#also me: *time to make a post about how i feel*

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye (version 1)

summary: carlos suddenly filing for divorce blindsides everyone, especially you; his wife who had no idea you two were even having issues.

pairing: carlos sainz x wife!reader, eventual max verstappen x reader

warnings: angst, heartbreak, betrayal

vicious speaks: this is a scrap!! i was originally going to post this as the first part to a new max smau but didn’t like how it was coming out so i’m working on an entirely different version now. had no intention of this ever seeing the light of day but @thechosen-neo asked me to release it so of course i had to deliver 🙂‍↕️ also, i used google translate so if i got anything wrong, i am very sorry! feel free to (nicely) correct me in the replies 💓

masterlist

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

97.8k likes

f1gossip BREAKING: carlos sainz has filed for divorce from his wife of 10 years, actress yn sainz! citing “irreconcilable differences” as the reason for the split. we’re wishing them both the best during this difficult time.

view all comments

fan what!! no!!

fan2 they always seemed so in love omg this is heartbreaking

fan3 this is so hard to believe 😭

fan4 NO THEY WERE MY FAVORITE COUPLE

fan5 carlos 😃 filed 😃 for 😃 what 😃

fan6 hey so what the fuck?

fan7 haha f1gossip you’re so funny, april fools was months ago haha

⤷ fan8 real

fan9 so carlos was just pictured kissing yn goodbye outside of an airport cause she’s filming a new show and now he’s filing for divorce two days later? i have a feeling yn had no idea this was coming and fuck carlos if that’s true

⤷ fan10 they looked so happy in those pics too oh i’m sick

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername new home, new light.

view all limited comments

lilymhe gorgeous 💛

lewishamilton get ready cause we’re throwing you a housewarming party soon! 🕺🏽

alexandrasaintmleux my bestie is so beautiful 🙂‍↕️

carmenmmundt i love you my strong girl 😘

maxverstappen1 mooi meisje

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

1.4m likes

carlossainz can’t wait to meet you, pequeño 💙

👤 livherrera

comments on this post have been limited

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

25k likes

f1gossip 😳 more than half the drivers have unfollowed carlos sainz following the announcement of his girlfriends pregnancy! this includes lando norris, lewis hamilton, max verstappen, sabastian vettel and others.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

view all comments

fan yn getting the drivers in the divorce just feels right

fan2 oh this is gonna make the rest of the races so interesting

fan3 she’s got legends like lewis and sebastian in her corner, he’s fucked

fan4 it’s what he deserves

fan5 i just know their gc is on fire right now

fan6 they better be surrounding my girl with love

fan7 yn and max have such a special bond i just KNOW he’s wanted to kick carlos’ ass since news broke about him filing for divorce

⤷ fan8 i’ve always lowkey shipped them. hopefully when she’s healed, they’ll fall in love. i have a feeling he’d treat her right.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

[kattheogcat]

Don't look for me! Please do...

Pairing — Lando Norris x afab!Reader

Summary — Sometimes feelings build up and sometimes they reveal themselfes with an explosion...

Genre — angst, established relationship

Wordcount — 2.8k

Warnings — fighting, yelling, colorful language right from the start, misscommunication

Rating — pg-13

A/N — I will repeat myself until my thumbs go numb but, don't kill me about inaccuracys of the world of f1. I'm new here TT

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©kattheogcat on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

“You know what? Fuck you! If you can´t even take the time for 5 seconds to greet me, then don´t count on me caring to see you tomorrow either!” you hissed at the wide-eyed man leaning against the headboard of your shared hotel room bed.

“Don´t search for me at the paddock.”

And with that you were out.

Grabbing your purse, phone and keycard you turned and walked out of the room, door slamming shut behind you.

Angry tears were brimming in your eyes, making it hard to see where you were going and causing the pulsing behind your forehead to grow stronger by the second. The headache you were sporting wasn´t new. It wasn´t cause by your anger or by the yelling, not it had been persistent ever since you walked out of work just the day before. The situation not making it better in the slightest.

Said headache also being one of the reasons why you had walked out on him in the first place.

You were understanding for everything concerning Lando´s career. The constant travels, the media circus and it´s focus on you and everything you did, said or posted, watching fangirls swoon over him online and trackside or the regular allnighter you pulled just to see his face on a 30 minute videocall before you fell asleep or had to go to work.

All of it you understood. Did it make you jealous from time to time to watch him smile for the camera while you had to sit at home? You´d be lying if you said not but you loved him, and you loved watching him doing what he loved. But sometimes you wished you were more present in his life.

Sometimes, in moments like now where you felt awful to begin with you wished he had the time and foresight to see what you needed. Well he did have the time, was known to take it for Cisca and Adam every time his parents came to watch him race however you apparently were a different case.

It ate at you, at your self-esteem and value to the one you´d lay your life down for and frankly in this moment, you weren´t sure if you should have said yes to the ring around your finger just a few weeks back. Was this how you wanted the rest of your life to go?

Overlooked and underappreciated? Because that's what it felt like to you; being ignored and taken for granted at times.

With a soft sniffle you tried and failed to keep in, you stepped into the elevator at the end of the hallway, pressed the button with the big 4, the irony did not escape you, and leaned against the wall as the door closed with a ding and hummed to life while going down.

The door opened and you rushed out just to frantically knock at the one room you knew would let you in in a heart beat.

Cisca was already in her sleepwear when she opened a little stunned but immediatly opening her arms for you to fall into.

The floodgates opened and every tear you head managed to hold at bay started rolling down your face uncontrollably.

“Oh, darling whats wrong?” she whispered into your ear and you choked on your own words trying to get something coherent out of your mouth.

Lando´s mother had been your rock since day one when you still weren´t sure how to act with the publics eye on you and ever since then she was the one you turned to when you needed some motherly attention.

She pulled you inside, sat you down on the couch and simply held you until you had calmed down enough for your breathing to slow and your shoulders to relax under the soft touch of her hand on the back of your head.

“That´s good, just breath my sweet girl. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Though her words were reassuring, she wasn´t sure what to make of the situation herself.

Earlier when she had seen you at the paddock you seemed to be doing alright. A little more subdued then she was used to from you but you were standing and smiling at crew and fans with a softness Cisca had never seen in any of the girlfriends her son had brought home and introduced to the wild world that was F1. It was like you were made to fit right in.

Honest, kind and bright without taking shit from anyone. Thats how she knew you and thats how she wanted you to stay. Whatever was making you this shaky and slightly sick version of yourself, she wanted it to be gone.

Your breath fanned gently over the skin of her neck where you were hiding, enough to feel you fall asleep on her. Cisca laid your head down in her lap, the bathroom door opening as her husband stepped out. Equally as ready for bed as Cisca was and equally as confused when he saw your passed out form laying on their hotelroom couch.

The tear track still very visible and slowly starting to dry.

“Can you give me my phone?” Cisca hummed and pointed to her phone on the nightstand.

Adam nodded and grabbed the device.

“You think Lando knows something?”

“You mean why she came to us instead of him? I have a hunch that he does.”

And she was proven right.

Lando had texted him just 10 minutes ago when she was still busy trying to shush your weeping. The pained frown never leaving your face as you breathed on her lap.

Please tell me she´s with you mum? - Lando

She´s here, don´t worry – Cisca

But can you please enlighten me why your fiance came crying to our room? - Cisca

I was being stupid – Lando

That i can see baby – Cisca

Thanks mum – Lando

I´m sorry baby but when your usually always smiling love practically fled to cry, one tends to wonder – Cisca

I may have let stress get to me. She hasn´t been feeling well and i didn´t notice... - Lando

Oh lando – Cisca

I know! - Lando

She said she won´t be coming tomorrow and i can´t even fault her for it. This time i was the muppet – Lando

I’m sure its nothing you can´t fix – Cisca

Can I come get her? – Lando

Let her sleep. I’ll see what I can do for you tomorrow morning – Cisca

Thanks mum – Lando

Go sleep. – Cisca

--------

Left behind and now pacing tracks into the floorboards, Lando stared down at his phone. He was relieved that you weere safe and not aimlessly wandering around the hotel grounds at night but the feeling was only minor compared to the guilt he was carrying with him at the moment.

The things you had thrown at him in your anger weren’t baseless, he knew that and he also knew that you could have been much firmer in your way of arguing if you had wanted too. That fact that you hadn’t was just another testimony to the fact that you weren’t feeling well enough to maintain your point and that you were crumbling on the inside.

Ever since he had known you when you were barely 15 years old while he was a teenager himself, he had always known you to be a firm believer in fighting for your beliefs in a rational, calm, yet fierce way. Sure you could scream and yell to the point someone who didn’t know you as well as he did would back up in fear but that was rare. And the fact that you so easily broke told him more about himself then about you.

“I smile, I understand and I see you living for racing and I love that. Watching you race even if you finish P10 or lower, I still love it because that’s part of what makes you you! But today I needed you to see me too! I travel whenever I can, barely catch a breath between work, flights, races and going back to work and miss sleep to see your face at ungodly hours but I want to do it! For you, because I fucking love you, you absolute idiot. And then you can’t even give me 30 seconds to hug me? That’s all I needed. 30 seconds when I was right there. Right next to your parents…” Your words were still ringing in his ears.

You were right, of course you were. He took the time for his mum and dad so why not for you. When it was so evident that you weren’t at 100%. That for once you needed him to look at you and see you. Really see you. Because now that he thought of it, the signs were all there.

All the subtle clues he should be able to puck up just by glancing at you were there, were almost screaming at him. And he chose to not see it, not in that moment.

Lando had told his mum that he understood why you didn’t want to come see him tomorrow. That wasn’t a lie. But it still hurt.

Hurt to think he was the reason you didn’t want to see him and yet he had no right to demand you being there after failing to uphold his part of what he had promised you when he asked you to be his wife even if you had not even set a date yet.

How could he have fucked up so bad…

---------

The next morning you woke up feeling better and worse.

Your head wasn’t pounding anymore but your eyes were puffy, red and burning from crying yourself to sleep the night before.

Mortification settled in your bones when you remembered crashing your future parents in laws night just like that and you sat up so quickly you felt a bit dizzy.

The room was empty. Cisca and Adam having left for breakfast as the sticky note left on your phone told you along with a set of fresh clothes Lando must have brought down for you before he left.

Oh fuck.

Had you really told him not to search for you? That you weren’t going to come? And he just took it? Believed you like a kicked golden retriever?

What an idiot. You and him.

You for ever believing you could stay away from any track Lando was driving on and him for believing you in your frustration and anger.

A perfect match you were.

I’m sorry, love. You were right, I haven’t seen it. Haven’t tried to see it which was my fault. You sacrifice so much for me and I took it for granted. I understand why you don’t want to be here today. To be honest, I’d rather not be here either. Not without you... – Lando

Flopping face first back into the couch pillow you barely could hold back the scream of frustration building in your throat.

“I am stupid.” You muttered into the silence of the room before moving of the couch.

You hurriedly got dressed, went back to your room to get ready, maybe take some Ibuprofen and get your ass to the Circuit.

The fan posts about Lando arriving alone on Instagram and tiktok weren’t lost on you. They were theorizing like crazy, throwing the words breakup and fighting around like confetti and made your stomach roll.

Yes you were fighting but what couple doesn’t at times?

The thought of breakup now seemed utterly ridiculous and when the car stopped, you almost flew out of the door.

Armed with your paddock pass you waved politely back at some fans who smiled at you, took a selfie here and there with some particularly dedicated ones and marched straight into McLarens hospitality unit.

Oscar, surprised at seeing your face, stopped in his track. Lando must have told him.

“Y/n? You came!”

“Of course! Where-“

“Drivers lounge.”

The Australian nodded back to where he just came from and you give him a thankful sidehug.

“Get him back on track woman.”

“Will do!”

With your heart pounding in your ears you came to a halt in front of the drivers lounge. While you had made valid points yesterday, you knew that your words were fueled by hurt and pain and that in itself had fired you up more then when you would have felt alright.

You were sensitive, reacted harshly instead of talking like a civilized person and had thrown things at him he had no idea were even an issue. That was on you.

That was something that you could have spoken about before it came to a fight that could have been prevented if handled accordingly.

Gently you knocked, signaling that someone was about to come in. Lando didn’t answer. He was sprawled out on the papaya colored couch, back leaning against the rest, man spreading like there was no tomorrow and his head laid back with his eyes shut. Even like that you could see the frown etched into his features. A muffled grumbled left him at the sound of the door opening and closing again with being spoken too.

Lando knew it couldn’t have been Oscar and besides drivers and their family nobody was supposed to enter the drivers lounge uninvited. The fact that someone had entered left him suspicious enough to look up enough to be able to squint against the blinding overhead lights of the lounge.

At first nothing happened, his brain not able to catch up with the fact that it was you leaning against the door, hands clasped together in front of your midsection and fingers nervously fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. Y

“Hi…” you whispered, hesitating to speak louder in fear of disturbing the peace that was settled over the room save for the humming AC.

When it fibally clicked that he was in fact not imaginibg thibgs or seeibg ghosts and that you were actually standing in the same room with him after telling him you wouldn’t be there today, he almost fell over as he jumped to his feet.

He was still dressed in his orange polo shirt and simple black jeans, curl hair sitting messily and slightly longer just the way you liked it on his head.

“Wait huh? Love what– but you said and–“ The McLaren driver took a deep breath at seeing the little smile tugging on your lips as he fumbled with what to say before eventually rushing forward.

You found yourself in his tight embrace just seconds later, his warm breath fanning over your ear and making your dangling earring brush against the skin there.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He pulled away just enough so his hands could frame your face, gently forcing you to look at him directly. Not that you were trying to escape it.

“I am so sorry, my love. For not seeing that you weren’t okay, or not taking the time to-“

“No, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have known because I didn’t say.”

“But I should have seen it. Mum saw it for fucks sake!”

“Your mom stood next to me for nearly 2 hours, Lando. You haven’t seen me all week. How would you have known?” Tilted head and another apology on your lips your fingers brushed through the curls on the base of his neck. Hands thrown around his shoulders.

“Still. I would have understood if you–“

“Stayed at the hotel? Do you really think I’d do that? That I could bring it overmyself?”

“You have good reason not to.”

“And an ever better one to do so.”

Lando leaned his forehead against your own and your eyes fluttered shut at the calming proximity. His scent tickling your nose pleasantly.

He couldn’t help but lean in and press a series of kisses to your face. Your cheek, nose, forehead and last your lips. A touch so soft and hesitant like he was scared he’d scare you away again that It left your heart aching.

“I think–“ you began and paused to think. “– that we both have handled things wrong. That we definitely need to work on time and stress management—”

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“—and that I should be clearer with what I’m feeling when you aren’t there to hold me. Because this could have been avoided if I had just told you about my headache and being exhausted.”

Your eyes flew over his face, taking in every detail like you could possibly ever forget it.

Lando nodded.

“I’m still sorry, my love.”

“Yeah, me too baby.”

You let your arms fall down to his side just to wrap them around his back.

“And now please just hold me. My week was horrible and I missed you…”

Never in his life had he complied that quick to a request.

[kenniesf1]

request!!

With F1’s summer break just around the corner, I keep imagining a popstar!reader x Oscar Piastri SMAU where they have this whirlwind summer fling—late nights, secret getaways, soft moments no one else sees. But once the season kicks back up, they stop talking… and suddenly she’s dropping music about him, after she softlaunced him for pretty much 3 weeks straight and her fans can help but wonder who “he” is. And of course oscar hears her new releases.

also btw i LOVE your fics!! keep them coming 🙌💕💕

the right beaches | OP81

masterlist

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader

summary: oscar and reader have a short-lived fling over summer break, only for the excitement to die down when they returned to their lives. oscar listens to her new releases and realizes he wants the reader back.

note: i'm about to enter the STING ZONE (writing in second person) 😏 ty anon for this amazing fic idea i love ittttt

ynln

liked by noahkahan, user1, and 2,319,844 others

ynln the 'utopia' tour!!!!!!! i'm so, so conflicted on how to feel about the us leg ending. on one hand, i had the best time meeting you guys, playing for you, and getting to be on the receiving end of all your love and support. but on the other, i'm going to miss you guys so much 😭 taking a little break (tropical yn, on her way to you right now) before the european leg!!!! thank you to everyone who has made my dreams possible 💞

view all comments

user1 seattle n2, you'll always be famous!!!

user2 AHHH i was at seattle n1, she was so stunning!

user3 she played 'the perfect pair'!!!!

sabrinacarpenter my idol be like: liked by author

clairo it's never over 🥲

ynln we'll always have our private concerts

user4 i loved concert vids but i'm sooo excited for yn on vacation

user5 IKR i hope she does vlogs like she did when she was in paris

urfriend1 the backstage misses me, doesn't it?

ynln ho i miss u too :(

user6 let mother rest!

user7 fr those vocal chords be TIRED

chappelroan can i be a guest in europe????

user8 OMG CHAPPEL PLEASE

ynln what user8 said 😉

metlife In the hall of fame, for sure!

ynln 🥹

user9 pray she's working on the new album over break 🤞 liked by author

user10 OH MY GOD

oscarpiastri posted a story!

oscarpiastri excited for a tropical summer break!

view all comments

user11 lord forgive me for these sinful thoughts

user12 smiley osc 😮‍💨

lando see you in three weeks mate

oscarpiastri i'll miss you buddy

ynln playing a case of you - joni mitchell

liked by gracieabrams, oscarpiastri, and 2,459,174 others

ynln beach babe!

view all comments

user13 im so confused why is polite cat oscar piastri in the likes 😭

user14 he's everywhere but in my bed

fayewebster my wife (yn) has gone to war (well-earned vacation)

ynln i've got a locket with you in it, baby

user15 AHHH she's too cool for school

user16 YN! drop the new album and my life is yours

ynln let me work on it goddamn it 😖

user17 oscar x yn... can she be on the f1 movie soundtrack????

user18 beach babe indeed

gracieabrams if being a singer doesn't work out, you can always be a photographer

ynln or i can be your house wife :))))

user19 the song choice 😩

a few days ago... july 9th, 2025 - 22:43

It is late. Well, not even. Most of your shows run later, with you getting home well past 1 in the morning. So it isn't really late. For your rest-obsessed mind, your body that needs to make up for the nights spent writing and days spent recording, it sort of is.

Your friends have dragged you to a club, one you didn't bother with the name of, using that same tired excuse of 'we're in our twenties, we're alive to go to clubs.' You would've gone without the hassle, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't fun to annoy them. As your group approaches the neon signs, the sounds of the crowd moving and singing along, the excitement slowly seeps into your body. Your expectations for this break aren't all that high--you just want to rest and spend time with your friends. With a career like yours, one that gets more demanding as it goes, it's not all that easy to cruise through with high expectations. You've learned that the hard way.

The club is open, the salty sea air filling your lungs comfortably. Somehow, once your friends have wiggled through the crowd to reach the bar, the air gets incredibly hot and sticky, making you crave a towel and a cocktail, ones you could take to the beach a few meters away and enjoy, solitary. It takes your friends five, maybe six minutes (a new record), to plead with you, asking you if you could go over to the bar and leverage your fame for a couple of free drinks (it doesn't seem to occur to your friends that your music resonates with dramatic teen girls, not muscular bartenders).

You aren't in the mood to use it today. Pushing through the ignorant crowd, which you predict would've continued to dance, even if a tsunami sweeps the place, you reach the bar, wooden, covered in tropical flowers and cute marker-written notes from former customers. Your arms extend to the edge of the bar, vying for the bartender's attention. The man, dressed in a tight black t-shirt, is moving along to the music, lost to the drinks he is carefully making. You don't mind; you have all night.

When he finally turns around, just as you are about to order, an accented voice interrupts, "One vodka tonic, please." Your head spins around to see who in the world thinks that highly of themselves, not to wait in the customary way, only to be met with quite possibly the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You've always found it weird to call a dude beautiful, but when it comes to the guy besides you, there's really no better word. He's in a simple white button up, the sleeves rolled up, accentuating his upper arms. The top few buttons are left opened (on purpose, considering the look of this guy) in such a way that you can't see much but you can see just enough.

He notices you staring. At first, he slightly smirks, imperceptibly. When your expression doesn't change, he realizes he has cut in front of you. As if turned on by a switch, his cheeks redden and he smiles, raising his arm from the bar to bashfully rub the back of his neck.

"And whatever the lady wants," he adds, extending his smile, "on my tab." Normally, guys like this piss you off. Those large smiles of theirs are so obviously fake, just like their veneers. But not this guy's. No, he seems to be genuine in every little action. In his stance, in his hands, in his eyes.

"Vodka Red Bull," you order, sending him a curt smile as a 'thank you.' He bites his lip when you tell the bartender your order, kicking his feet around while you wait for the drinks.

"Sorry about cutting in front of you," he reaches his arm out. "I didn't mean to. I'm just by myself here and I could really use the drink." Without a word, the bartender pushes the two drinks towards you, the check under the vodka tonic. Before taking a sip, the man signs the check, leaving quite a hefty tip--and then he turns his attention to you.

You take the straw of your drink between your fingers, stirring, "That makes two of us." There's something so... uniquely special about absolutely needing a drink, and sharing that with another person. It's a bit raw, incredibly honest. I'm supposed to be having the time of my life but I need a temporary escape, a fix.

"Why a Red Bull?" he asks, walking to the edge of the club's property, outlined in plants and tropical trees.

He definitely looks familiar, "Why not a Red Bull?" The man shrugs, conceding the point willingly.

"Okay then," he switches, "why the drink?" He must be able to sense your hesitation because he gestures to himself and adds, "I'll go first," with a wink. "I'm on a three week break from work and it's super stressful and no one I'm here with seems to want to validate me in that. They're all just trying to get me to party and drink when I want to prepare." You tilt your head, examining him.

"Makes sense," you reply. The wheels in your head are spinning, trying to pin his words to the blurry idea you have of him in your head. "You look familiar," you finally tell him. He takes a sip from his drink to conceal his smile--it doesn't work in the slightest.

"Could say the same about you." Now you're both standing there, each leaning against opposing trees, taking one another in. He seems to be doing better at this figuring-you-out-thing because he's got a glint in his eye, shiny and planned. You can't place it, but you can remember it. "I'm Oscar Piastri," he gives in, his hand extending to shake yours. No one has shaken your hand in forever. "I'm a Formula 1 driver." Right.

"Oh," you comment, mainly to yourself. "I knew that." It isn't a loaded statement, just a blank one. You did know him. You've heard the stories, mainly from your friends, who followed the sport much more closely than you did. "So when you say job, you mean racing to the possible death at 200 miles per hour?"

He flashes that dangerous grin again, "Was that not implied?" Oh, he's cute. Oscar Piastri's got that sarcastic, mysterious, undeniable look to him and it is fucking working.

You shake your head, another sip, "Do you know what I do?" You ask it as a joke, not anticipating much, but Oscar's back straightens against the tree.

"You're a singer," he shrugs, as if it is oh such common sense. "Yn, right?" You can choose, in that moment, to be freaked out and ruin this perfectly fine (and somewhat flirtatious) interaction or to suck it up and give him the same energy back.

"Yep," you pop the p, "how'd you know that?"

"My sister likes your music?"

You cross your arms, only in a different way, bearing a different intention, than you did a few minutes before. "You here for an autograph?" you coyly ask.

He pushes himself off the tree, getting closer. "Among other things."

july 10th, 2025 - 1:07

The conversation absolutely flowed between you and Oscar, natural in its origins and destination, more like a river you stumble upon than one you labor endlessly to forge. He's sweet, charming, but also very touch-and-go. You don't feel unsafe with Oscar, and he doesn't feel bored with you.

Right now, the two of you are holding hands, stumbling towards the beach in front of the club--the one you've known you were going to end up at. He's telling a story about a race in Hungary in 2024, not-so-subtly dropping innuendos and comments and winks and smirks and glances. Oscar Piastri, you think. You're interesting.

He pulls you toward the low waves, cool water splashing against your ankles. There's a few staggered people around the coast, but Oscar makes it feel like it's just the two of you. His hand is on the side of your head, in your hair, and his eyes are so intently looking into yours that you can't help but back away. With his confidence, no shocker he's an F1 driver.

"Come," he says, stepping deeper into the water, "let's get in." You just laugh. Here's a grown man, up to his knees in salt water, ruining a pair of respectable slacks--the same man you've been calling mysterious and dangerous. Well, he definitely still is those things. But right now, with that childish look on his moonlight soaked face, he's just... nice.

"No fucking way I'm going in there," you reply, switching the bunched up ends of your dress from one hand to the other. You're keeping a careful eye on the waves splashing against you. He put his hands on his hips, cocking his head against you. You shake your head no in response. Oscar just takes that as an invitation to walk back over, his face colored with shades of slight embarrassment and disappointment. Just when he reaches you, his hand pulls you close. You can feel him breathing erratically, but you can't focus on anything else but his lips. As the two of you lean in, you catch an undetectable flash of a grin. He pulls your arm towards him, sending you both deep into the water.

july 12th, 2025 - 3:26

You tap your pen against the crumpled note pad, as if tapping continuously will somehow make your brain work. So much for that. The only lights in the room are the ones emitted from the weak lamp behind you and from Oscar's phone. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" you ask yourself, twisting the ends of your hair in confusion. You repeat the lyrics again, like rolling a stone over in your palm, hoping you see a part of it you haven't before, "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" Oscar puts his phone down, turning around.

"Okay, what are the lyrics again?" he asks, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the dim light on your side of the bed.

You just look at him. "What do you mean?" He gestures to the notebook, still rubbing his eyes. Drama queen, you note.

"You're going to be up all night if you don't finish this chorus--"

"--verse, actually--"

"--so let me help you finish it," he states confidently, pulling the notepad out of your unconsciously strong grip. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but," he reads to himself.

"Osc, it's fine," you say, starting to fight him for the notebook, which he holds further and further away from you, still reading your draft, "you could've just told me you want to sleep, I can finish this later." He shakes his head, a smile betraying his 'tired' demeanor.

"I know you, Yn," he teases, sing-songy, "I might be able to fall asleep but you'll be up all night trying to write this. Let me help." You finally snatch the pad out of his hands, falling into him on the bed.

"You're not a songwriter, Osc," you say with a smile, hoping desperately it doesn't come off as an insult.

He crosses his arms, coy. I guess he just always looks hot. "You know, contrary to what you might think," he starts, pulling you up from his lap closer to his face. Easily, he can see the blush coating your cheeks, "I went to school. Even graduated. Shocking, I know."

"I wasn't insinuating you were uneducated, Osc," you reply, trying to wiggle out of his firm grasp on your sides.

"So then let me help," he enunciates, ending the statement with a flash of a huge smile. Oscar Piastri. Fucker knows how to use that goddamn smile to get what he wants. You sigh, loudly and obnoxiously, before making a big show out of passing him the notebook.

"Hm," he lets out, eyes going over the few lyrics already written down. He gently kisses the top of your head, eyes never leaving the paper. "Okay, what about this? Said I'll see it to believe it, but I don't know the actual truth? That good?" You, once more, seize the notebook from his hand, and, with the click! of your pen, write down the lyrics he said. "Good, huh?" he boasts, putting his arm over your shoulder, pulling you back in the nook of his arm.

"Not yet," you mutter, unaware, "too many syllables. But maybe it'd work with 'I know the actual truth.' How's that?" He shrugs, mouth in a straight line.

"But you don't know the actual truth," he retorts. You look up at him, his face brightened and smiling down at you, so absolutely domestic that it melts whatever's left of your already stolen heart. Maybe the clues he left are the ones he's getting rid of now.

"Who does?" you ask, rolling your eyes playfully. Except, when you say it, your eyes fly back to Oscar's, which are, predictably, staring back at you, wide with importance.

"Write that down," he urges, left hand shaking at you to hurry.

"'Said I'll see it to believe it, but who knows the actual truth,'" you read out, voice slightly muffled due to the pen cap you're holding between your teeth. You take a slight moment, going over the line once more as you feel Oscar's breath on the side of your neck. "Cause I'm sure now." Once you're done messily scribbling your lyrics, you let go of the notebook, finally able to tuck yourself into Oscar's side, without petulant worries about a song that you know will eventually get done.

"Thank you for letting me help," he quietly utters into your hair, peppering gentle kiss after kiss. It was a bit worrying, how easily you can envision this never ending.

"Thank you for helping," you reply, pulling his hand to your mouth so you can return the favor with a kiss on the back of his palm.

ynln

liked by logansargeant, phoebebridgers, and 2,830,915 others

ynln i've got a surprise for you!!!! since i'm SO dedicated to my craft (translation: i've met someone 🫢), i decided to find a (surprisingly good) studio and record over vacation!!! 'beaches' is out tomorrow:

'Cause days blend to one when I'm on the right beaches And the walls painted white, they tell me all the secrets Don't wait for the tide just to dip both your feet in 'Cause I'm sure now, I'm sure

here's a sneak peek at the chorus!!!!!

view all comments

user20 SHE MET A BOYYYYY

user21 beach babe met beach boy????

user22 oh she's down so bad

user23 i need this now!!!

user24 it's gonna be such summer vibes i can't waittttt

oscarpiastri Cute song! liked by author

user25 is it about the oscar guy in her comments?

user26 as an f1 fan, i don't think so, oscar's just very friendly. i also think he went to the same place she's at for vacay so they might've met

user27 as another f1 fan, i totally think it could be him!

reneerapp H O T

ynln T H A N K Y O U

user28 logan's in the likes too????

july 15th, 2025 - 06:13

The sun is, for the first time these past few days, not blinding, opting to hide behind the thin veil of clouds in the sky, possibly as a service to you and Oscar. Unlike your night owl friends, he's offered to meet you early, promising he knows the best spot to watch the sunrise from. A line, for sure, one used often, but Oscar clearly meant it. The two of you have trailed through the edge of a forest near the beach (not an easy feat, considering you were in thongs (guys, that's a flipflop, let me live, i'm being british 😛)). As you two walk, he lets you hold his arm for balance, laughing fully every time you dramatically trip on a small pebble).

And now you're here. This part of the beach is much more secluded, granting you privacy that only you and Oscar, as figures in the media, can fully appreciate. He's laying on his towel, eyes barely opened, staring at the sky. Against his thigh rests his coffee (which he stubbornly brought in a coconut, making you question if you really like this man). His hand, at first, was near your leg, but he quickly interlocked it with your hand without a second glance.

"I'm really glad to have met you," you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. Oscar pushes his sunglasses up with his free hand, squinting eyes on you. "I mean, I love my friends, but I feel like you kind of, I don't know, get me? It's really nice." His face is almost frozen, giving no indication of how he feels. You try to cover your tracks, hurrying to add, "Not that we're, like, being serious or anything. Like, I know you're busy and I'm busy, I just wanted to tell you that I'm having a good time. No subconscious messaging or anything." You laugh, uncomfortably and incessantly, worrying about the look on his face. Suddenly, he pushes himself up on his elbows, quickly leaning in to pull you into a kiss.

God, he's way too good at that, you think to yourself. This is definitely going to be a problem.

"I know what you meant, Yn," his voice announces in that annoyingly cute way, "I just like seeing you squirm." You push him away, almost spiling the coffee. His hand flies to the coconut, steadying it, stupid and stubborn and wickedly pretty expression still gracing his face.

july 17th, 2025 - 14:25

"You wanna hear something really funny?"

"Respectfully, Yn, you find the dumbest things funny."

(Scoff) "How dare you! There's nothing respectful about that!"

(Shrug) "Then I said it disrespectfully."

"And here I was, about to share a stroke of comedic genius. But now I won't."

"We both know you will."

"Yeah, I will. My street?"

"Mhm."

"It's 69 Greenwich Street."

"So not funny."

july 18th, 2025 - 20:43

"Oh my god that book was so fucking good. I need to go buy the second one."

"Oh, I already bought it for you."

"Oscar, what?"

"Yeah, I was near the book store and I remembered you telling me about it so I bought it for you. No big deal."

july 20th, 2025 - 09:46

"You look really nice, Yn."

"You're one to talk, Piastri."

july 20th, 2025 - 23:09

"Oscar! It literally just hit me!"

"What?"

"You didn't like that I had a vodka Red Bull because you drive against Red Bull. I'm literally so smart."

oscarpiastri

liked by lewishamilton, quadlock, and 1,393,502 others

oscarpiastri met some cool people in bali :)

view all comments

ynln it was so nice to meet you!

oscarpiastri back at you

user29 ok this is either they're-in-love confirmation or we-are-strangers confirmation

user30 leaning to the latter (for my emotional health)

user31 ugh he looks so hot

user32 ARGHWGGHAUGQPERUGBR

lando party w/o lando?

oscarpiastri well, i didn't want to break my nose, so yes

charles_leclerc Deserved rest 💪

oscarpiastri Wish you were here, would've been fun!

logansargeant this is not my oscar piastri

oscarpiastri me when i want attention be like

logansargeant ok u caught me im jealous

oscarpiastri fly down 😘

user33 oscar's not with that singer, he's dating logan clearly

alex_albon 😂

mclaren We really shouldn't be seeing this...

oscarpiastri lando's done worse 😅

lando sybau sybau sybau 🥀

july 24th, 2025 - 15:32

Media day is a day where drivers do pre-race interviews and funny videos for their team's social media, to advertise and to get their thoughts out about the progression of both their season and their team's. What childhood memory did you lose to remember that now useless fact?

You're sitting on the floor of your New York apartment, back against the side of your couch, as your TV plays the interviews in Belgium at the loudest volume. Some neighbor will surely have a problem, so you enjoy the few moments you have, replaying his voice in your head, as if memorizing it will change anything.

You haven't really heard from Oscar. It was to be expected. Both of you agreed that this was a fling, nothing more. Him leading the standings, you with an album release on the way. Neither of you needed another thing to add to a stacked, hunger-satiating plate.

Well, you may not have needed it, but it became clear to you quite quickly that you definitely wanted it. Sitting there, eating a bag of sour gummy worms and drinking room temperature Dr. Pepper, you watch him in his element, bearing the most honest of smiles. You don't know what to do. Your phone lies unlocked in front of you, on his contact, right next to your notebook. You are hoping that the least the universe could do was give you some kick-ass songs from this shitty experience. Right now, it doesn't seem like that's going to happen.

You chuck another gummy worm in your mouth, miserably listening to Oscar talk about how good his vacation was. How relaxing. That's nice. What a fucking guy, you think to yourself. That's what he is. He's a guy, a boy, he's not a man or anything. I clocked him with that stupid 'beach boy' nickname. I'm cosmically stupid.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to write. It's less like your mind is willing you, more like it's your pen, reaching for the paper like a moth to a flame. Real man, you think to yourself, looking at the title of what is apparently your next song, Oscar's haunting voice playing in the background.

(spa, belgium)

july 24th, 2025 - 21:17

Oscar's pathetic. He must be. He's lying in his hotel room, in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, yet sleep evades him. He has a structure he likes to stick to during race weekends. Being unable to sleep because he's thinking about a girl he's know for three weeks isn't (and never will be) part of that structure.

Evasive Yn Ln, imperceptible Yn Ln. She must be a witch, right? There's no other explanation for the voice in his head, the one replicating her songs and her sweetly weird pronunciation of her t's. It calls him to her. His phone, over the past few minutes, has gotten closer to his face. He's replaying videos from his summer with Yn.

One of her trying to surf. One of them on a jet ski, her hands around his waist, chin on his shoulder, face bearing a beautiful smile. One of her dancing to her music on a crowded beach, holding a beer in one hand and making fun of something called a 'frat-boy flick.' And then came the videos from her concerts, which the internet is happy to provide.

She's got a song called 'lovesong,' which Oscar feels so insanely confused about. His feelings are so muddled they may as well have been rained on. It's a beautiful song, one he can't forget if he tries. But something twists in his stomach whenever he gets that painful and common reminder that it wasn't written for him.

She's singing into a microphone, strumming the chords on her sticker-laden guitar, smiling. Oscar sees her in the back of her mind right now, knowing she's doing anything but smiling. Hell, knowing Yn, she's probably writing a song about him right now. And not one he's going to like.

And yet.

He adjusts himself in bed, still scrolling. He's going to be scrolling for a while. That's what mistakes do. They linger in your brain, they're felt in every touch. Oscar's going to be feeling them for a long time.

ynln

liked by lexijayde, user34, and 3,008,961 others

ynln single number twooo! summer time in my favorite city always heals everything! the newest single coming your way (releasing midnight est) is called 'real man'. here's some lyrics:

And I already told you I'm not part of the band Please forgive me just for thinking it's a fleetin' romance I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

hopefully, the album will be done 🔜

view all comments

user35 who messed with my queen?

user36 we go to war when 'real man' drops

user37 why do the best girls always get the worst guys?

lexijayde her pen ✍️ ✍️ ✍️

ynln my pen <<<< your everything

user38 i feel bad for yn... but i know this album's gonna slap

user39 IM IN LESBIANS WITH HER

yourfriend2 could he hold it down and take it, if you gave him a chance?

ynln STAWP leaking my lyrics 🥰

user40 yn's friends just dropping the lyrics like it's nothing is killing me

user41 god's strongest soldier

user42 this is 'norman fucking rockwell' 2.0

user43 EEK!

yourfriend3 he wasn't a real man, dab on it and move on

ynln 😶‍🌫️

july 27th, 2025 - 15:28

When the FIA announces the red flag, everyone's annoyed. He gets out of his car, in a rush to find his phone and headphones, pushing past personnel with as much ease as he overtakes Lando. He's in the bathroom right now, hurrying to plug his headphones in so he can listen to Yn's new songs.

He knows it's about him. Fuck, that doesn't look good. A song called 'Real Man,' surely satirical, and he can tell off the bat it's about him.

And I already told you I just wanted to dance Could you see me standing out here with my outstretched hand?

The verses weren't too bad. They hit Oscar like a pile of bricks, a gift that keeps giving until he feels like he's driven through Yn's brain, on a track that will probably never exist again. He is perched against the sink, one hand steadying him, the other holding his phone as close to his face as possible. Oscar is absolutely fucking pathetic! He can't even look himself in the eye, he cranes his neck down to not make eye contact with the mirror.

I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

Oscar immediately thinks about his mom. God, she would be livid if she knew how he'd acted. His sisters even more so. He turns the faucet on, splashing some cold water on his face. Truly, he shouldn't care this much. It's been a few weeks of knowing you--surely, it isn't normal to be this fucking hung up.

Because that's definitely what he was. Hung the fuck up. On everything about you, too. It's not like there were many things he disliked about you that he can find solace in. No, he's forced to face you in your entirety, through this stupidly catchy song and through all of those videos that keep popping up on his fucking feed (it's definitely not because he's been liking and saving all of them).

He's sitting in the garage, hiding from the cameras, and he's thinking about you. He's talking to Tom, focusing his vision on the statistics on the screen in front of him, and he's thinking about you. He's pulling his balaclava on, his gloves on, his helmet on, as he steps into his car, reaching out to the steering wheel--yet he's thinking about you. Fuck.

july 27th, 2025 - 18:03

So... that shouldn't have been possible. The rolling start, the ticking time bomb that was those degrading mediums. You. Oscar's race consisted of thinking about you (the only exception being his lap 1 overtake, where he was only half thinking about you). It shouldn't be possible for a driver, as off and unfocused as he was, to win. Formula 1 must have gotten too easy.

Yet, here is Oscar, parking his car in front of that beautiful #1. He takes a second to breathe, even though it is a bit more difficult to do so, before he steps out, careful not to slip. His arms punch out in glory, the crowd erupting behind him. Lando and Charles pull in as well, clearly not as jazzed as he is. Oscar jumps off the car, heading straight to where his mother and grandfather are standing, cheering. He pulls his mother into a hug first, his mind so dizzy on the culmination of this insane fucking weekend that her compliments slur together. His grandfather is beside them, reaching out to Oscar the second Nicole is done. Oscar's mind is fucking with him again because he truly can't tell if he's happy, sad, or some other much more complicated word.

His grandfather's first race and he wins it. His mom, who he hasn't seen in a few weeks, clapping and trying to hold back her tears. His heart strains towards this moment, drumming in Oscar's chest, telling him to enjoy it, live in it, breathe it the fuck in. But he does miss you. He's selfish and rude and unappreciative, feelings which he will definitely rot in later, once he gets back to Monaco. But he wants you here. Really fucking badly.

july 27th, 2025 - 12:03

Oscar won his race. Plain and simple. He was really fucking good, too. You're still curled up on your couch, your cats roaming the living room and leaving whenever your reactions get too loud. Even when they announced the red flag, you stayed in your spot, the only movement between the start and end of the race being the repositioning of your blanket (the stress and adrenaline were keeping you warm).

It's really hard, not to text him right now. You know he probably doesn't want to hear it--or even care--but you miss him and you want the best for him. After all, that is why all of this is happening in the first place. Oscar deserves the best, and you do too, and being together wouldn't give either of you what you deserve. Right?

You really miss him, though. Your hands ache for your journal, for the feel of the smooth pen in between the pads of your fingers. The ruffle of pages and the inhibiting smell of ink splotches, they bring an unparalleled comfort to you. You need that right now. The cameras zoom in on Oscar's face. He's smiling, bright, that beautiful smile that you see when you close your eyes. His dimples are incredibly prominent, pairing with his deep hazel eyes to create an image you're unlikely to ever forget. He looks so fucking happy. He's hugging his mom, his grandfather, and giggling as the swarm of Papaya engineers huddle around him in support.

You wish you were there. But, simply put, you're not. You're in New York City--the place you have always insisted to be the best. It doesn't feel like it. Fuck it, you think to yourself.

'Good job :),' you text him, hurriedly putting your phone on DND and throwing it across the room. Instead, you pick up your journal, beginning to scribble down lyrics in a dire attempt to capture Oscar and those beautiful brown eyes--the prettiest eyes you'd ever seen.

july 29th, 2025 - 2:47

It has been impossible to sleep. Hungary is coming up in less than a few days and still--still, still, still--you're on the forefront of his mind. He can't catch up to you, no matter what moves he pulls or what daydreams he envelops himself in. You're simultaneously far off and right there. That text you sent--that mindless, but in no way meaningless--has been memorized, tattooed onto the side of Oscar's brain.

He knows what he has to do. In fact, he feels stupid for not knowing sooner. Not knowing about this whole ordeal or about how prevalent you would remain. Oscar's calling everyone who works for him, anyone who can get him a fucking flight.

(new york city, ny, usa)

You are dreaming again. Usually, the dreams start in that nameless club you met him in. In the dreams, you do it right. Well, not really. You're unsure how to do it right. It seems like, no matter how well you string the words together, how adamant you are, he's always an arm's reach away. The only thing separating you is consciousness, as well as the Atlantic Ocean.

This dream takes a different turn however. Out of nowhere--interrupting one of the better dates included in these dreams--loud knocking begins, to the backdrop of heavy rain, pitter-pattering on the sidewalks. Five minutes of you convincing yourself it's the dream pass until your body can no longer lay there, limp and tired, and not do anything about whatever psycho is waking you up at... 2:47 in the morning? you think to yourself, rubbing your eyes. You grab a big t-shirt off the edge of your bed, making your way to the front door. The knocking hasn't eased up, in volume nor in strength or repetition.

"What do you want?" you drag out the last word, making it clear you're annoyed, when you realize it isn't some random standing in front of you, it's him. It's Oscar?

He's been knocking for a while. His clothes are fully wet, dripping on their own, his hair basically slicked to his forehead. It's hard to pretend he doesn't still manage to look sinfully good. His mouth is parted--he wants to say something, but the words aren't flowing out like he expects them to.

"Hi," Oscar finally breathes out, his body moving with him. You cross your arms. It is painfully clear that, even without an apology, you are considering letting him in and just letting it go. You shouldn't, you know that. So you close the door behind you, stepping into the rain with him. "I'm sorry," he finally says. You don't reply, allowing him to continue.

"I'm so fucking stupid, Yn," Oscar laughs, almost in horrendous awe of himself. "I can't even imagine what I was thinking, pulling that stupid line about needing to focus on racing. It was incredibly shitty and not even fucking true and I don't even know what else to say except that I am a moron." He takes your hands, gently, and when you don't pull away, grips them a bit stronger.

"I know you saw the race," he says, his voice soft, beckoning you back to him without even meaning to do so. "The entire time--the entire weekend, for fuck's sake--I spent thinking about you. It should have been a miracle for me to even finish the race, much less win." Oscar starts laughing again. You've missed the sound, sure, but you don't quite know how well his finding humor in this sits with you.

"It should have been a miracle," he repeats, his eyes staring into yours, "but it wasn't." Your eyebrows furrow. "I can't do anything without you. Or without thinking about you, I guess. All this shit about wanting to focus on racing and not being able to be with you--I had it all wrong! You literally take up every waking moment of my time. When I'm not thinking about you, I'm dreaming about you or I'm watching your concerts or rereading our texts. I need you in my life, Yn. I was so stupid before. I can't even..." he struggles to find the words. "I just... what was I thinking?"

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of you scanning him, trying to answer the myriad of questions your doubtful brain comes up with, you smile. "You clearly weren't," you grin, pushing your hair out of your face. "What are we going to do about that?" Once Oscar catches that glint in your eye, he, too, can't help but smile. His right hand slides away from yours, snaking to the small of your back. His left goes up to your lip, wiping off the raindrops carefully.

"I've got a few ideas," he leans in, the space between you almost non-existent.

"Oh yeah?" you joke. A beat passes. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him in as close as possible and kissing him in a way you never had before. All of Oscar's kisses were destructively good, but this one was borderline dangerous. Maybe even addictive. The rain dances on your skin, soaking you in the moment. When the two of your pull away and give each other soft smiles, it's clear.

ynln posted a story!

ynln back to the place where it started so i can announce 'this is how tomorrow moves'!!!! out august 29th!!!!

single #3: 'ever seen', out tomorrow

oscarpiastri playing ever seen - yn ln

liked by yourmom, oliviarodrigo, and 1,529,747 others

oscarpiastri i've got the prettiest eyes she's ever seen??? (tagged ynln)

view all comments

user44 my favorite crossover episode

lando my eyes are better 😤

oscarpiastri that's funny because i don't remember asking.

lando you didn't need to add the period at the end, asshat

kimiantonelli my girlfriend loves your girlfriend!

olliebearman kimi no i don't??? not yet, oscar, but i will listen, i promise

isackhadjar y'all need to figure ts out

user45 can i be adopted?

ynln beach boy reveal!

oscarpiastri you ever gonna stop calling me that?

ynln no 🥰

oscarpiastri yay!

user46 i'm grieving my nonexistent relationship with him

user47 you and everyone else, sister 😔

logansargeant who is this DIVA 💜

oscarpiastri MY girlfriend...

danielricciardo SOMEONE had a good summer

oscarpiastri understatement of the century

nicolepiastri She looks so kind!!!! I can't wait to meet her, Oscar!

ynln mrs piastri you're so cool thank you so much this means everything to me thank you

oscarpiastri thanks mum, she's passed out

alex_albon lilymhe why won't you write me a love song?

lilymhe why won't you write ME a love song?

alex_albon i have, it's in my diary :)))

georgerussell63 what about me?

alex_albon girl there's more for you than for lily 😉

oscarpiastri stream my girlfriend's album when it comes out!!!!!

ynln

liked by carlossainz55, ediepiastri, and 3,074,298 others

ynln it's out!!!! 'this is how tomorrow moves' is available in record stores (my preferred method of listening) or wherever you stream music! this album is summer in new york, secret sunsets on the beach, sleeping in with pretty boys. it means everything to me!!!!! i hope you guys like it and tell me your favorite track!! (p.s. mine's 'coming home')

view all comments

oscarpiastri mine is ever seen!!!! or beaches!!!! or take a bite!!!! or everything i want!!!!

lando i'm sensing a pattern 🤔

ynln oscar's love songs 🤗

hattiepiastri pro tip 🤓 don't let your brother date your favorite singer, it ruins all her songs for you

ynln i'll write a song about you too bby don't worry

oscarpiastri why does my family like you more than they like me?

nicolepiastri We WOULD like her better if you actually let us meet her, Oscar

kimiantonelli i really liked it yn, 10/10

ynln you are the youngest person EVER thank you kimiiii

charles_leclerc hello daughter-in-law!!!!

ynln papa?????

oliviarodrigo My new favorite album!

ynln from you, that means so much

user48 AHHHHHHHHHH

user49 AHHHHHHHHHH

user50 she's so in love i'm crying for her

mclaren Playing this in the paddock 🎵 liked by author

fayewebster i wish i wrote girl song ❤️‍🩹

ynln you wrote kingston, be fr!

oscarpiastri i can't believe i didn't know i was in love with you immediately

ynln definitely took you a while 😥

to anyone reading this who thinks they might possibly potentially maybe have a fic idea please use the request!!!! i have the most fun writing those and it guarantees that some people will enjoy it, which is literally all i can ask for :)

[hashtaggoated]

it’s posts like these that make me feel better about enjoying media in a more casual way.

i recently got into sonic the hedgehog (can u tell) and while i don’t consider it a special interest of mine (yet) i do consider it something i’m fairly interested in and super fond of right now.

i never played any of the games growing up, i don’t know all the ins and outs of the lore, but this silly little blue gumball son of a bitch and all his pals have encouraged me to actually learn how to draw, which is something i’ve wanted to learn how to do for a really long time.

and also, sonic is just cool as fuck.

it's crucial that you untie "special interest" from "expertise". "it's true just trust me bro" doesn't have any extra weight when you add "I know because it's my special interest". you are not immune from falling for misinformation, and you are not immune from sharing misinformation. not to mention the fact that "amount of knowledge" isn't even a requirement for something being classified as a special interest lol!

[chromieclipse]

I've been thinking a lot about Kris as a character and yknow what, fuck it. Have a Kris analysis post as I also consider making a Kris theory in the future.

Something I've seen some stuff about recently is how Kris tearing out their soul is the same as tearing out their emotions, their will, their hope, etc... and while I do think this is true in part, I don't think it's entirely accurate to say Kris has no capability to feel or care while soulless.

We know this partly due to dialogue in the Snowgrave route, where Noelle talks about how Kris comes to her, how Kris removes the thorn from her finger and apologizes, reassures her. We also see Kris, after The Player forces the ring back onto Noelle, beat the SOUL in a fit of rage. They take the opportunity to beat the soul in the trash can, kicking it and doing half their own health in damage. At least, to me, that doesn't seem like something someone would do if they felt nothing, if they didn't care. And, not to mention - if you ABORT it in chapter 4, one of the circumstances has Kris RUNNING out of the room, looking almost AFRAID while dragging Noelle behind them.

Let's also look at the normal route at Noelle's house, how Kris tears us out and goes into the kitchen. There's a disconnect there certainly, they're trying to get away from us and away from the others to talk to whoever's on the phone, but... they also get themself a drink. Once they're certain we're not in their way, they go over and they choose to play the piano, something we KNOW is something they love due to their responses to other circumstances.

We can also look at what Kris did the first time they tore the SOUL out - they went and... ate all the pie. Sure, they likely did OTHER things as well, but that was Kris's choice. They ate an ENTIRE pie, all by themself. Like, I don't think they'd do that if they didn't like pie when in that state?? It just feels inaccurate to say Kris being soulless is equivalent to them being emotionless.

I want to say that tearing the SOUL out doesn't make them incapable of feeling, but it's closer to a state of disassociation, where everything is kind of numb and distant. They can still respond, still feel, still acknowledge things happening around them - but it's less prominent, more in the background than anything. And while that may seem like it isn't as interesting, as someone who disassociates, I'd like to argue it's equally, if not more painful.

You know you're feeling something, you know you FEEL about these things, but that feeling is dampened and distant. It doesn't fully belong to you, it's an echo of what you're supposed to experience, a drop in the pool of emotions you know are truly flooding your very being, but you can't access that tap. It's clogged, or is it even there? It's all blurry, the line uncertain, and when you try to reach for the feelings it's almost like they reel away from you. There's nothing to find until you stop paying attention and it all comes back in a moment of clarity, only for it to drift away from your senses again.

I just thought I'd ramble about this, since it's been on my mind for a hot minute.

[literary-dolly]

DOLLY CONGRATS ON 500 🎉🎉🎉 you absolutely deserve it and all the love in the world, so please accept my humble offering: 🫶❤️❣️💕💞🫶❤️💕��💞❤️💝💖💗🫶💞💕💝💖🫶💗❤️🫶💞💝💖💕❤️💗💝🫶💖

anyways i would love to request a 6 and 61 for jason! you are gonna cook my love and in the meantime i will be cooking on your coffee order hehehehe

RYYAAAA my SOOUULLMAATEE!!!! i would take a breadcrumb if you offered it to me. My coffee order is phenomenal, I have read it 5 times since you posted it and it hits every time. nobody deserves 500 more than you ❤️

i went angsty with this one, really tapped into Jason's more ahhhh angry side, abandonment issues, you know? i'm not sure how i feel about it (but i tried my best). i hope you enjoy it, my best mutual 4 eva.

jason todd x fem!reader warnings: canon typical violence, reader!injury, arguing, somewhat toxic relationship, jason is mean but he has abandonment issues word count: 4.8k prompts: (6. making it to the safehouse) (61. reaching out after a period of no-contact)

There’s no statement that seems to ring out clearer in your head than old habits die hard.

It’s all too familiar: the warm, sticky, wet sensation trickling through the gaps in your fingers, coating your skin in an almost midnight black tar. The smell of blood isn’t one you’d thought could be forgotten, but when the nauseatingly metallic twang hits your nostrils, it’s a stark reminder of just how much time had lapsed since you’d been in the fray. But the shock does little to prevent instinct kicking in, there isn’t much in this world that could undo a lifetime of training, not of the ilk you’d endured. You’re instantly scouring the environment, looking for any mark that might point you in the direction of salvation – a street sign, a certain shop or restaurant, hell, a familiar face wouldn’t go amiss.

It's times like these you missed having a comm.

You can only seem to wander blindly, perching against corners to keep yourself steady as your guts feel like they’re about to slap out onto the concrete in front of your very eyes. It was a rookie error, not seeing the giant fucking knife, and one that your fourteen-year-old self would ridicule you for not seeing coming. But your fourteen-year-old self was always wearing Kevlar, not a stupid button-up shirt.

Gotham, for a city so resolute in being the embodiment of mayhem itself, is unusually serene. You can just about make out figures in the distance, the wail of a siren a few blocks over, the raucous music dribbling out of the bar down the street – but it’s all just noise, nothing tangible. No one there to watch you bleed out into a puddle on the ground. Not that they would stop if they did.

It’s the Batburger on the corner that consumes the last of your brain power. You recognise it, clear as day; you used to go and grab dinner together after patrol, they’d started to know you, bag your order up before you got there. They stopped making you pay for half of it, and the two of you always left a roll of notes where you knew the cashier would find it.

You were round the corner from one of Jason’s safehouses.

“Fuck. God-fucking-damn it.”

You don’t have the time to waste standing around second-guessing, loitering like a ditsy schoolgirl afraid to make conversation on the playground, but you do it anyway. Everything in your body longs for it to be someone else, anyone else, but your body also longs for a hefty dose of painkillers and more than a few stitches, and you’re not going to find that at Batburger.

You can almost feel the life trickling out of your skin, the corners of your vision beginning to swirl uncomfortably into shapes you can’t quite make sense of. If you were going to Jason’s, you needed to go now – you weren’t particularly fond of the idea of seeing him tonight, but you’d rather that than him find your corpse on his fire escape. It would probably draw too much attention to the whole ‘secret-safehouse’ thing, anyway.

So, you grit your teeth and move, move as fast as your body will let you along the sidewalk. The fire escape is the next obstacle; to your mind it’s second nature to navigate your way up the broken structure (Jason had done his utmost to make it as difficult as possible for anyone to get up there, without raising suspicion of course), but your body says otherwise, muscles tender with disuse, screaming out in protest. It’s a herculean effort to make it to the top, and you’re barely conscious as your fingers jimmy the window in all the right places with a familiar ease. You hear the thud of your body hitting the rug, but you barely feel it. It’s probably not a good thing.

The upside is that, in spite of the eruption of noise you made coming in, nobody has appeared in the safehouse to come and interrogate you. Jason isn’t here. That thought at least steadies your breathing, pumps enough strength into your blood to let you hoist yourself to your feet. You can only pray that Jason still keeps his first-aid kit tucked under the couch – if it’s not there then you have no clue. You collapse onto the leather, scrabbling with your feet to try and kick the damned thing out from underneath. Aha. There she is.

Jason always had the best safehouses because everything was always stocked. He didn’t have the luxury of relying on the Cave like the rest of you. Well, the rest of them. Medical supplies. Food. Clothing. He had it all in excess, everywhere. It doesn’t take long for you to find sutures or a needle in the kit, and you pull out a handful of gauze to jam between your teeth, a desperate attempt to null the screams you’re certain are going to try and rip from your chest. You had plenty of experience stitching yourself up, as anyone that had spent time as a vigilante did, but that didn’t make it in anyway more pleasant. Especially not with a wound this bad. In all likelihood, you would pass out before you even got the job done.

You get about seven stitches in before you hear it from behind you.

Click.

Such a familiar sound. A gun being cocked.

“Hi Jason,” you mutter weakly, “fancy seeing you here.”

Jason whispers your name thick with surprise, voice still heavily modulated from his helmet, and you can feel him draw back as he takes in the full picture of you splayed on his couch, bleeding out, attempting to glue together your own abdomen, “Holy shit. What the fuck? Just fucking hold on.”

Jason’s ripping of his gear in record time, gun, gloves and helmet all clattering to the ground. You get your first look at him as he darts into the kitchen, the sound of the tap confirming your suspicion – you were about to get emergency surgery from Jason Todd.

A stab is one thing, but you feel like you’ve been shot when he emerges, a familiar ache ebbing in your chest at just the sight of him head on. He still bares all the boyish charm that you found so endearing, even when you were younger, but he seems to have grown so much even in the past year. His hair has gotten a little longer, a tad shaggy. Filling out even more than you thought was possible, he’s a behemoth of a man, floor creaking as he moves – but hidden behind the maze of tired lines and bruises that decorate his face, there’s a tenderness that, once upon a time, you’d like to have believed was saved only for you. He looks terrified as he practically slides to the ground at your feet, wrestling the needle out of your stained, slick hands.

“Give it to me. Give it to me.” It’s a command not a question, and you’re too broken to fight it, “C’mon, that’s it.” He gets to work immediately, threading in and out of your skin with more precision than you ever could’ve managed. “How much do you think you’ve lost?”

“A lot,” you grit out, white knuckling the arms of the couch.

“I’m being fucking serious.”

“I’m gonna go with at least a pint,” you manage, eyes screwing shut as a growl tears its way out of your mouth, “Not ideal.”

“Well,” Jason sends you a pointed look after a particularly grim stitch, “I’m glad this trauma hasn’t robbed you of your stellar sense of humour. How the fuck has this happened? Did someone attack you?” Jason has always had the ability to keep his voice scarily even, but you know him well enough to hear the wavering in it. The rage. “Tell me.”

“Nobody attacked me, shortstack,” you manage a grin, relishing in his scoff at the old nickname, “I poked my nose in where I shouldn’t have.”

“You know, that’s something a vigilante normally does,” you don’t miss the danger that laces his tone, the sharpness in his eyes as they connect with your own, “civilians should be more careful about what they get involved with.”

You can only scoff, “We’re not doing this now. Not when I have about ten good seconds left in me.”

“What? Hold on, no–”

“And in five, four, three, two…”

The world goes black.

Everything hurts when you come to. It’s the sunlight that does it, beating through the window directly into your eyes, and the groan you let out as you twist round is ungodly. You feel like you’ve been hit with a truck (you would know, you have been), but the bed is a nice touch.

Hold on, the bed.

It’s surprisingly cosy with its thick weighted sheets that engulf your entire form, the mattress seems to stretch for miles, cushioning each tender limb. The smell is so devastatingly homely, the aroma of stale cigarettes, cedarwood and leather bleeding into every one of your senses. It’s so characteristically Jason – and what was comforting very quickly begins to feel like something you can’t escape. But you’re far too weak to move, to fight against the comforter strapping you in, and if you’ve ever known anything about Jason, it’s that he won’t let you leave without a fight.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust, glancing round at the room. It hasn’t changed at all: the walls are still the same sickly shade of cream, chipped and bubbled, the bookshelf stacked in the corner is overflowing, but you recognise a few of Jason’s favourite titles hidden away on the top shelf. It’s still pristine, everything folded and put away exactly as it should be, just like he’d always kept it. There’s something emotional that lodges itself in your throat, the memories trapped in the woodwork flooding back so vividly. You’d spent hours, days in this exact spot, chatting about nothing and everything with your closest friend. The man who for a long time, had felt like your only friend. It wasn’t a place you’d ever thought you’d get to revisit.

It's at that moment that he strolls into the room, so leisurely, without a care in the world. No acknowledgement that this is the first time you’ve seen each other in a year, and that you’ve missed him like you would miss a limb, still recovering from the spasming nerves of a phantom bond ripped away so suddenly. Jason’s always been fairly apt at masking his emotions, knowing how to read a room and morphing to fit what it needs, regardless of what other people might think – but you’ve known him since you were children. Since Bruce took him in. His emotions may as well be written in bold across his forehead.

He's pissed, you don’t need to be a mind reader to know that.

“Sleeping beauty finally wakes,” his polite tone is curt, forced, “How you feelin’?” He offers you a glass of water, and it may as well be ichor based on how it revives you as it trickles down your throat.

“How long was I out for?” it comes out as a grimace as you force yourself up the pillows slightly, feeling somewhat more level with the man opposite.

“Three days.”

“Three days?” Holy shit. It was even worse than you’d thought. You hadn’t been out for three whole days since that mission with the Justice League when you were, like, seventeen.

“I had to keep you pretty medicated,” Jason sighs and his shoulders seem to deflate. He seats himself on the foot of the bed, “You kept waking up – screaming and shouting and all of that. You were gonna tear your stitches.”

The silence that lingers in the air is thick, so undeniably awkward as the two of you glance around the room in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact. You jump out of your skin as he lets out a cough, and he offers little more than a stiff apologetic quirk of the lip in return. You hated it, hated being like this with him – your relationship had been crafted in comfort, a closeness that you had only ever shared with each other – to see the man you loved so dearly sit only inches away but feel so distant felt like a slap to the face. Over and over again. You’d lost him twice, in different ways, but this felt an awful lot like a third.

“What were you thinking?” Jason’s words are severe when they drip off of his tongue, “What were you doing?”

“I was walking back from work, and I saw a guy being mugged,” you spit back with just as much venom, “They had him at gunpoint, and there was no sign of you or anyone else showing up any time soon. They were Mask’s men, Jason. I wasn’t going to let him just die.”

“You gave this up,” he’s standing now, his hazy shadow creeping further up the wall, “That doesn’t sound like the actions of someone who doesn’t want to be a vigilante to me, does it?”

You long to stand, to meet him in the field and push back with just as much vigour. In your current state, you can’t do much more than let him tower over you, “I gave up being a vigilante, Jason. That doesn’t mean I gave up being a decent fucking human being.”

“And what?” he throws his hands up angrily, boots screeching against the hardwood, “You thought it would be a good idea after a year of being out of the field to jump back into what – what was it? A three-on-one fight?”

“It was four-on-one,” your voice is deathly quiet, “and I still fucking won.”

Jason falters back in what can only be shock, his eyes narrowing as they lock in on you. It quickly shifts to a sardonic grin, “Right, really looks like you won from where I’m standing. You could have called someone. For back-up, at least.”

“And who exactly was I supposed to call? You, Jason? You wouldn’t have fucking picked up the phone.”

He’s as still as a statue. You’re not even sure you can see his chest rising and falling. The only sign of life on his entire form is the occasional twitch of his fingers, or a deeply unnerving rattle leaving his lips. It feels like an eternity before he speaks again, so quiet you can barely make it out, “This isn’t about me. Don’t you dare make it about me.”

“No, Jason, no. This is about you. If I had called, would you have picked up the phone? Honestly, would you?”

You can practically hear his teeth grating against one and other, “You could have called Dick. Tim. Babs. Bruce. They still talk to you, right? Still treat you like family. I’m sure any of them would’ve rushed to be your knight in shining armour.”

“I should be able to call you, Jason. You’re my best friend,” you hate how desperate it sounds when you say it, so much more feeble than what had played out in your mind. You can feel your stitches tugging at the way your entire body is taut, but you can’t soothe the ache that has you strung like a live wire.

“Oh, so me not answering when you call is on the same level now? Oh, okay,” his laugh is brutal, rattling against your skull, “My bad, Princess, I’ll text you back next time.”

“Level? Same level as what?”

“Leaving me,” it’s earth-shattering, the way his shout reverberates off the walls, the harbinger of a silence so lethal you could hear a pin drop from space, “You left me. And it was a choice.”

Something so terrible twists its way around your gut, extinguishing the fire that had toiled in your belly. You feel like you’re about to crack, a precious artifact marred by the dents in the clay – because he looks forlorn. There’s a crazed desperation in his eyes, something you’d only ever seen in his arguments with Bruce. A rabid longing that festers like an infected wound.

“Jason, that’s not–”

“Fuck off. I’m going out.” He nearly pulls the door down as he yanks his jacket off the back, shoving his arms through it furiously.

“Jason, please–”

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

He’s gone before you can get a word in edgeways, the front door slamming shut only seconds after he’d left the room. There’s a void that nestles in your chest, an unfurling sense of deep sadness that stings more than any stab wound.

But there’s also an anger, something so wretched and wrathful that it almost sends you flying out the door at him.

It had taken you an embarrassing amount of time to get standing and gather your things; every time you caught sight of yourself in the mirror it had been a pitiful image – hair stringy and unwashed, blood still caked around the areas Jason hadn’t quite managed to clean it away, skin lifeless and eyes bloodshot. It’s embarrassing that you wished he’d seen you in your prime, all dressed up and perfect, wanting to make him miss you and see just how good you were doing. It makes you cringe, the act of a desperate ex, one so blatantly hung up on their other half. Not that you and Jason had ever dared go there, you were friends, nothing more.

Instead, he got you as a shell of yourself, the weakest you’ve been in a decade. Undeniable proof that, to him, you’re worse off without the Bat and cowl and all of the rest of it.

So, you’ll be gone before he gets back.

He’d hidden your bag, no doubt anticipating some kind of Houdini-style escape attempt, but you knew all of his hiding places – the one’s he would put stuff in when he wanted you to find them, and the one’s he thought you didn’t know about. Like you didn’t know that the washing machine had a false bottom. You have to stop every thirty seconds or so to take a breather, fight the tears that threaten to spill over – whatever Jason had you on was the good stuff, and it fucking sucks to be confronted with the sheer agony that adrenaline had so helpfully blocked out at first.

You’d managed to find one of his least favourite jackets in the bottom of his closet, stale-smelling from disuse, and half-heartedly sling it around your shoulders. It was torrential outside. The worst storm Gotham had seen so far this year. Not the ideal time to be making your escape, but needs must.

It takes a whole truckload of self-discipline to steady yourself as you reach out for the door handle, a dangerous tilt forward to try sling the thing open. But you must have gained magic powers through your small coma, because before you can even wrap your fingers around the thing, it comes flying backwards – sending you with it. You’re a heap on the ground, groaning and spluttering.

“What the – oh, Jesus Christ. Seriously, prison break?”

You feel his presence next to you before you can see it, before the burst of pain subsides enough for your vision to draw back into focus. Jason’s hovering over you, a hand threaded gingerly under your head to check it for injuries, fingers looped through the flyway strands of your hair. He’s soaked to the bone, fat droplets of water dripping off his hair and onto the floor, the tip of his nose a dark red flush from the cold. There’s none of the anger you’d seen earlier in his eyes as they dance across you, checking for damage, just a concerned amusement that reminds you so deeply of how things used to be.

“C’mon, you idiot,” he laces his arms around your body, hoisting you in the air as if you weigh nothing, “back to bed.”

“Stop it, Jason,” you hiss, writhing around as best you can manage, “I don’t want to go back to fucking bed.”

He mutters a soft series of okay’s before placing you down on the couch, taking more than a few steps back with his hands raised cautiously at his sides, “I’m not going to apologise for trying to make you rest.”

“Oh, give it a break,” you hiss, all malice, “two hours ago you were shouting at me for abandoning you and now, what? We’re all–”

“What I will apologise for,” he pauses, interrupting you with a knowing look, “is how I behaved earlier. I didn’t, ah, broach the subject in the right way. Or at the right time.” He slowly lifts a memorable brown bag up in his left hand, the branding has been worn away by the rain, but you’d be able to pick it out in a police line-up. It’s Batburger.

“You trying to win me over with gifts, Todd?” you grumble, refusing to look in his direction, “you should know it’ll take more than that.”

“I know,” he huffs, a small grin drawing on his face, before dropping to something more serious, “but I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but gape, turning to face him with your jaw on a hinge, “It’s been a year, Jason. And you’ve only just now decided we need to talk?”

The frustration is clear as day in the way his body coils, the way he drops the bag onto the coffee table with a wet thud. He slowly begins to peel off layer after layer of wet clothing – shoes, jacket, hat – and you try to act like you’re not helplessly admiring the way his muscles stretch and contract. “I thought that I was fine with the way it was. No contact. I’m the one that did it. But seeing you so, so vulnerable, so close to death. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I found out something happened to you, and I’d been the dickhead who never found it in his heart to hear you out.”

You can only blink incredulously at his sheer stupidity, lurching back upwards again regardless of how it makes your head spin, “Oh, so you’re hearing me out? I’m the villain in this situation?”

“Yes, I am hearing you out. You’re the one who decided to up and leave me–”

“For fucks sake, Jason. Yes, I left. But I didn’t leave you. You were the one that left me.”

Jason’s practically bellowing, and it’s the first time in a long time that he’s there. So devastatingly close, “No, you left me. We were doing real work, helping people. Between me and you we were sorting this city out, more than any of the rest of them. You had my back in a way none of them ever did. We were a team, we were partners. The whole of Gotham knew that. You were everything to me and I didn’t know how to be a vigilante without you. You were there from day one and then you weren’t. After everything we went through together, I thought what we had meant more than that to you.”

“Jason,” you can’t help but lift a hand up to cradle his jaw, and your heart does a loop when he leans into the touch, so entirely vulnerable in your hands, “I didn’t abandon the mission, and I never stopped having your back. You should’ve known that I would’ve always been there for–”

“Why?” There’s a fire that ripples around his green-flecked eyes, “Why did you leave?”

You draw in a breath as deep as your stitches will allow, “I left because I was tired, Jason. I was haunted. Every day since I was 9 years old, I woke up, put on a costume, and went out to go and stare the worst this world has to offer dead in the face – and I just couldn’t look away from it anymore. My body was broken; my mind was going – you know how I was that final year. And,” you bite your tongue with a soft curse, “I never made the impact anyone else did. I wasn’t like Dick with his glowing leadership, you with your mission, Tim with his intelligence, Cass and Damian with their skill. I never had that. I was tired of being everyone else’s supporting actor, and I wanted to try and do something different to make a real difference.”

“You were never a supporting actor to me,” Jason’s words are so solemn, so lacking in lustre, “you were always the main character in my story.”

“I never meant for you to think I was leaving you behind,” you whisper, tracks of tears appearing on both your cheeks.

“I loved you,” his voice breaks in the middle, a rough hand coming up to scrabble at the wetness on his face, “I love you.”

“Jay, Jason, we can’t–”

“Why? Why can’t we? Don’t tell me you don’t love me too, please.”

“Of course I love you,” it comes out harsher than you intended, and Jason flinches back in surprise, “but I’m scared. I’m scared that if I love you, I’ll never be able to leave this all behind.”

“What?” Jason seems stunned, drawing away from your embrace. His jaw sets, “I wouldn’t stop you–”

“Look at us, Jay,” you plead, “We haven’t spoken in a year because I left this life behind. I’m scared that if I let myself love you, I’ll never stop being a vigilante. Not really.”

“You think I’d force you?” The rage begins to resurface, a slow magma threatening to boil over as Jason seems to brace himself for the attack, “You really think I’d force you into that lifestyle–”

“No, Jay,” it’s difficult to calm your breathing, the breaths drawing thicker and faster from your lungs, “I don’t think you’d force me. But I’d always be worried about you. If you didn’t come home, I’m not just a civilian that can sit on the sidelines and let it happen. I would have to go out, I would have to look for you. I could never sit with all the knowledge I have now and not get involved.”

The room goes silent after that, and it’s painful. Jason appears to tick on repeat, jaw tensing and releasing, shoulders squaring and dropping back down again – the war ravaging his insides is palpable. He sits, he stands, he paces around the room. The rain is the only constant, the rageful pattering of droplets against the windowpane.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jason, I do love you and I want this to work out I just don’t know how–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay that you’re not strong enough,” there’s a resignation in his voice, a petrifying calmness that shoots right to the base of your spine. You knew Jason could lash out, use people’s insecurities to manipulate them – it was practically part of his job description. He’d never used it against you.

“Jason,” you can’t mask the hurt, the pain bleeding from every part of you, “I know you. I’ve known you for over a decade. I know what you’re–”

“Maybe you were right to quit. You never had what it took anyway.”

It’s the killing blow.

It hurts more than any stab wound. Tears a hole deeper than any stitches could hope to knit back together again. You can’t move or speak or think or feel, it settles over your body as nothing more than a numbness. To hear Jason act as the microphone for your greatest fear, the deepest part of yourself that you bore only to him. The pain in your side is nothing as you gather your things without a word, and although you can see the panic flitting across Jason’s eyes, his body remains unmoving. He doesn’t even try and stop you.

“Goodbye, Jason. Thank you for your help, you really cleared some things up for me.”

You faintly hear him call your name as you turn to the door, the palest utterance of wait, I’m sorry. You slam it behind you before he can get the last syllable out.

When the rain hits you, it burns, and you hope that just maybe it can wash away the life that ended in the safehouse that morning.

[corseque]

DELETED DIALOGUE IN THE FILES OF CLAIR OBSCUR: EXPEDITION 33

I was going to make a video about this, but I'm too scattered right now, so I'm posting it here in the meantime.

So I extracted all the text in Clair Obscur, and I'm surprised that there seems to be only about 73,000 words of dialogue in the whole game. This does make sense because the writing philosophy definitely erred on the side of subtlety and communicating through physical acting rather than through words, but it was still a little shocking to see the number of words. For comparison, the number of words of dialogue in Dragon Age: Inquisition is ~708,500 words. For additional reference, the average full-length novel is 80-100k words.

I am also surprised to find quite a few deleted scenes and deleted snippets of dialogue that didn't make it into the game.

(((This dialogue and these files can be very easily viewed and verified by anyone who has a PC version of Clair Obscur by using a piece of freeware software called "FModel" which is an Unreal Engine Archive Explorer. Installation for FModel specifically for Clair Obscur can be extremely easily done by following the first part of this tutorial video.

The entire text dialogue for Clair Obscur is located within Sandfall > content > localization > game. It's completely human-readable and not obfuscated in any way. The same is true for all the localization languages like French, etc. It's very nice.))) spoilers for some of the deleted stuff I've found -

Julie deleted audio

strange Simon lines about the White Sands???

quite a few deleted lines that Renoir was meant to say in battle

an incredibly poignant and convincing conversation between Maelle and Renoir during their final fight

deleted dialogue from the Faceless Boy at the Opera in Lumiere about how exhausted he felt about Painting

an intriguing deleted area called "Rocktrailing" that seemed to depict the relationship and argument between Renoir and Aline, etc...

Julie: TRAITOR Julie: So. Everything you told me was a lie. Julie: I– We trusted you.

Julie: You did this– Everyone–? Julie: And now me. Julie: Fucking coward. Can’t even look at me. Julie: [roar of attack]

(only the two lines were actually in audio in the files)

Apparently, there were deleted lines spoken by the Faceless Boy at the Opera House

FacelessBoy_Opera: Is this… Is this it… FacelessBoy_Opera: Is it… finally it… FacelessBoy_Opera: Will you… put an end to everything? FacelessBoy_Opera: I'm glad… Thank you… FacelessBoy_Opera: Oh I… I understand… I think that it probably gave you a yes/no option, and the yes corresponds with "I'm glad" and the no corresponds to "I... I understand" (I'm glad that this was deleted because just the pure mood in that room with no dialogue is so peak. But this also gives more ambiguity to how even Faceless Verso feels about the Canvas. He is TIRED.)

Deleted conversation between Maelle and Renoir in the final battle. ;o; ;o; ;o; ;o; ;o; ;o; (no audio)

Real Renoir: "Verso would have chosen you over his Canvas, every single time." Real Renoir: "He would have wanted you to hold onto family." Real Renoir: "Honor his death by living, not by chasing his death with yours." Maelle: "But that's exactly what I'm trying to do!" Maelle: "Hold on to family." Real Renoir: [exasperated sigh]

An area called "RockTrailing" ?? Where the Faceless Boy talks about Renoir and Aline.

FacelessBoy : A new visitor. FacelessBoy: Hello. FacelessBoy: I've seen you before… FacelessBoy: This place is… strange. FacelessBoy: Here? FacelessBoy: Here is nowhere, for me. FacelessBoy: Everything here is theirs. FacelessBoy: The result of their love, and the result of their hatred. FacelessBoy: A long path, with barely any trail to follow. FacelessBoy: Everything yet to be discovered. FacelessBoy: Don't get lost… Like they did… RockTrailing_Canvas_01: A painting of the Gommage in Lumière. RockTrailing_Canvas_02: It stirs up unhappy memories. RockTrailing_Canvas_03: Was it painted by Aline… RockTrailing_Canvas: Or Renoir…

Additional lines that Mirror Renoir says during the Manor fight where he accuses Verso of lying... which they must have deleted because it gave the game away too much (no audio)

Mirror Renoir: "You're lying to them." Mirror Renoir: "They deserve the truth." Mirror Renoir: "If they knew the truth, they would never trust you again."

additional barks that both Real Renoir and Mirror Renoir say during battle (no audio for these ones, strangely, the only audio in that folder is the "she will always protect me" line, which I uploaded HERE)

Real Renoir: "Can you see it? The layer between?" Real Renoir: "Remember... The Axons..." Real Renoir: "Disappear from this canvas." Real Renoir: "I understand the struggle of your existence."

Mirror Renoir: "Your attacks don't matter." Mirror Renoir: "She will always protect me." Mirror Renoir: "Don't you see it's futile?" Mirror Renoir: "You won't survive this."

Strange Simon stuff that I don't recognize in "RenoirDrafts" -

SimonUnleashed_01": Something happened at the White Sands. SimonUnleashed_02": Gaze into the chroma. SimonUnleashed_03": A lonely life. SimonUnleashed_04": A family life. SimonUnleashed_05": Who will fight? SimonUnleashed_06": Painting: 1 SimonUnleashed_07": Painting: 2 SimonUnleashed_08": Painting: 3 SimonUnleashed_09": Painting: 4 SimonUnleashed_10": Painting: 5 SimonUnleashed_11": The chroma vibrates.

SOMETHING HAPPENED AT THE WHITE SANDS?

There was, as far as I could tell, no deleted lines for either Aline or Clea, but there may have been something I missed. I read through the whole thing like a book, but people who are obsessed with other characters besides Renoir like me might be able to find deleted lines said by other characters that I didn't catch.

[headdinthewall]

NAIL ARTIST ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : where george dates a nail artist notes : inspired by @deffonotlily and her smau’s! go check her out of you haven’t already xx content : established relationship ,, smau taglist : @italianclarke @clarkeyscherry

taliamar posted a story !

‘ loving these from nailaccount 🖤 thank you doll xx ‘

twitter💬.

userone omg talias nails were gorg

usertwo all the uk yters follow nailaccount on her personal account too🤔🤔

userthree HELP WHY DOES GEORGE FOLLOW HER☠️

↳ userfour and arthur too

↳ userfive they wanna feel girly pop

usersix her second post has a mirror pic w a guy on the third slide and it looks like the back of george’s head lol

livvydimartino posted a story !

‘ beauties ready for greece😍 nailaccount love you xx ‘

twitter💬.

userone omg liv too

usertwo that account is so talented wtf

userthree does she only do influencers?

↳ userfour no she does everyone! my sister went a couple weeks ago, really affordable too xx

userfive she’ll go famous now lol

nailaccount

liked by georgeclarkeey nellarose glambyflo and 43k more

new set up!! you guys have been keeping me so booked, love you all xx

comments :

glambyflo UGH the heart dish🥹🥹

↳ nailaccount i know!!!

nellarose can’t wait to see you gorg xx

↳ nailaccount you always challenge me, love ya x

georgeclarkeey benjamin i see you in the back x

↳ nailaccount the salon is my second home, i see him more here than i would at the apartment x

userone how do i book😫😫

↳ nailaccount link in my bio or u can dm me bby x

usertwo is it safe to have candles by your set up? also hygiene with the food?

↳ nailaccount i clean my surfaces before every slot & the candles are only for those who ask in case of allergies etc.

userthree george’s comment??? benjamin is the teddy bear???

livvydimartino always my fav visit x

↳ nailaccount love you liv! xx

userfour stop she’s so aesthetic im jel

↳ nailaccount 💞💞

userfive her designs r the cutest wtf

nellarose posted a story !

‘nobody does it like my baby girl nailaccount😫😫💞💞 ‘

nailaccount

liked by max_balegde faithlouisak arthurtv and 145k more

some recent nails!! i cant even begin to express my gratitude recently, you guys are so lovely and fantastic for keeping me fully booked all the time! i’m so sorry to those who try and get booked but can’t find any free slots, i’m so busy at the moment xx

tagged — regularone , regulartwo , glambyflo , sabinablair_ , nellarose

comments :

sabinablair_ the cutest nails ever! thank you reader🤍

↳ nailaccount ❤️❤️❤️

faithlouisak gurlll i’m booking me in asap these are insane xx

↳ nailaccount don’t forget olive when she’s old enough xx

↳ behzingagram sorry, who’s paying for this?

↳ faithlouisak you x

georgeclarkeey never met a girl that apologises for her success

↳ nailaccount you LOVE this girl that apologises for her success

↳ georgeclarkeey just a smidge x

userone GUYS??? THEYRE DATING???

usertwo HIS COMMENT?? LOVE?? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING

userthree guys they’ve been dating for years, look at her personal account she posted a pic with him two years ago

yourusername

liked by georgeclarkeey theburntchip livvydimartino and 96k more

life recently x

tagged — georgeclarkeey

comments :

georgeclarkeey god that guy on the first slide has gorgeous eyes😍😍😍

↳ yourusername what about the girl :((

↳ georgeclarkeey meh

↳ yourusername this is why liv is better than you

↳ livvydimartino 😘😘😘

theburntchip give me back my man!!!!

↳ yourusername no stinkurrr

↳ calfreezy ???

alfiebuttle nature gyal and that

↳ yourusername ofc twin

userone STOP THEYRE ADORABLE

usertwo idk who i’m more jealous of

userthree the hardest soft launch ever

↳ userfour not really cuz they’ve been together for years we just never knew lmfao

↳ userfive i fear that’s exactly what a soft/hard launch is

usersix she’s gorgeous🥹🥹

userseven not him making us think he’s some weirdo loser with no rizz

↳ yourusername don’t be fooled. he is a weirdo loser with no rizz

↳ georgeclarkeey 😐😐

glambyflo the prettiest !!!

georgeclarkeey

liked by yourusername italianbach chridmd10 and 101k more

call me a soccer mom the way i’m so proud rn

i am genuinely so proud of you, reader, you’ve come so far especially these past six months it’s unbelievable. you’ve gone from working a couple of hours a few days a week to being fully booked 24/7, i don’t know how you do it. watching you grow these past four years has been amazing, keep being you, you’re doing it well. love you darling x

tagged — yourusername

comments :

yourusername i love you georgie🥲❤️

↳ georgeclarkeey ❤️❤️

yourusername ‘no george, you and max can’t bring evie to the salon’ then you get slide three when they shows up randomly.

↳ max_balegde you loved it xx

↳ yourusername cheap entertainment x

italianbach she’s doing my nails next xxx

↳ livvydimartino what is this

↳ yourusername only if you pay double

↳ italianbach why :(

↳ yourusername man x

chrismd10 i visibly recoiled at the caption

↳ georgeclarkeey fuck off then

↳ chrismd10 ‘call me a soccer mom the way i’m so proud rn’ she’s not your child you freak

↳ georgeclarkeey god forbid a man is supportive of his girlfriend

↳ arthurnfhill oh my god you’re using her phrases now too.

↳ yourusername call me a soccer mom the way i’m so proud rn xx

arthurtv cat mom and dog dad!!

↳ italianbach eugh…

↳ chrismd10 cheers pal

↳ theburntchip cringe

↳ calfreezy what a stinker

↳ arthurtv k i’ll die then

↳ yourusername we love u arthur!!

userone the hard launch we’ve all been waiting for

usertwo why r they low-key the cutest

userthree i want what they have

userfour TWO YEARS???

↳ userfive tbf george has always been a private guy

↳ theburntchip he’s nonchalant and mysterious

↳ yourusername that is NOT how i like my men

[minholuvr333]

soooooo monster skz 👀 werewolf chan??? siren felix?? vampire seungmin 👁️👁️ kyuubi jeongin! incubus hyunjin :000 orc or half orc changbin. jisung as some kind of hybrid (cat? dragon? bunny? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Do with this information what you will ✨

monster!skz drabbles i can’t stop thinking about

sweet anon… you opened the floodgates that is my monsterfucker brain. i hope you enjoy my devolve into madness >.< this is a long ass post sorry (not sorry at all btw)

pairing; skz x reader (minho is posted here!)

tw; monsterfucking, fem reader, NSFW!, pet names, unprotected sex (be smart), manhandling, blood drinking, oral (f and m receiving), blood and guts, semi public scene, vague manipulation, abo dynamics, ropes, claws fangs scales and fur (*blushes*), some degradation, biting, branding, temperature play (?), poor y/n is about to be exhausted

bang chan;

it’s late when you first meet him. you’re walking home from a night out, hands pulling your skirt down on the dimly lit street. the full moon gives an eery glow to the otherwise dark, lonely concrete path.

and yes, you know it’s stupid to walk home alone. you know you’re a little tipsy and should have called an uber, but alas, you thought the ten minute walk could clear your head. you had a fight with a friend and felt too heated to get into the stiff air of someone else’s car- so, the chilly night air seemed like a better alternative.

this alternative, however, also included a giant fucking wolf in the tree bank. you still completely when you see it, eyes glinting off the moon light, hunkered down like it waits for prey. your heart drops to your ass, surely, you’re dead. surely, you’re about to be on the morning news, torn to shreds and beyond the point of identification.

the wolf watches you from a distance. when you scoot closer to the corner, ready to make a run for it, the wolf suddenly snaps its head in the direction of the woods. you inhale- it runs off, darting back into the thick greenery.

you run.

the next day you feel like you’re caught in a haze, glowing eyes meeting you every time you close your own. so you think, maybe you need a pick me up. maybe you need a coffee.

the coffee shop is a nice, day-lit walk. the overcast sky and gentle air remind you that you are alive and well- not torn to shreds. not a late night snack for a giant beast. as you’re walking, a body brushes yours. when you turn, a man is staring back at you.

“oh! my bad,” the man says, voice smooth, grin splitting his face and dimpling his cheeks. you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as he looks over your body. he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and sticking out a large, scratched hand. his knuckles are bruised. “i didn’t mean to startle you. i’m chan.”

you don’t remember giving him your name, but you love the way it rolls off his tongue. it sounds like a sigh, an exhale, he says your name like you’ve met before. old friends, even.

chan starts popping up more and more, he becomes your best friend. loyal, strong, muscular- fucking hot- he’s the whole package. he’s the type of friend that makes it easy to blur the lines, makes it easy to see how far you can push before he pulls away. but he never does. he pushes back, closes in on you every single time.

chan is acting weird. it’s been about a month since you met, since he became so important to you, and today feels… off. you try to ask him to hang out, but he brushed you off, saying he wasn’t feeling well. instead of taking his word for it, you decide to check up on him.

you’re not crazy. if you didn’t have such a horrible pit in your stomach, such a terrible feeling, you wouldn’t bother him. but it’s nearing midnight and you can’t sleep- restless at the thought of something bad happening. so, you go to his place. you take the spare key from the potted plant next to his door, and you walk in.

chan is on his couch. chan is panting, noticeably sweating, hair mussed from constant tugging. he’s barely wearing any clothes- only boxers- and you pause as you look at him.

chan is alert, snapping his head toward you in a way that’s almost too fast. he stands on wobbly knees, frantically looking towards the night sky through his open window before looking back to you. his eyes are glowing.

“y/n,” chan pants out, brows furrowed. “fuck- go home. now!”

you aren’t quite sure what happens next. one minute, you’re standing in the entryway of chan’s apartment, watching in horror as his body starts to contort in ways that cannot possibly be real. the next minute, you’re slammed into the carpet, claws digging into the floorboard by your head and a snarling set of canine teeth way too close to your neck.

chan- at least, you think it’s chan- is above you. he is growling, sharp and animalistic. between low noises you hear a single word, filled with the need to claim, to mark you. mine.

you would have to be massively fucked up to find this hot- your pussy clenches at the sight of him, though. not quite wolf, not quite human, and you gasp loudly as claws rip through your shirt. fuck, maybe you are massively fucked up.

“you shouldn’t have came here,” chan growls, voice ripping from his throat. “stupid puppy, need your alpha to teach you some respect, hm?” you whimper. chan absolutely demolishes your clothing.

you’re soaked, probably need to pay to get the carpet cleaned, but chan doesn’t seem to mind. he growls, sniffing at your neck right where it meets your shoulder. you feel his cock- large, pulsing, hot- against your thigh and a moan passes through your lips. chan can’t help but rut into your thigh, now nipping at the skin of your neck.

“spread your legs, darling. good girls take their alpha without whining, yeah?” chan grumbles, voice a low timbre next to your ear. you shiver violently, legs spreading open as he lines up with your entrance. no prep, no lube, just your soaked cunt and his precum covered cock to ease the way.

you scream when he thrusts in, you can’t help it. it’s rough, the stretch making your vision blurry. it’s so good. you feel like you’re being split in half, marked and claimed entirely by him. you are chan’s, and in return, he is yours.

“my sweet puppy,” chan moans, rutting into you frantically. his clawed fingers grip your hips hard, sure to draw blood. you hope they leave angry red scratches. you hope your blood stays under his nails forever. you beg, a string of please please please chan please leaving your lips, although you aren’t even sure why. all you know is that your stomach is tightening, hands balling up into fists, and chan’s sharp canines are grazing the fragile skin of your neck.

“gonna mate you- fuck, y/n-“ chan is panting now, teeth grinding together like he wants nothing more than to sink them into you. you want him to so bad, you bare your neck for him. “shit. gonna fill you so full, you’re gonna take my knot-“

chan’s teeth sink into your neck. you moan loudly, the noise ripping from your throat like an animal of its own, and you cum- hard. then chan is cumming too, pumping his load into you and thrusting in to the hilt, a large bump at the base of his cock wedging inside of you and staying there. his knot, probably.

you spend an uncertain amount of time- maybe minutes, maybe hours- on the ground, panting and allowing chan to lick your neck clean. he’s practically purring, hands no longer clawed as they run through your hair. finally, he is able to pull out. you whine, earning a sweet hushing sound from the man as he carries you to lay down. a gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead. you fall asleep laying in your mate’s arms.

changbin;

the last thing you expected when you heard a loud bang on your front door was this.

a man stands towering over you. huge- well over seven feet tall, muscles the size of your head, and the expression of someone that would easily murder you without blinking twice. holy fucking shit, you’re dead.

when he bullies his way into your apartment, opening the pantry door and killing a fucking demon right in front of your eyes, you’re surprised to say the least. a demon was messing with your pancake mix and shit.

the man- the orc, rather, tells you his name is changbin. he’s grumpy- a little pissy all the time. you tell him you’re fine, but he insists on staying around a little longer to ensure your safety. humans are too dumb and fragile to be safe on their own, he grunts. he wants to make sure the threat is eliminated.

he stays with you for months. not only in your home, but physically with you. all the time. honestly, you assumed this would annoy you. you consider yourself to be pretty independent, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like having scary guard dog privileges.

changbin is bigger than any human man you could ever meet. no one approaches you, no one tries to pick you up when you’re having fun with your friends. changbin is always there, like a statue next to you, ready to fight (and kill) anyone who looks at you wrong. it’s oddly peaceful. you feel safe.

the thing is, changbin does not make empty threats. he told you he would keep you safe, and he has proven that he will. the demon in your pantry was the first instance; the sleazy man in denim staring you down from across the room will be the second.

sometimes, men have no survival skills. you can tell this is one of those times as the man wobbles on his feet, stalking towards you and flopping down into the chair to your right.

immediately, you say you’re not interested. why would you be when you’ve been fucking yourself to the thought of your hot orc bodyguard every night? but the man doesn’t take no for an answer. his hand moves to touch your bare thigh.

it never makes contact. instead, there’s a sickening crack as the man falls from his seat with a loud cry, holding his wrist. you didn’t even see changbin move, but suddenly he’s towering over the figure and raising his fist in the air.

you dart out of your seat, tugging at changbin’s snug shirt and whining about wanting to go home. obviously, murder would be a hard crime to plea innocent for- especially when half the bar is staring in your direction. changbin is still for moments, then he huffs loudly. grumbling, he circles your wrist with two large fingers and drags you towards the exit of the bar.

you can tell he’s pissed. and really, he doesn’t give you a chance to ask him about it. as soon as the door to your apartment is locked, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking large strides towards your bedroom. you punch and kick at him, telling him to let you down, but it’s wasted energy. he throws you onto the bed without breaking a sweat.

“ridiculous,” he scoffs, arms crossed and visibly fuming. “can’t even go out of the house without having useless humans beg for your attention.”

then, he’s closer. caging your thighs in between muscular legs and pinning your wrists at your head. “but i don’t have to beg, right y/n?” he asks, voice still tinged with anger. “no, i don’t. you will, though.”

your clothes are ripped away in seconds, the cotton fabric feeling so flimsy under his strong hands. changbin undresses next, leaving you panting and your eyes bulging at the sight of his massive cock. it’s almost as big as your forearm. you’re about to be ripped apart, just like your clothes.

“don’t worry, fragile little thing,” changbin huffs. “i’ll get you nice and wet. ready to take what i give you.”

and he does. changbin’s tongue, large and dripping with his spit, licks a stripe through your already wet pussy. he moans at the taste, sound vibrating your sensitive clit as he moves his tongue and lips. your hands thread in his hair, legs spread wide open around his strong, solid shoulders.

changbin’s tongue fucks into you deeper than anyone has ever been, your own fingers couldn’t even do it justice. he prods at your bundle of nerves, with each press of his tongue fire zips up your spine. he can tell when you get close- legs trying to squeeze around his head but unable to move much- and he… stops.

you whine and cry for more, begging for the release you could practically taste, but changbin doesn’t respond to your cries. instead, one solid arm flips you over in a single movement; you’re on your stomach now, large hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you to your hands and knees.

“have to make sure stupid assholes know who you belong to,” he grunts, hands tightening on your hips. you’ll have finger shaped bruises on your lower stomach tomorrow. the dimples of your back with be marked with purple kisses. the thought brings you that much closer to desperation.

when changbin lines his cock up with your greedy hole, you clench in anticipation. he grumbles in annoyance under his breath, large thumbs spreads your cunt open to make way for his length. then, he slides home.

your eyes roll back when you feel his hips press against your ass, head falling to hang between your arms. his hand stretches over your stomach- palming himself from within your body. fuck.

changbin starts thrusting, hips smacking into your ass and turning it bright red. you hold onto the headboard, hoping it doesn’t break- the bed is creaking. mattresses are expensive. each and every thrust inside you leaves you dripping, and if you were capable of forming any thoughts you would be embarrassed of the wet sounds coming from the place where the two of you are connected.

changbin shifts, long fingers coming to press against your clit and move in tight, fast circles. then he’s groaning, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as he moans, “fuck, you feel like heaven- cum for me, pretty girl. wanna feel you squeeze my cock-”

and then you cum. harder and more earth-shattering than you ever have in your life.

you get impossibly tighter around his length, pussy throbbing with every wave of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. changbin isn’t far behind you, pounding into your heat once more before burying himself deep inside you and cumming, stuffing you full.

when you come back down from the clouds, changbin is wiping your body with a warm washcloth. you blink sleepily at him, smiling in your dazed state at the feeling of his gentle movements, as if afraid to hurt you now. when he is done, he climbs into bed beside you. large, strong arms wrap around you like a blanket, a kiss lands in your hair. as you’re dozing off, he mumbles out a last breath into the night air- a promise.

“i’ll always keep you safe, baby. you can count on me.”

hyunjin;

really, you’ve had plenty of stupid ideas in your life. this one might take the cake.

summoning a demon with the intention of trapping it, with the intention of tricking it into hunting someone down for you, is a bad idea. you know that. when your best friend had proposed the idea, handing you an incantation that predated modern latin, you had told him exactly how bad you thought the idea was. but here you are- black candles lit in a circle of salt, a bowl of your own blood resting in the middle.

granted, you probably should have learned old latin pronunciation. or maybe even like, new latin. really, any form of latin. but you didn’t, because the idea was already bad. how could it get worse?

in the end, the incantation didn’t even work. the candles burnt out, your blood remained cold in the ceramic bowl, and you were left with nothing but vague frustration as you cleaned your kitchen floor of the mess.

you lay down for the night shortly after, snuggling under your blankets and feeling the softness of them against your smooth, bare legs. with a sigh, you sleep.

then you wake up- sweating, heart racing, bolting upright to dart your eyes around your room.

you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. you feel the urge to bolt from your bed, run out the door and keep running. someone- something- is watching you. you can’t explain how you know, you just know.

then, you see it. from the corner of your dark room, there is a figure crouched in your floor. you sharply inhale when crimson eyes meet your own, the shadow tilting it’s head in observance. slowly, the figure stands.

as it comes into the abysmal light from your window, you can start to make out certain features. elegant legs taking graceful steps, slim fingers attached to large, veiny hands. long, black hair cascades over broad shoulders, and those eyes- blood red, glinting with mischief in the sliver of light.

it’s a man, you think. a shockingly beatiful man. you feel the bed dip as hands press down on the mattress, the figure slowly crawling up until he is caging you in from all sides.

a low hum rumbles in his chest, then, “it has been centuries since i have been called upon, millenniums since the being was so… mouthwatering.”

the man leans in close, stealing the breath from your lungs as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “so tell me, y/n. why did you call?”

oh, so he knows your name. fantastic.

“i… i need to kill a man.” you mutter, doe eyes batting upwards in nervousness. you were much more confident when you went over your script in the bathroom mirror. the man laughs breathily, shifting his weight to trail fingertips down your neck, collarbone, and downward. the fingers stop at your cleavage- right where your tank top starts.

“you called me for a murder? darling, i never get my hands dirty. i prefer to feed on those who are more than willing.”

shit. you really should have learned how to pronounce that incantation.

you gulp audibly, hand shaking as it moves to the demon’s chest. your intent had been to push him off of you, but now that your hand has made contact with chilled skin and strong muscle, you can’t find it in yourself to drag it away.

“do not lie to yourself, doll. why did your heart call to me?” the demon mutters, his hand enveloping your own on his bare chest. he moves your hand down, down further, until it rests at the silk fabric above his groin. your fingers curl into it without thinking.

“maybe-“ your voice cracks, so you try again. to your humiliation, the demon grins. “maybe i wanted… to forget?”

now, the fingertips at your cleavage move further, dragging your top down and off your shoulders- off your body all together. you fight the urge to whine as cool air hardens your pert nipples, the demon locking eyes with you as your shirt leaves your body. his grin widens, dark and warning. your heart accelerates against your ribcage.

“that, i can do. it is what i was made for, after all.”

the demon wastes no time revealing your body, strong hands leaving chills in their wake each time he removes more clothing. next, the silk around his hips unfolds, revealing the biggest, prettiest cock you have ever laid eyes on. and you have never thought a dick to be pretty in your life.

your mouth is watering- the demon coos at you like he knows. his hand wanders into your hair, petting the strands before gripping you tightly and moving forward so that his length is just out of your reach. with glassy eyes and a breathless sigh, you open your mouth for him. and he takes full advantage.

his cock is heavy on your tongue, throbbing when you whine around him and close your lips to suck at the tip. he pushes further in, continuing to use your hair as a guide to push and pull your mouth on his length. he groans, low and deep, when you feel him hit the back of your throat and you swallow.

“good, darling. worship me,” he hums. and you do.

drool leaks from your lips, down your chin, as the demon uses your mouth to his content. when you move a hand up to stroke him, he gently slaps it away with a hush. with one final tug of your hair, he leaves you panting, mouth open, and tears falling from your eyes. you aren’t sure if you are thankful for a breath of air- you want to choke by his hands.

“stop whining, doll. i will give you what you desire most,” he grins, sharp teeth glimmering in the darkness of the room. his eyes are brighter somehow, red pools of blood swirling in otherwise black irises. your legs spread wider, bracketing his sharp hip bones as his length presses to your entrance, running his cock head through your soaked folds and watching you clench around nothing in desperation.

when he presses in, it’s slow. deliberate. like he wants to make sure a space is carved out for every inch. when he is buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush to yours, he lets his head fall back with a sigh- as if embracing a lost lover. he pulls out just as slow, you feel him pulse as just the tip of his cock rests inside your wet, messy hole.

then, his hips snap.

the pace he sets is immediate- bruising, deep, pulling your thighs so that your legs are around his broad shoulders, ass lifted off the bed. his hands grip your hips like he will never let go, the promises of bruises seared into his touch. and you scream, hands reaching for his arms and clawing at his skin, sure to draw blood. instead of a complaint, the only thing to fall from his lips is a long, animalistic groan.

it’s all so much- so many sensations pulling you in so deep you feel like you’re suffocating. one of his hands moves to your nipple, plucking and pinching meanly just to feel the way you clench around him.

the demon can tell when you’re close, it only makes him double his efforts. his claws prickle your hip where they draw blood, he pants and moans loudly when he licks his fingers clean.

“fuck- darling, you taste so good. show me how you feel when you fall apart, when i take what is mine.”

with those words, you’re completely swallowed in pleasure. as you cum, moaning and sobbing and shaking, the demon moans too. his eyes roll back, snapping his hips once more before burying himself to the hilt inside your pulsing cunt and cumming- long, thick ropes covering your walls.

the demon shushes you gently as you cry with the aftershocks, turning you onto your side and slipping in behind you. you’re a mess; sweat covered skin, blood drying on your hip bones, cum leaking from your aching cunt. he doesn’t seem to care, just pushes your hair away from your face and mouths at the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“you did amazing, doll. perfect for me,” you hear him hum into your back before your eyelids grow heavy.

you black out. you know you do, because when you wake it is to the sound of birds chirping and early morning light. you’re fully clothed, your pjs from the night before hanging off your body- wrinkled, but clean.

that was the hottest dream i have ever had, you think, stretching and groaning when your limbs pop after being still for so long.

you go to the bathroom groggily, still foggy brain barely wincing at the bright lights. when you look in the mirror, you pause.

the back of your shirt has a large, dark red stain. blood. it has to be.

your heart drops to your ass as you gently lift your shirt in the mirror, gritting your teeth as sensitive, aching flesh hits the cold air. then you gasp- wide eyes staring at your back in shock.

right between the dimples at the bottom of your spine, large and dark crimson from dried blood, lies one word. italicized cursive, a stamp on your body that will surely take forever to heal; a brand that will stay scarred long after the pain subsides.

hyunjin.

jisung;

in hindsight, you probably should have done a background check on your new roomie before he moved in.

but really, your intuition is so good! and han jisung did not seem like a murderer or stalker- he seemed like a very strange, very hot, loser.

and for fucks sake, that’s your type.

so he moved in shortly after responding to your craigslist ad, shortly after you met for coffee to get to know each other. and to be fair, things haven’t been bad. just… odd.

jisung might be a little weirder than you had initially thought. the man has a metric fuck ton of trinkets- and hey, you love trinkets! but he brought boxes full of things; little gold coins, gold statues of various animals and deities, ashtrays with golden flecks molded into them. you had initially joked that you were more of a silver girl, jisung had just wrinkled his nose and huffed at you. huffed.

not only does he have a hoarding issue, but jisung is also like, incredibly clothed. all the time.

here’s the thing: it’s the middle of fucking july. there is no reason for jisung to be wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, t shirt tucked in underneath. you sweat just looking at him. and he wears these weird ass contacts- all the time. bright blue eyes were jarring to see staring back at you in your kitchen at first, but whatever. you got used to it.

about a month after moving in, jisung started leaving you gifts. little crystals, flowers that he had definitely picked himself- they were never creepy, he always tried to play it cool, but the blush high on his cheeks made you hide smiles behind your hands. you knew he wanted you to like him, and it was working.

you’re a simple gal- when jisung comes home from one of his late night walks, silently placing a rock next to you (a geode, split open and glimmering delicately in the low light) it makes you swoon a little. when he knocks on your bedroom door and holds out a beautiful silk fabric, emerald green and expensive to the touch, mumbling something about how he had too many clothes and you deserve it, you melt. he’s just too damn cute.

the longer jisung shared your apartment, the more time the two of you spent together. suddenly, you couldn’t imagine your life without jisung. he’s your very best friend. he’s clingy in the same way you are, love language shown in his effort to spend quality time in your presence and give you pretty things. living with jisung comes easy, natural.

you have never seen jisung mad.

he’s a chill guy. a nice dude. he is frustratingly calm all the time, laughing off jabs directed towards him, grinning in amusement when you try to push his buttons. nothing gets under his skin, like ever. and it drives you crazy, because you want to get under his skin- just once. just to see what would happen.

jisung is very adamant about having time alone. part of the reason the two of you work so well living together is because he works from home and you work in an office, meaning he gets to be by himself from 9-5 every weekday. jisung also values honesty. he is incredibly loyal, never leaving your side whenever you’re at home or spending time around the city together, and he expects the same from you. he expects honesty, loyalty, and his alone time.

which is why you plan to break all three of these expectations at once. just to see what will happen.

you have another friend who you love dearly. he thinks you’re a little insane, suggesting your master plan to him, but he also lives for the drama. it isn’t hard to get him on board with your idea. it isn’t hard to call into work and say you’re sick. it is a little hard to look jisung in the eyes and tell him you’re leaving for work that morning- but you hope he will forgive you.

“it’s just a prank, relax,” you huff to your friend, walking down the hallway to your apartment door. he rolls his eyes, whining behind you.

“i literally don’t know this man, he could kill me!”

you laugh in response but say nothing more as you quietly step up to your front door. when you have slowly turned the key, unlocking it, you look back to your friend with raised brows. now or never.

he sighs, grimacing in annoyance before grabbing you by the waist and leaning into your neck. he whispers i hate your guts into your ear before you back into the door, opening it quickly.

you don’t see jisung immediately, but you know he sees you. you giggle and thread your fingers into your friends long hair, trying not to actually laugh at the feeling of his lips pecking your neck. there are no butterflies, no arousal pulls in your stomach, it feels almost clinical- but you pull out your best acting skills to moan softly.

you hear the tv show playing stop as jisung pauses the tv, cursing loudly. when you peak an eye open, pushing your friend away in fake shock, jisung is covering himself with a blanket. for a moment the room is silent. you stare at jisung with wide eyes, fighting a grin as he stares back at you, chest heaving from the unexpected entrance.

“shit, sungie- i didn’t realize you would be home,” you curse, faking an apologetic look and smoothing out your skirt. jisung blinks back at you, stare blank for a moment. then, his eyes turn to slits- head tilting as he looks between the two of you.

“y/n,” jisung states, calm. too calm. “could you tell the other thing to leave? we should chat.”

your friend has his hand on the door before jisung is even finished- coward. he mutters something about hoping your lay is worth his life, and as the door closes you lock it, biting your lip when you turn back around.

it’s too quiet. jisung has his legs crossed under the blanket, whole body covered by the fabric, but his eyes are still pinning you to your spot. when you open your mouth to speak, jisung holds up a hand to stop you.

“you know, y/n, i think this is really funny.” he says, looking entirely unamused. his tongue pokes into his cheek as he shifts under the blanket- uncomfortable in his seat. “it’s so funny that you just- what? conveniently forgot i work from home? forgot i am always here, every weekday? forgot i don’t like having uninvited- pests, in my home? touching my things?”

your mouth is dry. you can’t speak, can only squeeze your thighs together and try to squeak something out. “sungie, i-“

“no. there’s no need for that,” jisung cuts you off again. “you know what i think you’re doing?”

then, he stands. the blanket is left to fall on the ground, and you immediately notice three things.

one: jisung is wearing baggy shorts and a tank top. you have never seen this much honey skin- if your mouth was dry before, now it’s like cotton.

two: jisung is jacked. biceps protrude from his top, strong calves and thighs, huge pecs-

three: jisung… has fucking scales. honest to god scales- red and orange crawling up his arms, down his legs, and peaking out from under his tank top. you flush, suddenly feeling too sweaty in the cool air of the room.

jisung doesn’t stop until he is right in front of you, now looking down at you through thick, dark lashes. his eyes are even orange- bright, with cat-like pupils. that explains the contacts.

“i think, you knew i would be home.” he murmurs, tongue (forked fucking tongue) peaking out to lick his bottom lip. when your breath catches in your throat, he grins- too-sharp white teeth making your knees feel wobbly.

he doesn’t stop talking. “you know i’m always home, you know i don’t like people in my space, and you know i don’t fucking like lying. so you’re either really, really stupid, or you did this on purpose.” jisung leans in closer, eyes practically glowing as he huffs through his nose, agitated. his hand comes up to your neck, holding the side of your throat in his grasp- not applying pressure, just holding, as if to say i could hurt you if i wanted to.

“so y/n, which is it? are you just really fucking stupid?” then, he gives your throat a shake- jostling your head like a doll. “or was it on purpose?”

you’re silent. speechless. stunned and blinking dumbly at your roommate. you can see the vibrant scales on his arm from the corner of your eye, reminding you jisung isn’t fucking human- at least, not entirely. suddenly you feel like an animal, small and weak and trapped in the hunter’s lair.

your pussy throbs. holy shit.

jisung is waiting for you to speak, so you muster what little words you can remember through the fog in your brain. “you- you caught me, ji. it was on purpose.”

jisung’s tongue pokes into his cheek as he raises an eyebrow, head lifting condescendingly. “oh really? and what made you think you could get away with that?”

you flush, thighs squeezing tighter together. jisung notices this time, cat-like eyes flicking down to your legs before they’re back on yours. you clear your throat, his hand briefly squeezes before letting go to simply hold you again.

“maybe i didn’t think i could get away with it,” you whisper, batting long eyelashes up at him. “wanted to know how far i could push before you pushed back.”

that seems to be all it takes. jisung laughs once, nodding as if he had just made a decision in his head. then, you’re being shoved back into the wall- hand on your neck pinning you to the surface. his other hand moves to your top, pulling it down roughly and revealing your hard nipples to the air. you gasp at the sudden shift, but the sound is swallowed as jisung kisses you harshly.

all you can do is moan as jisung kisses you, meanly biting into your bottom lip until your mouth opens and his forked tongue meets yours. the hand not gripping your neck tugs on your thigh and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around his waist and leaning your weight into the wall behind you.

jisung breaks away from the kiss, lips traveling to your neck to bite and lick across the skin. then, his mouth is on the top of your breasts. “you wanna see me push back, baby?” he breathes into your skin, making eye contact with you briefly. “this is me pushing back.”

jisung’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. you moan breathlessly, head tilting back into the wall. jisung’s mouth is warm- but it gets warmer. it gets hot, tongue like liquid fire as he kisses across your chest to tease your other pert nipple.

“fuck- jisung, that-“ you gasp, moaning at the heat blooming into your skin. you feel him grin against you, lips pressing a chaste kiss to your chest before he raises up.

“you like that? like feeling that flame, baby?” jisung purrs, pupils dilated to near-circles. you whimper as he flips your skirt up around your waist, nodding quickly.

you do like it, the feeling of his molten tongue leaving a searing trail over your sensitive skin. in your half-delirious state you wish it would leave marks. then jisung moves his hand from your neck, rubbing his thumb up and down your soaked underwear and laughing to himself.

“shit, baby. already a mess and i’ve barely done anything, hm?” he coos, pressing harder against your clit through the thin fabric. you whine, trying to grind your hips into his hand. he takes pity on you, tsking once before finally pulling your panties to the side.

you sharply inhale when jisung’s finger enters you without warning- jisung inhales too, mocking you. the look you get when you raise your head to weakly glare at him makes you clench around his finger. not only is he enjoying this, but he knows you are too. jisung is always so nice, so gentle, but now? seeing him mean and biting, teasing you with dexterous hands and a mischievous glint in his eyes? you’re so turned on it hurts. you need him- bad.

but you know jisung. you can feel his hard cock pressing into the swell of your ass, you know he wants this just as bad as you do. he slides a second finger inside of you and you moan as he curls them, pressing insistently into that sweet bundle of nerves.

“fuck, y/n- you’re putting on such a good show,” jisung grins, fingers moving faster. “my hand is dripping, rockstar.”

you whine, long and drawn out, hands clenching on his shoulders. “god- close, jisung! please, please don’t-”

you feel his lips on your neck, heat licking up your spine as he growls into the skin. “cum, baby. cum all over my fingers.”

you fall apart just like that; your thighs shake, sensitive cunt tightening and pulsing around jisung’s fingers. then, you feel his fingers leave you as something way fucking bigger takes their place.

jisung thrusts his entire length into you in one swift motion that has you sobbing- hands clawing at his shoulders hard enough to break skin while you’re still pulsing from your orgasm. you feel his cock splitting you open, the stretch of it aching in a way that makes you feel dizzy. you’re still throbbing, pussy clenching around his length as you come down from your high, and he doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he’s adjusting his grip on your ass and shifting his hips.

“just like that, baby,” jisung pants, snapping his hips forward like he’s starved. “gripping me so tight, that little cunt is greedy, huh?”

all you can do is moan, tears falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. jisung uses his thumbs to spread your pussy, watching himself fuck in and out of you with a half-manic look in his eyes. he bites down hard on his bottom lip, starting to rub your oversensitive clit in tight little circles while nailing your g spot with every thrust- you might die like this. to your shock, you feel close again.

this time, you barely open your mouth before your orgasm is slamming into you, white-hot and licking up your spine like a fire. jisung groans loudly, forehead falling to your chest, hips moving quicker as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“just like that, rockstar. squeeze my cock- fuck,” he rambles, pistoning his length into you for a few more seconds before moaning and squeezing his eyes shut, mouth falling open as you feel his release coat your aching walls.

you’re still whimpering when jisung pulls you off the wall, shushing you gently as he carries you to his room. you register vague details, like the shiny trinkets littering his shelves and the heaps of soft, silky blankets you’re deposited onto. when jisung crawls into the bed behind you, spooning you under the warm, weighted blankets, you hear him purring.

“next time you want attention, just ask baby.” jisung huffs, rubbing your back tenderly. “i would be happy to give it to you.”

felix;

you have never really liked the ocean.

it’s creepy- being in water that is so vast, knowing you could be swallowed deep in a seconds notice, no one to hear your screams over the roaring waves- it’s scary. you’re much safer on dry land, where you can walk and breathe fresh air.

going on a cruise is genuinely the last thing you ever wanted to do. but your best friend bought the tickets for her birthday, and it would be decidedly shitty of you to say no. so you find yourself here- laying on the deck with your friends surrounding the pool, waves looking darker under the rising moon. the sun had set half an hour ago, and the lull of the waves crashing into the ship has rocked you into a sense of security. your eyes are half closed, breath coming softly.

“psst, y/n,” your best friend shakes you, making you look up sleepily. “i think we’re heading back in. coming?”

you nod, yawning and stretching. “in a second, my leg is asleep. i’ll catch up,” you chuckle, trying to rub the pins and needles out of your calf. you watch your friends head back inside, sighing and leaning back against the cheap plastic chair again.

you fell asleep- like a fool. you don’t know how much time has passed when you blink your eyes open, but the moon is hanging right above you in the sky. you shiver, the chilled night air causing goosebumps to appear on your bare arms and legs.

the thought of being alone, on the ship’s deck in the middle of the night, leaves an eery feeling in the pit of your stomach. you sit up quickly, trying to calm the anxiety in your throat, when you hear someone behind you clearing their throat softly.

your body jerks- head snapping towards the sound so fast your neck pops.

behind you stands a man. a gorgeous man. clear honey skin, long blond hair, full pouty lips. you blink at he waves and draws closer, trying to even out your rapid heart rate. when he sits down gently beside you, you feel much calmer. a deep breath leaves you.

“hello, beautiful. what’s got you out here so late?” a deep, soothing voice rumbles from the man’s chest. you feel your breath come easier, as if his voice is giving you oxygen.

“i fell asleep…” you mutter softly, raising an eyebrow as you take in his body- dripping wet, by the way. “what’s got you soaked?”

the man grins, sharp white teeth and freckled cheeks and crinkles by his eyes. the moon is above you, but you feel the warmth of the sun. you grin back at him, almost subconsciously.

“i just showered,” the man laughs. “can i have your name? i’m felix.”

“yeah, it’s y/n. you showered fully clothed, felix?” you ask, brow furrowed although you don’t feel as confused as you should be. the more felix talks to you, the more you sink into your chair. you could listen to him for the rest of your life.

felix flashes a dazzling grin again, but his eyes seem somehow sharper- like he knows something you don’t, like you just handed him a golden ticket. you barely blink when he shifts closer, shifting your legs into his lap so he can sit in the lounge chair with you. the closeness makes you feel dizzy; a warm, swooping feeling running down your spine.

“enough about me, love.” felix says calmly, thumb running back and forth on your bare thigh. “who left you out here all alone?”

your friends- you had forgot about them. “oh, my friends… i should head back to the room.” you pout, so comfortable where you are.

felix blinks at you like he feels sympathy. like you’re a toddler who doesn’t understand anything about the world around you. he tsks at you, lifting your chin with his index finger and thumb. holding eye contact when he whispers, “or… you could stay with me, right?”

right. you could do that- why didn’t you think of that? felix smiles softly at you, looking proud. it makes your cheeks flush and your stomach clench. felix’s eyes are glimmering, little silver specks of glitter wafting through pools of deep, dark ocean water. the thumb holding your chin moves to your bottom lip, opening your mouth gently. then, he’s leaning in.

his tongue slips into your mouth. immediately, you’re gone. you moan softly into his touch, letting his tongue flick behind your teeth and circle your own like he’s claiming you. his hand tightens on your thigh and before you can really comprehend it, he has flipped your positions so that you are straddling his waist.

“are you gonna fuck me, gorgeous? hmm?” felix hums, smiling when you nod rapidly. his shorts are pulled down, long cock heavy against your stomach as he pumps himself. “go ahead, love. show me how good you can be for me, yeah?”

you whimper, hips grinding against his length as the words wash over you. felix is holding your hip steady, taking his other hand away from himself to move your bathing suit bottoms to the side and reveal your wet cunt to the cold air. you gasp, rocking back and forth and getting more soaked at the feeling of felix’s hard cock between your folds.

you feel so good- too good. you could cum just like this, pussy dripping onto the length of his pretty cock. but felix has different plans, he taps your thigh lightly to get you to stop, lining his member up with your clenching hole, and pushes in.

you feel like you’re drowning- fully seated, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. you whimper quietly, circling your hips to get used to the feeling. when felix’s hands tighten against your hips, you slowly start moving.

at this angle, his cock hits your most sensitive spots with every thrust. all you can do is bury your head into the side of his neck, moaning and bouncing on his length, fucking yourself like your life depends on it. you want to feel good, of course, but you want felix to feel better. the thought of giving him pleasure, making him cum, makes you more soaked with every thrust.

“look at me, angel,” felix says, the words rolling off his tongue like a song. he grips your hair firmly, using it to pull your head up.

you moan, the sound turning into a gasp when your eyes settle behind him before you meet his gaze. the boat- you’re still on the boat. you’re out in the open, being fucked within an inch of your life by the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“what if someone sees us?” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing as you slow to a halt. felix laughs breathily, shifting you on his lap so he can bend his legs.

“let them see, i want everyone to know how good i fuck you.”

felix’s hips snap- his length moving in and out of your ruined cunt hard.

you scream.

you hope the sound is drowned out by the waves- the waves that have gotten rockier since the last time you can recall. beyond the sound of water crashing into the ship, all you can hear is felix, and felix doesn’t seem to care about the waves.

his hips continue to meet your ass, the pace so harsh it might bruise (you hope it does). you’re breathless, but felix is still talking.

“that feel good, baby? tell me, who do you belong to now? who’s pretty little pussy is this?” he grunts, leaning forward to press biting kisses to your chest.

“you- fuck, it belongs to you!” you whine, trying desperately to meet his thrusts. your legs have gone useless, thighs made of gelatin, but you still try. you want to make him feel so good.

“that’s right, baby. all mine to use,” felix groans, hand moving from your hip to your ass. suddenly, there’s a long fucking finger- and it’s pressing into you. right beside felix’s length.

you whine one more time, the feeling of being stuffed full enough to have you blacking out as you cum. your body is in overdrive, spine zipping with lighting, stars bursting behind your eyelids, pussy clenching around felix’s length and finger tight.

the feeling has felix gasping, pretty glittering eyes rolling back in his head as he cums, hot and deep inside you. you feel full to the brim, ropes of the sticky substance hitting your walls and making you throb again. you feel owned.

felix is still inside you when you come down from your high, face buried in his neck. he smells like sea salt and fresh air. you feel him tap your thigh again, causing you to blink at him sleepily, still feeling trance-like. he smiles softly at you, tucking stray hairs behind your ear and wiping tears from your face. when had you started crying?

“are you ready to go home, beautiful?” he asks, deep voice making you feel safe and satiated- warm despite the night chill. you nod softly, leaning into his hand as he cradles your face.

“yeah,” you mutter, yawning. “take me home.”

felix pulls out of you, gently hushing your whines of emptiness. he pulls your bathing suit back into place, scooping you up in his arms. you look out at the blurry scenery, watching as felix walks the two of you to the ledge of the ship. the waves are calm again, brushing the boat like a small animal saying hello. it feels inviting.

“let’s go home, love.” felix hums. and you do.

you go home.

seungmin;

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle on top of the hill by the cemetery. you’re sure of it.

your friend group jokes about this all the time- let’s go say hi to the vampire, i’m sure the vampire at the cemetery would love a snack, etcetera, etcetera. it’s one of the longest running jokes your friends have.

“okay, y/n- i dare you to go say hi to our friendly neighborhood vampire.”

still, it never gets old.

you laugh, running a hand through your hair as your friends whoop and holler, encouraging you to take the dare. rolling your eyes, you say, “what if he doesn’t want my company?”

another friend giggles, “c’mon y/n, don’t be a coward! are you… scared?”

really, that’s how you end up here- at the cemetery gates, one in the morning, your friend group yelling and pointing their phones at you as you walk inside.

“if i die, i’m haunting every single one of you bitches,” you laugh, shaking your head. you turn towards the cemetery, just barely able to make out the shape of the eery, desolate castle in the distant fog. well, it’s now or never.

the further you get into the fog of the night, you start to shiver. it’s cold out, late autumn air making your skin tingle. you’re sure the corpses around you are staying warmer. when you arrive at the foot of the hill, you wipe your sweaty palms against your long skirt and start your ascent.

from afar, the castle is big. up close, standing in front of the long, towering doorway, you realize it is gigantic. the gothic, stained glass windows and cobblestone exterior are beautiful, but the sheer mass of the building has something stirring in your gut. nerves attack your stomach as you raise your hand to knock.

knocking is the most reasonable thing to do, right?

there’s no answer- shocker. it’s the middle of the night, and if anyone truly does live here, they would be asleep. though, you doubt anyone actually resides in the castle. you’ve never seen anyone coming or going, the cobwebs on the door knockers proof of the vacancy. whatever. this was a waste of time.

your phone chimes, a message from your group chat stating go in or you lose!

annoyed, you huff. apparently, this will continue to waste your time.

you steadily grip the intricate door handle, polished stone carved with symbols you don’t understand, and twist the knob. at first it doesn’t budge- but then, a loud creak as it is pushed open.

you grunt with the force you have to exert, but manage to crack the door wide enough to squeeze inside. once you’re in, the door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate with an ominous click. the sudden silence makes your ears ring.

taking a deep breath, trying to ignore your rapid heart rate, you look at your surroundings. to your left is a large living area, deep red silk covers each sofa with yellow vines sewn into the fabric. a matching red rug sits underneath a large, mahogany coffee table, which is in front of a massive fire place. you breathe in deeply, smelling the lingering scent of burning wood.

someone has been here.

you carefully make your way further into the room, running fingers over books lining a shelved wall. no dust- you blink at your fingertips.

turning towards the fireplace, you squat down to hold a hand over the burnt wood. heat emits from the pile, warming your palm. then, you still. you didn’t feel it before, but you do now. something is behind you.

“oh, the spider caught a fly.”

you stand in record time, fighting the black spots dotting your vision as you twist to stare at the man before you. dark, elegant suit pants, a tan silk shirt, and heavy rings adorning calloused fingers. dark brown hair feathers out over his forehead, leading you to stare in shock as he looks back at you with crimson irises.

“well?” the man questions, raising a single eyebrow. “i would start running, little one.”

you run.

your feet stomp against the wooden floorboards as you try to sprint back to the door. when you had came in, it was only a handful of steps. now, it feels like the door keeps getting further and further away. when you successfully make it past the living room threshold you reach a hand out for the polished doorknob.

you hear a ripping sound, followed by an oomf! as you crash onto the floor. looking back you realize-

your fucking skirt got hung on a loose nail.

of course it did. you aren’t the final girl in some fucked up horror movie, this is real life. if anything, you would be the dumb one that dies in the first fifteen minutes.

you hear a low chuckle as the man slowly comes closer, shoes clicking in the silence of the room. you can’t hold back a whimper as he towers over you, feet planted on either side of your hips. you couldn’t move- couldn’t try to run anymore. he would just catch you.

he crouches down, smiling small and sharp and a little cruel as he looks you in the eye.

“that was pathetic,” he mutters. you nod slowly; it was pathetic. “what’s your name, little lamb?”

your voice is shaky when you reply, “y/n.”

“y/n,” the man mumbles, tilting his head as if deciding how it tastes on his tongue. he reaches out a hand, lifting your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. he is holding you a little roughly, making your lips pout slightly as you furrow your brow.

“it is a pleasure to meet you, y/n. call me seungmin. can you repeat that for me?” the man- seungmin- asks, although you don’t feel like you have much of a choice.

“…seungmin?” you whisper, the name foreign on your tongue. you might be delusional, but it tastes good in your mouth- like heady incense and metal.

when he grips your chin harder, sharp nails digging into your soft skin, you wince. that only serves to make him hold tighter, shaking your head slightly. “no whining. do you know why i asked you to say my name?”

you shake your head slowly, eyes watering at his grip. seungmin grins, and your blood runs cold. fangs. honest to god fangs are seated where his canines should be.

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle above the cemetery. you fucking knew it.

“because after i’m done with you, it is the only name you will remember.”

you’re hauled off the ground before you can process the words, and you’re being tossed onto silk sheets before you can even question how you got up the large, winding staircase in the hall so quickly. you yelp as he plops you onto the bed, not harshly but not soft. he treats you like a thing- an object he doesn’t care to break.

seungmin considers you for a moment, eyes dragging over every inch of your body. you feel naked and exposed, fragile and prey-like, and he hasn’t even touched you.

“i will only say this once,” he mutters, hands behind his back as he steps forward. he sits on the edge of silk sheets, looking every bit like some ancient, biblical statue of god. he smirks at you, unable to hold it back, like he can read your mind. and maybe he can- do vampires have superpowers like twilight made them out to?

“i am hungry, y/n,” seungmin says quietly, snapping your focus back to the present. he raises a hand, one singular finger running over your exposed calf. your breath hitches like you’ve been touched with a live wire. the ghost of a smile turns his lips upwards- feeling your reaction to him.

“i am starved,” he continues, fingertip trailing up and up, taking the bottom of your skirt with it. his movements stops half way up your thigh, pausing right before your skirt is moved to expose everything underneath. then, locking eyes with you:

“but you will let me feed, right?”

your chest rises and falls as if you’ve ran a marathon- panting for air and locked in a staring contest with something ancient, magic thrumming through his veins and curling down your throat heavy enough to make air scarce in your lungs.

you’re shaking, terrified, but beneath all the adrenaline and sweat clinging to your skin- you’re fucking soaked.

the realization makes you squeeze your thighs, knees knocking together. seungmin notices- of course he does- his sharp eyebrow raises.

“i need an answer,” he states, monotoned and deadpan, as if he didn’t look between your legs like you were the juiciest steak in the world. you would think he remains unaffected if you hadn’t noticed his blown out pupils; black fills his irises, animalistic and ready to pounce.

you nod, he doesn’t move. “a verbal answer.” he states, reigning in impatience. his fingers move on your leg, just barely raising your skirt more. just enough to reveal the barest hint of your aching core and wet panties.

your head feels heavy, the only thought playing on repeat is please, please, please- though you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. you say it aloud anyway, because maybe seungmin will know.

“i want it,” you say, voice coming out like a whimper. “please.”

the sharp grin you get in response makes you burn.

seungmin takes his time undressing you, as if he hadn’t said he is starved at all. if anything, he is patient. your clothes are taken inch by inch, until you’re left in nothing but the silk sheets around you; you shiver, trying to use the sheet to cover your chilled body.

you don’t make it far- seungmin grips your wrist as soon as you pull the blanket towards you, thumb pressing harshly into your fluttering pulse point.

“don’t try to hide,” he chides, eyes flitting from your own, to your chest and hard nipples, traveling down to your stomach, and finally pausing on your glistening pussy. you clench from the attention, empty and wanting so badly to be full. not only full, but whole.

he settles between your legs, hands coming to spread your thighs wide. you whimper- pitiful, you think. the voice in your head sounds like his.

seungmin is laser focused, leaning down and dragging open mouthed kisses over your neck. you heart stutters when he pauses by your shoulder- and he huffs a laugh into your skin. mean, teasing, like he knows what you’re waiting for.

suddenly you feel long, rough fingers- feather light touch running up from your entrance, circling your sensitive clit, then moving back down. you moan loudly, when your hips jolt to get closer to the touch his hand moves away. he chuckles at your resulting whine.

“what’s wrong, little lamb?” seungmin purrs, hand gripping one of your thighs tightly to hold you open. the fingers of his other hand continue to barely press against you, making you feel more and more desperate for ruin.

“please-“ you borderline sob, hands grabbing his shoulders through his shirt just for an anchor. finally, finally, you feel him move.

two fingers slide into you in one smooth thrust, immediately curling upward with pinpoint precision and making you cry out. seungmin mutters something, you can take it, as he starts pumping and scissoring them. your cunt is soaked- dripping onto the silk bedsheets and ruining them as you hear the wet sounds of his palm hitting your sensitive clit.

seungmin leans in again, mouth ghosting over your neck just long enough for you to clench around his fingers in anticipation. then, he passes by your neck entirely. instead he focuses his attention on your nipples- hard and already too sensitive- pressing his tongue directly to one before closing his lips around it.

you moan loudly, hips grinding down so that his fingers are pushed deeper inside you. seungmin huffs out an amused sound against your tits, the vibration around your nipple causing you to whine and beg for more.

“please, please,” you borderline yell, nails clawing at clothed shoulders. “need more- fuck, need you-“

seungmin slides a third finger into your eager pussy, the stretch sending you spiraling into more fucked-out whining. you feel like you’ve been lit on fire, desperate to have him own you in every way possible. you want his fingers, his tongue, his cock- fuck, you would probably let him carve his name into your ribs as long as he promised to finally fucking bite you.

“so needy,” seungmin hums, lifting from your nipple and moving to give the other one the same treatment. “you gonna beg for it, little one?”

“seungmin,” you whine, feeling the drag of his long fingers against your sensitive walls. you’re close already- you’re fucked. “god, please! i need you i-inside me, please!”

you’re crying. you hadn’t even realized. you are so overcome with need that your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. but then seungmin is shushing you, whispering that he knows exactly what to give you- exactly how to take care of you. then, he’s shedding his clothes.

his cock is mouthwatering.

he is long, curved just slightly at the tip, a blushing vein running under his shaft and precum leaking from his tip. you know you aren’t the only one affected now. seungmin wants you so bad.

he curses under his breath once, spreading your folds to watch as he lines his cock up with your entrance and teases the tip around your aching hole. he leans down to your ear, about to speak.

he pushes in to the hilt in one smooth, deliberate thrust.

then, his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your neck.

you scream. you absolutely shatter around his length, buried inside you as you come undone.

your neck is fucking sore- white hot pain quickly morphing into dizzying pleasure as you feel him pull the blood from your veins. his hips grind into yours, not pulling out. just a dirty rhythm to make your toes curl while he drinks from you.

“fuck, that’s it. squeeze my cock, work for it,” seungmin is moaning, eyes rolling back in his head as you throb around him. you see stars, panting and clawing at his arms hard enough to leave angry red lines. he pulls away from your neck, eyes glazed over as he looks down at you.

he starts thrusting.

the pace seungmin sets is deadly- hips pistoning into you with measured, fast punches. his cock kisses your cervix with every full, deep thrust. you swear you can feel it in your stomach. it’s like your body is rearranging its organs specifically to make room for him.

“please,” you whimper out again, entirely unsure what you’re begging for. you’re fucked dumb. and seungmin knows it, grinning at you with blood stained teeth and still-hungry eyes.

“already fucked stupid?” he asks, looking sympathetic. “unfortunate. i’m just getting started, pretty girl.”

seungmin’s hands move, one anchoring your hip to the bed for easier control, one coming up to your throat to grip you tight. the air fights to pass into your lungs, your moans turning broken and fragile at the added pressure. seungmin’s thumb is right above the puncture wound from his fangs, and when he shifts he presses directly over the still-tender wound in a way that makes your body seize up, squeezing him tight.

your moans grow an octave higher- that feeling sparking in the pit of your gut once again as seungmin drags his cock over that sweet bundles of nerves that makes you melt. he shifts, hand that was on your thigh now coming to circle your clit with precise, sharp fingers.

“gonna cum again, little one?” seungmin asks, huffing in amusement even as he starts to lose the pace of his thrusting. “go ahead. milk me dry, darling.”

your legs twitch on either side of seungmin’s waist, thighs clenching shut around him as you cry out- loud, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. seungmin squeezes your neck once more, a harsh reminder of who you belong to from this point forward.

you cum. hard.

the second orgasm you have makes your vision go white. you can feel seungmin lean back down to puncture your neck, the side he hadn’t already bit, and another wave of pleasure moves through you. your legs shake, vision going blurry, as you weakly grab onto the hair at the back of his neck.

seungmin pulls away, using your pliant body to thrust once, twice more before holding himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, breaking apart while seated deep inside you.

you can feel him throbbing, pulsing with every wave of his orgasm. when you both ride out your highs, the room is silent aside from your panting and seungmin’s quieter, deeper breathing.

he pulls out slowly- you both wince. he disappears for a minute only to come back with a soft cloth, damp and warm where it touches the skin of your thighs. seungmin cleans you up, focused on every bit of the mess the two of you have made.

when he deems you clean enough, he lies down beside you on the wrinkled sheets. your heartbeat stutters as he wraps you in an oversized, silken button down, a large comforter enveloping the two of you right after. he brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you gently into his chest.

“i have unfortunate news for you, little lamb.” seungmin mutters, lips to your hair. you furrow your brow and look up, not responding. fingers card through your hair.

“i plan to keep you in this bed, forever. you’re mine now.”

seungmin’s fingers trail down, stopping at the fresh puncture wounds on your neck. you gasp, eyes fluttering as he presses down teasingly over the wound.

“til death do us part.”

jeongin;

getting lost in the middle of a forest was not on your bucket list. but if it had been, you could put a little check mark next to it now.

you had laid a trail of flower petals when you entered the forest. all of the townspeople always warn against going in without a clear way out- the winding paths and overgrown flora make even the best cartographer fall into confusion. however, you live on the very edge of this forest- however dense and intimidating it may be, you always follow the tree-line to pick seasonal berries and honeysuckle from the bushes. the forest makes you feel at peace.

today you decided to venture farther in than usual. the season has been bountiful, but rumors detail more forage buried deeper in the intricate canopy of trees- berries you can’t even find unless you dare walk into the unknown. so you picked flowers from your garden, shed them of their petals, and left a colorful trail behind you as you walked into the thick greenery.

you had thought you were lucky. you had thought the petals would keep you from getting turned around. now, so deep into the trees and bushes that all you can see is more trees on all sides, the flower petals you remember leaving trails of liberally are gone. as if swept away by the wind- or picked up as soon as you had placed them.

you sigh as you slouch onto a large tree that had fallen over. you tried going back the way you came, only to feel deeper in the woods. the sun is slowly moving overhead, slowly making way for the moon, and the sweat beading on your forehead is only partially from the temperature.

you’re lost. thoroughly.

oddly enough, you feel less worrisome than you should. the forest has always been a second home to you, now you have just explored farther into its walls and deeper into its crevices. as long as you make it home by sundown, there is no need to fret. the fresh honey suckle in your basket relaxes you, the berries ready to provide nourishment when you feel hungry.

the sun goes down.

you have been wandering for hours- feeling no closer or further away from home than you had been during the day. dusk quickly approaches, every owl hooting and deer rustling the nearby fallen branches makes your heart kick in your throat. you feel faintly dizzy, how had you passed the same tree four times now?

another fallen branch snaps nearby; undoubtedly, another deer trying to remind you it’s time to leave. you step backwards, ready to turn around and walk in a straight line until you can see something that isn’t green, but your heel hits a large root.

a muted thud- just as you trip on the tree root, hitting the damp dirt, ass first.

ouch.

you groan in frustration, pitifully kicking your legs as you squint up through the leaves above you. hours ago, the sun had been overhead. now, the moon takes it’s place, glimmering and twinkling like it is amused by your struggle.

“are you lost?” a smooth voice, quiet and to your left. your head quickly snaps towards the sound, heart beating like that of a wild hare as you look at the crouching figure beside you.

you hadn’t heard him approach, but the man is close now. elbows on his knees, loose fitting pants tied around slender hips with a simple rope. when your gaze tilts upwards, you find a wide, mischievous grin and sharp, white teeth.

the man is gorgeous. jaw-dropping, like he just walked out of ancient greece. The taught muscles of his biceps and large thighs let you know his body matches the gods you compare him to.

the fox-like figure raises an eyebrow, plush lips curling upward in an amused grin. you blink at him, unable to remember what he had said.

“what?”

the man grins fully, laughter curling around your body and settling beside your brain. he reaches a hand out towards you, slender fingers and manicured, pointed nails aiding in getting you to your feet.

“i said, are you lost?”the man hums, dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes luring you in. you shake your head, smoothing out your dress and picking a stray leaf out of your stockings.

“no! of course not,” you scoff, completely lying. “i just… got a little confused. i’m on my way home.”

the man still grins, undeterred by your uncomfortable posture. he raises his eyebrows at you. “oh yeah? i’m on my way home, too. wanna walk together?”

you pause. normally, trusting a man you don’t know in the woods would be a terrible, horrible idea. but really- this guy seems… fine. maybe your survival instincts are just dulled because he’s hot. and what other choice do you have? wander until a larger animal finds you?

you nod. “sure, lead the way.”

he does lead the way; you watch the man’s broad back as he walks half a step in front of you, hands in his pockets and humming to himself. slowly, you begin to relax. you aren’t really in danger, you will be able to go home.

the trees don’t get any less dense the longer you walk. however, the man suddenly comes to a halt and turns to face you. you jump, almost running into his solid chest, but stop yourself at the last second. when you look up, the moon shines in his glimmering pupils.

“well, you’re welcome to come in. get a good night’s rest then start home tomorrow,” the man hums, grinning still. you furrow your brows, but your eyes widen when you peak behind him. there’s a whole cottage in the middle of the thick, twisting trees.

“you live here?” you ask, incredulous. the man laughs, eyes turning to sweet crescents. his laugh makes your ears ring, like a siren song.

“i do,” he nods, heading towards the wooden door. you follow quickly behind, afraid to be left alone again. “i can get you home, but it’ll have to be when the sun is up. i can’t see well at night.”

you pause in the threshold of the wooden cottage, watching as the man walks into his kitchen and stirs a large, boiling pot. as you cautiously step further into the home, closing the front door, your mouth waters. you smell stew- it smells heavenly.

you shuffle closer to the pot, stomach rumbling. apparently, berries and honeysuckle are not the best source of nutrition when you have been walking aimlessly for hours. the man notices your starved state, wetting your lips as you peek into the large pot. he clears his throat softly.

“you can have some, you know.” the man smiles, pulling two wooden bowls from a shelf above. he scoops a large portion into both bowls, handing one to you.

“oh- thank you…” you smile sheepishly, trailing off as you realize you don’t have his name.

he tells you it’s jeongin.

the longer you spend in jeongin’s presence, legs criss-crossed on a mat beside a large, stone fireplace, the more relaxed you become. jeongin is nice; he is witty, sharp-tongued, yet comforting to be with. you finish the stew fast, stomach full and bones content to rest.

jeongin takes your bowls back to the kitchen. when he sits down on the mat again, his knee brushes yours. the feeling, oddly, makes your stomach swoop.

“y/n,” jeongin murmurs, eyes quickly cataloguing the details of your face, the relaxed state of your body. whatever he finds when he looks at you makes his lips quirk up at the edges.

“are you tired? you are more than welcome to sleep in my bed. i can take the couch.”

you furrow your brows, pouting slightly. jeongin’s eyes flit down to track the movement.

“no way, i can sleep on a couch. it won’t kill me,” you say. you move to twist your body, back cracking as the tension from the day is released. as you groan from the feeling, jeongin laughs softly. his hand comes to gently rub your spine.

“please, your body needs proper rest. you should take care of yourself- if not, you’ll get weak.”

the hand on your back draws lazy circles, making your breath hitch. your half lidded eyes fly open, wide and doe-like. when you make eye contact with the man, sharp teeth bite into his bottom lip. briefly, you imagine them at your jugular.

“really, it’s fine.” you breathe out, pulse thudding against your temples. you can’t pinpoint why, but you feel cornered. trapped.

jeongin’s nails graze your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. while running them lightly over your back, one of his fingers catches on a torn seam. you feel the cut of the thread as his nail snags it, breaking the hemming.

suddenly, the contentment you felt earlier is replaced. while you expect to feel terror, you can’t bring yourself to move away. you realize with startling clarity that you aren’t afraid. your pussy throbs- you’re soaked.

jeongin’s mouth splits wide, like a cat that caught a mouse. self-satisfied, confident in his domain. he lives in these woods; if you chose to run now, he would find you. catch you.

you don’t want to run.

“what made you so quiet?” he hums, tilting his head. “you’re like a mouse, baby.”

you squeak. he laughs.

then, he leans in. whispering right by your ear, “come here. let me show you what these claws are for.”

jeongin pulls you into his lap, leaving you gasping and holding his broad shoulder with shaking hands. with a hand gripping your jaw, claws digging into your cheeks, he opens your mouth and takes exactly what he wants.

the second his tongue meets yours, you both moan. the wood burning in the fireplace behind you crackles, heating the room as your skin breaks out into a sheen of sweat. jeongin uses the hand not on your face to run up your thigh, under your dress, and grip your bare waist in his rough grasp. your hips grind downwards unconsciously- the feeling of claws gripping your skin and his cock heavy underneath you makes your panties stick to your wet core. you want to wake up tomorrow and find nail-shaped marks on your body.

“fuck, i can feel how wet you are, baby.” jeongin purrs, lips turning upwards against your skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck. “soaking my pants too, hm?”

you shudder, tilting your head back so he has more access to your neck. “please, jeongin- i need you, please-“

“shh, sh, sh,” he shushes you gently, looking at you with pity in his eyes. you whine against him, circling your hips harder and causing his eyelids to flutter softly. “don’t worry, lovely. i’ll give you what you need.”

jeongin lifts you effortlessly, laying you on your back, legs spread wide on the mat below you. he helps you remove your dress, leaving you in your ruined panties and nothing else. his eyes are hungry, starving even though you had just ate. when he glances back up at you, he’s panting.

“you look absolutely delicious,” he moans, hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs wider. you whine as his head lowers, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin near your core.

“i just have to taste you.”

jeongin slides fingers into your panties, slipping them to the side before he is devouring your cunt. you cry out at the first pointed, precise flick of his tongue against your clit, trying to close your legs around his head. the thought is useless; jeongin keeps your legs open with his hands, tongue fucking in and out of you at a pace that makes your toes start to curl already.

“please- too much-“ you beg, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your hands grip thick, dark hair like it is your only tether. you have never felt so close so fast in your life. no slow build, no wave of pleasure, only white-hot, pinpoint pressure that makes your vision go blurry. it feels too good, has your pussy clenching on his tongue before he’s even been between your legs five minutes. it’s embarrassing, how fast you’re hurdling towards orgasm.

you feel more than hear it, the vibration of laughter against your sensitive clit. jeongin is laughing at you- at your pitiful, needy sounds. the thought makes a fresh wave of slick arousal leave you.

jeongin’s tongue moves upwards again, flicking over your clit and encasing the sensitive bud between his lips, sucking on it until your legs are trembling. then, claws dig into your thighs again- you’re reminded the man below you is not quite human.

you break. thoroughly, completely shatter.

your thighs try to snap shut, but jeongin holds them open with rough, calloused hands. his tongue moves through your orgasm, steadily working you until you’re reduced to nothing but whimpers and twitching joints. with one last wide, flat lick to your core, he rises to his knees between yours legs.

“fuck, baby-“ he groans, head tilted downward so he can untie the rope of his pants, pushing the fabric down around muscular thighs. “you’re perfect, needed me to find you, hm? needed me to bring you home?”

you nod faintly, biting your bottom lip harsh enough to taste metal. jeongin is huge- cock pretty, vein running up the underside of his shaft, head pink and leaking precum that makes your mouth water. he notices you looking, a sharp, calculating glint in his eye.

“what is it, pretty?” he tilts his head, looking down at you with half lidded eyes as he taps the head of his cock against your pussy teasingly. “wanna beg for it?”

you whine, clenching at the wet sound of your cunt trying to pull him in. “please! jeongin, i need you- please, please, please-“

he laughs again, has the audacity to lean down and hook his thumb into your mouth just to shut you up. when you try to glare at him through watery eyes, you still completely.

there are three- no, four tails coming from behind the man. you watch the way they curl and sway like a cat, unable to move as more and more pop up. in total, as the fur fans out in a peacock-state, you count nine orange and white appendages springing forth from behind him.

holy fucking shit. definitely not human.

jeongin sees your distracted state, glancing behind himself with little care. when he turns back to you his eyes seem somehow sharper, more aware of his surroundings. more aware of you.

the thumb in your mouth presses down on your tongue, causing spit to pool around your teeth. you blink up at him, eyes wide and expression deer-like.

“still begging, baby?” jeongin murmurs, narrowing his eyes.

against all warning signals flaring in your head, you nod.

the grin you get in return is borderline feral, all sharp canines and pearly white teeth as jeongin lines himself up with your entrance and bottoms out in one long, smooth thrust. you cry out around his thumb, biting down on it in your attempt to ground yourself. the sting of pain makes him hiss, the pace he sets is immediately brutal.

jeongin drags his thumb away from your mouth, dragging your own salvia down your cheek before gripping both thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. his hips snap in time with your loud cries and his own panting, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your heart stutter every time he thrusts in. your hands fumble to grab onto something- anything to keep you stable- but come up short. instead, you can only grab the edge of the mat to pray for sanity.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” jeongin moans, head tilting back to bare his neck. the tails are wrapped around him now, curled like tentacles and fluffed up in a show of dominance. if you were capable of thought, you might think they’re pretty.

“please- j-jeongin, i can’t-“ you babble, whining out the words in between your own moans, pleasure zipping through every atom in your body. your blood pumps in time with his thrusts, your heart beating in his clawed grip. even now, you know nothing will ever compare to this feeling. you’re undoubtedly ruined for anyone else.

“baby, god. you getting close?” jeongin asks, bottom lip once again taken between sharp teeth. you nod frantically, head bobbling as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten for the second time. this time, the feeling builds slower. the peek of pleasure is just up ahead, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray that the spiral leaves you still breathing.

jeongin moves his hand and your eyes snap back open with a broken moan. his deft fingers meet your clit, pressing tight, fast circles to the bud of nerves. faintly, you can tell his thrusts are getting sloppier too. less precision, more desperation.

“cum on my cock, pretty.” he groans, fucking into you at a faster pace, using all of his energy to push you that much closer. “fuck me, just like that.”

your body locks up around him- coil in your stomach finally snapping as you shudder through a second orgasm.

it lasts for what feels like decades, pussy convulsing and throbbing around his cock. then, as you’re finally coming down jeongin groans. he thrusts into you once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt and cumming deep inside you.

when the rhythm of your heart finally returns to normal, jeongin pulls out. you almost groan in annoyance, but the feeling of soft warmth enveloping your body has you sighing instead. looking to your left, jeongin looks back at you with puffy lips and pink cheeks. nine tails surround the two of you, cocooned in safety and comfort in the woodland cottage.

you wake up to the bright light of the morning sun. looking around with a furrowed brow, you feel discontent with your cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. the thought of fur and a beating heart still haunts you. had you dreamt the whole thing?

the dense treeline of an evergreen forest still peeks at you from beyond your bedroom curtains. when you finally crawl out of bed, your lower back aches. there are small, claw-shaped scratches littered along your hips. none of this convinces you of the truth, though. no-

the thing that convinces you of reality lays on your kitchen table. your basket, fresh berries and honeysuckle piled on one side. the other holds a large mason jar, delicious stew from your memories seated inside. there’s a piece of parchment attached to the lid, when you pick it up you can feel the warmth emitting from the glass.

when you miss me, come to the forest.

i will find you.

-y.j.

a/n;

this was so tremendously fun to write and i put my whole pussy into it so please lmk what u think :3 /gen i worked on this every day for like two weeks bc i wanted to make sure it was perfect

i can’t stop thinking about jisung being a dragon like im crawling on the floor i need him so bad

requests are open!!

[knucklecurve]

Hi—two-part response to this.

“Fanfiction is about community”

Fanfiction is sometimes about community! Fanfiction can also be about personal wish fulfillment, practicing writing skills, getting an idea out of your brain, or any number of reasons besides interaction with other people. For OP to state that writers WILL stop posting if they don’t get comments or kudos is overly broad, disingenuous, and reads like a ransom note.

I’m also curious what “community” is supposed to mean in this context. Kudos are nice to receive but they also do not make me feel like I have made any kind of substantial or personal connection with the person giving it. Same goes for when I kudos a fic. It’s the ao3 equivalent of a passing “thumbs up” on the street. Yeah it might put a smile on my face, but it’s not, in my experience, an avenue for deepened connection with another human.

Comments are a more rife medium than kudos for community engagement, but the original point of my first statement was that a comment made out of perceived obligation or social pressure is not and cannot be a method of personal connection. What are we sharing or gaining or learning when someone is only commenting because they feel like they’re “supposed” to? What community is fostered?

Personally, the places I have most often found community in fandom is through talking to people who want to read my writing deeply and vice versa. That comes from a foundation of more than just “Wow this was so good!” or, god forbid, heart emojis in the comment box. Of course I still appreciate it when someone takes the time to say anything at all but my point, again, is that this is not a basis for deep connection.

Futher—the implication that “community” can only be created when the author is involved (“your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors”) is completely off-base. I have also made meaningful connections with other readers via discussion of fic by authors that are years gone from fandom. Authors are not inherently owed a place in discussions of their work. In fact, I do not want to be a part of every discussion about my work! If someone wants to talk about my fic without the pressure of me looming over the conversation, I want them to be able to do that!

“And to say that those who want kudos and comments on their fics are writing for engagement is hurtful and wrong”

Well, you should tell the OP that, lmao!!!!! That is exactly the implication of “if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting.” I am also hurt by the implication that I am writing because I need people to comment on my fic and tell me how good and special I am!!! Writers deserve more than obligatory praise that commenters have been guilted into by posts exactly like this. Please, just comment when you feel like it. I promise it’s okay to read in silence. The work is out there for anyone to enjoy however they wish. Knowing it’s available for those who want it to find it is enough.

a feel like the new generation of fanfic readers NEED to understand that clicking on a fic (interaction) does nothing. ao3 has no algorithm. your private discord discussions of fic do not reach the authors. if you do not actively engage with writers they will stop posting. this isn’t social media this is community.

[lovemepartly]

sports car — kang dae-ho

warnings: 18+. car sex, kind of sub!dae-ho idk, unprotected sex (don't!)

a/n: please ignore how this took me so long to post and also the fact that i'm trying out a new aesthetic 💔 i genuinely don't understand how some of you guys make your posts so aesthetic please teach me your ways

« i'm goin' weak in my knees / where'd you put those keys? / we can share one seat »

╰┈┈➤ sports car, tate mcrae

in-ho version | namgyu version | thanos version

⋆⭒˚.⋆

dae-ho, who gets flustered and worked up too easily, even if you tease him with just your words.

it's date night and it feels like you've been needing dae-ho since the moment he showed up at the door of your apartment, smile soft and shy and innocent. he was wearing an outfit you picked out for him, and took your hand in his as he led you down the stairs and towards the car.

you'd behaved yourself all through dinner, deliberately trying to focus on what dae-ho was saying and not the way his hands looked. how the slightest bit of his chest was visible through his button up shirt. how he'd tied his hair back, just the way you liked it.

you were trying— really, trying— to wait until you got back to his place. but the way the streetlights dimly illuminated his face, the way he was driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting comfortably on the center console, the way strands of his hair framed his face; you couldn't wait.

"baby," you purred, shifting your position in the passenger seat, letting your skirt ride up your thighs just a little bit. dae-ho's gaze flickered over to you, still innocent, still totally unaware of the arousal growing between your legs just at the thought of him. "i need you." you whispered, voice barely audible.

his eyes widened, gaze landing on you again, before looking away with flushed cheeks. his grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white.

you sighed softly, eyes still locked onto your boyfriend. then, without warning, reached across to his side of the car and placed your hand on his thigh tentatively. dae-ho's breath hitched, hand immediately landing atop yours to stop your movement.

"jagiya," he spoke, voice low, "i'm going to crash this car if you keep doing that."

you pouted playfully, letting him remove your hand from his thigh. his thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand, as if he was trying to ground himself.

you were able to sit still for about thirty seconds more before your hand made it's way back to his thigh. this time, there was no caution laced with it. it was sure, and the way dae-ho let out a hiss through his teeth as your hand inched just a bit higher, only made you want to keep going.

"jagi," dae-ho breathed, voice low, "don't do that." his voice wasn't firm, in fact, there was a slight shake to it. but this time, he didn't make an effort to stop your hand.

your hand made it's way over to his length, palming him through his pants. the fabric was already tight and strained, and this time, dae-ho let out a soft breath, just a little bit whiney.

the city lights seemed to blur in the background; maybe dae-ho was driving a bit faster or maybe you just couldn't take your eyes off him. suddenly, the car pulled over in an empty parking lot, the sound of the engine being cut leaving just thick tension between the two of you.

"c'mon, baby." dae-ho spoke, voice slow and deliberate. one of his hands was already reaching to recline the drivers seat, the other fumbling with the belt of his pants.

you didn't need to be told twice. without a word, you slipped off your panties, letting them land on the floor by the passenger seat and crawled over to the driver's seat.

dae-ho's hands instantly reached for your waist, tugging you down onto him. you sunk onto him, fingers clawing at his shoulders for support. you moved slowly, the stretch feeling splitting as he bottomed out. dae-ho didn't move for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling, but every inch of his body was aligned with yours.

when you finally began to move your hips up and down, dae-ho matched your pace, thrusting up into you slowly but with an undeniable hunger. he held you close, hands roaming all over your body. soft whines and low moans filled the car, windows fogging, and the city seemed to disappear even further into the distance.

dae-ho tilted his head up slightly, lips brushing your jaw, as you continued to grind against him. your hands slid down his chest, feeling every contour of his muscles under his shirt. the sensation made him groan softly.

"fuck," he whispered, hands tightening slightly around your waist, "'m close."

you couldn't respond, breath catching in your throat as you continued to move your hips against his, feeling his cock already twitch inside you. "cum for me, baby." you finally rasped out, voice soft.

"shit." he breathed out, hair sticking to his forehead, a soft moan escaping his lips. within moments you felt him release inside you— he came with a strangled groan and a soft whine, pulling you even closer to him, chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to steady himself.

you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, then one to his temple. the car was silent for a moment, save for the sound of both your ragged breaths.

"you okay?" dae-ho breathed out finally, hand coming to tilt your chin down to meet his gaze, thumb brushing your bottom lip softly.

"yeah." you murmured, brushing a piece of hair out of his eyes before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

dae-ho broke the slow kiss after a moment, eyes locking onto you. his gaze was soft, like he was truly admiring you in this moment, but a teasing smile played on his lips. "just wait till we get home, jagiya."

[emotionalrodent]

Batboys X Reader Headcanons

Prompt: What small things they do when they’re in love?

Characters: Dick, Tim, Jason, and Bruce

CW: Mild creepy-ish behavior from Tim and Maybe Dick? (Idk I just want to be careful). Also Jason makes a joke about Roy living as a vegetable.

———————————————————————————

Dick

💙 He will try to impress you any way he can. Whether that be making a joke he thinks you’ll like or showing off his athleticism. He’s always performing for you, waiting for the slightest smile.

“Did you see that, Y/N? Watch, I’ll do it again just for you.”

“What, you’re impressed by that? I can hold a handstand for way longer than that.”

💙 I see Dick as the kind of guy to make a playlist that reminds him of you or if he’s really whipped, try to write a song about you. You’ll probably never hear it but he’s thought about it more than a few times.

💙 Stares at you literally any chance he gets. He has no shame either, you’re eye candy to him and he’s not at all afraid to admit it. Dick does panic a tiny bit inside if you make eye contact when he’s staring but plays it off by winking at you.

💙 He learns couple dances to literally any song he can, waiting for the opportunity to dance with you.

💙 If you’re in the public eye, he’ll read fanfics shipping the two of you. He’s so petty sometimes he argues in the comments with people who ship you with someone else.

———————————————————————————

Tim

💚 Dick reads fanfics but Tim writes them. He doesn’t post them anywhere and just keeps them for himself in a folder on his computer. He’d die before he shows them to you or admits it but if you somehow got ahold of them, you’d be surprised by the quality. Someone get this man to a publisher.

💚 Talks about you unprovoked CONSTANTLY to anyone who will listen. It’s like he’s actively trying to bring you up in every conversation, it happens so often.

“Y/N made that recipe once, it was amazing.”

“This reminds me of when Y/N-”

“Ugh, we get it, Tim!”

💚 Tim likes anytime he gets any kind of validation from you so he’ll do whatever he can to help you with the smallest things. You have a loose button on your shirt? Suddenly he’s a professional tailor.

💚 He’ll rehearse subtle pick up lines or just anything he can use to flirt, he wants you to think he’s charming after all. His attempts rarely go as he’d planned though, he’s a little awkward when he first realizes his feelings for you.

💚 Tim has never been too adept at drawing, not that he’s ever tried to be. Yet he seems to always find himself tracing your features on any scrap of paper he can find.

———————————————————————————

Jason

❤️ Unlike his brothers, Jason’s a bit more subtle in his change in behavior when he’s in love. He tries to be, at least.

❤️ Usually, his actions speak louder than his words. He’ll make sure you always have snacks on you or even try to cook for you. He unconsciously cleans for you which also extends to his appearance as he tries to look his best too. If you mentioned losing something, he’ll look for it for hours.

❤️ Since it takes a little longer for Jason to actually fall in love, he tends to be more sentimental when he’s fallen. He’ll write sonnets for you, hoping that he’ll be able to read them for you one day. Although he doesn’t have much time for reading anymore, your name finds itself in the margins of the books he does own. Roy finds the books and sonnets and teases him relentlessly for it.

“Ooo, what do we have here? ‘If I should think of love, I'd think of you’. I didn’t know you had a heart, Jaybird.”

“Put those down now unless you’re ready to live your life as a vegetable, Harper.”

❤️ Once, he asked when your birthday was and looked up if your zodiac signs were compatible just to see. He would be a little bothered if it you two weren’t compatible though.

❤️ Jason doesn’t typically watch tv series and prefers movies or short films but he’ll sit down and binge ten seasons with you, no complaints.

❤️ He kinda forgets how to act normally around you sometimes so he goes back and forth from being unusually sweet to being weirdly mean to overcompensate.

———————————————————————————

Bruce

🩶 Bruce finds himself worrying over you more than he had previously. He asks more about your whereabouts, who you’re with, when you’re expected to be back, all things he never contemplated too hard on.

🩶 He tends to be more being more relaxed with you than most others. Bruce is so many different personalities to several different people but with you, he’s just Bruce.

🩶 Once Bruce realized he was in love with you, he tried to learn more about your interests so he has more chances to talk to you.

🩶 He makes a point to set aside time for you two, something that tends to be difficult for him. He doesn’t even care what the two of you do with that time, he just wants to see you.

🩶 Bruce is still a little stoic with you but sometimes he lets something flirty slip. You’re left surprised and flushed but he refuses to repeat what he said. He just takes his time to appreciate the look on your face.

🩶 He often imagines how you’d get along with his family. He wants them to meet the most important person in his life and plans for them to, but he’s still a bit nervous for their reactions.

“Y’know, I think Damian would like you.”

“Damian?”

“My son. You should be honored, it’s quite the feat.”

———————————————————————————

I really struggled with Bruce for this one if you couldn’t tell so I’m really sorry if I messed up with him. I also wanted to thank you guys for 1k notes on my Red Hood fic! I didn’t think it would get as much attention as it did but I’m really glad you guys liked it. Thank you for reading!

[nekoboydreams]

Hello again, Neko! I'm not sure if you've seen any of my previous asks before- I think I've done about three maybe four...? But that was quite some time ago. I'm a little torn between trying to continue with my asks, or just wait until someone else eventually asks the same question I asked and you happen to answer them- 😅 I have A LOT of questions, but for now, I stick with the three that I have while writing this. (I also have questions on each of my posts!)

I'm curious... (This is something that will be mentioned in my latest fanfic as well!-) What stops Pierrot from just.. Killing Harlequin? I mean- It seems that Pierrot hates him that much, moreso now that Harlequin is attempting to take away his beloved again... Is it morality? The fact that he's aware of whatever pain Harlequin might feel bc of their shared past? Or maybe (in my opinion), bc they're like brothers?

Can they sense spirits (More specifically Pierrot)? Like, can any of them sense when a spirit is near? (This would play a HUGE role for one of the A.Us I created! If they can't, I might just have to scrap the idea :( ...)

Something a bit random- How would Pierrot react towards a dominant female? My version of MC, (due to her past) she refused to be anyone's bitch. Don't get me wrong, she's still a sweetheart, but in certain situations, that could change. Her trauma won't let her get dominated- (Just thought of this while writing this down- Is MC in the game a virgin, or no? My version of the MC lost her virginity already 😔)

Little comment: You know, I'm honestly surprised that no one sees the circus crew like brothers. I've only ever seen comments comparing Pierrot and Harlequin's relationship to that of a divorced a couple, and things like that. I haven't seen one person compare their relationship to a brotherly type relationship. (I think I might be the only one who sees them that way- :') ...)

I also wanted to say this, I honestly love your game (and Pierrot) with ALL my heart! It's been my hyperfixation for a month now! I'm just as obsessed with Pierrot as he is with (me) :)))) I would literally give him my heart and SOUL if I could- That being said, could you give him a big kiss for me? I'd really appreciate it! :) (Oh! And... Hug The Fifth One for me? I honestly can't wait to meet him. I feel like him and my version of MC would be besties <3)

(Also... HEARTS OF MOTIVATION!!! 💜💜💜💜💜💜 You get six bc 1, I have enough to go around, and 2, you deserve/need them! :] ...)

Hi! I’ll be answering things as I can unless the question has already been answered before!

Why doesn’t he just kill Harlequin? Let’s just say… he can’t, even if he wanted to. And the truth is he doesn’t. I’ve mentioned before that the circus cast shares a deep bond, and none of them would let one of their own die so easily. Jester is also always around, making sure things don’t spiral out of control.

No, unfortunately they don’t have any sort of spiritual sensitivity.

Pierrot has said he’d be willing to shape himself however MC desires so I don’t see why he wouldn’t accept it!

Thank you for the kind words! But maybe don’t go offering your soul to monsters so casually… just to be safe, haha.

[hangnailme93]

How do you think Copia would handle a lover who’s shy about making noise in bed? They cover their mouth and face when they start moaning, trying to muffle their pleasure because they don’t think they sound sexy.

I picture him gently grabbing the offending hand and pinning it above their head with a hushed “No, no Cara, let me hear you”

This was utterly filthy (18+) I think this could fit any version of Copia, but I had Papa in that damn red tracksuit in my head the whole time I wrote this 🫠

Booming moans when he feels his climax rising up, and a lot of forceful grunting, especially when he's railing his lover hard. He's not shy and loves channeling that 70s porno energy.

My most fond Copia headcanon is that he is incredibly loud during sex.

And all that yapping he does on stage? That translates to the bedroom.

"That's it...just like that. Touch me here," before guiding your hand to where he craves it.

"I wanted to take you out to dinner, but now I'd rather have you for dinner," he groans before hungrily making a meal out of your pussy.

"You don't need to take these off. No, no, they stay. I just...push them to side, like this," he says with a playful tone, as he moves your panties just enough to slip his cock through.

But you felt so self-conscious about moaning for him. Afraid your voice didn't have that typical lilted, feminine tone to it to really turn him on, you tried to cover your mouth one night, when Copia had your legs spread wide open.

"Ah-ah, tesoro, don't muffle those beautiful sounds from me. I need to hear your reaction." He growled, looking up at you, his mouth and chin glistening from your slick.

He grabs your wrists and pulls them down on top of your hips, returning to his meal between your legs.

Unable to wriggle out of his grasp and suddenly feeling more self-conscious that he acknowledged your attempt at hiding your lust, you fight to remain silent. Oh, but he's making it very difficult.

He knows exactly how to use his tongue, so fat and juicy on your clit. It's becoming unbearable to hold back even the tiniest oh's. Your heavy breathing becomes labored, as you start to audibly whimper through it.

"That's it, that's my girl." Copia's coaching is encouraging, the tension in your body releasing as you feel more eager to show him how good he makes you feel. You lightly gyrate your hips, losing your mind in the tingling sensations running rampant through your core.

Feeling a bit more comfortable now, "ahh-fuck," you mutter quietly.

"Don't be shy now. Louder." His eyes now staring through you, his tongue thrusting harshly in and out of you.

Your labored breathing turns to heaving, as you let out a sharp, shrill moan. The thought of him finally getting the satisfaction of seeing you so worked up becomes your undoing.

"Yes, cara, yell for me!" His drooling mouth finds your throbbing clit again and sucks on it with no mercy. Your head falls back against the pillow, mouth dropping open dramatically, as you scream his name.

"OHHH, PAPA!! YES....UGH, RIGHT THERE!" You scream, the last part through gritted teeth. Your hips lift off the bed through your lightning hot orgasm, with Copia's mouth still latched on your clit.

Finally pulling away from you when it gets overstimulating, Copia also lets go of your wrists, grabs the back of your thighs, and yanks you forcefully down the bed as you still try to come down from your post-orgasm high. He bears his weight on you, his breath hot and heavy in your ear.

"Not such a quiet topolino anymore, are we? Good, because I'm going to have you screaming my name all night."

[creatingblackcharacters]

Gotta ask about something I've been thinking about a lot, and you might not be the most knowledgeable in the topic but maybe a follower from here is. In fewer words, I need some help designing Black furry/animalistic characters LOL.

Because on one hand, I think it's racist on its own right to just, make an universe with NO Black characters like that's insane behavior. But on the other, I get anxious because I am aware of the history of dehumanizing Black people by comparing them to animals, especially primates.

And I have seen people with Black furry/hybrid ocs, but often times it was self inserts by Black artists. So as a non Black person I feel quite insecure about stepping boundaries here. So I was wondering, what ARE these boundaries? How can I strike a balance of respect and playfulness with it without it coming across as discriminatory & gross?

Reglamentary thank you in advance but also thank you for having this blog and giving people resources to learn. Tumblr needed this 🙏

So while I don't have the most advice on "how to draw" Black coded furries, one thing that I beg people keep in mind is that you're still essentially creating a Black character. So every rule in place for creating a Black character is going to occur when doing a Black coded character. It's the same ideas! If you wouldn't do it for a Black character, you shouldn't be doing it for a coded one!

For example (an extreme one) let's say you're into big bara furry designs. Okay. If EVERYONE that you draw is a big titty ole hulking werewolf looking being, that's fine! But if you're only drawing the Black coded ones to be that, and everyone else is... Not that, we've got a problem!

That has nothing to do with "Black people shouldn't be furries", rather it's "why do you perceive Blackness to fit this description more than anyone else"? Y'all gotta ask yourselves the actual questions, which can be solved by actually knowing what the stereotypes are and why.

I think you should face your insecurities when it comes to observing Black artists with furry designs and recognize it for what it is- an opportunity to learn! They are showing you the boundaries! If making a monkey furry feels too far, ofc you don't have to do that. But everything else... That's the trick!

[bisnes-socks]

i wasn't going to say anything about the joker out social media/communications/gen ai thing because frankly, discourse is usually not very interesting to me and not what i want to do on social media myself. i kinda just want to vibe.

but then i figured, i actually have some insight into the matter, both through personal interest and professional experience. so i thought i might share the way i approach it.

not here to start anything, just to share one perspective, so please read with that in mind. it's long, and it's just my personal musings.

for background information:

i have been engaged with band fandom for damn nearly 20 years, long before social media. back in the day when there was drama with a band, their website would simply just crash and the conversation would happen in traditional media. that's how long i've been following bands.

i have worked in marketing and communications for multiple creators and artists in the field of arts and culture (live music included, but not recorded music). i have been in charge of many social media accounts and the overall communications and marketing for both small and medium companies in this field, both completely independent and more supported.

i have seen and been involved with building companies from the ground up in the field of arts and culture.

so to that first point, about having been involved with band fandom for that long, i want to say: i have made my peace with my favourites doing things i disagree with a looooooong long long time ago. i have found ways to deal with that on a personal level and i have learnt to recognise my own boundaries with that. it's not a source of drama in my life, but a moment of introspection and prioritising. i'm saying that just to set the tone for the rest of this looooong post, because i think that in these situations it is easy to read opinions trying to either look for ways to support your own opinion or think of ways to dismantle others. so i just want to make it super clear that my intention is not to tell anyone how to feel, simply to share how i look at it.

the way i look at communications and the social media behaviour of anyone these days is through the lens of someone whose job it was to try and reach new audiences through social media, through advertisement, through events, through newsletters and really any means necessary, because audiences are literally the lifeline of any artistic profession.

so what i see happening here is this: joker out needed a new way to deal with their communications and marketing, across the board. why?

because it's vital but exhausting to do.

if you have never used the professional, business side of social media, there's a good chance you have no idea of just how brutal it is, and it's getting more and more chaotic frighteningly fast. the conversion rates from passive audience to engagement, let alone active followers, are abysmal. you know how on tumblr creators have suffered from people not reblogging anymore, just liking things or worse, scrolling past? it's the same everywhere, except on other platforms people don't even necessarily hit the like button, they just keep scrolling, endlessly. you go into the stats and you see that thousands and thousands of people have seen your post, but only five of them have even visited your profile at the back of it. this trend has been accelerating since the covid years. it's bad.

also feed posting is becoming less and less popular, for example on instagram. feed posts get drowned out under the algorithm recommendations. you ever notice getting recommended posts long before your feed hits posts from accounts you actually follow? it's harder and harder to show up in the feeds of people who actually already follow you, let alone get new followers.

it might not be so obvious to the average user, because when you scroll algorithm based social media, what ends up on your feed usually ends up there because it already has tons of engagement. but for every popular video like that, there are millions of posts trying to reach attention and getting nothing. that's how algorithms work.

for all of these reasons, social media IS a full time job if you want it to be effective. but it's also often times the last on the list of priorities, because other things need to happen and be ready before you can even think about social media content.

but then why is it important to get new followers? why not just focus on the existing fans you have and post content they will engage with?

well, i'm not in the music industry specifically, but my educated guess in the case of an independent band is this:

they need money

to get money, they need sponsorships and collaborations

to get sponsorships and collaborations they need an audience they can sell to said sponsors and collaborators

the bigger the audience, the better the deal

but why do they need money from sponsorships and collaborations? why can't they focus on their music?

because making music as an independent artist doesn't make you money, before it costs you money.

to jump back to what i was saying about following bands for 20 years, things have changed drastically in that time. the most important change being where the money comes from.

because it does NOT come from selling music anymore. people do not pay for music anymore and they don't want to pay for music anymore. people want to pay a monthly fee for spotify and listen to as much as they like. and we all know spotify pays less than crumbs to their artists.

spotify is not going to pay five sets of rent, food, electricity, water, medical care etc etc etc. not even their most devoted fans buying physical copies of albums and merch is going to cover that, because making those physical copies and merch actually costs something too, and as an independent artist the cost is on them.

every single time they make an album, or even a single song, it costs them money. they are an independent band, THEY pay for the studio, THEY pay the producer, THEY pay for the equipment etc. etc.

everything you get from an independent artist, they paid for.

i'll give you an example from the world of metal: there is a man called devin townsend. he started his career in the 90's, in a band called strapping young lad. they were iconic and important in the scene of extreme metal. they were successful. since SYL disbanded, devin has worked on multiple projects, most of them carrying his name. he has a following that spans decades. he is 53 years old.

in 2014 he had to crowdfund making an album. otherwise he would have not been able to make said album. he did not have the means to operate as an independent artist, after twenty years in the industry gaining a following.

now his crowdfunding campaign was a success and people were happy to support it, but my point is that independent artists are having to come up with more and more creative ways to just be able to work. to create more.

to top that off, an independent artist is also going to be paying every single gig and tour themselves. to be able to afford a tour, they need to be able to ask for ticket sales percentages and fees that actually somewhat cover the cost of the tour at least. in order to be able to do that, again, they need attention. they need a name. they need fame.

they need a following.

and the more they want to tour? the further they want to go? the bigger a following they need, so that they can get that sponsorship deal that pays for the bus, get that collab that covers the catering, so that the money they might have left over from the tour might go towards their housing and food.

(and some of the places they go to? to me they speak volumes on how much they care about their existing audience. finland, for example, makes ZERO sense as a gig location for an independent band their size. it's a small and isolated market, it's expensive, and it's a logistical nightmare because travelling to finland will always be a detour. it's not on the way to anywhere, you can't access it by land now that the border to russia is closed, so it's hard to get in and out with expensive equipment that might not survive long flights, and the venue selection in the capital city, aka where the biggest audience is, is surprisingly poor these days. it makes no sense for them to play finland as much as they do - unless they really, really care about it.)

now, joker out is clearly in a relatively good place, or at least they have been, since they were able to take time to go work in london, for example. but i personally always try to keep in mind, that their day to day work involves big expenses, and even though things might be looking good at one point, it might not take long for things to not look that good again. and they need to be able to plan ahead, by a lot.

all of that is to say, they need social media and other means of reaching people. they need growth on all platforms and they need to explore how to do that in a way that is cost effective.

now, of course the most cost effective thing would be to do it all by themselves. make their own social media posts, write their own newsletters etc. etc.

so we come back to my actual expertise.

like i said before, it is a full time job if you want it to be effective in this day and age, so that's the first hurdle.

the second one is that while social media as a past time and a hobby can be lots of fun, as a compulsory work task that you have to do or else you lose your audience? it is soul numbing, boring and kills any creativity you have.

social media as work fucking sucks, unless you are a special kind of crazy that most artistic types just are not. and the connections through social media can easily feel so incredibly fake. and i think joker out have had their share of fans who treat social media as a channel to shit on them for every inconvenience.

it literally kills any joy you have in your life, when you try and try and try to get people to see your creativity through social media but the vast majority of what you get back are demands to come tour here or there, the same stalkers being weird in every post, or fans bickering between themselves.

i have worked with people who have tried their best to balance both creating art and communicating about it. it's not possible to do and still stay sane, not in this day and age and in this cultural environment. it just isn't. that's why the people i worked with hired me to do the communications part, so that they can try and focus on creating.

now, what do i, as somewhat of a professional, think is happening with joker out right now?

i think they have hired help, and their social media manager is trying out a new approach online. it's basically that simple.

she is trying out something new to see how a new approach performs. that's her job. it's going to take a little while for her to see if the new approach works or not. that's just how it works.

do i personally like the new approach? no. but the thing is, i've been there.

and no, before anyone says anything, i have not used generative AI to do my work for me. never. i've never touched AI at all.

but i've been there, trying to build a new approach on social media. and that's what i've also seen people discuss, their tiktoks etc. suddenly being a different tone, a different vibe, trying to follow trends etc. and i've been the one desperately trying to reach people. desperately trying to get people to see the content i create. desperately trying to build a bigger audience, because collaborators care about that. and the thing is, trial and error is the only way. THE ONLY WAY. there is no manual. you have to try and see what happens.

(and the truth is, and i can say this from experience, what usually gains most engagement these days are posts that follow a trend or a meme format, or reference something that is currently trendy. it's what the big crowds like, because it's instantly recognisable, because it's light-hearted and fun, and because it's easy to understand, share and engage with.)

so, what the audience needs to do is simply either engage with it or not engage with it.

you can, of course, always send feedback, but as someone who has been on the receiving end of that feedback, my advice would be to be mindful of the history of social media feedback with joker out. unfortunately expressing downright anger over social media posts or marketing campaigns is not super effective. because at the end of the day, they know and we all know, it's not life and death. it's not the most important part of what they do. it's "just" social media.

engage with the posts you actually like. if that means only engaging with the accounts of the individual members, when they post something authentic, do that. for someone whose job it is to follow the numbers and analyse them, it matters and they are going to notice the pattern.

personally, i don't know much of what goes on in their tiktok because i don't use tiktok for myself and never have. so what i know is based on things that get shared on here. but my advice would simply be to let the numbers speak for themselves and not engage if the new style on tiktok is not to your liking.

(that being said i do think they have tried to engage with trends on tiktok before. it's not completely out of the blue. their new social media manager just has a different voice than what they used to have. now it's about seeing if that new voice works or not.)

now, one last thing. when it comes to not being up front about the use of AI. that is of course something everyone has to decide for themselves how they feel about it.

with that being said, i'm not so sure comments and messages on the band's account reach the members very effectively. i think they have left as much of the official communications side of it all behind as possible. i can't fault them for that, because i know how exhausting it is, and the scale i worked on was much smaller than theirs. so i personally find it hard to accuse any single one of them of lying, when i do believe that the point of hiring a social media manager is to let them manage the social media so you don't have to. at all, if possible. (and that's also something i've seen in all my years of following bands. members who barely know what a tiktok is.) your comments and tagged posts are most likely seen by the social media manager, and she chooses if and when she brings them to the band's attention.

so the tl;dr version of this all is that both the world of music and the world of marketing and communications have changed and keep changing fast, in a way that is frankly a nightmare for anyone trying to actually create something artistic. i do think they could do better in their communication overall, but they are navigating a new situation and learning what works for them and what doesn't. that's not something that ever ends, no matter how experienced you are as an artist, because the world of communication keeps changing.

and so personally, i'm inclined to give them grace.