell him to come over because I thought he was a really cool guy. I’ve always got on well with him, and I still do now.

I was really pleased when Robin proposed to my mum. He did it completely by surprise while they were watching Coronation Street on Christmas Eve a few years ago. I was at my girlfriend Abi’s house at the time, and I remember getting a call from my mum and how happy I was when she told me they were going to get married. I’m not sure when they’re planning to do it, and even though a few people have suggested this, I don’t think it’s very likely that One Direction will be playing at the wedding.

My mum and I have always been close. I’m such a mummy’s boy. I’m really close to my dad Des as well, and he’s very supportive of everything I’m doing. I think we’re probably quite alike in a lot of ways. My sister and I have generally got on very well too. I know that a lot of siblings argue, and we had our moments growing up, but we hang out a lot now, and she even came on part of the tour with me.

I’ve made a few style mistakes in my time, and sadly there is photographic evidence! My hair has changed a lot over the years. It started white-blond and curly when I was born, then went brown and straight, and then started going curly again when I was 12. The worst thing was probably when I had blond streaks put in it when I was about eight. I looked like a real chav. I thought it was cool when I went to school the next day, but looking back, I looked like a douche.

I lived in tracksuits, and as all I ever wanted to do was go out on my bike, I guess it fit my image. I really enjoyed secondary school, and I worked pretty hard, but I enjoyed myself as well. Life is all about balance.

I played badminton a lot in secondary school. My dad is really good at it, so I got that from him, and I was always really competitive. I liked that it wasn’t the most obvious sport to get into and that you needed quite a lot of skill to play it. I like things that involve skill, and I love anything that’s a bit of a challenge.

At the end of Year Eight, I became mates with a guy called Will, and he became like my brother. We had the same sense of humour and got on really well from the word go. He and a friend called Hayden were keen to start a band, and a guy called Nick had just started playing bass, so he joined them too. They wanted to enter a battle of the bands competition at school, and they needed a singer, so they asked me to try out.

That was a bit of a shock as I’d only ever sung to myself in the shower or car. I knew I could sing a note, but I had no idea how I’d be. Still, I’d always imagined being in a band, so I started practising with them. We sang Summer of ’69by Bryan Adams and Be My Girl by Jet, so we decided to perform them in the competition.

We were all ready to go and started filling out the application form, but we didn’t have a name. It got to the day before the show, and we had to put something down. I suggested White Eskimo, and since we couldn’t think of anything better, we wrote it down. From then on, that’s who we were.

What was weird then was getting used to people knowing who I was. My audition was shown the day before I moved into the house, so all my friends were texting me to say well done. When I headed up to London, we stopped at a petrol station and someone there recognized me, and that was so strange.

Moving into the house was cool, and I didn’t even mind that our room was tiny. It did get pretty grotty because you can imagine what it’s like with five teenage boys sharing a small space. We had a lot of luggage, and there was too much stuff in the room, so it ended up being a bit grim. Apparently, at one point, someone took a swab from the wall and sent it off to a lab for testing, and it had loads of different types of bacteria on it.

We did try to keep the room tidy, but the longer we were in the show, the more stuff we accumulated, and the room seemed to get smaller and smaller. I can’t have disliked it that much, though, because Louis and I are planning to move in together. It must have been bearable.

I have so many great memories of being in the house, especially all the times I went naked. Stripping off is very liberating; I feel so free. It’s always a spur-of-the-moment thing, but no one seemed to mind. I think Mary secretly liked it... I’d become a lot more confident during my time in the show through being in front of so many people, and my confidence came out in my nakedness.

I also used to moon a bit at school because it made me laugh, so I was carrying it on. Sometimes I was totally starkers, and sometimes I wore a thong. My friend Nick bought me a gold snake-print thong for my birthday, and I took it into the house with me because I thought it would be funny, and then I started wearing it.

One time, I had to do a naked video clip for ITV2 where I was standing there with no clothes on, and the boys had to pass various objects across me, keeping certain parts covered. That was the plan, but at one point Zayn didn’t move the object fast enough, and… well, you can imagine the rest.

A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER

I think we were all looking forward to having a break over Christmas. I missed the boys quite a lot, but at the same time, it was great to just relax and see my family. Loads of my friends wanted to catch up, so things were quite busy, but I didn’t want people to think that I’d changed or didn’t have time for them or whatever.

Sometimes I’ll be speaking to my mates for a while, and they’ll say, “It’s so weird, you haven’t changed at all,” and that always makes me feel so relieved. Sometimes I stop myself from talking too much about stuff I’ve been doing because, even though it’s my job, I don’t want to seem like I’m showing off or name-dropping.

I would hate anyone to think that I was trying to impress them. I don’t need to—they’re my oldest friends. All of my friends have been so supportive of everything I’ve been doing.

It was frustrating for me because sometimes during the show, I’d get a text, and I’d want to reply straight away, but I’d be whisked away, then everything would go out of my head, which meant I sometimes forgot to reply to people. But all of my friends were so good about it and so understanding when things suddenly became crazy busy.

One of the great things about being on the tour was that we knew where we would be and when, so friends could come and visit us, and we could catch up. It was much easier to organize seeing each other.

A lot of my friends are genuinely happy about how well things have gone so far, and they like asking me questions. That’s how I know who is a genuine friend and who isn’t. I have come across some jealousy, and some people have made comments or distanced themselves from me without actually letting me know.

I’ve tried to talk to them as I always would, but they’re a bit cold with me. When you’ve been close to someone, it’s hard when they start acting that way towards you. I’m not going to chase after people and beg them to be my friend, but I wouldn’t want them to think I don’t care, because I do.

So while some people assume or think I’ve changed, it’s actually them who have changed. There are times when I would like to go home and just be normal, see my mates again, and go to all of the old places.

I enjoy spoiling my family, and there are times when I would love to treat my friends as well, and I know that my true friends won’t think anything of it. I’m not just talking about money. It’s also nice to be able to help people in other ways. For instance, my friend Ben is really talented musically and wanted to get some work experience, so I managed to get him some on the tour and he loved it. I would never have had the opportunity to do something like that before, but I’ll help my mates out in any way that I can.

I’m trying my best to stay as down-to-earth as possible, so I don’t want people doing things for me that I could do myself. Sometimes people think they should get me a bottle of water or some lunch, but I’m capable of picking up my own water, so why should they have to do it?

It’s nice that people offer, and I understand that if we’re really busy and don’t have time to get lunch, or we’re rehearsing on stage and can’t grab a drink, someone may get it for us. But if a bottle of water is in a fridge two feet away from me, I can walk over and get it.

My mum would never let me get away with that sort of thing. If I was at home and I asked her to get me a drink, she’d be like, “You know where the glasses are.” At the same time, it’s funny when I go home now because I’m so used to doing everything myself, but my mum still likes to look after me in a lot of ways, so I feel like a proper kid again when I’m back with my family.

A lot of people say nice things about the band, and we get a lot of praise. Obviously, it’s lovely to hear, and it always puts a smile on your face when someone tells you that you’re good at what you do, but I want to keep my feet on the ground as much as possible.

I would never want to get big-headed. It’s such an unattractive trait, and I can’t imagine myself ever being like that. I always want to be aware of staying true to myself.

I spent Christmas mainly at home with my family. That was the most important thing to me. That, and seeing my friends, which I managed to do a few times. Things had been so busy that all I wanted to do was have a break, watch TV, eat, and sleep. I had such a nice time, doing the same family things we do every year.

One thing that was different was that some fans came to my house over Christmas, and it was so cold that I felt really bad about them being outside. I did go out and see them as much as possible if I was there, but I felt terrible that they were standing in the freezing cold because of me.

As a band, we’ve always said that we’ll never complain about people coming to see us or wanting autographs or photos. They’re the reason we’re doing all of this. We appreciate the support so much. It’s great to know that people like what we’re doing.

Some days I read 100 great Twitter comments, and there may be one from someone saying they don’t like me. If I’m having a bad day for some reason, that’s the one I remember, and it can make me feel a bit down. Then I’ll go back and read the nice messages again, and they’ll lift me. They mean a lot to all of us.

BACK TO THE FUTURE

The New Year meant getting back to work, and we knew it was going to be busy. We had the tour coming up, so we had rehearsals for that, and we also had quite a lot of meetings and gigs, so things were pretty non-stop.

But we’d all had a good break, and we were ready to get back into it.

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HARRY: BACK TO THE FUTURE

One of the first things we did was go to LA. When we got told we were going there, my mouth literally fell open. I love going abroad, but I’d never been to LA and had always wanted to. I’d seen and read so much about it, so I was looking forward to seeing how much of it was true.

LA is something else. Everyone you see looks like they’re famous, but I really liked it as a place. It was really hot there, so we were wearing shorts and t-shirts most of the time, and we got to chill out quite a bit as the hotel we stayed in, the W, had a pool.

What I found weird was that the people over there are so polite. When you get your breakfast brought to you in a hotel in England, they’ll drop it off and barely say a word, but over there they’re so cheerful you want to invite them in to share it with you. This one woman who dropped off my food was like, “Good morning, sir, how’s your day going? Where do you want me to put this good stuff?” They literally couldn’t do enough for you.

We did some recording in this really cool complex where there were loads of different things going on. In one studio, they were recording the backing vocals for Glee, and Randy Jackson’s office was 100 metres away, so we went and met him. He was an amazing guy—so friendly.

We got some time off to go shopping too, so I literally raided Abercrombie and Fitch. Louis reckons I bought every single t-shirt they had in there, but I think he’s exaggerating. I did get quite a few, though. I wish we’d had more time in LA, but we really enjoyed the five days we spent there. It was like I expected it to be, with the sun and the glamorous people, and it’s definitely somewhere I’d like to go back to. I really want to go to Venice Beach and see what that’s like.

HARRY: BACK TO THE FUTURE

We were all quite tired when we landed back in London, but we were soon woken up by the sight of hundreds of fans. It’s become a bit of a legendary story now about us being mobbed, the police being called, and everything. I’d never experienced anything like it in my life.

We’d seen loads of fans at The X Factor, but usually, they were either outside behind a gate or in the audience. And when we meet fans at hotels or outside gigs, they’re usually in small groups. Well, this was definitely not a small group! I was really shocked by the whole experience of having to run through the crowd, but I made myself enjoy it instead of being scared of it, because I knew it was something special.

When we were in the police van afterwards, we all sat there going, “What the hell?” It was almost as if it hadn’t happened—it was so surreal—but looking back on it now, it was an amazing moment.

When tour rehearsals came around, we were well aware that we would have to work really hard. We wanted to put on an amazing show, and we had a lot of new stuff to learn, including dance routines. We were taught things like how to put more energy into moving around, which is hard when you’re in an empty warehouse performing to no one.

We also had to practise putting talking bits in between songs, which also felt weird because we’d be talking to an audience of six crew members, and even they didn’t respond. Getting to put everything we’d learnt into practice was the ultimate pay-off for all the hard work we’d done.

I can’t even begin to describe what it was like when we all stood on the stage together for the first night of the tour in Birmingham. Looking out and seeing all the banners and hearing thousands of people shouting your name… it really doesn’t get much better than that.

We’d performed on The X Factor and we’d done gigs, but nothing compared to this. I had to stand there for a moment just to take it all in, but as soon as we started singing, we were off.

I think even that first arena performance in Birmingham was different from anything else we’d ever done in terms of how much energy we put into it and how much we moved around the stage. It felt almost natural being there, even though it was also completely and utterly surreal.

There were several times when we all looked at each other, and I could tell we were all thinking the same thing: “This is incredible!” The rush you get being on stage in front of so many people is indescribable. I wish everyone could have that feeling.

I can be so tired and feeling like I’m in a bad mood, then I get on stage and I feel amazing. I’m so hyped up when I come off stage that I shout a lot and jump around. There’s no feeling like it.

I loved the tour so much I never wanted it to stop. I didn’t even get homesick because we were so busy we didn’t get time to think about it, but I actually felt really guilty about that.

All in all, we were pretty well-behaved on the tour, but we had our moments—like the fruit fight. At least we didn’t throw any TVs out of windows or anything… but there’s still time.

The wrap party at the end of the tour was good, but we all felt sad saying goodbye to everyone. I was up until about five in the morning, so I was a bit tired the next day, but we had a day off to chill out, so it didn’t matter too much.

When the tour was over, Louis, his mate Stan, my friend Johnny, and I all went off on a skiing holiday together. I’d never been skiing before, and I was desperate to give it a go. We had a brilliant laugh in Courchevel, and I’d love to go back again.

We worked really hard on the album to find the right songs. They needed to be perfect. We wanted our first single to be a big summer song. For instance, when the Black Eyed Peas’ single I Gotta Feeling came out in 2009, it was the song of the summer. When everyone heard it, it reminded them of all the good times they’d had.

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We wanted our first single to be like that and be the song that everyone would remember. The people we got to work with on the album were incredible. Steve Robson is very, very talented and has worked with James Morrison, Take That, and all sorts of people. Working with RedOne and Rami was very cool too because they’re legendary.

It feels so odd to be working in all of these studios that we would never have even dreamed of walking into before we were in the band. It was quite surreal.

Having our first book go to number one in the book charts was also pretty unbelievable. We were excited about it being out there and hoped that some fans would buy it, but we didn’t realize just how many would get it. It was a complete shock and really exciting.

The fans that came along to the book signings were incredible. I got given a lot of turtles because I once said I liked them, and it’s so cool when people remember little things you’ve said and chat to you about them.

We’ve done so many brilliant things this year. Filming the documentary was an interesting experience, but we are used to the cameras now, so we all felt pretty chilled out about it. Photo shoots are always cool too. Even though we’ve done them before, each time it feels like a new experience.

Going on the Alan Titchmarsh Show was a good laugh because it’s one of those shows that everyone has seen. And he was a really nice guy. That was the first proper TV thing we did after The X Factor, so it’s one that we’ll always remember.

HARRY: LOOKING FORWARD

The fans that came along to the book signings were incredible.

LOOKING FORWARD

One of the surprising things about being in the band is how committed fans are to us. Some of them came to loads of dates on the tour. People still don’t expect you to recognize them, though. There was a girl who was in our hotel one day who had been to loads of the tour dates, and she was really shocked that we’d remembered her name and knew who she was—but of course, we do. We remember people just like anyone else would, and it’s nice to have the chance to get to know them properly.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to the press attention. It still feels very strange when I pick up a newspaper and something has been written about me. It sometimes feels like I’m reading about someone else. But as long as people carry on writing nice things about us, I don’t mind.

As a band, we’re having the absolute best time ever. We’ve become better friends than I could ever have imagined, and it’s so nice to have four other lads to share this experience with. If ever one of us is down, the others pick him up, and we’ve got really good at coming up with ideas and putting things into practice as a group. I think we’re going to get tighter and tighter as time goes on.

Out of all the things that we have coming up, what we’re most excited about is getting out on the One Direction tour. We can see a lot more of the fans, and they can see us performing our songs. It’s down to us to show what we’re all about, and we’re looking forward to doing exactly that.

We’ve got a lot of big dreams. We want to have number ones, travel a lot, go back to America, and have as much fun as possible. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

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DARE TO DREAM QUICKFIRE

DOB: 1/02/1994

Star Sign: Aquarius

Favourite Film: Love Actually, The Notebook, Titanic—there are so many (but I tell everyone it’s Fight Club)

Body Part: My hands, because I’ve always been told they’re soft

Food: I love sweetcorn

Album: 21 by Adele

Friend: Louis Tomlinson

Celebrity Lady: Frankie Sandford

Shop: Selfridges

Drink: I’ve been trying to just drink water, but I love apple juice

Colour: Orange

TV Show: Family Guy

Aftershave: Blue by Chanel

Perfume: Alien by Thierry Mugler

Computer Game: FIFA

iPhone App: Texts From Last Night, where people send in texts that they’ve received when they’re drunk. My friend Ali and I send good ones to each other, and some of them are so funny

Way to Spend a Sunday: Asleep or chilling out

Date Venue: Restaurant

Country: England

Restaurant: TGI Fridays

Way to Relax: I love getting massages because I’ve always had a really bad back

Mode of Transport: Dog sleigh

Night Out: Going for dinner with all of my mates

Band: The Beatles, Queen

What Colour Is Your Duvet Cover?: Brown or pink and blue

What Kind of Pants Do You Wear?: Boxer shorts. I like Calvin Klein

First Pet: A dog called Max

HARRY: QUICKFIRE

Do You Like Your Own Company or Other People’s?: The company of people. I like being around friends and family

Last Book You Read: Forever Young by One Direction

Last Five Things You Bought:

A pair of shoes from Supra

An Adidas t-shirt from Selfridges

A Nando’s

Dinner at TGI Fridays

Some toothpaste

What Type of Girls Do You Like?: I don’t have a type, because with some girls I may not find them attractive immediately, but then I really get to like them because their personality is so attractive. I like someone I can have a conversation with, and I would always look for someone who could get on with my parents. It’s important to me that my family like her too.

[revelboo]

iiiiinch resting that shockwave has these archival records of Ye Ole Cybertronian/Organic Sparkbonds... would wheeljack have something similar on the flipside? maybe optimus, even?? cuz i cant imagine megatron making another "hey dont fuck the wildlife" psa but for lifespans ykwim??? hell, maybe kup, ratchet or ironhide might but im stumped outside of the first two guesses on if any autobots would be able to dig that up

I just like Shockwave knowing all the random, weird stuff- being a bit of a history buff. Optimus might have encountered that information when he was Orion Pax, but likely would have forgotten it by now.

Pretty much my fics are just Primus being so over his awful kids murdering each other for millennia and also wiping out thousands of organic races and worlds as collateral damage in the process that he pulled out the intergalactic get along sweater. You want to repopulate/ save the Cybertronian race from extinction? Now you’re dependent on not murdering this one organic race that might be every bit as awful about murdering each other as you are. Have fun with that.

Megatron Shitpost Pt 2

• Venting tiredly, he knows he doesn’t have that long before a brawl breaks out. Cramming this many Decepticons in one place is exceptionally ill advised, but fear and intimidation are about all that work on this rabble. “Tarantulas, where are the other bugs?” He demands, scanning the crowd. Sees the scientist stiffen, extra limbs flaring out slightly. ‘As I’ve said countless times, I’m not a bug or an Insecticon,’ Tarantulas hisses. Swallowing a growl, he presses a servo against his helm. “Does anyone know where the Insecticons are? Who’s supposed to be watching them?” And the silence that follows the question is no real surprise. Alright. So those cannibals are loose. And the little, accident prone one, what was his name? Waspinator, maybe? “What about that radioactive lunatic?” A lot of silence is his answer. That one he knows was Shockwave’s responsibility. So it’s entirely possible the scientist just turned Sunstorm loose to see what he’d do. Fantastic.

• “I know that some of you have humans or have been interacting with humans despite being told not to,” Megatron continues when no one volunteers any information on Sunstorm. “I want honesty. Everyone who is harboring a human, raise your hand. Don’t make me go check your habsuites.” And Bonecrusher finally raises a hand, but their human he knows about. “If you make me check your habsuites, I’m going to make all of you as miserable as that waste of time will make me.” There. Skywarp, Thundercracker, and- Vortex? Is that human even still alive? Rumble and Frenzy.

• “Anyone else? Alright. See Scrapper about getting modifications made to your habsuites. As for the rest of you, humans aren’t to be harmed. They’re now a protected species. I don’t care if you frag them, but don’t spark bond them. And don’t draw attention to us.” Aware of Swindle cautiously raising a hand, Megatron growls. “No, I’m not elaborating. But since you’re volunteering, you’ve always been good at acquisitions, Swindle. See if you can get your hands on human food stuffs, clothing.” Staring them all down, daring them to question him while he tries to figure out how this has become his life.

[l1v-jzn]

thesis of the damned au — geum seong je #2

pairing: geum seong je x reader

genre: psychological thriller, dark academia, slow-burn romance, supernatural mystery, alternate universe (au)

summary: you transfer to an elite private university on a prestigious academic scholarship. Everyone there seems to know each other. Secret handshakes. Closed doors. Whispers you’re not invited to.

you meet Geum Seong je—sharp-tongued, perpetually late, smirking like he knows every secret in the building. He’s brilliant, bored, and definitely hiding something. Rumors say he wrote a paper so controversial it was buried by the faculty.

you find it. It’s not just a thesis. It’s a manifesto. Buried in it… are clues. To a secret society. To a missing student. To a crime that never made it into the newspapers.

and you?? You’re the only one smart and reckless enough to keep up with him.

taglist (only for this series): @mishh2728 @ellaaa505 @heeknow @ruruyinn @yinyangcchii (please just comment here if you want to be tagged only for this series)

— Previous Part — — Next Part —

they didn’t speak again until 2:13 a.m.

the dorm room was dim, lit only by the old desk lamp humming softly. It cast a pool of golden light across the bed—now a battleground of papers, redacted documents, and the occasional half-eaten snack. Rain tapped at the window like it was trying to eavesdrop.

you sat cross-legged on the faded rug, hoodie sleeves pulled over your knuckles, your fingertips smudged with graphite. Seong Je was sprawled across the bed like he owned time itself, one arm behind his head, the other flipping through a binder so yellowed it crackled.

he had this infuriating calm about him. Like even chaos couldn’t touch him without asking permission first.

“So,” you said, circling something on the map, “this tunnel under the chapel—sealed, right?”

“According to the administration, yes,” he said, chewing absently on the end of a pencil. “But the administration also claims Avemhall doesn’t have an underground archive full of censored case files and missing student records.”

you looked up. “So what you’re saying is…”

“I’m saying if they say it’s sealed, it probably leads straight to hell.”

you gave him a slow look. “You say that with the confidence of someone who’s been there.”

“Freshman orientation,” he deadpanned.

a tired laugh escaped you before you could help it. And just like that, the air shifted—less like static, more like a string being pulled taut between you.

you leaned forward, tracing a red circle drawn around a date on one of the files. “This notation—it’s tomorrow.” He sat up instantly. “What?”

you handed him the paper. “Look. Same pen, same handwriting as the other notes. ‘Phase II: Observation begins.’ That’s not just a theory. That’s a schedule.”

his eyes scanned the page, the line of his jaw tightening. He was already halfway off the bed, pulling on his hoodie. “Then we go tonight. Map the route. Find their access point before they use it.” You raised a brow. “You’re assuming we’re doing this together.”

he turned to you, one brow arched with practiced arrogance. “You broke into a vault, showed up at my door like a drenched banshee, and now you’re sitting on my floor sorting contraband. Congratulations. You’re in the group chat.” You smirked. “You have a group chat?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a flashlight from his drawer. “It’s just me. But I send really dramatic updates.”

he knelt beside you, flipping through the tunnel schematics. His knee brushed yours. Neither of you moved. You could smell his cologne now—woodsy, sharp, and faintly burned, like cedar left too close to flame. He looked up at you—and paused just for a beat.

it wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Still. But his gaze lingered longer than necessary. Like he wasn’t looking at you, but into you—cataloguing something only he could see. You swallowed. “What?” His voice was softer than expected. “Nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes. “No, you were looking at me like I grew antlers.”

a hint of amusement curved his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

he didn’t reply, just passed you a worn polaroid. “This was Myeong-joo’s. Last photo she took before she vanished.”

you studied it—two students near the chapel, faces blurry, one circled in red ink. Your stomach turned. The figure looked familiar. Too familiar. “She was close,” you whispered.

“She was reckless,” he said, voice tight. “She trusted the wrong people.” You looked up. “That why you don’t trust anyone now?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The silence between you said everything. You bit your tongue, “Okay,” you said. “Tomorrow night. We go under the chapel.”

“Carefully,” he said. “Obviously.” You said playfully rolling your eyes to him.

“And no more solo hero moments.”

“No promises.”

he sighed, exasperated. “You’re going to get us both killed.” You smiled. “Not before I solve this.”

Seong Je's Dorm — 3:55 a.m

it was nearly 4 a.m. when she finally fell asleep.

she hadn’t meant to—just laid back for a second, eyes fluttering, papers still in hand. Seong Je had glanced up from the notes, ready to make some snarky comment about caffeine limits, but the words never made it out.

she’d drifted off, head resting awkwardly against his bed frame, a file folder cradled like a blanket, hair a halo of chaos across her hoodie.

and just like that, the room went quiet. Really quiet.

not the kind of silence that comes from emptiness, but the kind that fills a space. Stretches it. Softens the edges of everything sharp.

Seong Je leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, pretending to still read—but his eyes kept flicking back to her. Once. Twice.

and then he stopped pretending.

her breathing had gone steady, one arm curled under your head. There was a tiny crease between her brows, like she was still fighting the mystery even in her sleep. She looked tired. Not just physically. Bone-deep tired. Like she’d been carrying things alone for too long.

he hated that he recognized it. He stood slowly, careful not to wake her, and picked up the scattered pages at her feet. He hesitated over the polaroid she’d been studying last—two anonymous figures under chapel light, secrets stitched in the shadows.

she’d gotten too close. So had Myeong-joo.

and now here she was, asleep in his dorm room with a target practically glowing on her back—and yet somehow still the calmest thing in the room.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, crouching beside her. “So stupid.”

he reached for the blanket at the foot of the bed and paused. His hand hovered just above hers. Not touching. Just hovering. Because he didn’t trust what it would mean if he let it.

instead, he gently draped the blanket over her shoulders, brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, and stood.

he didn’t say it out loud, of course. But in the soft silence, in the space between breath and heartbeat, it was there anyway, “Don’t disappear on me too.”

Seong Je’s dorm — The next day, 7:24 a.m

the morning light sliced through the blinds like judgment.

golden and intrusive, it crawled across the room, catching on the spines of old books, highlighting dust motes floating like ghosts between you and the boy you weren’t supposed to care about.

you stirred slowly, the stiff ache in your neck dragging you back to consciousness. You were curled on the floor beside Seong Je’s bed, the same cursed blanket still wrapped around you like a quiet confession. His scent clung to it—clean laundry, rain, and whatever danger smelled like in human form.

you blinked. Took stock. Your legs were tangled in an old hoodie. Not yours.

your breath hitched. Oh no.

across the room, Seong Je sat perched on the edge of his desk, barefoot, a mug in one hand and a pen tapping restlessly against his knee. The glow of his laptop screen cast strange shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the dark crescents under his eyes.

he didn’t look at you. “Sleep well?” he asked flatly, eyes fixed on the screen like it was more interesting than the very obvious emotional minefield in the room.

you pushed the blanket off your shoulders like it had personally betrayed you. “You let me fall asleep in your room?”

“I let you collapse like a Victorian orphan who just saw too many secrets,” he said, sipping his coffee. “There was snoring. I considered calling campus security.”

“Liar,” you muttered, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He didn’t deny it.

the silence hung. Long. Heavy. One of those silences that wasn’t empty—it was full. Of all the things you could say. Shouldn’t say. Almost said last night when he tucked the blanket around you like someone who definitely didn’t care (but absolutely did).

you stood too quickly, catching your balance on the edge of his desk. Your fingers brushed his mug. Warm. Steady. Not like you.

he finally glanced at you, eyes flicking up from the screen—and lingered. Just for a second too long.

his gaze was unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Just... layered. Like there were too many thoughts trying to fit into too small a space. You cleared your throat. “So. Nothing happened. We move on. Cool?”

“Cool,” he echoed, voice carefully neutral. You stepped back. He watched you go.

but then—just before you reached the door—he said it. Quietly. Without looking. “You talk in your sleep.” You froze and slowly turned to him. “What did I say?”

he smirked, finally—finally—meeting your eyes. “You said my name.”

your stomach dropped somewhere between your knees and the floor. “I–I was probably threatening you,” you said, too fast.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sounded more like pleading.”

he looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. Like he’d won some silent battle you didn’t even know was happening. You glared. “You’re insufferable.”

he shrugged. “You keep coming back.” And you hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Avemhall University Courtyard — 4:18 p.m

the courtyard was crowded.

golden-hour light slanted through gothic arches, casting long shadows over the students sprawled on stone benches and creaking iron chairs. Laughter floated through the air—too bright, too brittle.

you were flipping through your annotated copy of Symbology and Subversion under a cherry tree, trying to look casual. Like your pulse wasn’t betraying you. Like you didn’t know exactly who had just walked into the quad five minutes ago.

and like you hadn’t felt his stare the moment he did.

across the way, Seong Je leaned against the arch of one of the older halls, deep in mock conversation with Baek Jin and some other upper-year society kids. His head tilted back slightly as if he was laughing at something—but his eyes? They weren’t on them. They were on you.

barely there. Blinking slow. Calculated and careless all at once. You turned a page you hadn’t read.

he said something to his friends—then peeled off, crossing the quad at a maddeningly unhurried pace. You didn’t move. You didn’t have to. His presence closed in like a storm front.

he stopped a few feet away. Hands in his coat pockets. Head cocked. “Didn’t think you were the type to sit outside and soak in aesthetics like a tragic protagonist.” You looked up, dry. “Didn’t think you were the type to do social interaction in daylight.” He smiled—barely.

the air crackled between you. Neither of you stepped closer.

a girl nearby glanced between the two of you, sensing something unspoken, and immediately looked away like she’d just seen something too private. “Where were you headed?” you asked, tone carefully light. He shrugged. “Nowhere in particular.”

you raised a brow. “So you just happened to stop near me.”

“I’m doing research,” he said, voice smooth. “On self-deluded scholars who think they’re subtle.”

you exhaled a laugh despite yourself. “That’s rich coming from the guy who definitely stared at me for five full minutes without blinking.” He stepped closer. Just slightly. “Only because you were looking at me first.” That shut you up.

for a heartbeat, the world blurred—students walking by, campus noise fading, cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze like confetti for a moment you weren’t ready to name.

he looked at you like he was trying to memorize something.

and then—like it never happened—he straightened, cleared his throat, and nodded to your book. “Careful with that chapter. The margins hide more than just footnotes.” And with that, he turned. Gone before you could ask what he meant. You stared after him. Every nerve lit. Every thought tangled.

your book felt heavier in your lap. You flipped to the page he mentioned—and froze. Tucked into the margin, between two lines about initiation rites, was a name. Yours.

and the same thin, sharp handwriting from the locker note.

North Wing hallway — ?:??

you weren’t supposed to be here, that much was clear from the way the overhead light flickered once—just once—as you passed beneath it, as if the building itself was warning you to turn back. But you couldn’t.

the name in the book’s margins had been written deliberately. Ink too fresh. A plant. A message. And that message had led you here.

to the hallway they said no one used anymore. To the door with the rotted wood frame and a handle that shouldn’t have turned—but did.

you stepped inside. Dust hung in the air like fog. The room smelled like candlewax and old secrets. Long shelves lined with cracked leather tomes. A single desk in the center. Nothing on it except—a black envelope, with your name. You reached for it—but a voice beat you to it. “I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

you froze. Behind you stood a girl. Maybe your age. Maybe older. Her uniform was regulation-perfect, but too clean. Pressed like it had never been worn for anything as pedestrian as learning. Her hair was pinned with a silver clasp shaped like the Avemhall crest—but older. Sharper. You hadn’t even heard her enter.

her eyes scanned you like a file. Unbothered. Icy. “You’re the scholarship girl,” she said, like it was an insult wrapped in silk.

you straightened your shoulders. “And you’re clearly someone who enjoys dramatic entrances.”

she smiled, and it wasn’t kind. “We’ve been watching you.” That ‘We’. Your stomach twisted.

she stepped closer, circling like a hawk. “You and Seong Je make a curious pair. He doesn’t usually get... attached.” You bristled. “We’re not anything.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “That’s what Myeong-joo said too.” The name hit like a dropped stone in your chest. Your voice cracked. “You knew her?”

“She knew too much. Asked the wrong questions. Trusted the wrong people.” Her eyes met yours, dead calm. “You’re heading down the same path.” Silence. Thick. Chilling.

you wanted to speak. You really did. But your throat felt like it had been tied in knots.

then—she leaned in, close enough for her whisper to skim your ear, “Secrets are sacred here, sunbae. Break the rite, and the walls break you.” She pulled back with the poise of royalty. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

and just like that, she slipped past you and out the door—heels clicking like punctuation marks. When you blinked again, she was gone.

you looked down. The envelope was missing.

Your Dorm — 8:39 p.m

you didn’t notice it at first. The symbol.

not until your notes from Prof. Chae’s lecture started shifting—not in content, but in vibe. You flipped a page, and there it was: scrawled in the corner like a careless doodle, sharp and spiraling and wrong.

it looked like three crescent moons stitched into a circle, ringed with tiny marks like teeth. You hadn’t drawn it.

you would’ve remembered drawing something that unsettling.

you stared at it for a long moment, waiting for the memory to click into place. Nothing did.

you shut the notebook. Waited. Then opened it again. The symbol was still there.

then you checked another notebook. Your copy of Dark Societies of the Enlightenment. The back cover. Same symbol. A little fainter. But there.

and when you turned off the desk lamp? It glowed faintly.

your breath hitched. Something in your chest thrummed—like the notebook was vibrating with a frequency your bones didn’t know how to ignore.

and then came the sound. A thud. Low. Hollow. Not from your room—but somewhere close. Like a knock, but not on your door. You grabbed your phone. Dead. Again. Of course.

you stood slowly, heart jackhammering, and opened your closet—not knowing why, just following that cold instinct that something was off—and tucked behind the shoeboxes at the back was a folded piece of parchment. Not paper. Parchment.

you unfolded it carefully, hands trembling. It looked like a map. Or a blueprint. Lines connecting parts of campus you didn’t even recognize. And right in the center: That same symbol. Burned into the page. Below it, written in tiny, spidery handwriting: “When the sun passes the tower’s eye, the door will open. Come alone. Leave nothing behind.” You blinked—and the message began to fade. Disintegrating like ash.

you clutched the page tighter, breath shallow, pulse frantic. It didn’t matter if it made sense. You knew one thing: You were being summoned.

The Clocktower — 11:43 p.m

the bell didn’t chime at midnight. It never did.

that was part of the ritual—you learned that from the map. When the “tower’s eye” looked over campus and found only silence, that was the moment.

so you stood there beneath the looming arch of the clocktower, breath clouding in the cold, the map clutched in one hand and the faint glow of the symbol on your wrist—because yes, it was on your skin now—guiding you.

you weren’t sure when it had appeared, only that it burned cold every time you got closer.

a breeze whispered through the cracks in the stone, and then—a click. The wall shifted—barely but enough for a body to get in.

you stepped forward, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break out. The door was flush with the tower wall, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look—etched with the symbol, which pulsed softly once as your fingers touched it. Then it opened.

stone groaned. Dust lifted. Air that hadn’t breathed in years sighed in your face. You slipped inside.

the passage curved down—spiraling steps, lit only by sconces that shouldn’t have been lit, their flames unnaturally steady. As if the air didn’t dare move down here.

you followed the steps, down, down, and then voices. Low. Chanting. Rhythmic.

your feet landed on a marble floor carved with sigils you didn’t recognize. Candles in concentric rings. Robed figures standing silent. Hooded. Unmoving.

in the center of the room, a boy knelt. Head bowed. Shaking. You couldn’t see his face, but you recognized the uniform. First-year. Another scholarship student.

they were saying something in Latin. Or maybe it wasn’t Latin. Your brain tried to translate and failed.

a silver bowl of water passed from one figure to the next. Then, a blade.

the one holding it raised their hand—and you didn’t realize you’d gasped until all their heads turned to you in unison. “Who—” one of them started. You ran.

bolted back up the stairs, lungs burning, not stopping until you slammed out into the night, your breath tearing from your throat. Until someone pulled you from the dark.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You yelped—spun—and found yourself face-to-face with Seong Je, hoodie on, hair disheveled, eyes blazing.

he shook your arm once. “Are you insane?! Going in there alone, what did you think that was?! A damn tea ceremony?!”

“I didn’t know what I’d find–”

“You don’t get to not know!” he shouted, voice raw. “They could’ve—God, they could’ve marked you or worse.” You’d never seen him like this.

he let go of your wrist like it burned him, turning away to drag a hand through his hair.

you stepped closer, quieter now. “I found the map. The symbol. The book in the library. And you weren’t going to tell me?”

he turned back to you, and for a second the anger dropped—just long enough for you to see the fear under it. Too late. You both knew it.

behind you, the clocktower bell finally rang—one slow, thunderous chime. You both looked up.

and in the silence after it faded, Seong Je said, almost too softly, “…They know your name now.”

Abandoned Greenhouse — 12:09 a.m

he didn’t say a word after the clocktower.

just grabbed your hand—tight—and pulled you through side paths and service corridors like a ghost who’d memorized every skeleton Avemhall had hidden.

you didn’t protest. Not even when you recognized the back entrance to the greenhouse.

not even when you noticed it had been reinforced—barred windows, layered locks, wards carved into the old stone lintel like quiet prayers against whatever hunted outside.

he finally stopped moving once the door was locked behind you. You were breathing hard. He wasn’t.

the room was strangely warm, lit by mismatched lamps and the faint shimmer of bio-luminescent moss creeping up the wall. Not the prettiest sanctuary, but clearly lived-in. A cot in the corner. Books stacked everywhere. One lone space heater chugging like a tired beast.

you opened your mouth to ask something—anything—but he beat you to it. “You could've died.” Just that. Quiet. Flat.

you stepped closer, defiant. “So could that kid in the circle. What were they doing to him?” Seong Je didn’t answer.

instead, he sat on the edge of the cot and dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to rub away the entire night.

“Avemhall’s full of stories,” he muttered. “Secret societies. Hidden doors. But the real ones? The ones that don’t make the yearbook? They don’t play games. You show up uninvited, you don’t get detention. You disappear.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

you crossed your arms. “I did.” Another silence.

then he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something toward you. It slid across the old worktable and stopped near your hand. A charm. Worn brass. Shaped like the symbol—but different now. Inverted. Protective, maybe. “Wear it,” he said. “Always.” Your fingers closed around it. “And what is this supposed to do?”

his eyes met yours, serious in a way that left no room for sarcasm. “Buy me enough time to get to you if they come.”

something in your chest fluttered—fear, maybe. Or something softer and more dangerous.

you lowered yourself into the chair across from him, charm clutched in your palm. “…Is this the part where you tell me everything?” Seong Je’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

he leaned forward, forearms on knees, voice dark velvet and razor-thin patience. “Because the more you know, the more you’re worth killing.” Your stomach dropped. But you nodded. The charm burned faintly warm in your hand.

outside, the wind screamed against the glass. Inside, Seong Je watched you like you were already part of the game. And in the farthest corner of the greenhouse—one of the vines shifted. Like something was listening.

Flashback to Seong Je’s Past

Seong Je had been just like you, once.

scholarship kid. Transfer. Smarter than most, angrier than all. His grades outpaced his professors. His mouth outpaced his sense. And someone—someone in the Society—had noticed.

he got the first note the night after he corrected a professor in Latin. It didn’t say much.

“We see you. You want truth? Come earn it.”

he thought it was a prank. He followed it anyway. Just like you.

but his initiation hadn’t been something he stumbled into. It was planned. Controlled. Everyone in those robes had known his name. His history. His weak spots.

they brought him to the same chamber under the clocktower. They didn’t blindfold him. They wanted him to see.

the boy kneeling that night hadn’t been a victim. It had been him.

they marked him—not with a blade, but with words. Dozens of voices whispering secrets all at once. Some of them true. Some half-true. Some designed to break him.

by the end of it, he didn’t know which way was up, but he knew one thing: They didn’t want obedience. They wanted complicity.

so when they offered him the final rite—to complete the circle, to take the oath—he smiled and walked away. No one ever did that. He’s the only one who lived to try.

his legs barely worked by the time he found the east wing. He’d followed instinct more than direction. It had been raining then, too. Of course it had.

the greenhouse had been abandoned for years—students joked it was haunted, or cursed, or full of venomous plants that never died. Which made it perfect.

he’d broken in through a rotted window. Collapsed against the floor. Cried, maybe. Not that he’d admit that now.

he carved his first ward into the wall that night. Slept beside it.

every time someone got too close—Society members, professors, anyone with that look in their eye—he added another ward. Another layer of defense. Another brick in the fortress he never let anyone see inside. Not until now. Not until you.

Back to the Present

he doesn’t tell you about it, of course. A past that still lingers in him.

he just sits across from you, watching as you twist the charm in your fingers like it might whisper to you.

you don’t see the way his gaze lingers on your face. The worry that slips through the cracks. The guilt he carries like a brand under his skin.

he doesn’t say it out loud. But he’s thinking it.

“I should’ve burned that map the second I saw it in your hands.”

“I should’ve warned you.”

“I should’ve never let you in.”

but instead, he just mutters, “Get some sleep.” and turns away. He doesn’t sleep. Not really. He just listens. To the wind. To the heartbeat he’s too aware of.

to the silence where your breathing fills the room—and so help him, if you snore, he’s going to have to start catching feelings against his will.

Abandoned Greenhouse — The next day, 7:37 a.m

you don’t remember falling asleep. Just the soft warmth of the charm in your hand. The low hum of the space heater. The way the rain outside sounded like static against the glass. But you woke up to silence. Not in the creepy way.

the rare kind. Sacred. Like the world had paused to give you one breath of peace.

you blinked at the sight of you. The light was low—one lamp still on, flickering gently like it was trying not to disturb you. Your muscles ached from the cot, your mind still fogged with the aftershock of everything you’d seen.

and then you saw him, Seong Je. Asleep. Slouched in the chair beside your cot, hoodie bunched up at the neck, head tilted slightly like it had dropped mid-watch. His arms were folded. One leg stretched out. His face soft in a way you’d never seen—none of the usual tension in his jaw, no biting sarcasm curled into his mouth.

just stillness. Just a boy who looked… young. Tired. Beautiful, in the way tragic statues are—half-sorrow, half-strength, all shadow.

a few strands of hair had fallen into his face. You fought the sudden, idiotic urge to brush them back.

he muttered something in his sleep. Frowned. Then relaxed again, like whatever demon he was dreaming about had let him go.

you stared at him for—like really stared—because this—this wasn’t the Seong Je who barked orders and rolled his eyes and called you “newbie” like it was your birth name.

this was the one who’d dragged you to safety. Who’d given you protection he didn’t even want to admit you needed. Who stayed. Even when he didn’t have to.

the charm was still warm in your hand. Carefully—slowly—you sat up, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You didn’t want to wake him. Not yet. Not when the storm had quieted and he finally looked like someone who could be trusted. Or maybe just someone who wanted to be. And maybe that was worse.

because you knew. This moment wasn’t going to last.

eventually, the real world would claw its way back in. With threats. And secrets. And the reminder that you weren’t supposed to be here at all.

but for now? You watched him sleep.

and tried not to fall for the only boy, who is broken enough to understand why you never really felt safe in the first place.

second part is here!! 🙈🥳 how are y'all feeling abt this part?? 🙌🏻😤 happi reading!! 🙂‍↕️🤌🏻

© l1v-jzn

[fryingpan1234567]

Missed You—Liam Mairi x marked!necromancer!reader

guess who finished Fourth Wing today

sorry this is less actually Liam focused and more bringing-him-back-from-the-dead at first, but you get to be a total badass and you still get to see him later, so like it’s fine

f!reader, we ignore canon and I have no idea how the fortress is built sorry, reader is an absolute badass, this is prolly not gonna be proofread

happy reading!

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You hadn’t seen Liam in five days.

It was the last of the five-day War Games excursion you and your classmates had been subjected to just before your graduation to second year, and you were getting restless. When Violet got moved to Xaden’s little band of… people, Liam of course in tow, it had caused some shifting in other groups as well. You’d gotten dumped in some random wing with people you barely knew, only your dragon and memories to keep you company, the feeling of Liam’s fingers tracing down your face, your neck, your waist, your thighs…

Well, you didn’t particularly want to masturbate while on night watch as your unknowing squad peacefully slept the night away, but—

“Getting needy, are we?” Sif teased in your head, crashing your train of thought. You shifted uncomfortably, wishing to ease the ache between your legs. You stared into the dying fire to distract yourself.

“I am not needy,” you shot back mentally so as to not wake your squadmates. “I just… miss him. Is that a crime?”

“No, but jacking off six feet from your superior officer might be.”

“I hate you. I really, truly do.”

“I could bite you in half.”

“You love me too much—“

Sif slammed her mental barrier down, effectively blocking you out. You huffed a laugh to yourself. You think, despite the constant sass and general need to get in the last word, your orange scorpiontail was probably the best thing that had ever happened to you— aside from Liam, of course. After all, she’d given you power greater than any rider could dream of.

But you had to keep that to yourself.

Necromancy was absolutely unheard of. You knew, because you’d checked— normally you stay far away from the Archives, but you’d gone soon after discovering your signet months ago and checked the records for any mention of magic like yours. Nothing. It was supposed to be the one thing dragons couldn’t give to humans.

And yet here you were, and you couldn’t tell anyone. Certainly not your professors— a marked one with that kind of power? They’d kill you. But even Xaden, Bodhi, any of the others… you didn’t know enough. You thought you could trust them. You were pretty sure. Xaden was your savior, in a way, but he was also mildly unstable if you were being honest. Even Liam’s loyalty to him made it impossible to share your secret.

You sighed. Liam. You’d heard your section leader say something about defending an outpost, but that’s about all you knew about his assignment.

He’s tough. And smart. And with Xaden and Violet. He’s surely fine.

You fell asleep, a pit of unease growing in your chest.

In the morning, everybody flew back to Basgiath, as the game had concluded. You hadn’t seen much action, not that you cared as much about that as you did about seeing Liam again.

In the sea of milling students, you’d normally be able to spot him immediately, his golden hair a head above the rest. You stood on your toes to scan the area, but you didn’t see him.

You did see Xaden, pushing his way towards you through the crowd.

“Xaden!” You gripped his hand in greeting and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder for your boyfriend.

“Hey, y/n.” The way Xaden didn’t smile made yours fade immediately. His tone of voice only ripped the hole that had been growing in your core since the night before bigger, and you had a horrible feeling he didn’t have good news for you. “How were your past few days? Sorry we left you behind.”

Yeah, all the other marked kids had gone with Xaden. Liam included. Who you still did not see anywhere at all.

“It’s— they were fine. Where’s Liam?” you blurted, moving to pull your forearm out of Xaden’s grip.

His fingers tightened, onyx eyes boring into yours. “Y/n… we lost Liam.”

“You—“ Your mind reeled, heart dropping like a stone into your stomach. But not as far as it should’ve. “You what?”

“There was a venin attack on our outpost,” Xaden said quietly so other students wouldn’t hear. You stared up at him with wide, horrified eyes, noting the grief etched into his features. He’d known Liam much longer than you. “Our options were to run or fight. He chose to fight.”

It probably wasn’t the question you should be asking, but it’s the one that came out of your mouth: “You didn’t burn him, right?”

“We—“ Xaden blinked, clearly not expecting that to be your first reaction either. “No, he and Deigh are in the family tomb at the fortress. Why—“

Your nails dug into Xaden’s forearm, a burning urgency building in your throat. You could do something. You could fix this.

“You need to take me to him right now,” you demanded.

Xaden pulled a face. “It’s broad daylight, we just got back, it’s probably not good for you to see your recently deceased boyfriend and his dragon, I could list a thousand reasons why we can’t just fly off again—“

“Xaden,” you begged, then pulled him down to cup a hand to his ear and whisper, “I can bring him back. That’s my signet. But it won’t work if the decaying process starts, so you have to take me to him right fucking now.”

He stiffened, staring down at you in disbelief. You stared back, unwavering.

“You serious?”

“Deadly, Xaden,” you insisted. “Please.”

There was zero hesitation as he dragged you across the room towards the perch where all the dragons still resided. You spotted Sif next to Tairn, because of course she’s always one to push the limits. Her eyes narrowed on you as you approached.

“You told the wingleader,” she hissed in your mind, coiled and angry. Her barbed tail flicked where it rested by her talons, digging into the stone of the wall.

“To save Liam,” you snapped, “of course I did. I can save him—“

“You’ve only revived woodland creatures so far and then passed out for hours at a time,” Sif growled as she allowed you to mount anyways. She flapped her wings, preparing to take off after Sgaeyl.

Your stomach was left on the balcony as the two of you launched into the air, taking after Xaden ahead of you. There were shouts of alarm from below, but you didn’t look back. You had to power through and, most vitally, not get caught by anyone trying to drag you back to the school. Sif, being only marginally smaller than Sgaeyl, was able to keep pace. Your job was to stay on.

“I can do it,” you insisted aloud. Xaden glanced down at you curiously.

“Have you ever brought a human back?” he shouted down to you over the roaring wind.

Your turn to pull a face. “Biggest thing I’ve ever brought back was a mountain lion,” you called back, ignoring the ripple of fury from Sif at yet another spilled secret. Doesn’t matter now. “But I figure because a human is smaller…”

“Will you burn out?” he asked.

Fantastic question. Gods, you hope not. You shouldn’t— the mountain lion in question was much bigger than Liam and you really hadn’t slept for that many days afterwards, so—

“But it will not be just the boy,” Sif grumbled. “He’s still tethered to Deigh, remember? A full size red scorpiontail? You will burn out.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you bit back. Your legs tightened a fraction around Sif’s shoulders. “I won’t burn out. I… can’t.”

You couldn’t dwell on the notion of not being able to bring Liam and Deigh back. If you did— if you didn’t—

“Easy, human,” Sif hummed, a stark contrast to her earlier tone. Warmth faded through you, compliments to the rippling muscled scales beneath you. “I will do everything I can to aid you. We will… try.”

“Thank you,” you managed back, too tired to speak aloud anymore. Risking a glance upwards at your wingleader, Xaden’s gaze was laser focused on the mountain range miles away you knew marked the border of Navarre’s ward.

You flew for nearly thirteen straight hours.

Normally, with average speeds and ample rest time, the trip would take closer to a full day. But Sif and Sgaeyl were not flying at an average speed. And they didn’t stop once.

It was dark again when you and Xaden stumbled off your dragons on the roof of the Aretia fortress, each of you feeling the weight of your dragons’ exhaustion. But you didn’t fall. No time.

“Come on,” Xaden beckoned, gesturing towards the yawning doorway that led into a dark ramp. You’d never seen this part of the fortress before. To your surprise, Sif was able to follow you down the tunnel.

“Where are we?” you asked, turning your attention away from Sif after she flicked her tongue at you. Xaden’s pace was harder to keep as, unlike your dragons, the two of you were very different in stature. Your legs were significantly shorter than his, and you nearly had to run to keep up with his stride.

He conjured a mage light to float above his head like a ghostly halo, and you did the same. There were no other lights in the corridor.

“Entrance to the crypt,” was all he said. Figures. “Big enough for dragons to carry other dragons, if need be.”

Your heart tugged at the thought of Sgaeyl or maybe Tairn hauling Deigh’s lifeless body down this same tunnel, Xaden carrying Liam’s in tow. You shook the image away. You were gonna need your concentration.

You didn’t speak the rest of the journey down, down into the mountain, farther underground than any other part of the fortress. Eventually the tunnel widened into a positively cavernous room, and you couldn’t suppress your gasp.

It was stunning. From what little light your mage lights could provide, you saw vaulted ceilings painted with murals of battles from even before the rebellion. Massive pillars stood close to the walls, engraved with names going back generations. There was a massive shrine to Malek right in the center of it all.

And scattered around the floor were skeletons. You noticed it was two to a group— a human, and a dragon, the dragon’s curled protectively around the human’s. Of course there were some humans without dragons, accompanied instead by artifacts or offerings left by family. This was generations of Aretians.

And the sloping form of a red dragon that did not rise and fall in turn with its breaths.

“Oh, gods,” you whispered aloud to yourself, breaking into a run as you passed Xaden. You came around Deigh’s head and froze as your gaze met Liam.

He looked… asleep.

No blood. No horrible injuries, like you’d been afraid of. You hadn’t thought to ask many questions about what had happened on the way here, and now was certainly not the time. Liam’s head rested against Deigh’s limp forearm, golden curls falling softly against the scales there. Some remaining blood was smeared across Deigh’s wings and a couple spots on his underbelly, but no gaping wounds on him either. Brennan cleaned him up, if you had to guess.

You fell to your knees at their side. Xaden knelt beside you, and you knew he didn’t want to pressure you, but he was more anxious than you were. You felt Sif’s presence stalk around Deigh’s other end and stop, sitting by his tail as hers flicked over his spinal ridges. They’d been friends. A new wave of grief washed over you.

But grief for what? You were here, weren’t you?

“What do you need?” Xaden asked you softly.

It’s go time now. “Maybe stand back. I’ve been told it gets pretty bright.”

Xaden did as you suggested and backed away, and you scooted closer to Liam and Deigh. Your lips parted in a shaky sigh as your fingers carded through his hair for the first time in nearly a week. His skin was ice cold to the touch. Your other hand found one of Deigh’s talons, and you braced yourself for what was to come.

“Remember to not die,” Sif reminded you, hints of anxiety leeching into her voice. You returned her earlier wave of comfort.

“I can do this,” you promised.

You found the floor of your childhood bedroom. You looked under the bed for Sif’s power, and you brought it out, like you’d slide out a box of old toys to go through in nostalgia.

This was not nostalgia. This was hot, syrupy energy seeping from your heart to your shoulders, down your arms, into your hands, and finally into golden locks and red scales.

You inhaled deeply. You could feel their pain, still residing after however many days it had been since they left this plane of existence. You grabbed onto that pain and tugged it like a loose thread on a sweater, because you knew their souls were on the other end of it.

“Malek, forgive me, for I am about to rob you of not one but two brave warriors’ souls,” you murmur aloud to no one but yourself. The pain gets brighter, more intense. Good. It’s working.

“Okay?” Sif nudges, but you don’t answer. You have to focus. This is going to be more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before.

And you’re going to do it. For Liam.

The pain unfolds deep in your chest, worsening inch by treacherous inch as you forcibly drag two souls back into their bodies. But it’s working, and that’s the only fucking thing that matters.

“Malek, forgive me,” you repeat in a whimper. “I commend you my own soul, my own heart, you may punish me for eternity when I go into the ground, but please, please,” you beg. You feel like you’re melting from the inside out. But you can also feel Liam and Deigh coming closer, and that means you can’t stop or slow down.

“Uh, you okay?” Xaden calls from somewhere behind you. Sif audibly hisses and snaps at him for disturbing your concentration. “What?! Sorry, I— she’s— y/n, you’re glowing. Are you supposed to glow?”

“Yep,” you choke out over your shoulder. “Good, all good. Shut up now, please.”

He did. It took several more minutes, maybe hours, before you had Deigh and Liam’s souls floating just above each of their bodies. You were shaking like a leaf. You could probably pass out from heat exhaustion right now. It was the most pain you’d ever been in. You’d dragged two souls straight out of Malek’s hands and into your own.

Final push. Liam’s whispered name fell from your lips as his soul settled back into his physical body. His chest jolted to life beneath you with new air and a revived heartbeat, as did Deigh’s. You vaguely hoped he wouldn’t roll forwards and crush the two of you.

Liam’s bright blue eyes cracked open. His gaze met yours for half a second, and he smiled, that dimple that you loved so much appearing, and—

And you passed out, falling back into Sif’s outstretched wing.

Those blue eyes were the first thing you saw when yours opened, several hours later.

You were back at Basgiath.

You sat up way too fast, and the world tilted, sliding you right back down onto your pillow. Well, not your pillow— this was not your room, it was Liam’s, judging by the window placement and—

Liam.

Your eyes snapped to his, which crinkled as he smiled at you. You nearly started sobbing right then and there.

Liam! Alive! Smiling at you!

“Morning, sunshine,” he said softly, and that was it for you. You curled into his arms, sobs wracking your sore body as he held you tight to his chest, holding you like he never wanted to let you go again.

“Li— Liam,” you hiccuped, muffled from his blankets. “I— you—“

“I know, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. “You’re okay. I’m okay, somehow. Breathe for me.”

It took several moments, but you came down from your high, clutching at Liam’s bare shoulder with shaking hands. He kissed your tears away and whispered comforts to you all the while, which was a little bit ridiculous. He’d literally just come back from the dead, and he was comforting you.

You, who’d brought him back. It fucking worked.

“It worked,” you whispered aloud.

Liam laughed at that, his sweet dimple making its appearance again. You couldn’t squash the smile that took over your face at the sight. You resisted the urge to kiss it like you had so many times before.

“It worked, baby,” he agreed. He stared into your eyes with his electrifying blue ones, grin softening into a contented smile. “Xaden told me… as much as he could, I think. Your signet is necromancy, which you neglected to tell any of us.” He poked at your side teasingly, and you twisted away from him with a giggle.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, finding your hand under the covers and laying it on Liam’s forearm, lazily drawing circles there. Fuuuck, you’d missed him.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay; I get why you did it. It’s dangerous for people to know.” He studied your face thoughtfully. “You’re…”

“Too nice to be a necromancer?” you supplied, half joking. You did have a lot of friends for a reason.

“I was gonna say amazing,” he said, “but close enough. Did Sif tell you she and Sgaeyl had to pretty much carry Deigh and I back here, by the way?”

Your jaw dropped. You supposed it made sense— it’s not like Liam or his dragon would be in tip top shape right off the bat after coming back from the dead. But still, the image was frankly hilarious.

You reached out to Sif. “Is that true? Did you actually have to carry Deigh?”

“And your sorry unconscious ass,” she responded immediately. Her words were biting, but her tone was undeniably relieved. “The wingleader took your boy. He seems touch starved, but he also seems like he’d never admit that aloud.”

You suppressed a laugh, clapping a hand to your mouth. If that wasn’t the most Xaden thing you’d ever heard in your life…

“She filling you in on all the glorious details?” Liam raised a perfect eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Sif says Xaden is touch starved but he won’t admit that to anyone,” you relayed.

Liam snorted. “I’ve never been cuddled by that man before in like twenty years of knowing each other except for the past thirteen hours. Maybe don’t tell him I said that.”

You exhaled your laugh, curling back into him. Your ear found his chest, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat nearly made you break down again.

Mental note: sacrifice a very large animal to Malek later today.

What time is it?

You poke your head up over Liam’s shoulder to find the clock he keeps at his bedside. Nearly noon.

“How long was I out for?” you realized, hoping it hadn’t been days like it normally was. After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d passed out for a month.

“The whole time we were there, the whole flight back, and four hours,” Liam recited as if he’d been counting. Knowing him, he probably was. The thought brings a smile to your face. “We had Brennan mend what he could. You’d probably sleep through the month if he hadn’t sped the process up.”

“Read my mind,” you murmured, rubbing your face against his chest like an affectionate cat. He huffed a laugh, carding a hand through your hair.

“You missed me, huh?” he murmured back in the same tone as yours.

Preening dickhead. You figured you’d indulge him, if only because he was definitely right this time.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, simply, and that was it. You could talk about the battle that cost him his life some other time. You could get his and Deigh’s help groveling to Malek later. You could answer all his questions about your power when he felt the need to ask them. But for now, you were great right where you were at: in his arms, in his bed, as it should be. Thinking he was dead 24 hours ago seems distant, a faraway worry.

Alive. Liam Mairi is alive. And he’s all yours.

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see I fixed it! everyone’s happy now

[stellarbit]

Caught on Camera

3.7k words - NSFW

Tech's loses a screw in his bed and finds your earring instead. He looks back through some camera footage to see how it may have gotten there. Turns out you had gotten more than comfortable in his cot.

Piggyback's a tiny bit off of an earlier fic. Just barely though. Enjoyyy

***

Tech marched to his cot, flipping a few parts around in his hands as he went. They needed tweaking, possibly a complete overhaul, but regardless, he was set on documenting his repairs. He’d installed a motion sensor, barely detectable, microcamera in the upper corner of his cot for such occasions. While he rarely needed to review his procedures, he found satisfaction in adding to his archive.

Shoving aside chords and spare parts, Tech swung his feet up, unfazed by the clutter that surrounded him. His brothers often questioned how he managed to sleep amidst the chaos of tools and bolts scattered around him. To them, it was a horror, but to Tech, it was a carefully organized system . He found the idea of having to get up for common parts more horrific.

As Tech delicately removed a small screw, the piece slipped from his grasp, bouncing off his fingers, and, by the sounds of it, into the corner behind him. . With unwavering focus on the device before him, Tech maneuvered his fingers into the tight space, determined to retrieve the errant screw. The first thing he felt was definitely not the screw.

Examining the object in his hand, Tech raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Hold on," he muttered to himself, turning the item over in his palm. Upon closer inspection, it became evident that it wasn't a stray screw at all, but rather a piece of jewelry—a stud earring, to be precise. Intrigued, Tech glanced around his immediate surroundings, searching for any other anomalies, but found nothing amiss.

Glancing at the cot hanging on the opposite wall of the Marauder he had no doubt the earring was yours. The question lay in how it found its way into his cot. Closing his fist around the stud and setting aside his projects, Tech left his cot to grab his datapad. Once in hand, he settled back into his usual spot, plugging into the dataport next to his cot, and began sifting through the camera footage.

While Tech seldom needed to review the recordings, he was meticulous in his examination. As the footage played, he focused intently, scouring for any unexpected visitors in his personal space.

It didn’t take long for him to find the clip. More than 30 rotations ago, you appeared on screen, settling onto the edge of his cot, looked towards the exit, and pulled yourself fully up into the bunk. Mimicking your actions, Tech leaned out to survey the area for any potential interruptions before returning his attention to the footage, his curiosity piqued.

As Tech continued to watch the footage, he observed your relaxed demeanor as you settled into his space, making yourself at home. Your hands explored the surroundings, tracing the sketches adorning the wall and the edges of his bed before coming to rest on your stomach. Tech glanced at the pillow beside him, surprised he hadn’t picked up on your scent.

In the video, you leaned back, seemingly preparing to relax, prompting Tech's curiosity to peak. He watched intently as you closed your eyes briefly, a fleeting moment of apparent calm. However, your fingers soon began to fidget, and your eyes opened again, scanning over his drawings. Tech observed with a mixture of fascination and perplexity as you pulled your shirt from your pants, revealing the skin below your navel.

Tech didn’t have time to consider what you were doing before your hands got to work on your pants. Adjusting his goggles and bringing the datapad closer to his face, he watched intently as you deftly worked on your pants, effortlessly opening them just enough for your hand to slip inside. Even through the fabric, the movements of your fingers were unmistakable

Tech reared back slightly, his mind racing with thoughts. He paused the video, freezing the image of you lost in your own touch, unaware of the camera recording your actions. His thumb wandered along your silhouette, he’d witnessed you sleeping and caught you off guard on occasion but this felt very different.

Although you were technically intruding upon his personal space, Tech reasoned that you likely believed you were not being watched. Holding his breath, he hesitated for a moment before pressing play, eager to see how the situation would unfold.

Tech's eyes widened as a mixture of disbelief and arousal washing over him. Your actions were intimate in a way he hasn’t expected. His hand instinctively moved to adjust his goggles, his focus unwavering on the datapad screen as you continued.

Your hand dove farther into your pants while your free hand slid up your body and onto your chest. The hand on your chest mirrored a moment he couldn't forget—the moment he had separated you and Crosshair by means of a hand Crosshair’s shoulder and another your chest.

He heard you hushedly moan, “Tech.” The way you said his name sent a shiver down Tech's spine, his heart rate quickening in response.

He hesitated for a brief moment, torn between shutting off the video and continuing to watch. It wasn't until he felt the undeniable strain against his own pants that Tech finally forced himself to pause the recording. His mind raced as he pieced together the timeline of this event, recalling the mission with the 501st that had stirred up unresolved feelings and tension between you and the Bad Batch. 

Tech watched you in his cot and a small smile came to him. Evidently it was his touch that had the most impact. With a thoughtful expression, he uncurled his hand, the stud earring still nestled within his palm. Casting a glance at the concealed microcamera, Tech knew he had to handle this situation delicately.

As he pondered his next move, Tech considered the whereabouts of his teammates. Echo and Hunter were engaged in a meeting with a Jedi general, Crosshair and Wrecker were occupied restocking supplies, and you had taken on the task of handling rations. You made it clear you were only handling the rations this time.

Glancing at the time displayed on his datapad, Tech calculated that you would soon be returning. With a sense of anticipation, he tapped the corner of his datapad, preparing himself for your imminent arrival.

He pinched the earring between his thumb and forefinger to place it on your pillow. Unplugging from the dataport, Tech went to stand in the Marauder’s doorway. Leaning against the frame, he appeared engrossed in his datapad, though his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of your impending return.

As he scrolled through the datapad, Tech played out various scenarios in his mind, preparing himself for the interaction to come. He wanted to handle the situation with finesse, ensuring that neither of you felt uncomfortable or embarrassed.

Soon enough, he spotted you approaching, a hovercart laden with rations in tow. Your smile was warm as you greeted him, not at all surprised to find him waiting. You chuckled lightly as you shook your head, teasing him by saying, "Guess I shouldn't be surprised you're already done with your tinkering," you remarked, your tone affectionate.

Tech remained focused on his datapad initially, not looking up as you approached. "I've told you, it's not 'tinkering,'" he reiterated, his tone matter-of-fact. With a casual push off the doorframe, he straightened up. "Besides, there's another matter that has arisen, and I require your assistance with it."

You leaned casually on the handles of the hovercart, feigning nonchalance. "My help? Must be pretty desperate," you teased, eliciting a bored, almost annoyed look from Tech. Chuckling at his reaction, you urged him to lead the way, pushing the cart toward the ship. "Fine, fine. Let's get whatever it is over with."

Following Tech inside, you watched curiously as he handed you his datapad. He retrieved a long cord from beneath his cot and plugged it into the device and the dataport beside his cot. Pointing towards your cot opposite his, he instructed, "You may sit there."

You followed Tech's suggestion and settled into your cot as he maneuvered into his bunk, opening a panel beside the dataport. "I need to calibrate a camera I installed in my bunk.”

The word 'camera' caught you off guard, and you struggled to maintain your composure, your surprise barely contained to a single raised eyebrow. "Since when do you have a camera in your bunk?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush flooding your mind. Inside, you felt a sense of panic at the implications of what might be hidden in the camera's memory. Your heart raced as a live feed of Tech working on the datapad panel appeared on the screen, confirming your suspicions.

"For playback purposes when I make repairs," Tech said with a shrug of a shoulder. "It can prove useful for reference purposes. However, I've never found the need for it," he added with a smirk of triumph.

Internally, a wave of relief hit you. It seemed that Tech had never bothered to review the footage, which eased your earlier concerns. "So, you just have a constant recording going?" you asked, trying to sound bored.

Tech shook his head, scoffing at the suggestion. "That would be unnecessary," he replied. "The camera is motion-activated. Recording only initiates when someone moves in front of it. Even I would find it tedious to scour a constant feed for a single event.”

You nodded, your attention fixed on the screen as you watched Tech's movements. The camera panned smoothly, capturing every adjustment he made. "I'm not sure what I am looking for, but the view looks fine," you said.

“Sarad.” The mention of the Mando’an nickname caught you off guard and put you on high alert.

“Hmm?" you responded, feigning nonchalance as you hummed out a reply. Onscreen, Tech closed the wall panel and settled back into his cot, positioning himself to face the camera directly. His gaze locked onto the lens, and even through the video feed, you felt the weight of his stare, a subtle kind of eye contact.

"I believe I found something of yours, it is on your pillow" Tech said, pointing towards you as he addressed you directly. Your gaze followed his gesture, and sure enough, there it was—a tiny stud earring perched on your pillow. You brightened at the sight, recognizing your lost jewelry.

 Ditching the datapad, you plucked the earring and returned it to its rightful place in your ear. You beamed at Tech, who was now looking directly at you. “Tech, thank you! I thought it was lost for good.” Already forgetting the previous circumstances, you asked, “How in the stars did you find it?”

Tech's gaze softened as he watched you reclaim your earring, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I stumbled upon it recently during my ‘tinkering’ as you say."

Your beaming dimmed with a bit of confusion as he continued, "It was nestled in an unexpected place—in my cot, of all locations." He paused, allowing the implication of his words to sink in.

A short, nervous laugh bubbled out of you. "In your cot? How did it end up there?" you asked in a bad play confusion. You suddenly knew exactly how you came to lose it.

Tech's eyes narrowed as he soaked in your reactions. He was committing this interaction to memory. Never having experienced exchanges like the ones you two shared, and with nothing to relate it to, he found himself struggling to predict the next outcome.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Actually," he began, his tone betraying amusement, “I do have an idea of how it ended up in my cot." Pausing for a moment to gauge your reaction, he continued, "You see, while reviewing the camera footage for the earring’s orgins, I happened to come across a rather fascinating incident."

"It seems that during a moment of relaxation, you may have inadvertently misplaced your earring," he explained, choosing his words carefully. His eyes dipped for a blink as he practically purred, "It was quite captivating, really.”

Tech noticed the hastening of your breaths and the familiar red blotches blossoming up your neck. The corner of his lips twitched in rhythm with his fingers. 

Despite the temptation, he knew it wasn't the time for such impulses. He resisted the urge to reach out and feel the warm flush of your skin. He found himself wondering how you would react, but he pushed aside those thoughts.

You sat there wide eyed with an anxiety induced smile stuck in place. No words came to mind, all you could imagine was what kind of expression Tech had while he watched you.

“How much did you see?”

“May I ask you something?” He completely ignored your question, too engrossed in dissecting the situation for it to register. You squeaked out a yes and he asked, “What you did in my cot…” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, “Do you do that in the others’ cots?”

He’d asked you something similar in the past. About whether you reacted to his brothers the way you did him. If he knew of the ache between your legs his intense watch was causing, well that would be his answer. 

Your breaths became heavier and your tongue still felt like lead when you said, “You don’t like that idea. Do you?”

Tech considered the concept for a moment. “That is irrelevant to my question.”

You sensed his hesitation, but you needed a definitive answer before proceeding with your plans. "Amuse me," you urged, pushing him gently for a response.

As Tech's gaze momentarily flickered away, a serious expression crossed his features. “I have no say in where you choose to… relax.” After a brief pause to compose himself, he adjusted his goggles and met your gaze again. “But no. Hearing you’ve done so in other cots is not something I would enjoy.”

“Are you angry with me for what I did?”

Tech's response was immediate and straightforward. "No," he replied, his puzzlement evident in his tone.

“May I show you something?” You were on your feet and in front of him before the question was finished.

In response to your abrupt question, Tech found himself slightly taken aback. "I-I suppose so,"Tech watched as you undid your pants, mirroring the actions he had witnessed in the recording. However, this time, instead of proceeding as before, your hands settled beside you.

He stared at the little spot of abdomen peeking out. Keeping his head still, Tech raised his eyes to meet yours, a question evident in his expression.

There was a moment of silent understanding between you, mutual acknowledgment of the question hanging in the air. Tech's analytical mind raced, seeking to decipher the meaning behind your actions, yet he remained composed, awaiting your response with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

“Take off a glove, Tech.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he lifted his right hand and pulled at each finger until the glove was off. Bracing a hand on the bunk above him, you leaned down to reach for his hand. An inch away, you stopped. Tech was so careful with you. Getting clear consent and understanding before even touching you. You wanted to afford him the same thing.

Your stomach fluttered as you confessed, “It happened only once outside of my own bed.” He swallowed upon hearing that, fueling you to continue. “The thought of you, Tech, makes my body react in a way it doesn’t for others.”

Obliviousness was not a characteristic of Tech’s. Certain social cues were lost on him, but he was the most intelligent man you’d ever met. He could read between the lines and he was. Tech’s hand closed the small gap to lay palm side up in your hand. 

“I require a better understanding of what you mean.” Without speaking you guided his hand to the cusp of your pants, his fingers barely touching the patch of exposed abdomen.

The surprise on his face only encouraged your rising fever. “If you want a better understanding,” You leaned into his touch, “You’ll have to get one for yourself.”

In the thralls of discovery, a ravenous look consumes Tech and that was the expression spiraling over him in that moment.. He put his left hand on your hip, pulling you slightly lower while, at the same time, angling his hand between your pants and your body and right between your legs. His touch took your breath away. 

His middle finger smoothed over your skin and hit the wetness dripping out of you. He pressed another finger over your slick entrance and pulled a soft noise from you.

“This is unexpected.” Tech’s face was vibrantly proud. It was that cocky self confidence that made you weak kneed in the first place. “I rather like it.” He applied more pressure and his fingers began to dip inside of you.

Your knees bent at the touch, your body begging for more. It worked to the point of getting his fingers farther inside. Tech responded by curling the two fingers into you and pulling you forward. The grip you had on the bunk above was the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the ground. When his fingers started to move, that life line nearly snapped.

“I didn’t watch your recording very long.” Tech admitted while his free hand moved to grip your ass. He gently squeezed your ass and said, “This is something I wanted to observe first hand.”

“You wanted this?” Your question came out in a whine, you could barely think of anything other than the fact Tech was fingering you.

Tech buried his fingers deeper, “Oh, most definitely.” At this point, his hand was about the only thing keeping you on your feet. The angle of his palm made it so he was constantly brushing against your clit, making it hard to stay standing. He felt your knees wobble and he tugged your forward again, fingers still working inside of you.

You fell into him, hands on his shoulders and a shin over his thigh. The sounds you were making for him, only for him as he was constantly reminding himself, were working him into a frenzy as well. He wanted more, he needed to know what other faces you would make for him. What sounds he could pull from you as he played with you.

  With each careful movement of his fingers, Tech observed the subtle shifts in your expression, the moments when your eyes fluttered closed or your breath caught in your throat. He adjusted his touch accordingly, seeking to provide you with the perfect balance of pressure and release.

You had long since lost yourself in the sensation of his touch, your gaze drifting away as you surrendered to the pleasure coursing through your body. It had been years since you had felt this kind of intimacy. It was with a member of the 501st and it had never felt as intense as this moment with Tech.

Tech studied you far more than you realized. Learning how you worked and what you liked was intoxicating him. This was no different. He had no relevant experience with such intimacies, but he was priding himself on learning your body. You’d never have guessed this was his first time with the way his fingers strung you along.

His middle finger curled into a soft spot on your wall, sending a jolt through you. You leaned farther into him, panting into his ear. “Tech, you can’t keep doing that.”

Tech barely let off the pressure. Instead he rolled his finger into the spot over and over, coaxing you to tighten around him and collapse. You were straddling him at this point and, with his free hand anchoring you in place with a firm grip on your ass, release was rushing towards you. “I’ve barely done anything yet.” The timbre in his voice sent a shudder through you. 

You pulled back and held his face in your hands. “Tech,” his name came out in a whine. “I don’t want the first time you see me like this to be on your fingers.” Your mouth hung open in a soft moan.

Tech’s gloved hand flew to your face to hook a thumb into your mouth. He drew your face closer to his, his voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. "Too bad," he murmured, his words laced with playful defiance. 

He gripped you with whole hand, his palm working into your clit while his fingers kept up their pace. The combination made you see stars as heat burst through you. Pleasure shot from your core to every nerve in your body. You arched into him and you rode out your climax on his hand. His hand moved over your mouth, his thumb now wet with your saliva.

You pushed his hand off your mouth, it fell to your back, and you caught his lips in a kiss. It quickly became a hungry dance between you. The pressure of the kiss was almost bruising, but neither of you cared about air at the moment. As you licked and nipped at his lips, Tech quickly followed your rhythm until you pulled his tongue into yours for a gentle suck. He groaned at the sensation and couldn’t stop the thought of what else might find its way into your mouth.

Gradually, Tech slowed his fingers and the kiss faded into soft exchanges. Tech was withdrawing his hand when the kiss finally broke completely and you both were left panting.

Tech’s gloved hand casually cradled the small of your back as he shifted your weight onto his left leg. He brought the fingers, still slick with you, to his mouth to suck on the tips. He smirked at your blatant surprise, gave his hand a wipe on his cot, and set it on your thigh.

“With your permission, I’d like to refer back to this particular recording in the future.”

It took a moment to shake off the haze of pleasure and remember the camera. You shifted your focus to the lens, then leaned in, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only if you touch me like that again.” Satisfied with your playful tease, you attempted to lean back, but Tech's firm grip held your head in place. His lips brushed against your ear.

In a quiet, firm voice he promised. “That was only the beginning.”