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marknee · 1 year

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bts fanfics i personally think shakespeare would lose his job over in the 1500’s.

chapter i. ✷ chapter ii.

KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:

( ✮ ) — poor sod is on the floor. perhaps it’s shock?

( ♬ ) — he’s jealous he didn’t write this himself. well, it sucks to suck, mate.

( ✎ ) — currently handing him a tissue. give him a second.

( ♛ ) — both him and i lost our jobs. her majesty is ruthless.

THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.

WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.

NOTE: without further ado, this are the fanfics that i think would cause shakespeare to lose his job: the first of many essays. let’s bring the guy to his knees. metaphorically.

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( ♛ ) THE BODYGUARD — by @rmnamjoons

!! bodyguard!namjoon x reader | 62.9k !!

bodyguard au, romance, smut, fake dating, slight angst if you squint, lil bit of violence.

firstly, we’re starting off strong. i present to you, the mother of all namjoon fanfics. and she’s a bad bitch. tbh, i feel like this fic needs a moment of silence just to relish in her glory. soak it all up. it’s essential.

this fic genuinely had me gobsmacked at how incredibly written it is. it delves into every detail and no aspect of the story is left dry. you can tell the author put their everything into creating this world you just submerge into. and it shows.

the world building is amazing, the characters are so thought out, and it feels like you’re just on this adventure with them and discovering their story as it plots out.

also, the build up to the smut? out of this world. that’s one thing i love about this fic: it doesn’t feel rushed. everything is very spaced out and takes it’s sweet time, so when you get to the chocolately nut of the ferrero rocher, it’s like gold and well earned. and you can enjoy it.

honestly, it’s been months since i read this and i think about it every day. i did do some research (for my own peace of mind) and this fic is longer than the perks of being a wallflower. and is it better? yes. sorry not sorry.

this work of art deserves to be read and loved. and i rest my case, your honour.

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( ✎ ) UNTIL THE LAST STAR FALLS — by @minniepetals

!! underworld lords!bts x shield!reader | 44.4k !!

reincarnation!au, poly!au, gods!au, unrequited love, minor character death, car accidents.

quick question — for science — how does one happen to lose all their memories without any sustaining any internal or external injuries? because the things i would do to read this again for the first time. and i do not use those words lightly.

this was my first ever ‘longer’ written fic. and if i’m being honest, i never really liked to read them because i have the attention span of a goat. but this fic lures you in from the very start and time slips away like smoke. to say, it definitely left its mark on me.

it’s so brilliantly written and you feel connected to the characters both mind and soul. you want the best for them, you want to save them, you actually want to crawl into the pages (or screen) and fucking help them out. and that sold it to me, i think. just the sheer love for these characters.

i balled when i read the last few sentences. i didn’t want it to end. i think i finished it at three in the morning and sent a voice note of me crying to my friend. tmi? well, now on my christmas list is 7 hot boys in the underworld who would risk their everything for me. and i, them.

worth every single second. trust.

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( ♬ ) WARM THIS WINTER — by @jamaisjoons

!! seokjin x reader ft. ex-boyfriend jungkook | 51.6k !!

christmas!au, vacation!au, angst, fluff, smut (18+).

one thing about solaris, is she never misses. if i could, i think i’d recommend every fanfic she ever put out, but that’s too much effort for me when you could simply click her masterlist. so, i’ll wait here for you to do that. make sure you come back though.

love. sure, there are hundreds- perhaps, thousands of fics on this app about it. so what makes this one different? well, that’s just it. the sorrowful honesty of love. knowing when it’s over, and when it’s blooming in the midst.

i’ve never been in love, but frankly, this fic really spelt it out for me. the pain, the joy, the lingering memories after everything is said and done. it’s all there. and it really settles in your heart as you near the end.

this work pulled on every single heartstring of mine, stamped on them, and then proceeded to sew anew for the future to bring its own miseries. and i enjoyed it more than i can say (or type).

give this a read if you need just that bit of spark in your life. and that bit of sadness, too.

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( ✮ ) STRIKE A CHORD — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x reader | 15.8k !!

smut (18+), pianist!yoongi.

i don’t know what it is about this fic, but i come back to it whenever it pops up in my mind during my day. i’ll immediately unlock my phone and open this app, knowing i’ll feel better when the last word is read. and i feel content.

the atmosphere in this fic, if i may, feels as though you’re trapped in a warm, safe bubble with hazed music in the distance and soft light spilling through the thin layer of the bubble— not too dark, but enough to make you feel drowsy and peaceful. perhaps that’s why i return to it so often. i like how it makes me feel.

yoongi as an artist is already enough to make a person swoon, but as a pianist? i need a lie down. a cold towel to the head. just the whole characterisation of him in this fic needs a whole separate essay in itself, but you’ll understand my point when you read it.

forever a comfort fic, i think. and forever a comfort person. double whammy. case closed.

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( ✎ ) THE END — by @jimlingss

!! seokjin x reader | 31k !!

fifty percent fluff, fifty percent angst, loosely inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before.

i say this with my whole chest: i have never underestimated the amount of emotions you can experience during a fanfic, until i read the end— both literally and metaphorically. shock horror.

this fanfic takes you through the adventure of the reader learning of what her future would commence if she were to marry either one of the six members. best part? she’s led through this rollercoaster journey by the ghost of kim seokjin.

first impression to such an offer? sign me the fuck up. i mean, what more could you ask for? however my final impression went a bit more on the lines of what the fuck just happened. very different ends of the spectrum, if you ask me.

i decided to hand both shakespeare and i a tissue after this great piece of art was finished because not only was i sobbing, he was on the floor knowing his romance play of pericles could never live up to such an incredible story.

this fic was a rollercoaster i would be delighted to get onto for another ride.

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( ✎ ) A UNIVERSE TO YOU — by @readyplayerhobi

!! soulmate!hoseok x reader | 41k !!

fluff, angst, smut (18+), soulmates!au.

shakespeare once said (according to google), “it is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,” and if this fic wasn’t a soulmate!au, i think i would’ve agreed in some sorts. but as it is, in fact, a soulmate!au, i’m obliged to disagree. it was destiny i read this fic, hand on heart.

i was not expecting this fic to hit me in the feels as hard as it did. as you can tell by the other works listed in this essay of recommendations, soulmate!au’s come up a lot. and with a lot of the same plots flying around on this app, it’s hard to make one stand out. but this author definitely has a gift.

everything was so richly created it made you feel full. of wonder, of love, and of want. it made you crave it for yourself. and that’s what i love about this fic. it just makes you feel… good. and with the unfortunates of life currently, it’s one to get your head stuck in for some temporary relief.

dream soulmate? he’s right here, people. just enjoy the story and all the feels that float around your body. go on.

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( ✮ ) BUNNY — by @btssmutgalore

!! jungkook x fem!reader | 46.5k !!

non-idol!au, camboy!jk, friends to lovers, smut, angst.

let’s start here: never judge a book by its cover. a quote by george eliot going all the way back to the 19th century, and one i would use to describe this series as a whole, and my first impressions towards it.

this series, although unfinished (i think), has exceeded my expectations of a good smut outlined by a good plot. the best of both worlds, if you might. i came out of this series deeply in awe of the writing and the clear imagery the author manages to create within your own mind.

additionally, bunny was the beginning for me in learning about the world of camboys and camgirls(?), but i was greatly surprised. often, people are unkind to the new and stick to what they’re accustomed to, afraid of what the unknown might bring — me, included.

but, i’m glad i took the risk because i received three great things in return: a beautiful fanfic, knowledge of something that was foreign to me, and an author whose work i admire and shall be returning to in the future.

perhaps what i’m getting at is this could be a lesson to all. take a risk of something unknown because who knows? maybe something great will come out of it, and you’ll learn something. i did.

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( ♬ ) SEOUL UNDERGROUND — by @hunniejimins (ao3)

!! namjoon x jungkook x f!reader | 300k !!

mafia!au, enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn, love triangles, mob boss!namjoon, smut, heavy angst.

it’s ironic really. i found this work by someone else’s recommendation, and now i’m passing on the favour and recommending it to you, dear reader. it’s funny how the world works.

this work is the perfect balance of fantasy and reality and i love it. you’re hit with the beauty and clouded haze of love before being smacked back into the world at the realisation the very person you’re in love with, is a mafia mob boss and his killer mate. a real fun-sponge, i tell ‘ya.

nevertheless, this book kept me up early morning and late evening reading. it keeps you hooked, wanting, and hungry for more.

it’s nothing less of a masterpiece.

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( ✎ ) CREAM AND SUGA — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x barista f!reader | 14.8k !!

coffee shop!au, barista!au, fluff, nfsw (18+).

@snackhobi is mentioned twice on this list. though, can you blame me? it’s just a good thing shakespeare and this author don’t exist in the same century. it would be absolute carnage but nobody is ready for that conversation.

this author has a talent of portraying yoongi in the most irresistible way possible. i swear, i fall in love with him all over again reading. i wish you understood.

the whole misunderstanding section made me laugh because haven’t we all been there? the crushing pain and overwhelming guilt of having a crush on someone you can’t have. it’s all too real, seriously. been there, done that (unfortunately).

especially having the holidays just past, this is a perfect fic for a warm evening in, while the coldness of winter storms past outside. such a cute fic. love, love, love!

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( ♛ ) LOST AND FOUND — by @taleasnewastime

!! seokjin x reader | 21.2k !!

strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, sfw.

everyone says they have a fanfic that changed them, whether they’re being hyperbolic or brutally honest. and in my case, it’s a matter of both latter and former.

a couple months ago, i reached what i thought was rock bottom regarding my mental state and i took to my imagination to save me from the daily hell of my own mind. and this book was one i never really forgot about.

everything this author wrote within this fic was honest, heartfelt and very, very real. from the way you don’t just go up after going through something, but fall occasionally and sometimes feel as though you’re back at square one, to the way that there definitely is hope in the dark moments, and a light at the end of the tunnel. albeit a very faint one.

it comforted me in a way and reminded me of what i thought to be lost. fruitless, even. but sometimes, it’s books like these that open our eyes to things we’ve forgotten during times of turmoil: the simple goodness of life. and of people.

“if you’re going through hell, keep going.” winston churchill.

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( ✮ ) CANDYLAND — by @honeymoonjin

!! seokjin x reader ft. elf!jk | 13k !!

thriller, angst, fantasy, husband!jin, some cursing.

my mother is the biggest thriller fan. not that you needed to know that, but she is. and she’s not ashamed of it either. she’ll let you know if she’s reading a really good thriller in the moment. trust me, you’ll know.

me? not so much. i’m more of a sappy, hopeless romance, happy ending kind-of-sod — if you haven’t already guessed from this list. but there’s a reason this fic is on the list, too.

this fic genuinely kept me on the edge of my seat- uh, bed. the secrets of what darkness lingered behind the happy exterior of this adventure trip gripped my eyes to the screen, and lord, was it worth it.

throw a bit of husband!seokjin in there too? what more could you want! and written by @honeymoonjin? what a win.

let’s just say after this fic i added a few other thrillers to my basket. and happily reported to my mum i was a changed woman. okay, i’m exaggerating, but you get my point. it was incredible.

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( ✎ ) LILY LUCK — by @gguksgalaxy

!! yoongi x reader | 10.7k !!

soulmates!au, angst, fluff if u squint, very slight implicit sexual content, anxiety.

although this fic may be the shortest on the list, do not underestimate its power. it is still as mighty as the others— perhaps, even more so.

i think the main emotion i want to hone into concerning this fanfic is compassion. it sinks into your bones and surrounds your entire being like a unwanted hug. and you can’t even stop it.

the author does a good job of making you feel intense compassion for the reader — who so desperately wants to meet her soulmate. which makes the ending that much more satisfying.

this is for those who’re lonely, need a pick up, or those who’re hopeless romantics and believe in love belonging to fate, such as myself.

“expectation is the root of all heartache.” william shakespeare. talking of the devil, he would definitely cry over this fic. either of bubbling emotions, or the fact he didn’t write it himself. sucks really. for him, not for me.

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faintedlcve · 5 months

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False Fronts II

part 2 of 4

pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

warnings: kissing, pda, swearing, fake dating, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

there will probably be a part 3 (if im feeling nice).

summary: Being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. You, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to Theodore Nott.

the lovely lovely dividers have been created by @cafekitsune. here is the post with these exact dividers!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4: fluff angst

Theodore's departing silhouette dissolved into the Hogwarts corridor, leaving you with conflicting emotions. A grin tugged at your lips—Theo had asked you to team up in this wild charade! But there was also this weird flutter in your stomach. Fake dating Theo? This was something straight out of a fanfic plot. (i wonder why?)

The agreed time rolled around, and you headed to the spot Theodore suggested—a tucked-away alcove away from the Hogwarts chaos. Your heart raced a little faster as you spotted him already waiting, a mix of uncertainty and determination in his expression.

"Hey," you said, aiming for a casual tone despite the bundle of nerves inside.

Theodore turned, a faint smile on his lips as he nodded. "Hey, thanks for showing up."

There was this strange tension between you, the weight of the plan hanging in the air. It was like the beginning of an unknown adventure, the kind that either makes you or breaks you.

Sitting down, you both seemed at a loss for where to start.

"So," you ventured, breaking the silence, "how are we playing this out?"

Theodore leaned in, lowering his voice. "Let's keep it simple. Act like we're together, maybe hold hands when people are around. Just enough to sell it to Jess."

A jolt of nerves mixed with a weird kind of excitement surged within you. Pretending to be Theo's other half felt like stepping into a storybook—exciting but also a tad scary.

"Sure," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "We'll make it work."

Theodore nodded a grateful glint in his eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I owe you for this."

And so it began. There were these subtle gestures—his hand grazing yours, the occasional kiss on your cheek—but it never ventured beyond that. Just enough to plant a seed of jealousy in Jess.

Yet, it ignited a storm of butterflies within you. You knew it was all a mistake, falling for him in this make-believe charade. You knew it was a terrible idea. You knew it. Yet, each touch, each gentle kiss left you breathless, wanting more.

You reminded yourself it was all a facade, a performance meant to fool others. But for some reason, it felt real. You wished it were genuine. The line between what was fake and what you craved to be real blurred with every tender moment, making you yearn for something that was never meant to be. It all felt real. You wanted it to be real.

The question was, did he?

You knew diving into a conversation about his actual feelings wasn't on the table. He'd made it pretty clear: this was all part of the fake dating deal. Plus, the last thing you wanted was to weird him out by dropping the "Do you like me for real?" bomb.

If he caught wind of you wanting something more than acting, he might bail and rope someone else into this mess, leaving all the effort you'd poured into getting close to Theo in the dust. And you weren't about to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

Days turned into weeks, and the fake dating charade continued. You and Theodore fell into a rhythm, a seamless blend of staged affection and genuine camaraderie. It was a delicate dance, playing the part of an infatuated couple while maintaining the facade for Jess's benefit.

But amidst the pretense, something unexpected happened—the lines between what was feigned and what felt real started to blur. The stolen glances, the shared laughs, the moments when the act seemed to dissolve into something unscripted—all of it stirred a confusing mix of emotions within you.

Theodore's touches became less rehearsed, more natural, and each time he'd take your hand or wrap his arm around you, it felt oddly comforting. There was a warmth in his gestures that made them seem genuine.

Thing is, as much as you reminded yourself it was all a big show, there were moments when it felt too genuine, too sincere to be just an act. Those brief touches and the laughter that felt more genuine than staged—it all made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something brewing beyond the act you'd both signed up for.

Theodore escorted you towards your dorm, the air heavy with an unspoken tension that lingered between you two. The quiet stroll through the Hogwarts corridors felt different tonight—moments of comfortable silence interjected by furtive glances and lingering touches.

As the entrance to your dorm loomed closer, you felt the weight of an impending confession pressing against your chest. This might be the moment—the perfect opportunity to spill everything you'd been holding back.

"Theo, I have to tell you something" You blurted out.

"Hm?" He questioned.

"I- I lik-" You began.

"Stop right there bitch. Get the fuck away from MY boyfriend." a voice shouted.

It was Jess.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hello! finished reading this? read part 3 next!

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onlycosmere · 1 month

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BlackCoffeeBulb: you'll get him sued for copyright infringement for a few useless internet points, congrats

mpkeith : It's free advertising...

"Where did the name Wind Runner come from?"

"Well, there are these amazing books..."

So far (to my knowledge) nobody has been sued for Bridge Four homemade stuff, fan art, 3D printed shard blades and so on.

I really don't think Brandon Sanderson is that kind of guy. Seems to me he's happy to share with all of us his work.

Brandon Sanderson: I have expressly permitted it, in fact. I had a lawyer draw up as liberal a fanart policy as I could make, and not scare away people like film companies. Basically, you can create whatever you want for your personal use, and can even sell some form of fanart so long as you're not using me or implied relationship with me in the marketing.

Do look at the official language in my FAQ, though, as opposed to taking my (flawed) memory on how it works. Either way, no, I'm not going to ever be bothered by individual fan creations, and instead encourage them. And something like this far is a huge mark of respect from the owner, toward me.

gsauce8: So essentially as long as you're not saying something along the lines of "Officially licensed" or anything close to that, you're good to go? That's freaking awesome.

Brandon Sanderson: It's a little more tricky than that--I let the lawyers hash it out. But basically, you can't use our artwork, our branding, and can't say it's official. But you CAN sell art prints of art you made of characters/scenes from the books, even if they include things like Kaladin's scars or a Bridge Four patch. You don't need a license, and you don't owe us anything.

It's a legal grey area that I want to make less grey. I like fanart, and want to encourage it--and in so doing, feel like an artist making something transformative like this should be able to profit from their art. Yes, my books inspired that art--but other books inspired me to write, as did films and artwork. This is how art is created.

Mostly, this applies to thinks like prints right now. (We haven't authorized T-shirts, for example, as that kind of thing gets really tricky with movie deals wanting merchandising rights.) Again, read the exact language on the FAQ, but we've tried to be as lenient here as we can be.

Also, I have no problem with fanfic, so long as it remains in the fan realm, rather than being sold. (But if you write something awesome, and readers like it, I'd encourage you to change the names/setting and rebrand it as your own so you could sell it.)

#the stormlight archive #cfsbf #root #cosmere #words of radiance #brandon sanderson #branderson #wob #kind of #cosmere merch

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novalizinpeace · 1 month

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you know, I think I'm starting to see a pattern in Craftycorn family...

Hympis=Bad

Easel=Good

Canvas=Bad

Craftycorn=Good

I just really think if that Poppy Co idea of a season with the character childrens came true, Crafty and Dogday child would be a little demon.

Not at the point of starting a war like the other 2, Crafty and Day wouldn't let it happen, but I still feel like they would would be a anti-hero creating conflict throught the episodes.

That or they're a chaotic cremlin like their uncle(Catnap), just with even more energy like Dogday.

Good to see someone realizing that fact with crafty's family even before i finish the explanation of the wars, it true that history tend to repeat itself, but Play.Co was a coward

but you know who isn't a coward?

i present to you, the fanfic that Charlie and Alba had been writting for those two

The concept is simple, basically the next gen having Catnap as a mentor to find their place in this world, specially Dogday and Craftycorn's children, since they all are in a constant fight with the ''who is going to get our parents pendant?''

(first concept i made for this yesterday when i didn't have electricity)

To resume each children (i don't have their reference yet, 'm fast but not this fast):

-Sunrise (red puppycorn): the oldest of the triplet, she's a menace in all the ways possible, but not in a evil way, more in a young Gaia way, she like to explore and her nose is almost always on the ground, looking for new things. A leader just in paper, 'cause half the time she doesn't know what she's doing.

-Palette (Cream flying puppy): Middle triplet, he love to use his wings to get away from trouble, or mess with his non-flying sibling, he repeat the word ''what?'' a lot.

-Shylight (white and blue puppycorn): the youngest triplet, he's just brave when he's making a mischief with his sibling, but when he's left alone he become a babbling, nervous mess, probably having a mix of the insecurities in young dogday and craftycorn, Catnap insist he's like this 'cause crafty babied him to much.

-Prisma (yellow alicorn puppy): she was a surprise baby from the stork, nor Dogday nor crafty remember writting a letter for her, but the stork insist they had send one for a ''last special baby''. Since this story is write by adults for adults readers, Catnap think they write it while drunk (aka a literal upsie baby lol). She's around 5 y/o, but she hadn't leave her pacificier yet, and her sibling know is a baaaaad idea to try to take it from her

-Berry Bearhug (brown bear): Catnap's and Bobby's baby, a 1 y/o cutie that had spend to much time with her mother's side of the family, so she tend to run in all four and grow. Catnap isn't bothered by that.

There's also the rest of the characters, that are children of the rest of the critters

we have Cuckoo (black chicken), Kickin's daughter (not revealing the other parent, just know is another man). And Osuke, Picky's son with Inoshishi.

Then we have Bubba's daughter, Smarty Tiny (yup, he give her his parent's middle name).

and the oldest of the other critters children, Hoppy's son, Spring Seashell (the only one that already got his mother's pendant).

'm not making something with this whole concept, my hands are already full with the cartoon and the factory Aus, but be free to think in ideas for this little rascals, the factory gang would love to read about it

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters arg #smilingcritterslostmedia #smiling critters oc #ask #nova say

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thewriteblrlibrary · 4 months

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A Step-by-Step Marketing Guide so we can spite traditional publishers (and make people cry).

~ This is a guide specific for fiction/writeblr. All of this is for free and there is little social media posting/ads involved (unless you want to venture into that). ~

Within the writeblr spheres, there's this underlying hope that our stories will find their audience. Perhaps we'll have a fandom full of fanart and video essays, or maybe we'll be an instant classic and sit on collectors' beloved bookshelves. Our stories could sit within the deepest corners of someone's heart and maybe they never tell a soul about what's so special to them. Maybe our stories become those 'underrated masterpieces'.

Or we just want to see people ugly cry over our writing.

Whatever your hope may be, marketing is an important path to venture on (especially because traditional publishers are rejecting diverse books in favor of ones that are already famous + the whole sub-par machine thing they seem obsessed with.)

And thus, my childhood marketing obsession will hopefully be of use to you. This is all for free (unless you want to spend money) and you don't need to figure out social media platforms (unless you want to, and this guide works if you decide to take that route too.)

Step One: Characters

Marketing spheres will define these fictious people as 'avatars' or 'the target audience'. You could also call them characters. Because that's what they are: fictional people.

For this step, you shall create characters that would love your story.

And here's some great news: You've already done this.

Perhaps you wrote your story to comfort a prior version of yourself. Perhaps each character in your story holds an aspect of your personality. Perhaps you were ridiculously self-indulgent and made the story you would've loved to read. These are all possible characters you can reuse for marketing.

Write down 2-4 quick archetypes for these characters. You'll chose an aspect of your story (characters, themes, or the younger-self that you wrote it for) and write a thumbnail sketch. (Main issue, fears, wants, personality traits if they relate to the main issue.)

I'll do it for my story (the Land of the Fallen Fairies) down below:

Anuli-like (my MC): Overthinking and aloof. Wants a happy ending but thinks their current personality/character isn't good enough for one. The present stales in comparison to the past/the childhood they lost. The 'gifted theater kids'. Kamari-like (side character): Postpones happiness in favor of creating a perfect schedule/getting accomplishments. Heavy masking. Creative but doesn't create anymore. Promises themself they'll enjoy themselves later, when they've earned it. Workaholics. My younger self: Wanting a fantasy escapism to embody the traits they wish they had in real life. Dissatisfied and worried about reality. Perfectionists. Self-indulgent: People who love plants and forests and fantasy worlds far away from reality/humanity.

Great! Now it's time to find these characters.

Step Two: Setting.

(Let's assume you're using the internet for your marketing. But a similar method works for real life too.)

Where do the characters live?

In order to figure that out, we need to discover the characters' interests, what they watch to solve their problems, and who they find #relatable.

(You can do this for each character or for all the characters at once.)

For example:

Anuli-like -

interests: Stories. Analysis videos. Fantasy escapism. Things that remind them of their childhood. (so nature, warmth, comfort, play, imagination and the times they would actually enjoy learning.)

Places to look: Nature quotes, ambience videos, children's shows and fairytales (comfort shows). Fandom culture - fanfic video essays, fan art.

Solving problems (the problem being wanting a 'happy ending' but feeling that their personality/lifestyle/characteristics aren't right for one): Mindfulness things. Self-healing. Quotes and meditations and candles galore. Slow living. Nature vlogs. Self care. All that 'live in the moment' culture.

Places to look: Slow living. Nature vlogs. The 'softer self-help' (spirituality stuff. Magic/ overnight answers). Witchcraft. 'aesthetic nature' places. Guided meditations.

#relatable: Burnt out gifted kids. People who think so much that their life passes them by. Storytellers and creative who create to make sense of the world. People who like dark, gory things in spite of who they want to be. People who don't like reality.

Places to look: Those 'learn better and remember everything' places. (The 'burnt-out gifted kid' recovery places.) Stop overthinking spots. Those quotes on Pinterest from poetic people who think too much /aff. Storyteller places. Dark academia. Classical music. One off quotes/ poetry.

Okie dokie. Once you have this, find channels, social media accounts, blogs, songs, books, etc. that fit with the categories you wrote down. (They should appeal to the characters) You can search up some of the terms you listed into searches and see who pops up. Bonus points if you find people that overlap with multiple sections.

I know I didn't include booktube or booktok in here. You can if you want too. But those can be a bit... 'consume these 500 books'. You also want to find other places where people who would like you story live, even if they don't follow booktube or booktok.

Congrats! Now you know where your characters live!

Step Three: the scary part

Take everyone you found on your search for the settings and write them down a list. Make sure you get an email/contact info. (they usually list them somewhere under 'for business inquires') Also feel free to watch their content and get to know what attributes these settings have.

And now... we talk to them. about our stories. You can do it. I believe in you.

This called 'pitching your product' in marketing spheres. But you can be informal about it.

I know it can be difficult to talk about your work, so here's a tone to have:

'I made this thing I like and I think you'll like it too'.

What you'll do is send an email (or dm) that goes like this (inspired by Creative Hive on youtube):

Hi [name],

[Genuine compliment]

[Quick sentence or two about your story. Include the themes and who it appeals to. If you have a logline/sentence summary, include that. But I find that the underlying themes and 'who's it's for' is more engaging.

For my story, I might say something like.

I've written a story you might enjoy, since you like [interest]. It's called the Land of the Fallen Fairies. It's a nature-themed commentary on the pursuit of happiness and fixing yourself to deserve that happiness, told by an overthinking, unreliable, houseplant narrator. It was supposed to comfort me when I got frustrated with myself and my happiness chasing, and I hope it can comfort others too.

(That's probably a bit long and I can trim it down a bit.)

You can phrase it like a gift if you want too.]

[Call to action.

'If you like it, I'd appreciate a mention on your [platform].

I know this part may be difficult to mention (imposter syndrome is not fun.) But I promise that if they do like it, they'll be happy to mention it.]

If they don't respond within... four-ish days? (A week at most). then you can include a follow up. For this you can include a template with info about your story. This way it's easy for them to talk about your story.

The template:

title

genre

blurb

Author

where to find the book

Bonus points if you have an additional, physical thing to send them.

Congrats! Now do this pitching process a few times until you've covered most of your bases. (Pitch to as many people as you can. It will get more comfortable as you do it. Play your favorite song and don't let yourself think too hard about it.)

----------

The benefits of this process are that you find people that are already interested in the themes and vibes of your story (in comparison to to ads, which get shoved in everyone's faces.). Someone your audience already trusts will talk about it, which means you don't need to do all this trial and error to find your audience and make content for them.

It's basically a bunch of people talking about something they like!

AND you diversify your audience across niches, but with an underlying theme/interests. Booktok/booktube must appeal to everyone, so it's a hit or miss for recommendations. (Unless there is someone that specifically does one genre/type of story.)

From here you can do fun little things to build up hype and make the book launch feel like this fun event. (I love it when that happens so here's my thoughts about trying to create an event with your story... although that may require another post entirely.)

preorder goals

charity goals

Arg's and puzzles

fund with side plushies and trinkets

Book blog tour

book boxes

as many memes as you can make

rewards (like bookmarks or posters or smth) that people can get for supporting

Talk about the process of creating your story. I know this one channel called 'Dead Sound' that creates 'making of' videos for his short films and they are some of the best videos on youtube.

Okay dear storyteller! Now go forth and share your story with the world!

Additional resources:

Creative Hive <-- a youtube channel that goes through the pitching process.

This video is also very good <-- Haven't watched the rest of the channel but I assume it's also good.

One of the best marketing channels on the internet (the videos are actually entertianing to watch.

Seth Goldin <-- I read his book and took the parts I liked and modified for storytelling marketing.

Dead Sound <-- propaganda to watch the short film series he has (he did the whole 2-d 3-d style wayyyy before spiderverse did... and he's one person making these. One person. It's amazing.

Glitch <--- If someone can figure out how The Amazing Digital Circus was marketed then I will pay you money. It seems to be a lot of memes and funny things.

375 notes · View notes

xanqels · 9 months

Text

For I Have Sinned.

DarkCorruptedPriest!Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: Father Miller sets eyes on you, and decides then and there that you are to be ruined by him.

Parings: joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: SMUT!!! No outbreak au! reader is a virgin and very naive, loss of innocence, corruption kink (he’s into taking her vcard), blackmail, dubcon, virginity loss, fingering, slight humiliation(?), bit of mocking, pet names (darlin’, baby, sweet girl etc), dirty talk, using the lords name in vain, unprotected piv (wrap before you tap), power imbalance, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader is mid to late 20s, Joel is late 50s), Joel is an asshole in this, mentions of god/the bible/sinning. Conclusion: Joel should not be a priest. if there’s any i’ve misses please let me know.

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: I would like to thank @chloeangelic for inspiring me to write this and also giving me some encouragement, and I’d also like to thank @toxicanonymity for inspiring me to write dark!joel and creating the joelkemon universe. Also I do apologise if the timing of the story is a bit everywhere, this is my first fanfic!! any and all criticism is welcome with open arms.

————————————————————————

He still remembers the first day he met you.

You and your family had brought him a pie, a cherry one. They wanted to welcome him, congratulate him for becoming the new priest in their humble town. A sweet gesture from such a perfectly sweet girl and her devout family.

He remembered your face, he could draw it from memory if he wanted to - if he could draw, that was. The perfect mix of beauty, grace and innocence stood before him that very day and he was hooked. Hooked on your gaze, your smile, your scent, but most of all, your innocence and blind naivety to the world.

He knew then and there, that you were his to ruin.

Every Sunday from then on, his eyes were stuck on you, what you were wearing, the way your cheeks flushed when your eyes met his. Everything about you was mere perfection. A sight of innocence, of naivety that he couldn’t wait to take hold of and ruin for every other man.

He wanted his name to be the last thing on your lips at night, and the first thing to be spoken in the morning. He wanted to curse your mind with images of him, to make you worship him instead of God. And so, in his mind he curated the perfect plan to get you alone.

“Go forth, knowing that you are cherished,” His voice, a deep texan accent, talking to the congregation, “chosen and empowered by the Creator of the Universe.” But why did it feel as though he was talking to purely you? His words, so enchanting you lingered on every line he spoke. His sermons were fresh, new and slightly modern. A stark contrast from Father Rafferty’s sermons.

“May his grace be upon you. Now and forevermore.” He looks up, eyes scanning the room before landing on yours. Dark brown iris’ peering into your soul, as you feel your cheeks flush. He likes the way your cheeks blush when you look at him. You want him. You need him, he tells himself. “Amen.” He states as you look away, the rest of the congregation, including yourself muttering a simple ‘Amen.’

As you and your family stand up in preparation to leave, Father Miller approaches you, a wide smile on his lips with his Bible and rosary beads in hand. “Mr and Mrs Spencer.” He says, shaking your fathers hand. “How lovely it is to see you again.”

“Well, Father, we could never miss one of your services.” Your mother speaks as you look idly at the floor, eyes tracing over the darkened, dented wood from where people have walked over time. You tune out the conversation, feeling ashamed for dropping Father Millers eyes earlier, and feeling so stupid for blushing.

“Won’t you, honey?” Your fathers voice snaps you out from your thoughts, eyes wide as you look between the three of them. “Pardon?” You ask, heart thumping in your chest.

“Father Miller wants you to help him decorate the church for Easter Sunday. There’ll be plenty of other people there. I think it’d be an excellent idea.” Your father says, as your eyes dart to Father Millers. He smiles, a sweet smile. A comforting, pleasant smile which puts you at ease. Those dark chocolate brown eyes, soft and kind.

You nod, and he clasped his hands together in glee. “Well, perfect. It’ll take a little while, but there’ll be plenty of breaks and we’ll provide food. Hopefully you don’t mind me keeping your daughter occupied for the entire day.” Father Miller says, and your parents don’t seem to mind. Just as long as you’re being the perfect catholic girl you’ve always been. Just as long as you’re kept out of trouble, and as long as you help Father Miller with whatever he needs.

A devout catholic you were. Born and baptised, risen in a strong catholic household and desperate to please the priest. You’d do anything he’d say or ask, as long as it wasn’t a sin, and Joel knew that. He knew how desperate you were to please someone so close to God, his messenger, how you itched to be as pure and holy as one could be. He knew he’d got you wrapped around his little finger

And so, the plan was set in motion. And at 11am on the following Thursday, you were there at the church doors, pushing the solid oak open as you walk into the dim room, the only form of light being the candles Father Miller had lit and the sun shining through the stained-glass windows.

Expecting to be met with various murmurs and fellow church-goers, you find the place empty. Completely deserted, almost, until your eyes lay on him. Tall, stoic and his gaze piercing at you, taking you in. Your small frame, your long white dress, the way your hair lay against your shoulders. The image of innocence.

He smiles, that same sweet smile that he gave you the previous Sunday. “You made it.” He says, walking towards you with his arms out, almost as though he was going to envelope you in a hug.

But he didn’t. He clasped his hands together, rubbing his palms together. “Father Miller.” You exhale softly, eyes scoping the otherwise empty church. “I thought we were all meeting here at eleven. Where is everyone?” You ask, twirling a strand of long hair around your index finger.

He shrugs. “‘m afraid I don’t know. I did invite them.” He says, lying through his teeth. You wouldn’t know that, of course. Too naive to think any differently, to even have a thought that Father Miller may just lie to you. Truth is, he didn’t invite anyone else. Not a single soul. It was only you and him.

You frown, clearly unhappy with the way no one else seemed to turn up but you. The way they so blatantly chose to ignore Father Miller’s need for help. “But you asked for help, surely they should’ve come.”

“Perhaps they got busy.” He lies, looking around the church, eyes glaring at the empty walls. “Anyways, this place won’t decorate itself.” He grins, turning and walking towards the back, hand gesturing for you to follow.

And you do, obediently. Into the back room of the church, full of foldable tables and chairs, boxes of decorations and broken pews. It’s dark, and smells of dust and mildew. The smell violates your nose as you try to adjust to the light, and then Joel flicks a switch, and a singular, dim lightbulb sparks to life.

You grimace at the surroundings. Untidy, dusty and slightly damp. There’s a dark oak table in the corner of the room, covered in cardboard boxes that are filled to the brim. Obviously this room hardly gets properly taken care of, but in a small town like yours, you aren’t surprised. Most of the things that enter this room hardly come back out, unless needed. But, you aren’t here to judge, you’re here to help. Help this poor, middle-aged priest who blessed the community with his sermons and his striking good looks… wait what?

You sigh as you approach the table full of boxes, slender fingers prising open the lids and rooting through the boxes of old memories and décor.

Behind you, Joel was hungrily glaring at your figure. The way you got to work without any questions. So submissive, so silent. Oh, how he can’t wait to hear you moan his name. To cum all over his cock, to..

“Father Miller?” His thoughts are cut off by your melodic voice drifting through the air. “What exactly are we looking for?”

He chuckles, slowly approaching the table. “Sweetheart, it’s not Sunday, and we’re not in a sermon. Please, call me Joel. Let’s drop the formalities for now.” He smiles, looking down at you, and then, his hand is on your lower back. Hardly an inch above your ass. “Just some decorations. Some banners, the candles, my white robe should be in here somewhere.”

You gasp, the feeling foreign and leaving a strange feeling in your loins. You look up from the boxes of discarded mess, eyes meeting his. “Father Miller..” You start, but he glares at you, eyebrows raised. You squint your eyes shut and scrunch your face up, mentally cursing at yourself for not using the name he’d asked you to use. “I mean, Joel..” You clear your throat. “Why would your robe be in here? Surely it should be at your house, or somewhere safe atleast?” Your eyes slowly open, meeting his again.

He looks at his hand, gliding it up and down your back slowly, as though he was comforting you. “Well, William – Sorry, Father Rafferty left it in here for me. Just haven’t had chance to come rootin’ through the boxes.” He hums, a low tune, a soft one. “So, Sweetheart, tell me.. have you ever sinned?”

The abrupt question makes you freeze up, frown at the thought and straighten up slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “What sort of a question is that?” You ask. “Of course not. Well… I don’t think I have.” You say, wracking your brain for an answer. It’s normal for him to ask these sorts of questions, right? He’s just looking out for you. To make sure you’re on the right path, that you’re pure and holy. You’ve never even looked at another man in a sinful way, let alone kiss one. Sure, you might think the odd boy is cute, and maybe you’ve looked at Father Miller – Joel in a different way, and that’s made you feel sinful. You have to admit though, his scruffy salt and pepper beard, dark eyes and calloused hands are no match for any of the local boys. Joel was beautiful. Handsome, even. But he was thirty years your junior, and the priest. It’d ruin his career and his relationship with God, yours too. You couldn’t do it to yourself.

“You’ve never kissed a boy?” He asks, curiosity peaking. You knew kissing wasn’t a sin, but it’s not like you needed to worry about it. You shake your head, saying nothing. “Would you like to kiss one?” He asks, his body suddenly moving to engulf yours, his crotch right against your ass as he wraps his arms around your waist. You shudder at the movement, his breath hot against your ear.

“Father, I’m not sure this is right.” The formalities are back, you’re unsure, nervous and confused. Never once has he acted this way towards you, so flirtatious and curious. And yet you find yourself wanting more. A burning forming deep inside of you.

“Joel.” He corrects. “And it’s alright, darling. Won’t do nothing you don’t want me to do.” He grabs your hips and turns you around in his arms so you’re facing him. He places his index finger under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

You swallow thickly, eyes scanning his features. His scruffy beard is stark in contrast to his combed-back hair. The weathering on is face is showing, proving his age, showing how wise he is. He’s gorgeous, for an older man. You never would’ve assumed he was in his fifties, had he not told you. You bite your lip, weighing out the pros and cons in your mind of potentially giving your first kiss to this man.

“Just tell me what you want, Darlin’.” He speaks, “it’s not a sin. Well, it’s definitely not a sin if you kiss me. We won’t be doing anything wrong.” He urges, watching intently as your tongue pokes out and swipes against your lower lip. You nod, if anyone should know about sin it’s him. If anyone should know what’s right or wrong, it’s him.

He doesn’t waste a second, closing the space between the pair of you, his lips pressing against yours. They’re plump and warm against yours, and you’re not sure what to do. You try to copy his movements, lips moving when his do. It’s hard and confusing at first, but you manage to get the hang of it slowly. It’s innocent at first. Soft, sweet and oh, so innocent. But the more he presses against you, the more your back presses against you solid oak table. The sharp edge digging into your back, the pain making you gasp. Joel takes this opportunity to slide his tongue between your lips. A wet, warm foreign feeling in your mouth.

It’s a long kiss, deep and hungry. His tongue prodding and attacking your mouth every so often, and you could swear you feel something warm and tingly in your lower stomach. You’re stood awkwardly, hands by your sides with absolutely no sense of direction, that is until Joel takes your hands and places them around his neck. You allow it, and as you settle in, his hands find their place on your waist, calloused fingers digging through your cotton dress.

You wince as he nips your bottom lip with his teeth, and you pull away, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. His eyes dark with a newfound fire in them, and something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Fuck angel, you taste so good.” Joel whispers, his hand coming up and brushing through your hair as he takes your form in. Slightly plumped lips, red and glossy from your shared saliva, eyes wide and still in shock from the moments. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He leans in again, and even though you expect for him to kiss you again, his lips find a new place – on your neck. His beard tickles the sensitive skin, his lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone, which only just peaks out of your modest dress. Your breath catches in your throat, the fire in your stomach growing strangely stronger, more apparent. You sigh out as he plants a wet kiss against your collarbone, his tongue gliding from your collarbone up to your earlobe.

“Such a good girl.” He murmurs in your ear, his fists grabbing your dress and starting to pull it up. You gasp, placing your hand on top of his to stop him, shaking your head.

“No.” You state. “That’s a sin, I can’t go any further, Father. It’s not right.” You tussle in his grip. “I’m waiting until marriage like I should, like God said I should.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” He purrs, slowly shaking your hand off his. “It’s not a sin if you do it with me. It doesn’t count.” He lies, tugging your dress up so it’s just above your waist. He slips his free hand into the waistband of your panties, hissing as his fingers are met with your arousal. “Oh, baby.” He purrs, his finger skilfully prodding your clit. You whine in his arms. “You’re so wet, so desperate.” Wet? That’s what it is? You’re aroused? By this? That strange, unfamiliar feeling in your gut was caused by him?

His fingers swipe your clit, moving at different angles until your face twisted in pleasure and your mouth drops open. A strangled moan comes from the back of your throat, a noise you didn’t even know you could make. A noise you shouldn’t make, but you can’t help it. You can’t stop the chorus of moans falling from your lips, and to Joel it sounds just like a hymn sung in church. So beautiful and melodic to his ears. He loves it.

His index finger trails down, making you frown at the loss of pleasure, prodding your tight hole. You gasp, immediately itching to get out of his grip again. His grip only tightens, and he pulls his hand out of your panties. He looks at the wetness on his hand in the dim light, admiring the shine and your embarrassed face. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Sweetheart.” He winks before popping his fingers in his mouth and sucking your juices clean off them. You at him in both shock and awe as he reaches behind you and clears the table off, boxes falling on the floor with decorations scattering around the room.

He lifts you up, your dress still hiked around your waist as he places you on the table, stepping between your thighs. “You gon’ show me all of you, pretty girl?” He asks, caressing your face with the same hand he just sucked clean. You felt sick to your stomach, but at the same time, you yearned for more.

“Forgive me, Father..” You mutter quietly to the man himself upstairs, as you nod your head and lift your arms up. Joel takes complete advantage of this, removing your dress and discarding it on the dirty floor. You know it’ll be dirty and possibly ruined when you retrieve it after, but you’re sure you’ll make something up to appease your parents.

He whistles lowly at the sight of you in your underwear, and since he asked if you would show him all of you, he doesn’t ask if he can unclasp your bra, he just does it, hardly giving you time to react. The cool air immediately makes your nipples harden, stiff peaks standing to attention, desperate to be touched. To be manhandled and played with. He discards your bra ontop of your dress, his hands coming back and cupping your boobs.

You bite your lip at the new sensation as he fondles them “Do you trust me?” He asks, what a stupid question – of course you do. You nod, and he removes his hands from your breasts, his fingers sliding into the waistband of your panties. You lift yourself off the table slightly, after a glare of expectance from Joel, and he pries your soaking wet panties from your body, the soft pink colour now darker where wet.

“Oh, Darlin’.” He groans as he fingers the damp patch, and your cheeks grow hot again. “I’ve hardly even touched you. Hardly even shown you what a good time I can give ya.” He grins, a devilish grin, as he stuffs your soiled panties into his back pocket.

You shiver in anticipation, any worries of sinning or ruining yourself for marriage being long gone. After all, Father Joel Miller said it was okay, and that it wasn’t a sin asking as you did it with him, and he wouldn’t lie to you, right?

He kneels down in between your legs, groaning as his knees click, a sign of his old age. It should snap you out of this, remind you this isn’t who you are, but it does the opposite. Makes you yearn for him, crave him. He grabs your thighs and thrusts you closer to him so your ass is just barely on the table. With one arm wrapped around your waist, he uses his free hand to gently spread your lips, your pussy shining with arousal in the dim light. Glistening, calling for him, he exhales shakily. “Gotta stay still for me, Baby, okay?”

He dives forward, your soaking cunt spread open for him still, and he places a gentle, chaste kiss on your clit. A simple movement that has you jolting, and him chuckling at your reaction. A low, monotone tune.

“God girl, you’re a nasty little thing, huh?” He doesn’t even give you time to answer before he licks a straight line from your tight hole up to your clit. Your moans have his cock rock hard, painfully stretching against his pants. If he doesn’t get to fuck you, he’ll definitely masturbate to the thought of your moans, the way your cheeks were red and eyes glossed over.

He repeats it a couple of more times, licking stripes up your pussy, purely doing it to wind you up and tease you further, as if you weren’t already a soaking mess for him. He takes pity on you and your whines, leaning forward and wrapping his plump lips around your clit, ravenously devouring your pussy as though he hadn’t eaten for days.

It’s pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before. So intoxicating and mind numbing, you could live on this feeling. Your hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as you moan, your hips subconsciously rocking and grinding into his mouth. “Joel.” You groan, and he only hums in response, noisily lapping up your leaking juices.

He brings his hand down, the one that was spreading your lips, and gently prods his middle finger against your tight hole. He gently pushes it in, despite your slight squirming and whines, holding it still to allow your pussy to get used to this new feeling, to this intruder. Then, he’s slowly thrusting his finger into you, all the while he’s completely devouring your pussy.

The feeling burns slightly, but is quick to wear off as it soon turns to pleasure, his finger hitting a certain spot that makes you see stars, that makes you unaware of how loud you are, how pitiful you sound. You don’t even realise he’s brought his second finger into the mix until the burn returns and you feel yourself being stretched out further.

You cry out, your hand shooting to his wrist. “Stop.” You command, voice wavering. “Too full.” He pulls his head away, chuckling lowly at the command.

“Too full?” He asks, “How do you expect me to fit my cock in your pretty pussy if you won’t even let me put my second finger in?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were my good girl, are you not? Look at how wet you are, how well you’re taking my fingers.” He gently pushes his fingers in further as he speaks. You look down, the sight simply sinful. Your tight pussy engulfing his large calloused fingers, your juices all over his fingers and knuckles.

“Slowly.” You demand, gently releasing his wrist, and thankfully, he does. He pushes his fingers in, and you’re full. Fuller than you were before, and you didn’t even know that was possible. To feel so filled up and yet.. good? It’s slow, the way his fingers thrust in and out of you, inching deeper every time. It’s progress when the burning subsides, and you nod at Joel.

“Better.” You confirm, and he doesn’t need to ask twice.

His fingers slowly pick up the pace, his tongue attacking your clit again, your hips grinding against him, desperate for more friction, and you don’t even realise you’re doing it.

The burning in your lower abdomen grows stronger, more apparent. Like you’re building up to something momentum, something life changing. “Joel.” You moan. “Fuck, oh God.” You curse, not caring for the moment who hears you curse, or use Gods name in vain. You’ll pray later.

He pulls his lips away from you, smirking up at you. “Gonna cum, baby?” He asks, but you’re unsure. “Let go, Sweet girl. Show me how you cum all over my fingers. Show me how bad you can do.”

Your mouth drops open as his fingers hit that special spot, eyes seemingly rolling into the back of your head as it washes over you. The best thing you’ve felt in your life, crashing over you again and again. You see white flashes, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. You don’t even realise that you’ve grabbed Joel’s wrist again to keep him in place, your hips rocking back and forth on his fingers.

You’re sweaty, beads of sweat have fallen down your chest, your thighs, and when you come to, you feel filthy, sinful, wrong. Like you’ve just had a piece of you taken. You look down, mouth dropping open as you gently release him from your ironclad grip. “I’m so sorry.” You blubber.

He pulls his fingers out of you, grinning wide at his accomplishment. “Look at that..” He pops his fingers in his mouth, sucking them dry. “Not so innocent, huh? You naughty girl. I heard you curse Gods name.”

“Please don’t mention that to anyone. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, that shouldn’t of happened.” You plead, the thought of what the community may do to you scares you. You’ve seen what lengths they go to in order to shun someone. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell them.”

He smirks. “Well, you could do one of two things. You could get on your knees at home and pray to God that he’ll forgive you, although there’s a very low chance of that happening, you sinful little minx.” He chuckles at your sorrowful face. “Or, you can turn around, bend over and let me fuck the sin out of you. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if every drop of sin has been eradicated from your body. Your choice.” He stands, groaning softly as his knees crack again, that reminder of his age causing your pussy to pulse in arousal.

You sigh, wordlessly standing up on wobbly legs. You turn around, gently laying your sweaty body against the table. Your stomach covered in the wetness you’d left behind, the rest of your body being welcomed by the coolness of the wood. “I want him to forgive me.” You squeak.

A feeling of pride in his chest, he smiles. You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, and then the rustle of his pants as he pulls his cock from out of his boxers. He holds his hand out infront of you. “Spit.”

You gather all the spit in your mouth, spitting it into the palm of his hand. You wonder what he’s going to use your saliva for. “This isn’t going to hurt more than your fingers, is it?” You can hear him stroking himself with your spit, a wet, sloppy sound. You can’t help but wonder what his cock looks like. Is it big? Is it thick? Is it tanned like his sunglowed skin?

“Different for everyone, Angel. Shouldn’t hurt for long if it does.” He says, his free hand adjusting your form slightly. He stands behind you, getting himself into position. “The fact you just came should make it so much easier, and less painful.” He gently pushes the tip of his cock into your tight hole, hissing.

You cry out, the burning sensation stronger than ever as you feel yourself being stretched out around his thick cock. Tears prick your eyes. It’s unpleasant, you feel like you’re being ripped into two, like his cock is going to break you. “Too big.” You cry out again.

He tuts. “You said that about my fingers.” He rolls his eyes. “Too big.” He mocks in a slightly girlish tone. This isn’t the Miller you know. This is someone entirely different. His whole demeanour has changed in a matter of seconds, from the second you bent over for him, he’s far more dominant. “We got my fingers in, didn’t we? Just breathe.” He reaches his freehand down, rubbing your clit in small circles to get you to ease up.

You do as he says, taking deep breaths in through your nose as he continues to stretch your tight hole out around him. It takes what seems like forever before he finally bottoms out, and you hear him sigh. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust before starting to slowly thrust into you.

The burn takes a while to ease off, but when it does and you finally get to embrace the feeling of being truly full up, you’re in shock. You thought two fingers was full, you were wrong.

“This pussy is so fucking tight.” He grunts, his hips slapping against yours as his pace speeds up. “Should’ve fucked you sooner, Pretty girl.” You moan in response, table creaking as he fucks you against it.

“Deeper.” You blurt out. Your body and mouth no longer felt like it belonged to you, it belonged to your lust. Your desperation to cum all over his cock again.

He obliges. “So fucking needy.” He scoffs, but smirks as your moans turn into callings of his name and strings of curses, the tip of his cock nudging that oh so sweet spot you’ve learnt to appreciate in what feels like seconds.

The sounds of skin slapping, moans from you and grunts from him echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and right into your ears, reminding you how your innocence is gone, how you’re no longer pure. How sinful you’ve become, something you’ve lived your entire life avoiding. Something you were taught to never even think about happening, something you were taught to shun others for. And now look at you, what a hypocrite. Bent over a table, being fucked by a man, who despite being very attractive, is decades older than you.

That same feeling is forming in your stomach as he fucks you harder, faster, deeper than before. He’s chasing after his own orgasm too, he can’t help but crumble when it comes to you. You’re just too perfect, and your pussy is his own personal brand of heroin.

It comes abruptly, without any warning, attacks you and your senses. You’re blinded by stars, head dizzy and body feeling heavy.

He gasps, grunting loudly. “Oh, you dirty girl.” He moans, his thrusts becoming sloppy and shallow. Your pussy strangles his cock as you pulsate around it, and it pushes him over the edge.

You can feel him spilling his hot cum inside of you, his cock pulsating in response to your pussy pulsating around him. He collapses on you for a minute, his clothed chest against your naked, sweaty back. You stay like this for a while until you clear your throat and he gets up, his dick now soft as it slips out of you, a mixture of your juices trickling down your legs.

He steps back to admire the view. Your ruined pussy, pumped full of his cum, pulsating around nothing. He hums as he tucks himself back into his pants, tutting at the small wet patch near his zipper. “Messy girl.” He mutters.

You gently push yourself up, grimacing at the feeling of the mixture of your juices trickling down your soft, shaky thighs. You bend over slowly, picking your discarded bra up from the floor and putting it back on. “Can I have my underwear back?”

He shakes his head. “They’re mine now, Angel.” He gives you a cheeky grin. You groan and point down to the mess trickling down your legs, and his response to that is to give you an old rag from one of the boxes.

You clean yourself up the best you can with the resources you’re given, but it’s not enough. He’s pumped you full of his cum and it’s still trickling out. You just decide you’re going to have to pray for the best. You pick up your once pristine white dress, now crumpled and dirty from the floor. You pour, seeing as it was picture perfect only this morning. You sigh, placing it over your head.

“Now, come on. We’ve got a church to decorate.” He winks at you, grabbing a box of decorations and walking out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and feelings.

————————————————————————

Tags: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

A/N: sorry but i think it’s absolutely ironic that I’m posting this on the day i’m actually going to church (christening).

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flowerandblood · 1 month

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ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

#one year anniversary #celebration

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berriweb · 10 months

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╰┈➤ ❝ the end of all things ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. miles morales x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. some descriptions of injuries, just mentions of blood and someone dying

: ̗̀➛ part three / part five (w.i.p)

: ̗̀➛ a/n. how do I explain to y’all thay the reason this part took so long is because Ive been wasting away reading venom fanfics for days???? trick question, i just did

3:00 PM

The ticking of the clock on the way was the only thing keeping Miles grounded as he scribbled away on his paper.

Well…that, and you.

The lack of interest was prominent in his body language, hunched over the desk and peering at the paper through laugh lidded eyes with gravity tugging at the ends of his lips. The work only seemed to get easier and easier for him. The majority of class he would spend finding ways to buy time and entertain himself long enough to take up most of the lecture and class time spent working. If he timed it right, he’d avoid being seen as a try hard for turning in his paper too earlier or a slacker for waiting until the last minute to turn it in. During that time where he’d mindlessly find new tasks to keep his mind running is when his true distraction would come into play: you.

Or at least the one he knew anyway.

Thunk.

Pausing just as he’d finished shading in the eyes on his doodle, Miles sat up and looked around to find the object that’d collided with his forearm and drawn in his attention. When he noticed the culprit, a balled up piece of notebook paper now sitting idly next to his foot on the floor, he discreetly reached down to scoop it up and smoothed out the crumpled paper.

‘i can tell your mom redid your braids. they look good on you ;)’

Miles hoped he’d angled his head low enough to hide the dopey smile that crossed his face as he read the note, recomposing himself before he grabbed a pencil to scribble underneath the writing.

‘Gotta look fresh for our date, can’t be out here looking rough for you.’

He folded the paper up, using the straight edge of his folder to crease the paper before holding it up to examine the neatly folded paper airplane he’d created. After deeming his work good enough to send out, Miles turned back in his seat. His eyes scanned the classroom to check for wandering eyes or any sign of the teacher noticing his shenanigans, only to meet a familiar pair of eyes trained on him from across the room in the back, hidden away just far enough in the corner of the classroom.

He craned his arm back, and with a swift through sent the paper airplane flying in her direction, watching it gracefully float through the air before slowing to a stop just before it reached her desk. He winced for a moment, watching it slowly begin to descend towards the classmate sitting just in front of her, only for a sigh of relief to leave his lips when she stood and snatched it out of the air just before it landed on his desk, shooting him a confident smile and a thumbs up.

Miles turned back in his seat, leaning down to mimic his posture when working on his assignment, but his eyes pulled back to watching her open up the note, eyes scanning the paper before she gingerly smiled and looked up. Glancing from over his shoulders, he shot her a wink and flashed a smile only to turn away, returning to his paper before he could see your reaction to it.

Unbeknownst to him, from just afar on an empty desk that would’ve been preoccupied by a classmate who’d been absent that day, a small arachnid slowly climbed its way onto the top of the desk. It skittered across the smooth wood, the seemingly dead set path it was following towards Miles, as prominent as the 42 cleanly shown on its backside, being cut short when a portal open, small enough to swallow the spider whole without gaining much attention.

From the corner of his eye, Miles noticed a flash and turned his head in the direction of the distraction, only to shrug and return to his doodles when he saw nothing worth taking note of, missing the return of the spider as it reappeared moments later. Only this time, it dawned a new number. The spider turned and abandoned Miles, eyes now set on the target sitting in the corner of the classroom.

“42.”

The number indicating their initial success was the first thing that left the doctors mouth as the matter around the portal shriveled and disappeared.

In front of them sat two empty glass containers, sealed and displayed just underneath the machine. Using her middle and ring finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she leaned down to marvel at the sight of the small, hazardous spider now frantically crawling around from inside the tube. Beside it, the matching glass tube was now empty, a mark of a new beginning.

She shot up without warning, consequently smacking her partner right in the nose with an accidentally head butt she didn’t even seem to notice.

“Jesus, Liv- my nose-”

The scientists hands covered his nose while groaning and grounding himself to remain upright as Olivia practically pounced on him, a wicked grin stretching her lips thin as she grabbed him by the shoulders and began frantically shaking his body back and forth.

“Forget your nose! We’re making HISTORY! Inter dimensional transportation, Johnathan! This is huge!”

He shrugged her hands off her shoulders but that did little to subside her buzzing excitement, evident by the enthusiastic resolve in her eyes. “What about our spider, it took ages to recreate that thing!”

“Forget the spider too, we already have our replacement, no need to make a third-” Liz made a point of picking up the tube, waving it in his face and tilting it over to watch the arachnid slide across the side of it. Concern for her enthusiasm aside, Johnathan’s grin matched the fire in her eyes. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

3:15 PM

The bells rang and Miles was out of his seat before the sound could register in his ears, slipping out of the classroom and making a beeline for the lockers. Just when the familiar locker number was within sight, Y/N raced past him, making a point to stick out her tongue as a sign of mockery, only to come to a screeching halt as she turned back forward and was suddenly face to face with one of the school administrators.

Miles made sure to return the same favor, pulling at the sides of his mouth with his index fingers and sticking his tongue out after he passed her in the halls. If not for the teacher, she likely would’ve started a fight right then and there.

After a not-so-kind scolding and a promise of detention if she was caught running in the halls again, Y/N strolled up to where Miles stood, leaning against her locker with a hand on his side and a smug grin.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up-” “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Idle conversation ensued as he waited for her to gather her things from her locker. An arm snaked around her waist and his head rested on her shoulder, mid-complaint about his second period teacher being too harsh on the whole “no drawings on assignments” rule when she suddenly yelped, drawing her hand back from inside her locker. Miles’ eyes locked on the back of her hand as you winced, spotting the eight-eyed culprit and swatting it off her hand without a second thought. The bug hit the ground, and he raised a brow as he noticed the small markings on its back resembled numbers more than any bug patterns. 1610. “Weird.”

“You good?” He asked, grabbing her fingers to hold her hand up and once over the red bump rising on her skin.

“Yeah yeah- don’t hurt or anything,” she confirmed, inspecting the bite before twisting her hand around to intertwine their fingers, shutting her locker closed with the opposite and shrugging her bag over her shoulder. “Think it’ll get infected?”

“Yup, poison’s probably runnin’ through your veins as we speak.”

“Don’t play like that Miles,” she scolded, rolling her eyes as he merely shrugged in response before tugging her arm to usher her along as they headed to exit the building.

“I’m playing, chill, you’ll probably be fine.”

“No, it’s not fine!”

Miles buried his head further into the palms of his hands in an attempt to quell the embarrassment course through his body as he watched his mom practically shake down his girlfriend.

“You’re leaving already?! I even made your favorite! Te encantan las empanadillas! Can’t you stay just a little longer?!”

Between Rio almost begging for her to stay and Y/N rushing to shove everything back into her bag that she’d left scattered across his room, Miles didn’t know who to focus on more.

“I know I know, I’m really sorry Mrs.Morales, I promise I’ll swing by later for leftovers!” She flashed her an apologetic smile while slowly backing up towards the door, but it didn’t take much. “I can’t even remember the last time you stayed for dinner you’re always so busy, we miss you! Miles does too, don’t you papa? I hear him complaining about it all the time!”

“Ma!” He turned back to throw his hands up at her exposing him while moving to walk she out, and Rio shrugged.

“Be safe, honey! Streets have been a little dangerous ever since that new hero hit the scene. And we better see you again soon, at dinner!”

As soon as the front door closed Miles shot you an exasperated look and she giggled. “Your mom does a good job at saying what no one else will,” she teased, punching him in the arm as her voice echoed throughout the halls. “Please do not defend her.”

“I’m not, I’m not!” She raised her hands defensively, but the skeptical look on his face made it clear he didn’t believe her. Lowering her hands, she placed one on each of his shoulders. “Was she telling the truth, though?”

“You have been flaking out on all of our dates recently,” Miles pointed out as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Well- I mean, it hasn’t been that many…”

“Two weeks ago we were supposed to go to that fair together and you bailed.”

“Something came up-”

“That one time you stood me up at the new burger place on the corner?”

“I heard their food sucked anyway, blander than a white mans casserole.”

“Just the other day we were supposed to go to the park together and you showed up two hours late.”

“In my defense, there was traffic.”

“It’s New York, there’s always traffic! And you don’t drive! Did you even remember that we had plans to go to that museum today?”

Y/N froze, and the guilty look that crossed her face after the moment of realization made Miles regret bringing it up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry Miles! I totally forgot, I swear I would’ve-”

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he tsked, cupping her face and running a thumb across her cheekbone. “You have a life, I get that, I don’t need to be in it 24/7.” She smiled in relief and turned her head to kiss his palm, but he continued.

“-but, something’s tellin’ me this is different. I barely even see you anymore aside from class, and you been skipping classes too! I don’t know what you got going on, ma, but you know you can tell me anything. Your head always feels like it’s somewhere else.” He poked at her forehead to make a point, his voice lighthearted but the undertone showing his real worries.

Miles could only say so much to voice his concern, but he meant every word of it. Feeling like she was keeping something big from him would’ve been a understatement.

“I promise you’re overthinking it,” Y/N pulled back, grabbing both of his hands. “I‘ve just had a lot going on, nothing that important. You know I’ve got it covered, have I ever let you down before?”

Miles smiled gingerly, despite the obvious signs that you were caught up in something, he was willing to put it aside for you. “You better not start.”

“Course not,” she leaned forward to catch his lips in a kiss that lasted longer than most of their normal goodbyes, and likely would’ve gone on longer if not for the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat making the two instantly jump and pull apart. The distance between the two suddenly doubled upon seeing Jefferson standing with his arms crossed, still dawning his police uniform and wearing a disgusted yet disapproving expression, mostly pointed at Miles.

“Dad!”

“Sir- Mister- Captain Morales! Crazy seeing you here-” Y/N fumbled over her words and tried to swallow the crippling embarrassment.

“I live here.”

“Right…” she looked between the two Morales’ for what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds before deciding to remove herself from the situation before she could embarrass herself any further. “I was actually just leaving-”

“Oh, yeah, uh huh-”

“And something came up and I uh- bye.”

She ran down the staircase before she could elaborate, leaving Miles standing their with slumped shoulders as he followed his dad back inside, left to endure a lecture on how ‘if you’re going to make out with your girl at least have the decency to not do out right outside of our house.’

“-and now she’s off doing whatever, so I don’t know man, thoughts?”

Tapping at the bar screwed into the wall, Miles mimicked the action with his other hand while reading one of the signs displayed on the elevator doors showing off one of many scientists honored in the museum. Despite the fact that Y/N had bailed on him, he still wanted to go out to at least get his mind off of things while he had a chance; and knowing that his best friend had nothing better to do, that turned into him replacing you and the two touring around the building while he vented to Ganke about his concerns.

The elevator dinged, and as the lit button signaling that they were on the tenth floor dimmed and the doors slid open, he felt a rough smack on the shoulder.

“I think that you’re a massive loser and only nerds go to science museums for fun,” he remarked, walking up to a portrait statue of some popular physicist and making a face at the odd expression.

Miles rolled his eyes and stepped out to follow him, narrowly avoiding bumping into a stranger before joining his side. “Yeah? And only nerds go to fancy ass boarding schools for smart kids so what does that make you?”

“We go to the same school, dipshit.”

“At least I know I’m a nerd, dumbass.”

Ganke forced a sarcastic laugh before pulling out his phone and tapping away, leaving Miles to read the next sign on his own. “On a real note, though, if you’re that worried about keeping something from you then you should just fess up and tell her to tell you.”

“Tried that, she just insisted she was busy and told me not to worry about it.”

“Yikes, man. If thats the case you might just be a side pie-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence before Miles smacked him upside the back of his head, wincing and shooting the boy a glare. “Relax, I was joking!” “You think you’re funny?” “Hilarious, actually.”

Ganke looked up from his phone, “if you’re really that worried about her and she won’t tell you what’s up then you just gotta wait it out. Y/N’s a cool girl, she’s probably just not ready to tell you. Nothin’ you can do about that, just wait until she is.”

He stared for what was at least five seconds, causing Ganke to look up after noticing the small moment of silence and blink at Miles. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just didn’t think you were capable of giving good advice.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Miles shrugged, pulling out his own phone to take a picture of the goofy looking statue. He opened the messages to text you just as Ganke moved to take a selfie for it.

‘reminded me of you.’

*Photo Attachment*

Just as he sent the messages, Ganke turned around and hummed to get his attention just as his phone dinged and he viewed the notification, holding the screen up for Miles to see. It was a news reporter, warning the citizens while simultaneously covering live footage of a fight going down in the city.

“Crazy, right? Ever since Spider-Woman showed up it’s like villains have been popping up every day,” Ganke pointed out as he moved around to watch the scene unfold with him.

“Yeah, I don’t hear the end of it with my dad, keeps complaining about all of the damage they have to deal with…” he had to admit that the way the vigilante was fighting was impressive, seeing her use her webs to temporarily hold back the weird-dinosaur-hybrid being she was fighting. Even though it was clear the helicopter couldn’t get close enough to get a good view of the fight, Miles started to notice the buildings they passed looked awfully familiar.

From the camera they could see the villain tied up in webs, being tossed around like a sack of potatoes as it began to break from the confinements. Spider-Woman began running up the side of the building, dragging the reptile along with her, and just as she brought her arm back and started swinging the webbing was when it dawned on Miles. Judging by Ganke’s jaw being halfway to hell when he met his eyes, he’d realized it too.

“Isn’t that building the-”

Ganke didn’t get to finish his sentence before a loud boom followed by the sound of glass shattering filled the floor. People were screaming, he could already see the crowd rushing for all of the nearest exits and Miles could barely wrap his head around what had just happened before he was grabbed by the arm and Ganke was following in everyone else’s lead.

“We gotta go.”

The elevator was out of the question as no one was willing to risk ending up stuck if it got damaged during the fight, or end up falling to their death, but that was one of the worse options. They opted for the stairs instead, a lot more work but their only viable option. The security guards and officers who’d showed up at the scene were trying to direct traffic to get everyone out as quickly as possible, but with so many people all trying to flee at the same time it inevitably became difficult and caused a lot of shoving and commotion. They’d only made it done to the seventh floor by the time they ended up stopping, Miles pulling Ganke away from the crowd both because they would’ve just been trying to wiggle through everyone else and because his friend was clearly out of breath.

“Holy shit,” was the only thing he could get out between breathes, and Miles only nodded. “You good?”

Ganke sighed. “Absolutely not.”

“Good, let’s go.”

Miles was already dragging him towards the exit before Ganke could fully recover. Luckily for him, the floor had two separate staircases, meaning more got out faster than anticipated and they didn’t have to fight to get out. Unluckily for them, they were one of the last to head for the stairs, and just as they reached the stairway the ceiling above suddenly caved in.

Neither got crushed, but the force of the crash was enough to send them flying back. Miles fell back into one of the displays, not enough to seriously injure him but there was for sure going to be a bruise he’d worry about later.

On the other hand, when he looked over he noticed Ganke wasn’t as lucky. If he had to guess, based on the noticeable hole in the wall and the blood seeping from his best friends forehead as he lay limp on the ground, he’d knocked his head and gone unconscious. Scrambling to his feet before he even realized what he was doing, Miles ran over, bringing one of his arms over his shoulders and pulling him to his feet. He silently made a note to later remind Ganke how he owed him one for this as he dragged his friend towards the other staircase, thankfully still in tact.

The last of whatever visitors remained were heading down the stairs, the only ones left being a child who’d seemingly been separated from her parents and hurt her leg, crying and frantically asking for her mother. An officer was still left behind, likely looking out for any others and rushing to help the girl when realizing she was still present. He’d just picked up the girl when Miles’ eyes suddenly widened.

“Dad?!”

The sudden voice made him turn, and as the two made eye contact his dad mimicked Miles’ surprised expression.

“Miles?!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“It’s my job!”

‘He was the captain,’ Miles had to remind himself, ‘of course he’d be here to help the citizens.’ “Right…”

“Is he…” His father gestured to his back, and Miles remembered the friend he’d been lugging along with him, glancing to the side to see that Ganke was still out cold.

“He hit his head, he’s fine.” Miles brought a hand up to check his pulse and reconfirm that statement, letting out a sigh of relief when he felt his pulse and nodding at his dad, who nodded in confirmation.

Using his free hand that wasn’t holding the girl, his dad pointed towards the stairs. “Get to safety, and fast. There’s people waiting at the bottom to-”

Miles was started to get tired of the sounds of destruction cutting off every conversation, but this one held far more danger as the vigilante and villain responsible for the chaos came crashing down onto the floor, right between the distance that separated him and his father. He got a full sight of the Spider-Woman standing on top of the criminal, holding together two webs keeping either one of the man(?)’s hands at his sides.

“Don’t you ever get tired of getting your ass kicked?” That statement was short lived, as the villain flung his tail straight into her side, sending the masked woman flying and crashing into a nearby pillar.

“Don’t you ever get tired of getting in my way?” The being rose back to its feet, surely towering over any normal human being as it’s head would’ve hit the ceiling had it not been destroyed.

“Hmm…no, not really.”

The spider suddenly spit out a web that stuck itself to the lizards chest, pulling harshly and sending the thing crashing into a nearby wall. The hit was harsh, and almost made Miles wince, but he was far more preoccupied with the fact that their fight was blocking his path to the stairwell and his dad. With his friend on his back he wouldn’t stand a chance trying to run past, so he resorted to backing up to the nearest wall.

Spider-Woman had webbed the reptile to the wall, fast enough that it wasn’t able to recover fast enough to break free from the webs before she’d used enough to leave him completely stuck to the wall. Miles could only watch in awe as she stood tall, clapping her hands together as if dusting them off, but just before she could make a proud remark about bringing him down, what started off as a low rumble but turned into loud crashing started to sound.

“Oh shit,” Miles cursed before he could think as the ground beneath him began to shake. The sudden noise must’ve caught her attention, and as the masked woman turned to look at her Miles could’ve sworn the wide eyes sewn into the mask went even wider at the sight of him. Had she not noticed him before?

Before either could take action was when the floor caved in from underneath him. The destruction that the lizard (mostly) had caused practically ruined the foundation on some of the floors. Whatever was left to support the floors was giving way, that part was made clear by how his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when Miles was no longer standing on a steady floor. He hardly had any time to grab onto a half destroyed rail before the side of the building started to collapse. He was able to lift himself enough to loop his elbow over the pole, keeping himself from immediately falling to his death, but that fate wasn’t completely out of the question yet.

His legs were hanging freely, and had it not been for the fact that his other arm holding onto Ganke’s waist for dear life to keep his friend from slipping out of his grip and falling to his death, he might’ve been able to pull himself up. His eyes were screwed shit and he muttered under his breathe, wondering that if he believed hard enough he might open his eyes and still be in the museum and not hanging off the side of the building, it could’ve all been a weirdly horrific daydream.

“No mires hacia abajo, no mires hacia abajo, no mires hacia abajo…”

The sudden gust of wind sent more shivers up his spine, and despite his constant reiterations, he hung his head and reluctantly opened his eyes. The sight of the ground being hundreds of feet below him made his stomach turn, but the call of his name gave him the much needed diversion and he looked up.

Just barely being able to see the floor he’d just been on, Miles saw the aforementioned Spider-Woman running towards him. How did she know my name?

The relief that would’ve crashed over him when realizing she was going to save him didn’t get to come, as instead his eyes zeroed in on his father, far behind the vigilante. The floor above was still coming down, the building was still collapsing and his dad was doing his best to avoid the falling rubble while protecting the girl clinging to his chest, but the drywall that’d fallen down just in front of the stairwell entrance prevented him from going down. The direness of the situation hit him like a brick, and Miles was sure the adrenaline was the only thing keeping him from throwing up due to the amount of stress boiling up in his head. As he watched his dad slowly getting backed into a corner by the debris, it finally started to click. There wasn’t enough time. She couldn’t save both. “No no no no no…”

It started off as a mutter, but his voice progressively got louder until he was all but shouting at the hero. “Stop!”

Surprisingly, she did, likely due to the suddenness of his random protest and the strain in his voice. “Stop! My dad! That’s my dad! Save him!”

Miles spoke without thinking, and it might’ve been selfish for him to silently admit that the child he was protecting hadn’t even crossed his mind as he worried, but it was true. The danger that his father was in caused far more concern than anything else he could’ve been worrying about at that very moment. Unbeknownst to him, you were having a far more conflicting dilemma in your head than he’d imagined.

Her chest was heavy and any words that she could’ve thought up never would’ve had a chance to leave her throat, she couldn’t muster up her voice. Her boyfriend was dangling over the edge of a building with a drop that would kill anyone immediately, made worse by the fact that he was also in control of his best friends life.

‘Miles needs me.’

Her head then whipped towards the police captain, holding the little girl who was likely no older than 10 to his chest, a hand over her head to protect her from the debris, most likely. The odds of him making it down with the floor crashing down on itself were zero to none, and Captain Morales was a good man. He was more than accepting when she’d come over, he deserved the title of Captain, he earned it.

‘But Miles needs his dad too.’

The tension was worsened and she was reminded of the lack of time she had to debate as the building shook again. A loud creak followed it, and when she turned her head again, as the rest of her body seemed to be frozen, the railing Miles was holding onto was bending further, and if she didn’t act fast it’d snap and send both him and Ganke free falling.

“Please!”

The sound of pleading combined with falling rubble and the cries of the child were starting to mix together in her head, forming a garbled, distorted mess that was worsening her stress.

The look on his face as he begged, she’d never seen it before. His eyes were so wide she could clearly see the white surrounding his pupils, eyebrows knitted together so tightly that the veins you’d never seen on his forehead were visible. The despair in his eyes made his pupils shrink in a way she couldn’t recognize, and the desperation made her heart ache. The expression didn’t look good on him.

“Save my dad, you have to save him!”

The building shook again, and as if being the final cue, the metal railing that had been resisting gravity finally gave in. Miles’ head disappeared over the edge, and before she could blink she was jumping over the side of the building to catch him.

The image that would remain engraved in Miles’ head for a long time to come passed as the pole finally broke, watching his dad duck and use his body to shield the girl as the rest of the building came down.

He couldn’t describe how he felt in that moment. Saying that he was afraid, that he was shocked or sad wouldn’t do the emotions that crossed him as he fell any justice. He couldn’t recall at one point he lost his grip on Ganke or when the thought crossed his mind that this might be the last thing he thinks before he dies.

He doesn’t remember when he felt the arm wrapping around his waist either, or what he felt when Spider-Woman pulled him into his side. He doesn’t know at one point she’d shot out a sticky web to catch Ganke and pull him in and over her shoulder.

Miles does remember the cool sensation of the wind hitting his skin as she shot out another web, managing to pull all three to hang off the steady side of the building before anyone could hit the ground. He remembers hearing the wind rushing past his ears when she carried them all up to the top floor, or what was left of it anyway. He remembers being set down on top of left over pieces of wall, ceiling and artifacts he could no longer remember. He remembers seeing you carefully set Ganke down by his side as Miles sat on his knees, hands being covered in gravel and dust as he leaned forward, trying to remember how to control his breathing, how to breath. He recalls seeing the vigilante rush over to what was now nothing but piles and piles of rubble, and at no point did he bother to question how she could lift what were clearly such heavy objects. He remembers the cry of joy she let out as the sound of a crying girl became prominent, pulling the child out of the mess only to see her freeze when she reached for something else.

And then he remembers seeing you.

Miles doesn’t know when he pulled himself to his feet or why he left Ganke’s side. Intuition, maybe? He’s running before he realizes it, and the closer he get, the harder it is for him to understand why it‘s his girlfriends face he sees when the hero pulls off her mask. He doesn’t understand why you look grief-struck, why you’re apologizing before he’s even stopped running or caught his breathe, or why you’re trying to explain how you couldn’t save his dad.

How you had to make a choice, there was nothing you could do, how you swore you could explain everything later.

Miles doesn’t understand because his gaze, his head, his mind is entirely focused on his father laying unmoving, half of his body trapped underneath a broken piece of debris, one he couldn’t dream of lifting up. Why is there so much blood?

“…dad?”

She stops talking when she realizes Miles’ isn’t listening. He repeats the questions, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for him to open his eyes and laugh at him for really believing he’d lost his life. But he doesn’t get a response. His hands start to shake, no, everything starts to shake. His vision blurs for a moment, and if not before, he’s certain now that there’s no air going in or out of his lungs. He starts to sway as if he’s going to lose his balance, and she scrambles to her feet, reaching out to grab him before he can, but he catches her by the wrist and steadies himself before she can help.

“Y/N?” He phrases the question as if he’d only just now noticed her presence. Her gaze softens, and she wants to comfort him, but the empty, paralyzing look in his eyes fades away when his gaze sharpens and his grip tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but part of her wonders if he meant for it to.

“I told you to save him…” That same choking feeling rises up her throat, but this time it doesn’t stop her from talking. “Miles…”

“I told you to save him! Why didn’t you save him?!”

“I- you and Ganke! I couldn’t let you fall! I couldn’t leave you two! There was no way-”

“There’s always a way!” Miles was never the type to get violent, she knew him well enough to know as much, which was probably why when his hands collided with her chest she couldn’t stop herself from being shoved to the ground. “You could’ve done both! You could’ve saved him but you didn’t!”

There were tears welling up in her eyes; before this, if he’d seen them Miles would’ve wiped them away and asked her what’s wrong.

“What did you expect me to do?! Miles, I wasn’t going to let you-”

“You destroyed the building, you brought the fight here…” he was hissing, but the gritting of his teeth as she got back to her feet made it come out as a mumble. “You killed my dad.”

She took a step forward, cautious, as if she were somehow afraid she’d hurt him. “That’s not fair and you know it,” she tentatively reached out a hand, aiming for his shoulder but it was smacked away and she took the hint, this time taking a step back.

“You killed my dad.”

That must’ve been the moment Y/N realized there was no way to defuse this situation. He wasn’t going to listen, why would he? She’d never seen him look at her with such disdain before, and she didn’t want to keep standing here and enduring it. She wasn’t even sure if he’d noticed the tears that’d started streaming down his face. She took another step back, and Miles didn’t budge. He reiterated his statement, he blamed her for his death, and if she had the choice between taking a bullet to the chest or experiencing the pain she felt as he stared at her like the worst human being on Earth, she would’ve chosen the bullet.

Miles didn’t look down, he was sure he would’ve emptied his stomach if he did, which might’ve been the reason he was unable to look away from the superpowered vigilante, his girlfriend, as she gave one last solemn look before jumping over the side of the building, catching one last sight of her swinging between buildings before e disappeared from sight.

The last thing he remembered from that day was laying eyes on his dad for one last time before the shock finally set in and he felt the weight of it all come crashing down. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

What’s the right thing to someone who’s just explained to you that you (but technically not you) were the reason his father is dead, even more crazy being the fact that he’s another version of your boyfriend?

Trick question, there is no right thing to say to that, which may have been why you simply stood with a dumbstruck and pitiful look on your face as you stared down the other Miles.

The initial revelation was enough to send you into a shock, but as he stood holding up a newspaper detailing the exact event he’d just described after making you follow him to his room if you wanted an explanation, you couldn’t help but feel this was much worse.

Glancing into his eyes was almost just as painful as such. The emotion in his eyes was completely unreadable, one you assumed had to be a mix of grief, scorn and bewilderment.

He thinks you did this.

When you showed no signs of responding once he finished speaking, his eyes narrowed and he turned away. Miles shuffled between all of the papers he’d pulled down from the wall of his room silently, and you made no move to ask what he was doing. Instead, watching as he picked up a few before boldly holding them up to you.

“You disappeared after that day, without a trace, and so did Spider-Woman. No more saving the city, no more heroes, no more Y/N. Of course they searched but no one had any leads. There was a bounty out for you with a pretty nice reward too once the criminals started realizing you weren’t going to show your face again,” you took it he was referring to Spider-Woman when he said that, “and it’s still out. No sign of you since that day.”

The piece he held up showed said bounty, which you highly doubted was a legal one, and the one beside it pointed out the missing person’s case on you that you’d noticed earlier.

“I…” you started a sentence, but nothing you could’ve said would’ve answered any of his questions, so you stopped before you could finish.

It was clear to Miles that he wasn’t going to get anywhere, not right now anyway, and the words he was likely going to spill were cut off as he opened his mouth by a buzz coming from his pocket. He dropped the papers back on the desk, harsher than you would’ve appreciated, and pulled it out to check the messages.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, but still you remained silent. He turned around and walked to the opposite side of the room as he picked up a phone call, leaving you to your thoughts for what felt like an eternity. In an attempt to move something along, you reached for one of the articles laying on his bed, but just as your arm came into view a gut wrenching pain came over you and you doubled over.

Pain wasn’t the right word to describe it. Your body started to flash with colors and pieces suddenly felt like they were missing from you. The best way to describe the look of the sudden attack would’ve been glitching, you assumed, and it lasted a few seconds longer than you would’ve liked. Your body was tearing itself apart and rebuilding itself at the same time, you hated the feeling.

When it subsided you were hunched over the bed, breathing heavily and groaning as you caught your breath. Miles had turned around at the sound of you being in pain, surprising rushing to your side and inspecting you when seemingly nothing was wrong before that moment, phone call long over.

“¿Qué ocurre?” Despite the earlier described events, there was still concern in his voice as he questioned your state and grabbed an arm to help you back onto your feet. You couldn’t help but wonder why.

“No- I, I’m fine. I don’t know what happened…” his confusion confirmed that he must’ve missed the trippy sight of your body glitching out, and for now you were glad he did.

“Look,” once you were deemed stable by his standards, Miles pulled back and let you go, a wary look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you could’ve done while you were gone or why you don’t remember what happened, only you can explain that to me.”

He walked past you, grabbing his coat and a suspiciously sharp mechanism you hadn’t noticed underneath his desk before heading for the door. Pausing, he turned around and looked you in the eye.

“I’ve got business to take care of, stay put. Doesn’t seem like you have anywhere else to go anyway.”

Miles slipped out of the room before you could come up with an appropriate reply, the door nearly slamming shut behind him. Seconds later, you heard what must’ve been the front door shut as well.

The stress of it all was starting to settle back into you, and you wanted the nightmare to be over. With nothing better left to do, you picked up all of the papers left behind, reading off the many articles grieving over the police captain’s death and the search for you as you placed them all in a pile before tossing it aside somewhere in the room. You didn’t bother remembering where.

A headache from the worries and injuries formed inside your head and you fell back onto the now-neat bed, rubbing at your temples. You couldn’t bring yourself to get tired or want to sleep with all that’d gone on and how much you’d learned so you resorted to closing your eyes and trying to relax instead. You weren’t sure how long you laid in that idle state since he’d left, trying to quell your thoughts before the sound of a window sliding open caught your attention.

Your eyes shot open and you sat up so fast it made your head spin and your side ache. Your eyes adjusted in the dark to the figure climbing through the window, getting defensive before you realized that you knew that familiar figure. Even more so, you recognized his hair, his mannerisms, it was like you could sense it without having to confirm. You were on your feet before you could even realize it, just in time to see him collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily.

“Miles!”

He jumped higher than you would’ve expected and sat up, and that’s when you got a good look at the tattered suit you couldn’t understand why he was in. The fear in his eyes when he realized you were in ‘his’ room must’ve matched the shock in yours when you realized what he was wearing.

“…Miles, what the fuck?”

2nd a/n. i mischievously tapped my fingers together as I wrote this whole thing out, also somethings to mention:

1. the whole time I was planning this out in my head I was STUMPED bc every idea for the backstory I had kind of conflicted with some of the major stuff in atsv like 42 miles being the one who was supposed to become spiderman, butttt then I realized that I’m literally writing fanfiction and can do whatever the fuck I want because fuck the canon so what did ol girl do????

I JUST MADE ANOTHER SPIDER AND SWITCHED THEM!!!!! problem solved. for now. which also means that

2. reader was actually supposed to become the second spiderman in 1610 but since the spiders switched the one in their world went after miles instead

and 3. Jesus Christ this was longer than I thought I wanted to split it into two but I felt like it would fuck up the tension so I didn’t <3 if you noticed plot holes then stfu it’ll just be our little secret, same goes for typos, i might come back and rewrite some stuff to make it better if I feel like it

4. in case I need to explain I changed the pov from 2nd because 42 y/n technically isn’t you <3

╰┈➤ ❝ tag-list ❞

— @brokeb1mbo, @ravieaesthetic, @sp1derm4nluver, @isa-444, @wassuppartypeople, @namtaeh, @whoisgami, @ponyboys-sunsets, @go-to-sleep-salem, @hana-1235, @j-natsuka, @lavzxx, @itzmeme, @iimng, @nycweb-slinger, @empress-pug-pug, @planetliaa, @mividaasi, @dolliied, @ukranianacearo, @solecitoszn, @izukusnovia, @abbyrxx12-blog, @conventionally-unconventional, @mileslovelygf, @ditto737, @iinlovewithfictionalppl, @superiorbyfar, @bingewatcheraf, @the-smut-plug, @whotfismirah, @gyuville, @blackspideysstuff, @1uv4jiya, @hobiesrockstargf, @pwettymoss, @a-pansexual-with-pancakes, @nefelibata-kopfkino, @ruttteerr, @randomhoex, @jcngw0ns, @danyxthirstae01, @noooooo222222, @browniebattermix, @asimpwhohatedlife, @6thhokageswife, @zeyzeys-stuff

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himbocoups · 10 months

Text

˗ˋˏ Epistolary Yearning ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

pairing: duke!lsm x reader (gn afab)

genre: epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut

tags: arranged marriage, mentions of a war, dk and yn accidentally invent the concept of planes, two people very much falling in love | degrading, fingering, guided play, honey play, marking, mirror play, pet names, praise, pussy slapping, riding, spitting, squirting…

wc: 5.13k

message from nu: fueled by my love for historical, fantasy, and isekai manhuas. big thank you to my beta readers (@heartkyeom, @aceofvernons, and @multi-kpop-fanfics) for reading when I was playing with the format of this fic + @junkissed with helping out with the syntax for this one very confusing line I wrote. also summoning @onlyseokmins bc I told her I'd tag her once duke!dk was finished <3

himbocoups's masterlist

Letter One - YN

My Lord,

How are you? I hope your trip is going as smoothly as planned.

It has been a while since I last heard from you. As Summer comes to a fading end, Autumn threatens to wash the foliage to hues of brown and auburn. And I sit at the library nook beside the window, taking quill to parchment against the cover of a heavily bound book and scratching against blank pages before I can muster the courage to write to you. I do sincerely apologize if this attempt seems strange.

Though I pity our brief time together, the only things I familiarized myself with are your scintillant eyes. Maybe instead of feeling as dull as the color of nature, I’ll think about how the color is reminiscent of your eyes. Eyes, these beautiful jewels seem to reflect the light through your smile. I can’t help but imagine myself as the last person to see them every night as I lay beside you as we drift off into slumber. Would it be too forward of me to say that the thought of growing fond of you, not just your eyes, is slowly appealing more and more to me?

However, I do have hesitations as I am left alone to roam these lonely halls in a place so unfamiliar to me. It would be a pity shall I reach familiarity with my surroundings before I become familiar with you. Or even worse, to have you forget your familiarity with me.

Please be safe for me. Hurry home soon.

Letter Two - DK

My Jewel,

For someone who longs for familiarity, you need not create even more distance between us through formalities. And my love, you need not refer to me as your Lord. Love is all I ask for, as love is what you will always be to me. Albeit, I do find it disheartening to read that you think of me so lowly. I could never forget someone as precious as you, even if you do not believe in your preciousness.

Nevertheless, I, too, pity the brevity of our time together. Marriage agreed upon through an exchanging of letters by our guardians, now our marriage follows suit in the epistolary form. Yet no descriptive access through penmanship could ever grant the feeling that blossomed inside me and continues to bloom since I first laid my eyes upon you. And on the eve of the third week of our matrimony, I was whisked away to end the war. I do sincerely apologize for my absence.

On this rocking ship, all I can do is stare into the swirling sea in search of a passing merchant ship with letters to deliver. The birds that soar above me seem to provoke me with their independence, cawing in hearty guffaw at the fact that this poor man can never take flight at any moment back into his lover’s arms - where he feels most at home.

Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant. How wondrous that would be.

But I am an equally lonesome Commander among his squadron, a man who keeps the first letter from his lover in the pocket against his breast and his wedding band around his neck. Just thinking about how you were thinking about me while writing that letter, still thinking about me, conciliates any disarray in my mind. And I promise you that I will make you feel loved for the rest of your life, even if our love is only budding.

I will lead my men well. Then I will lead myself home. To you.

Letter Three - YN

My Dokyeom (If it is fine to refer to you in this way),

I do have to admit to my shyness, how my face flushed with heat when you referred to me as your beloved. Your “love”…my goodness, our servants nearly called the doctor over when they saw my state of awe. Although, I do apologize if the language in my initial letter seemed blunt or made you feel even a hint of sadness that I accidentally made you for a man with a cold demeanor.

You wrote: “Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant” in our last exchange. What a preposterous idea! But what a new discovery to find that you are as funny as you are charming. Shall we commission a local alchemist to create potions that magnify tiny sparrows to large ships? Or shall I ditch my archery lessons in exchange for nights in your magnificent library, scouring the archives with the hope to find a recipe to an enlarging potion hidden in a romance novel?

Oh, how I wish everything could be as easy as depicted in romance novels or that one Opera we went to watch. Days consume me on end. Not in the way in which I consume much of my leisure time by staying in the places we frequented in our time together, but in the way in which time passes by so slowly it feels like the concept of time is consuming me instead. I wish it were you who were consuming me even though I do feel it through your love. Because I, too, keep your letter near me. And I trace over the areas your quill indented the parchment, so much that I sometimes end up smudging the dried ink with my hand.

I do miss you...even more when everything around me reminds me of you. Because you, who makes silly promises about a budding romance, will also be the receiver of my elementary promise about my slowly collecting love for you.

P.S. They are close to finishing our portraits. I have yet to decide where they are to be hung.

Letter Four - DK

My Love,

My Seokmin. Seok. Min. Mine. Beloved. Love. Dearest. Husband. Equal. Anything but Duke, Lord, Commander, or Dokyeom is welcome. How I wish for the day I get to hear my name leave your lips through a soft murmur, laughter, greeting, whisper, and mayhaps even a whine.

Honeymoon was cut short by my trip across the sea. We are finally on land. In front of me is a crackling campfire whose glow conceals the redness of my cheeks, dappled with jubilance from reading your last letter.

My dearest shy and humble lover whose metaphoric propositions of love are anything but reticent, I have annotated my favorite portions and circled words that I replay in my mind as a source of comfort. However, like what you did with your quotation of my imaginary bird ship, I must reference a few nuances in your letter that I find interesting. Particularly, I find that you must be careful in formatting your syntax, my beloved — for your way of language is enough to drive a sane man mad. Just think of me: a sane man before I had you and now a man slowly falling madly in love with you.

Referring back to how time achingly consumes you, your “I wish it were you who were consuming me. Although I do feel it through your love” causes me to quiver in a way that is only shared between two lovers. I am a man whose honeymoon was interrupted by the king’s call, a man who is weeks without his lover, a man who has needs - desires. And your need for me to consume you? I can only pluck it out of context.

If everything around you reminds you of me, then I must tell you that I hope your reminder does not make you suffer as how I suffer. My love, do you know how painful it was to lay in my bed while the ship continually rocked back and forth? It was reminiscent of our second week together when you decided to mount me in bed, your beautiful opalescent undergarment covering an action so lewd that it could never be named in public. Yet I was a man on a ship with his aching cock in his hand, imagining his newly beloved on top of him who squeezes him tightly as they ride his lap.

No hand could ever replace the fervor of having you rock me, leaning forward to kiss me down my naked chest while sucking and licking the thin area of skin right above my collarbone. How warmly your walls enveloped my own, squeezing and contrasting with every glide you make. I couldn’t help but twitch in you, trying to hold in my selfishness by grabbing onto your thighs - kneading and feeling the skin fill the areas between my fingers. But you bounced on my lap like a bunny in heat, causing my hands to trail further upwards until they lay on your ass…I wanted to worship you by turning myself into a throne, a marble stand so others could be in awe of you for centuries to come.

Mouth unable to talk, your kitten drooled onto my lap and coated the surface with liquid lust while you whimpered as I praised you for treating me so well. I scooped the syrup from the maple tap and brought it to my mouth to suck; even now I can still feel your sweet syrup rest on my tongue and swirl in my mouth. Yet there I was on that boat, losing my mind with my hand on my tap. Bed sheets soaked with my sweat, I could only imagine that it was your sweat-glistened skin that stuck against mine. It was but a shame, and still is but a shame, that the image of you collapsed against my chest with exhaustion when your thighs trembled with such a quake only exists as a memory. How long would it take for me to turn the memory of me looping my arms around your back and pushing your upper body against mine, feeling you build and crash through a scream, into our reality?

The land is no better than the sea. Truly, it must be treason to think such impure thoughts while riding on my finest stallion to head to our base. I am a Commander, a Duke for God’s sake. But the bouncing, the clopping - oh, beloved, my skin pricked with heat so much that I thought bandits were ambushing us. The pain I felt while I waited for my swelling to go down - I am utterly embarrassed to admit I almost released while riding in front of my men.

How I wish I could come running back home to you. Shall I single-handedly overturn the monarchy so we can be equal partners to the throne? So that we can be rulers who need not leave our estate? Just give me the word, and the empire will be yours. Then I would never need to leave your side. That I guarantee.

P.S. Hang the portrait wherever you please. Perhaps the ballroom so I would always be with you during the night of the balls.

Letter Five - YN

My King,

How mad of you to write such vulgarities, to suggest usurping the throne only if it means being able to stay with me. You are a Commander. You are a Duke. You are one of the King’s men. Do you not fear the inevitable consequences that you would face should your letter be opened by anybody other than myself? Do you not fear what would happen to you if your lust-driven joke was wrongly taken for treason? I must say that despite everything, I found myself dipping a finger into your words and listening to my juices sing your letter like lyrics.

Your words comforted my ache at my core, skillfully fighting fire with fire to extinguish my burning forest. However, if you were to turn into a mere object – a chair, a throne, a stand – I would never be satisfied in your worship. ‘Tis true that I would like to be worshiped by you like the first time your palm cupped my face in private confinement under the shade of the gazebo in the garden. With nobody around us, your face softened to reveal the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Earnest eyes flittered to and fro as you studied me in awe and whispered words of praise. Up until then, I never even knew you could worship a person such as me. Yet, you, a mere stranger I met a few hours ago, placed a kiss upon my lips as soft as the petals on the flowers that surrounded us.

If worshipping me means an inanimate you, I don’t think there would be anybody who could worship me with such sincerity and reason as you do…and I quite like the animate you even if the animate you screamed at the bug upon your sleeve. I couldn’t stop laughing then. And when you looked back at me with those bashful eyes, I knew this would be a marriage filled with laughter.

Laughter, as I have recently learned, doesn’t only exist jovially. No. Reading your comment about my syntax, I almost erupted in a peal of sinister laughter. My poor lover with his cock in his hand and his quill in his other and his attempt to warn someone with such an extensive educational background about their syntax…you are too pure for this world. Should it make you feel better in any way, I have also thought about you in ways such a person in my stature should never.

The other day when I was particularly distracted by the particular “unease” that had been building inside me, I accidentally launched a practice arrow into the wind. Chasing it, I happened upon our agriculture stables where the young workers sit and milk our cows. I swear, I must have been in such a delusional state to feel such a rush just from watching the motion of our cows getting milked that I ran off to the kitchens without picking up my stray arrow.

Can you believe it, my dear? Have you been thinking of me differently since I admitted to almost leaking when I saw the cows getting milked? Would you think of me even differently if I told you I thought of you while talking to our ice sculptors? If you can quench my thirst on my loneliest days, I can only imagine what taking you in paired with ice would feel like for both you and me.

Mayhaps, we should convene in the kitchen at night after the bell strikes twelve when all of our kitchen staff have retired. I want to kiss you with cherry-stained lips, watching tint transfer onto yours as I play with the seed of the fruit in my mouth while I wait for our cups of tea to steep. Kissing, I hope, would act as an analgesic for your painfully sleepless nights. Still, I find it abstruse that a kind, gentle, and good man like you would live such a cathartic life as a commander. Enerverated in every way as I am, I can only offer a somnolent kiss in hopes of luring you to sleep before your tea can fully steep.

“What is a man without his honey,” you would say. Then I would ask you to specify what type of honey you are referring to.

You would reply with this cheekiness in your voice while your lips pull into a wide smile, “the syrup.” If I’m not wrong, you would peck the top of my head while you reach over me to grab the jar that the cook keeps at the counter for you to easily access. Because the man with a honeyed siren voice that often procures lullabies for me to fall asleep also has a taste for the pollinators’ syrup.

As you can tell…we are not simple people. We are not a regular couple. We have exchanged letters for longer than we have physically been together. So when I tell you to close your eyes to try to find your honey, would you? If I blindfolded you with a kitchen towel and told you to search for the dab of honey I swatched on my body, could you do it? Would you go to the lengths just to search for the honey to your tea?

Would you use your nose and sniff along my skin, searching for the floral and fruity aroma? Gently picking up my arm and bringing it to your nose, would you gently guide your nose along the surface of my skin in a position so intimate that you feel my arm hairs tickle the tip of your nose? Would you guide your nose upwards along my arm until you arrive at my collarbone, sniffing and docilely licking areas you think to be as sweet as honey?

Imploring you in your reconnoiter, I must keep quiet as I watch you blindly explore every groove of the topography of my body. I imagine myself tilting my head towards the side to allow you access to the side of my neck, sharply breathing in as you nose the area in which I am the most sensitive. I see you hesitate for a second before planting your supple lips against the skin as if to sample before making a decision. To your surprise, what coats your lips in a sticky and sweet amber gloss is the honey I placed on my neck slowly trailing towards my collarbone. And I watch you intently as you lick it off your lips, leaving a translucent liquid sheen.

Affected by a magnetic lure, you would somehow find yourself in front of me, your head positioned right above the slowly trailing bead of honey. It starts with a lick, hot tongue against cold skin. I can’t help but feel how the bumpy texture of your tongue cleans and pulls its way up my neck. After the hot saliva hits cold air, you take off the kitchen towel and look at me like a puppy waiting for its owner.

“Such a good boy,” I murmur as I take the towel from your hand and wrap it around the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. “How does it taste?”

What is more, is that I hope that in that moment my heart is not the only one that is beating as fast as how a hummingbird flaps its wings. My greedy husband, you back me against the kitchen island until you are pressed firmly against me as I watch and feel you bite and suck a garden of flowers across my neck and chest. Your large hands find themselves around my thighs, kneading and squeezing them so much that the fabric of my night clothes bunch in the palm of your hands. So I maneuver your hands around my waist, and you spin me around and bend me against that counter so I can feel you push yourself against me.

“Be good for me,” you would command while undressing me.

Then I would feel it, hands spreading my legs and fingers prying my ass apart, and then your warm and flat tongue against my kitten. One single lick would make my knees buckle. But you eating me out from behind, the way you knead my ass while you take your time swirling your tongue against my lips and lapping up my juices would make me come in an instant. Your tongue presses against my nub while your nose digs itself into my opening almost to the point where you’re fucking me with the tip of your nose, yet it is me who begs for air. And you keep my liquid on your tongue as you rise from your knees to pull my head back until I’m looking at you and your swollen and burgundy lips with my head tilted backward.

And you pry my mouth open with your hand and watch me catch that sweet honey on the tip of my tongue.

My dear, I am much too hot to even think about what comes after you let go of my jaw. My tenses in this letter are all mixed up because I’m so caught up in my delusions that I mistake dreams for reality. I feel ashamed to revert to such elementary composition when I am clouded by lust. But in this sensory game of wits, who do you think would win — the explorer or the explored?

P.S. I’ve had our painting temporarily hung in our dining room as I cannot even bring myself to think about the possibility of hosting a ball without you. The great ballroom has been collecting dust since the first month you left for the war. Besides, invitations to the first ball of the season have long been sent out. I attended and made some acquaintances. Are you proud of me? Are you missing me as much as I am missing you?

Letter Six - DK

My Sweet,

Loneliness is when you are trapped by your stillness while everything around you splits into two and crumbles. And you are stuck in the open space of where everything once was, you in your bubble of muteness as the world crashes and breaks in a cacophonous roar. The feeling that engulfed me during these past few months was beyond my description of loneliness. So with a happy heart, I am telling you that the war is over. I’m coming home soon to hold you in my arms, to show you what this world that surrounds you is truly like — delicate and with the warmth of a glowing morning Sun that promises juvenescent Springs until the end of time.

Regarding your question about the potential winner of the sensory game you described in your last letter, whether I am the person exploring or explored, I know I would always be the victor as only a true victor can call you “his.” My sweet love, I hope to stick by your side as long as I prefer honey in my tea and you by my side when I sleep.

However, with a slightly interruptive transition, I have a few requests regarding the contents of your postscript. That is:

One, I am wholly and with every fiber of my mind, soul, and body proud of you. You, my shyest lover who sought friendship in your moments of loneliness, I love you so. Yet I find myself utterly in distress that I cannot co-host our tea parties until later should you hold one in a few days. Our estate is boring, and it must be tiring seeing the same things and people every day for the past few months. I urge you to go out more and explore so I can come home to plentiful stories told in your voice. I want to fall asleep to your descriptions so I can dream of how you see the world around you.

Two, of course, I am missing you. Even if I were a few yards away from you, I would still miss you. I am currently bothering our treasurer in regards to spending the rest of our budget on a winter wonderland in which we would freeze the entire world so I could easily and quickly sled back home like a seal off an iceberg. However, our treasurer is insistent on saving the budget for lodging, travel, and sustenance. I, for one, think I am right.

Three, I think this might be my last letter in a while as when this stack of parchments finally reaches you, I would almost be home. So I am struggling between keeping this short and straight to the point or long and thoroughly eloquent with everything that I want to write and say to you. Instead of coming to a conclusion by myself, I bid you farewell until we meet again with this set of instructions within my set of requests for you. I’m sorry if the format of my letter makes it very hard for you to read. Like how you described your delusions, I often find myself alone at night imagining you by my side so much that I feel your physical presence next to me.

Four, as for our portrait in our dining room, I must ask you to perform a favor for me as I have not seen the finished painting myself. It is a test regarding the “likeness” of our portraits that can only be performed by yourself. When you wish to perform the test before I arrive, please excuse all our staff who stay by your side during dinner and ask to eat alone. Should they give you looks, please say that it was requested by me.

When you are alone, I need you to get into a position in which you can look at yourself through the large mirror that is mounted above the low mantle towards the end of the dining room table. I assume our portrait is hung on the wall at the other side of the dining room table, am I right? If you move the plates and sit on the table, you should be able to look at both your entire body and our portrait through the mirror. Do not worry about making a mess my dear.

Perhaps this test may be a little lewd for a dinner setting. But after your proposed rendezvous in the kitchen in your last letter, I suppose this test would be nothing to you.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you imagine me behind you, slowly kissing down your neck as I undress you while the candlelights flicker beside us? Our shadows cast against the walls that surround us tell the story of two lovers slowly conjoining into one. And I sit you against the front of my naked body, bending your legs and positioning them so you can see all of you through the mirror.

My love, can you see your lips unfold into a beautiful bloom, leaking with its sweet nectar for your man to taste? The sweet nectar, the glistening substitute to the honey our staff brought alongside our dinner rolls, rolls off the flower and soaks the tablecloth beneath you. Tonight I am not doing anything except revel in your beauty like a man awestruck by something so exquisite that he cannot do anything but stare.

I want you to imagine that the same me in the portrait is the me you imagine to be behind you, the very me who writes this letter and instructs you on how to pleasure yourself for the night. Suck on your own fingers, my darling. Bring your fingers to your lips, and let me see the way you ready yourself before the pleasure comes. Because what I want is for you to fuck yourself well for me so that after you’ve squirted all over the dining table your pussy continues to throb so much that you confuse it for your beating heart.

Don’t be shy. Bring your soaked fingers to your folds, and trace along the lines of the petals. Look at how they seemingly open and close as your stomach jerks in reaction. Slowly rub yourself up and down, coaxing that beautiful sigh that I know too well out of your mouth. Feel the pads of your finger mix with your juices, slipping easily and making your hand glide smoother.

Are you looking at me through the mirror? Are you begging me to instruct you in other ways to satisfy your lust? Do you want to rub your pearl and flick it with your finger in a way that makes you clench and collapse?

What is it, honey? Are you whining for me to make you feel good? But this is your guided session. Don’t you see yourself through the mirror, so pathetic looking that you would do anything that I tell you to do? Then take that same hand you used to tease yourself and slap your pussy for me. Bring the hand back and bring it down on your pussy quickly and with so much might that the sound of palm against tender skin echoes throughout the empty dining room.

Don’t you feel pathetic? Getting off from you slapping your own pussy? Doesn’t it please you and make feel so dirty at the same time? When you’re striking your palm against your pussy over and over as your other hand unconsciously reaches upwards to knead your sore nipple, are you looking at yourself through the mirror? Are you still imagining me sitting behind you on our dining table, whispering and taunting you as you attempt to come undone? If your head is not completely clouded with lust, when that pussy is throbbing with such pain and pleasure, you will take your finger to your entrance and insert it slowly so you feel your warm and wet insides slowly swallow your finger the further in it goes.

Let your mouth hang open as you plug yourself with another finger. Fill the lonely dining room with your sweet moans for me. Listen to your kitten squelch and leak the more you pump yourself so that a warm and hot feeling grows in your stomach, making you clench your body tighter and tighter. Scissor your fingers, and fill up that empty space where my cock usually rests. When you release, pull out your fingers as you come on the tablecloth and look at the cream I miss the most.

You’re so perfect, you know that? You’d look even more perfect when you’re on your knees with your fingers underneath you and inside of you. Bounce for me my sweet, ride your own fingers as if you’re riding me. Massage yourself with your other hand, grabbing and kneading your breasts and your nipples as I do for you. Can you see yourself through the mirror more clearly when you’re in this position? Do you see how messy and needy you look while you’re pathetically riding your own fingers? Do you wish they were mine? Do you wish they were my thighs?

Open your eyes for me as you reach another wave of ecstasy. Look at me in the eyes, the man painted next to your glowing figure as you reach your last high. I know you can do it. Scream my name if you love me, and squirt as if your pussy was crying for the man you love.

Turn your head around when you’ve caught your breath. Look at our portrait. Do you see how I’m smiling at you?

I’m proud of you, my love. Thank you for holding on for so long. I’ll be home soon.

P.S. I love you.

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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mizusnose · 3 months

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This might be a weird request but can you write a Mizu fanfic where she has a bad habit of biting pens and in class (uni) she’s concentrating rlly hard and her pen accidentally bursts leaving her mouth an inky mess which makes everyone fall for her 😭 I’m like bouncing off from the doctor au and competency kink

Physics. It’s the only thing keeping Mizu from a perfect 4.0 GPA. She doesn’t know how she’s gotten 50% on all of the quizzes thus far, but the first exam is coming up, and if she wants to keep her scholarship, she has to ace it.

But the textbook is a bore, and the homework modules don’t give thourough enough explanations on the correct answers. So lecture it is.

She picks a seat in the front of the lecture hall. Less distractions could help, right? Halfway through the class about optics and electrostatics, she can feel herself finally starting to understand. She grins around the pen dug between her canines.

Mizu has always had a thing with her mouth. Didn’t like the way her left sharp canine was crooked, ever so slightly. Didn’t like the slant of her lips or the pink of her gums. So she developed an awful habit of trying to whittle it all away, usually with a pen or pencil or gum. It had developed, somewhat, into an oral fixation of sorts.

So, just as she’s getting ready to take an important note about electron movement, reaching for her chewed-up pen between her lips, it breaks.

And bursts.

The ink is thick around her mouth and spills around her chin and flecks catch onto her fingers where she holds the pen.

She curses, and the lecture hall quiets. It’s not a large class since most of the lectures fall on a Friday afternoon, and nearly everyone is headed back home for the weekend or pregaming for the night ahead.

“Everything okay?” The professor asks, uninterested and seemingly exhausted.

“Fine.” Mizu says, standing and making the mistake of trying to wipe the ink away. Instead, it smears across the bottom of her chin, creating a wipe of spilled black ink on the bottom of her face, “Fuck.”

She’s left her phone on her desk, so she turns and bends towards the lecture hall to grab it and is surprised to see the eyes of every single student on her.

It’s unnerving, so she grunts as she quickly stands and leaves to clean up. Oddly, when she returns, she can feel eyes on the side of her face for the rest of the lecture.

Weirder still is when multiple girls go up to her afterwards and ask if she’s okay, if she needs makeup wipes, if she has an instagram account. Their eyes drawn to her mouth, the stain of ink on her lips, her tongue.

Mizu agrees so she can escape quicker and suddenly finds herself at the end of multiple dates. She quickly becomes a campus crush and gains the reputation of being both hot and awkward.

She may or may not use her knowledge of her raise to fame in the bedroom. Usually, she likes eating girls out the most, so that they can come more from the image she makes: the bottom of her face being smeared in their wetness.

———

im glad we both enjoy liquid-splattered mizu content. thanks for the ask :)

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #headcanons #mizu x fem!reader #fanfiction

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ao3commentoftheday · 5 months

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Hello there! This question isn’t so much about popularity as it is about feeling lonely in fandom spaces. I’m in a relatively small fandom where it’s easy to “run into” the same users who write fanfic and draw fanart a lot. Over the years I’ve tried doing all the usual things to make fandom friends, like commenting a LOT on fanfic when new works are posted, being friendly in my author’s notes, being friendly on tumblr, complimenting artists works and reblogging and just generally trying to share the love so to speak.

People will reblog my art on here, but on AO3 I tend to get crickets on most of my stuff. Especially on fics for my OTP. My OTP is notttt popular in the fandom. It’s actually a lot of people’s NOTP because it “takes away” from the canon couple. I’ve accepted a long time ago that I’m going to get less readers because of the shipping stuff alone. But even on my works that aren’t shipping focused at all, it’s just crickets.

It just kinda sucks to try so hard to make fandom buddies and see them all having fun together and constantly feel like the kid sitting alone in the corner. I keep wondering if people in the fandom don’t like my fics just because of the shipping thing because I know I’m not a bad writer. But like I said, I’ve tried reaching out to people, be encouraging and show joy at what they create, but I just keep wondering what I’m doing wrong to make fellow fans not want to be friends with me. I’ve been focusing on just doing my own thing but yeah, it sucks not having anybody to fangirl with.

First of all anon, *hugs*. Being lonely sucks, and I'm sorry to hear you're in that situation.

When it comes to the other folks in your fandom, I don't think it's necessarily that they don't want to be friends with you. I think you might just need to do a little extra legwork to get in the friendship door.

It's not really fair, but it is kind of human nature, that if there is a perceived difference with someone else, we tend to keep them at a bit of a distance. It doesn't mean we dislike them! It just means that it takes more effort for us to get past that difference and see them as a friend. The more we do it, of course, the easier it gets and you might not even notice the hiccup anymore - in person.

You're probably in the "acquaintance zone," if you'll allow me to use the phrase. People probably have a generally positive impression of you because you're nice and you're friendly and you're encouraging. But if most of their conversations are happening in a ship-centric venue, for example, then you're not going to have access to the full spectrum of community with them.

You mention that other folks see your OTP as a NOTP. Do you feel the same way in reverse? They might assume that you do, and that's what's keeping you out of those convos. If you actually don't mind their ship and simply prefer your own, you could always attempt to make a foray in that direction? Let them know you don't mind being exposed to their shipping talk?

Another thing you could try would be to identify the multishippers. In my experience, those are the folks who are most open to befriending folks who don't ship the main pairing. They can see possibilities all over the place, and they're happy to be exposed to new ideas.

Small fandoms can be rough when you're into a niche part of it ❤️ Let's see how others handle your situation.

You can also find this question and answer on Dreamwidth.

#asks and answers

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 8 months

Text

Family love(less). Prologue

Self-Aware! Platonic! Yandere! BSD Characters x GN! Child! Abused! Reader

Description: You are unwanted by your family because of the circumstances of your birth. Your only company are Internet and Books.

You want to escape from this place. You want to have friends and real family.

One night, something strange happened.

You woke up on streets of Yokohama.

And a silver-haired man was looking at you.

But you didn't get here alone.

Tags: Found Family, Isekai, Spoilers for Bungou Stray Dogs Anime, Manga and Light Novels.

Warning: OOC, Platonic Yandere, Bad Relatives, Abusive Family, Bulling, Hurtful comments about Reader and about BSD characters, Physical punishment. BSD Cast want to deal with bad relatives accordingly. English is my second language.

A/N: Multi-chapter fanfic. There will be named OC. All similarities with real people are accidental. This fic wasn't created to mock or to insult anyone. I just want to write something about Platonic Yandere. Hope you enjoy.

Prologue. Storm

School bell rang. The long day of studying was finally over. Students started to put their stuff back in their backpacks. It was time to go home.

You were on a mission. You needed to leave school as fast as you can, without getting the attention of teachers and other students.

You hoped that today you will be lucky enough and no one will notice you.

You quickly grabbed your backpack and hurry to the school's exit.

Getting from class to the corridor - SUCCESS!

Getting from corridor to school exit - SUCCESS!

Getting across School Yard - SUCCE....

"Out of the way, Thing!"

Someone shoved you forward. You lost your balance and fall. You tried to stand up or, at least, rolled on the side.

Someone stepped on you. They continue walking, like you were a part of the road.

Cousin Janie...

Second person followed.... Then third... Then fourth...

Bill... Lily... Jack...

You saw, how adults just moved past you. They pretend, that they didn't see, how children just walking all over another child.

It was nothing new to you.

Miss Agatha... Mister Frank...

You were glad, that, at least, adults wasn't trying to step on you.

Finally, the last of your classmates walked away. You could finally stand up.

Slowly and carefully. Your body was sore. You were dirty. All your clothes were covered in shoe marks. Your hair was dirty. Someone spit on you, you were sure of that.

You start walking home.

_____________

To get home, you need to walk near the park. Small green 'island' in your little town.

"Hey, little rat, were you playing in the dirt again?"

Your Big Brother Steve was waiting for you here. You hoped that he already was home.

Steve was grinning. His tone of voice was full of poorly hidden hate.

"Little rat, you can't go home like this. Little Pig like you need to take a bath. Don't worry, your Big Brother will help you."

He was too strong. You could never overpower a seventeen-year-old.

There was a river in the park.

And Steve threw you and your backpack right in the river.

You were glad, that river wasn't deep.

But now you were completely soaked.

"Now you really are a Rat. A Wet Dirty Rat"

Steve is gone.

You still need to go home.

__________

You reached your home.

________

Ten slaps on left cheek for been wet.

Ten slaps on right cheek for been dirty.

Spanking for trying to leave the school without been noticed.

_______

You were tired and sore.

After the shower, you limp towards your room.

The only place you can be somehow safe.

You barely manage to get into your room. It was small. You had a bed here. A shelf for clothes and books. A small table.

And no windows.

____________

You were a middle child.

Your older siblings were called gold siblings.

Smart, beautiful, handsome, future of the family.

Your younger siblings were called rays of hope.

Cute, precious, hope for the family.

And there were you...

You were you.

For some reason, no matter, what you do, it wasn't good enough for your parents.

No matter, how good your grades are, or if you've won anything.

There were always 'Don't bother me' or 'You don't matter'.

You aren't enough.

Other adults in your family ignored you. They didn't care about you.

They don't see anything wrong with your parents' attitude towards you.

It's not like you are their child.

Besides, your parents never hurt you... much.

Every parent discipline their children.

Your cousins and siblings on the other hand...

They hate you. For some reason.

They saw you as a toy or a servant.

Because adults never tell them to stop bothering you.

They learned, that they can do anything they want to you.

Your family don't care.

Under the influence of your younger siblings, other kids start treating you worse.

In good case scenario, you were ignored.

In worst case scenario you had to run away.

Teachers in your school don't care.

They have better things to do, than dealing with your problems.

__________

You learned few things.

First, always be quiet. Don't draw attention to yourself.

Second, hide important things in your drawer. Your family won't search through your underwear.

Third, there was some wrong with your birth. Something was different. Different in a bad way. You tried to learn more, but no matter who you ask, they didn't tell you anything.

Maybe, one day, when you are older, you will find the truth.

Until then, you need to live in current day.

Right now, you need to have dinner with your family.

With every member of your family.

Today was the first day of Family Reunion.

And it will be hosted in your parents' house.

_________

"[Y/N], eat slow. You are not a pig."

"[Y/N], eat faster. Don't make us wait."

"[Y/N], eat less. You are already fat."

"[Y/N], eat more. You look like a skeleton. People might think that you are starving. Your parents will be in trouble."

"[Y/N], don't you dare shout at your younger siblings! What do you mean, they deserve it? They are younger, then you, they want to play. Yes, even if by play they mean throw food at you."

__________

After taking another shower, you finally were back in your room.

You lay down on the bed. You had some free time.

You need some energy.

You open your phone.

They bought it for you to make neighbors shut up and stop gossiping about your family been so poor, they can't afford to buy a phone for a kid.

You open the app that helped you during bad times.

Bungou Stray Dogs Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

________

You learned about BSD from your siblings.

Almost all of your cousins of all ages were big fans of anime.

They liked to watch anime and manga together during video calls.

Bungou Stray Dogs were among many titles they have watched.

And they have a very strange relationship with this manga.

They hate it and love it at the same time.

They love character designs, you were sure about that.

But you are also sure, that they hate the fact, that characters were based on writers.

You remember, how your cousin Ralph failed a test about John Steinbeck. He was on a video call with your older sister, and you could hear how he was cursing Steinbeck from manga... For some reason.

You can't understand your older relatives.

And you remember, how angry your older sister Jane was on Gogol from manga. She decided to read real world Gogol works. She bought books. When she realized, that books weren't funny, she wanted to drop it. But, because your parents already knew that 'their dear princess' start reading serious literature, she couldn't do it without disappointing them.

So, she cursed character, instead of telling parents the truth.

___________

Despite the fact, that your family has a bizarre relationship with Bungou Stray Dogs and you were too young to read it, you wanted to watch BSD too. Or read it.

There was no problem with watching it. You managed to find a website where you could watch it for free.

But, no matter how hard you try, you couldn't find a way to read BSD for free.

There were all Manga volumes and Light Novels in your house. Your older brother and sister have their own copies.

And you can't ask them to let you read their copies. Because they don't like you. Because they will laugh at you. Wondering, how someone as stupid as you can read.

You can't ask your parents to buy you manga. Because your family don't care if you want something. Phone was necessary. Internet is needed by all family members. There's no law that said that parents must provide a source of entertainment for a child.

But, one day, you were in luck. A very strange luck.

Two months ago you got a whole set of BSD manga and light novels.

_____________

Your Older Brother Steve and Older Sister Jane were... very impulsive.

They tried to stay in trend. To be loved by their classmates. To stay popular in school.

So, when another popular school group decide, that Bungou Stray Dogs manga was for nerds, because cool kids don't read anything, where they can find information about real authors, your brother, sister and your cousins (who attended the same school and were 'loyal' to your older siblings) threw away their BSD Manga and Light Novels. Before that they rip some pages out, tear apart a few books, try to drown them and dance on the poor books.

Then they tell you to throw the garbage away. That's how you manage to salvage the books.

They were in need of some serious repairs, but, you could do it by yourself. And your family wasn't that petty to count, how many tapes you were using or if you take the scissors.

You spend three nights repairing books. You were searching through a big pile of manga and light novels copies for pages in good condition. You use tape and glue on pages to make them whole again.

With great care, you manage to make yourself a full collection of BSD Manga and Light Novels.

After job well done, you were finally able to read manga. You were looking forward to that moment.

__________

In BSD World. Two months ago.

__________

BSD Characters were gathered in the Meeting Room of Port Mafia.

All of them looked tired. They were on the verge of a breakdown.

They don't know why they deserved it.

But they hated that terrible creatures, that called themselves Real People.

Time and time again, they were forced to relieve the worst moments of their lives.

And every time they have heard THEM.

Many different people that were mocking them. Laughing at them. Saying disgusting things about them.

"Why this crybaby Atsushi even here? If he suffers so much, why won't he off himself?"

"Is Chuuya really a Mafioso? I mean, he is mourning the death of the Flags. Aren't mobsters supposed to be cold and emotionless?"

"Ha! Think, what you want, but Oda's dub in this scene make brats' death hilarious."

"I think that Yosano's backstory should be more tragic. Right now it's bland. Her favorite solder killed himself and called her an Angel of Death. It would be better, if Mori was..."

"OH NO! The Clown is alive! Why?! Just Why?! He is a stupid character!"

Comment. After comment. After comment.

About how terrible they are. How useless they are.

How real people wish that BSD cast suffer.

Cursing them for having similar names with some other people from their world.

And now, they did something with them.

All BSD characters feel pain. Someone was tearing them apart. Someone was trying to drown them.

And they can't do anything to protect themselves.

And then another Kitsunebi¹ appeared.

This one was purple.

So, real people decide to end them.

No one from BSD Cast has power to fight. They were waiting for their end.

"Well, I have everything I need. Let's start with the first volume..."

_________

This one was healing them...

BSD characters feel, how their bodies wasn't sore anymore. How they're getting their strength back.

For three nights, Purple Light was taking care of them.

And talking...

"Okay, this goes here... Here we go, good as knew."

"Wow, this page will be beautiful again, when I finish with it."

"I can't wait to read BSD from the beginning. It must be wonderful. Anime was good."

BSD cast were confused. You...

Why this one was different? Was that a trick? Are they going to curse them?

The time reset again. Time to relive their lives. Again.

_________

In Bungou Stray Dogs World. Nowadays

________

"Our Dear [Y/N] are opening the App! Everybody ready?" called Yosano, finishing adding another ten power up materials in her present to you today.

The choir of "yes" was an answer to her.

No one can tell, that two months ago they all were broken and could barely stand.

Dear [Y/N], their precious Guiding Light, saved them.

Not even once they say something hateful about anyone of them. There was only love and understanding. And warmth. Warmth of a child who loved them unconditionally.

All of them cherished [Y/N]. Because they were the only one, who saw, what a great child [Y/N] were.

When they got access to [Y/N]'s phone, they heard it all.

Bullies. Relatives. Siblings. Parents.

Their comments. Their hate, that was aimed at [Y/N]. A defenseless, innocent child.

BSD Cast hate [Y/N]'s family. For what they are doing to them. And for what they have done to characters themselves.

Soon they will be in Real world. They will save Their Dear Guiding Light.

But, before that, they need to punish everyone, who wronged [Y/N].

The Portal was almost ready.

They only need to wait until Midnight.

_________

In real world

_________

You spend an hour playing BSD Mayoi. You got many notes from characters. They were cheering for you. They mentioned that they love you.

You were happier, than before.

At least someone was glad, that you exist.

You hopped that one day you will escape from your family. And find a real family and friends.

You looked at the clock.

Almost 11 pm. You need to go to bed.

Dozing off, you hear, that storm has begun. Raindrops start falling down from the sky.

_________

At the midnight, your phone start glowing white.

The lightning struck.

White light fill all rooms in your house.

When it faded, the house was empty.

And pages of your BSD books start glowing white.

_______

Time resets.

Fukuzawa Yukichi was a thirty-two years old bodyguard again. His client died recently. But right now, he has more important things to do.

Fukuzawa Yukichi was cradling a sleeping eleven-year-old child.

And, for now, he was ignoring the four people laying on the ground at his feet.

#self-awareau #self-awarebsd #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #yandere #platonic #familylove_less #SABSD_Familylove_less

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