#Image Viewer For Windows

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

i found some wacky way to make borderless printing work...!!! it's not perfect but idk it might b ok enough until i can get a decent guillotine cutter and cut a bunch of sheets at once to size. I'll try experimenting with printing my comics and stuff sometime!!!!!

[filehulk]

ImageGlass

ImageGlass is a lightweight and versatile free image viewer for Windows PCs, designed to replace Photo Viewer in Windows OS, especially in cases where Photo Viewer struggles to display PNG and GIF files. The software continues to improve with each new version, introducing innovations, features, and bug fixes. As an open-source, straightforward image viewer, ImageGlass offers impressive speed due…

[gallusrostromegalus]

My housemate reminded me of a flashbulb memory I have that I really wish I had a photograph of because it would be a magnificent image to inflict on the internet at large with Zero Context, but I'll try to describe it here, and then draw it after dinner.

Image Description:

As seen from about three feet off the ground: Interior, the den of an american suburban house built at the height of the atomic age and still decorated like it years later. There's dark wood paneling about halfway up the walls that offsets the almost neon pink-orange light of late sunset visible through the large window. Every object in the room is highlighted by the last of the sunlight. The only other light in the room is a TV set that was manufactured the same year Howdy Doody debuted on air, now broadcasting PBS Newshour in black and white.

Closest to the viewer, there is a small end table with a Nearly Full Martini glass, and a Half-empty glass Martini Pitcher, indicating that two of the five martinis it holds have been poured out.

Just behind it, an old man sits in a chair that was bright green and yellow when it was new but is now more Grellow. The man is in his mid-sixites, somewhat heavyset, with a full head of snow-white hair and thick glasses. He's wearing a dark brown tweed suit with leather elbow patches, and a white cotton button-up. He's watching the news with a calm and dispassionate demeanor. Tired, but still engrossed with the world's events. He's wearing dark brown penny loafers and garish argyle socks.

Behind him is a couch that is a matched set with the armchair, with the same Grellow chevron pattern, but there is a very large crochet afghan that has been spread out over the back to be decorative and maybe protect the couch from it's current occupant: a 120lb Wolf Hybrid.

She's seated lengthwise on the couch, like she had also been watching PBS Newshour, posed like a sphynx. She's close in wieght to the man, and definitely taller than him if she stands up, with a dark gray agouti coat and a bit of white countershading from the trace of domestic dog in her. She's turned her head to the viewer, bright yellow eyes focused on them, and the fur of her head and neck haloed with the sunset. She is pleased to see the veiwer, which means most of the teeth in her lower jaw are visible in her canine grin. The effect is very menacing if you don't know her.

Clutched rather neatly between her front paws is a second, identical martini glass, only not nearly quite so full as the old man's.

Title: "Oh, I didn't think you'd be back for another hour/GODDAMIT EDWIN"

[dollyichi]

YOUR BIGGEST FAN!

pro-hero katsuki bakugou x actress f ! reader ᯓ★ he finds out who the main admin is of his biggest fan page. 1.4k words. fluff / established relationship / not proofread / little smau at the end

spin-off from ‘a little mystery never hurt anybody’ [m—dni]

katsuki never cared about his image at all. nor did he care about what people post about him online. aside from his own beliefs, he only cares about what you think, and if you think he’s ‘fucking cool’ then he’s fucking cool.

he only ever checks social media and posts something that you’re a part of. if he had the chance to have all his platforms with a picture of you both or even just you, he’d do it—but you would scold him and tell him that he should just have a photo of himself. which you had to do instead since he’s stubborn and wouldn’t know what photo would look the best.

well fortunately for you, who has an album of pictures of him whether you took it yourself to gate-keep, from his fan sites, or his modeling / commercial projects just picked one portrait that would match his overall style. not too much, not too zoomed out, but still would exude that cool side that you loved so much.

and the moment you changed his profile you’re already switching to your verified fan account to notify your followers of his new profile photo. multiple notifications spawn at your lockscreen, the tweet already blew up too.

your co-admins don’t even know that it was the ‘dazzling actress y/n’ running the account in the first place, and it was for the better. you always had this account the moment katsuki was in his third year in UA. usually posting threads about how amazing of a hero he is, or his rankings in the recent fan polls such as ‘hottest hero’ or ‘most powerful rookie hero quirks!’ and your favorite, ‘heroes i wanna get in bed with.’ just from that, anyone other than you knowing your identity would be real bad.

pro-hero dynamight always had a loyal fanbase anyway. and you were always the first account they’d come to for any news on him.

when you started dating you had to ask for some help which is why you had some of your followers (who have been supporting your blog for so long too!) to assist you when you couldn’t post as frequently as you used to. it was easy to juggle the fan account while you were starting as an actress, but when you started dating katsuki, manning the page is a big challenge. he’ll definitely find out in no time since personal space was thrown out the window when you became his.

you wanted to keep it a secret since you were still such a big fan and it felt like a waste deleting the account since you worked so hard on it—pouring so much passion on it despite being with the main source. there were even times when you begged your staff to get him to sign your merch, which you happily post on the fan page too, wearing thick gloves because you figured katsuki would recognize you immediately.

sometimes you would slip and mess up. your co-admin posting about katsuki taking a photo of your new digital billboard by the station. and you accidentally quoted the tweet on your fan page that reads ‘he really likes me~’ and you immediately take it down before the viewer count goes up.

it was a very close call, and when someone did ask you about it since some of them had notifications on for your account you just made up an excuse like ‘i mean y/n! sorry it was a typo.’

sometimes you’d get katsuki to look at the fan page when you both have free time. and he only ever likes the tweets when it involved you. like when you’re both spotted on a date, or a quote from an interview of him promoting your own projects.

you begged him to follow and he didn’t really think that much of it. shrugging and pressing the button and going back to indulging himself beside you.

you never really post any updates on the pro-hero that’s related to you though. and when you do find out about it, you had your co-admins to thank. especially for that one video clip of him struggling to take a picture of another billboard you had in the middle of the city.

until one day, the two of you were apart for a bit. he was out on a mission, and it’s sad that he couldn’t spend the first few days of your break with you.

nonetheless, you are currently working with his fan sites near the area for some updates on him at the time. you end up missing him too much when they send you the photos in your direct messages. though, “he looks really good,” you think to yourself. up in the air with that pretty grin of his whenever he wins.

on your fan page you always have that certain ‘watermark’ when you make a post. ending the tweet with ‘admin ⭐️💥’ to indicate that it was you posting.

quickly, you make a new post about his new feat, scheduling to have it posted on the next day.

you didn’t think much of it, just happy that your boyfriend was safe and he could come home earlier to you.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already back home seated on his side of the bed. but what was unusual was for him to be on his phone this early. concerned, you reach out to him, hoping there wasn’t an emergency or anything bad that happened.

then he starts laughing that goofy laugh of his that you love. which gets you to giggle yourself, “what’s so funny?” you give him a kiss on his cheek as a morning greeting. it’s nice waking up to him so happy, until you feel your own face drop in horror on the screen.

it was your tweet, with that exact format that you always used—not on your fan page, but at your own main account with already thousands of engagement. you feel yourself sink in your spot on the bed.

you did it now, you knew you shouldn’t be posting when you’re sleepy. now you fucked up, big time. you don’t even want to know the replies on that post, and you couldn’t even face your boyfriend who’s already crying from laughing so hard.

“you’re such a dumbass no wonder you kept pestering me about this fan account.”

you groan, hiding yourself under the covers. you couldn’t even imagine what’s going to become of you and how your manager’s going to react. it’s not like you could just abandon your following either! “it’s different as a fan!”

you take your phone from the bedside table and delete the tweet immediately. it’s been 30 minutes after you scheduled it, but there’s nothing you could even do to remedy the mistake. not when thousands have already seen your tweet. you don’t even know how to tell your co-admins who probably found out your real identity.

“just kill me!” you say, wrapping the comforter around you which leaves nothing for him anymore. he puts his phone down and wraps an arm on you. “don’t be so fuckin’ embarrassed babe. if it helps i’m your number one fan too.”

you won’t budge, staying still in your self made blanket burrito with a pout. facing away from him and with a huff. you were so embarrassed that your whole body freezes, and your mind goes blank. “hey come on, i’m happy about it!” you hear him say.

you could already feel the scoldings of your manager, you just hope this is mainly good publicity if it resurfaces—because you’re damn sure a lot of your shared fans are going to spread it all over the net.

“don’t fuckin’ ignore me babe! i’m really damn flattered here!” and he’s laughing again. he really couldn’t take it seriously, and you really wish this was just a really bad dream. it’s not like you wanted to keep it a secret forever! but you didn’t think he’d find out this way, bummer.

he pulls you on top of him, kissing all over your pouting face that’s sticking out from the thick comforter. “ah fuck this is so good! i bet when we get married you’re just on your phone posting live updates or some shit.”

you’re never going to hear the end of this. especially not when he digged a little deeper and found your ‘thirst’ postings from years ago. oh well, at least he knows you’ve always loved him. it was honestly such an ego boost learning his girlfriend just ��as obsessed’ as he is towards you. besides, his page was almost a fan page of you in itself. whatever, you’re gonna laugh it off next week anyway.

at least you’ve given him another new thing that has him head over heels for you again.

bonus!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : aaaaa this was so funny to me idk T^T it’s really stupid

[leaving-fragments]

also ppl in the tags of that post saying junho and yoona have such good chemistry... idk where they're getting that from, they're both very pretty but there's no like... energy flow between them

[svt-luna]

hi! i hope you’re doing well :")

i’m a big fan of ur works (jeongna for the win!) and ur words provide me comfort whenever i miss jeonghan 🥹 can i request for a short imagine of what happened tonight after 17rh tokyo day 2 where seungcheol went live on weverse and jeonghan suddenly commented a lot and said hi and bye to carats? but make it jeongna pls!

tysm and i wish for your pillows to be soft always! <3

ʚིᵋ ⋆ WEVERSE LIVE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 241205: Tokyo

synopsis: Another post-concert Weverse live with Luna after their ‘Right Here’ day two concert in Tokyo, Japan.

wc: 6.9k

hello, my love!! thank you for your sweet words and i appreciate you so so much! let me just say, that writing for this blog makes me forget about my worries and comforts me as well whenever i am missing Hannie. i am glad it does the same to you!! btw Han and Cheol’s interaction during that live was adorable— they are adorable!! i love your request sm, i couldn’t help but be inspired and write my own version of that interaction (JEONGNA SUPREMACY FR) hope you and all you lovelies enjoy this!!! happy reading, my loves 🌷🤍

inspired my cheollie’s recent live and additionally inspired by this request as well!

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ weverse lives

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

bold and italic paragraphs are flashbacks ღ

The livestream began with a soft glow from a bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Luna sat cross-legged on a plush chair, her hair down in loose waves, framing her bare, makeup-free face. She wore a simple black tee that hung loosely over her frame, a stark contrast to the polished, glamorous image fans had seen of her just hours earlier during the concert.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of Tokyo’s nightlife filtering in through the slightly cracked window, the calm atmosphere reflecting her relaxed demeanor.

Her phone was propped up on the coffee table in front of her, the faint glow of the screen lighting her face as she stared at it, waiting for the first fans to join.

Occasionally, she would tilt her head slightly, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she adjusted the angle of the phone, muttering to herself, “I think this should be fine… Oh, wait, let me fix this.”

She leaned forward, the strands of her hair falling over her shoulders as she fiddled with the phone stand for a moment before sitting back with a satisfied nod. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of her shirt as she waited, her other hand resting lightly on her knee.

One by one, the viewer count climbed, and the chat began to fill with messages. Luna’s eyes flickered to the screen, her smile widening as she saw familiar usernames and enthusiastic greetings.

“Hi! Oh, wow, you guys are fast!” she said, her voice soft yet bright with energy. She raised a hand to wave at the camera, her long fingers moving gently. “How are you all? Did you miss me?”

The chat immediately flooded with comments:

“Luna, you’re so pretty!”

“We missed you so much! How was the concert?”

“MOTHER IS LIVE ONCE AGAIN!!!”

Luna let out a quiet laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly. “I missed you all, too,” she replied warmly. “The concert was amazing, but… let me just relax for a moment, okay? I feel like my body is still trying to catch up.” She leaned back into the chair, tucking her legs under herself.

She squinted slightly at the screen, her fingers brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. “Oh, wait— hold on, the comments are moving so fast.” Her eyes darted to the phone again as she read some aloud:

“Luna, you’re glowing without makeup!”

“Bare-faced Bae Jiyeon supremacy!”

“Pretty girl, I miss you!!!!”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You guys always say that. I feel like you’re just trying to see me blushing.” Her voice was tinged with playful sarcasm, though the warmth in her tone was unmistakable.

Resting her chin on her hand, she watched the chat for a few moments, her eyes narrowing slightly as she concentrated on catching specific messages.

“Oh, I see someone asking about dinner. Yes, I ate already— don’t worry. I had some sushi with the members earlier. So good. But I think I’m still hungry… maybe I’ll order something later. Midnight snacks in Tokyo just hit differently, you know?”

Her free hand tapped lightly on the armrest as she continued to address the comments. “What else? Oh… ‘Jiyeonie you should rest, you look sleepy.’ — thank you for your concern. I promise I’m okay, just a little drained from the adrenaline rush. Concert days are always like that. You feel on top of the world, and then… the calm hits you.”

The chat continued to flood with messages:

“Luna, you deserve the rest! We love you!”

“Your voice must be so tired!”

“You worked so hard today— thank you for giving us your all!”

She let out a quiet sigh, her lips curling into a soft smile. “You guys are too sweet. Really, thank you for appreciating us so much. It makes everything worth it.”

Luna paused, glancing offscreen for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, she turned back to the camera. “Okay, tell me— what do you guys want to talk about tonight? Anything in particular? I’m all ears.”

As the comments continued to flood in, she adjusted her seating position again, pulling a cushion into her lap and hugging it. Her every movement was unhurried and natural, her laid-back energy palpable through the screen.

The chat continued to flood with messages, lines of text rolling up the screen too quickly for Luna to catch them all. Her dark eyes darted across the screen, scanning for something to latch onto, and her lips curled into a slightly amused smile when she caught a recurring theme in the comments.

“We missed your lives so much!”

“Jiyeonie, it’s been forever since your last live.”

“We’re so happy you went live again tonight!”

She tilted her head slightly, a strand of hair slipping forward as she squinted at the screen. “Oh, you missed me, huh?” she teased lightly, her voice soft but warm. “How long has it been?” She paused for a moment, her brows furrowing slightly in thought as she tapped her fingers absentmindedly against the cushion on her lap. Then, realization dawned on her face, and her expression softened even further.

“Oh…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as her smile turned sheepish. “I think the last time I went live was after the opening concert of our tour in Goyang. That was… October, wasn’t it?” She glanced off to the side, as though confirming the timeline in her mind. “Yeah, October. Wow, that really was a long time ago. I’m sorry!”

Her tone was apologetic, and she brought her hands up in a playful gesture of surrender, her fingers splayed wide. “I remember telling you all during that live that I’d go live again soon. I even promised, didn’t I?” She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at herself. “And then… I didn’t.”

The chat immediately reacted with understanding and affection.

“It’s okay, Jiyeonie! We know you’re busy!”

“We’re just happy to see you now!”

“You don’t need to apologize, miss ma’am!”

Luna laughed again, the sound light and airy as she adjusted the cushion on her lap. “No, but really— I feel bad. I did have plans to go live after that, especially during the U.S. leg of the tour. I thought, ‘Oh, it’ll be fun to check in with everyone while we’re in the States.’” She paused, lifting her hands and gesturing as she spoke, her voice animated. “But you know how things go. We were so busy over there.”

Her tone softened slightly as she began to recount the experience. “The U.S. leg was amazing, but it was also a lot. We had so many schedules, so much filming… We did interviews, we filmed all kinds of content, and I also had some solo photoshoots which haven’t even been released yet, by the way,” she added with a small conspiratorial smile, leaning closer to the camera. “You guys are going to love it when it comes out. Trust me.”

The chat filled with excited reactions:

“WHAT KIND OF PHOTOSHOOT?! GIVE US SPOILERS!”

“Ahhh, now I’m curious!”

“Bae Jiyeon teasing us again, as usual!”

Luna chuckled, waving her hand in front of the camera as though to dispel the anticipation. “No spoilers! You’ll just have to wait. But yeah, that’s why I never found the time to go live while we were over there. Every time I thought I’d have a free evening, something else came up.”

She sighed softly, her smile turning a bit rueful. “And, well… you know how I am. By the time we’d get back to the hotel after a full day, I’d just want to collapse into bed.” She glanced back at the camera, her gaze warm and sincere. “So, I’m really glad I have the time to do this now. It feels nice to just sit and talk with you guys again.”

The comments were filled with love and encouragement:

“We understand, Luna! You work so hard!”

“Your health comes first. Don’t worry about us!”

“We’re just happy you’re here now!”

Her lips quirked into a small, grateful smile, and she tilted her head slightly, resting her chin in her hand. “You guys are too sweet. Seriously.” She sat up straighter, her voice brightening again. “Okay, but now I’m curious— what did you all think of the concert tonight? Tell me everything!”

She leaned forward, her eyes scanning the chat intently as the comments began pouring in again.

The comments began flooding in again, messages moving so fast that Luna could barely keep up. Her eyes darted across the screen, scanning as much as she could.

“The concert was AMAZING!”

“My first ever SEVENTEEN concert! Thank you for giving us such a magical night, Jiyeonie!”

“It was my first time seeing you live guys, and I cried during the encore. I didn’t want it to end.”

“The way you sang tonight… I got chills!”

Luna’s lips curved into a soft smile, her posture relaxing further as she leaned back into the armchair, hugging the cushion in her lap. “You guys are the cutest. Reading your comments makes me so happy,” she said, her voice gentle, yet tinged with genuine excitement. “I’m really glad you enjoyed the concert. We worked so hard to make it special for you all.”

Her fingers lightly tapped against the cushion as she read more comments silently to herself.

“Your stage presence is unreal!”

“I love when you guys interact with the us in the audience.”

“I’ll never forget it this night, Jiyeonie!”

“Oh, the confetti!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “Wasn’t that so pretty? I swear when I looked out and saw all of you holding your phones up with the lights on, surrounded by the confetti— it looked surreal.” Her voice softened as she reminisced, her smile taking on a nostalgic quality. “I always tell myself to stay in the moment during concerts, but moments like that… I wish I could freeze them forever.”

The chat erupted again:

“You made us cry, Luna!”

“It was so magical! Thank you for everything!”

“We love you so much!”

Luna’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Thank you for making the night so special.”

She paused for a moment, her gaze shifting slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression grew a little more thoughtful, and her tone softened as she continued. “To be honest… I was feeling a little down tonight during the concert,” she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

The chat slowed for a moment, fans picking up on her change in tone.

“What happened, Jiyeon?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why were you sad, my love?!��

Luna smiled reassuringly, holding up her hand as if to calm their worries. “No, no! Don’t worry, I’m okay. It’s just… my throat was so dry tonight.” She pouted slightly, a playful yet frustrated look crossing her face. “I hate getting sick— hate it, especially when we’re traveling and performing. It’s the worst timing ever!”

She giggled, covering her mouth with one hand as if embarrassed by her outburst. “I was drinking so much water backstage, but no matter how much I drank, my throat still felt like sandpaper. It was driving me crazy.” She shook her head, her smile widening despite herself. “I kept thinking, ‘Please, just hold on until the end of the show!’”

The chat quickly filled with messages of support and concern:

“You did so well, though! We couldn’t even tell!”

“Please take care of yourself, Bae Jiyeon!”

“Rest up! Your health is the most important!”

“You did amazing, Luna!”

Luna’s gaze softened as she read their words, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the cushion in her lap. “Thank you, my loves. Thank you for worrying about me.” She tilted her head, her hair slipping over one shoulder as she continued, her voice full of reassurance. “But don’t worry— I’m fine, really. I just need to rest a little more, and I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

She paused, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Besides, I’m drinking so much honey tea right now, that I think I might turn into a bee.”

The chat erupted with laughter and playful responses:

“Queen Bee Luna!”

“As long as it helps, drink as much as you need!”

“GIRL!! I’D GET YOU ALL THE HONEY TEA IN THE WORLD TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE ALRIGHT!! DON’T TEST ME!!”

“Buzz buzz, our hardworking Luna!”

“You guys are funny,” Luna laughed along with them, her giggles light and infectious. “See? You guys always know how to make me feel better. I really mean it— thank you for being so understanding.”

Luna’s gaze lingered on the screen, her chin resting lightly in her hand as her fingers idly brushed against her cheek. Her dark eyes scanned the comments, but her mind seemed elsewhere, her expression soft and far away. She leaned in slightly toward the camera, the soft strands of her dark hair framing her face, her bare complexion illuminated by the gentle glow of the hotel room light.

As the chat buzzed with messages— fans asking questions, sharing their thoughts, and continuing to express their love— Luna hummed quietly under her breath, almost absentmindedly. The hum soon turned into a soft murmur, and then, without realizing it, she began singing in a gentle, airy tone, her voice just above a whisper.

“‘Adore me, hold me, and explore me… Mark your territory…’”

Her voice was delicate, almost hypnotic, as though the melody was spilling out of her without thought. She leaned closer to the screen, her eyes flickering over the comments as she sang the next line softly, the words melting into the quiet ambiance of the room.

“‘Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one…’”

She stopped singing, her lips curving into an innocent smile as her gaze refocused on the chat. “I love that song,” she muttered, the corners of her mouth still lifted as though she were unaware of the chaos she had just caused.

The chat erupted instantly, fans flooding the screen with comments, the pace of the messages suddenly doubling.

“BAE JIYEON DID YOU JUST SING JUNO?!”

“OH MY GOD THAT’S JUNO BY SABRINA CARPENTER.”

“DOES SHE KNOW WHAT THAT SONG IS ABOUT?!”

“I love that song!!!”

“Luna bestie… the lyrics—”

“WE ARE LOSING IT, LUNA PLEASE.”

“HOW IS SHE SO CASUAL ABOUT THIS???!!!”

Luna tilted her head at the camera, the innocent smile still playing on her lips as she read the messages, her brows knitting together slightly in confusion. “What’s with all the reactions? You guys are freaking out,” she said with a soft laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The chat was relentless:

“THE SONG IS ABOUT—”

“HELLO???? MA’AM?!”

“Do you miss Jeonghan, miss thing?! Cause… we can tell…”

Luna’s smile widened, her laughter bubbling up as she read the frantic comments. “Wait, why is everyone so worked up?” she asked, her voice light and curious, though there was a playful twinkle in her eye. “It’s just a pretty song.“

“IT’S A PRETTY FREAKY SONG.”

“She’s messing with us. God i love her!”

“It matches her vibe tho.”

Luna shook her head, still laughing softly as she waved her hand dismissively. “You guys are too funny. It’s a beautiful song! Sabrina’s voice in it is amazing. And the lyrics…” She trailed off, a teasing glint in her eye as she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just a fraction. “They’re poetic. Don’t you think?”

The comments continued to spiral:

“POETIC?!?!”

“SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING.”

“HELP. LUNA, STOP.”

“SHE PLAYS TOO MUCH.”

She finally broke into a full laugh, her shoulders shaking as she leaned back into the chair, hugging the cushion in her lap once more. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you. But seriously, it’s such a good song. If you haven’t heard it yet, you should listen to it. I promise you won’t regret it.”

The chat’s tone shifted slightly as fans began agreeing with her, though the occasional frantic message still slipped through.

“Okay but she’s not wrong, Juno is a bop.”

“Icons loves icons.”

“Juno is really… something.”

Luna glanced at the comments one last time, her expression softening into a fond smile. “You guys are hilarious,” she said, her voice warm and affectionate. “Thanks for making me laugh tonight. I needed this.”

Luna’s eyes flickered across the comments, her lips curling into a small smile as she caught sight of an English comment that stood out amidst the flurry of messages.

Leaning slightly closer to the screen, she read it aloud, her voice naturally slipping into a soft, playful British accent. “‘Jiyeonie, what’s the song that makes you happy and giddy inside?’” she read, her tone light and melodic, the accent adding a touch of charm to her words.

She blinked once, as though the question had taken her by surprise, but without missing a beat, her answer came effortlessly, her voice soft yet unwavering. “‘Love Me Like You Do’ by Ellie Goulding,” she said with a small, wistful smile that lit up her face.

As she said it, a subtle warmth crept into her expression, her gaze dropping momentarily as though lost in thought.

Unbidden, Jeonghan’s face appeared in her mind, his teasing grin, his laugh, the way his hand always found hers even when they weren’t paying attention.

That song, the one she had chosen without hesitation, was so deeply tied to him that she couldn’t think of it without feeling an overwhelming sense of fondness.

It wasn’t just a song she liked —it was their song, in a way.

Though never officially claimed, it had become something of an unofficial theme for them.

From the first time, she sang it during her cover project years ago to the moments it had surfaced during variety shows or casual conversations, it always seemed to orbit them like a quiet, knowing secret.

Her voice broke through her thoughts as she began to hum the melody softly, the familiar tune spilling from her lips as she continued to read the comments. Her hums were light, almost dreamy as if the memory tied to the song carried her away for a moment.

The chat quickly picked up on her answer, and fans wasted no time piecing things together.

“WAIT. Love Me Like You Do???”

“Isn’t that the song she covered a few years ago??”

“OMG remember her cover? It was SO GOOD.”

“I swear she gets so emotional when she sings that song.”

“You should do an updated cover, Jiyeonie!”

The comments kept rolling in, the momentum building as fans started connecting the dots.

“Wasn’t that the song that came up during The Game Caterers?”

“This just reminded me of Game Caterers when the members were teasing her and Jeonghan for no reason… everything makes sense.”

“Remember Jeonghan’s face when they played it? He looked so suspicious.”

“Omg Luna blushed so hard back then. They were so obvious lol.”

“IS THIS THEIR SONG??? Like… their actual couple song???”

Luna let out a soft laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly as she read the increasingly excited messages. Her humming faded as she glanced back at the camera, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and bashfulness. “You guys are so observant, aren’t you?” she teased her tone light but with a knowing edge that only fueled the chat’s excitement.

“SO IT IS YOUR THEME SONG?!?!”

“Bestie don’t tease us, we’re DYING.”

“CONFIRM IT. WE NEED TO KNOW.”

“Mom and Dad are so cute.”

“I’m calling it. It’s Luna and Jeonghan’s theme song.”

Luna tilted her head slightly, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she leaned closer to the screen, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I never said that…” she said, drawing the words out, her smile betraying her as she tried to feign innocence.

The comments exploded again:

“SHE’S NOT DENYING IT. OMG.”

“This is a confirmation if I’ve ever seen one.”

“LUNA PLEASE JUST SAY IT.”

She laughed again, the sound soft and melodic as she sat back, hugging her knees to her chest. “You guys are way too good at this. I have to be careful what I say around you,” she admitted, shaking her head with an affectionate smile. “But seriously, it’s just a song I really love. It makes me happy, that’s all.”

Her explanation only seemed to make the chat more chaotic:

“THAT’S NOT ALL AND YOU KNOW IT.”

“Luna, we’re not falling for that. The way you smiled just now— HELLO???”

“This is like a soft launch of Jeongna’s couple song and I’m living for it.”

“Can somebody edit Jeongna with this song?! I am on my knees!”

Luna bit her bottom lip to hold back another laugh, her cheeks faintly flushed as she glanced offscreen for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say more.

Finally, she leaned forward again, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial. “Let’s just say… I think some songs remind us of certain people, don’t you?”

The chat collectively lost its mind.

“OH MY GOD SHE ADMITTED IT.”

“We KNEW IT.”

“JEONGNA SUPREMACY!”

“They are adorable fr.”

“She’s in love.”

Luna laughed again, the sound warm and genuine, as she raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop before I get myself into trouble. But I do love that song. It’s one of my all-time favorites.”

She glanced back at the chat, her smile softening as she read the flood of messages. “You guys are really something else,” she said with a fond shake of her head. “Always figuring everything out. I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

Luna’s gaze shifted down to the scrolling comments, her head tilting slightly as she caught sight of a question that made her smile softly. She leaned closer to the phone, her chin lightly resting on her hand, as she read aloud in a gentle, thoughtful tone.

“‘What have you been up to in Japan recently? Have you done anything besides work?’”

Her smile widened, and she let out a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah, well, I haven’t been doing anything else besides work,” she began, her tone warm and conversational. “Ah! Never mind, just the other day, I went shopping with Cheollie and Gyu-Gyu.”

She paused for dramatic effect, her lips quirking into a mischievous grin as she added with a giggle, “And let me just say, the three of us should never shop together again.” Her laughter grew as she shook her head, clearly reliving the memory. “It was so bad. We did some serious damage, I’m not even joking.”

The chat instantly erupted:

“Omg shopping with Cheol and Mingyu must’ve been chaotic.”

“What did you buy? TELL US.”

“Serious damage? HOW MUCH???”

“Do a haul!”

Luna chuckled softly as she read the comments, her fingers brushing her hair back behind her ear. “You guys already know I’m a shopaholic,” she said with a playful shrug, her tone feigning innocence. “I mean, I didn’t need anything, but did that stop me? Absolutely not.” She laughed at herself before continuing. “I ended up getting some new clothes— of course. A new pair of shoes. And… oh! A new bag. It’s so pretty, you’ll see it soon, I promise.”

The comments flooded in again with amusement:

“A NEW BAG?!?!”

“This is why Luna works so hard— so she can shop guilt-free.”

“She’s a mood.”

“Jiyeon is my bias for a reason! She’s my spirit animal. She is me.”

“We need to see the haul, queen!”

Luna waved a hand dismissively but with a fond smile. “You’ll see everything eventually,” she reassured them. “But I didn’t just shop for myself, okay? I got a bag for my mom too. She’s been dropping hints about needing a new one, so I thought, why not?”

Luna leaned back slightly, her expression softening as she continued. “I actually called her after I bought it to tell her. She was so happy and thankful,” she said, her voice laced with affection. “But then—” She broke off with a laugh, her eyes sparkling as she sat up straighter. “She goes, ‘Oh, thank you, that’s nice, but are you going to bring me and your Dad some Japanese snacks too?’”

She threw her hands up in mock exasperation, her giggles spilling out as she recounted the moment. “Can you believe that? I just spent all this money on a bag for her, and she’s already asking for snacks!”

The chat exploded with laughter:

“HAHAHA moms are like that!”

“She’s so real for that.”

“Luna’s mom knows what she wants.”

“PRIORITIES!”

Luna grinned as she nodded in agreement. “Right? But of course, I couldn’t say no. So I went and got her all her favorite snacks. I'll probably end up carrying an extra bag just for her goodies now,” she said, shaking her head but unable to hide the affection in her voice. “My mommy is cute.”

Her gaze flickered to the comments again, her smile widening as she silently read them.

“Luna, you’re such a sweet daughter!”

“We need a Luna and her mom vlog someday, PLEASE.”

She laughed, her head tilting slightly as she addressed the fans. “You guys really want to meet her, huh? I don’t know if she’d survive the attention. She’d probably spend the whole time asking me to make sure her hair looks good or something.”

The comments came pouring in, a mix of playful teasing and genuine admiration for Luna’s close bond with her mother. She rested her chin in her hand again, her expression softening as she read through the messages, clearly touched by the fans’ engagement.

“Honestly,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter but no less warm, “I love spoiling my parents. They’ve done so much for me, so it feels good to give a little back, you know?”

Luna’s eyes sparkled as she straightened up in her seat, her earlier laughter softening into a wide, excited grin. “Oh, oh! I almost forgot!” she said, her voice rising slightly in pitch, her excitement palpable. “I bought a new bracelet too!”

She lifted her left hand toward the camera, her delicate fingers tilting slightly as she showed off the jewelry. The dim lighting in her hotel room made the gold gleam faintly, catching the subtle intricacy of the design. “Can you see it?” she asked, tilting her wrist closer to the screen. “Wait, let me make sure it’s clear.”

She adjusted her hand again, the movement practiced and fluid, until the dainty gold bracelet with its love knot design was fully visible.

Its simplicity was elegant, a perfect complement to the slightly chunkier gold band sitting just above it— the matching bracelet Jeonghan had given her a few months ago. The sight of the two together, perfectly balanced yet distinct, made her smile even wider.

“Pretty, right?” she said, her tone bright and airy as she glanced down at the screen, waiting for the fans’ reactions. Her fingers instinctively adjusted the bracelets, the love knot sliding slightly against her wrist, as she glanced through the influx of comments flooding in.

“OMG IT’S SO PRETTY!”

“Did you buy it to match with your gold band???”

“A LOVE KNOT???? GIRL—”

Luna giggled softly, her thumb absently brushing over the knot detail as she scanned the comments. “I saw it at this little jewelry boutique we stopped by, and I just couldn’t resist,” she explained her voice light with a hint of bashfulness. “It felt simple but meaningful, you know? And it goes so well with my other bracelet…” Her gaze flicked back to the screen, and she let out another soft laugh as more comments poured in.

“Simple but meaningful?? Ma’am, elaborate!”

“She’s glowing talking about it omg.”

“LUNA WE KNOW WHAT THAT BRACELET REPRESENTS.”

She shook her head, the teasing comments making her laugh again, her dimples deepening as she looked back at the camera. “You guys are always so dramatic,” she said, playfully narrowing her eyes. “But yes, I love it. I thought it was just… perfect.”

Her eyes darted back to the comments, reading them silently with a contented smile, but suddenly, one particular message caught her attention. She blinked, her body visibly tensing as she leaned forward, her hand hovering slightly over her mouth.

“Wait a second…” she murmured softly, her eyes locked on the screen.

There, highlighted in bold clarity, was a verified account.

The comment read: “Really pretty.”

Her lips parted slightly in surprise as realization dawned.

It was Jeonghan.

The chat immediately erupted:

“JEONGHAN IS HERE OMG!!!!”

“IS THAT HANNIE COMMENTING???”

“LUNA, DO YOU SEE HIM???”

“MISS THING YOUR FIANCÉ IS LURKING!”

Before she could react, another comment from the same account appeared, just seconds later: “Are you talking about the bracelet or yourself?”

Luna visibly froze, her brain seeming to buffer as she processed not only the fact that Jeonghan was watching her live but that he had just flirted with her— openly, in front of millions of viewers… which seems to be their norm ever since their relationship got exposed to the public.

They used to dream of times like this.

Her hand instinctively went to her face, covering her mouth as her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Oh my God…” she mumbled, her voice muffled and shaky with barely contained laughter. Her wide eyes darted back and forth between the camera and the comments, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

The chat was on fire:

“HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.”

“LUNA YOUR MAN IS RIGHT THERE.”

“WE ARE ALL THIRD-WHEELING THIS LIVE RN.”

“YOON JEONGHAN?!? SIR!!?”

Luna shook her head, her fingers dropping from her lips as she let out a flustered laugh. “Yoon Jeonghan you really…” she started, her voice trailing off as she glanced down again, catching yet another wave of excited messages. “…have no shame,” she said finally, her voice breathless and tinged with disbelief.

“HE’S IN LOVE AND HE WANTS US ALL TO KNOW IT.”

“Jiyeon, don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“Y’ALL THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A ROMANCE MOVIE.”

The fans’ collective reactions filled the chat once again, the scrolling comments a chaotic blend of screaming, laughing emojis, and declarations of how adorable the couple was. Luna bit her lip to suppress another laugh, her expression softened, the corners of her lips quirking upward in a private smile.

Luna shook her head, her cheeks still pink from Jeonghan’s earlier comment as she looked directly at the camera. “Alright, everyone,” she said, exhaling as though she were trying to steady herself. “Since he’s obviously here and not going anywhere, everyone say hello to Jeonghannie who I know we all missed so much.”

Her voice was lighthearted but tinged with fondness, the kind that only years of love and understanding could bring. Her eyes flitted to the comments as they exploded once again, the chat now in absolute chaos.

“HI JEONGHAN!!!”

“THE AUDACITY HE HAS TO FLIRT IN FRONT OF MILLIONS.”

“JEONGHAN WE SEE YOU 👀👀👀”

“We miss you! Come back!”

Among the flurry of messages, Jeonghan’s verified account popped up again. “Hi Carats!” it read, simple yet instantly sending the chat into another spiral.

Luna let out a soft laugh, resting her chin in her palm as she scrolled through the endless stream of greetings for her fiancé. But before she could even think of moving on, another comment from him appeared.

“Nana-ya, get me one.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she read it aloud, “Get you one?”

Then, just seconds later, another comment from Jeonghan followed: “The same one. A matching one.”

It took her a moment to process, her confusion evident as she tilted her head slightly. “Get you one what?” she asked, her lips curling into a small, bewildered smile as she waited for clarification.

The realization hit her like a gentle wave when she saw his next comment: “Oh, the bracelet?” she said, her voice lilting upward in understanding.

Her fingers brushed over the love knot bracelet on her wrist as if to confirm what he was referring to. “You want one of these?” she asked, a teasing note creeping into her tone.

Jeonghan didn’t keep her guessing for long. His reply was instant as if he’d been waiting: “Yes. We need to be a couple.”

Luna blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but before she could respond, another comment from him popped up: “Even though we already are 😝.”

The chat practically exploded.

“STOP HE REALLY JUST SAID THAT????”

“WE NEED TO BE A COUPLE 😭😭😭 THIS MAN IS TOO MUCH.”

“Where have I heard that phrase before?!”

“THIS IS THE SAME JEONGHAN AND LUNA WHO USED TO DENY EVERYTHING BTW LMFAO.”

“WHY ARE WE HERE THIRD-WHEELING???”

“Sir, you need to stop. Luna is malfunctioning.”

Luna’s hand flew to her mouth as a quiet laugh escaped her, but her wide-eyed expression betrayed the sudden wave of déjà vu that swept over her.

Those words— we need to be a couple— had been said before, hadn’t they? And not just anywhere.

Her eyes darted back to the screen as memories began flooding her mind, the exact same scenario replaying itself from years ago. Back then, it was a different piece of jewelry— a dainty gold necklace she had shown her fans during a live after their ‘Follow’ tour concert in the Philippines.

It had been late at night, much like this, Luna sitting cross-legged on her hotel bed as she held the delicate chain up for the camera to see. “Look at this!” she had said excitedly, letting the small gold pendant dangle just above her palm.

The pendant was in the shape of the letter ‘J,’ something she had coyly told her fans stood for her own initials. But in reality, it was for Jeonghan— something she hadn’t dared to admit then in public.

Jeonghan hadn’t been at the concert due to an injury, but that didn’t stop him from watching her live. His verified account had appeared in the chat unexpectedly, his comments cheeky and bold even back then.

“Get me one.”

Luna had paused, caught off guard as her fans erupted in excitement. “Hannie? Get you what?” she had repeated, her tone unsure but amused.

His reply had been instant: “The same one. We need to be a couple.”

The chat had collectively lost its mind, the comments flying faster than she could read.

“JEONGHAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??”

“STOPPP WE CAN’T HANDLE THIS.”

“WE NEED TO BE A COUPLE????? SIR EXPLAIN???”

“JEONGNA IS REAL ISTG!!! TRY TO CHANGE MY MIND!!”

Her laugh had been shaky then, a mix of nervousness and amusement as she waved her hand at the camera. “Jeonghannie, stop saying things like that. People might think you’re serious,” she had joked, her voice light but carrying a subtle plea for him to tone it down.

And then, as she read through the comments, a small notification had popped up at the top of her screen— a text message.

It was from Jeonghan.

“I am serious.”

Luna had tried her best to keep her reaction neutral, but her smile had softened in a way that betrayed her. Her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head slightly, trying to hide the way her face flushed and how her heart fluttered at his words.

And in the end, she had gotten him a matching necklace— both pieces featuring the letter ‘J.’

To everyone else, it was a cute nod to their shared first initial, but to them, it was so much more. It was their quiet way of holding onto something that was just theirs, something they didn’t have to explain to anyone.

Back in the present, Luna blinked, the warmth of the memory leaving her momentarily speechless. The chat was still buzzing with excitement, and Jeonghan’s most recent comment— “Even though we already are 😝” —shone brightly at the top.

She let out a breathless laugh, her hand brushing over her cheek as she muttered, “You’re really going to bring that up again?”

Her fans didn’t miss a beat:

“GOSH IT WAS AN INSIDE JOKE THIS ENTIRE TIME!!!”

“IS THIS A FULL CIRCLE MOMENT OR WHAT.”

“STOPPPP THEY’VE BEEN OBVIOUS SINCE THEN!!”

Luna’s eyes scanned the stream of comments again, only to pause as another one from Jeonghan popped up.

“You already got me one, didn’t you?”

Her lips parted slightly, and the faintest blush rose to her cheeks. She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but it was obvious— he’d caught her.

The truth was, she had bought two bracelets when she found the love knot design.

The fans weren’t letting it go either.

“WAIT SHE DID!!!”

“LUNA DID YOU REALLY BUY TWO???”

“He caught you, girl.”

“JEONGHAN KNOWS HER TOO WELL PLS.”

“Guilty as charged.”

She glanced at the screen, her brows furrowed in mock irritation as she nodded her head, trying to keep her composure. “Jeonghannie, why are you like this?” she muttered, a sheepish smile playing on her lips.

Before she could fully recover, another comment from him appeared: “Good. Now we’ll match.”

Luna let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the camera, but her blush deepened. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

Feeling bold, she leaned closer to the screen, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Gosh, are you in love with me or something?” she asked, her tone half-teasing, half-challenging.

The chat went wild as fans waited for his response, and Jeonghan, as always, didn’t disappoint.

“And what about it?”

The simplicity of his words sent the chat into absolute chaos.

“JEONGHANNNNNN STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH.”

“HE REALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF EVERYONE OMG.”

“LUNA ARE YOU OKAY??? BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP.”

“WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR?!?”

“THESE TWO COULD’VE TEXTED EACH OTHER BUT INSTEAD THEY DECIDE TO FLIRT IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS ONCE AGAIN.”

Luna’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she let out a nervous laugh, leaning back slightly as she tried to compose herself. “Lord…” she whispered, shaking her head.

She tried to move on, but her stuttering betrayed her. “You… you always want us to match,” she managed to say, her voice soft as she brushed her fingers through her hair.

Facing the camera again, she narrowed her eyes playfully. “Hannie is obsessed with me, guys,” she said, her tone light but affectionate.

The fans wasted no time.

“OBSESSED WITH YOU???? AS HE SHOULD BE.”

“I MEAN HE’S NOT EVEN HIDING IT ANYMORE LMAO.”

“JEONGHAN, BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP.”

“UHM… WHO ISN’T?!?”

Jeonghan’s next comment, however, rendered Luna completely speechless:

“Yes. And soon we’ll have new matching rings.”

Her brows furrowed slightly in confusion as she reread his words. “Rings?” she repeated softly, almost to herself.

And then, like a bolt of lightning, realization hit her.

Her eyes widened, her fingers stilling mid-fidget as she fully grasped what he meant.

New matching rings.

Wedding bands.

She blinked rapidly, her lips twitching as she fought to suppress the smile threatening to take over her face.

The comments erupted once again:

“GOODBYE I—“

“He is MISSING you, girl.”

“I’M CRYING THIS IS SO CUTE.”

Luna’s voice was softer now, the blush spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “You… you need to go to sleep,” she said, her tone holding a mix of exasperation and fondness as she pouted at the camera.

Her words were directed at Jeonghan, but the teasing in her voice made it clear she wasn’t really upset. “Hannie, stop teasing me on live. Go to sleep,” she repeated, crossing her arms for emphasis.

The chat was in shambles, but Jeonghan’s comment cut through all the noise: “I’m laughing so hard right now 😂 You're cute. ”

Luna couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though her smile gave her away. “You’re annoying,” she muttered under her breath before turning her attention back to the fans.

“See what I have to deal with?” she said, her voice filled with affection. But even as she tried to move on, her fingers unconsciously brushed over the oval diamond on her engagement ring, a soft smile lingering on her lips.

God, she and Jeonghan had wished for times like these— where they could just exist together, freely and without fear. And now, here he was, openly voicing out his love for her in the most public way possible, and all she could do was smile like the lovesick idiot that she was.

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[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Online Meeting 🖥 pt.2

Alexia Putellas x Reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

pt.1

summary :

Over the following weeks, fans begin piecing together clues about your relationship, culminating in paparazzi photos of you and Alexia kissing, confirming the rumors.

The days following the interview were… strange.

At first, the questions from Alexia’s fans had been mild curiosity. Comments under the interview video ranged from playful speculation to downright conspiracies. Fans were, after all, a dedicated bunch—especially when it came to someone as beloved as Alexia Putellas. But neither of you could have imagined how quickly the rumors would pick up.

It started with screenshots. Sharp-eyed viewers had gone back to the recording, capturing the exact moment Alexia's expression changed. Her fleeting smile, the sudden softness in her eyes—it all became fuel for countless fan theories. Some were harmless guesses, others more pointed, as people tried to dissect who could possibly cause the Alexia Putellas to break her professional façade.

Then came the tweets.

*Okay but can we talk about how Alexia got distracted during that interview? Who is she hiding??*

*#WhoWalkedIn ?! I'm convinced Alexia has a secret partner 👀*

*Alexia smiled like that for someone off-screen...what do we think, fam?*

Fan accounts began circulating theories. Old videos, subtle interactions, and even past social media posts were dug up and scrutinized. Someone even pointed out how Alexia had been using the word cariño more often in interviews, but only when talking to someone off-camera or when she was distracted.

You and Alexia didn’t talk about it at first. It was easy to brush off the initial stir as just the nature of her fame. People were bound to overanalyze every little thing. But as the weeks went on, it became harder to ignore.

The two of you were spotted at a small café one evening, trying to keep a low profile. You sat across from her, laughing at a story she told about one of her teammates, and it felt just like any other quiet moment. But as you left, a fan had caught sight of Alexia. Despite her hoodie and sunglasses, she was still recognizable to the most dedicated. She signed a quick autograph, and you both hurried off.

You thought nothing of it until the next morning.

Photos of Alexia at the café began circulating online, and while most fans focused on her casual outfit or her rare public outing, a few of the eagle-eyed ones noticed something else—you. The photos were grainy, taken from a distance, but they were enough. One fan even circled a reflection of your face caught in the window and posted it side by side with blurry images of you from other occasions, piecing together what looked like a shadow of the truth.

Pinterest : sadlittleheart

*Who is this girl with Alexia? She’s been spotted with her "before".*

It wasn’t just the café outing either. Someone found an old photo from months ago, where you and Alexia had been standing too close at a team dinner. The initial photo hadn’t caused any waves back then, but now, with the added context of the interview slip-up, people were connecting the dots.

And then, it happened. The moment neither of you had anticipated but also knew was inevitable.

You and Alexia were walking through a park late one night, trying to escape the bustle of the city. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the quiet paths. It had become your ritual—those late-night walks where no one would bother you, where she could just be Alexia, not the icon or the footballer, but just your girlfriend.

But as you neared a secluded part of the park, Alexia pulled you into a brief kiss, her hand gently cradling your jaw. It wasn’t long, just a sweet, private moment that would have gone unnoticed—except it didn’t.

The next morning, headlines broke across sports and gossip sites alike.

Paparazzi Shots of Alexia Putellas and Mystery Woman Kissing!

The photos were splashed across every major platform, your faces blurred in some, clear as day in others. The intimate kiss, the way her hand lingered on your cheek—it was all out there now, the quiet truth of your relationship exposed.

Fan accounts exploded.

*GUYS IT'S HER. THE GIRL FROM THE INTERVIEW.*

*Alexia has a girlfriend?? She’s so cute with her omg!!*

*We knew it! The way she smiled during that interview—this makes so much sense.*

The shift in public perception was sudden. Where before it had been speculation and conspiracy theories, now it was a full-blown revelation. Fans flooded Alexia’s social media, some supportive, others surprised, but the general consensus was one of excitement. People loved that Alexia seemed happy, even if some had been taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

As the storm swirled around you, Alexia stayed calm. She always did. One morning, you woke up to find her scrolling through her phone, reading some of the more amusing comments with a soft smile.

“They’re really invested,” you muttered, peeking over her shoulder.

Alexia chuckled, leaning back into you. “They always are. But as long as you’re okay…” She turned to you, her eyes searching yours.

“I’m okay,” you assured her. “Are you?”

“I am,” she replied, pulling you closer. “Now that it’s out there… I think I like not having to hide anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight lift from your shoulders. The world might know now, but in this moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and her, and that was more than enough.

pt.3

[sunnfish]

[ID: A digital drawing of Sasaki Shuumei from Sasaki to Miyano. He sits in the middle of an empty train, staring at the viewer tiredly, surrounded by different versions of himself. One next to him looks like his middle-school self, wearing headphones and staring bored at his phone. One stands in front of them, wearing his winter high-school uniform. Another stands behind them, wearing his spring uniform and headphones around his neck, staring out the window. Another sits across from him, mostly obscured, hair undyed, and leaned over, running a hand through his hair. The surrounding Sasakis are all out of focus. The color palette is wash in blue with bits of green and yellow highlights, with Sasaki's orange hair standing out. The artist's signature "sunnfish" is written on the train seat. /End ID]

apathy, or: don't ask me what this means. sketch below the cut cause its also fun :)

[ID: A sketch of the image above, minus the sasaki across the main sasaki, using shades of blue to denote value. /End ID]

[hplonesomeart]

*guilty sigh* There’s no coming back from this one boys—throwing all my self respect and artistic dignity out of the window right now, oopsie woopsie! Listen the longer we don’t hear any news or updates about him from the SMG4 channel, the more I go stir crazy clawing at my fixation enclosure making Puzzle art to cope. His hold over me is getting stronger every day /j

(flipped/vertical version under the cut)

You could spin the angle/reposition the canvas vertically as well if looking down at him is more your thing. Oh the power I have been granted to manipulate reality as an artist is unmatched >:3

I mostly wanted my hand to guide me into practicing drawing odd angles like this, where the head appears closer to the viewer then legs/lower body. Almost like forced perspective? But I didn’t use any reference images…so you let me know if this works or looks wonky lmao

[megtrns]

Hello! Wanted to start off and say how much I love your writing, and it's awesome you feel able to do it again. Thank you, and I hope you're having a good day!!!

Secondly, if your inbox isn't too full already, could I maybe request a little scenario of idw megs receiving a painting from a secret admirer so to speak? It's not exactly hard to find out who made it, doing a painting at cybertronian scale is a huge undertaking for a human, and would likely require some assistance (something i doubt would stay secret for long), but, despite their usual spunkiness, the human just got a little too nervous to gift it directly.

a/n : hi dear, thank you so much for the sweet message, i'm glad to hear you enjoy my writing ! i hope you're having a good day too. i hope i do justice to your request because it was so fun to write for <3

florence. megatron / gn!reader. sfw !

You once told him a story about a (rumoured) condition in which people, when confronted with profound artworks, are seized by a range of mysterious symptoms—from mild dizziness to falling to their knees, with some even fainting—the Florence syndrome, as they called it. A strange and rare phenomenon in which one crumbles at the sight of intense beauty.

Megatron is aware of your passion for art. Your hands are often smudged with ink or paint whenever he sees you, dried flecks of grey and red adorning your forearms. Once, you had infamously splashed an entire bucket of paint over Rodimus, pleading to your captain that it was not premeditated. That he just had the spoiled luck of entering your makeshift art studio while you were 'experimenting'.

Work for you above the Lost Light was scarce, and in space, the days all blur into one — long and seemingly endless, no one stopped you from indulging in your hobbies. You had a range of artistic passions, but one Megatron finds curious: painting, both the act and the result of the action. The technique is different from what they did back on Cybertron. And Megatron cannot remember the last time he saw one, denied of such privileges as someone forged for the mines (and by the time he could roam the streets freely, there weren't many buildings left for him to set foot in. Regrettably, he made sure of that.)

He has seen you do it before, wrist moving in delicate concentration, guiding liquid paint — which he learned to be particles of pigment suspended in a drying oil — across a white canvas. You made it look effortless, like a dance you perform for yourself, one he privately wishes he could see more often. But these days, you were being secretive, often excusing yourself away from your usual table at Swerves to return to your studio, where the windows were tinted so that not even sly, conniving mechs like Whirl could peek inside. Everyone assumed you needed the solitude; living in a ship with over a hundred rowdy bots can overwhelm a person. So he lets you go to tend to your latest project, disappointed that even when suspended in space, the time you two shared passes so quickly.

He would be lying to himself to say that he wasn't curious, going as far as surprising himself by feeling jealous at the sight of Ultra Magnus and Fortress Maximus walking out of the studio — idly chatting in the hallway as if they hadn't just entered what is (currently) known as the most secretive place aboard the whole ship. Even Rodimus had thrown a fit at the rumour that the two point-one-percenters had seen your latest painting before he did, and Megatron was somewhat relieved that the former Prime acted as a distraction, afraid that you saw right through him, past his armour and down to his envy.

Until he sees the painting in front of his hab-suite, leaning against the door.

His servos twitched to touch, optics widening at the sight.

It was him.

You've painted him as he is, iron and silver, standing proudly under the light. His eyes red like a rising sun. It was almost like staring into the mirror, yet his image was looking away from the viewer — both he and the audience acting as discreet observers. But there was a sudden, slow pulling at his spark when he realised that even when he's not smiling in the portrait, you made him look kind. Gentle.

And the ex-warlord didn't know how to feel aside from astonishment. Is this how you see him? That despite his marred and ugly history, you see art in him ?

When he saw you the next day, optics skimming the crowd to land on a pair of nervous eyes, Megatron didn't even notice he was smiling — a small, rare gesture that had you blushing so beautifully.

You tried to act as if the painting wasn't from you, dismissing his 'thank yous' and shrugging it off with both hands in your pocket (as if Ultra Magnus and Fortress Maximus had not admitted to being the one to carry you above their open palms for hours so you could reach the corners of the giant canvas.) Megatron, however, doesn't need a confession. He didn’t miss the satisfied grin you tried to hide when you saw the painting in his room, clearly cherished by the way it hung right where he could see it at all times.

Megatron has barely received anything in his life worth treasuring, but this painting was almost like a silent admission — intimate, sweet, something so far removed from what he thought was possible in his life.

So yes, he has heard of people trembling and shaking at the sight of grandiose paintings, going so far as to weep and collapse. Megatron couldn't understand it until he pictured you standing in the middle of your studio, neck craned to admire your portrayal of him — the vision enough to make his processor spin.

[sematarygirls]

The House On Peachtree Lane — Rafe Cameron.

pairing: serialkiller!rafe x fem!reader

summary: the abandoned house across the street had always given you the heebie jeebies, its crumbling foundation, and overgrown lawn looking like something straight out of a horror movie. however, when you began to notice a dark figure sneaking in and out of the house at odd hours of the night, you started to wonder if the house across the street was really abandoned at all.

warnings: very dark; viewer discretion adviced, male masturbation, sexual fantasies involving violence, icky rafe, stalking, mentions of murder, degradation, reader is a little freak, some manhandling

word count: 5.6k words !

a/n: starting off october right, yall. i have a strange fascination with writing characters that are actually batshit insane

The abandoned house on Peachtree Lane had a looming presence that seemed to overshadow the other houses on the residential street. Perfectly manicured lawns with each blade of grass a blindingly vibrant shade of green and cut to a perfect two and a half inches—never more, never less—lined the street of white picket fences and pristine white two story homes.

Peachtree Lane was the picturesque suburban neighborhood that you envisioned when you thought of that perfect, upper-middle class lifestyle. Each house was filled with a matriarch that had placed their entire self-worth into being perceived as the nuclear all-American family.

Then, there was that abandoned house. It threatened the image that had been so pristinely crafted to reflect the traditional values of suburban America. It was a blemish on the otherwise immaculate, postcard-worthy neighborhood. It stood tall and haunting in stature, casting a dark shadow over the neighborhood like a storm cloud foreshadowing the eventual fall of rain.

You, like the house across the street, were out of place among the families and elderly couples that lived on your block. You were a single woman in her twenties that had inherited the house after your grandmother passed away—a fact your mother nearly had a conniption over.

Your grass was a dull green, always too long or too short to fit neighborhood standards—both facts that you'd been reminded time and time again to remedy, but you didn't pay the PTA moms much mind. You knew they didn't have anything better to do than fuss over a strangers lawn, especially when they were so desperately trying to ignore the fact that most of their husbands were probably repressed homosexuals or fucking their secretaries.

You felt a sense of kinship with the abandoned house, an odd comfort with the fact that you both seemed to be peculiarly out of place. you often stared at it for hours, observing every detail.

It was a beautiful house with dark, Victorian architecture that stood out among the carbon copies surrounding it. The windows that weren't broken were boarded up, the tall, waist-length grass that surrounded the property and the animal carcasses hidden amongst it acting as a 'keep out' sign for potential trespassers. The roof looked like it was practically caving in on itself, and you couldn't help but wonder why the house was still standing. Why hadn't it been bulldozed and been replaced with another cookie-cutter American Dream Home? It was strange, intriguing even.

Even more strange was the fact that the house, at times, seemed to stare back at you.

Your fingers curled onto the edge of the windowsill, leaning forward and sticking your head out to feel the cool night breeze on your face. Almost instantly, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck perk up, bumps raising on the backs of your arms as the feeling of being watched crept up on you.

Your gaze immediately fell on the house across the street. The pit in your stomach that formed when your eyes darted from each shattered or dirtied window to the next seemed to confirm that your subconscious was almost positive that the pair of eyes on you was in that house.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as your eyes narrowed, trying to see past the darkeness and into the old house. You felt a strange vulnerability despite having checked and double-checked the locks on every door and window in your house atleast ten times that night.

Everyone knew of the serial killer that had been plaguing your town for months, brutally killing the fathers and occasional mother of the exact type of families that lined your street.

Knowing that you weren't his target demographic did little to ease your worry, though. There was always that nagging thought in the depths of your mind that you could be next, and that's what made this uneasy feeling of being watched all the more troubling.

Unbeknownst to you, the house on Peachtree Lane that everyone feared—whispers and rumors of monsters and decaying bodies inside keeping anyone from staring too long at the decrepit structure—was not abandoned at all.

Cameron Development owned the building, and when Rafe Cameron took over for his father, he made sure that the house stayed in his possession and that any attempts to renovate or demolish the property had fallen through.

The house, despite being an eyesore, had actually garnered significantly less attention than one may think. No bored, gossip-hungry housewives or nosey elderly couples with nothing better to do with their retirement than people watch would be intruding on his business and noting his presence if it was perceived as uninhabited.

Any spare glances at the house were brief and filled with distain. No one wanted to look at the rotting wood and trash-littered lawn for longer than they had to, which worked in the man's favor. No one would notice him entering and exiting at all odd hours of the night, nor would they think twice about the sharp, metallic smell that permeated the air around the house. It was the perfect cover.

He watched from one of the battered second story windows, sitting on a metal fold out chair with his legs spread wide, his presence hidden by the cover of night. A camera stood on a tripod in front of him, aimed strategically at your bedroom window.

He had been watching you since you moved in, and he knew that some deeply in tune facet of you was keenly aware of this fact. Subconsciously, like the way your eyes flickered to the 'abandoned' house when you felt your hair stand end, you knew someone was watching you, and he suspected that a part of you even liked it.

The way you pranced around your bedroom in your short nightgowns—fitted with a lace trim and small bows or flowers that made his dick twitch in his pants—and got changed carelessly with the windows open, blinds raised, and curtains parted for anyone to see. You were putting on a show for him; he was sure of it.

His bedside table was filled with pictures he had taken of you through your exposed window. In some of them, you were fully clothed—just having gotten back from work or the gym. In some of them, you were wearing those tempting, delicate little nightgowns that he was dying to rip off of you, and in the rest of them, you were completely naked—or naked adjacent. Pictures of you in nothing but a towel, in your underwear, and even completely nude with your tits or perfect ass on display made up most of his perverted little collection.

Nothing came close to the highs he felt when he came to your photos. He had tried, and failed, to find release in other women, fucking them hard and without reprieve to let out his pent up frustration. He even tried pretending they were you, pushing their heads into his pillows, so he didn't have to see their faces and be reminded that they weren't really you, but none of it worked. You were the only thing he wanted.

He watched your gaze dart from window to window, brows furrowing slightly as you searched for the source of that uneasy feeling that had settled deep within you. Strangely, you seemed more curious than you were afraid. He couldn't help himself as he ran his hand slowly up his thigh, fiddling with the button of his jeans and popping it open before pulling the zipper down.

He had a victim in his basement, probably screaming their head off and tugging at the restraints binding them to the chair, but he didn't care. His attention was fixed on you, and the way you seemed to search for him despite not really knowing that he was there.

He pulled his hard cock from his underwear, spreading his legs wider as he leaned back against the chair. His tip was flushed and leaking precum, just the sight of you working him into a frenzy. He swept his thumb over his aching head, smearing the evidence of his arousal across his hot skin. A sharp hiss tumbled from his mouth as he captured his bottom lip between his teeth, watching the way your gaze lingered on the very window he was in.

For a moment, as he dragged his hand down his throbbing length, the thought that you could see him flickered across his mind, and for that brief moment, he wished it was true. He wanted you to see him, to know that you had caused this.

But, then, just as quickly as your gaze had seemingly fallen on him, piercing into his soul in a way that had him groaning with animalistic need, it had retreated.

He watched with frustration, his movements speeding up, mimicking his inner strife for your actions, as you pulled back from the window and drew the curtains. You were teasing him, and he didn't like it.

Your curtains were sheer, so with the wind blowing in your window and the blinds still hiked up, they did little to actually disguise anything going on inside. This fact only fueled his annoyance because it meant that your act was out of defiance rather than self-preservation. If there was anything Rafe hated, it was when people defied him, especially when that person was you.

He tore his gaze from your house, head falling back and lips parting in pleasure as he continued to work his hand up and down his cock. He let his eyes flutter closed as he imagined all the things he'd like to do to you.

He pictured you, bound to the chair in his basement that so many had met their demise in. He would run his knife along your soft, smooth skin and watch you shudder in a mix of fear and anticipation. He wanted you teetering on the edge of terror and desire, never knowing whether he was going to fuck you or kill you.

He let out a low moan, imagining the tip of his knife dipping into your plush thighs. The sight of thick, hot blood dripping down your flushed skin as he carved his initials into your perfect flesh.

He could practically hear your soft whimpers and cries, his hand moving faster as he felt his pleasure building within him. You would beg and plead for him to stop, looking up at him with teary eyes that would only encourage him to keep going, to see how far he could go before he lost all self-control.

He couldn't decide what he wanted more: to hurt you or to pleasure you? Just as easily as he could see you in the basement of his murder house, he could imagine you laying in his bed, blissfully unaware of his dark side and the hundreds of pictures of you just beside your head. He could mold you into whatever he wanted, filling your pretty head with lies that he knew you'd eat right up.

The combined images flickered back and forth between domestic and depraved finally sent him over the edge with a cry of your name—which he'd learned by looking through your mail—as hot spurts of cum covered his hand and jean-clad thighs.

He panted, picking his head back up to look at your bedroom window. You had turned the light out, your room engulfed in a darkness that signified you had settled in bed and would soon be drifting off to sleep, if you hadn't already.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he let out a deep sigh, his brows furrowing as he tucked his softening dick back into his pants and stood, stretching his limbs as he wiped the sticky, white substance coating his hand onto his jeans. He walked to the door, giving your window one last glance before leaving and making his way down to his awaiting victim.

You had eventually brushed off that intense feeling of being watched after carefully examining the house and coming up empty. You had chalked it up to your paranoia surrounding the serial killer running amuck in your little town and settled into bed, letting your unease be washed away by the comfort of sleep.

It was only a couple hours later when something jolted you awake, your heart racing as your peaceful state was torn from you, replaced by an indescribable panic of unknown origin.

Your eyes darted around your bedroom, searching for any potential threats that could have been the cause of such a violent awakening, but you were greeted with nothing of note. You exhaled in relief as you confirmed that you weren't in immediate danger, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed, toes brushing the soft fibers of your plush rug, which provided a sense of comfort that grounded you to reality as you pushed yourself off the bed and into a standing position. Curiosity gnawed away at you with each growing second that you didn't have an answer for what had stolen you away from such a blissful dreamstate.

For reasons unknown to you, you felt a pull inside you, urging you to tiptoe over to the window. You moved slowly, tentatively, as if any sudden movements would somehow put you in harms way.

When you reached the window, curtains blowing wildly with the force of the wind, you hesitantly reached out, pulling back the sheer pink fabric so you could get a good look at the dimly lit street below.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, a cold feeling creeping up your spine from the mix of the chilly night air and the anticipation of what you might find.

You didn't truly expect to see anything. You lived in a safe neighborhood where the greatest crime to be committed was bringing a gluten dish to one of the neighborhood potlucks, but still, in that same part of you that feared being the Kildare Killer's next victim and always knew to look across the street at the abandoned house when you felt a sense of being watched wash over you, you knew something would be waiting beyond those decorative curtains.

You squinted, eyes scanning the sidewalk for a moment for anything out of the ordinary when suddenly, movement in the tall grass beside the old Victorian home caught your attention.

A figure, clad in a dark jacket with the hood pulled over their head, was dragging something heavy toward the street where a large, dark-colored SUV was idling. Your head cocked to the side, brows furrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity as you watched the person intently.

Even from this distance, you could tell they were tall and, judging by the size of the object they were lugging, strong, which led you to theorize that it was mostly likely a man. You couldn't help but notice how suspiciously human sized the trashbag seemed to be, your mind immediately jumping to the countless news stories detailing the crimes of the Kildare County Serial Killer you'd half-listened to while making dinner countless nights.

You were frozen in place, the rational part of you screaming at you to run to the phone and call the police, but again, that darker side of you prevailed, keeping you exactly where you were as you watched him load the person object into the SUV.

Your trance was only broken when the man lifted his head and looked directly at your window, almost as if he had known you were there. Your eyes widened as you quickly dropped to the floor, not even attempting to get a good look at his face as your self-preservation instincts finally kicked in, and you rushed out of view.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you sat there, waiting for something to happen. You half expected to hear glass breaking or knocking on your front door as the man tried to dispose of the only witness to his crime, but your house remained silent, eerily so now that you were thinking about it.

You stayed on the floor, your knees pressed to your chest, for what felt like hours as you mustered up the courage to peek out the window and see if the man was still outside. When you finally pushed yourself up, glancing down at the street below, you found it completely empty.

A relieved sigh fell from your lips as you braced yourself on the windowsill, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself as you tried to rationalize what you'd seen.

Maybe it was just someone cleaning out the old house. In the middle of the night? Your mind had nagged, despite your best efforts to push your doubts away. There was no way a serial killer was operating out of your neighborhood, and there was no way that you had just seen him. You wanted to remain blissfully ignorant as to what you'd witnessed, deciding against dwelling on it if you could help it.

The next day, around three in the afternoon, you were in your kitchen baking obsessively—your own little way of trying not to dwell on the possible murder aftermath you witnessed the night before—when a knock sounded at your front door.

You huffed, wiping your flour-coated hands on your jeans as you approached the door, expecting to see one of the mom's from the neighborhood that wanted to bitch at you about stuff you didn't care about or one of their children telling you that they accidentally threw a ball over your fence, and you had to retrieve it.

However, your eyes widened in surprise, a soft "oh" falling from your lips as you opened the door and came face to face with a tall, imposing man. He was incredibly handsome, clad in black dress pants and a white button up with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his forearms. His brown hair was fairly short and slightly tousled—a contrast to his otherwise put-together appearance.

"Um, can I help you?" You asked, your words laced with confusion. His smile seemed to widen as he took in your shocked expression, gaze darting to the white powder on your jeans before meeting your eyes again.

"I'm Rafe Cameron," he introduced himself, his blue eyes seeming to search yours for any sign of recognition.

"Nice to meet you, Rafe," you said, brows furrowing and tone uncertain. He found your confusion endearing in a pathetic sort of way, though, he was glad. This meant you didn't get a good look at him last night, and the lack of crime scene tape around the house across the street meant you hadn't called the police. Maybe you were more clueless than he thought.

You hesitantly introduced yourself because, even though you were completely unaware of who this man was or why he was at your door, it was the polite thing to do. You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side as the name Cameron echoed in your mind.

"Do I know you?" You asked suddenly, crossing your arms as you pondered. The name was so familiar to you, but you couldn't quite place it. A flicker of darkness crossed Rafe's features at your question.

"No, I don't believe so. I'd remember a pretty little thing like you," he flashed a charming, disarming grin and suddenly, it came to you.

"Cameron Development," you said, demeanor brightening as you finally recalled where you'd heard his name. That smile he gave you was the same one you'd seen on signs in countless empty lots throughout town. "I've seen your signs."

"Right, yeah," he nodded, visibility relaxing a little bit. "I'm just in the neighborhood asking around about that old house across the street. We're interested in renovating it, but we need to do our due diligence."

"Well, what do you want to know?" You asked. There wasn't much to tell about the house. It was old, practically crumbling, but you could see that just from looking at it.

"Well, have you noticed anyone hanging around, maybe squatting inside the house or loitering?" He asked, watching you with an eerie intensity. "I only ask because it could make our job more difficult if we have to fight with any unwanted guests."

"Yeah, no, I, uh, I get that," you cleared your throat, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You didn't like to lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth either. You were, undoubtedly, afraid, but overshadowed by that was this morbid fascination that you'd found yourself having for the house and the strange man you'd seen. "I mean, I haven't noticed anyone," you shrugged casually.

He smiled again, still regarding you intensely, but now, also with a glint of curiosity. He nodded, seeming satisfied by this answer. "Well, thank you for your time," he thanked you, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that made your stomach flutter. He said it so confidently, with a certain familiarity that put you strangely at ease for a reason you couldn't quite place.

"Of course," you smiled at him, your cheeks heating up as he stared at you for a few long seconds, taking in every dip and curve of your face, memorizing the way your lips quirked up and your eyes sparkled. He'd never seen you this close before, and it took every ounce of self control not to push his way inside.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," he nodded politely before hesitantly turning and heading back to his car, which was parked right in front of your house.

"You too," you called after him, leaning against the door and biting your lip as you watched him retreat. Once he reached the sidewalk, you reluctantly pulled back and pushed the door closed, not wanting to be caught staring and be perceived as some kind of creep.

Despite knowing where you'd seen his face, you couldn't shake this sense that you knew him from somewhere else, somewhere other than those advertisements posted around town. There was a strange nausea that settled in your throat as you watched him leave, a feeling of dread that perplexed you.

In the following weeks, that gnawing feeling only intensified as your paranoia did. Little things started to catch your attention, your perception of reality cracking with each slightly opened window or drawer, missing piece of clothing, and creaking noise that jolted you awake during the night.

You weren't sure if it was just your mind playing tricks on you or if something was really going on, but you felt like you were going crazy. You felt unnerved being in your own home, like you weren't safe. The feeling of watched had grown to something thick and suffocating, but for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

You should've called the police. You should've went to your mother's house or a hotel, anywhere to get away from the man across the street that you suspected was to blame for all the out of the ordinary occurrences, but you didn't. You stayed put, letting yourself be the mouse in whatever sick game he was playing because deep down, a part of you—that you wished desperately didn't exist—was enjoying the attention.

It was around two a.m., and you were tossing in bed, a restlessness settling over you. You'd been obsessing over that house, always staring and seeking signs of life now that you knew someone had been there, and it was starting to take over your life. You needed to know what was in there. You needed to know if it truly was a murder scene.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself up, leaning back on your arms as your eyes darted around the room. Were you really going to investigate a potential serial killer's house in the middle of the night? You pondered the question, briefly wondering if this would classify you as clinically insane.

Clearly, your survival instincts didn't fully develop as a child because you found yourself pushing the comforter from your body and getting to your feet.

You grabbed a plush throw blanket from your bed and wrapped it around your body for comfort and to keep warm as you traversed through your house, down the stairs, and to the front door. You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, slipping a pair of shoes on.

You sucked in one last breath before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Stepping outside, you found yourself pulling the blanket tighter around you as the chilly air brushed against your exposed skin.

The house looked even more imposing the closer you got to it. In the darkness, it seemed like it could come to life and eat you whole. It made you feel so small, so insignificant in a way as you looked up at the looming structure before you.

The wind whistled, echoing through the silent night, which set you even more on edge, but still, you didn't turn back. Your curiosity was stronger than your fear—an incredibly dangerous thing.

You seemed to shrink in on yourself as you stepped onto the pathway to the front door, the untamed grass reaching across the concrete to grab at you. Grimacing, you pushed the grass aside with one hand, the other keeping your blanket securely around you.

Stepping onto the porch, you were careful to step around the patches of collapsing, rotting wood. The front door stared back at you, daring you to open it and satisfy your gnawing curiosity, and you obliged, shaky hands reaching for the knob.

You turned it and pushed the door forward, a deafening squeak of the seldom used hinges reverberating off the ruined walls. The smell of rot immediately infiltrated your senses, making your face contort in disgust as you stepped into the house, eyes flickering from the delicate ground to the dusty furniture inside.

A deteriorated stone fireplace sat against the left wall, the mantle filled with dusty photos encompassed in cracked glass and broken frames. An old, red cabriole sofa—which looked more like a muted maroon color from all the dirt and grime coating it—sat facing the fireplace, a matching arm chair adjacent to it.

You could imagine how lively and warm the house likely once was, with children's feet pattering against the hardwood as they chased each other through the home, careful to avoid their parent's precious vases and other expensive decorative items.

It made you feel sad that such a beautiful home that once knew vibrance and love was now left to be forgotten to the unforgiving perils of time—all the priceless memories and moments that had happened within the walls obsolete when compared to the true vastness of the universe.

You continued your journey into the home, the scent of decay growing stronger with each step you took toward the unknown. You entered the kitchen, brows furrowing as you saw a small doll laying in the middle of the floor.

You crouched down, refraining from reaching out to it. It was a pale fabric doll with stringy, dirtied yellow hair and big blue eyes. What caught your eye, however, was the big splotch of dried blood on the front of her pink dress.

You shuddered, standing back up straight and letting your gaze wander the kitchen, taking in the beautiful antique architecture and color scheme. The cabinets were a rich brown with green accents, a chunk of remaining glass in one of them indicating that it was once a lovely diamond pattern.

Suddenly, a hand snaked around your waist, pulling you from behind into a hard chest. Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to scream, but the person behind you quickly clamped their other palm over your mouth.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said threateningly, his breath hot against your ear as he dipped his head down.

Your heart raced in your chest, breath quickening in shock and fear. Your fight or flight instincts took over, unfortunately deciding to freeze instead of doing anything helpful.

Through your panicked haze, you realized that you knew this voice. You had been replaying the short conversation you had with that handsome man since it happened, his deep, smooth voice that made your legs clench and your heart flutter echoing through your mind on repeat.

"What am I gonna do with you, hm?" he hummed, his fingers dancing from your mouth to your neck; meanwhile, his other hand stayed splayed on your stomach, keeping your body firmly pressed against his. His large palm wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently, which elicited a gasp from you.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" You could hear the amusement in his tone as he mocked you. "You're fuckin' sick, aren't you?"

In one fluid motion, he turned you around and shoved you back against the kitchen island. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth as your back collided with the edge of the counter.

You looked up at him, your eyes widened as your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You knew you should've tried to run, but when your eyes locked onto his cold, blue ones, you found yourself glued in place.

Your compliance seemed to please him. A sadistic grin tugged at his lips as he looked down at you, reaching out to grab your jaw roughly, his grip bordering on painful. "You saw me the other night, didn't you?"

Your breath hitched, and after a beat of silence, you hesitantly nodded. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you.

"God, you're fucked up," he laughed cruelly, causing your brows to furrow. Was the serial killer who gutted people and staged their bodies for their families to find really calling you fucked up?

"Aw, I'm sorry," he cooed mockingly, leaning so close that you felt his breath fanning your face and could smell the faint scent of beer and a breath mint. "Did that upset you?"

"You killed them," you finally spoke, your voice quiet and shaking with fear and uncertainty.

"Uh huh," he grinned proudly, his voice dropping as he spoke again: "Does that scare you?"

It probably should. You should be shitting yourself right now, screaming and crying while trying to escape. Instead, you were curious—an emotion you couldn't seem to shake lately.

You wanted to know more about him. Why did he kill, and more importantly, why mostly family men and father figures? You wanted to dive deep into his psyche. And, truthfully, the feeling of his hands on your skin was addicting. Now that you'd felt it, you wanted more.

"I don't know," you practically whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up as he regarded you with that same intense stare. His thumb caressed your cheek, feeling the growing heat against the pad of his finger.

He grinned at your answer, his grip on your jaw tightening as he pulled your face forward, smashing his lips onto yours in an aggressive, sloppy kiss. You gasped softly in surprise, allowing him to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to pull away, but you hadn't listened to the rational part of yourself at all thus far, and you weren't planning to start now. Your hands curled into the material of his grey t-shirt, pulling him closer as a small noise of pleasure bubbled up your throat.

His hand slid back into your hair from your jaw, gripping tightly as he tugged your head back a little. His other hand gripped your waist roughly, his fingers digging into your skin through your nightgown.

Rafe had been fantasizing about finally getting his hands on you for months, but never did he think that you'd walk right into his little murder house and practically serve yourself up to him on a silver platter. Something about you knowing what he truly was and fearing him but also desiring him made him want you more than he thought was possible.

When you finally pulled away, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, Rafe's grip didn't let up; in fact, he tightened it the slightest bit, as if he was afraid that you'd change your mind and try to run.

"You know I can never let you go now," he hummed, a hint of smile pulling at the lips. "Can't risk you exposing my little secret."

You looked up at him, your eyes widening slightly as you processed what he had just said. "What?" You asked, lips parting slightly and brows furrowing in confusion.

His gaze darkened as he imagined shoving his dick between your pretty parted lips. "You're mine now, doll," he clarified, leaving no room for argument. "If you're a good girl, I'll let you stay with me at home, but if you try to leave, I'll lock you in this very basement."

You swallowed hard, considering his threat carefully. You didn't want to know what was waiting for you in that basement if you decided to be difficult. "Okay," you conceeded, nodding as you sealed your fate and agreed to your new life under his surveillance 24/7.

As you watched his features soften slightly in satisfaction, you thought about all the barbaric things that had probably happened in this house, all the wonderful memories you'd imagined before now tainted by the sheer weight of what Rafe had done here. How had the once beautiful house on Peachtree Lane, filled with life and love, turned into a house of horrors?

tags .ᐟ @nemesyaaa

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?” 

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

[starflake-burning]

A peaceful moment with CyGate.

Image ID: A drawing of Cyclonus and Tailgate cuddling on a couch. Tailgate is curled up on top of Cyclonus. Cyclonus is smiling slightly, Tailgate faces away from the viewer. The room is dark, and the window above them shows a city skyline. End ID.

[angeldoll2000]

Country Club Films

Dark!Camstar!Rafe Cameron x Reader x Dark!Pimp!Barry

Word Count: +7,293

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Nsfw gifs, Misogynist/sexist remarks, Manhandling, Loss of virginity, Human trafficking, Dark web, Mentions of cheating/infidelity. Non consensual stepcest, Force drug usage, Rafe is a huge slut and Barry is a sick freak, Blackmail, Mind break, Manhandling.

Author's Note(s): This is going to be a one-shot. Don't ask for a part 2 if you're not going to like/comment/reblog. I'm trying to catchup with real life and it's kicking my ass. Give a bitch a break ffs.

Offline Rafe is known as the long-reigning Kook king. But online he's known as one of the biggest camstars on the East Coast. When Barry, his former pimp, offers him a one-last film offer, well he just couldn't refuse. After all, it was just this once, right? Rafe began his career as a prostitute at a young age. It started off as something he did for fun, but when his dad cut him off that’s when he began working for a streaming service. He needed that quick cashflow if he'd going to survive in the Outer Banks.

At first, it started off as a hobby. Rafe was into voyeurism, he found that out at a young age. To dominate someone while everyone else knew. In the beginning of Rafe's livestreaming career, he started off as a solo act. He loved messaging complete strangers online, he especially loved the look on these women's face when he pulls his cock out. How their expression would change, the sudden stuttering at the sight of it. He loves when their eyes would rake up and down his girth, knowing full well they were admiring the sight of it. He'd jerk himself off in front of the camera, rubbing at his thighs while taunting his viewers. Rafe would edge himself off for each tip.

Rafe knows he's well endowed. Him having a pretty face and nice body was the cherry on top. He made himself comfortable with this newfound stardom. Becoming a sex worker was the last thing on Rafe's mind. In a span of a few months, Rafe was one of the biggest online stars. The best part is, no one else knew who he was. He found a luxury apartment by the beachside to live in, that's where he did most of his work. He even invited some of his clients for a solo video.

It was more of a hobby for him, he would secretly record these women and keep it in his inventory. As long as he was getting paid and looked good doing so, he could care less what the other women looked like. To him it was strictly business. Old, young, single or taken, it didn't matter. For him it was a side hustle to get back on his feet. Hell, some of them were his dad's former clients. Rafe earned enough to get him a luxury apartment by the beach with the well-earned income and cushiony life.

If she had a pretty face, then he'd do it in missionary. If not? He'd fuck her doggy-style. He had fucked up one day after failing to pay Barry back. He may have underestimated the Pogue drug dealer when thinking he could get away with not paying him full price. When returning to his home he noticed a window had been broken, the T.V. had been running. When Barry breaks into Rafe's apartment in search of his money owed, the last thing he expects is a built-in porn set. There Rafe found him, currently watching his last performance on his brand new T.V.

It was as if the Pogue knew he was there, "Country Club...where's my credit for giving you that name," he stands up from the recliner. His expression wasn't mad, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It started off with Barry suggesting that he'd pay him back. Whether Rafe was willing to or not. He doesn't have a choice. Barry knew of his dirty little secret. He has enough evidence to ruin the Kook's polished image. So, for the past few months Barry has been his personal pimp. It became a regular routine.

Barry would schedule the meetings with clients to make it easier. A quick suck and fuck to cover rent. Rafe worked hard to get to where he was. This isn't a side hustle. It took skill to get to where he is. Rafe is one of the highest ranking members for a reason. The once proud Kook-king was owned by some Pogue. For the longest time Barry had almost total control over his business. Rafe had to work hard for the past few months in order to gain control again. Even after gaining access to his social media, it was Barry who called the shots.

Rafe would be notified by Barry of a latest client, they would meet up at the country club, where Rafe did most of his dirty work. That, and a motel nearby. For Rafe, the country club was a hunting ground. He'd often go for married older women with neglectful husbands. He would be the face of their business, but Barry would be the backup in case things got ugly (or if an unsuspecting husband were to walk in). Rafe's steaming channel became popular as well. His online alias? Country club. Like the place he'd pickup his clients.

It was the first time Rafe had been this confident in himself. He had finally earned enough to make a living and have liquid income pouring in. He would never have to worry about money again. But it wasn't enough for Barry. He wanted power, control and fear. So, what better way than to start blackmailing their clients? They had the wealthiest women in the palm of their hands. For them, paying off a blackmail would be cheaper than a divorce. Rafe knows he could get away with it too. He knew exactly what these prim and proper women wanted: A good and hard fucking. They wanted to be dominated, controlled and degraded to their heart's contempt.

It was surprising how many women of high society were into the downright nastiest things. Rafe can give them all that and more. Rafe would choke them, slap them around a few times, sometimes even reducing these women into tears. Yet they always came back soaking wet. Their husbands weren't enough. They needed a good fuck to escape the pressures of being a Kook. Call it an act of community service if you will. After getting into a brawl with a married woman's husband, Rafe decides that he doesn't want to take in clients anymore. Barry convinces him of a newer strategy: Live streaming for bids. Soon he was making an easy six figures. Rafe considers himself to be an expensive experience.

Now that he had a stable income with his streaming service, he can work from home. Usually for commissions or requests by his clients. So far Rafe had been enjoying his life after retirement. At that point Rafe didn't care what anyone would say. After spending some time in the industry, he had gained a new sense of confidence. Immunity, if you will. For his entire life, Rafe had gotten away with just about anything. He knows he's making almost as much as his father now. On a good day, even more. Barry was on his payroll and kept quiet about it.

There's only one thing Rafe missed about working in the industry: The rush. Rafe was going to miss the thrill of doing whatever he wants to a complete stranger. It made him rock hard just thinking about it. He could do whatever he wanted and they would beg for it. These women would beg for him to ruin them. The best part was, they would always come back for more. More, more, more. Rafe went as far as to sneak into the houses of married women while their husbands were away. He had earned a black eye and fractured rib after being caught. He thankful for not having to worry about that ever again.

Yet still, there's a part of him that yearns for that adrenaline, if only he could balance it with his regular life. Rafe wanted to spend time with his family more than anything. He knows that Ward had been giving him shit for missing his sister's recitals. He'll try to make up for that.

He'd just got off the phone with his sister, promising to show up at her next show. Barry had been messaging his phone nonstop. Rafe groans, what was it this time? Rafe decides to call him, "What's up?" a short and simple statement. Barry sounded a bit muffled on the other side, "I'm coming over, tomorrow, and I've got a deal you won't regret," he sounds confident. Rafe was curious by the humor in Barry's tone, "What is it?" now wondering what had made the dealer so excited.

Barry promised Rafe that he wouldn't bring up films as long as he was getting paid, but this? This was different, "We're about to become millionaires, Country Club," with that he hung up. Rafe groans, rubbing the back of his neck. He was enjoying his retirement while it lasted. Like his father, he would take any opportunity given to him. A chance at receiving a million dollars? Shit, maybe one last time wouldn't hurt. Rafe might just be looking forward to fucking whatever old crone paid for his time.

Rafe had emptied his schedule just to meet up with the Pogue. He set up studio, making a simple bed on the floor nice and pretty. He even added a few pillows for comfort. He then waits for Barry to arrive, to kill the time Rafe would snort a few rounds. He already indulged in his expensive collection of alcohol until his throat went hoarse. Rafe wanted to be as intoxicated as he could possibly be if he wanted to make it bearable.

A buzzing noise from his alert system indicated that Barry was already in the lobby. Rafe had let him pass through. It had taken the dealer a while to get upstairs. In the meantime, Rafe had popped a special pill to keep the party going. There's a loud slam on his door. Rafe opens it to find Barry hauling a large suitcase. He'd a little sweaty from the travel. It wasn't easy sneaking onto Kook territory. Especially if you were as notorious as him.

He watches as his partner hauls the luggage inside, cursing as he finally tosses it onto the living room floor. Rafe looks out to see if there are any onlookers before shutting the door closed. He locks it before walking towards it, "What is that?" to which his friend ignores. Barry hurries to where the camera had been set. As soon as he realizes it was ready, he goes for Rafe's laptop, logging in to prepare for a livestream. Barry is quick with his moves, wasting no time. He kicks off a few prop pillows until the mattress is bare. This confused Rafe as he was told he'd be using props for the video.

Barry orders Rafe to help with setting up the room, "Get this shit off,"

"What?"

"We can't let them know where we are, gotta make this place a little shitty," Barry informed Rafe that the client had a taboo fetish for non-consensual roleplay. He wants this place to resemble an abandoned building. So, both of the men put in the effort to make it look just like that. Rafe places an old worn-out mattress in the center of his room. Anything personal was discarded of.

By the time they were done the room it resembled a scene from a torture porn film. Rafe suddenly jolts to the sound of loud rustling coming from the luggage. Apparently, Barry wasn't specific to what kind of prop would be used either. Rafe turns to it, "What the fuck is in there...?" his voice is in all seriousness, "What the fuck is happening?" his attention is fully on the noise coming from the container.

Barry hurries to the case, his hands are quick to open it, "Our client wants us to use prop," that's when Barry reveals a woman who had been kept inside. He hauls her by the underarms and pulls her out the case. Rafe stares at the woman then back at Barry. He tries to read his face, nothing. In fact, Barry seemed like the only one that was perfectly calm about all this. He effortlessly lifts the woman out of the case, dragging her to the bare mattress. He ignores her muffled crying and returns to the camera. Barry wants the angle to be just right.

Rafe couldn't believe what was happening. He can't keep his eyes off the woman. Her hands and legs had been bound by duct tape. Her face covered with a satchel. She had been wearing a leotard--but it was the ballet shoes that had him in the chokehold. Rafe had a thing for cute, delicate things. A strange fascination of his were Ballerinas. As soon as he spotted those shoes his brain started to malfunction. It gave a sense of femininity that he wanted to protect. It reminded him of a special someone from home.

Barry informs Rafe that the clientele was a very important person on the Island. Their decision to start streaming, was Barry's idea. He made sure to turn on the bidding option to collect some extra cash. It was two birds with one stone. Barry shakes her by the shoulder a few times to give a good scare. He does it just show just how much stronger he was. Barry nods to his accomplice, ushering him to come over. Rafe is hesitant when approaching the two. Barry finally shoves her back down with a 'thud'. Rafe isn't bothered one bit by that.

Was it so wrong that Rafe had been emotionally numb to all of this? Maybe it was the dope or maybe a part of him really didn't care. Either way this would be the last time he would ever need to make another film again. The Kook sighs, "Let's make this quick, I have to get to my sister's recital," he begins to strip himself of all clothing.

"Sarah?" Barry questions,

"No, the other one,"

Barry smirks, "Almost forgot about that one,"

Rafe strips himself of all clothing before approaching the mattress. He circles around her, like a predator stalking its prey. He eyes her like a hawk, yet there isn't a single thought behind those blues. Barry is in charge of the camera work. He made sure hold it steady as Rafe got to work. This had been more than what Rafe was used to taking. He was more buzzed than usual, and he knew it. But did he really care? He felt good, and that's all that matters. Fuck, Barry was getting hard at the thought of it.

He's always had a thing for her, but the bitch thought she was too good for him. One thing he couldn't stand being was a stuck-up Kook bitch. Barry grits his teeth at the memory of her laughing at him. Now he was her only saving grace, “Her family, they're looking for her, and get this: Her daddy is a big-time figure on the Island, the dude is loaded,” he starts feeding Rafe bit by bit of a fantasy, leaving out the most important details.

Barry mentions one last thing: "The client wants you to break her in," he's dead serious too. For a moment Rafe pauses, "You serious?" His brows furrow, "She's never had dick?" He couldn't believe it. Rafe groans at the thought of it. She was a good girl who had gotten into some trouble, and now these bad men were going to ruin her. Rafe could practically feel how heavy his balls were. Fuck, he's never wanted pussy this bad before. There's something about an unused cunt that just gives a man an ego boost. If it's a show the client wants, it's a show he'll get.

Rafe pins her down with his body weight, he chokes her out, admiring the way she would try to fend him off. It was adorable, she really thought she had a chance. He taunts her pathetic attempts, "C'mon...try harder...let's see if you have a chance..." at this point he really was playing with his food, "See? You can't, because I'm stronger than you, I can do whatever the fuck I want," he rips the thin fabric off for a dramatic effect, "Your daddy's not here to save you," knowing that would only make her cry harder. Apparently, her stepfather was a very important businessman. One of the wealthiest in the entire Outer Banks. One who just so happened to have a very pretty stepdaughter. Rafe questions why the old man hasn't fucked her yet. He knows that if it were him, he already would've.

Rafe grinds his hips against her clothed sex. He groans, "How about I be your daddy? Huh?" he taunts, "Say it, say it slut," he grips around her neck again. He could barely hear the gurgled cry that came from underneath. Rafe didn't want to calm her down. It would be more entertaining for the audience if there was a performance. It was the thrill of the chase that excites him the most. Rafe wants her to be sobbing by the time he's done with her. He tears at her top, groping at the exposed flesh. He relishes in the feeling of soft skin. It'd been a while since he's hooked up with anyone. During the past few months, Rafe had only produced solo films. For once, he prefers a tight cunt over his hand.

Barry reassures him that there wouldn't be a thing to worry about, "Just go with the flow," he had already set up the starting prices. As the livestream started his fans began to swarm on. Rafe had been impressed by the number of viewers, had they really missed him that much? He held her against his bare chest. Rafe gropes at her bare chest while reading the comments. He rests his chin on your shoulder blade, taking his sweet time reading each comment. He plays along, “What do you say guys should we fuck her cunt or ass first?” A string of pings goes off from the laptop as it’s being broadcasted. Complete strangers were rooting for him to ruin her.

He chuckles after reading the comment, "C'mon guys vote in the poll ass or cunt first," as if she were a piece of meat. A sinister smile is plastered on his face. He held her by the neck, tilting his face towards her ear, "You're not a person, you hear me?" his fingers add more pressure, "From now on you're mine," his other hand caresses her mound. His digits tease at her clothed core, "This cunt? Mine," another 'ping' came from his laptop. He looks right at the camera, "How much can we get for her cunt? Do I hear $100?"

Rafe enjoyed playing with his prey. He loved to hear their whimpers for mercy. Barry reads a few requests, "The fans want you to slap her," of course, Rafe couldn't let his fans down. He shoves her down. He swats at her rear, admiring the way it ripples with each crack. His hand lands on it again and again, until she was writhing in pain. He then pulls at the remaining fabric. Now exposing her to millions of viewers. Rafe wasn't the least bit shy. He'd gotten comfortable with showing off his body to the world.

He motions for his partner to get closer with the camera. Barry approaches, unbuckling his belt to release his half-hard cock. He pumps it a few until it gets hard enough to stand. His cock now pressed against his abs, already leaking with precum. Rafe wanted full access to her, in order to do so he'll need a little help, "Hold her down, need some room," he held the camera so that Barry could cut some tape off. As soon as her hands were freed, she began smacking around. Both men laugh at the woman's feeble attempts. As if she could actually hurt them.

Rafe is having way too much fun with the struggle. Barry pins her hands under his knees, hard enough so that it would hurt. He hands over the knife to Rafe. He glides it along her thighs as a warning. In a few seconds her legs were freed, but only for a moment. Rafe got to work parting both of her legs. He uses his bodyweight to pin both of her legs down. His fingers already gliding up and down her slit. He presses his finger pads right on her core, rubbing it vigorously. Poor thing hadn't a clue who this stranger was playing with her cunt. He could be anyone, that's the part he loved the most.

Rafe loves getting his clients all worked up, sometimes to the point of tears. Until they're practically begging for him to ruin them. He knows his audience wouldn't say a thing if they thought it was roleplay. Most of his popular videos were darker fantasies. He's had his fair share of fucked up roleplays. His fans wouldn't so much as bat an eye if he were to smack her around. Rafe toys with the woman's exposed slit as Barry pointed the camera at them. Rafe spat at her mound, coating it with his saliva before teasing it again. Barry held her down while Rafe got to work on making her fall apart. He can't take his eyes off of such a pretty slit. Rafe's cock twitches at the sight of her slickened slit. He was transfixed by the sight of her tight cunt puckering at him. As if it were begging to be ruined.

Rafe doesn't waste any time diving him tongue first. He wraps his lips around the entrance, suckling at it like a starved man. Rafe starts with slow, strong licks. He made sure to look at the camera to capture a POV for the audience, before flattening his tongue against her mound. He presses the muscle along her slit, dragging it up and down. Rafe parts for a moment to spit a wad before lapping against her sex. He suckles along the sides, making sure to get her all hot and bothered. If there's something he's good at, it's eating pussy.

For dramatic effect, Rafe rubs his head from side to side, humming so that she could feel just how deep his tongue was inside her. Rafe retrieves for a moment, but only to tease the audience, "Bitches love when you bite it," Rafe jokes. He's had quite the experience as a giver. He knows just the right amount of pressure to bring a woman to climax. His teeth tease at her sensitive pearl. Her thighs quake from the pressure. Barry dares his friend to continue the torment, "Give it a pull, she can take it," and so he does. His thick fingers tug at her poor clit. A frantic cry is all he needed to hear before pressing the first digit inside. Shit, she was tight.

When he tries so curl his finger a howl of pain escapes. A swift kick lands right on his nose, landing with a loud 'crack' sound. Barry couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter. Rafe backs away, retreating to inspect the damage done. That's when Barry mentions something he should've done earlier, "Oh yeah, forgot to mention, this one is still intact," he forces her legs apart, parting her folds to reveal what Rafe hadn't bothered spotting. Before Rafe could pounce on her, Barry pulls her up against him. He tries balancing the camera but eventually lets it rest on a chair nearby. That way he could have more control over her.

He grips the back of her knees, exposing her full to a very pissed off Rafe. He knows that the Kook always held a grudge. Once his mind is set, there's no stopping him. Barry decides to twist the knife, “They want you to break her in,” he lets her go, raising his hands in the air so that Rafe is free to perform. He pulls her in by the ankles, dragging her across the mattress. He flips her over, pulling his belt from his waist before swatting it at her a few times. He ignores her crying, only using more force when she tries to run away. He doesn't stop, not until she's screaming at the top of her lungs. But it's not enough for Rafe's bruised ego. She embarrassed him in front of his fanbase. He needs to make sure that never happens again.

Rafe presses his fat tip along her folds. He collects whatever slick is there, still glaring at the masked woman as if she were the scum on earth, "God I can't wait to rape this bitch," he uses his entire body weight to thrust forward. A howl of agony is heard underneath the mask as it starts to soak with tears. Rafe's nails dig into her hips, hard enough to break skin. He pounds deep into her tight cunt. Rafe groans, "Shit...that's some good fucking pussy," as he fucks her into the mattress. Rafe had trouble making her stay still. He keeps having to pull her back in. Barry, being the friend that he is decides to help Rafe out. His shoe lands on her back, pinning her to the mattress below. He held it right against the back of her neck, mushing it down every time she squirms.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin has Barry hard as a rock “Shit country club…I can hear you in her guts,” if that didn’t give Rafe the biggest ego boost he needed to continue. Rafe huffs at Barry, “Oh yeah?” His voice sounding cockier from the statement. He wraps his strong arms around her waist before lifting her against his chest. Rafe fell back with a 'thud', revealing to the audience a full view of his cock burred balls-deep inside. Barry held the camera carefully, he hovers the device over the woman's slit, pointing it to where Rafe's cock sunk in. He captures Rafe's thick cock deep inside her weeping cunt. His balls slapping against her skin as he fucked her like a feral animal. He’s had a good fucking before but not like this. This time he has full free range to do whatever he wants.

Barry nears the two, he wants a closer look at his pretty little victim. He pulls and tugs at her tits until a muffled sob escapes. He then starts to smack them around, letting them bounce as Rafe abuses her cunt. Rafe moans at the sensation of her walls squeezing his cock with each slap. When Barry releases them, Rafe is quick to take over, his hands grip at them as hard as he can. He groans at the feeling of her cunt pumping him. Barry’s eyes rake over her naked body. He could see the indent of Rafe’s cock inside her cunt, palming at his own growing erection. He takes his sweet time examining their pretty little victim. Barry presses his hand against the indent of Rafe’s cock, “Oh fuck…can you feel that?” His palm presses harder until a squeal is heard from under the mask.

Barry chuckles, “Shit, Country Club is fucking your guts out,” a crude remark. Rafe couldn’t help but grin at that remark. He’s always been well endowed, but hearing that his cock’s imprint could be seen? It went straight to his head. Then an idea hits him. Barry spits a thick wad in his palm, his hand reaches in between her legs. He starts to massage her slit, his fingers tracing that sensitive button right above her stuffed cunt. As soon as her toes start to curl he stops, giving her a moment to prepare for an orgasm. Then he slaps her sensitive bundle of nerves as hard as he can. He watches as her mound bounces from the impact. A howl of agony pours out from under the satchel as she tries her best to close her legs.

Barry isn’t having it. He forces her legs open while Rafe fucks up and into her channel. Barry encourages him to keep going, “You gonna get her nice and pregnant huh Country Club?" he taunts, knowing damn well what he was doing. Rafe growls into her ear, letting him primal instincts take over, "'M’gonna fucking breed you, you hear me? This cunt is gonna give me a baby,” he juts his hips faster. Sweat collects on his forehead, “Gonna show you off to the whole town, let them know that it’s my baby in there…oh fuck!” His breathing became erratic as he began to pick up pace. Rafe growls as his cock sunk back into her warm channel. He squeezes her tits, "Can't wait for these to get full,"

Barry huffs, now jerking off to the sight of it, “You gonna make her a single mom, Country club?” Barry jerks his cock at the sight of it. He groans at the sight of her abused cunt filled with Rafe’s spunk. He lets out a faint sigh, “Damn country club, didn’t know you were this pent up,” to which Rafe nears her ear, "Imagine that, you getting knocked up by a complete stranger," he huffs, "Can you even hear me?" Rafe reaches for the cloth, but before he could remove it, Barry swats his hand away, "No, not until we're finished," that was part of the deal, "Her stepdad is an important Kook," never stating who he was. Rafe hums with delight. If only he could see the look on the stranger's face after finding out his stepdaughter had been absolutely ruined for any other man.

Rafe came, hard. He made sure to drain his balls deep inside her pussy. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of her shoulder blade, ignoring the wail from underneath the satchel. Rafe let's out a deep, gutteral moan, finally coming down from his high. He throws her limp figure onto the mattress so that he could catch his breath. He reads the comments section of his stream. Each fan would send a bid higher than the previous one.

This was the most bank he's made in a while. He reads the requests, making sure to take a mental note. Rafe returns to her, lying limp on the mattress. Her abused cunt leaking thick wads of spunk. Rafe couldn't help it, he just loved to shove his fingers in there. He'd play with her pussy, despite her whines. Rafe loves inspecting it, like some sort of toy he could use and abuse.

He flips her over, rubbing at her slit again. He bites his bottom lip, "C'mon....give me another one..." his fingers began to pick up speed. He waited to see the signs. When her thighs would quake before crumbling apart. He knew exactly what he was doing, "Ohh did I hit that sweet spot princess?" he taunts, "If you didn't like that, then you're gonna hate this..." Rafe wasn't done with her punishment, he wasn't even close to finishing. Rafe made sure to duct tape a vibrator to her inner thigh.

He parts her folds, pressing the round tip of the toy against her bundle of nerves. He then held her thighs together, using fresh tape to keep them closed. With the vibrator now pressed snugly against her pussy. He leaves the living room to grab a drink, asking if Barry wanted anything in the fridge. But the Pogue would rather jerk off to the pretty Kook trying to fend off an orgasm. Rafe returns with a cold beer in hand, he hands it over to the Pogue as the two men clink their drinks, saluting a 'cheers' to the fans watching.

They could hear her sobbing as her hips swayed for release. Both men mock the sounds that came from their victim. Barry and Rafe mimic her voice. Rafe was actually laughing at what he’d done. There was a smug look on his face as he re-watched part of the video. He's visibly smiling in it. A part of him wonders why Barry hasn’t joined in. A chance to break a virgin in? He doesn't know a single man that wouldn't take the chance. Barry lets him know, "The clientele wanted to see the best of the best, Country Club," he shrugs it off. Rafe doesn't think twice about it. He's too high to use his brain right now.

Rafe returns to where they left her. He reaches in between her legs, his thick fingers part her folds, letting his cum leak out. He whistles, "Shit....I really did a number on you," he could tell she was close and decides to help the poor thing out. What Barry says next came off as a challenge, "Bet you she's a squirter," only one thing can determine that. Rafe nods to the camera, "Get closer," he wants the audience to get a better look at how a professional does it. Rafe's fingers digits start stretching her drenched cunt again. Soon, they rapidly pumping in and out of her core. Then a gush of arousal pours out. Barry whistles at the sight of it, cheering on his partner.

Rafe hums, "Such a pretty pussy...." he moans, swiping his thumb at it. He collects the juices from her leaking hole, "I don't think she's ever came this hard," bringing his now slick digits to his mouth to taste, "Hmm...so fucking sweet," he purses his lips, "Little coppery," he could taste the tinge of blood on his tongue. It excites him, "I've gotta fill you up baby...gonna make sure you're nice and full," he squeezes at her breasts, pulling and tugging at the sensitive skin, “These are gonna fill in too," he latches his lips to a free breast, suckling at it like a starving man.

Rafe pops his mouth off for a moment. He swats at her tits, gripping them as hard as he can. A yelp escapes her lips before she's crying again. Rafe coos, "Shhh...shh...you 'needa calm down baby," he talks to her as if she were a child. Then an idea hits him, "We needa put some in her," which confuses Barry for a moment, "Her what?"

"Put some in her pussy, then she'll calm down," Rafe couldn't tell if it was because of the adrenaline or drugs. He doesn't care though, he’s in pure bliss right now. He wants to keep chasing that feeling. An idea hits him. Rafe retrieves an LSD tab from his pant pocket. He looks up at the camera. He sticks out his to tongue for the viewers to see, placing the drug on it. He lets it dissolve a bit before delving it deep inside her. His lips wrap around her slit as he suckles at the nerves. He knew those sick fucks wanted to see something with absolute filth in it. Why not go all out?

Rafe watches as she slowly starts to go slack. Her limbs flail for a moment before finally going limp. Barry couldn't help but laugh at her reaction. Rafe joins in, grinning from ear to ear at the now demobilized woman. Barry jokes, “She’s too doped up to know where the fuck she's at," causing Rafe to laugh ever harder. Both of them not realizing her feeble attempt to crawl away.

Rafe shakes Barry's shoulder, "Look at that..." he nears, crouching down at her, "So fucking cute..." for a moment he just watches her. Rafe tilts his head, "There's nowhere to run," he doesn't understand why she was still trying. He stands up, his leg pushes against her rib, shoving her to the floor. When she tries to pull herself back up again, he does the same thing only harder. Which brings him to the question: What would it take to really break her?

He flips her over, pressing his body against hers on the floor. She starts crying again when he sinks his cock in her. She's dizzy, scared and confused. Rafe is starting to get annoyed by the dramatics. He wraps both hands around her throat and gives a squeeze to shut her up. It does the exact opposite. She starts to cry even harder this time. Rafe grits his teeth, "Stop, stop crying," Rafe squeezes harder this time, intending to choke her out until she complies. Rafe shakes her a few times just to hear her cry harder. He could feel her walls pulsing from the lack of air. Rafe moans, thrusting his hips at the feeling of her squeezing his cock. He rolls his hips from the sensation. A deep, guttural moan escapes his throat. Fuck...she felt heavenly.

It had been four hours since then. Barry and Rafe would draw little tally marks on her skin every time they came. Soon the few lines turned into small groupings along her thighs and breasts. Barry had written a few words across her skin for the kick of it. Rafe had added some words himself just for the sake of it. ‘Suck me’ had been written on both breasts, ‘Cock sleeve’ was scribbled on her bare mound, ‘Cum dumpster’ had been scribbled on her rear. A few more tally marks could only be seen on her inner thighs. By the end of it the poor thing was brain dead. Her voice had gone hoarse from the hours of screaming.

Rafe felt sorry for missing his sister's recital. He'll have to make up for it. Right now he was just too fucked up to do anything. Rafe was drained, his balls are empty but hey, at least he's way richer. He shares a blunt with Barry. Both of them taking short puffs from the bud. Rafe was still cockwarming his new pet. Every now and then rolling his hips. It's not like she was there anymore.

They broke her, mind and body. As the prices began to rise, so did the poor woman's torment. Barry passes over the blunt. Rafe takes a few huffs. It was getting late and by then he was more than satisfied with the money they accumulated. Rafe closes his eyes, turning his head to his companion, "What do you think we should call it?" suggesting a name for the video. Barry pauses for a while. He turns to the Kook and grins, "How about....sibling bonding?"

Rafe pauses for a moment, turning to his accomplice, "What do you mean by that?" Barry only smiles back, "I think you know," "Know what?" a feeling of dread starts to consume him. There's a gut feeling that something was terribly wrong. All color drains from his face as Rafe releases the woman. He scrambles away from her. He's never sobered up so fast in his life. Rafe quickly changes into his clothes. He checks his phone to read the last few messages.

-Promise me you won't miss it Rafe! I'll message you when I get back home, ok? Love you ❤ 1:15pm -Where are you? I don't want to be late :( 2:49pm -You promised me you'd make it in time. 3:08pm -Never mind, your friend offered me a ride. 3:25pm

Rafe read the text messages over and over again. His hands can't stop shaking as he almost drops the phone. He doesn't look back, afraid of the unenviable truth, "I'm uh...I'm gonna head out, my sister she--she's waiting for me," just as Rafe was about to leave he hears Barry, "Sarah?" his face is expressionless, only his brows were raised. Yet his eyes were cold and calculated. Barry only ever gave that look right before fucking them over. The hell is he planning now?

"No..." Rafe answers. Barry purses his lips, "Is it...Wheezy?" as if he didn't know anything, "Oh...that's right, there's another one," as if he never spoke with her. Rafe turns to him now, obviously annoyed, "She's waiting for me at home," now demanding to leave. Barry raises a brow, "You think so?"

"I know so,"

"Sure?"

"Dude, why are you so interested in my sister?"

"Step-sister,"

"Listen man, I've gotta go, she's waiting for me," but before he could leave, Barry starts to laugh, "I think you know where she is, Country Club," and for a moment, Rafe pauses, he thinks about what Barry just said. Rafe faces Barry. He looks him dead in the eyes, "What the fuck are you saying?" he approaches the mattress, "What the fuck do you mean--" almost choking on his words, "...What do you mean by that...?" there's a strong feeling of despair that takes over his senses. Rafe felt like he was going to puke. Barry couldn’t help it, he knows he should’ve told him. But if Rafe knew he was fucking his own stepsister, well, he’d stop right there.

Rafe starts to hyperventilate. He fell to his knees, realizing the weight of what he had done. In the past few hours, the two men had put you through the most abusive experience of your life. Rafe used to be excited hearing the ‘ping’ that came from his comment section. To him, that meant money was being sent to directly into his account. Hearing them now made his stomach turn. Tears form in the corners of his eyes as he stares back at you, “That…that’s my stepsister--“

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” Barry cradles her in his arms, as if they were a doting couple. Rafe couldn’t believe this was happening, “You’re sick…” he stumbles backwards. Barry glares at him, “You were balls deep inside her, but I’m the one who's sick?” he doesn’t give Rafe a second glance.

Money was tight and Barry needed to create the most depraved film yet. Something that was so hot yet so fucking wrong. Barry never mentioned who the buyer had been. The brother of Rafe's last affair. A married woman who had been blackmailed by the two men. After taking her own life, her brother wanted revenge. So, he waited, planned, and plotted while Rafe thrived while living in figure eight. He hired Barry as a part of his sick revenge scheme.

Barry of course complied. After all, it was mainly Rafe's fault for sneaking out to see said client. After losing one of their most valuable customers, Barry had to pin the blame on someone. Who knew it would produce one of the greatest film's he's ever made? It has an equal amount of shock and lust, combined into a four-hour long video. Barry lifts her up and into his arms. He cradles her against his chest, carefully removing the sack. For a moment, Rafe is in a state of shock. Only staring at them.

Barry gently cradles her face, he holds her up to Rafe, “C’mon Country Club, give her a lil kiss,”

Rafe felt sick to his stomach. He fell to his knees and Barry was capturing it all. His final end of the deal was being completed: Film Rafe Cameron having a break down in front of millions of viewers. His fans watched as Rafe started to scream at the top of his lungs. He held the sides of his temples. Refusing to believe what he had done. What he did to you.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Rafe wanted to to finish one last film then be done with it. Then he’ll quit and live a regular life. Rafe regrets ever missing your recital, he regrets not answering you sooner, he should've never started this thing in the first place. Never in his life had he abused someone to that extent. He felt a strong wave of anxiety taking over as he spilled his guts on the floor, puking out the alcohol from his system. Rafe began to panic, turning his head to face the screen as he stares back at the lens. Now the entire Outer Banks will know what happened.

[zombiedcattle-art]

[Image ID: Fanart of "Don't Hug Me I'm Scared" done with paint and ink on wood. The drawing is divided into four square sections. The top left square features Red Guy tilting his head to the viewer's right. He is front of a yellow window and teal wall. He has a calm but otherwise unremarkable expression. The top right square features Duck with his arms up at his sides. He is front of a yellow doorframe, white door, and red-orange wall. He has a grouchy expression. The bottom left square features Yellow Guy. His slightly hunched body faces the left, but his head is turned toward the upper right. His right arm is raised as if to wave, and his left arm is bent at his side. He is in front of white stars and a red-orange wall. He has a confused, somewhat anxious expression: his mouth is slightly ajar. The bottom right square features the "Don't Hug Me I'm Scared" logo in the center and text reading "zombiedcattle" above it. / End ID]

[saphushia]

helpful (free) utility programs for artists

Allusion

reference image organizer. shows all the images in any folders you assign it to look in, and provides an easy interface for tagging and searching them. you can nest tags within each other, and when you apply a tag to an image it also applies all the parent tags. so if you tag 'tank top', and tank top is in the 'shirt' tag, it'll include that image when you search 'shirt'. also open source!

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

Pureref

reference image viewer. can create reference image collages, add notes, lock the window to stay on top, set the window to be partially transparent, and save 'scenes' so you can quickly pull up whatever character ref you need without searching for all your references images and re-adding them every time. supports loading images from file and copy-pasting from web.

compatible with windows, mac, and linux

WhatColor

color describer. shows you details about the color your mouse is over. it's designed for colorblind folks, and I mostly use it because I have strong color filters on my screen 90% of the time for health reasons. however it's also helpful when you're learning to dissect color palettes and are trying to see how the perception of a certain color is affected by the colors surrounding it. use it to see how often ur brain gets duped into seeing purple when it's actually blue

compatible with windows 7/8/10