#Falling Film Evaporators

[omegagraphite]

Unveiling the Power of Graphite: Exploring Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company's Innovations

Welcome to the blog of Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company! Here, we delve into the world of graphite and its myriad applications, showcasing our expertise as leading manufacturers in the industry. From cutting-edge Graphite Heat Exchangers to essential Graphite Condensers and beyond, we are dedicated to pushing the boundaries of what this remarkable material can achieve.

Graphite Heat Exchangers: Revolutionizing heat transfer with our innovative designs, our Graphite Heat Exchangers offer unparalleled efficiency and durability. Whether it's Cubic Block or Cylindrical Block configurations, we provide solutions tailored to meet your specific needs.

Graphite Condensers and Coolers: Our Graphite Condensers and Coolers set the standard for reliability and performance in demanding environments. Designed to withstand corrosive substances and extreme temperatures, they ensure optimal operation and minimal maintenance.

Shell & Tube Graphite Heat Exchangers: Combining versatility with efficiency, our Shell & Tube Graphite Heat Exchangers excel in diverse applications, from chemical processing to pharmaceutical production. With customizable configurations, we provide solutions that adapt to your workflow seamlessly.

Graphite Reboilers and Falling Film Evaporators: Enhancing process efficiency and productivity, our Graphite Reboilers and Falling Film Evaporators offer superior heat transfer capabilities, enabling precise control over evaporation processes.

Specialized Solutions: Beyond traditional heat exchangers and evaporators, we offer a range of specialized solutions to address unique challenges in industries such as chemical processing and petrochemical refining. From HCL Absorbers to Sulphuric Acid Dilutors and Dilution Coolers, our comprehensive portfolio caters to diverse requirements.

Graphite Ejectors and HCL Synthesis Plants: Leveraging our expertise in graphite technology, we deliver advanced solutions for gas handling and synthesis processes. Our Graphite Ejectors and HCL Synthesis Plants optimize efficiency while ensuring safety and reliability.

Graphite Distillation Columns and Accessories: Enabling precise separation and purification processes, our Graphite Distillation Columns and Accessories meet the highest standards of quality and performance. From tubes and fittings to pumps, we provide complete solutions for your distillation needs.

Global Presence: With a strong presence in India, Mumbai, Saudi Arabia, UAE, Brazil, and beyond, we serve customers worldwide with dedication and excellence. Our commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction drives us to continually exceed expectations.

At Our No.1 Omega Graphite Company, we are passionate about harnessing the potential of graphite to empower industries and drive progress. Join us on this journey as we continue to innovate and redefine possibilities in graphite technology.

Stay tuned for more insights, updates, and success stories from the forefront of graphite manufacturing. Together, let's unlock the full potential of this remarkable material and shape a brighter future for generations to come.

For inquiries and partnerships, please contact us at [Contact Us At: info@omegagraphite.com | 9820045787 | https://www.omegagraphite.com].

[zhejiangshuangzi]

Low-temperature Vacuum Double Effect Falling Film Evaporator

Double Effect falling film evaporator is made of two single effect falling film evaporator in series together, double effect falling film evaporator is the primary effect evaporator produced by the secondary steam as a heating source, introduced into another evaporator, as long as the pressure and melting boiling point in the evaporator are controlled, so that it is properly reduced, the secondary steam generated by the single-effect evaporator can be heated After the material is added by the upper part of the heating chamber, it is distributed by the liquid distributor and then flows down the tube in a film shape to be heated and vaporized.

Company Name:Zhejiang Shuangzi Intelligent Equipment Co., Ltd Web:https://www.sun-intelligent.com/product/concentration-machine-1/lowtemperature-vacuum-double-effect-evaporator.html ADD:Tianhe Road 7th,Yuhang Economic Development Zone,Hangzhou City, Zhejiang Province, China Phone:86-18257152999 Email:alice@sunjx.com Tip:310000 Profile:The company's existing mature products: vacuum low-temperature drying, complete sets of fermentation system equipment, evaporation and concentration equipment, extraction equipment, separation, extraction, crystallization equipment and equipment, filtration equipment, containers and other products.

[pureyindustry]

Stainless Steel Falling Film Evaporator for Industrial Efficiency

Are you looking for an efficient solution for liquid concentration and solvent recovery? The falling film evaporator creates a thin film along heated surfaces to rapidly evaporate liquids. This system ensures high heat transfer and reduced energy consumption, making it ideal for heat-sensitive materials. You can view our products on our website or learn more about them.

[hemantgoel]

Wiping Film Evaporator & Falling Film Absorber | Canada | USA | Goelscientific

Explore best-quality wiping film evaporators and falling film absorbers in Canada And USA. Our innovative solutions ensure efficient processes. For more information Call us.

[taknikinc]

https://www.taknikinc.com/zero-liquid-discharge-plants-mee-mvr-atfd/

Multi effect evaporator is a sophisticated and efficient industrial equipment used to concentrate solutions by evaporating the solvent.

[megamindsecretlair]

Mr. Black, Part 1

Pairing: Tre x Assistant!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, dumbass reader, degradation kink, power imbalance, Tre is a boss, all consensual.

Summary: Tre is sick and tired of the countless mistakes you make while performing your work duties. You were recently hired and just trying to do your best, but nothing is ever good enough for him.

Word Count: 4,099k

A/N: Listen, Idk what happened. He's barely in 2 mins of the film and it broke my brain. That outfit and that smile was too much for me to handle! Idk how many parts this will be. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - Completed

Tagging the usual lovelies, please tell me if you want to be removed: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @henneseyhoe @miyahmaraj

Shit! He was going to kill you. You whined as the numbers swam in your vision. You desperately looked between two invoices, wondering how you were going to solve this before he found out. 

Your leg bounced as your nerves unraveled the longer you stared at the documents. Shit! You were done for. Your stupid little job was over before you had even gotten started. Your bottom lip quivered. There was no way you were going to recover from this.

Tre’s heavy footsteps pounded the carpet on approach and your heart dropped into your stomach. Shit! 

You pushed the papers on your desk into one huge pile that you’ll painstakingly unravel in the safety of your home. You tapped a few keys on the computer, trying to look busy. He did not need to know that you had been staring at your egregious mistake for the past half hour. 

“Do you have that report I told you to do?” Tre asked, once he reached his office. 

“Yes, Sir,” you said. You gave him a dumb ass, goofy smile. You handed over the report in a yellow folder. He snatched it from you, not sparing you a glance, and stalked into the office. The door slam made you flinch. 

You weren’t even sure why you stuck around this job. You were recently hired to help with the background work stuff while people all around you were getting fired. Tre had been leading that charge. 

Ever since you got hired, you wondered if he hated you. He barely said anything to you except to insult your hard work. Look, the workforce was hard, okay? There’s a lot of shit that school or life doesn’t teach you. More often than not, you had to hide your scrolling on Youtube for any kind of help. 

Even when he was in a good mood, flashing those pearly whites and that sinful smile, it immediately froze whenever you entered the room. Your good mood would evaporate and then you were falling all over yourself trying to correct whatever the issue was.

His coffee was too cold, too black, too sweet. His blinds were up too high and he had a nasty glare. This report was wrong, that report was wrong. No, this wasn’t the one he wanted. Yes, this was the one he wanted. Run out and get some lunch. Well, you took too long, I don’t want it anymore. 

It was exhausting working for the man, but some part of you wanted a crumb of his praise. Just a crumb. You could survive off of it. You knew you sounded pathetic. Your friends and family were getting sick of you complaining about the man. 

Your best friend sort of got it. You snuck a picture of Tre one day and showed her. She nearly fell off of your couch when she saw him.

“This? This is your boss?” 

Yes, he is seriously your boss. And he was a fucking asshole. Who else would feel absolutely nothing about firing people a few days before Christmas? Christmas! It was your favorite holiday and just thinking about all the tiny traditions made you so giddy, your heart flipped.

Person after person, box after box, floated by your desk looking absolutely miserable. You watched their tortured faces and your heart hurt thinking that all their years of service fit into one tiny box. The tinsel and ornaments decorating the office seemed like cruel mocking reminders that there would be no Christmas cheer for them. 

“Get in here, now!” You jerked out of your seat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The intercom flashed red and then turned off. You hated that damn box. Whatever happened to sending a chat? Way less intrusive and easier on your nerves.

You stood up with your heart racing. The pulse in your neck thumped so painfully, you placed your hand there to try and steady it. Realistically, you didn’t have to tell him about the mistake right now. You just needed a chance to find out what you did wrong.

You smoothed your checkered skirt suit, wiping your sweaty palms on the thick material. El Segundo didn’t get that cold, but the mornings were brutal. 

You bit your lip as you approached his office door. You opened it. Tre stood over his desk, one hand on his hip and a paper in his hand. It had to be the report he asked for. You assumed that since it was so late in the evening, that he’d read it first thing in the morning. You had hoped to leave here with a little hope. Not defeated like the past few nights, still not living up to his impossible standards.

All things considered, he was damn delicious. His favorite aesthetic was black. Black shirts, jackets, pants, shoes. The only hint of color on him were his gold chains and glasses. His thick beard complimented his facial structure beautifully. It was an odd mix being both attracted to and afraid of your boss. 

“Close the door,” he said. 

You followed his command. Shit. You were really in it. Was it your report he was reading? Or did he magically glean that you royally fucked up a fifteen million dollar contract? 

Your stomach roiled. You were going to be fucking sick. 

You approached the front of his desk like a deer in headlights. There was no room for you to maneuver. It was you, the headlights, and inevitable death. Shit, would you go to jail over something like this? 

You twisted your fingers as you stood there and waited for him to acknowledge you. He gave a long sigh and then put the paper down. 

“Come here,” he said. His tone was so disrespectful and biting. It was insulting coming from such a pretty man with a soft, ungodly voice. 

You rounded his giant desk and stood beside him. He was so huge. Thick muscles bunching the confines of his black suit jacket. You gulped and glanced down. He was looking at your report.

“What does this say?” He asked and pointed to a sentence.

“Due to the natre, er, nature, of the findngs.” Shit. This thing had so many damn typos in it. You typed the damn thing up, distracted, watching all of the people you never got to know walk out of here. Their faces haunted you day in and day out. You shouldn’t care, but well, here you were. 

If he had done this at any other time, maybe it wouldn’t have affected you so much. If he fired people around, say…St. Patrick’s Day, then at least people would have an excuse to hide their inevitable drinking. 

You looked into Tre’s eyes, an apology ready on your lips, but he was fuming. He was usually so calm and collected, firing people with an ice cold exterior. To see so much passion in him now…you were in deep shit. Without a paddle.

He reached across his desk and plucked out a red pen. “I want you to sit here and highlight all of the mistakes you made. And you better find them all,” he said. 

Your shaking hand reached out for the pen. He held it away. “All of them.”

He held out the pen once more and you took it. Tre sat down in his chair and motioned for you to proceed. You spied the chair on the other side of the desk, but you didn’t get the sense that you were allowed to get comfortable while you did this.

You licked your dry lips and leaned over slightly. Page by page, you hunted your mistakes with the red pen. You circled all of the typos you made. Good god, there were so many of them.

Tre sat like a silent specter. His disapproving eyes burned your back as you searched the document. At the end, you were appalled that you let so many slip through. The fuck was wrong with you? 

“Count them,” he said. 

Shit, shit. You couldn’t handle this fucking stress. “I am so sorry–”

“Count. Them.” You glanced at him. Besides the fire in his eyes, he seemed calm and a little disinterested. Like he was already bored of this shit and wanted you to hurry up.

You took a deep breath. He was only a man. You needed this stupid fucking job, but you will not be treated like this for much longer. Fuck his praise. And fuck him. No man, no job was worth this bullshit. You were going to find a nice quiet job somewhere. 

You counted the circles. Like bubbles of misery. “Twenty-four,” you said. At least your voice was strong, giving no hint to your frazzled nerves. Though, the more you thought about it, the less nervous you felt. You were so going to type up your two weeks notice tonight. Fuck this cheerless company. 

“Do you have any clue what it’s like trying to do my job but all I can focus on is your shitty ass mistakes? A toddler can type better than you,” he said. 

You gasped. Such a fucking asshole. “Everyone makes mistakes,” you pointed out. For fuck’s sake, you weren’t decoding international secrets. The occasional, okay this instance many, typos should not warrant a trip to the principal’s office. 

“I spend more time correcting your mistakes than trying to turn this company around. The least you can do is be a competent assistant. Your job is to assist,” he said. 

“All you can see is my mistakes instead of all the other shit that I do!” You fired back. Shit. His eyes narrowed and you swallowed, but you weren’t going to hold back. Whether you quit or got fired, you were saying goodbye to him so what the hell did anything matter? 

“I bend over backwards to do everything for you! Do you know how many times I’ve had to fix my nails as I run around here doing everything that pops into that meaty ass head of yours? Fix your computer, get you coffee, charge your fucking phone. I was hired to do assistant work, not become your personal maid. The least you can do is treat me with some fucking respect!” 

A weight lifted from your chest. You took deep, heaving breaths and felt lighter than you ever had. Even before taking this soul sucking job. 

“Bend over,” he said quietly.

“What?” You asked.

Tre stood to his full height. Not quite reaching six feet, but close enough. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and then slipped it off, revealing a black, long sleeved shirt. He rolled up the cuffs.

“I’m spank that tight ass you keep taunting me with for every mistake you have on that report,” he said.

Whoa, what? “Did you not hear what I said?” You asked. You watched as inches of his forearm were revealed. Shit, this shouldn’t be so hot. But it was. Your mouth ran dry for entirely different reasons.

“Every word. Bend. Over. It’s a simple instruction to follow,” he said. The sleeves were at his elbow now. 

You barely thought about it. You bent over the desk, breasts pressing into the coolness of his desk. You felt him slide behind you. His thick hands rubbed over the fabric of your dress. He squeezed the fleshiness of your ass and you softly huffed. 

“Count out every mistake,” he said.

Smack! Red hot fire bloomed on your right ass cheek. “What the fuck,” you gasped.

“Count it, or we start over,” he said.

“One,” you immediately said. Was this really happening? 

Smack! Shit, it really was. “Two,” you gasped again, trying to fight off a moan. Your pussy ached with each subsequent hit. And he was not going easy on you. Each smack was severe, making you reach up on tiptoes to escape it. 

He wouldn’t let you. His hand found your ass in any way you had it displayed for him. No two smacks were similar. Some were harder than others. He never hit the same spot twice. Your ass was a mosaic of pain. Heat bloomed in tiny flickers. There was no way you were going to sit down after this.

“Fifteen,” you ground out. Your ass sought his hands, relished each smack he delivered. Your mind turned blissfully fuzzy. Nerves melting away until it was a tiny puddle at your feet. Fuck. You were so turned on and your panties were ruined. Soaked. 

Your clit throbbed in time with the flickering heat on your ass. And he continued to smack it. Your ass jiggled after each one. Your feet scrambled for purchase. 

“Twenty-two,” you cried out. Tears gathered in  your eyes. 

The final two smacks to your ass were the worst ones. He had been hiding that strength this entire time. He smacked you like he was truly punishing you for all of the mistakes on the report. You shuddered to think what he would do when he found out about the contract. 

He had maintained a professional demeanor throughout it all. He hadn’t spoken, except with soft grunts as the force of his smacks met your ass. He rubbed your booty and you moaned from the white hot pain. How the hell were you going to get home after this? 

Tre lowered the zipper on the back of your dress and you whimpered. What more could he fucking do right now?

The answer to that was swift as he pushed the edge of your skirt up and over your wide hips. He groaned with a soft, “fuck”, as he revealed your racy black panties. The lace was sheer with tiny flower designs woven into it. 

“I knew hiring you was a fucking mistake. Can’t even focus on shit around here,” he said. Though it seemed like he was talking to himself. 

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered. You wiped the wayward tears from your face. 

“You and these fucking outfits,” he answered back. He rolled your panties off of your damp pussy. He bent with it, so his breath trailed the back of your thighs and legs. He kissed his way back up. Plump lips placed soft kisses to your thighs and ass. Pain bloomed from his recent spanking and you moaned and moved away. He straightened and pulled your hips back. 

He smacked your bare ass this time. The wet sound was loud and lewd. You prayed that everyone was gone for the day. There was no way that these flimsy ass walls had good sound proofing. 

“Fuuuuuck,” you moaned out.

“That’s for being such a fuckin’ tease,” he said. His hands left you, going to his own fly as you heard the zipper and the frantic huffs as he hurried to free himself. 

“I wasn’t–”

“You know you were. Bending over every chance you got. Smiling every time I fuckin’ saw you. Wearing these outfits you know are not professional,” he said. 

He settled back behind you, groaning as you assumed he pumped himself. Fuck, you wanted to see. You looked back at him. Oh, that was a mistake. His head was thrown back, his arms moving jerkily as he pumped his thick length with his hand. 

Your pussy clenched as you watched him. You bit your lip at the sheer ecstasy on his face. You didn’t want to speak and interrupt him. While it was true that you dressed up a little more than your coworkers, these outfits were appropriate. You didn’t show unnecessary cleavage and your skirts were decent lengths.

Okay, maybe they went a little too high. But you spent most of your time behind a desk, who was really going to notice? It was better than the bland ass, off the rack looks these other girls wore. It was like they all shopped at the same, ugly ass store. Why should you be bland like them?

You were fucking gorgeous. And wearing pretty outfits made you feel beautiful and comfortable. You loved your heels. Why should you keep all that shit in the closet to make basic bitches feel nice? Fuck ‘em.

Tre rubbed the tip of his dick through your wet folds. You nearly buckled. Your knees collapsed and Tre roughly grabbed your hip to make you stand upright. 

You rested your cheek against the cold desk. The coolness helped cool off some of the heat burning through you. You moaned as his tip brushed against your clit. “Please,” you whispered.

“Please what?” He asked.

“Please, fuck me. I need it,” you moaned. God, it had been too fucking long since you got fucked. Not had sex. Got fucked. You had decent situationships in the past. Sure, you had fun. But to get fucked, you needed a certain type of man. 

He grunted as he shoved inside, stretching you completely. You cried out as he pulled back and shoved back in, getting his dick wetter from your juices alone. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me.” He worked himself inside you, pushing into the warm, wet core of you. You were a vice grip on his dick. Welcoming him deeper and more easily with every glide. His fingers dug into your hips. 

“From now on, I’m checking over all of your work. If I catch more typos, that’s your ass,” he said.

How the hell could he expect you to listen when he was buried so deep inside of you, you were pretty sure with one more shove that he would hit your G-spot? You pathetically whimpered as his movements grew slippier. He slid in and out with more ease than before. 

His thrusts turned sharper. Each one shoved you against the desk. The hard plane of the desk shoved into your stomach. The pain was barely a thought. 

“Oh yes, yes,” you moaned.

“Takin’ this dick well,” he moaned. His thrusts increased. Barely giving you time to breathe in between each one. They were powerful and unrelenting. The desk rattled. His thighs pushed into yours, trapping you against the desk as he pounded into you. His hands around your hips were bruising. He had you slightly lifted, so your feet slightly dangled off of the ground. He supported you easily. 

The minimal praise from him made your heart soar and your pussy flutter. “Oh, you like that shit, don’t you?” 

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

“Tell me you like it then,” he said.

“I like it,” you said.

“Like you mean it,” he said and gave another savage thrust that made you see stars. 

The desk made an intrusive knocking sound in time with his thrusting. That’s how hard he was fucking you. 

“Oh shit, I’m cumming,” you moaned. Your belly flipped as your orgasm built and built.

“Let it go, then,” he said.

You cried and whimpered as you came. 

“Mhm, let it go. Let it go. Mhm, feeling all of that,” he cooed while you came, stars going off like bombs in your weak vision. Your head swam. Your vision winked in and out. You were bliss personified, cumming with a type of euphoria you didn’t know existed.

You squeezed his dick as you came. “Get that shit nice and creamy,” he said. 

He continued to pound into you, fucking any last remnants of your orgasm out of you. He was so hard and thick, sliding in and out and wrenching every little sound he could out of you. 

Wet smacking and the rattle of his thrusts filled the room with a harmony you wanted on repeat forever. You were creamy for him. Needy for him. Needy for the way that he could fuck you stupid and you thanked him for it.

You managed to look back at him. Again, his head was thrown back. The wide expanse of his neck pulsed with a thick vein you wanted to lick. Sweat dripped down into his shirt. His sleeves were still rolled up. He was power and strength. Thick in every sense of the word.

Broad shoulders, soft beard, and those glasses. Good god, you loved those glasses on him. That wide smile of his. His rich, midnight skin. You could spend hours licking every inch of him and it wouldn’t nearly be enough. 

He was lost in you, lost with his dick pumping into you. Watching how you were making him feel, another orgasm built. It climbed its way to the surface, whisking you away to the stars again. Shooting through the universe with nothing to hold you down. Nothing to keep you anchored. You just floated like stardust around the cosmos. 

“Oh fuck, please,” you moaned. You didn’t know what the fuck you were saying. You were mumbling and moaning, unaware of anything but his hands on your hips. His dick inside you. His balls slapping your clit. Your hand moved behind you seeking his body. His thrusts were too much.

You pushed against him. You didn’t want him to stop. Just for him to ease a bit. Your swollen clit was sensitive as hell. You weren’t sure if you had another orgasm in you. It was too soon and his punishing pace was going to literally fuck you stupid in a minute.

“Move that fuckin’ hand before I do,” he spat. 

“But…Sir…” He was fucking the air out of you. You couldn’t breathe. “Fuck, please.” 

True to his word, he grabbed the hand that you were trying to push him away with. Your left hand was twisted behind your back as he leaned forward, deepening his strokes.

It turned harsher, fucking you into the desk. He’d fuck you through it if he could. His moans turned desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned. “Take this nut.”

He groaned as he unleashed his climax inside of you. He filled you with his cum. His dick twitched and pulsed against your spongy walls as his cum was fucked into you. Still he moved, still he pounded into you like he was trying to prove something. 

His hips faltered as he sputtered the last of his cum. He buried himself to the hilt and a shiver ran through him. Your frantic breathing matched his as he slowly pulled out of you.

Fuck! You were fucking sore! A hundred baths wouldn’t soothe this shit. A moment later, his cum slipped out of you and you moaned. Well shit. No condom. Luckily, you were on the pill but still. You shouldn’t be so fucking horny that you didn’t talk about these things.

However, after getting fucked the way you just did, you’d happily accept his cum. Many times over. 

His cum leaked out of you, sliding down your pussy and legs. He groaned, leaned down, and spread your ass cheeks just to watch.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he said. He pushed two fingers inside and you whimpered. He grunted one last time and removed his fingers. 

He grabbed a few tissues off of his desk and started to clean you up. You hissed when he hit a sensitive spot. He kissed your ass and legs as he cleaned up. “So fuckin’ pretty. So fuckin’ beautiful,” he soothed as he cleaned.

You were a shaking mess. Your legs could not support you. He chuckled as he finished. He pulled his pants up first. You heard the slide of his belt buckle. Then, he pulled your panties up to cover your ass. Next, he lowered your skirt and fixed the zipper.

You were too weak to move from your spot. Too weak to stand up and say or do anything. You laid there in amazement. He helped you up and then steadied you while he lowered you into his chair. His chair.

He got to work, righting various knick knacks on his desk. He moved a tiny Christmas snow globe on his desk that you had brought him on the first day. He had raised his eyebrow at you, told you that you couldn’t bribe your way to a good start, and disappeared into his office. You thought he had thrown it away. You were too nervous to notice anything when you came into his office. Just his disapproving eyes and smug smirk. 

He moved the report back into the yellow envelope and closed it. He turned around and rested his ass against the desk. He tapped the file with his long fingers. “Be sure to correct this. We’ll go over it first thing in the morning.”

You glanced at him. “Yes, Sir,” you said with a hoarse voice. Fuck, your throat hurt. Everything hurt. He smirked as if he were reading your thoughts.

Yeah, a merry Christmas to you too, mu’fucker.

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - Completed

[mncxbe]

Hi! Your acc is so awesome honestly and so cute it makes my heart do the smiley emote :)

My request is chuuya x reader, where reader isn't feeling well but doesn't wanna bother chuuya (not feeling well as in mentally) but reader really wants to cuddle with chuuya, so eventually they cave and call chuuya to ask if they can come over just to cuddle and watch a movie and chuuya is worried if they're ok. Reader reaches and kinda falls into chuuyas arms and they chill and cuddle for the rest of the night <3

Have a heavenly day!

tysm nonnie you're really sweet♡♡ and I absolutely love this idea. I changed it up a slight bit so I hope it's alright and you like it♡

°☆○

I'll bring the coffee if you bring the wine♡

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒚𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ barely proofread sorry in advance for any mistakes

You stared down at the glowing screen, thumb lingering just above the arrow shaped button. Should you actually send the text?

Your boyfriend was probably at home by now so it's not like you'd bother him at work, but you still didn't see it fit to text him so late in the evening. After all, you've only been together for two months and asking him to come over at 10 p.m seemed a little strange; and what if he was out with some friends and you'd mess up his plans?

You took in a deep breath, trying to push these thoughts in the back of your mind. Your day has been more than miserable and all you wanted was to spend some time with your partner. Finally pressing the send button, you set the phone down beside you and turned on the tv, switching from channel to channel in attempt to keep your mind occupied.

Chuuya's reply came through almost instantly. 'Sure, I'll be over in a few. Is everything alright?'. You texted back a quick 'Yea. Just feeling a bit down' before returning your gaze to the tv screen.

Around half an hour later, the light buzz of the electric lock announced Chuuya's arrival. Gathering your remaining strength you got off the couch and tip-toed to the hall to find him taking off his coat.

"Hey baby. You feeling alright?" he asked in his usual gentle voice but you just nodded in response.

You were too mentally exhausted to give him an actual reply, to tell him how burnt out and miserable you felt so you simply reached out your arms and wrapped them around his waist, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

Chuuya immediately returned the hug, one of his gloved hands resting atop your hair as he pulled you closer to him. You closed your eyes, feeling your mind slowly quieting down; the dark thoughts that've been bothering you for days now evaporating into thin air.

You couldn't bring yourself to pull away, not even when he removed his hand from your head and gently cupped your jaw, tilting it up so he could get a glimpse of your face.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you sweetie, or shall I let you be?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it. I've just had some shitty days and I missed you." you confessed, voice carrying a slight edge that Chuuya didn't miss.

"Alright, how about we go watch a movie then? Sure it's gonna make you feel better."

You made your way to the couch and nestled yourself beside Chuuya, arms wrapped loosely around his waist; his own arm draped over your shoulder, bringing you closer to his chest as he took off his gloves to run his fingers through your hair. Sighing softly, you leaned into his touch, allowing him to coax the summertime sadness out of you with each gentle caress.

You could feel his hot breath against your temple, his lips peppering your face with feathery kisses and you couldn't help but smile; you were melting into his arms like candle wax.

"Feeling better babe?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Way better. Thank you Chuu" you beamed, briefly pressing your lips to his. He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before returning his attention to the movie you ended up watching, and old picture film about a girl in New York City.

The warmth and comfort of his embrace lulled you into a dreamy langour, eyes heavy with sweet, powdery stardust. Chuuya felt you slowly relax into his arms and smiled, heat blooming in his chest. He watched you slowly close your eyes and remained motionless until the end of the movie when he slowly reached for the remote.

Feeling the sudden motion you groaned, eyes fluttering open as you tugged lightly at his shirt.

"Don't leave yet" you mumbled and he couldn't help but chuckle; your sleepy face was the prettiest thing he's ever laid eyes upon.

He switched off the tv and pulled your head back on his chest, savouring your presence and the quietude of your apartment, dimly lit only by the glow of the city.

"Don't worry dear. I'm not going anywhere"

[agroteraa]

The Wrath of the Stag

Chapter one

Oliver Quick x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Part 3.1.

Part 1: Actaeon

Part 2: Artemis

Part 3.2: The Wrath of the Stag (ch.2)

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, masturbation, mentions of sex, almost?onesided!Felix.

Word Count: 4,3K

The summer went on. June and July were already more than happy months, but August gifted you with completely new feelings in your life.

Two weeks had passed since the events of the karaoke night. During this time, you and Oliver became even closer, but it was only known to the two of you. In public, you tried to behave the same way, but as soon as no one was around, Oliver stole a kiss from you every now and then, and this was just the beginning of the list. Winking at him while playing tennis, almost riding him in the library chair, flirting by the pool while no one was watching and caressing each other underwater, passionately making out on Saltburn garden benches late at nights, luring him into your bathroom while no one was nearby, holding hands in the dark in the "back row" in the cinema room while watching some TV or film all together. And endless glances at each other that lasted almost forever.

And not to mention all the hot, sleepless, though as silent as possible, summer nights that he gave you when he sneaked into your room. Of course, your rapprochement was seen a little more in public than before, but no one seemed to notice anything. Or say anything. Except Felix, who sometimes seemed to frown if you and Oliver talked about something for too long, forgetting about him.

This summer was like a thrilling fairy tale that was supposed to end beautifully with Oliver Quick's birthday.

While Elspeth and James were planning the party, the costumes, the guest list, you were thinking about what you could gift your dear one. During a trip with Venetia to the city for shopping and searching of an outfit for the upcoming event, you went to a local bookstore. Walking past the shelves and looking through the many options, you stopped at something that such a sophisticated and well-read person like Oliver would appreciate. A large thick dark green book about ancient Greek mythology in a gift edition, with gold lettering, on the cover there was Icarus falling away from the sun. His wings and sun were embossed in gold and were slightly voluminous. Excellent, you thought to yourself, running your fingers over the cover. That was it.

Returning to Saltburn after a trip on a hot day, you and Venetia decided to swim a little, and then take a rest and sunbathe near the windows of the house. Having spread out colorful blankets, both of you lay down on them in swimsuits, drank soda and lazily chatted about something of your own.

Oliver was smoking at the time, lying in his bathtub and enjoying the thought of how he would bask in attention on his birthday. How he would bathe in Y/N’s attention. After leaving the tub, he was waiting for water to drain and slowly walked over to the window. Oh. You were there, lying in a swimsuit. You were relatively far away, but he could perfectly imagine the droplets of water and sweat evaporating from your hot body. You turned over on the blanket, gracefully bending and swinging your legs, talking to Venetia.

Ooh. He had missed you so much already. He remembered how this body, which was now turning on the blanket, writhing under him last night. It was so beautiful. He began to feel aroused again. Oliver's hand reached down for the rapidly hardening cock. He was lazily puffing on a cigarette and looking at you from the window, stroking his manhood. It felt so good. He felt like a king in his domain right now.

"Hey, Ollie, I..." Felix entered the room without knocking, thinking that Oliver was in his room and not in the bathroom, "What the fuck?"

Quick took his hand away in fright and jumped a little away from the window, putting out his cigarette.

Felix went to the window and followed his gaze, "No, what the fuck? Are you wanking to my sister? Or… Y/N?!"

Oliver started to stutter, "Um...I..."

"No, I want to know that. It's creepy, man!" Felix insisted.

Not knowing which answer was the most or least acceptable to Felix, Oliver decided to say "both".

"Huh?" Felix was still confused, standing frozen for a moment. But then shook it off, laughing, "I get it, buddy, it seems someone has a complete lack of girls. Don't worry, we'll go back to Oxford, I'll help you get laid."

He jokingly hit Oliver in the shoulder, he shriveled a little, and nodded, pursing his lips, responding with a weak "yeah, great".

"I just came by to tell you that my mom has found you a birthday outfit and wants you to come up to her now. You should like it," Felix said, turning around and leaving the room, his face becoming gloomy and broody again.

* * *

Two days later, you were reading a copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" by the pool, the weather was wonderful and you were enjoying the August sun. Felix came to the next lounger, wearing only swimming shorts.

"Hey, Y/N, can I join your sunbathing?"

You said yes, surprised that the owner of the house suddenly asked you for such permission. He sat down and looked at you, smiling. He was squinting slightly from the sun, the freckles on his face were beautifully scattered over his summer-tanned skin.

"Oh, you've almost finished the book... And I'm stuck in the middle, I still can't get through it, the chapters got tedious."

You laughed, "Well, yes, you've never been a big fan of books."

"It's true," Felix grinned and continued, hesitating, "Y/N, can we talk about something?"

"...yes?" you answered, surprised, putting the book on your lap and sitting up on your lounger.

"What are you... thinking about Oliver?" that question turned your stomach over. What did he mean, did he know something?

"Um, well, he's a good guy. And interesting one. Better than I thought of him when I saw him at Oxford. More precisely, I wasn’t thinking about him at all then, it's more correct to say so," you muttered nervously.

"So are you thinking now?.. Anyways, I don't know, Y/N, sometimes he seems a little strange to me."

"What exactly is it?"

"It doesn't matter," Felix frowned, "The important thing is that I don't really want you to get close. I can see that something is going to happen, between you too. I don't know. Intuition or something. You better not get too close to him."

Oh. It began to dawn on you, and a hot feeling of indignation rose to your throat.

"Listen. I remember Venetia saying that Felix doesn't like to share his toys, but Oliver is a living person with freedom of choice. However, if you don't like it so much that he started communicating more with me than with you, then okay, let's figure something out, but still..."

"No," Felix interrupted you, "It's not about him, it's about you. I don't want to share you. And no, not "share," for God's sake, what a stupid word. And I'm not even talking about the "toy", Venetia is not a five-year-old child..."

You were sitting on a lounger, completely frozen. No.

"...and still she talks about me like I don't want to share a toy train or something," he continued, "So, Y/N, I've been thinking a lot about you, seeing how happily and enthusiastically you are spending time with Oliver. And I thought... that I've also spent so much time hanging out him this summer and basically over the past year, and not only with him, while I could have spent more time with you. Sorry about that."

No, no, no, no. No.

Felix looked expressively at you, raising his eyebrows above his brown doe eyes, and then looked down, smiling warmly and a little shyly.

Your eyes started to fill up a little bit with tears. Felix Catton, what were you doing? Where were you three years ago, two years ago, and even almost a year ago?

That summer when your parents brought you to Saltburn flashed through your mind, you saw Felix for the first time since your almost childhood games. He grew up a lot, became very tall, his voice became deep and velvety, and the slightly angular teenage beauty finally turned into the impeccable beauty of a young man. You fell in love with him those days. But along with these changes, his personality also began to transform. He was still kind and sweet, but a slight harmless arrogance and childish mischief not so rarely began to manifest themselves as selfishness, whims and some kind of narcissism. He had reached an age when the girls' former teenage crushes had turned into insanity and a struggle for his attention. Felix began to bask in the countless girlish admiration.

It upset you, although you were still his friend, his girlfriend's status didn't seem to shine on you, no matter how much you or even your parents, especially your father, wanted it. But you never told Felix and he never knew. You gave hints, but he was so unobservant and self-absorbed that he didn't notice any of this. It also negated your feelings.

The last hope was the moment when you entered Oxford together. You thought this was the right time to get serious, think about your priorities and start learning to live on your own, but it seems that for Felix this was just an excuse to finally break away, disappearing at all the parties in the area, charming the entire campus, taking advantage of all the opportunities and all the girls that life provided him.

This all finally put an end to your last feelings for him, and you moved on, arranging your academic and personal life without his participation and hopes about it. You finally felt absolutely fine and calm, especially having Oliver in your life now.

And now he was telling you all this?

"It was a wonderful summer, I was so happy to spend it with you as much as I could. And I'm already looking forward to returning to Oxford in the autumn, where we could hang out more often."

He smiled shyly, looking into your eyes.

"What about... all the girls?" that's all you were able to say at this moment.

"To hell with the girls. I've been hanging out enough, what haven't I seen there? They're different every day, but they're all the same in the end. And you're the same every day, yet so… different."

At these words, goosebumps ran through your body, and you almost started crying.

"I'm... sorry, it's all kind of sudden. I do not know what to say..." you would have refused another person right away, but you were not able to refuse him here and now, whether it was because you did not have the recourses for this conversation, whether the remnants of old feelings for him woke up in you, or you did not want to offend him, you didn't know yourself. Also, it was not a direct proposal for date or something, after all.

Felix looked at you anxiously, fidgeting on his lounger.

"O-of course, I'm sorry. No pressure, I'm sorry, Y/N. You don't have to answer me right now, I just wanted to tell you how I'm feeling now, that's all."

You nodded and, throwing a towel over yourself and holding back tears, went into the house. Catton Jr. sadly watched you go with a puppy dog look.

* * *

Fortunately, this situation did not manifest itself in any way later. Felix had been acting almost as if nothing happened for several days, and just in case, you decided not to display any special joy when you were communicating with Oliver. What was gotten into him? Probably, after all, he was jealous of his friend for you, because he invited you both this summer, and instead of communicating primarily with the young owner of the house, you and Oliver began to hang out much more with each other. His old and faithful friend and his new friend, whom Felix was very interested in and wanted to help in some way. Yes, perhaps this was really not quite fair, you decided, and began to search for a balance in communicating with both of them.

However, the balance was maintained during the day, but at night the scales often tilted to one particular side. But that wasn't the kind of thing Felix or anyone in this house should know how and with whom did you spend your restless nights.

* * *

"Happy Birthday, Ollie!" you kissed the guy softly, gazing lovingly into his eyes. He looked back at you with adoration. "Ollie." He loved that name when you said it. You were sitting on his bed in his room, it was a beautiful sunny day, the light played on your faces and was especially brightly reflected in the azure eyes of a man who became a year older that day.

"Thank you, my dear Y/N," said the birthday boy, "What is it?"

"If you open it, you'll find out," biting your lip in anticipation, you teased him.

"Oh," he breathed, tearing up the gift wrap, "I do love the culture and history of Ancient Greece, especially its myths. That's fantastic, thanks, Y/N. Although you should know that this is not your most important gift to me."

"Then what is it?"

"You."

Oliver moved closer, covered your hand with his and kissed you gently. Then he took you in his arms, getting out of bed, and began to spin you in the air while you were laughing loudly. Dust motes in the air were spinning and dancing with you too, which were revealed now by your movements and by a bright light shining through the windows of the old manor. You both wanted this moment to last forever.

"And now excuse me, Y/N, I need to get ready – Felix has prepared some kind of surprise for me, we will be back in the evening. See you at the party! I'm looking forward to seeing you in your party dress," Quick winked at you.

* * *

"Felix, look, Felix, please, let me just explain…"

"I think the best thing is that you go home after your party… It is just weird… You’re fucking liar, Ollie! Why would you lie?"

He would tell him why. To attract Felix's fading attention. He wouldn't have seen the need to lie to you about it separately, but since it happened that way…

"Oh, Ollie, poor thing..." that was the first time you called him that when you heard his terrible story. The only time before Saltburn. Your watery eyes, raised eyebrows, worried look. You hugged him comfortingly. For the first and only time before Saltburn. At that moment, he realized that he was ready to come up with a hundred more lies so that you would look at him like that again, so that you would hug him like that again. It was worth it.

"I just wanted to be your friend."

"Look, let’s just get through tonight."

"Can you not tell your family, please? And... Y/N" Oliver looked at Felix pleadingly.

"Of course not. I don’t want her to be disappointed. Fucking hell! It is dark enough as it is!" he replied, retreating deeper into the house.

* * *

You didn't know when they returned, that Oliver went straight to his room, where, crying and screaming into the sheets all his pain, confusion and frustration, he spent the rest of the evening.

Well, now it was time to try on your roles.

You chose a Hermia costume from a Midsummer Night's Dream – a light mint-colored dress just below the knee, baring your shoulders, a crimson fabric passed through your body, which went behind your back and joined in the back area. You had sandals with small heels on your feet. Twirling around in front of the mirror, you left the room satisfied. You headed on to the party early hoping to talk to Oliver, but you met Felix in the hallway with a bottle of tequila in his hand. It seems he was already somewhat drunk.

"Y/N!" he said, "Ah, you look amazing."

Who would say – the guy himself was an angel in the flesh. Literally this time. Golden wings peeked out from behind his back and gave him a festive look, although the rest of his clothes was more than casual - a white tank top and blue jeans, he looked stunning nonetheless.

"Where are you going? The party is that way," Catton Jr. laughed.

"I wanted to find Oliver, I need to talk to him, I haven't seen him since this morning..."

"Listen, don't," Felix's face darkened, "Just don't, let's go have some fun."

"What do you mean..." you started, while Felix, gently putting his hand on your back, led you to the nearest patio bench. He lit a cigarette and began his speech, "Y/N, do you think some people can... keep an eye on others? And to behave strangely in general, not like... all other normal people... not like us."

You didn't understand what he was leading to. Felix slowly exhaled cigarette smoke and continued.

"Do you remember... that TV show, Big Brother? Farleigh got me hooked on it after all. And so, I thought after that, maybe we are also being watched ... sometimes more than we can imagine?"

"Felix, I really don't understand what you're talking about, just tell me directly."

"Don't communicate with Oliver. He's on his own weird mind and generally..."

"What? Felix, it's not funny, please don't talk about Oliver like that just because we started communicating with each other more than with you. And even more so if..."

Felix covered your hand with his and looked at you with a speaking gaze that clearly insisted on his position. You pulled your hand back.

"I like Oliver. He's a good guy."

"Oh my God, Y/N! He wanked at you with Venetia!" the combination of alcohol and cigarettes made the guy more emotional than usual.

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I saw it myself, as he stood in the bathroom, with a cigarette in one hand and his junk in the other. He was looking at you and Venetia when you were sunbathing under the windows, and he told me himself that he was staring and doing… it... at both of you. I just wanted to go in and tell him that mom was calling him to try on a suit..."

The story seemed both true and not to you, you froze, unable to realize it and even more so to believe it.

"I told him that he had a lack of girls in his life, and that we would fix it when we returned to Oxford. He kind of agreed."

Your lips were shaking, you were barely able to control your trembling and coming up tears. An image of Eddie popped into your head. A guy from last summer, another Felix's friend from Oxford, whom Felix invited to spend the summer in Saltburn. Everything was fine, and you were all chatting nicely, when suddenly they quarreled with Felix because Eddie slept with his sister. You didn't even know it was developing this way until it happened, and it was too late for everyone. And you even thought at one point that Eddie might like you. God, are you such a blind fool? All these events seemed painfully familiar to you right now, but you didn't want them to happen again for real. Not with him. Not with your Ollie.

"Tequila? " Felix suggested, and you silently grabbed the bottle, taking many big sips, "Hey, take it easy..."

Felix patted you on the shoulder, and then tucked a stray lock behind your ear, "Don't get upset about this weirdo, Y/N. He'll come and go, but you and I are here forever. Forget it."

He put his hand on yours again, looking at you with his gleaming brown eyes. But you were not up to it, you pulled your hand out for the second time and ran away with quick, sharp steps, taking the bottle of tequila with you.

At that moment, Farleigh sauntered up to Felix from the other side of the courtyard. He sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. "And I've told you that this Oliver is a little. Damn. Freak," he said, gesturing with the cig in his hand, "Have never been wrong about my antipathies."

Felix, not even particularly surprised that Farleigh had heard everything, only replied, "Yes, maybe you were right...", but he did not say about the main Oliver’s lie. Felix had promised. And he kept his promises. At least some of them.

* * *

You went to the party in the main hall, where people were already hanging out and music was playing. The bottle in your hands was almost empty and helped you not to cry this evening. Although perhaps your sadness was growing into more of an anger, because for the second hour straight you had been scrolling in your mind through the images of previous and this summer in your head. Eddie, Venetia… Oliver… Venetia… You also remembered how nice and quite lively he was with her, especially at first. You thought it was just a courtesy to the daughter of the owners of the house, but now you were very unsure about it. Moreover, you remembered how, somewhere in June, Farleigh hinted that he saw them together at night under the castle window, but there was no confirmation of this, and the situation was forgotten. Or maybe he was right all along? Oh, stupid you.

You walked through the crowd, smiled briefly and nodded to Lady Elspeth, who was dressed as Titania. A beautiful look, but you were not in the mood to approach and compliment her right now, even Sir James's knight costume, which completely did not match the fantasy outfit of his fairy queen, stopped making you smile. Taking a cocktail from the waiters, you stood against the wall, looking at the people sulkily. Venetia was dancing somewhere in the crowd. You wanted to approach her terribly, but you didn't know at all how or what to start a conversation with her. Everything seemed stupid and pointless.

Happiness

And loneliness

A familiar song started playing, the lines of which were now especially bitterly perceived by your clouded mind. Happiness... was it really there? There were so many questions running through your head. How dared he peep on you, on you and Venetia, and maybe not only, and what was he doing at the same time… You were furious and frustrated at the same time.

Happiness seems to be loneliness

And loneliness killed my world

How could you guess, when you're only thinking of yourself

And how you look to other girls?

The bass dropped, and the hall exploded with a powerful electronic bridge. At that moment, Oliver entered the room from the other end. He was wearing a dazzling white suit with beautiful oak leaf embroidery, the jacket barely concealed his bare torso, as he was shirtless. He had antlers on his head.

He walked deeper into the room with a slow, confident gait, as if he was looking for someone. Purple, pink and blue lights from the spotlight danced on his face, and he himself was periodically disappeared in the rays of the strobe light as he pierced through the crowd.

Happiness seems to be loneliness

And loneliness killed my world

How could you guess, when you're only thinking of yourself

And how you look to other girls?

Yes, he was looking for you. Your legs almost carried you to him on their own. But you didn't want to come over. You just decided to stand against the wall, watching what happens next. And you shouldn't decide to do that, because he found some girl in the crowd, bent down and whispered something in her ear. They began to dance slightly to the rhythm of the song. Something moved inside you. But you were already drunk enough to, instead of frustration, angrily come up to the waiter near the "lovebirds" and defiantly start drinking two shots in a row right there.

Oliver, seeing you, exclaimed "Y/N!", immediately recoiling from this girl.

"Oh, you noticed me! Must have been looking for me for a long time?" you remarked venomously.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking for you right now."

Your heart sank into your heels.

"Then who is it?"

"It doesn't matter. We'll talk later, please," Oliver said gloomily, looking you up and down, but saying nothing more.

He went on into the crowd, and you remained standing, deafened by the sounds of screaming music about happiness and loneliness. Soon enough, you saw that Oliver had found Venetia, and she hugged him while he started talking in her ear. She shrugged cheerfully, throwing her arms over his shoulders, and began swinging her hips next to him. Your heart was almost broken. You drank another shot, grabbed from the waiter's tray, and headed in the other direction, noticing that Felix had entered the hall.

"Y/N, how are you? I hope you're having fun. Oh..." the guy exclaimed joyfully, realizing that you were taking his hand and leading him through the crowd to the exit. The crowd did not end both inside and outside the manor – everything was filled with people shouting, dancing, drinking and kissing to loud music. You were drunk too and didn't even fully understand what you wanted to do, but you knew for sure that you needed to go to a place where there would be silence and no one around.

And so you had reached the maze.

[bengiyo]

GMMTV 2024 Part 1 Stray Thoughts

I have finished viewing the trailers. I'm feeling relatively cool about most of it, and I had a strong negative reaction to the announcements about two adaptations.

Here is what intrigued me in order:

My Golden Blood - When Joss and Mond rose off the ground, I also ascended. Joss and Gawin wasn't on my radar as a potential option, but I am so here for it.

Wadee Gooday - I'm so here for the adult romance, and Thor is here. A boxer and a doctor have such fascinating potential.

The Trainee - OffGun workplace romance and Love Score is playing. We are so fucking back.

On Sale - TayNew in a ghost romcom? We are so fucking back.

Pluto - Film and Namtam and Namtam is lying? I am here for it.

Kidnap - Ohm is back in BL and they gave him a gun and a little brother who shares his name. This is probably gonna be a mess but it looks fun.

Only Boo - Not sure how I feel about an idol trainee show, but Louis is here.

We Are - Why are there four couples? Engineering? Hopefully, this is going to be like MSP, and let us put this behind us.

High School Frenemy - I will have to watch School 2013 before this airs because it looks like the original was well-received and this trailer just looks like boys fighting the whole time.

My Love Mix-Up - Fourth doesn't seem to do slapstick well in this trailer, and Gem doesn't look serious enough. New Hashimoto doesn't have that glint in her eye. New Aida looks solid. I'm skeptical. More thoughts below.

Ossan's Love - Literally why?

Summer Night - Phuwin and Dunk pratfall kiss bait into het nonsense with a BL side. No thanks.

My Precious the series - I feel like any hype I had for this has evaporated. I'm past it.

Ploy's Yearbook - Apparently step-siblings fall for each other in this? No thanks.

Enigma 2 - No idea what's going on but it has clear vibes.

Alright, I'm just gonna say it: The My Love Mix-Up trailer was not good. I love Fourth and Gemini a lot. I think Fourth is really talented, and I think he and Gemini make a good team. That being said, there is a reason KH continues to get content shared on this website, and right now I don't think Fourth and Gem showed the juice to match Michieda Shunsuke and Meguro Ren.

I don't think Fourth is going to generate meme material as Thai Aoki the way Michieda did if this trailer is indicative of where he's going. I don't think Gemini is hitting the seriousness of Ida well here at all. Ida is a demisexual icon and so important to the genre, and I just don't think Gemini has this in him right now.

For those wondering why I feel so strongly about this, I will remind you that Kieta Hatsukoi is free on Viki.

We are now seeing cross-cultural adaptations of BL work, and I think that it's incredibly important to view the source work before we get into big discussions about what each adaptation does well. I am so concerned about Kieta Hatsukoi being adapted because it's so distinctly Japanese in its stylings and the dramatic tension underpinning it. The Thai trailer feels lacking to me because the angst felt so ungrounded. Fourth can moon over Gemini just fine, but there's a specificity to the mooning that he just isn't hitting here.

I will be talking about My Love Mix-Up Thailand as an adaptation of Kieta Hatsukoi. I will not be entertaining debates or discussions about it as an independent work. The trailer has called directly to the Japanese origins and it will be judged as such. If you haven't or won't watch the original or read the source work, please don't tag me, because "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore."

[cellophaine]

Can i request a Professor Matt x Student Reader (she's like 21) where he tutors her and they spend so much time together he ends up falling in love with her but doesn't say anything bc he doesn't wanna scare her away one night he's walking her to her place it starts to rain they share a moment and he ends up kissing her she feels the same way its sweet and innocent (no smut plz i just want some fluff)🥺

Lost & Found

Pairing: Professor!Matt Murdock x GN!Student!Reader

Warning: professor x student relationship (nothing shady), troubled family matters, fluff, bad writing.

Author's Note: Happy exactly one year and two months since I received this request! I'm sorry for taking too long to answer, and I hope you will still enjoy it. If not, that's okay too!

Share and feedback are greatly appreciated!

GIF Credit

"Are you … listening?"

As if the fog was lifted, the curtains were drawn, and the stupor evaporated, you found yourself in Professor Murdock's office once more. Only then did you realize that you never left it in the first place. You ran your hands over your face as if to physically remove the protective film wrapping around your skin so tight you couldn't breathe. All you wanted to do was to sink into the softness of your bed and stare at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep.

"Sorry, professor. I'm here. I was just– I've just remembered something I need to do, uhm … after this."

You forced your tired eyes to focus on the man sitting on the other side of the dark wooden desk. Your vision roamed over the pair of red-lensed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the slightly tousled but well-kept hair, the harbour grey dress shirt on his proper posture opposing your slouching. Everything about him was a contrasting reflection of you, and the realization made you sit straighter in your chair.

"Are you okay? You were quiet for a little bit there. You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I'm great! I'm sorry, what was the question?"

You attempted a smile, not that it mattered, but you hoped it would somehow weave into your voice, casting a guise of genuine interest on top of the fact that you didn't pay attention.

"Is everything okay at home?"

You cast a tentative glance at him, taking in the slight frown on his lips. The question sounded foreign, slightly out of place, as if it had no right to be so ambiguous and unintentionally intrusive at the same time. You did not doubt that he was annoyed with your inattentiveness, which was what landed you in his office to begin with. You hoped that was all to it.

"No– I mean, yes! Everything is fine. Why do you ask?"

The words rushed out in one breath as if they were strung together and tugged hard by the defensive pull of your voice. If your abrupt outburst offended Professor Murdock, he didn't show it. His face didn't give anything away, and certainly not his body language, which stayed hard to decipher. But you tried anyway and drew to the conclusion of nothing.

"I received your midterm report, and it wasn't something I expected from you, especially after the excellent research you handed in a month ago. You've missed deadlines on recent assignments, and, on top of that, Connor has told me you haven't been paying much attention in class."

An icy shroud of dread settled over you. You knew you didn't do too well on midterm since you were sidetracked by a family matter on top of a busy schedule that left you no room to breathe, but to get snitched on by your professor's teaching assistant? That was the new low you didn't expect to hit. You tried to go for just enough to pass, but even then, it was proven that the bare minimum was out of your reach.

"What did you expect from me, then?"

The question was harsh, like a bitter retaliation that didn't come out right. In all truthfulness, the indignant remark was weak, just like how you felt at the moment. The unwelcoming feeling of inadequacy brought you back to the years of living under your mother's roof. You felt like you could lose it at the mere mention of expectations, of something you could only chase after, never able to fulfill. You released a shuddering sigh. The recent incident with your mother really messed with your head.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat; his body angled toward you in a careful manner as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

"You're a bright student, and … forgive me if I overstep, but I feel like there is something else going on outside of class that affected your performance."

His carefully chosen words manifested in an acute assessment pierced through your guarded exterior. The last sliver of resolve held onto its fleeting moments by the frown on your lips before fading away.

"Nothing I can't handle, professor."

The futile attempt sounded hollow even in your own ears, and you had a creeping suspicion that it didn't escape your perceptive teacher.

"I'm here to listen if you want to talk. My doors are always open."

Your frown deepened. How many times have you heard that sentence? One too many times, from one too many people. School counsellors, friends that didn't really mean what they said, and even your own mother. At this point, they sounded like a remix of each other, preaching the same words for the moral satisfaction of those who said it to you rather than your own good. What was the difference between them and what your Criminal Law professor had to say?

"Thank you. But like I said, everything is great."

You kept your tone light, letting the brusqueness mark the finality of this discussion.

"Is that all you wanted to discuss with me? Can I go now?"

You couldn't wait to leave this room and its confined undertone, but your professor motioned for you to stay. He opened the drawer on his right; his hand rifled over the Braille-labeled files until he eventually stopped and pulled out a slim folder. He pushed it towards you, gesturing you to open the file. You were met with your report, littered in red ink and Connor's neat handwriting, and on top of the page was a pitiful capital F.

"You failed midterm. For this reason and the fact that you have not handed in your last few assignments, I have to assign mandatory tutor sessions for you with two hours a week at the minimum. You are required to check-in with me every other Thursday during my office hours. I will reserve a time slot just for you, and I don't take absence of any reason lightly, unless it's absolutely necessary."

His stern tone sobered you, and you realized how serious your situation was. This meeting wasn't a gentle reminder but a warning of what was at risk.

"I'm sorry, but I can't afford to do that. Between school and work, I really can't."

Being one of the core staff at Sugar & Spice, your schedule was filled with classes and long hours at the bakery. The manager was too stubborn to accept that the shop needed more people, which made the job that was once easy and nice turn into a test of your patience and limit on a weekly basis. You lived close to campus, but the shop was so out of the way, making the convenient location wasn't worth it. You stayed for the above minimum wage, free food and drinks, and the hours that helped you stay afloat in this expensive city.

"Retaking classes will only cost you more financially as the faculty stated at the beginning of the semester. You will have to take summer classes if you want to catch up with your program in September, and that will only slow down your progress at Columbia."

You had to admit it; your professor was right. You dug yourself into a hole, even though it was involuntary. As much as you wanted to blame it on your circumstances, there was no point. After a few moments to calm your frantic mind and racing heart, you sighed, knowing you had no choice.

"Alright. I'll take your advice. I'll do it."

You closed the file before you, finding the red ink overwhelming your anxious state.

"Do you have any recommendation for tutors? I don't really … know anyone here."

It was hard to admit and even harder to say it out loud, but it was already out there.

"There's no need for that. I'll personally see to your progress. I willl be your tutor."

The library was crowded, a rarity for a late Friday afternoon. You eyed uneasily at the textbooks, laptops, and water bottles strewn on the tables, taking up more space than they needed to. It wasn't worth fighting for a spot with study groups that seemed to spawn nonstop. You turned to your professor, asking if he wanted to move to another area, and he was almost too eager to agree.

You took professor Murdock to the second floor, finding your familiar way to a small spot overlooking the courtyard, away from the buzzing of rustling paper and whispering people. You looked at your professor, taking in the way his body language seemed more relaxed than it was downstairs. He reached to feel the table before setting his messenger bag on it.

"It's quieter here."

The easy smile on his face made the casual assessment feel like a compliment. You nodded, getting yourself situated beside him.

"I know. I usually come here to slee– study. Study. Between classes."

Your face heated up at the terrible save. To your relief, professor Murdock didn't seem to find fault in your slip-up if the small smile and the quick raise of his brows were any indications. He simply suggested you start with your textbook alongside your failed report. Your study session began.

You worked in comfortable silence between questions and explanations. You appreciated how professor Murdock allowed you to re-explore the concepts and lectures mostly on your own with his help. The sky outside darkened as the time moved with the number of notes you had taken, which was a lot. The only reminder of time was a rumble in your stomach, which felt like thunder in the small, quiet space. You checked your phone to see that you still had about a half hour left. You would have ignored it if it wasn't for the gurgling sound, louder this time, once again reminding you that you missed lunch. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you attempted to cover the aftermath by clearing your throat. You hastily wrapped an arm around your midriff, hoping the thick layer of your sweater would muffle any impending noise. You were about to go back to your notes when your professor spoke.

"Shall we take a break?"

You shook your head, then immediately chastised yourself for being a forgetful, inconsiderate fool.

"No, sir. I'm alright. I'm on a roll right now, and I want to keep that going."

His head slightly tilted to the side, and from the new position, the dull light above and the fleeting sunset outside the window cast its dying rays over his face like a moody painting. It sharpened the angles on his face, sculpting a grimness in his features — a beautiful contrast to his softness, his kindness.

"Are you sure?"

The concern and warmth in his voice only fueled your determination to keep going. You wouldn't dare inconvenience him in the smallest way.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Turning to your notebook, you quickly picked up your train of thought and proceeded from where you had left off. Professor Murdock took that as a sign for him to go back to his papers. And you continued to work in silence.

Some time passed until a small beep sounded beside you and pulled you out of your head. Professor Murdock touched his watch and turned to you.

"Your two hours of this week are done."

You blew out a sigh. The session went by quicker than you thought and was not half as bad as expected.

"When will you be free next week?"

You flipped through your journal, disturbing some grocery and drugstore receipts until you reached the page for next week.

"Oh, shoot."

You muttered to yourself, your eyes flitting over all the reds, greens and blues filling up the week like an intense game of territory, except for one little spot after an eight-hour shift at Sugar & Spice and your check-in with him. You wanted to have the rest of the precious half of the afternoon and all night to yourself, doing nothing and maybe watching mindless content while tuning them out simultaneously. But then, the thought of the expensive and unignorable fee of retaking his class appealed to your logical side, and you grimaced, knowing that it won.

"Uhm … I have some time to spare after my office hours with you on Thursday."

You glanced at him, watching a strand of hair artfully fall on his forehead as he quickly tapped through his device.

"Is that okay?"

After a moment, he gave you a nod.

"That will do. I can give do a quick check-in, then tutor you afterwards."

"That sounds good."

You added the date to your schedule, already mentally mapping out the quickest bus route from the university to your apartment. Professor Murdock gathered his stuff, and you made no move to do the same. His hand searched for the last of his document, which sat next to your notes. You gently slid the file into his path, and he acknowledged your assistance with a small smile. When he had gathered everything, his blazer in the crook of his arm, the chair tucked neatly back to where it was, only then he realized you weren't coming. You looked at him at his lack of movement and cleared your throat.

"I'm just going to stay here a little while longer. I think I can get this part done."

His mouth opened, then closed again at the absence of an answer. He gave you an understanding nod.

"See you in class tomorrow, professor."

"I will see you. Have a good night."

You returned to your notes, tracing back to where you left off. The gentle taps of professor Murdock's cane melted into the wooden floor in soft echoes as he made his way out. Soon, it was just the rapid scratches of your pen on paper.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't pay attention to the presence of another person entering the room. When they stopped before your table and lingered within the peripheral of your vision, only then you looked up and was greeted by the unexpected sight of your Criminal Law professor.

You straightened up, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Professor! Did you forget something?"

He shook his head, and you noticed his flustered face and the tousled hair, which looked like it was gently run through by the wispy hands of the wind.

"No! No, I didn't. I'm just here to give you this."

He held out a brown paper bag and only let go once you had a hold of it. With a peek inside the bag, you recognized the logo-patterned wax paper from the sandwich and soup shop just a little distance beyond the campus' ground. You hesitated, taken aback by the oddness of the situation.

"Is it … for me?"

He bobbed his head, confirming the obvious.

"Take a break. You've done enough for today."

Speechless and still confused, your mind scrambled for something to fill in the silence.

"Isn't food … not allowed in here?"

From the lower angle, his face tilted towards you, and the red glasses slid lower on his nose, exposing a part of his eyes. He flashed you a cheeky smile and what resembled a wink from the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

You couldn't help a cheesy smile from breaking out, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Uhm … thank you, professor Murdock."

He flicked his hand as if to say it wasn't anything.

"There's no need to thank me. And, please, call me Matt."

You swallowed, stammering to oblige his request.

"Thank you … Matt."

The soft chuckle was endearing and unexpected, like almost everything else that happened tonight.

"Have a good night. Don't stay out too late."

"I promise I won't."

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, leaving you to the brown bag and quietude once more. You rested your face in your hands before giving your flushed cheeks a few taps as if doing so could take away the embarrassment. You took out the wrapped sandwich and a small bottle of water. He must have heard the noise your stomach made. You exhaled deeply before placing the water on the table, taking out the sandwich and unwrapping it. You took a bite of the sandwich, feeling it warming you up from the inside even though the food itself was gradually getting cold.

You thought of professor Murdock while you ate, of his kindness and thoughtfulness for someone like you who was a stranger to him at the very core once you had stripped down all the social niceties. You couldn't remember the last time someone bought you food, much less take care of you like this. Maybe he felt pity for you, a failing student who couldn't look after herself, the logical part of you screamed. But a smaller yet just as persistent part of your heart whispered otherwise. He helped you because he cared about you. Maybe … you deserved that. Your eyes swelled, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You aggressively wiped it off, feeling foolish for crying over a little sandwich. You took a deep breath through your damp nose, trying to control your emotions by playing with the brown bag to distract yourself. When you piqued inside, a decent amount of napkins was at the bottom, and that, somehow, was the final stroke. He included napkins for you. You put the sandwich down and put the heels of your palms against your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of tears coming. You allowed yourself to cry a little more before finishing the sandwich and leaving for the night, your belly full and your heart warm.

Less than a week later, you found yourself, surprisingly, not spacing out during professor's Murdock lecture. Instead, you just felt sleepy. You shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before. You went from being unable to sleep to working on the homework to falling asleep at your desk just to wake up three hours later, groggy and late for class. You would have a closing shift at the bakery later today, only to return at 7 AM the next day, leaving you only an hour to travel to Columbia afterwards. You were exhausted already, and you didn't know how you would survive tomorrow through a full shift on top of your check-in and tutor session. You thought of injecting yourself with the crappy coffee they sell at the cafeteria that always made your stomach rumble in the most unpleasant way. But it worked. Perhaps all the stir from the coffee kept you bright-eyed and wide awake.

You rubbed at your eyes, hoping to clear the drowsiness that had started closing in at your waterlines. Bracing a hand on your chin, you stared your watery eyes at the big screen projector, willing your mind to read the words. But the room was warm, Matt's voice was soothing, and the boring slides with uniformed font served as visual comfort. If you were a little more awake, you would have been startled at the ease of thinking of your teacher by his first name. But for now, a little shut-eye wouldn't hurt, would it?

…

You jolted awake in your chair to a friendly face. So friendly that it alarmed you, making you jump in your seat. Your professor held his hands up, showing that he sensed, or felt, or rather, heard the screech of your chair.

"Are you alright?"

You cleared your eyes, blinking a few times to confirm that your teacher was crouching at your table, a look of concern in his expression. As a reflex, your hand shot up to touch your mouth, touching the moisture gathered at the corner. Even though you knew your professor couldn't see that, you still felt conscious enough to wipe the drool off with your sleeve.

"Class ended about ten minutes ago. Are you okay?"

Class ended. Class ended. It meant you had wasted your precious time you could have used to run to the subway to catch the train going to Greenwich Village, where your cursed job was. You looked at the time on your phone just to panic even more before hastily gathering all the contents on your desk.

"Thank you for … uhm … letting me know! I'm so sorry but I have to leave right now I'm so so late for work."

You were on the wind, and you couldn't stop, not even for a breather. Your notes and pen were shoved untidily in your bag as you hoisted the tote bag over your shoulder. You shot an apologetic tone towards your confused and concerned teacher.

"See you tomorrow, professor Murdock!"

Just like that, you took off from the awkward situation, leaving the consequences to be dealt with later.

You felt like you were already dead, arriving at your check-in with five minutes to spare. You sat on the bench outside professor Murdock's office with your head on your folded knees. You could still smell the sugar cookies woven into your hair, cinnamon hugged your clothes, and the sweet scent of everything else clung to your body. Your nail beds were decorated with flour, and you tried to pick them off. You had to stay late at the bakery for the time you missed. You barely slept before coming back to open the shop. And now, you anxiously waited in suspense about what was coming and another two hours of studying with your professor, who had been nothing but kind to you, and you had been nothing but a nuisance to him.

Speaking of which, the door opened slightly, and you could hear the tail end of a conversation that seemed to hang onto the more awkward end. A woman's voice, closer to where you were sitting, profusely thanked professor Murdock for his help, to which his smaller reply said he was only doing his job. The woman's voice increasingly affirmed that her breakthrough in last week's assignment was solely his doing. The conversation went back and forth and nowhere else until it finally settled on an overenthusiastic goodbye and "see you in class." The door finally opened fully, and a girl your age walked out. You recognized her being in the same classes as you, always sitting in the front row. Her cheeks were flushed as she walked away without paying attention to you. You were glad. Things didn't have to get even more awkward had she known you were eavesdropping, even though you weren't trying to.

You distanced yourself from the uncomfortable seat and announced your presence. Professor Murdock, standing at his desk, beckoned you to come in.

"How are you?"

He asked with genuine curiosity, making a part of you swell with delight. Your heart pounded in your chest, eager to swallow the attention he gave you whole, like a dying plant at the first drop of water after days of being abandoned.

"I'm… I'm fine. Just a little tired."

You lingered at the back of the chair, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

"I'm very sorry about falling asleep in your class yesterday. It was not my intention to do that."

He chuckled softly, dismissively waving a hand, almost as if he had already forgotten about it.

"Hey, it's okay. I know that my class can be boring. I should switch it up if I want my students to actually learn something."

Your face burned bright red with embarrassment. It burned so deep and hot that you missed the mild and casual sarcastic note in his tone. You lowered your head, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes.

"No, it's my fault. I'm very sorry. I will try not to do that again."

You willed your voice to stay steady and hoped it would fool your professor. The thought of every humiliating moment you had accumulated throughout the entirety of your relationship with him nagged at the back of your head, too stubborn to let go. Oblivious to the conflict being played repeatedly in your head, professor Murdock assured you it was okay and gestured for you to take a seat.

The check-in went better than you thought. He noted your improvements and gave you pointers on how you could improve. As you were left working on your assignment, the sound of the Braille keyboard, rustling papers, and gentle hums of air conditioning drew a small yawn from you. It seemed like you had been trapped in a misty, never-ending fatigue and functioned solely based on will and just enough sleep to make it by.

You were beyond exhausted, but you couldn't fall asleep again after the spectacle you made of yourself yesterday. Your eyes watered and blurred the sentences before you. None of the words followed the ruled lines. They were a scrawling mess of half-nonsense and whatever you could draw from your cluttered mind. You pressed a silent yawn into the palm of your hand before tapping your cheeks, making muted pats on your skin. When that didn't work, you reached for your travel mug of lukewarm coffee and welcomed the burned liquid on your tongue. You grimaced, wishing you had smelled it before taking a sip.

Professor Murdock cleared his throat from across the table, and you shot up straight like an arrow, nervously looking at him like a student who was caught playing hooky in the washroom. He pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes behind the red lenses.

"We can call it a day here."

You looked at your phone, seeing you still had another fifty minutes left. He fixed you with a gaze in your direction, his hands linked on the table, almost as if expecting you to comply. You translated it into displease, even though he hadn't explicitly expressed so.

"But we are not done yet. There's almost an hour left."

"I know. I thought you could use a break. You've done enough already."

How could he tell that you were tired? Was it because you were quieter? Was it because you didn't ask as many questions as last week? Did he think you were a nuisance, and that your presence was grating and unbearable? Didn't he want you around? Of course, who would? Not even your own family wanted to be around you. At that thought, you felt the familiar sting of rejection, reminding you of your past. You didn't want to relive it at this moment, so you focused on getting out of there as soon as possible. You closed your notebook harder than necessary and hastily gathered your stuff on his desk. You hated how you felt so helpless, so emotional so quickly at the most mundane thing. His gentle calls for your attention were ignored and brushed aside as if his words were only dust. You had gotten all of your stuff in, but before you could leave the way you did last week, his hand shot out to hold you in place, startling you. His touch was warm on your wrist, firm yet gentle.

"I hope you are not offended by what I suggested."

You dismissed him with a light scoff.

"Offended? No! You're right, I am a little tired, and I don't want to be a burden. I'm sure you have better things to do."

His hold on you tightened, not to the point of hurting. It was to accentuate what he had to say next, and he hoped the true meaning of his concern would get to your senses before the irrational part of you would.

"No, that's not what I meant. I thought we could stop here since you seem tired."

He took a brief pause, considering his next words.

"Did you come here after your job? At a bake shop or a cafe, perhaps?"

How did he know? You repeated your thought to him, and seeing your professor gradually turn pink was an odd sight. He scratched the back of his neck, drawing your attention to the flushed skin there.

"This, uhm, might sound creepy, but … I smelled baked goods on you. Cinnamon, sugar cookies, and coffee, too. I took a wild guess."

You blinked, surprised at his astute observation.

"You're … right. I work at a bakery. How can you tell?"

He tapped his nose with the other hand.

"I just … I have a sensitive nose. Works better than my eyes. My friend compares me to a dog, all the time."

You weren't sure if you could laugh. The broad smile and soft chuckle that brightened his feature told you it was okay. So you did, feeling the tension slowly retreat until it disappeared completely. You shook your head.

"That is … impressive. Wow! I work at Sugar & Spice in Greenwich."

"Oh! Frank raves about how fresh your bread is all the time."

"We use an actual flour mill to make our flour! It's huge, and it takes up so much space in the shop, but that's how we get fresh flour, so …"

You felt yourself inching deeper into a tangent, so you stopped yourself. Why did you have to ruin a perfectly fine moment with unnecessary comments? At the very least, your professor didn't seem to mind your rambling.

"I thought you could use some time to yourself. You seem tired, and I don't want to force you to work more than you already have."

His reason seemed rational now that you had stopped overthinking. His hold on your wrist made you want to open up, something you hadn't done in a long time.

"Can I tell you something?"

He nodded.

"I'm … it's … really embarrassing that I need one-on-one tutoring. I've always been a slow learner, and it seems like nothing has changed after … all these years."

You quickly added.

"And I do appreciate that you're doing this for me. This, all of this overthinking, is just … something I have to work on."

His hand gave another firm press.

"I mean this with all of my heart. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone needs help every once in a while. I want you to know there is strength in accepting that you need the help."

Your eyes widened, feeling the weight of his words seep into that part of your mind that had always craved the empathy you rarely allowed yourself. You sniffed dryly, suppressing the wave of emotion that threatened to break. A whisper of gratitude was all you could manage. Your professor nodded and let your wrist go, and the absence of his hand took you by surprise. You found yourself yearning for more of his warmth.

"Go home, and get some rest. Don't worry too much about the lesson."

You thanked him again, said your goodbye, and left without the weight on your shoulders when you first came in. That night, when you settled in bed with an audiobook on your headphones, your mind tuned it out. But it wasn't wandering anywhere like it usually would. You followed the path your mind was on, finding yourself lost in the memories of Matt and what happened that afternoon.

You wanted to do something nice for him, and what would be better than surprise cupcakes on no special occasion at all? Your heart pounded against its cage, and when you passed the decorated paper box to him, your hands touched. His fingers lingered on yours, and before you could truly revel in the sensation, it went away in a blink of an eye.

"Thank you for this. I can't bake to save my life, so a treat like this is rare."

"Maybe I can change that. I can bake for you."

You didn't think much of what you had just said, but your overthinking mind would agonize about that later. What exactly did you offer? It's not only baked goods, and he certainly doesn't need your companionship, you thought. You wanted to extend a part of yourself to him and the entirety of your affection that seemed to slowly but gradually get harder to ignore the more time you spent with him. It had grown so large that your mortal body could barely contain it.

"This is great! You didn't have to do this."

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me."

His hands searched for the rim along the handle, tugging the box open, revealing the sweets inside.

"They smell heavenly."

His face brightened, and you felt your own warmed at his praise. He took one in his hand and offered it to you.

"No! They're all for you!"

"Come on. Don't let me enjoy these delicious cupcakes by myself."

He was playful, but his intention was nothing short of sincerity. How could you say no to a face like that?

You gave in, accepting it timidly, and waited until he had one in his hand. You peeled back the paper and took a bite. The softness enveloped your tongue in a warm embrace; the sweetness crashed on your taste bud like a gentle caress. You looked at your professor, whose brows shot up at the first bite. His soft moan of bliss was endearing, and you found yourself wanting to drink the sound in, hoping the resonance would stay and echo in your mind so it could keep your heart beating just a little faster like how it was now. It was the tiniest fragment of joy that warmed you, making you want to keep it close to your chest and cherish it to the best of your limited capability.

A smear of frosting lingered at the corner of his lips. With a casual passing thought of how adorable he looked, you reached across the desk, and the pad of your thumb swiped at the cream before you were fully aware of what you were doing. You slowly retreated your hand, feeling the mortification of your forwardness. You weren't the only one affected by the gesture. Matt was, too, judging by the way he swallowed hard, his lips parted to take a deep breath as if he had forgotten how to breathe. None of you dared to speak, not wanting the moment to end, but eventually, it must. Matt cleared his throat softly, and you braced yourself for the inevitable "that wasn't appropriate," but to your relief, he only smiled.

"Thank you. It would be embarrassing and unprofessional of me to walk around with frosting on my face."

"You're very welcome, Matthew."

You continued to eat your cupcake, bashful with the praises he lavished you with. The creamy frosting still lingered on your finger, and after a brief hesitation, you brought it to your lips before licking it off your thumb. You revelled in the exhilaration of your boldness. You felt like you crossed a line you weren't supposed to, but at this point, it was too late for you to turn around.

And when you tossed and turned later that night, when you couldn't deny yourself the truth any longer, you would come to the hopeless realization that you were in love with your professor. All that was left was to tell him as you so selfishly wanted him to know of your fondness for him, but you wouldn't dare shatter the fragile attachment to adhere to your selfish want.

The study sessions started not to feel like a torture device designed specifically for you as you found rhythm within each other. They had become the place where you enjoyed your time the most. Matt brought coffee to fuel you for later days that turned to nights. You bonded over the occasional pastries you brought in. It was an inconsequential thing, which quickly became an unspoken tradition. You found he particularly enjoyed the red velvet cupcakes smeared with buttercream frosting. Nevertheless, he loved whatever you brought in and never failed to show you how much he appreciated it.

It felt like the invisible veil between you was removed. Neither of you dared to take that first step forward into the other side out of respect and the delicacy your positions held. Still, it felt nice. You didn't have to put your guard up all the time, and you were weirdly okay with it — everything was within your comfort zone. There was little pressure to be someone else, no expectations you couldn't meet. Within the four walls that his presence occupied, the expectation to do well was there, but at your own pace. You didn't have to struggle. While things with Matt had been good, the other part of your life had started turning its head, gearing full speed toward a fatal end.

Your mother had stopped all types of communication. It'd been three weeks since her last request asking you to stop contacting her and many messages and emails from your end begging her for a talk. Your whole life had been a preparation for this, yet, when it came, you were left in shock, in the pain that never eased or went away. For as long as you could remember, familial love was something you never had, and you envied those who had it. Sometimes, the absence of love and care from someone you were close to dulled you, but the smallest acts of kindness hurt much worse in return. It cut you deeper than indifference did, grappling with your heart. The way Matt treated you with patience, tenderness and support filled the empty space in your chest with an ache that grew over time. To think that he was once a stranger, yet, he cared more about your well-being than your mother ever did. Matt showed you that despite your fatal flaws, you were still worthy of love.

The year came to an end, and you were relieved to see that you passed all of your classes. Your final office hour with Matt was on a rainy afternoon, the type of weather that made everything moody and drenched in sorrow, fitting for your state of mind. The meeting was a fruitless use of time since the semester was already over, but you wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. You didn't want to say goodbye yet.

The sky poured in fine droplets by the time you were done. You waited as professor Murdock locked the door and walked out together. Neither of you said anything as you stood at the edge of the building, listening to the rainfall. You didn't bring an umbrella. You turned to him, and farewell words left a bitter taste on your lips.

"I guess this is it. I'll … see you around campus."

The forced smile on your face dropped as you placed your bag over your head. You hastily took half a step before his hand shot out, stopping you before you could walk out of his reach.

"Do you have anything for the rain?"

"No, I don't. But my apartment is not too far from here."

"I'll walk you home."

He didn't even hesitate.

"No no no no, you don't have to."

"I insist. I can't let you walk home by yourself in this weather."

He pulled out a well-loved umbrella from his messenger bag. It seemed like he wouldn't take no for an answer. You sighed, nothing of annoyance, only a little breathless.

"Can I at least carry it, please?"

The soothing sound of the rain was secondary to the thunderous beat of your own heart. The walk home was quiet since you couldn't find it in yourself to properly engage in a conversation when all you could think of was the feeling of his left hand resting in the crook of your right arm, which was holding up the umbrella. His hold was delicate, and you relished in the way it made you feel. Matt didn't seem to mind the quiet as you walked through the busy streets, occasionally talking about nothing in particular.

Eventually, the familiar build of your apartment complex loomed close, but you didn't want this to end. So you walked past the building and continued onward aimlessly for what felt like a little while. Matt leaned his head close to yours; his voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Your apartment is quite far away. Good thing I'm going with you, or else you would be soaking wet by now."

His casual comment made you slow to a stop, pulling him with you. A look of concern touched his slightly furrowed brows.

"Are you okay?"

You shook your head, unable to look at him. You looked down at your boot-clad feet and his worn Oxford shoes as if you could find courage on the ground you stepped on.

"No … I'm not. I'm so sorry for lying, but we walked by my place … five minutes ago."

You needed to explain yourself as the look of concern on his face deepened.

"I didn't say anything because …."

He was quiet and so still, hanging onto every single word you said.

"Because … I … I like you."

Three simple words, yet the relief of their weight was immeasurable. Now that Matt knew, you felt the rush of regret start to pour in.

"I like you. And I'm sorry I'm so selfish that I made you walk with me even though my apartment is back there. I want to make my last few minutes with you last as long as possible. I'm sorry for even saying all of this–"

Your words were cut off by the touch of his lips on yours. Matt pulled you in by the small of your back, and your heart soared on its timid wings. Your hands hovered on either side of him, unsure of their limit on the newfound territory. As if Matt could sense your hesitation, he pulled back, and all you could think of was how much you would regret it if you let him go. You tugged him back to you by the lapel of his coat with more force than you anticipated, his body crashed clumsily into yours, and you found him again with more certainty this time. His lips were soft, brushing against yours in firm strokes, affirming the reality you hadn't grasped yet. His reciprocation was real and tangible, like the touch of his fingers caressing the bare skin on your neck, holding you against him.

All of his and your emotions were poured into the kiss, albeit slightly clumsy at first, until you found your rhythm, for actions were the only thing that allowed you to express yourselves fully at this moment. Words would be saved for later, as there was only him and you and the all-consuming kiss. Your hand lowered as you dropped the umbrella to the ground so you could hold onto him. Your hand found its way to rest at the back of his head; your fingers carded through the damp, slightly curled hair. Neither of you cared about the rain or the people walking around you as you were lost in the ardent embrace, letting the intensity pull loose at the thread of your longing for each other.

You broke away first, letting out a soft gasp for air. Your eyes were wide open, taking in Matt's swollen lips as you caught your breath. He looked as dishevelled as how you felt, and the small smile on his lips only made your already frantic heart beat faster.

"I like you too—more than you could possibly know. I didn't want to say anything because I thought you wouldn't reciprocate."

Hearing those words from him gave you an immense sense of relief.

"Besides, it's hardly appropriate."

You chuckled at the irony that was your situation. You absentmindedly brushed away the droplets on Matt's face despite the rain still descending upon you.

"Was. I'm not your student anymore, remember?"

His smile broadened at your reminder. His head dipped slightly, and you could see his eyes crinkled in the corners in the most endearing way through the rims of his glasses. He leaned into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm before gently pulling you in by your jaw for another kiss. This time, it was softer, with all the sense of indulgence the two of you had. After all, you had all the time in the world for each other.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!*

[dubs-is-a-slime-girl]

What is a dubs?

Dubs is a slime girl!

Dubs uses it/she pronouns, and often refers to itself by name. It prefers to not capitalize its name, although it's capitalized at the start of sentences for readability.

This blog is meant to contain stories about dubs. These stories will sometimes be kinky or even horny, because she is definitely both of those things.

Check below the cut for details about dubs and her physiology!

Appearance

Dubs is usually about 4’10” standing up. Its entire body is made of red-pink slime, colored like cherry soda. It has short, messy hair, or at least the shape of hair, which is slightly darker than the rest of its body.

In its most common shape, it has a chubby build with a pear-shaped figure. However, it can change shape at will, with some effort, and can spread its mass any way it wants. Some of dubs’ other preferred shapes are a puddle, a stereotypical round slime, or even a freeform writhing mass of blobs and appendages. It prefers a humanoid shape, and often enjoys tinkering with its proportions by adding or removing slime; sometimes it sinks into a puddle halfway, leaving everything from the waist up. Other times, it becomes a head that slides along the floor or sits in someone's lap.

Texture

Dubs has a default texture similar to jelly, which leaves a sticky film on anything it touches. However, it can fairly easily change this texture by hardening or softening its “skin”, a sort of membrane that covers its entire body. At its firmest level, dubs has a skin that feels like that of a typical human, albeit extremely smooth. This is the texture it typically prefers to be around other people. However, with this texture it often needs to wear socks or shoes in order to keep from slipping on most flat surfaces. It can relax its firmness a bit and will start to become very floppy and soft, akin to a water balloon. Dubs will still move itself normally this way, but can easily be squished around by others. As it lowers its firmness still, it starts to drip small pieces of itself involuntarily and becomes very sticky.

Slime Mass and Hydration

Dubs’ actual mass is indeterminate; it takes in moisture to add to its mass, and shrinks over time due to evaporation. This evaporation happens more slowly when its skin is firm, but even at its most human-like level, it will still lose about 4L of moisture every 24 hours. Compared to the average human density of 60% water, dubs is approximately 95% water, so the moisture lost will directly and visibly shrink its total mass. In other words, without any replenishment, dubs will lose at least 10 lbs per day, more if it spends time in a more viscous form.

Dubs can easily replenish moisture by either drinking it directly or by touching it with any other part of its mass. Removing moisture intentionally is more difficult, but possible. With focus, it can force some of its mass to become completely liquid, to the point that it falls off and is no longer part of its body. It will often do this to make itself lighter or more compact.

Dubs enjoys playing by increasing and decreasing its mass intentionally. Naturally, the bathtub is an easy place to do this, with both a faucet and a large drain available. It loves to draw a bath and hop on, gradually absorbing the entire tub’s contents, then later on draining it back into the tub.

Other times, it enjoys carefully draining off most of its moisture until it’s only a fraction of its usual size, as small as only a foot tall in humanoid form. It will often put itself into small containers this way, or glide around on the floor like a red transparent curling stone.

Dubs’ slime mass is nontoxic to humans and animals alike, if not particularly nutritious, and supposedly tastes faintly of artificial cherry flavor.

Sensory

Dubs has no dedicated sensory organs, instead filtering sensory input through its entire body mass. It has eyes but doesn't need to see through them specifically, although in many situations it finds it easiest to limit its visual input to its eyes. It's able to see, hear, touch, and taste with any surface. It can also smell to some extent, but has trouble distinguishing this from “taste” since the smell is essentially a taste in the air.

As with its eyes, dubs finds it enriching to simulate the different sensations that normal humans feel in different parts of their bodies by tweaking the level of sensory input and often the firmness of its skin; for example, a more sensitive part of the body might have thinner skin and more nerve endings in a human, so it can achieve a similar effect by focusing its sense of touch there while making it less firm.

As a slime girl, it has no actual bodily organs, including reproductive organs or other erogenous zones. However, dubs has become very adept at creating reasonable facsimiles of “important” parts which work “good enough” for dubs.

[pureyindustry]

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[lol-jackles]

Hello, I’m sorry if this gets a bit long. I’ll try to edit it down once I’m done

So, I’m not saying this to downplay its importance to fans or Jared’s truly wanting to help people, but Jared was also very smart to come out with the Always Keep Fighting campaign, no? I could be talking out of my ass I this, because I wasn’t in the fandom at the time, but as well as being brave to share his anxiety/depression with fans, it also seems smart to share it on his own terms before it could be used against him. I think I’ve read on your blog that actors with MHI are often considered a liability to a production because if they “lose it” or walk off of the project, the higher ups are screwed. But, by Jared volunteering his personal information to the huge SPN fan base (and I assume some amount of press coverage), isn’t this a good way the give himself a bit of insurance? If his bosses are starting to think he looks expendable, they can’t now act on any desire to get rid of him without him or even his fans being able to turn around and call them out for discrimination.

I’m not saying these thoughts were the reason for AKF but do you think Jared had the foresight to sort of protect himself with the campaign as well, or was it all risk for him?.

I’m asking this because I read your recent response on possible reasons Jensen isn’t as sought after as Jared post SPN, despite being the clear favourite of some crew on the show.

Jared must have an amazing reputation to overcome the possible mental health stigma, and the fact that some SPN crew seem to blatantly favour Jensen (Wanek, Phil Segricia, Bib Singer, etc).

On a side note: who on the production crew do you think favoured, or even just backed Jared over Jensen? Or treated them equally even?

Okay, this was a lot. But I’d be interested in seeing your insight on any of this (I know you’ll pick what you would prefer to focus on) because from what I can tell, you really do have a pretty good read on what was likely going on behind the scenes.

I think you’re on the right track because it was also my first gut reaction the moment the Variety article came out. For Jared to come out when his career is still hot is pretty telling, normally actor don’t admit to mental illness until their career is drying up.  It’s one less thing he has to hide and therefore one less leverage others BTS can’t use against or hold over him.   

"I wasn’t in the fandom at the time"

During the early season there were rumors circulating that Jared was always late to the set. My first thought was, "They're setting him up to have a difficult reputation". It's producer tactic 101, put out fake news that the actor is a diva who is always late and if the actor doesn't toe the line, escalate it to "difficult actor" so that the studio is not the bad guy if the actor suddenly leaves. 7 years later we find out that Jared was looking to break his contract, so the producer(s) were preparing to make him the fall guy. Once Jared stayed on, the "late to the set" rumor immediately evaporated.

I bring this up because it ties into our speculation that Jared's decision to out himself for mental illness was at least partly motivated by removing a leverage against him BTS.

It was also the right time because he proved that as the principal lead of the longest continuous genre series in America, he's not a risk because filming schedule was never disrupted, which costs a lot of money. Even when he had a breakdown on set in season 3, he still finished out the season. His subsequent breakdown after season 10 could have derailed that, but he returned for season 11 and again lead the show through it's rating resurgence. Impressed, CBS arrived two years later at his doorstep with a holding deal.

"On a side note: who on the production crew do you think favoured, or even just backed Jared over Jensen?"

My immediate thought was Jeremy Carver. He was not in favor of the season 10 Dean-centric arc that Robert Singer and Jensen were angling for, and even tried to head off their campaign during Comic Con prior to season 9. His wife is currently the showrunner of Walker. There's also writer Adam Glass, I'm not sure why but he just vibed being all about Jared.

ETA: thanks to others' reminder, I would also add Sera Gamble. I can't believe I didn't immediatley thought of her as she's one of my favorite writers.

[denimbex1986]

'Christopher Nolan has a knack for wrangling impressive ensemble casts for his films, but he really outdid himself with his 3-hour historical epic Oppenheimer. Even if the World War II biopic didn’t include the frequent Nolan collaborator Michael Caine, the stacked ensemble is filled with a terrific ensemble of veteran Hollywood stars, Academy Award-winning performers, underrated character actors, relative unknowns, and a few former box office titans that have seemingly disappeared over the last decade or so. It wasn’t that long ago that Josh Hartnett was the marquee lead of films like Lucky Number Slevin and Black Hawk Down, but his star power has seemingly evaporated, as some actors can only maintain the same level of success for so long. However, Hartnett has always been a more interesting and complicated actor than the roles that he was given at the beginning of his career. Hartnett isn’t just in the middle of a major comeback; he basically steals Oppenheimer with one of the most nuanced supporting performances.

Why Is 'Oppenheimer's Ernest Lawrence So Important?

Oppenheimer is told in non-chronological order, in what has become a hallmark of nearly all of Nolan’s films. While Hartnett doesn’t play a significant role in the black-and-white sections that show the confirmation hearings for Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr.), he is instrumental within the main storyline focused on J. Robert Oppenheimer’s (Cillian Murphy) studies at the University of California in Berkeley, where he first conceived of much of the technology that ended up becoming critical within the Manhattan Project. The sequences in Berkeley aren’t just where Oppenheimer unlocks part of his genius, but also where he falls in love with his second wife Kitty (Emily Blunt), and makes a community of friends for the first time. It is during this period that he works hand-in-hand with Hartnett’s depiction of Ernest Lawrence; having an outsider’s perspective on Oppenheimer’s work was necessary for this sequence to function.

Ernest Lawrence was an incredibly influential figure in Oppenheimer’s life. While he’s not someone that Oppenheimer often looks up to and idolizes like Neils Bohr (Kenneth Branagh) or Albert Einstein (Tom Conti), Lawrence represents the sort of man that Oppenheimer could never really become. Hartnett depicts Lawrence as a man of great importance, intelligence, and class that also has a relatively normal social life and shows an ability to adjust to the stresses within his life. Lawrence encourages Oppenheimer to find a balance within his work, but it becomes obvious that it’s not possible for someone with his capacity for genius. It creates an odd tension between them; Lawrence feels both resentful and sympathetic for his friend. Oppenheimer’s inability to simply “turn off” his brain and focus on something other than his work may end up making him more historically important than Lawrence, but it negates any sense of accomplishment or happiness he may feel.

Josh Hartnett does some really outstanding subtle work with his performance, as there’s an interesting dichotomy to Lawrence’s feelings about Oppenheimer. He’s not resentful, as he and Oppenheimer are able to get along and share much in common due to their shared experience in nuclear research. Lawrence is someone who can communicate with Oppenheimer on an intellectual level about the groundbreaking studies that are being done, but he’s not capable of reaching the same next-level conclusions. Lawrence is well-educated and knows what he’s talking about, but also acknowledges that it’s not his name that the world will remember. It was almost a bit of reflective acting on Hartnett’s part as if he was acknowledging that he was no longer the same star who had led Pearl Harbor to its box-office success two decades prior.

Ernest Lawrence Is Important to the Politics of 'Oppenheimer'

Christopher Nolan isn’t necessarily known as a “political filmmaker,” but while his films aren’t necessarily as overt as the work of directors like Oliver Stone or Spike Lee, there are strong anti-war, anti-escalation themes in The Dark Knight, Dunkirk, and Tenet. Oppenheimer is definitely Nolan’s most overtly political work to date, and Lawrence is instrumental in unpacking the film’s complex understanding (and criticism) of the decisions that Oppenheimer made on behalf of his country during his lifetime. At first, Oppenheimer’s relationship with Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh) is nothing more than a passionate romantic affair, but it's Lawrence who explains the danger that being involved with the socialist political movement at the time that they are in. Lawrence has his personal feelings about the rising Communist movement, but he worries that Oppenheimer’s mind could be distracted when he’s working on studies that could literally change the way that mankind observes the world.

The political differences between Lawrence and Oppenheimer are fascinating, and Hartnett does a great job of showing Lawrence’s conviction in his belief and handling the dense political dialogue. It’s fascinating that Lawrence’s political beliefs aren’t delved into that deeply other than his expressed desire to keep all discussions about the socialist movement out of the classroom. Lawrence tells Oppenheimer that he considered himself a patriot, but he also wants the University to be an institute of science, and not a hangout spot for a potentially dangerous movement to begin. He and Oppenheimer begin to grow further apart as a result of this, but they still share a mutual understanding of which events transcend their own personal beliefs. Both men react with the same surprise and fear when news of Adolf Hitler’s invasion of Poland breaks.

Josh Hartnett does a great job of showing Lawrence’s empathy for Oppenheimer. While he understands that a traditional celebration isn’t necessarily something that Oppenheimer would enjoy, there’s a friendliness between the two men that continues after General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) whisks him away to work on the Manhattan Project. Lawrence refuses to report incriminating evidence on Oppenheimer during the government’s investigation, and the two are able to shake hands at the end of the film. That’s more than Oppenheimer can say about Edward Teller (Benny Safdie), whose pro-nuclear beliefs created too much of a divide between them.

Josh Hartnett is in the midst of a much-needed comeback, and it’s great to see that Oppenheimer gave him such a nuanced role to execute. While it may have taken a while for him to finally get the chance to work with Nolan, his performance is one that is essential to show what made Oppenheimer tick on both an intellectual and personal level.'

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Microfic: Without Sunshine

A little something for the two lovelies @shealwaysreads and @sitp-recs on their birthdays <3 I hope you both had a wonderful day!!

T, 1.1k, apocalyptic flower shop strangeness, fits the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'thunder'. This is the first thing I've written in many months, so please be kind! Thanks to @tackytigerfic for sharp eyes and endless patience.

The end of their world, when it happens, begins on a Tuesday morning.

It’s surprisingly easy. The concealment charms evaporate the minute the Leaky falls, leaving the whole of Diagon caught unaware, belly-up vulnerable. Shopping is abandoned on the cobblestones as witches and wizards grope for their wands, casting blindly while all around them bombs drop and buildings fall. Those who can leave do, as the tanks move in off Charing Cross Road, over broken glass and broken bones, tracks like rolling thunder along the narrow streets. Owls and ravens spill out through the blown-out Menagerie window, disappearing into the darkening sky, as Nifflers scrap loudly over stray bullet casings below.

It's several minutes before Harry, cloaked in the Azkaban-strength wards of the little flower shop, even notices that anything’s wrong.

“In theory, indefinitely,” Draco tells him, thoughtfully. He’s perfect, Harry thinks absently, bathed in high summer light, a puffy, peach-coloured rose held in delicate balance between finger and thumb. “The problem is that ethically harvested unicorn hairs are–”

And that's when everything goes dark.

By the faint blue phosphorescent glow of the ghost orchids, they peer out through the glass. Draco starts at a burst of gunfire, his breath coming fast, the rose still clutched in his hand beginning to tremble. Unthinking, Harry curls his own fingers around Draco’s, stilling him.

“There’s no Floo here, is there?” he asks softly, although he already knows the answer.

“We’re on the list,” Draco replies, distant. “Next week, they said, maybe–”

“And your anti-Apparition wards–?”

Draco just gives a jerky nod, lips pressed together, and that’s that. There’s nothing to be done about it, Harry knows – no duel to win, no long, lonely walk out into the Forbidden Forest – and in a strange way, it’s a relief.

The warded air around them is silent but for the oblivious tinkling of bellflowers. Across the way, a sharp burst of light heralds an explosion inside Fortescue’s, sending slick blue rooftiles crashing one by one to the ground below. For a long, uncertain moment the whole building seems to shiver, its ancient magic struggling against the onslaught, before, like a sigh released, the walls begin to sag in on themselves. Beside Harry, Draco is holding himself stiffly upright; the occasional twitch of his fingers the only nod towards the horror unfolding before them.

“Well,” he says eventually, looking down at their joined hands, “their timing’s dreadful.”

Harry lets out a surprised burst of laughter. “It really is. I was working up the courage, you know–” he looks at Draco “–but there was time. We had time.”

“We did. We had time.”

Their view is blurry now, both windows coated with a thick film of dust, the alley a smeared thumbprint of impressions: shadowy figures moving back and forth, spells cast in quick, colourful flares, the returning staccato bursts of gunfire from every side. Harry turns to watch the reflections in Draco’s eyes, benign as fireworks.

Draco doesn’t return Harry’s gaze. “Give me a second,” he says quietly. He pulls away, rose in hand, and begins darting around the shop, gathering up blooms, humming with approval as he goes. The wards are struggling now, Harry can tell – cracks appearing alongside the window frames, smoke curling in from beneath the door, tremors beneath his feet – but if Draco even notices, he doesn’t show it. Harry’s breath catches as he watches Draco pick out the largest of his precious ever-blooming lilies to add to the bunch: dainty pink-tipped lisanthus, sprays of baby blue speedwell, all cast in the eerie, flickering half-light of the shop.

“Here,” Draco says finally, thrusting the enormous bouquet towards Harry. The fragrance is overwhelming, damp petals tickling Harry’s chin as he takes it into his arms. “That is to say–” Draco clarifies, chin raised, “I had planned – if you had asked me–”

He tails off, the blush on his cheeks apparent even through the gloom, and Harry lifts the flowers to hide his smile. “They’re perfect,” is all he says.

“Not a patch on what I’d intended, really,” Draco says, quickly. “I’d hoped to have perfected the maturation charms, you know, and of course no-one can get hold of luminous larkspur at this time of year–”

“I’ve never been given flowers before.”

Draco pauses, mid-sentence, frowning. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I’d have given you more,” says Draco, and there’s a rueful edge to his smile. “Hundreds, probably. Tulips from Keukenhof, sakura from Hokkaido, mountain lupine from my mother’s garden… you’d have been sick of them in weeks, I’m sure.”

Harry opens his mouth, thinking to object, but is interrupted by an ominous splintering – the first audible indication of the chaos outside – as thin streams of plaster dust begin to cascade down from above the counter. Another crack, louder this time, Draco’s sizzling snapdragons snarling and straining upwards as one edge of the coving crumbles away, uncovering a narrow chink of daylight. The wards are beginning to flicker, more outside sounds audible now – the whir of a helicopter, the clatter of boots – and that’s when Harry feels the first tendrils of hope winding their way beneath his ribs.

“Still got those Seeker reflexes?” he asks Draco with a grin.

Draco’s brow furrows, but then he cottons on, eyes widening. “What, you think we can Apparate before–?” He brings his palm down smartly against the back of his other hand, a gruesome demonstration of their impending fate.

Harry swallows. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t honestly know, but I want to try.” Louder this time: “I mean, I want to try with you.”

Harry’s never been one to look back once a decision’s been made, but he forces himself to wait, heart in his throat, as Draco chews his lip, eyes fixed warily on the ceiling. He looks genuinely uncertain, and he’s not wrong, either: an end now – quick and painless – versus… what? What will the future look like, if they run?

But a second more, and Draco looks back down at him, jaw set. “Alright,” he says, and Harry leans forward, warm and giddy with adrenaline, to press their lips together – once, a beginning, and then again – flower heads crushed between their bodies as time stands still.

They wait.

***

When it’s finally over, black-clad soldiers spread out across the street. They work in pairs to sweep up the leftover crumbs of magic, guns nosing along the rubble beneath their steel-capped toes.

“Hey, look,” says one of them, voice tinny through his mask. “Someone’s left us a souvenir. You should take ‘em home to the wife.”

“Yeah,” his partner says thoughtfully, stooping to collect the scattered stems, “You know, I just might.”