#I HATE MILDEWS SO MUCH

[darckcarnival]

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[confused-canid]

Guys I hate school air so much. Like it makes me feel so grimy and I clean myself regularly and it's awful and I hate it so much. What is in the school air that's out to get me I every way

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Stuck on the idea of vampires as a kind of reverse fae, or like someone's twisted, perverse attempt at moulding humans into fae.

They're repelled by liminal spaces.

A vampire could never enter fairyland, not just because they'd never be welcomed, but because most of the usual entry-ways are naturally barred to them.

They can't cross running water. They can't be seen in mirrors. They will wait forever at a crossroads, unable to pick a direction to go in. They can't even step over a thresh-hold unless there is absolutely no ambiguity about whether they are welcome inside.

They crave human blood, iron and salt, but are repelled by herbs and plants. They are supernaturally prevented from harming you unless the rules of hospitality have been invoked.

A fairy may replace your newborn child with something unnatural and ever-hungry. A vampire will do the same, but with your grandmother's corpse.

The fae are typically associated, even in stories where they're the bad guys, with flourishing and purity. Vampires, even in stories where they're the good guys, are typically associated with decay and corruption.

The fae turn ancient human burial mounds into fancy halls for their courts. Vampires take ancient human castles and let them grow mildewed and cobwebbed, exchanging the beds for coffins, turning them into burial places.

Fae don't tend to live among humans, but can generally pass for them with relative ease if they so choose. Vampires nearly always live among humans, but tend to find not revealing themselves a huge struggle.

I can't think of many stories I've read where fae and vampires even exist in the same universe, let alone ones where they actively interact. I feel like their enmity is almost more inevitable than that between vampires and werewolves, however.

The rivalry between vampires and werewolves is, essentially, the rivalry between two apex predator species who share a territory. (Even in stories where the werewolves aren't actually hunting humans.)

The vampires hate the werewolves because the werewolves interfere with their access to prey. The werewolves hate the vampires either because they consider themselves aligned with humans (the prey species), or because they are also predators and the vampires are competing with them.

By comparison, I think there's some story potential in the fae finding something genuinely creepy and uncanny valley about vampires.

They're immortal, like them, but also dead. They can be beautiful, like them, but that beauty is something they actively require humans to sustain. They like to inhabit beautiful and ancient ex-human dwellings, like them, but they actively work to make those places dark, damp and empty.

Fairies who are unflappable in the face of all sorts of Otherworldly monsters, can look an eldritch horror in the eye(s) without blinking, and have never been phased yet by any human, but will recoil from even the weakest vampire.

Vampires who hate fairies just as much, but in a more envious way. The way that the creature for whom immortality is a curse is bound to hate the creatures for whom immortality is an eternity of sunlight and laughter.

Maybe their touches burn each other. Maybe vampires can't stand physical contact with anything so alive and vital. Maybe immortal fairies become ill from too much exposure to the undead.

Maybe they fight over the human population when their territories overlap. The fairy need for servants and people to make deals with, competing with the vampire need for thralls and blood to drink.

Just… fairies and vampires. We need more stories about them interacting.

[enjakey]

The University and the Dorms We Hate

Pairing: [Jake x Fem!Reader]!University!Found-family au

I LOVED WRITING THIS FIC (14K) like it's so funny and loving and sweet and cute- yeah just read it guys. Can you tell I incorporated Loose? Try and find it, lol. I love writing 02z, they're so adorable.

So, I don't want to call this fic dark because it deals with some heavy things like depression, bullying and suicide (in context of sunghoon) and death in general. Mentions of ghosts, if you're scared of that. Lots of crack tho, It's all very funny. And soft. And found-family esque with Jake, Jay, Sunghoon and Y/N.

Please enjoy reading guys. I always appreciate feedback! Can't wait to talk and meet some of y'all. Would love making friends on this app. I can't think of anymore warnings to give so- enjoy! Also does anyone hate the whole tags thing? I swear it takes so long.

Summary: in which everyone that went to your university hated it- it was low budgeted and whoever ended up there made the worse decision of their lives. They were so out of funds that the boys dorm building collapsed, leading them to move into the girls’ dorm. Jake and Y/N hover in each other's lives before finally crashing into each other- protecting each other and their friends, Jay and Sunghoon.

Everyone hated Remnant University- the students, the faculty, the janitors, the registrar, even the pigeons that occasionally dropped dead on the quad. It was a cursed place, built not from vision but vanity- the brainchild of a man with too much money and far too much cocaine. He’d once called it his ‘gift to the people.’ The people, in return, had cursed his name into oblivion.

After his death- a coke-fueled heart attack in the university sauna, if the legends were true- the institution limped on. Tuition was cheap, admissions were easy, and something about the place drew in a strange crowd: brilliant minds with nowhere else to go, the kind of people the world chewed up and spat out.

As years passed, graduates clawed their way out through fake recommendation letters, falsified research papers, and internships that didn’t exist. Meanwhile, the next batch of the naive and desperate arrived- wide-eyed, hopeful, and doomed.

‘To all the students of Remnant University — welcome home.’

Y/N remembered staring at the banner during her orientation, its letters in gaudy bubble font, fluttering above the cracked main gate. She'd felt a flicker of awe then. Two years later, she couldn’t look at it without imagining setting it on fire. Home, my ass, she thought almost daily. She hated her classes. She hated the professors. She hated the eternal mildew stench that clung to the dorm walls and the way the lights flickered like a horror movie just before someone dies.

The campus itself was a patchwork nightmare- brutalist buildings long past their expiration date, lecture halls with ceilings that leaked when it didn’t rain, and an willow tree near the western edge that, according to campus lore, was cursed: a student had hung themselves from it every decade like clockwork. The library was missing half its books, the science lab still ran Windows 95, the food in the mess hall tasted like regret, and the only working coffee machine was in the faculty lounge, guarded like a sacred artifact.

Still, somehow, the place endured. Professors- the decent ones, anyway- stayed not out of loyalty, but out of pity. They knew Remnant had no soul, only suffering, and tried to ease the burden where they could.

And so, another semester dragged on, the sun too harsh, the wind too bitter, the future too far. And Remnant University, like a dying star, continued to pull in the lost and the brilliant, one pitiful student at a time.

That year, the boys dorm had given up, its foundation perishing.

It started with the water- or rather, the lack of it. Then came the black mold that bloomed across the ceilings like ink stains in a Rorschach test. The final straw was the collapse of the third-floor corridor during midterms, taking down three bathrooms, two residents, and the only functioning Wi-Fi router in the building.

Facilities blamed the students for “reckless behavior,” the students blamed the university for “being held together by asbestos and prayer,” and the administration issued a memo with bold Comic Sans that read: “This is an opportunity for community building!”

And so, with nowhere else to go, the boys were moved- en masse- into the already half-empty girls’ dorm.

It was chaos. Instant ramen wrappers multiplied like cockroaches, and hallways began to reek of Lynx body spray and unwashed laundry. Someone brought a pet iguana named Carl that no one could prove they owned- he just roamed freely, occasionally found sunbathing under the corridor light fixtures like he paid rent. Room assignments were haphazard; some girls returned from class to find unfamiliar boys lounging on their beanbags, raiding their snacks, or claiming, “oh, I thought this was 3B.”

The fact that each room had its own bathroom did little to soften the blow. Instead of fighting over communal showers, the wars shifted to noise complaints, door-slamming at odd hours, and passive-aggressive sticky notes about ‘the walls are thin- I can hear everything.’

One girl woke up to find her mirror fogged with the message “YOU’RE NEXT :)”- it turned out it was just her neighbor playing a prank with a Sharpie and a blow dryer, but the girl moved out the next morning anyway.

Y/N had to share her hallway with a group of engineering boys who mistook deodorant for optional and thought whispering at 2 a.m. counted as being quiet. One of them set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a boiled egg. Another kept trying to convince everyone he was the reincarnation of Tesla. The hallway now smelled like socks, rejection, and desperation.

“Community building,” Y/N muttered as they stepped over a broken chair in the common room. “They should rename this place Lord of the Flies: Campus Edition.”

Still, no one left. No one ever really left.

The university had a grip on people- not because it was good, but because once you were here, it was like the outside world forgot you existed. Transfer applications got “lost.” Emails to other universities were mysteriously flagged as spam. Even the local newspapers referred to it as “that place near the quarry” like it didn’t deserve a real name.

And perhaps it didn’t.

Remnant wasn’t just a university. It was purgatory with a vending machine and barely functioning plumbing.

Y/N just didn’t realise this shift was some sort of ironic blessing in disguise.

A few months later, the chaos mellowed out.

The loudest, messiest ones either dropped out, transferred, or mysteriously stopped showing up- whether from burnout, academic probation, or just giving up and going home was anyone’s guess. The dorm slowly emptied again, and for the first time in a while, Y/N could hear her own thoughts past 10 pm.

The air felt different- less like a frat party gone wrong and more like a hospital wing during visiting hours. Quiet, but laced with an odd sense of shared survival. The broken furniture in the hallway had been cleared. Carl the iguana had found a permanent home in someone's terrarium (rumor had it, he'd been registered as an emotional support animal). The scent of chaos was replaced by something eerily neutral detergent, maybe. Or resignation.

Just a few rooms down from hers lived Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon- three boys who, unlike most, had managed to settle in without turning the place into a war zone. They were quiet, mostly. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the observant kind. The kind that made Y/N wonder if they were secretly plotting to escape this university and hadn’t yet told her how.

She didn’t know much about them then- just glimpses. Jake had the habit of doing late-night runs down the corridor with music blasting in his headphones. Jay always walked like he had somewhere important to be, even if he was just carrying laundry. And Sunghoon, well… Sunghoon gave off the unnerving energy of someone who was either extremely kind or extremely dangerous, and no one had quite figured out which.

Y/N and Jake didn’t really meet at first. Not properly. They just… existed in each other’s periphery.

It started with ramen. Y/N had a ritual- 11:30 pm, kettle boiled, seasoning packets dumped in without reading, and a long sigh echoing in the kitchen like a ghost with finals. The dorm’s shared kitchenette was useless, claustrophobic, and smelt vaguely like burnt cheese, but it was all she had.

That was where she first saw him.

Jake didn’t say anything. Just stood by the fridge, half-asleep and barefoot, pouring chocolate milk into a chipped mug like it was whiskey. She glanced up from her noodles; he met her eyes for a second, then looked away.

No nod. No smile. Just shared exhaustion, briefly acknowledged.

After that, it happened more often. Hallway crossings, leaving the dorm at the same time- same shoes, different direction. One would always pretend to check their phone. The other would act like the floor had suddenly gotten really interesting. But neither of them turned back.

Once, she was walking down the corridor holding a stack of textbooks too tall for her arms. He was coming from the opposite side with a wet towel over his shoulder. Their eyes locked. For a second, Jake looked like he might say something. But then he didn’t. He just shifted to the side, brushing past her like she was smoke.

Y/N told herself it was nothing. Just dorm life. Just bad timing.

But still, whatever corner she turned, he was there- leaning against a wall, tying his shoelaces in the lobby, digging through the vending machine like it owed him money.

Then, the air-conditioning in the dorms stopped working. It was bound to happen eventually- the units had been blubbering like dying whales for weeks, dripping puddles of water and emitting an odd smell that lingered like guilt after a bad decision. But for them to break down exactly when the weather decided to become an inferno? That wasn’t just bad luck. That was spiritual punishment.

The dorm quickly descended into a version of hell Dante probably left out for being too pathetic.

People started dragging their mattresses into the hallway where it was marginally cooler. Fans were hoarded like black-market gold. The guy in 207 tried to build a swamp cooler out of a mop and an old table fan. It worked. Briefly. Until it didn’t. And then the smell got worse.

The warden and management were flooded with complaints, threats, and one very poetic hate email that ended with, “This is not an institution of learning. It is a slow death simulation.”

Y/N tried ice packs. They melted. She tried sleeping on the floor. It gave her a backache and a sudden understanding of her mother’s sciatica. And of course, that was when she started running into Jake more- always shirtless, always looking unbothered by the heat, as if his body had negotiated a secret deal with the sun. And she knew he noticed her too- always in her training bra, always in her shorts, always with her hair up and neck sweating, mouth apart from panting.

It was probably the sixth day of the heat-wave. Y/N felt like she was boiling alive inside her own skin. Her shirt clung to her back, her legs stuck to the sheets, and the tiny desk fan in the corner had just given up with a sad, final wheeze. The water bottle she’d frozen earlier had melted into a lukewarm puddle beside her pillow. She had tried everything- a cold shower, lying on the floor, holding ice cubes to her neck- and still, the heat sat on her chest like a curse.

It was 02:57 am when she finally gave up.

She pulled on the first shirt she could find- which might’ve been slightly damp from sweat, but everything was- and slipped into the hallway, craving movement, breeze, anything other than her room’s still, suffocating air.

The hallway light flickered.

As soon as she stepped out, she heard a soft click- another door opening just down the corridor.

Jake- shirtless, barefoot, hair a mess of curls sticking to his forehead. He held a can of something cold- maybe soda, maybe hope in liquid form- and looked just as defeated as she felt.

For a moment, they just stood there, both caught in the dumb surprise of seeing each other again like this- past midnight, wilted by heat, lit by that awful yellow dorm light. Their eyes met. And unlike the usual glances they shared- quick, embarrassed, almost performative- this one held.

Jake lifted his chin slightly. “You heading somewhere?”

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head vaguely toward the stairwell. “Roof,” she said. “Maybe it’s less hell up there.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

She shrugged. “Sure”

They walked in silence. The stairwell was even warmer, but there was something about the quiet- the hum of bugs outside, the faint creak of the building- that made it bearable. When they finally pushed open the roof door, a wave of hot-but-moving air greeted them.

It wasn’t cool. But it wasn’t still. And that felt like enough.

They sat on opposite ends of the low concrete ledge, legs dangling, watching the silhouettes of nearby buildings flicker in and out of the haze. The city lights blurred at the edges, like everything was melting.

Jake reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a popsicle- already halfway melted, the wrapper sticky and threatening to fall apart.

“Mango,” he said. “Don’t ask where I got it.”

He held it out halfway to her.

Y/N stared at it for a second, then leaned over, broke it in half with her fingers, and took her piece.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence, eating sticky, sun-soft popsicle halves at 3 a.m. on the roof of a university that everyone hated.

After a long pause, Y/N said, “This place is a dumpster fire.”

Jake exhaled a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. But sometimes the fire’s kind of pretty.”

She looked at him sideways. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but his eyes had softened.

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The night felt suspended- like even the heat had paused, waiting for something to happen. They sat there until their popsicles were gone, until their sweat cooled into goosebumps, until the roof didn’t feel quite so unbearable. And when they finally stood up, heading back down the stairs without a word, something had shifted. They weren’t the awkward kids that bumped into each other in hallways anymore; they weren’t strangers who shared glances near the kitchen anymore.

“I need your help with this essay.”

Over the last month, as the heatwave dragged on like some biblical sentencing, Y/N and Jake had made a habit of barging into each other's rooms with whatever excuse they could make up. Sometimes it was batteries, or help with the half-dead Wi-Fi router. Other times, it was Jake showing up at her door with that half-grin, asking her to suffer through a regrettable movie because Jay and Sunghoon wouldn’t.

It had become an unspoken routine- something neither of them remembered initiating. It just… happened. Like the way dust collects on the windowsill, or how sweat clings to your back before noon. Natural. Unavoidable. Comfortable.

Now, standing at the doorway of Jake’s room was Y/N, clad in shorts and her usual training bra, waving her laptop like it was proof of a dying emergency. Jay and Sunghoon, shirtless, slouched on the floor with their phones and half a pack of chips between them, looked up with matching expressions of surprise. Not the “what are you doing here?” kind- more like the “we’ve seen this before but we’re still not used to it” kind.

Jake, catching their gazes and the sudden silence, didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the first shirt in arm’s reach- one that had been lying crumpled on his bed for at least three days- and launched it at her face.

“Put on a shirt,” he grumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N peeled the shirt off her face slowly, one eyebrow raised, and then looked down at herself like she was only now registering what she was wearing. “You’re the one with no AC. If I die from heatstroke, I’m haunting this room specifically.”

“You already live here anyway,” Jake muttered, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He put on the shirt that she had discarded and stood up from the floor.

“Essay, please! It’s urgent.”

Jake rolled his eyes but followed. No socks, no phone, no hesitation. Just him, trailing behind her like it was a habit carved into muscle memory.

Y/N’s room was already open when they got there. She didn’t wait. She just dropped onto the bed, cross-legged, her laptop opened before the fan like it might keep the overheating processor from catching fire.

Jake didn’t ask what the essay was about. He just sat beside her, back against the wall, shoulders barely touching, both pairs of eyes fixed on the open Word document on her laptop. She handed him the laptop, letting him take a few moments to scan the contents of her half-written, unplanned essay.

“This looks fine,” Jake raised a brow in confusion, handing her the laptop back. “What’s your doubt?”

She paused, hesitant. Then she glanced over her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face, hiding the sheepish curve of her smile. “I don’t know how to finish it,” she admitted, voice low, almost guilty.

Jake leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh- the kind of dramatic groan he saved just for her. It was half-annoyance, half-performance, and all affection. “You, a literature major,” he said slowly, turning to face her with mocked disappointment, “are asking me, an engineering student, how to end a paper on Jane Eyre?”

“You know the best AI tools,” she shot back, defensive but grinning. “I just need help with how to use them.”

Jake gave her a look- that look- the signature one, all teasing arrogance with a hint of theatrical suffering, like helping her was both the bane and joy of his existence.

“And what do I get in return?” he asked, head tilted slightly, eyes glinting.

“Nothing,” she replied, without missing a beat, eyes not leaving his gaze, offering just as teasing a smile.

The first time Jake had said that line- what do I get in return?- she’d just asked him to grab her an egg from the communal fridge. He had said it with that same boyish grin and mock-serious tone, and Y/N, completely unprepared, had felt butterflies scramble in her stomach. She’d stammered, completely thrown off, her tongue fumbling against her words.

Jake had caught on instantly, and with wide eyes and flustered hands, rushed to explain that he hadn’t meant anything weird by it- that it was just a joke- harmless, playful. Ever since, whenever he threw that line at her, she’d shoot back with a dry “Nothing,” and he would always chuckle, always let it slide, like it was their little inside joke sealed in silence.

This time was no different. He just shook his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, and pulled the laptop onto his lap to open a fresh browser.

That night, during dinner, Y/N sat in Jake’s room, Sunghoon and Jay accompanying them like they do most nights. Jay cooked ramen for everyone to share, some protein and vegetables to bring out flavour. Silence, but the slurp of their ramen buzzed out the space of their room. A movie played on Jake’s laptop, some contemporary drama Jay had been dying to watch so they barged into his screening.

“Did y'all realize it’s the fourth decade,” Y/N said, mid-slurping her noodles, eyes fanning across the faces of the three boys that turned to look at her with bewilderment. “Who do you think the next victim will be?”

Jake and Jay passed each other a glance- a glance only the pair could decipher- and then looked at Sunghoon who was staring at Y/N. Sunghoon only gave her a shrug and finished the last of his ramen. “What, that willow tree-suicide thing?”

Y/N nodded.

Jake would never admit it, but he feared that the next victim of the university’s willow tree curse would be Sunghoon. He and Jay only followed Sunghoon to this godforsaken university for the safety of their friend- their friend who had been struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies since they were in middle school.

The three grew up together- the same neighbourhood, same school since kindergarten, same course interests and same love for each other as they grew up. But, in middle school, the dynamic between them shifted when Sunghoon was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder after a suicide attempt and suddenly, Jake and Jay were constantly in touch with Sunghoon’s parents to make sure he was safe and not a danger to himself.

When high school began, the two made sure, with all the power that they had, that Sunghoon wouldn’t succumb as a victim to their school’s increasing bullying issue. They were often put in positions where they had to trade their lunch to some of the bullies for Sunghoon’s safety or sleep with girls they didn’t want to, just to keep peace.

Then, it was time to apply for universities and Jake and Jay applied to every university Sunghoon had applied to, even if their ambitions were different. When Sunghoon first said he wanted to go to Remnant University, Jake and Jay shouted “same!”- like it was muscle memory, like they had been practising, rehearsing. But they didn’t really know much about the university.

Its website looked decent, offering all the courses they wanted and saying all the right things with words like world-renowned, engaging, innovative, expansive. The pictures that appeared with a quick Google search were hypnotising- a sprawling campus with expensive architecture students studying on patches of grass and canteens. It wasn’t until the day they had to move into campus that they realised they’d been baited.

As their time in the shitty university went on, the amount of rumours and legends they heard never stopped. There were rumours about the founder of the university and how he died a coke-addict and a student rapist. Then, there were the legends about the haunted computer lab and how the second computer to the left of the third row had never been used for two decades because the last time someone used it, they got hit by a bus and died in a tragedy. There was also a rumour about how the library was haunted and no one dared to stay in it past 2 am. Then, there was the legend they dreaded hearing about the most- the willow tree suicides and its ten year clock.

This was a conversation Jake and Jay had an ample amount of times after they heard the rumours. Words of concern and fright spilling out in hushed tones when Sunghoon wasn’t around to hear them- either sleeping or doing laundry. They hated thinking about it, to even visualise a world without their best friend- but their thoughts were often uninvited, like a nightmare they couldn’t sleep out of.

But was it truly a curse? Was it really something worth worrying about? It felt ridiculous, honestly- to lose sleep over an urban legend tied to a run-down university. The last so-called victim, according to the story, had died a decade ago. That meant ten batches had graduated since, and a hundred more rumors had spun into existence. No one even remembered the names of the last three. They were just stories, passed around during late-night conversations when there was nothing better to talk about- like ghost tales shared over a dying campfire.

The first victim, according to their university’s confessions account, was a girl whose name was marred with rumours and scandals of slutty behaviour and leaked sex-tapes. She had hung herself on the willow tree, her neck snapped in half with no note, no warning- just hanging there like an abrupt full-stop to a sentence. The media- or the newspaper articles, said that it was due to sexual exploitation and no one believing her. Others said that the story was bigger than that- bigger than them.

The second victim was an engineering student- much like Jake, Jay and Sunghoon themselves- who had failed his courses and had no money to pay for tuition. His scholarship was taken away from him, so he took his own life. He, too, left no note or no warning which left the public and his family in a spiral of bewilderment and confusion- no one really knew what the real story behind his death was.

The third victim was a boy in his final year of interior design. Unlike the others, there was no clear tragedy leading up to his death- no grades slipping through the cracks, no scandals or whispers of wrongdoing. In fact, most said he was the perfect student: brilliant, well-liked, always the first to show up and the last to leave. One morning, his body was found hanging beneath the willow tree, his shoes neatly placed beside him, as if he didn’t want to dirty the branches with a mess. No suicide note, no indication of struggle- just silence. Some said he was cursed with guilt, others said he saw something- something he couldn’t unsee.

In fact, they found him with his eyes open- dead and empty, horrifyingly still, like the life had been drained out from him mid-thought.

Three deaths. Three decades. Three stories, told and retold in hushed voices, embellished by fear and the passage of time. Would there even be a fourth death to add to the list of stories?

“That’s just a stupid rumour,” Jay dismissed Y/N quickly, cutting in before Jake could say anything- his loose tongue and panicked expression already halfway to betraying him. Stress had never been Jake’s strong suit, and Jay knew that better than anyone. Once, back in high school, Jake had tried talking Sunghoon down from a wave of sadness but fumbled his words so badly, it only confused Sunghoon more and triggered a full spiral. Jay had to step in, damage control already a familiar role by then.

“You don’t think it’s true?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“Nope,” confidently, Jay nodded, maintaining eye-contact like his life depended on it- like Sunghoon’s life depended on it.

Perhaps Sunghoon was too distracted, but Y/N felt the atmosphere shift around her. Her eyes darted between Jake and Jay, a question forming on the tip of her tongue, cautious and apprehensive yet curious and personal at the same time.

Jake, sensing her peaked senses, dragged her away with the empty pot of ramen and bowls in one hand and her forearm in his other. He led her into the kitchenette, two floors below their room, in the name of dish-washing duty while she struggled against his impossible grip.

“What was that?” When Jake finally let go of her and moved to wash the dishes, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Y/N leaned against the counter with her arms crossed, staring at him like he owed her an explanation.

Jake tutted, tilting his head and staring at the remnants of ramen in the dirtied dishes, soapy water filling the basin. With his sleeves rolled up, he submerged his hands into the sink to start cleaning. “It’s just… it’s a sensitive topic for us.”

Jake refused to look at her, as though looking at her would make the conversation real, serious, heavy. He could still feel her gaze on him, now softened and apprehensive.

“Oh,” she sighed, letting her arms dangle to her sides. “Am I allowed to ask questions or do we move on?”

“It’s just,” Jake wasn’t sure what he could say- he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to talk about it. This worry and fear for his friend was something he lived with for over seven years now, buried between blankets of secrecy between him and Jay. And now, for him to say the words out loud to Y/N almost felt wrong, illegal- like openly telling people who he voted for in presidential elections. “Sunghoon…”

“Oh,” Y/N nodded, chewing on her lips as the pieces clicked into place. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the topic was sensitive… she just kind of understood.

Sunghoon. Of course. The quiet, aloof, lost kid who looked like he carried the burden of the world most of the time- alright.

There was a moment of silence between them- just the hum of the old fridge, the soft slosh of water against porcelain, and the faint creaking of pipes somewhere in the walls. It wasn’t awkward, not quite. Just delicate.

Y/N straightened up, nudging his elbow gently with hers, her voice lighter this time. “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing at a stubborn noodle stuck to the bowl he was scrubbing.

Jake huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a terrible dishwasher,” she grabbed a sponge and joined him at the sink, her presence a quiet reassurance that she wouldn’t press further.

For a moment, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, warm water pooling over their hands and silence settling like a truce. Their hands sloshed against each other, consciously pinching and swatting, a grin cracking against both of their lips.

Y/N had a stash of mango flavoured candy that Jake had become addicted to when she first shared some with him. She didn’t know if it was a brand or if it had a name- she told him that she’s simply grown up eating it and her parents would buy it in bulk everytime it ran out. It was sweet and sour, a mix of tangy spice settling in as the aftertaste and Jake was absolutely smitten by its flavour. Seeing how obsessive he had gotten over them, she told him that she’d ask her parents to buy extra for him but for now, he had to suffice with the single piece she’d give him everyday.

However, it meant waiting for Y/N to come back to the dorm, which she usually did really late after standing around the college canteen with her friends, gossiping or complaining about their university. By the time she’d come back, he’d get impatient and complain. There were times he even wandered back into campus in search of her and her room key and her friends would find that weird about him.

“How are you that obsessed with this candy? We’ve all had it. It’s not that great.”

“You’ve got no taste.”

So, annoyed, Y/N gave him her spare key, along with her trust in him that he wouldn’t use it for anything other than taking her mango candy. No snooping through her things, no stealing her expensive packets of ramen and no playing pranks. Jake agreed, comically desperate.

His classes had ended early and he returned to the dorm, an overheated oven as the heatwave refused to subside even after two months. They were in a dry spell- it hadn’t rained since their airconditioners had broken down and the whole town was in a water crisis. This meant that the dorm only got a limited supply of water. If someone woke up too late, all the water would be used up and they’d have to suffice with walking around sweaty and sticky, wafting with the scent of heat.

Absentmindedly, like it was in his second nature, Jake walked towards Y/N’s room instead of his own, his bag slung over his shoulder and her key already ready in his hand. When he unlocked her door, however, he wasn’t expecting to find her still in her room, sitting on her floor still in her underwear. Her back rested against her bed, hair strewn across the mattress and clinging to her neck. When she saw him, she didn’t panic in her half-naked state. She had a pillow on her lap, hiding the parts of her she was most embarrassed of, scanning her laptop screen perched on the pillow.

“Didn’t you have class?” He asked.

Jake blinked, his brain buffering, but he didn’t say anything about her state. He didn’t need to. That was the unspoken rule now: you don’t acknowledge it. Not when everyone in the dorm had seen each other wilt under the summer heat like dying houseplants. Modesty had long surrendered to survival. Shirts were optional. Doors were left ajar for cross-breezes. Even the warden had started walking around shirtless, like he'd finally accepted the heat as god.

“Class got cancelled,” she said, leaning her head against her mattress like she was fighting for her life. The evenings were the worst when it came to the heat. She squinted her eyes close, feeling sweat dribble down her already wet neck and she reached to adjust her tangled hair on the mattress.

Chewing on the candy, Jake sauntered to sit on her bed, right behind her. “Let me,” he said, crossing his legs and gathering her hair in his fist. She leaned forward to give him more space, allowing him a brief glance at her glistening back. Silently, he started raking through the strands of her hair with his fingers, eyes slyly glancing at the Reddit tab open on her laptop.

“Why are you reading that?” He asked, referring to the r/remnantuniversity tab she had open. It was about the willow tree suicides, a whole discussion on theories and rumours and urban legends that surrounded it. He wondered if those contributing to these online forums belonged to his class- it could be the quiet kid that sat in the back like he was harbouring a familial secret or the overly enthusiastic girl who acted like she knew everything.

“It’s for an essay,” she said. “For my literature and sociology class- something about Verstehen.”

“And that’s the topic you chose,” his voice was calm, unwavering. He wasn’t bothered or angry, only a little scared and wary, like she was trending unexplored and dangerous waters. His hands moved to section her hair into three, attempting to braid it.

“Yeah, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s kind of perfect for our topic,” she sighed. “There’s an entire subreddit, everyone’s shit scared about it- look!” She pointed at her screen and Jake squinted, leaning forward to read what she was referring to.

Then she scrolled through the subreddit and there were huge paragraphs of what he assumed were explanations or speculations, newspaper clippings of what seemed to be reports of the suicides which he couldn’t decide if they were real or AI, and a video of a new channel reporting on an unexplained suicide by hanging in an unnamed university.

While Jake looked through everything she was showing him, his hands slowly braiding her hair, she chewed her lip in caution. “They’re saying all the suicides took place on April twentieth.”

“That’s barely a month away,” Jake said.

“Yeah.”

“Y/N, there’s really no way any of this is real,” Jake sounded like he was convincing himself more than her. “You know the internet, it’ll go lengths to make their lives interesting. All those creepypastas that were debunked- I’m sure this is one of those.”

“That’s exactly what many people are saying,” she nodded. “The sane ones, at least.” Y/N reached behind her to feel her hair that he had partly braided. He wasn’t struggling, just taking his time, working with care and warmth. “Hey, you didn’t mess it up,” she pointed out, teasing him.

“You’re annoying,” he rolled his eyes, continuing to braid her hair.

“Where’d you learn to braid hair?”

“My mom, I think,” Jake hummed. “My brother and I used to love braiding her hair.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in Australia now,” Jake’s eyes sparkled at the thought of his family, his smile mirrored on the glassy screen of her laptop. She watched him through the reflection, arms crossed on her chest, lips spreading a smile herself. “He’s married with kids and everything.”

Y/N, turned around to pass him the rubberband on her wrist, expression of awe. “You’re an uncle? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, shuffling to lay down on her bed, his arms crossed under his head. He turned to look at her, watching her as she went back to her research.

Almost unapologetically, his eyes trailed down her exposed neck, admiring the braid he did for her, before locking onto her arms and her chest. This wasn’t the first time Jake looked at her like this, confused whether it was lust or just the fact that he was a boy staring at a half-naked girl in front of him- if it was passion or second-nature to him as a man. When he thought about it, he’d almost feel disgusted, to ever wonder what was under that pillow on her lap, what more could be discovered under those black panties she thought she successfully covered. Then there were her legs and her hands, slender and welcoming, like they were waiting for him to slide into.

Jake cleared his throat and pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. The heat didn’t help him and he knew if he took his shirt off now, his brain would run into overdrive.

“Jay and Sunghoon want to go bowling,” he said upon reading his missed messages. “Do you want to go?”

She didn’t say anything- just hummed like she was considering it, but was already reaching for a shirt. He knew that hum. It meant yes.

And a few hours later, they were standing under flickering neon lights in a bowling alley that smelled like bad nachos and better memories. Jay and Jake ended up destroying them- like, embarrassingly. Jake wasn’t even trying that hard. He bowled like it was something his ancestors trained him for. Sunghoon was busy trash-talking instead of actually aiming, and Y/N kept getting distracted by her opponents’ coordination- and the way Jake’s muscles flexed, the way his smile overpowered the room and the way his hair matted to his sweaty forehead made him look like something out of a magazine. But Y/N wouldn’t admit this, not to anyone, not to herself.

“Don’t laugh,” she said when the ball slid into the gutter with a tragic thud. “It curved. I saw a curve.”

“Yeah, it curved straight into failure,” Jay said, bumping Jake’s shoulder like they were on the same team in a war. They high-fived like idiots.

Later, they went out to eat at this cramped little diner Jay liked, the one with flickering menus and sticky tabletops that smelled like ketchup and some kind of old, overused oil. It was half nostalgia, half heartburn. Thank god both the bowling alley and this diner had air conditioning, because they swore they would’ve melted if they had to sit through one more minute of sticky air and heavy clothes clinging to their backs. Jake kept dramatically fanning himself with the laminated menu, Jay had unbuttoned his shirt two notches down, and Sunghoon was debating sticking his head in the freezer behind the counter.

Y/N, like clockwork, ordered ice cream mochi- the same kind she always got when they went out. It didn’t matter what mood she was in or what place they were at. If mochi was on the menu, she was getting it. She pulled apart the sticky rice covering with her fingers like it was a ritual, the cold mist clinging to her fingertips. She popped one half into her mouth and let out a small hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Jake watched her without meaning to, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand.

“You’re really acting like this is gourmet cuisine,” Sunghoon said, deadpan, as he unwrapped a sad-looking cheeseburger.

“It is,” Y/N replied, all wide eyes and pure belief. “This is the good kind. The outside’s chewy and the ice cream doesn’t taste fake. Jay, taste this.”

Jay held up both hands in refusal. “I’m not about to get emotionally attached to frozen rice balls, thanks.”

Jake didn’t say anything, but when she wasn’t looking, he stole the other half from her plate and popped it into his mouth. Cold exploded on his tongue, sweet vanilla cream wrapped in the soft, elastic chew of mochi.

She caught him mid-chew. “You’re so mean,” she said, flicking a wet napkin at him.

He just grinned, cheeks full. “You’ll live.”

Then the conversation drifted, as it always did, to the three boys groaning about their engineering classes- Jay going off about a professor who mumbled formulas like they were lullabies, Sunghoon lamenting the four-hour lab that ruined his Thursdays, and Jake trying to convince them all that thermodynamics was a scam invented to humble mankind. Y/N didn’t say much, just listened, her eyes darting between each of them as they spoke, like she was watching some low-budget sitcom unfold right in front of her. She forked through her pasta lazily, twirling it around her utensil with quiet interest, smiling to herself at the way they all spoke over each other- complaining, defending, occasionally throwing fries across the table like punctuation.

Jake had a habit of overpowering his thoughts with his loud voice, like volume could somehow make his point more valid. There was always a grin on his face, dimples peeking through as he defended his case with the same stubborn energy he applied to everything else. He’d shake his head when he got frustrated, flinging his hair out of his eyes in that dramatic, boyish way that made him look like he belonged in some coming-of-age film. Jay, naturally, would shout back- voice rising almost on instinct- calling Jake delusional or dumb or both, words laced with exasperation and fondness. Their arguments were always the same mix of chaos and choreography, like they’d done this a hundred times and had the rhythm memorised.

Sunghoon would just sit back with his drink in hand, lips curled into a crooked smile, chuckling as he watched them bicker like an old married couple. He’d throw in dry commentary about how they could channel all this passion into actually studying, but that only made him a target. The teasing would shift seamlessly to Sunghoon, Jake and Jay now joining forces to poke fun at his notes or his caffeine addiction or the way he took forever to reply to messages. Sunghoon would roll his eyes, flipping them off, but his voice would get just as loud, defending himself with the same fire he mocked them for. And through it all, Y/N just watched, resting her chin in her palm, half-amused and half-softened by the sheer comfort of it all- how familiar and stupid and warm it was.

Then, like clockwork, their voices would taper off- first Jay slumping back in his seat with a huff, then Jake sighing dramatically like he’d just won a war, and Sunghoon smirking into his drink as if he’d been above it all from the start. They always found their way back to quiet eventually, their chaos softening into something slower and easier. One of them- usually Jake- would nudge Y/N with an elbow or flick a piece of napkin her way, and ask, “What about you, nerd? How’s your academic crisis going?”

Y/N perked up slightly, spearing a piece of her pasta and chewing it slowly, as if deciding where to start. “I have to write a new essay for my literature and sociology class,” she said between bites, shrugging. “I thought I’d write about our university and all those legends and rumours. There’s a lot on Reddit.”

Jay blinked. “Why?” he asked, already picturing the tab on her browser- r/remnantuniversity, a whole rabbit hole of conspiracies and dark theories, deep dives into campus lore. The willow tree suicides being one of the most talked-about topics on there, wrapped in layers of myth and fear. Jay remembered seeing the posts himself once- some of the comments read like ghost stories, others like diary entries from students who claimed to have seen strange things, heard whispers, felt watched. He found it oddly fascinating in the way only things that unsettled you at 3 am could be.

Y/N nodded, holding up her phone to show them a post she’d saved. “It’s perfect for what we’re studying. There’s so much there- collective fear, urban myth, ritualised grief. And people are still so scared of that place. Look at this: Reddit says the library isn’t actually haunted, it’s just psychosomatic, like mass suggestion. One of the seniors said they slept there overnight and nothing happened. But then someone else said their roommate went missing for four hours and turned up outside the willow tree. Like, how does that even happen?”

Sunghoon’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Why would you want to write about something like that? Aren’t y’alls essays meant to be filled with research paper citations and shit? You can’t cite Reddit.”

“I have my ways,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s interesting. I’ve always found conspiracies fascinating- that’s all I watch on Youtube.”

“You’re one of those girls,” Jay commented, letting a chuckle past his lips as he brought more food to his mouth.

“Screw you.”

Jake shook his head slowly, voice low and steady. “Now you want to test it out?”

Y/N didn’t say anything at first, only reached for another mochi, her fingers brushing against the cold plastic. “Just for a bit. Past 2 am, that’s when the weird stuff is supposed to happen. But I won’t go alone,” she added quickly. “I mean, unless none of you want to come.”

“You’re actually dumb,” Jay muttered, leaning in. “Like, stupid in the head.”

“She’s possessed,” Sunghoon mumbled, rubbing his temple. “This is how horror movies start. Girl writes a paper, disappears in the library, we all get haunted. No thank you.”

But Jake didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at her across the table, lips pressed together, something flickering in his gaze that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t exactly comfort either. Because even if he thought she was being reckless or ridiculous or completely out of her mind, he already knew it in his gut- he was going to follow her anyway.

“If I die in that library, I’m haunting you first.”

Y/N and Jake arrived at the doors of their university library at midnight, a bag of snacks and their study materials tucked under their arms, gripped not just with fear, but with the strange thrill of doing something they weren’t supposed to. The campus was quiet in the kind of eerie way that made your ears ring from the silence- no motorbikes revving in the parking lot, no late-night couples giggling behind the hostel blocks, not even the occasional scream of someone who'd just finished an assignment. The whole place felt still, like it was holding its breath just for them.

It had taken Y/N two whole days to fully convince him- two full days of persistent poking, half-hearted bribery, the promise of free candy, and a dramatic monologue about academic integrity and sociological curiosity that made Jake pretend to gag. Still, he showed up.

She had texted him “you don’t have to come, it’s okay” more than once, but he always replied with some version of “shut up, I’m already on my way.”

The library loomed ahead, grand and cold under the fluorescent lamps. The old sandstone walls cast long shadows, and the columns looked more imposing at night, like they belonged to something older than the university itself. Jake glanced sideways at Y/N as they stepped closer, her face lit by her phone screen as she reread one of the Reddit threads, eyes wide, smile crooked.

“You’re still reading those?” he asked, amused but tired.

“Just refreshing my memory,” she whispered. “Someone said if you walk in after midnight and ask the librarian’s ghost to help you find a book, you’ll see a girl in a red scarf standing in the philosophy section. But if you follow her, you disappear.”

Jake rolled his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear. “And you still chose this over writing a boring essay about Durkheim.”

“It is about Durkheim,” she grinned, holding the door open for him. “Just the cursed, Reddit version.”

They entered with hesitant steps, the automatic doors hissing behind them. The air inside was cold and clinical, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. The security guard was either asleep or didn’t care- they had a green light to wander. The library looked the same as it did during the day: rows and rows of tall shelves, the study desks with their tiny lamps, the far-off corners cast in deeper shadows. It wasn’t as hot inside, enveloped by cool wiring of a half-broken cooler.

Jake exhaled slowly and reached for a Kit-Kat from their snack bag, unwrapping it as loudly as possible just to break the silence. “You know,” he said, “if a ghost shows up and asks me about APA or MLA, I’m out,” he joked, trying to lighten his nerves.

Y/N snorted, nudging his arm as she pulled out her notebook. “Shut up and help me figure out if I’m insane or if sociology is.”

“Both,” Jake said, mouth full of chocolate. “Definitely both.”

They picked a long wooden table near the back, one with uneven legs and names scratched into its surface- past students immortalised in ballpoint pen and frustration. It was the kind of spot no one really liked during the day, too far from the outlets and close enough to the vent that it got way too cold, but tonight it felt perfect. Quiet. Tucked away.

Y/N opened her laptop and got to work, fingers tapping against the keys with the rhythm of focus, eyes scanning Reddit threads, cross-referencing journal articles, her screen glowing dim blue in the otherwise sterile yellow light of the library. Jake pulled out his textbook with the face of a man who had already accepted his own fate and flipped it open to the chapter on thermal systems. He highlighted in pink and underlined in green, switching colours like it meant something, mumbling equations under his breath that didn’t make sense to either of them.

Every ten minutes or so, Jake would glance at his phone and say something like “One hour and ten minutes till we die,” in a mock-dramatic tone that made Y/N flick a pencil at him. Sometimes, he’d whisper the most absurd lines from his textbook like it was poetry- “Entropy is a measure of disorder,” he whispered once, “just like your essay outline.” When she didn’t react, he’d nudge her ankle with his. “Laugh,” he’d whisper, “or I’ll actually start crying.” She snorted and kept typing.

Every ten minutes, they’d count down the time. Jake would glance at his phone, tap the screen, and announce the minute like they were waiting for New Year’s. “1:20,” he’d say. Then, “1:30.” Then, “1:40,” a little more hesitant each time.

By 1:50, the jokes slowed down. The air felt… weird. Not cold, exactly, but too still. Like the quiet had layered itself on their shoulders. Jake was no longer reading- he just stared at the same page, eyes unfocused. Y/N’s fingers hovered above her keyboard. The laptop’s fan hummed a little louder.

At 1:59, they looked at each other. Nothing dramatic. Just a glance.

And then, 2:00 a.m.

The moment it hit, the lights didn’t flicker. The shelves didn’t creak. No whispers crawled through the air. Nothing dramatic happened- not even a gust of wind from a cracked window or the soft echo of footsteps from an unseen hallway.

The library remained stubbornly ordinary. Books stayed tucked in their places, monitors blinked patiently, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the air conditioning and their ragged breathing. Y/N stared at the time on her laptop- 2:00 am sharp- and then looked up, almost disappointed.

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching with a yawn. “I was kind of hoping a book would go flying off a shelf,” he muttered. “Or like… the ghost of some stressed-out PhD student would show up and slap me for not citing properly.”

Y/N snorted, pressing her fingers to her temples like she was trying to read the silence. “I’m so disappointed,” Y/N murmured, smiling a little. “Should we stay longer?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, no. I came for the haunting, not an all-nighter.”

Still, neither of them packed up. Not yet.

They waited until 3 am, just to be sure. Just to say they’d really done it. That they’d stayed past the hour of whispers and shadows and all those ridiculous Reddit warnings. They didn’t speak much, just packed up their things in a hurry- it felt like they were kids again, afraid of the dark and needing to run to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night to escape whatever monsters were under the bed. The air still held that heavy stillness, like the library didn’t want them to go. But they left anyway, pushing the tall doors open with a little too much caution, stepping into the cooler, quieter night like survivors of something no one else had witnessed.

Their walk back to the dorms was quieter, too. Not tense. Just… quieter. Their hands brushed more than once, knuckles bumping awkwardly in the half-lit path, and for a while, neither of them moved away. Eventually, Jake gave in. His arm came up slowly and draped around her shoulders like it was something he’d been meaning to do all night. She didn’t say anything, almost relieved- just leaned a little into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know there’s gonna be a shooting star tomorrow?” He said, voice low, almost sleepy. “Well, a meteor shower. Something like that.”

She hummed, looking up at the hazy sky.

“Everyone’s gonna be up on the dorm roof to watch it,” he added. “Jay and Hoon are bringing snacks and everything. You should come.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Are you inviting me, or telling me?”

Jake grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders just slightly. “Both.”

The next night, Y/N climbed the rusting fire stairs to the dorm’s roof, drawn by the distant hum of music and the smell of sweet soda gone sharp with alcohol. The entire rooftop was full- blankets sprawled across the concrete, bodies tangled into lazy heaps, everyone dressed in their pyjamas like it was some kind of unspoken theme. Their university might’ve been falling apart at the edges, but somehow, they always knew how to make the best of it. Laughter echoed into the night, soft and unbothered, like the rooftop was a world of its own. People were singing, laughing, hugging and swaying with the music, glasses of alcohol lifted into the air. Somewhere, she saw the domestic Carl the Iguana perched politely on someone's shoulder.

She didn’t know who handed her the cup of spiked fruit punch- one moment her hands were empty, the next, something cold and red was slipping into her fingers. It tasted too sweet, a little too strong, and sticky like childhood. She moved through the crowd, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

That’s when she saw them- Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, walking over with the same crooked grins and half-lidded eyes. The night had painted everyone softer.

Jay raised his drink in greeting. “Congrats on surviving the haunted library,” he said, bowing slightly. “A scholar and a ghostbuster.”

Sunghoon snorted into his cup. “So… can we conclude all the legends are untrue?”

Y/N shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging up. “Probably,” she said, but she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Told you so,” Jake grinned and nudged her shoulder with his.

The heatwave had finally started to let up. The air was breathable again, and the rooftop was cool in that perfect way that made them forget how miserable the days had been. The sky above stretched wide and navy, dotted with slow-moving clouds and the faintest glow of city light bleeding into the edges. The first streak of silver split across the sky like a knife, sharp and sudden and dazzling. A soft gasp rolled through the rooftop, voices falling quiet as everyone tilted their heads upward, caught in the spell of it. More followed- long, brilliant trails of light cutting across the darkness, each one different. Some quick and flickering, others steady, glowing like they were made to be seen. The stars looked close enough to reach, like if you stood on your toes, they’d fall into your palms like warm coins. It was the kind of sky that made you feel small in the right way, like you were part of something old and beautiful.

Jake stood behind her, arms curled easily around her waist, the curve of his body slotting into hers like they were puzzle pieces. His breath was slow, brushing against her temple in warm waves, and when he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, it was without hesitation. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose but he didn’t care- he was smiling too wide to notice, one of those real smiles that crinkled his eyes and pushed his cheeks up high. There was something boyish in the way he watched the sky, like all of this reminded him of something he’d once dreamed about.

Y/N leaned back into him, soft and quiet, her body folding easily into his. Her pulse, which always seemed to buzz around him, slowed into something steadier. Their hands weren’t even touching, but the closeness was warm and whole. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing against her spine. It wasn’t new, the comfort, but it felt like something had settled.

Eventually, the sky quieted again, and the spell broke- softly, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to let go of. The crowd shifted, people stretching their arms above their heads or collapsing into conversations, their voices warming back into the air. Someone from her literature class- Priya, maybe?- tugged Y/N into a half-circle of people sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor, laughing over something mildly stupid. She smiled, nodded, and added a comment when she needed to. Her fingers were still a little sticky from the punch, and her cheeks felt flushed, but not from the drink.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes would stray- like clockwork, like gravity. Across the rooftop, past the swaying silhouettes of friends in old pajamas, through the mess of curls and blankets and blinking fairy lights tangled along the railing- until they found him.

Jake.

Leaning back against the concrete wall, hair a little messy, arms crossed. His glasses were back in place now, pushed up lazily with the back of his hand. He wasn’t smiling this time- not in that big, goofy way- but there was something soft in his face, his gaze heavy and quiet and locked onto her.

He didn’t look away. And neither did she.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud, no fireworks, no slow motion movie moment. Just a series of glances. The kind that made your stomach curl. The kind that felt like your whole chest had been pulled a little tighter. The kind that made you feel seen.

Her heart fluttered against her ribs like wings, like something light and dangerous had taken flight. And when he tilted his head at her, just slightly- like he was asking, “you good?”- she smiled. Not a big one. Not one meant for the crowd. Just a small, secret thing. And he smiled back.

The night came to a gentle, sleepy end. Laughter started thinning out as people yawned and stretched, peeling away in twos and threes, voices fading down stairwells. The rooftop cleared like a tide going out, and soon only the distant sound of someone’s playlist humming from a dorm window remained.

Y/N padded back to her room, still barefoot from the rooftop, pulse soft from the stars. Her door creaked open and the quiet inside was immediate, a contrast to the noise they’d just left. Behind her, Jake followed- not invited, not uninvited either. He leaned against the frame of her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder raised slightly like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just passing through. But he didn’t move.

He watched her tie her hair into a bun, the movement familiar and unbothered, like he wasn’t even there. She pulled her shirt over her head with a lazy yawn, tossing it to the chair by her desk, and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed. The room was dim, a pool of moonlight stretched across the floor, and she looked up at him like he’d been standing there forever.

She grinned. “Candy?”

Jake huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he stepped further in, finally letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He crossed the room, slow and deliberate, and stopped in front of her.

“Why do you seem so tense?” he asked, voice low, like a secret passed through a crack in the wall. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

She shrugged but didn’t argue. There was something in the way she looked at him then- barefaced and tired and warm- that made his chest pull in strange, careful ways. Like he wasn’t sure what line they were walking, only that he didn’t want to step off it.

She shifted, patting the space beside her. “Then sit. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

He sat down, his hands brushing her shoulders before he started to knead the knots there- careful, light, like he was asking permission. “You gotta let loose a little,” he breathed, eyes lingering on her exposed skin, words hanging between the space between his lips and her ear.

Y/N knew where this was headed- she wasn’t stupid. It was all the eye-contact in the hallways, the brushing on their hands, the way he hugged her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her like she was the most important thing in the world. And somewhere along the way, she fell into the little game he started, grinning back with tease, letting her hand snake around his arm when sitting together and watching movies, leaning into his touches.

Softly, she tilted her head towards him, eyes lowered and focused on her navy bed sheets. “You know, you don’t need to use cheesy lines, right?” She murmured, still not meeting his lines.

Jake’s hands stilled for a second on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the dip of her back before sliding down, slow and tentative, like he was testing gravity. His voice followed after a pause, low and uneven. “Oh, yeah?”

That made her look at him.

And he was already staring- like he always was. Like he couldn’t help it. His gaze swept over her face, soft and deliberate, until it landed on her lips and stayed there just a little too long. He’d been patient, perhaps too patient, all this while, waiting to touch her the way he was now, fingers ghosting against the clasp of her bra, lips just about to touch the curve of her neck.

There was a flicker in her chest- sharp and golden, like something about to ignite. She bit her lip, pulse stammering, and Jake exhaled like he felt it too.

“You’re not gonna kiss me, are you?” she whispered, teasing.

He leaned in, the tiniest bit, until their foreheads almost touched. His breath was warm, sweet from the leftover punch. His hands were still on her waist now, grounding them both. “Not unless you want me to.”

The silence between them was louder than music, thicker than the night. She could feel his heart pounding through the space between them, or maybe it was hers. They were close enough now to share breath, to blur edges.

“I can tell how bad you want it too,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky- just honest. The way she pressed her thighs together, fisted the bedsheet, chest heaving silently at the thought of whatever he was about to do next.

And at that moment, she wanted to close the distance. Wanted to crash into him with all the force of those stolen glances, those unfinished sentences, that first night in the library when his hand brushed hers and neither of them moved away.

But instead, she smiled- slow and lazy, like the heat of the night had melted her bones. “Then, what are you waiting for?”

And that was it. That was all the sign he needed.

Jake moved without hesitation, like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and finally got the chance to exhale. His lips crashed into hers, not rough, but urgent- hungry in the way someone is when they’ve wanted something for too long. One of his hands slipped into her hair, the other stayed anchored at her waist, pulling her in like she was gravity and he was done fighting it.

Y/N responded just as fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him closer, chasing the warmth of his mouth, his neck, every inch of him that had lived in the corners of her thoughts. She barely remembered shifting onto his lap- just the way his hands found her hips like they’d been there before in some dream, the way he murmured her name against her skin like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was everything that had built up between them- every brush of a hand, every late-night stare, every almost-kiss, every heartbeat that stuttered when they were alone. He touched her like he was memorizing, like he was afraid she’d disappear. She kissed him like she’d been waiting for the world to stop just long enough to feel this.

They kept their voices low, stifling laughs and gasps against each other’s skin, the thin dorm walls reminding them that the world was still asleep just beyond the door. The sheets twisted under them, breaths hot and tangled, every touch deliberate- like they had all the time in the world but couldn’t bear to waste a second. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy, it was careful and full of heat, the kind of night that felt inevitable. Like the universe had been pushing them toward this moment all along, and they had finally stopped resisting. And when it was over, when their skin was slick with warmth and the room was quiet again, it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It felt like destiny.

Jake and Y/N fell into dating the way you fall asleep on a train ride home- slowly at first, then all at once, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t flashy. They didn’t need grand declarations or picture-perfect Instagram posts. What they had was quieter, deeper, built out of real things: shared glances, inside jokes, sleepy conversations at midnight when the rest of the world was still.

Most of their dates were just the two of them- Jake was big on “quality time,” as he liked to say. He’d take her to cozy little restaurants tucked away in corners of the city, the kind with dim lights and too-good desserts. They’d sit in booths for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes just existing in the same space- knee brushing knee, his thumb tracing patterns into her palm beneath the table.

Bookstores became a frequent spot, too. Jake had a soft spot for poetry (though he’d never admit it to Jay or Sunghoon), and Y/N loved the feel of worn-out covers and marginalia. They’d walk through the aisles shoulder to shoulder, flipping pages and pointing out titles to each other. She’d lean into him as they read the backs of paperbacks, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there.

Arcades were chaotic in comparison. Jake was competitive and loud, and Y/N loved the way his eyes lit up when he won. She’d laugh so hard when he lost at air hockey that she’d nearly fall over, and he’d spend far too many tokens trying to win her that one lopsided bunny plushie she swore was “ugly cute.” She still kept it on her bed.

And then there were the days they weren’t alone.

Jay and Sunghoon had a sixth sense for crashing dates. They’d text “wyd” ten minutes after Jake and Y/N sat down somewhere, and somehow always appear wherever they were, drinks in hand, ready to clown.

One night, they all ended up at a rooftop café with fairy lights strung across the beams. Jake had his hand on Y/N’s thigh, their legs tangled under the table, and Jay groaned so loud the waiter turned to look.

“Do you two have to be so disgustingly in love all the time?” he asked, sipping his drink with way too much judgment. “I came here to eat, not to watch The Notebook: Live Edition.”

Y/N just grinned and stole a fry from his plate. “You’re just jealous.”

Sunghoon leaned back, arms crossed. “Y’all make me wanna throw myself off the side of this building.”

“You love it,” Jake shot back, completely unfazed.

“Unfortunately,” Sunghoon muttered, but they all laughed.

Still, despite the teasing, the group hung out constantly. Movie nights on the common room floor, late-night walks to the convenience store in pajamas, sharing playlists and trading clothes and collapsing into each other like family.

Jake never stopped being soft around Y/N. Whether they were alone or not, he always found her hand, always kissed the top of her head, always listened like she was the only voice in a crowded room.

One night, as they sat on a park bench eating ice cream- because Y/N insisted night walks deserved dessert- Jake turned to her with a look of adoration. He had a lot he wanted to say, all sappy words of love and affection and things she loved calling “cheesy filmy lines.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What is it?” Y/N coaxed, eyes wide with curiosity, tongue poking out to lick her popsicle. A chilly breeze went past them and they welcomed it, pushing out the heat wave successfully.

“It’s the twentieth in a few days,” Jake reminded her.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Don’t wanna risk not believing it?”

“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “It all feels so stupid.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she looped her arm with his, moving closer to lean her head on his shoulder. They sat that way in silence, eating ice cream and watching the leaves of trees rustle with the wind. Cicadas grew louder and their chests rose and fell in the sync. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a few more weeks ‘till summer break.”

April 20th fell on a Saturday.

Jake didn’t say anything when he saw the date on his phone that morning- just stared at it for a beat longer than usual. The sun was already warming the floorboards under his desk, and somewhere in the building, someone was blasting a bad remix of a pop song that had been stuck in his head for three days. But even with the normalcy, the date sat heavy in his chest. He knew Jay slept in Sunghoon’s room that night, just in case, just to protect him or make sure he didn’t go off wandering into the campus.

But the rest of the day was still left.

He sent one message to the group chat- movie night in my room. 7pm. mandatory. no excuses.

Jay replied in all caps complaining about how he had plans (he didn’t), and Y/N sent back a heart. Sunghoon left it on read, as usual.

By 7:03, they were all squished into Jake’s too-small dorm room, the air already thick with the smell of popcorn and the low hum of some indie movie playing in the background. The lights were low, a throw blanket covered every surface that could physically hold a human, and the window was cracked open just enough to let the cool evening air slip in. A quiet playlist hummed beneath the noise of Y/N complaining that Jake had no good snacks (he did, she just liked to say that) and Jay dramatically tried to balance six cans of soda in his hoodie pocket.

Y/N had kicked her shoes off the second she walked in and claimed Jake’s bed like it belonged to her. She was now half-buried under one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked underneath her, hair messy and smiling softly as she scrolled through his playlist. Jake was on the floor by her feet, back against the bed frame, watching her like she was the only thing worth looking at.

Sunghoon, oblivious as ever, plopped beside her with a bag of chips and a hoodie that clearly wasn’t his (Jake’s, of course), already halfway through the first movie of the night. Jay sprawled across the carpet like a Victorian fainting woman, holding a worn-out deck of cards in the air.

“Okay, I’m gonna need full participation,” Jay announced dramatically, flicking cards across the floor like a magician. “If I’m giving up my imaginary date night, we are playing.”

“We never said we wanted to,” Y/N grinned, but reached down to grab her hand of cards anyway.

“You never want to,” Jay deadpanned. “And yet, I’m here. Suffering. With all of you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back against the wall beside the bed, one foot propped on the edge of his desk chair. “You’re so dramatic. You love us.”

“No,” Jay said flatly. “I love cards. You’re all collateral.”

The night went on like that- easy and dumb and warm. They played two rounds of Uno before Sunghoon started cheating just to piss off Jay. Y/N made Jake pause the movie at least three times to change the playlist. Someone spilled soda on the rug. No one got up to clean it.

Then they played Speed, then Jay’s own twisted version of Poker that had way too many rules and made Sunghoon suspiciously good at bluffing. At some point, they forgot the movie was even playing in the background. Laughter bubbled out of the room like it was overflowing. And it was enough. Not a grand gesture, not a revelation. Just the four of them, tangled up in a night full of stupid games and old music, and the simple magic of still being here. Y/N fell sideways against Jake, clutching her stomach at something stupid Jay said. Jake leaned into her without thinking, resting his chin lightly against her arm, grounding himself in the closeness.

But beneath the noise, beneath the ridiculous banter and snorting laughter and snacks spilled on the rug, there was a quiet kind of watching. Jake’s eyes flickered to Sunghoon every so often- not too much, not enough to notice, but enough to make sure he was still here. Still with them. Still laughing. The way his head tilted back when Jay said something dumb. The way he wiped chip crumbs on Jake’s hoodie sleeve like it was his birthright. The way he didn’t seem to know that today mattered at all.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t even hint at it. There was no heavy moment, no obvious pause in the night. Just warmth. Just presence. Just staying.

As the night dragged on, Jay announced he was going to physically die if he didn’t get water, and Jake followed him out to the vending machine. When he came back, he had two bottles, one he handed to Y/N wordlessly.

She blinked, reaching out and taking it. Her fingers brushed his. “You okay?”

Jake sat beside her again, this time close enough for his thigh to press against hers. “It’s past midnight.”

Y/N looked at the clock on his desk. 12:17.

Behind them, Jay was yelling about reverse carding his own reverse card, and Sunghoon was fake-snoring on the bed.

That night, out of pure fear and dissatisfaction, Jake had pretended to fall asleep hugging Sunghoon, forcing him to fall asleep too. Jake hugged onto him so tight, he was sure he wouldn't be able to breath for the rest of the night. Y/N covered the pair in a blanket before leaving the room with Jay. They shared a glance, a small understanding and gratitude before parting ways to go to their respective rooms.

The airport buzzed with that familiar kind of chaos- luggage wheels scraping the floor, boarding announcements echoing overhead, and the constant shuffle of people going places. But in the middle of all that noise stood the four of them, frozen in their own little bubble of time.

Finals had wrecked them. Jake looked like he hadn’t slept in three days before this morning. Jay had nearly cried over his last theory paper. Sunghoon dramatically claimed he forgot how to read halfway through exam week. Y/N's fingers were sore from typing essays and projects until 3 a.m. every night, fueled by vending machine coffee and bad lo-fi playlists. But they made it.

Somehow, they made it.

Now they stood in front of the departure gate, suitcases stacked on trolleys, backpacks slung over tired shoulders, the weight of an entire semester pressing softly on their backs.

“Well,” Jay said, clearing his throat like he didn’t want to admit he was getting emotional. “Don’t die.”

“Wow. Inspirational,” Y/N snorted.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He means: we’ll miss you. Come back in one piece.”

Sunghoon was leaning dramatically against his suitcase. “Same floor, same rooms next semester, right? I can’t have anyone else stealing my shampoo. It’s personal at this point.”

Y/N reached over to smack his arm. “I only borrowed it twice.”

“Twice a week,” he muttered, but his smile was soft.

“I’ll bring my mom’s kimchi when I come back,” Jake announced, remembering an old bet between Sunghoon and him. “You know, to prove that it’s better than the dorm’s kimchi.”

“That’s a low bar, Jake,” Jay deadpanned. “A literal shoelace would taste better than dorm food.”

There was hugging after that- tight ones, lingering a little too long. Someone may or may not have cried a little (Jay denied it firmly), and for a second it felt like a weird coming-of-age movie ending, the kind that faded out into a bittersweet pop song.

Jay and Sunghoon wandered off after that, joking about who’d forget the group chat first (Sunghoon swore it would be him, and no one argued). Jake pulled Y/N aside for one last moment before their flights were called.

Y/N looked up at him, taking in the soft mess of his hair, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, and the way his lips parted like he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Her throat burned, feeling her eyes water.

“Hey,” Jake, noticing her lips quivering downwards, stepped closer to her, a hand on her shoulder and head leaning closer to her face. “It’s just the summer,” he tried.

“But I won’t see you every day. Or at breakfast. Or brushing your teeth with your eyes half open.”

Jake laughed, that small, breathy kind. “You’ll miss me brushing my teeth?”

“I’ll miss all of you,” she whispered.

Jake reached out, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, grounding. “Y/N,” he murmured, like her name was something sacred. “I know I joke a lot, but I really mean it. I’ll come visit. I want to see your town, meet your friends, and walk the streets you grew up on. And I need that goddamn mango candy.”

Laughing, Y/N but back a sniffle. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I don’t lie about such things.”

She smiled, watery and small. “Then I’ll visit yours too. I want to see where you had your first kiss.”

“That was awful,” he laughed. “But sure, I’ll take you to that playground.”

And then he leaned in.

Not rushed, not like he was trying to prove anything. It was soft, slow, and sure- the kind of kiss that tasted like every unsaid word, like laughter under moonlight and movies shared at 1 am, like late-night card games and secret glances across the room. It was the kind of kiss that said I’ll miss you and I’ll wait for you and I’m so damn glad I met you.

Around them, the airport moved on. People passed, announcements echoed, planes took off. But for a second, they didn’t move. The world didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of his hand and the feel of her lips and the way their hearts beat just a little too loud.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his.

“Go before I cry,” she whispered.

“You cry, I cry,” he muttered, trying to smile, but his voice cracked just a little. “Group breakdown in the airport.”

She laughed, even as she blinked hard. “I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And then, she turned and walked toward the gate. He stood there until she disappeared past the security check. Only then did he finally exhale, breathing words of love she couldn’t hear. Behind, Jay and Sunghoon were hollering for him to their gate, paying they needed to board “before the plane fucking leaves.”

And then there were final waves from Y/N, airport glass doors sliding shut, security checks and goodbyes swallowed by distance. But something about it didn’t feel sad.

Because they knew they’d be back.

Same floor. Same rooms. Same people. Just a little more grown.

[seraphimfall]

i’ve read so much tradcath bullshit the last two years. i can confidently say tradcath men fit into one of two categories:

“protestant-raised and converted to catholicism because of his crippling porn addiction and racist tendencies. reposts crusader and conquistador memes. is hated in his local parish.” tradcath

“catholic-raised band kid who ate his lunches with the religion teacher. smells like mildew. cut off all his friends that came out as gay after high school. now larps as an aquinian scholar and cries after jerking off.” tradcath

[pomefioredove]

Heyo how are you? I hope you are well! I love your writing so much 💕💖

May I get a chocolate cookie, #2, with frosting, chocolate chip, and chocolate drizzle, please? I'm biased for chocolate and Chenya, lol. I look forward to more of your writing they truly make my day <33

I always hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I believe you may have misclicked the number. NOW, normally I would write che'nya anyway, but unfortunately no one else requested for fellow and I like him so much. che'nya x reader in the queue for TOMORROW- stay tuned for that!!

order #2, chocolate with frosting, chocolate chips, chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fool me

summary: ramshackle au's spin on marrying for tax benefits tropes: only one bed, fake dating, exes to lovers characters: fellow additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is adult-aged yuu, ramshackle AU so jumpscare warning for rollo, slightly suggestive setup, but this is cuddles and fluff, like ridiculous fluff

You were, to put it simply, never supposed to see him again.

That was it. Twenty-four hours at Playful Land, one ill-informed fling, and you would never again meet the eyes of Fellow Honest.

A few-hours long awful affair, and then you were free to shower away the shame and fall asleep in your own uncomfortable bed. Alone.

...But, then, he was on your doorstep in the pouring rain, looking perfectly pitiful, Gidel hiding from the downpour under his coat.

You had grit your teeth and told him two days.

It's been two months.

"I still don't understand," Rollo Flamme says, studiously scrubbing the kitchen floor. He cleans when he's frustrated. "What do you see in that man?"

You wish you knew. Having Fellow and Gidel at Ramshackle was more complicated than Rollo- he, of course, had completed the proper paperwork for a transfer semester. Fellow was twenty-six, unemployed, and, honestly, had no business being anywhere near a school.

"...He's nice to me," you say, which isn't altogether a lie. Fellow had warmed right up to your hospitality.

Rollo scowls. "You could do much better for yourself,"

You shrug. Not really, you think, but you're not in the mood for an argument with him. Not today.

Of course, Fellow couldn't just decide to stay. After his two-day grace period was up, you had to think of some other reason for him to be there.

You're not proud of what you came up with.

"Good morning, honey," Fellow says, waltzing into the kitchen (like he owned the place) and kissing your forehead. Rollo mumbles something under his breath and starts scrubbing faster.

"Morning," you nod.

He hums, and kicks his feet up at the rickety kitchen table. Fellow had never once commented on, or complained of, Ramshackle's sorry state- the rotting wood, the peeling wallpaper, the smell of mold and mildew. Rollo had already written the headmage several strongly worded letters about your living conditions. Fellow had sunk right in.

You glance at him. "Where's Gidel?"

"Sleeping," Fellow says, picking his teeth with his pinky. "He's not used to the soft mattress yet, it keeps him up."

"Wh- soft mattress?" Rollo scoffs, scrubbing so fast you think the floor may catch fire from the friction.

You try not to stare. "Is the guest room- I mean, is your room, uncomfortable?"

"Nah, he's just not used to comfort,"

You and Rollo share a look, the boy silently begging you not to give in to whatever Fellow is trying to squeeze out.

You ignore him.

"...My mattress is firm," you offer. "Gidel can have my bed."

Fellow grins, giving you a good look at his fangs. "Aw, could he? How sweet,"

Rollo glares at you. You ignore that, too.

"But... ah, then I suppose you're out of a bed," Fellow tsks. "Can't have that, can we? Well, I suppose you can share mine. It's the least I could do, after how welcoming you've been, and all."

Rollo throws off his rubber cleaning gloves and stands. "Certainly not. I suggest you stay downstairs, on the sofa, and the Prefect will have your room,"

Fellow feigns offense, setting a well-worn gloved hand over his heart. "Well, look who woke up on the wrong side of the pulpit today!"

You rub your eyes. You're not sure if you can handle another argument between the two of them.

"It's fine," you tell Rollo (but it does little to calm him). "I don't mind sharing a bed with him."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Fellow smirks. Rollo clenches his fists and you force yourself between them.

"We can talk about this later," you assure, knowing full-well you wouldn't be seeing either of them all day, if you could help it.

"I'm not going to bite-"

You have to hit Fellow with your pillow to keep him on his side of the bed. He falls with a dramatic fwump, groaning as if you'd shot him.

"So I'm not allowed to show you my appreciation, is that it?"

"Is that what you call it?"

"Don't be dirty," Fellow scolds, sitting up. "I only meant that you deserve to be doted on. As much as you dote on others, at least."

You scoff. "I don't... dote,"

He scoots closer, taking the plush pillow from your hands and tossing it aside.

"Fine, then you're a pushover. But even pushovers deserve to be pampered sometimes,"

He wraps his arms around your waist and drags you into his lap. You let him, for reasons you don't quite understand yourself.

"There. See? I'm not going to eat you," he says, patting your head as if you were a puppy. "If we're going pretend we're in love, we should at least act the part, you know."

"You're a better actor than I am," you mumble, and he laughs.

"Aw, I'm a better actor than everyone," he pinches your cheeks between his pointers and his thumbs. "But that's no reason not to try."

"I'm doing my best!"

"Really? Then you could at least pretend not to hate me,"

You tsk as you're toted around like a toy, trapped against his chest. At least he's warm. His arms are securely around your sides, his chin on your shoulder.

"I don't hate you," you mutter.

Fellow scoffs. "Coulda fooled me... guess you're a better actor than I thought,"

He flips you onto your front, stomach-down on the soft mattress, and his whole weight on yours.

"You looked stiff today," he says. "A little pressure ought to sort that out."

You have no response to that. The bed in your room is the most uncomfortable in Ramshackle, after all. And Fellow is warm and soft and you haven't felt so safe in your own dorm since...

...Well, ever.

You kinda hate how that works.

He kisses the side of your head, as if trying to keep you from thinking too much. You can sort of hear the fwish, fwish, fwish of his tail wagging.

"Are you happy with yourself?" you mumble. Fellow smiles into the crook of your neck, and, finally, speaking with some honesty:

"Very. Very happy,"

[lieslab]

Go fish

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: You decide to go on a fishing trip with your boyfriend, not realizing that it means you have to actually fish.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Which member of management do I have to fight to let Minho make a fishing video? Let him show us his skills. I haven't forgotten that he's wanted to make one for a while now. Until it happens, I imagine it'd go something like this if you were there and hated fishing.

_ _ _

“This is the worst day of my life,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

Across from you, Minho looked over with an unamused frown. “Hey, I heard that. I don’t know what you’re talking about. This morning, you were so excited to come with me on this trip. I told you what we’d be doing, but you were all like ‘no, I want to go! It’ll be so much fun!’” He kicked his leg up and waved his hands around to mock you. 

“Don’t belittle me. That was before I found out you were going to use actual worms. That’s disgusting.” 

His dark eyes squinted. “How else do you plan on catching fish? Have you been watching too much American TV? Are we going to go fishing with our bare hands?” 

“I thought you were using rubber ones!” 

“The correct term is fishing lures.” 

With a huff, you silently pouted beside him. High on his own amusement, he popped the plastic lid off the worms he purchased twenty minutes ago. His solo fishing trip turned into a duo trip. Never in a million years did he think you’d join him for something like this, but here you were beside him. 

Your nose scrunched up in disgust. The pink-noodle worm squirmed along his fingers. Bits of damp dirt clung to its naked body. With the lid off the container, the wet mildew smell floated your way. You pinched your nose and turned around. “How can fish eat that? It stinks.” 

“For the same reason you like blue cheese, you think it tastes good.” 

You shot him another glare. He grinned, held out the worm in your direction, and let it dangle. “So do you think you can bait your own pole or should I do it?” 

“You do it. I don’t want to be responsible for causing the worm pain. It’s going to give me nightmares.” 

“It’s a worm.” 

“And hooking the worm is going to hurt it. Don’t you have ear piercings? You know what it feels like to be pricked with a needle. It hurts.” 

He sighed, attached the worm on the string, and casted the string out into the murky water. “You know how a bobber works, right? You know how to reel in a fish slowly and then-” 

“Okay, just because I didn’t want to put the worm on the hook, it doesn’t make me stupid.” You grabbed the pole from him, headed towards the edge of the bank, and focused on the white and red bobber. 

“You’re going to be in a world of trouble when I pull out the fileting knife.” 

“I’m going to filet you.” 

“Tough talk from the person who couldn’t put a worm on a hook.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him and took your attention back to the bobber. Your feet dug in the oversized grass and you stayed quiet. Behind you, Minho began to set up a new fishing pole for himself. Attached with a worm and a hook, he set up a few feet away from you and threw out his own line. 

For months, he spent so long talking about how eager he had been to go fishing. When the cold cleared up and the sun began to warm South Korea, he planned a fishing trip. He never planned for you to tag along, but you insisted. 

He didn’t find your presence annoying, but rather amusing. For as long as he dated you, you were a little more sensitive. Your ideal free time wasn’t spent fishing, but rather hanging out with your friends or watching Netflix. He started to pack up when you asked if you could join him, but he agreed instantly. 

He learned how to fish years ago. Childhood was full of his parents, family friends, and his own friends trying to see who could catch the largest fish. Bets were made. Recipes changed over time. The wholesomeness and memories created, they were irreplaceable. 

Something about taking the time out of your day, catching the food, preparing it, and consuming it; it made everything extra special. The taste of fresh fish, not everyone could recreate that flavor. The extra work made it all worth it. 

“It’s moving! I caught something! I caught something!” 

Your voice broke him from his own bobber. He glanced over and, sure enough, your bobber slowly moved towards the bank. With each rotation of the handle, you tugged it closer and closer. Water splashed, a yellow webbed tail smacked the water, and disappeared beneath the surface again. 

He dropped his pole and hurried over to you. “Do you have it?” 

“Yeah, but whatever it is, it’s huge. I can feel the weight on the end of the line.” You continued to slowly bring it in. When it jerked and the bobber tugged, Minho leaned over to assist you. 

After a few moments, the tip of a face popped out from the surface. Beady rotten eyes caught yours. A mouth opened and shut. Sunlight reflected off the glimmering scales. 

“No fucking way,” he mumbled. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Hang onto it, I’m going to get the net!” He spun around and hurried back to his car. A metal hoop laced with a black net and a long handle. 

You gagged when the fish splashed water. Water splashed over your legs, soaked your shoes, and seeped into your socks. You grumbled, feeling disgusting, but kept your hold on the handle. 

Minho rushed back, trailing through the grass. The netting disappeared through the water, tucked beneath the murky surface, he clung to whatever you caught, and yanked it up. His eyes widened when he brought the fish to the surface. “Oh my god.” 

“Why is it that size? Are fish supposed to be that big? Is that normal? Is it sick?” 

The seriousness of the moment chipped away with your concern. His infectious laughter filled the air. “You c-caught-” He burst into another round of laughter. 

“It’s not funny!” You cried out. “Why is he that big? Minho, he’s like a fucking giant! Is it normal?” 

He nearly dropped the net back into the water. Sniffling, he wiped at one of his eyes. “This is what we call a Common Carp. I don’t know how you managed to catch one this size. It’s got to be over ten pounds, at least.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“It means that we don’t have to spend hours searching for dinner.” 

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped. “We’re going to eat him?” 

“It’s a fish. You don’t know the sex, but yes. We’re going to eat this fish. Do you think I came out to catch fish for fun? If I’m going to put a hook through the mouth, I’m going to consume a fish or two.” 

You grumbled and groaned. Like a lost puppy, you followed Minho back up the bank. The mildew colored fish’s mouth opened and shut, trying to gain air. The moment Minho put the net on the ground, it flopped out. 

“No!” He cried out and reached for it. The wiggling fish managed to avoid his grasp. Squirming and flopping back in the direction of the water, you dropped down in front of it on your knees. 

A wet tail slapped a small section of your bare ankle. You gagged, but didn’t pull away. Instead, you stretched out with two hands, dived forward, and pinned the slimy creature to the ground. Fish slime hit your tongue and you nearly lost your lunch. Thankfully, Minho dived forward and took over from there. 

Once he removed the hook, he grabbed the lower jaw and placed it in a large blue bucket of water. And you? Well, you lost it. You gagged and fought against the urge to vomit. Your hands splashed the murky water repeatedly. The scent of wet fish clung to your skin. 

“Are you okay?” Minho called after you. 

“I’m fucking dying. He touched me with his germs! I’m going to have-” You gagged again and spit. You vigorously rubbed your hands against the springy-green grass. “Ew, gross! I can still feel the scaly skin!” 

“You big baby. How are you going to learn to filet a fish, if you can’t handle catching one?” 

“Don’t make me do that. I don’t want to watch! I’m going to-” Another one of your loud gags tipped Minho over the edge. He burst into another fit of laughter and collapsed to his knees. 

“Hey! It’s not-” Another gagging sound brought tears to his eyes. He tried to stop, but you looked so distressed. Fishing had always been normal to him, but you acted like you touched bio-medical waste. Your reaction was so dramatic, he couldn’t help it. 

“Stop laughing at me!” 

“Stop g-gagging!” He shot back, breathlessly. He sucked in a deep breath and tipped his head towards the ground. “I think I’m going to pee myself from laughing so hard.” 

“You’re not helping!”

It took a while for the two of you to contain your composure. He rose back to his feet, grabbed his pole, and started to try to catch another fish. Minutes ticked by, but the water remained still. Not daring to touch your pole again, you walked back to the bucket the carp was in. 

“I’m sorry I caught you.” You plopped down beside him. “Soon, you’ll be in my stomach and I apologize for that. I was trying to do what was best. I didn’t realize we were going to eat you. If I would have known, I wouldn’t have stuck a pole in the water, Mr. Fish. “

“Stop talking to the fish,” Minho called over his shoulder. “It can’t hear you. Fish don’t speak English.” 

“Tough talk for the guy who barely speaks English himself.” 

You didn’t know what he said in Japanese, but you could only assume they were strings of swear words. You sighed, turned back to the bucket, and leaned closer. “I’m really sorry about all this. Soon your suffering will end and-” 

Splash! 

Minho glanced back over his shoulder to see you frantically wiping at your face. “You stupid fucking fish! Screw being nice! I’m going to eat you with zero remorse!” 

Minho blinked, taken back by your sudden change to demeanor.  “What did you-” 

“He splashed me!” You grabbed the edge of your shirt and wiped it over your face. “I’m going to get pink eye or something!” 

He sighed, tipped his head back, and rolled his eyes to the sky. Maybe this would be the first and only time the two of you went on a fishing trip together. Fishing obviously wasn’t your forte. 

After your fight with the fish, and no luck catching another, Minho packed up the pole to go home. You sat in the passenger’s seat with your arms crossed. The bright blue bucket held steadily between your legs. The oversized fish rocked with the sloshing water. 

Silence sat between you and Minho. In his head, he focused on recipes he could make with fresh fish. You avoided looking into the bucket, until you gave up. You sighed and glanced down at the fish. 

“I’m sorry that I said I’d happily eat you. I didn’t mean it. The words came out in the spur of the moment. I grew angry at you because I don’t like fish germs.” 

Only the sound of sloshing water greeted you. You looked further down and your face softened. Beneath the murky water, beady dark eyes met yours. Your heart ached at the idea of being pulled from your home and being forced into such a confined small space. Like being trapped in the jail cell, the fish did nothing to deserve it. 

“Minho?” 

“Huh?” 

“How are you going to kill him?” 

“As humanely as possible. Just because I’m going to filet him, it doesn’t mean I have a black heart. I’m going to show what compassion I can. Just because we’re larger beings and above fish in the food chain, it doesn’t mean I want the fish to die in a tragic way.” 

“I don’t want to watch.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m going to name him Minnow.” 

“That’s a carp, not a-” 

“Minnow. Short for Mini Lee Know.” You glanced over innocently and smiled. “Because just like him, you’re a pain in my ass too, sometimes.” 

“You’re lucky I love you, you idiot.” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“You’re on fish cooking duty.” 

“As long as you promise to do the filleting and cleaning, I have no problem doing that.” 

“Wanna scale him?” 

“Over my dead body will I ever touch another disgusting, slimy, wet, smelly fish ever again, bucko.” 

And from that point on, you kept your word; never again. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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Ko-fi

[blackenedsnow]

can you do a keatlejuice x fem reader who passes out a lot due to illness?

faint of heart

WARNING: Mentions of fainting due to illness

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x (Fem) Reader

NOTE: Love this idea! I have this problem as well, just not due to illness. So I hope it wrote it decently enough.

SUMMARY: You’ve been dealing with a medical condition that causes you to faint more often than you'd like. Luckily (or unluckily), Beetlejuice, is always nearby when it happens.

You were used to the feeling by now—the lightheadedness that crept in without warning, the sudden exhaustion that drained the strength from your limbs. Still, no matter how accustomed you were to your illness, it didn’t make it any easier when the world around you started to blur and tilt on its axis. It was happening again, the familiar darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

“Damn it…” you muttered, swaying on your feet as you reached out to steady yourself against the wall.

Unfortunately, the wall wasn’t much help, and neither was your body. You could already feel yourself slipping, your knees buckling under you as you collapsed. Just before the darkness fully swallowed you, a voice broke through the haze—raspy and loud, with a hint of annoyance.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up there, sweetheart!”

And then, everything went black.

When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the sensation of being cradled in someone’s arms—scratch that, not someone. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was. The smell of dirt, mildew, and that faint hint of something otherworldly told you everything you needed to know.

“Beej,” you groaned softly, trying to sit up, though a wave of dizziness made you reconsider.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha,” Beetlejuice’s voice came from above you, and you felt yourself being jostled slightly as he adjusted his grip on you. “Don’t go makin’ it a habit to pass out every time you see my face. I know I’m hot, but c’mon.”

You blinked up at him, his wild hair and striped suit filling your vision as you tried to focus. He was holding you, bridal-style, with a grin plastered on his pale face that was just shy of mischievous.

“Y’know, I could’ve just let you hit the floor. But nooo, I’m the good guy here, right? Heroic ghost with the most, swooping in to save the day.”

You sighed, shaking your head weakly. “Thanks, Beej… but you’re really not a hero.”

He scoffed, his grin widening. “Sure I am! Who else is gonna catch you when you go timber like that? Nobody cares for ya like I do, babe.”

As much as you hated to admit it, there was some truth to his words. Despite his odd personality and penchant for making a scene, Beetlejuice was always there when you needed him. No matter how irritating he could be on a daily basis, when it came down to moments like these, he never failed to show up. Somehow. At the perfect time.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his voice dropping into something that almost sounded like concern, though he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. “You gotta stop doin’ this. You’re startin’ to freak me out.”

You managed a weak chuckle, patting his chest. “I don’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, I know.” Beetlejuice let out a huff, shifting you in his arms as he looked down at you with those mismatched eyes. “Still doesn’t mean I gotta like it. I mean, who’s gonna laugh at my jokes if you’re passed out half the time, huh?”

“You’re plenty funny without me,” you teased, though your voice was still quiet and a bit shaky.

“Nah,” he smirked. “I’m only funny ‘cause you laugh at all my dumb shit.”

For a moment, you both went into a comfortable silence. Sure, he was Beetlejuice—weird, loud, and often over-the-top—but beneath all that was something softer, something that genuinely cared about you. He wouldn’t admit it outright (that wasn’t his style), but the way he stayed close during your fainting spells, the way he always made sure you were okay, said more than his snarky comments ever could.

“You okay now?” he asked after a beat, setting you down gently on the couch. “You need anything? Water? Smelling salts?”

You shook your head, leaning back into the cushions as you took a few deep breaths. “I’m alright… just give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need, dollface,” he said, plopping down beside you, legs crossed and his elbow resting on the back of the couch. “But hey, if you feel like passin’ out again, at least let me know so I can catch ya in a cool way next time. Maybe do a little spin, toss ya over my shoulder—y’know, something real dramatic.”

You smiled at him, grateful for the way he could turn even the scariest moments into something almost light-hearted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Beetlejuice winked, tapping the side of his nose. “That’s my girl.”

[01zfan]

presidential suite pt. 2

actor!eunseok x actress!reader | 5.2k words

a commission i got for the second part. the person who commissioned me i got your anon message and i just want to say THANK YOU! i was not aware so thank you for informing me heh.

this fic kind of was inspired by a house in nebraska by ethel cain.

contains: unprotected sex, mentions of online hate, unsaid feelings (but are they really unsaid)

presidential suite: one | two

Getting inside this place was alarmingly easy. Eunseok had forgotten what it was like to not be greeted by bellboys or a doorman who took his job too seriously. The most alarming difference was that he had to close his own door before his taxi drove off and he had to navigate through the delayed automatic doors to get to the front desk. 

Even if he lived the pampered lifestyle, he was still resourceful. He still had remnants of what it was like to be in places like these, no matter how hard he tried to forget. To find your room all he had to was give the man behind the front desk your description and a shitty excuse the man didn’t care to hear. He didn’t even get to finish his story before he pointed down the hallway.

“Third from the left.” He said without looking up.

Eunseok watched the man turn up the volume of the game to show him the conversation was done. He casted one more look to the bell that had DO NOT RING scribbled on a torn piece of paper tucked under it.The sign-in sheet next to the unused bell was simply a suggestion. The halved pencil attached to the clipboard had a broken piece of lead, all the names on the paper were fake. He only pulled his cap securely to his head before he started walking down the hallway.

His Golden Goose shoes matched the integrity of the carpet. His shoes were scuffed up, the artificial stains were a sign of wealth once you escaped this tax bracket. If this was the Ritz, the bare spots in the carpet would’ve been raved about on Architectural Digest. If this was on the opposite side of town the people rushing down the hallways would’ve been praised for their Indie Sleaze aesthetic. 

His avoidance of this life was on purpose, he didn’t want to even get the chance to muddy the lines. The actors who were Eunseok’s colleagues now had no idea of this life. They didn’t know that disheveled and falling apart wasn’t chic. They didn’t know about flickering lights that weren’t supposed to flicker, or the eery silence that was interrupted by whatever happens on the other side of these thin walls.

If this was a movie set it’d be a horror and the director would have to yell at Eunseok for being too relaxed. He’d be instructed to look scared walking past the night creatures drifting in and out of the place, he’d be told to look weary and hold everything close to him. But he couldn’t help it, no matter how much he hated it. This was home too. He knew the smell of mildew before he learned about notes of the fancy perfume brands that endorsed him. He was more familiar with the lower class etiquette of minding your fucking business before how to conduct himself on red carpets and fancy wrap parties. Eunseok hated that this was familiar, he hated that some part of him actually missed this. 

This was the one place Song Eunseok was just another John, another person walking up and down the hallways looking for a number on a door. The one place left in the world that no one would even bat an eye or turn a curious head wondering if that was really him, because why would a movie star be here? Why would they even care if they knew it was him?

He knocked once and pressed his ear to the door. The number matched from the text you sent him and matched the directions he was given at the front desk, but he wanted to be sure. The hallway was empty now except for him, his goose down jacket was loud when he reached for the doorknob.

“I’m in here.” You said on the other side. 

You didn’t have to come open the door. He remembered that here, nothing automatically locked. All he had to do was twist the knob and push past the rotting doorframe for it to open. 

The sight of you from the hallways made Eunseok’s heart drop. All of this was too familiar. You sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable mattress, the corners of the comforter tucked in tight to hide the fact that the mattress was dirty. A loud game show lighting up the corner of the room. The Price is Right shined on the aged wallpaper and the stained chair perpetually stuck in the corner. The bedside lamp with a pull chain and an ancient wooden bed frame that had seen better days. 

Eunseok had never been in this room before, but everything was familiar. This room was three years ago, before he hit his big break and back when he didn’t know if he’d make it in this world. This room was home when he couldn’t afford rent and where he found out one other person understood him. 

You were comfortable. Leaned back on your hands, looking up to Eunseok like you were telling him he was home. Your unwavering confidence confirmed that you weren’t putting on an act three days ago. You didn’t know how to navigate the space of wealth and fame like you did anonymity and privation of riches. Eunseok waited for you to hurriedly shut the door or hide your face or use a fake name. But you didn’t care, someone else passed by your open door you didn’t looked scared. You knew they would continue about their business, not worried about anyone else’s life but their own.

Eunseok tried to act like he had the upper hand. He acted like he shut the door quickly simply because he wanted to, not because he didn’t want anyone else to see you wearing the lingerie set he bought for you in Milan. He stayed in front of the door and crossed his arms, trying to ignore his heart hammering in his chest.

“You called me.” He said simply.

That was the truth. You called him about twenty minutes ago, breathing heavy into the receiver asking about his schedule for the next day. Eunseok lied and said that he was free, despite him having a redeye flight that was going to ship him to the other side of the world in a couple hours. Eunseok was well aware knew he didn’t have any time to waste, but he was still frozen in your entryway looking at you.

“You came.” The commercial break on the box set was louder than your voice, but you cut through it clearly. “Really quick.” You added.

This was also the truth.

You shifted on the bed and Eunseok swallowed his nerves, fake coughing to himself. Maybe he wasn’t home. This felt more like a trap he walked right into. He didn’t realize how quickly you stripped him of his wealth and the arrogance that came with it. Your text and quiet phone call made him think that he was in charge, but with you in front of him he was humiliated. He was reminded of the times he came to you like this in the beginning stages of your careers. Back when these were the only places you two could afford while booking odd jobs, back when the cost of travel and staying here almost took all your earnings. His past he spent so long trying to bury was unearthed and he felt compelled to fall to his knees and crawl to you. 

He knows you can see through him. Even if he can barely see you in the dark room he knows the elusive Eunseok-Before-The-Fame stands before you.

“I won’t talk about it if you won’t.” You say.

He has to think hard about what you’re referencing. When you let your hands slip out from under you to lay fully on the bed the only thing in his mind is you’re still the You-From-Before and how you’re waiting for him just a few lengthy strides away. 

He first thinks you’re talking about the fact that you two still most likely very much have feelings for eachother, but he messed it up by listening to his agents and you messed it up by telling him you hate him every chance you get. 

He then thinks you’re talking about the fact that he came running faster than you came running to him despite the fact that his schedule right now is currently busier than yours. 

Then, finally, Eunseok remembers what you’re actually talking about. The reviews for your movie came in from the film critics and they were less than shining. You were talking about the fact that your phone had to be shut off due to the panic of your team and you being flooded with people’s unprompted opinion of you. The fallout was so bad that Eunseok stepped in to defend you. 

(Although framing his tweet saying see it for yourself as defense was pretty egregious, it was the most his team would allow and as far as he could go before you’d skin him alive. But now your searches were filled with speculation of you two still being together. Eunseok knew that you being connected to him in any way was arguably worse for you than being talked about negatively. He assumed the situation was too complex to even address, which is why you referred to it as it and why avoided eye contact by sinking further to the bed).

So Eunseok didn’t push the situation any further. He just shed his jacket and hung it on the leaning coat rack, then his hat and shoes. He took off his shirt and then worked his pants down his legs, stepping out of it the closer he got to you. You moved closer to the center of the bed as Eunseok closed in, only looking to him once he was the one looking down on you. 

He leaned onto the bed, one hand pressed into the mattress beside your head and the other next to your ribcage as he leaned closer. He could see through the mask. Something he would’ve teased you for in his presidential suite he ignored per your request.

“How do you want it?” He asked.

Eunseok was too careful. He could tell you saw through his mask too. His hands stayed on the mattress for too long waiting for your guidance, his overconfidence was nowhere to be found. He was navigating you like he was that same threatened young actor again, before he learned to hide how scared he was of you and ending up in places like these again. 

“You’re in charge.” You said simply. 

Eunseok admittedly felt nervous hearing you give him all the authority. He hasn’t explicitly been in charge since you two were fake-together. Ever since he broke your heart and this arrangement started everything was a battle. If it wasn’t you stubbornly refusing to submit it was Eunseok refusing to give you what you wanted. You two had built up a relationship of being mutually unpleasant he forgot what it was like to be willing. 

As soon as your instructions fell from your lips you started touching his arms in anticipation of what he was going to do. He hesitated again. He wasn’t this nervous since his first award show. He didn’t even feel like this when he was announced to be in the running for that Emmy, but then he was so certain he’d lose. He also felt like he was losing in some sense here too. The window to let you know he wanted to talk about it was closing the more you touched him. He was at risk of being thrown out on his ass and in just his boxers if he told you how uncharacteristically tender and sentimental this moment felt to him, or if he said he genuinely enjoyed your performance in your recent project. 

Eunseok had to push himself off the bed to clear his mind. He didn’t need to tell you about yourself, it was clear you called him here to make you forget about everything, that’s the only reason you two ever called eachother. So Eunseok paid attention instead to the way you raised your body on the bed to follow him, eyes wide and waiting for instructions.

“Tell me what to do.” You said.

Eunseok swallowed thickly. The television is so loud, cheers from the audience interrupted his train of thought.

“Flip over.” He said.

You listened so fast it made his head spin. Before Eunseok knew it you were face down and ass up simply because he said so. If he had asked you to do this any other time you would’ve scowled at him, or you’d say make me if you were really feeling like being an asshole. But you were pliant, you even took the extra step to look back at him waiting for approval.

“Is this good?” You asked.

You really were an actress. Your whiny tone was perfect. The bed creaking as you wiggled your ass in the air was incredible set design. The television illuminating your pathetic pout was perfect. Eunseok didn’t feel worthy to see such a production. 

“Perfect.” Eunseok answered.

You even whimpered at his compliment instead of rolling your eyes. He almost dropped dead before he remembered he had his own role to play.

Eunseok tried to manually flip the switch before he went towards you again. His hands went to your back, grazing the silk fabric of your camisole. He took in the sight of your camisole folding further up your body, the silky fabric bunching at the beginning of your arch. He saw you in this position more than he saw your face during sex, but this was different. He saw the way you were reacting to him and how you bit at your lip in between each one of his touches. He couldn’t control himself from grabbing the back of your thigh roughly, causing you to jolt from the force. He looks to your face pressed into the mattress when he pinches your skin. Instead of chiding him you only let out a shaky breath.

“Feels good.” You say.

This was so unlike you. He can’t remember the last time a compliment fell from your lips in this setting. Any praise was always backhanded, followed by a way he could improve. You’re delivery is good BUT, your fingers feel nice BUT, your dick is big BUT. Eunseok was so use to it he was waiting for you to tack on an insult to your sentence, but you only waited for the next thing he’d do to you.

Eunseok nodded to himself and wasted no time pushing down his boxers. The thin sheet on the mattress rubbed uncomfortably against his knees as he got behind you. Being here should’ve disgusted him. If he was consistent, he would be making fun of the peeling wallpaper and the fact that you were acting like a pornstar instead of a high-brow actress in this cheap room. He should’ve teased you for needing his support online and in real life, maybe even throwing in something about how desperate you sounded over the phone. But Eunseok unfortunately felt unlike himself. He just blames it on the fact that you’re too distracting when he’s behind you and when you’re making sounds you both knew would leak through the walls into the hallway and neighboring rooms. 

“Isn’t this place disgusting?” You sighed.

The way you were thinking out loud was too obvious. You never had to do that before. Eunseok had more than enough ammunition when it came to you. Sometimes it was a competition of who could make a snide remark the fastest. He always won, he was quick-witted and delivered everything with a smirk that had you scowling and left you with clenched fists. But when you were practically inviting him to comment on the state of this place he couldn’t think of anything. For some reason this felt self-depreciating instead of separating himself from his old life.

When he guided your hips to press against his dick he already felt weak. Eunseok was silent behind you, his mind blank even if he knew exactly what you wanted him to say. But this place wasn’t all that bad. The smell was inviting, no one judged him and he was granted the anonymity he hadn’t felt in ages.

“Seok.” You push your hips back to grind against his. “Please.” You whine.

The desperation in your voice made Eunseok tilt his head back. You stopped moving your hips and completely swayed in Eunseok’s hold. He was slow dragging your hips against his. He could feel his precum staining your silk bottoms, he saw the small splotches he was leaving behind. 

“What do you need?” He asked.

The irony of the situation is not lost on him. When you two were together like this, being mean came like second nature. Sometimes it seemed like being abrasive was what got you two off. Denying pleasure and insulting eachother during sex was easy. The emotional labor of getting with someone who broke your heart was easily masked behind mutual hatred. Now, with you begging Eunseok to be mean to you he couldn’t think of anything. He knew your movie wasn’t going to tank once the public saw it. He knew you were good at acting, he knew that you were truly uncomfortable with the life of fame he thought you were suited perfectly for. 

Everything was suddenly off limits, he was suddenly no better than you. He was just like you, comfortable in these dingy rooms instead of penthouse suites. He wanted to tell you that he tossed and turned all night, counting threads of linen instead of sheep. The big windows terrified him and he always felt like he was being watched. He was just better than you at ignoring that voice in the back of his head that told him he didn’t deserve it.

Your hand that was pressed into the mattress reached for your waistband. Eunseok watched you pull your shorts down as far as you could reach. Eunseok quickly pulled your shorts down the rest of the way, and he watched you desperately kick them off your legs. Your hand wasn’t even floating for a second before Eunseok grabbed it. He had the answer to his question when he pinned your hand to your lower back and you moaned loudly. He knew exactly what you wanted when he leaned closer to your body to clasp his other hand around the back of your neck. 

You gasped at the sudden movement, the complete change in Eunseok’s demeanor. Your legs spread further on the mattress and Eunseok moved his knees to slot in the space. 

He leaned his body close to your back, causing the side of your head to go deeper into the mattress while you whimpered from the slight pain of your pinned hand. He had you trapped, fixed in the position he decided to put you in. 

Eunseok should make fun of you in your ear. You’re too damn proud for your own good, you’re too hard on yourself, you’re too closed off. But you also take up too much of his mind and Eunseok feels a wave of nostalgia pull at his chest.

“Fuck. Flip over.” Eunseok breathes.

He lets go of you and you’re on your back in seconds. He watches your nipples peak through the thin silk fabric. You’re bewildered, from both the eye contact and the way you listened to him so quickly. When he pulls your bottoms off the rest of the way you wordlessly work your camisole off. Eunseok puts both of the garments gently on the bed, completely opposite from his clothes that are spread across the floor. 

Eunseok has to hide the intimacy behind gathering both of your wrists in one hand and pinning it to the mattress.

He grabs his dick with his other hand, looking down between your two bodies as he gets closer to your cunt. Eunseok looks up just to see you preening your neck to get a view of it, too.

“I’ll take care of you, alright?” Eunseok assures into your ear. 

He has to hide his sincerity behind squeezing your wrist together until your lips part in pain. 

You stopped letting him into any other part of your life a long time ago. You stopped calling him about your roles or running lines by him. The last connection he has to you is fucking you on the rare occasion you’re not stubborn enough to let him know you need him. It’s already terrible that Eunseok is about to get shipped off to Japan and not have access to you for the better half of a year. He absolutely can’t afford to make this too tender despite everything in him wanting to do so, because the last thing Eunseok needs is for you to stop because he’s being too nice. So he tries to add the know-it-all tone to his voice, even though the need to take care of you only makes him want to live with you in this disgusting room for the rest of his life.

He’s relieved you buy his act. Immediately your head nods against the warm puffs of air fanning your ear and preened your hips forward to the best of your ability. Eunseok feels you uselessly trying to prop yourself up on your leg, just for it to slip out from underneath you again. He laughs because he can’t believe how obsessed he is with the way you move, you whine because you think he’s making fun of you.  

When he finally pushes inside of you with his chest flush against yours, he fully believes the nostalgia is going to kill him. Like you were plucked right from his memory, your hair tickles his face the same way as it did back then. The obnoxious commercial break projects the same way. If he wasn’t pressed to your ear he would’ve never heard the sound of relief that left your lips as he sunk further into you. You squeeze around him the same way you always have, so tight and warm.

When Eunseok pulls away from the side of your face, he is a breath away from your lips. Your eyes break from the water stains on the ceiling to look directly into Eunseok’s eyes. He can see the shock, in any other instance you’d mock him for looking so sorrowful. Kicked puppy is what you’d always call him when he looked at you like this, and mimic his pulled in eyebrows and mock the longing look in his eyes. But now you’re silent, and you mirror his expression with no malice.

“I’m going to Japan in a couple of hours.” Eunseok says.

He pulls out, despite your walls clinging to him desperately. He pushes back in and your back arches off the creaky bed. Your hands go to his shoulders, a desperate grip keeping him close.

“Congratulations.” You say.

You have to bite your lip when Eunseok repeats his slow thrust.

“I won’t be back for nearly a year.” He continues.

He purposefully lies about the amount of time he’ll be gone just to see your reaction. Your hand moves from his shoulder to wrap around his back. Eunseok feels you pull him in tighter as you attempt to hike your leg up.

“Once again, congratulations.” The break in commercials and the show starting again makes the room completely dark. You whine with parted lips when Eunseok flicks his hips upwards. “I don’t care if you fuck your costar, by the way.” 

You give him the opportunity to be mad on a silver platter. The option to squeeze your neck is right there, maybe even pulling at your hair until you whine from the pain. But he’s got you like this, it’s hard to add venom to your words. He just wants to caress your sweaty cheeks and tilt his head at the bothered tone of your voice. Also, Eunseok knows that if you didn’t care about the possibility of him fucking his costar you both wouldn’t be here. 

He moves to your neck to avoid you seeing his expressions. He pulls out until his tip prods your entrance and pushes in roughly. He feels your nails press into his back and he grips he sheets beside your head. He repeats the motion again wordlessly, and you moan right in his ear.

“God forbid.” Eunseok mutters against your skin.

He just now realizes that the air conditioning unit hasn’t kicked on once this entire time, and that it’s so late in the night the game show turned into a televangelists. The sweaty man on his television preaches about forgiveness. He preaches about the bible while the bed creaks underneath the movement. The two of you are drowning in irony and Eunseok can’t believe he’s the only one who notices.

“I didn’t fuck her you know.” He continues.

Her is alot of people. You have name dropped his costar he was with at Maria Hernandez when you were feeling particularly spiteful, but Eunseok uses her in an all encompassing way. Being a sex symbol is good for press and his career, but not so much for every other facet of his life. So Eunseok uses her as swipes his thumb against your jawline, then glides up to your cheekbone to let you know he hasn’t thought about anyone since he’s started thinking about you. 

“I don’t care.” You say.

Eunseok brings you forward by the back of your neck to kiss you. You immediately press against him harder than he kissed you and you stick your tongue into his mouth before he can pull away. Eunseok feels you grab at his arms and you pull him down until your back is on the bed. 

You try to wrap your legs around his waist again but Eunseok stops you by pressing his hand to the back of one of your thighs. He pushes more and more, until it’s close to resting on his shoulder and you moan from the stretch. With more of you open he goes deeper, pressing your body into the mattress.

“I really didn’t fuck her.” He repeats into your neck.

As if the way he was fucking you was supposed to prove his loyalty. Every movement is slow and deliberate, the way he sighs into your ear before pulling back to look down at you.

“Was she better than me or something?” You ask.

He is almost stunned to silence at how badly you want to fight. He knows that the two of you carefully fostered this type of vitriol, but he is shocked that you have doubled down to prevent anything sweet from happening. 

Still, even through your persistent on starting something Eunseok suddenly finds it in himself to be calmer. He shakes his head and moves back until your legs rest on his shoulders. He straightens them with his arm across your knee, and you curse from the stretch.

“I wouldn’t know.” He says truthfully.

Anything else he tries to say is interjected by the televangelist and the way your calves rest on his shoulders. Eunseok goes back and pulls you across the sheets to follow him. His long thrusts turn into ruts that makes your body jolt. Eunseok eyes the way your skin and chest moves from his thrusts, and he smirks when your hands go to your chest to hold them still.

“You should come visit me.” When you look up from where he’s fucking into you confused he pulls you towards him again. “In Okinawa.” He clarifies.

“Now why would I do that?” Your eyebrows knit together even more when his legs slap against yours. “Right there.” You whimper.

Eunseok makes sure to hit that stop again as he reaches for your hand. You refuse to give it to him, making him overlap yours on his chest as he comes closer. The stretch is too much, but if it’s not painfully obvious at this point you like the pain. 

You writhe on the mattress underneath him and it just makes him want you to visit him even more. His hand that was holding your legs straight goes to his mouth, and instantly one of your legs falls from his shoulders. You’re determined to keep the other one up there, even when Eunseok laves his fingers before dipping it between your legs. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, and like his touch is electric your back arches off the bed again when he touches your sensitive clit.

“Maybe I’ll go there and never come back.” Eunseok purposefully adds extra pressure to his finger and he feels your foot press into the side of his face. Your lips part but the only thing that comes out is a high-pitched moan. “Wouldn’t you miss me?” He asks.

“You’d come back.” You avoid a direct answer but you nod your head.

“If you asked.” He says quickly. 

The sounds you two make together is louder than anything else. Eunseok can still see the projection of light, but the only sound he can pick up is your voice.

“If you got another job here.” You stutter. 

You move your hand from Your chest and Eunseok takes your place. Now it’s your hand over Eunseok’s gripping tight.

“Or if you asked.” He repeats.

“I’m close.” You say. 

Eunseok nods and focuses on circling his fingers on your clit. He can feel it becoming more swollen underneath his touch, he can feel your walls sporadically seizing around his dick. Eunseok’s ruts became slow, drawing out pleasure as he tried to get your back to arch off the bed. When you do it again he lets your leg fall from his shoulder. He pressed his chest to yours, pressing kisses to the perimeter of your parted lips before kissing you directly. 

“I really would come back if you asked.” He says.

Your eyes are closed, when Eunseok separates from your lips you immediately catch them between your teeth. He sees your desperate nod clearly, and your hand wraps in his hair to push his face right back in the crook of your neck. Eunseok’s hand is stuck between your two bodies, flicking across your clit as you shiver underneath him. He can’t see your face as you moan pathetically, barely letting him know that you’re cumming before it’s too late. When he tries to pull out your leg hooks around his waist, keeping him inside of you. He pants against your flushed skin and burrows deeper into you as relief washes over him. 

He is collapsed on top of you when he hears the television again. The sound of you groaning underneath him pulls Eunseok back to reality, and his phone going off in his jacket pocket makes him look at the broken clock on the wall. He wishes your hands were still pressed into his back to keep him unbelievably close to you. They fell to your side at some point, and when Eunseok looks down at you, your eyes are open. He sees glassy surface and the tears dotting your water line so clearly. 

“You have to go to Japan.” You say it clearly, but Eunseok feels like it’s a question. Like he could just say nevermind and stay here with you.

“I’ll be back.” He says, still resting on top of you.

“In a year.” 

“Okinawa is a tourist destination.” 

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Been thinking a lot as of late about the fandom take that Hiccup actually should hold a grudge against his village for the way he was treated. This is the "hold a grudge" website, so I'm not surprised and neither is this post about telling you that you're wrong to feel this way. If I was raised the way Hiccup was, outcasted to the point that I start to make friends with the enemy, I would be angry, too!

But holding a grudge just isn't in Hiccup's nature. And I think there is no bigger proof than his incredibly deep bond with Toothless.

Because even ignoring Httyd 2 for a moment, the first movie also hints at Valka dying to dragons.

The dragon raids are the only mentioned outside threat before they learn about the Red Death. And with Stoick gifting Hiccup a helmet made of his mother's breast plate (which are not supposed to be boob-shaped, believe it or not) when he thinks his son does surprisingly well in dragon training, that could be another one of those hints.

Hiccup will be facing dragons after training instead of being hidden in the forge for his own safety (while helping to contribute like the other teens) so it makes sense to me that Valka's death was always meant to be at the claws of dragons and Stoick is trying to prevent that now that it's become a reality that Hiccup might actually face dragons in the very near future.

There is no other threat spoken about in the first movie. Hiccup's mother was always killed by dragons. She's missing from his life because Toothless' kind took him away from her. If Hiccup were to be angry at his village for the way he was treated, he should also be angry at dragons for taking away the one person who could've been unconditionally on his side. Like mothers are supposed to be.

But Hiccup isn't angry at dragons. As a matter of fact, when he gets up close to one, has one completely at his mercy, he doesn't hate Toothless. And this is before he even realizes that there's more to them than fire breathing, home-destroying, food-stealing, man-eating creatures from Hell.

Instead of being angry, he sees Toothless for who he is. A living being just as complex as he is. Capable of fear, of curiosity, of forgiveness, of remorse, of love. And Hiccup wasn't kept from seeing this because anger for having his mother taken from him didn't blind him.

The same can be said about Mildew, who gets the dragons in trouble again and again. But at the end of RoB, Hiccup still decides to put his trust in him to get them both (and Toothless) home.

And Dagur, who started a whole war over being betrayed by Hiccup, which gives him a grudge for three whole years that leaves him filled with revenge until Viggo gives him a sudden change of perspective that leads to months of introspection. It takes a little while, but Hiccup doesn't just accept him as a friend, but accepts Dagur's offer to be found brothers.

He should hold a grudge against Heather. Who played on his kindness to get Alvin the Book of Dragons and then seemingly played him again in RttE, when he lets her stay on Dragon's Edge and the very next time they see her, she's working for the Hunters. Who come into their lives by leaving Astrid to die stranded in the middle of the ocean and abducting Stormfly. With only Astrid learning that Heather is actually spying on them with Hiccup not learning about this fact until much later. (Something very clearly hurts him, but even being left out of the loop he forgives Astrid and Heather for.)

Alvin canonically held Hiccup and Toothless captive for days, barely giving Toothless any food or water. Hiccup literally states that in the first episode of DoB.

And while they don't show it in the show itself, in the very first episode afterwards, Hiccup is trying to prepare his 14 and 15 year old friends for interrogation. Clearly something in that two-parter spooked him enough to do something as drastic as this.

But at the end of DoB, Hiccup still chooses trust Alvin to help rescue Stoick and get Outcast Island back from Dagur. An alliance was forged. One strong enough that when Stoick gets gravely injured in RttE, Alvin can be trusted to come in and help out around Berk.

The closest Hiccup comes to holding a grudge is with Viggo. The first person to ever make Hiccup feel like an idiot, make him feel frustrated that he can't get immediately out on top like he did with all his previous villains. He spends literal months trying to find Viggo just to get back at him, dragging all his friends and his dragons down with him. But even that doesn't last.

Not with both Dagur as well as Stoick advising him against harboring feelings of vengeance. Dagur warns Hiccup against how the need for vengeance can change a person. Stoick warns Hiccup that revenge can lead to an endless cycle of violence, explicitly telling his son that he's telling him this out of experience. They don't want Hiccup to be lead astray and hurt by holding and acting on grudges.

There is the potential for Drago, which the comics did try to get into until a certain comic got cancelled and left us with that story unresolved. For newer fans who don't yet know this; Hiccup was actually meant to experience a downward spiral in the comics that take place after Httyd 2. Except the comic that would've concluded this storyline got canceled around the time of THW's release. Probably because THW confirms that Drago is dead while the canceled comic actually had Hiccup face Drago again, the man in hiding after his defeat. Release The Fire Tides!

This entire post just to say... A grudge would've been justified, but Hiccup just doesn't have it in him to hold onto one. Certainly not forever.

[yesihaveaobsession]

Tied Together

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: Imagine getting k!dnapped with Alastor, himself.

A/N- Had this idea in a dream. and here we are so enjoy!

Your heart pounded as you came to. The cold bite of the ropes tied tightly around your wrists and ankles dragged you sharply back to reality. The damp, dimly lit room reeked of mildew, and you didn’t need to turn around to know who was pressed against your back. The coldness of the concrete floor seeped through your pants, sending a shiver up your spine.

"Ah, you’re awake!" Alastor’s voice purred, unnervingly cheerful. "Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you’d left me to fend for myself. But alas, here we are—tied up together like some devilishly ironic gift."

"Shut up, Alastor," you muttered, twisting against the ropes. "What the hell happened?" You glanced around the room, trying to piece together how you’d ended up in this situation. Although, you had a pretty good idea.

"Why, my dear, it seems someone decided we’re too dangerous to leave unattended," he replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "Imagine that—us, dangerous!"

"Does he ever shut up?" you thought to yourself with a groan, letting your head fall back. Unfortunately, it only brought you closer to his shoulder. "This is your fault, isn’t it?"

"Oh, come now," he said, his grin practically audible. "Don’t pin this all on me. That’s hardly fair when you’re just as much to blame. You’re such a delightful little troublemaker—how could anyone resist scooping you up?"

"Delightful? That’s rich coming from you," you snapped. "You probably talked them into tying us up just for fun." You turned your head to glare at him over your shoulder, though it was pointless.

Alastor chuckled darkly, his voice echoing through the cold, confined space. "Well, I do enjoy a good game, but this wasn’t entirely my doing. Still, I can’t deny the entertainment value. You, all flustered and furious—it’s quite the sight. If only I could see your face."

He knew you had a crush on him. Oh, he knew. And he loved to toy with you, making you burst with frustration every chance he got.

"You’re insane," you gritted out, yanking at the ropes again.

"Thrashing around like a wild animal, only making the knots tighter," he said with a nonchalant tone that made your blood boil. "My dear, you’ll tire yourself out long before you get anywhere."

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" you hissed, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

"Oh, immensely," he said with a laugh that sent a shiver down your spine. "The way your anger practically radiates—it’s delicious. But don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let anything too terrible happen to you. You’re far too entertaining to lose."

"Gee, thanks," you said dryly, sarcasm thick in your voice as you tried to think of a way to escape. You doubted Alastor would be any real help.

"You’re welcome," he chirped. "Now, if you’d stop squirming, I might undo these ropes. Or… perhaps I’ll let you sit there a while longer. It’s rather charming, seeing you so helpless."

Your cheeks burned. "Alastor, I swear—"

"Swear all you like," he interrupted, his tone darkening in a way that made you freeze. "But you’ll find I’m not so easily intimidated, my dear. Save your energy. We’ll need it if we’re to make it out of here alive."

You stilled, his sudden shift in tone putting you on edge. As he hummed a jaunty tune, working on the ropes, you could only hope he wasn’t planning to free himself and leave you behind. His calm demeanor was as unsettling as ever.

"Always a pleasure, isn’t it?" he mused. "Being bound together, relying on each other to survive. It’s almost… intimate."

"Stop talking," you hissed, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"Oh, but I do love the sound of my own voice," he replied, feigning offense. "And admit it—you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to."

You groaned, dropping your head in defeat and letting it rest fully against his shoulder.

"You’re insufferable," you muttered.

"And you’re adorable when you’re angry," he countered smoothly, his grin audible in his voice. "Now, let’s see about getting us out of this predicament. Or… should we wait a little longer? I’m rather enjoying this tête-à-tête."

"Alastor."

"Fine, fine," he sighed dramatically. "But only because you asked so nicely."

His dark chuckle echoed in your ears as he worked. After what felt like forever, the ropes fell loose. He stood up, brushing himself off with a satisfied smirk.

You cleared your throat and held out a hand. Alastor hesitated briefly before helping you up. Once on your feet, you dusted yourself off.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," you said firmly.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Hello!! I'm new to sending request and a bit nervous but I was wondering for the Valentines event if I could request the prompt "🌹= Single Rose" ♥️💋 with the prompt 48. Enemy caretaker for BTAS Mad Hatter x reader where the reader and Jervis are enemies

Thank you and I hope you have a good day!!!

Until Next Time

Summary: As a nurse at Arkham, the last thing you want to do is treat Jervis Tetch - but things take a turn when he begins to consider you as his new Alice.

Word Count: 2.0k

Content Warning: Nonconsensual kissing.

A/N: Ahhh anon, don't be nervous about requesting AT ALL! I really hope you enjoy this request. I don't normally write for BTAS Hatter so I hope I did okay haha.

You were running late.

Traffic had been backed up for an hour on the way to Arkham Asylum. Your job as a nurse was already on the line as it is, with looming budget cuts and a lack of funding. Frowning, your heart hammered in your chest as you pulled up outside the asylum, the building looming over you; it was shadowed by the dark night, and a bolt of lightning struck across the sky. You parked your car and got out, shivering at the cold breeze as it whipped around you – but something else caught your eye, something large parked out front: the Batmobile.

Great. This was just what you needed. Who could Batman be bringing in now? There were plenty of criminals out on the run. The Joker, the Riddler, Poison Ivy – all of them had escaped weeks ago, but one in particular, the Mad Hatter, made your stomach twist in knots. You really, really hoped it wasn’t him who Batman had brought in. Jervis Tetch had never been your favorite. In fact, you had to admit, you kind of hated him. His proclivity for Alice in Wonderland annoyed you to no end. The constant rhyming, the references to the book – God, was it annoying as all hell. You’d never cared for the book, either, finding no fascination with the story within your life. Whatever he saw in it, you’d never know.   

Frowning, you made your way inside the asylum. Dark halls greeted you, the smell of must and mildew clinging to your nose as you entered, hurrying into the staff room to put your stuff down. Sweat beaded on your brow as you rushed to your locker, the cold, metallic room filled with lockers surrounding you on all sides.

“You’re late,” said your friend, Bethany, who was sitting a nearby table.

“Sorry,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Traffic was backed up like crazy.”

“Well, we’ve got a whole lot on the books,” Bethany said. “And Batman hauled in Tetch tonight. Beat him up pretty bad. You’re gonna need to take a look at him.”

That made you still. You frowned, your insides clenching tightly, agitation rippling across your skin. Disgust rumbled in your stomach as you rolled your eyes. “Just what I needed tonight,” you muttered.

Sighing, you quickly changed into your uniform and headed out of the room. Heart beating heavily against your chest, you made your way through the dark, quiet halls until you reached the infirmary. Luckily, you saw no sign of Batman, but there were two guards posted right outside the infirmary doors. The heavy stench of antiseptic and chemicals filled your nose as you nodded to them, letting them know you would be fine. Jervis was dangerous when he had access to his mind control abilities, but without them, he wasn’t too much of a threat. The guards shot you a look before returning to their rounds. The heavy smell of antiseptic and chemicals filled your nose as you peeked your head into the infirmary.

Right away, you spotted Jervis Tetch on one of the nearby beds. There was a bruise on his left temple, his nose bloodied, a gash above his right eyebrow. His eyes were cast downward, his blue costume ripped and dirtied, his hat set aside on the bed beside him.

You sighed. What a miserable little man, you thought.

Swallowing down your irritation, you stepped further into the room. Well, best to get this over with. You’d bandaged his wounds and send him back to his cell. The quicker you got this over with, the better. Jervis looked up as you walked inside, but his eyes immediately hardened at the sight of you, his lips peeling back in a sneer.

“Oh, it’s you,” he muttered. “The Red Queen.”

You frowned. The Red Queen. That’s what he always called you. Seeing you as an enemy against himself and his own pursuits. You still didn’t quite understand the meaning of it, but you didn’t care much, either.

“Hello, Jervis,” you sighed, wandering to the side of the room to begin pulling on some gloves and grab some bandages from a nearby counter.

He clicked his tongue in distaste. “Can’t you send someone else in here?”

“Sorry, but you’re stuck with me,” you said. “Believe me, you’re the last patient I wanted to see tonight.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he muttered.

You frowned, fighting your scowl. God, was he annoying. You would’ve given anything to treat the Joker instead of Jervis right about now, and that was saying something. Once your gloves were on, you turned back to him, wandering over. The breath caught in your throat as you approached. Now that you were closer to him, you were beginning to realize the extent of his injuries: the bruises and the blood, just how damaged he looked. Batman’s fists must’ve done a number on him. You pulled up a nearby chair and sat down in front of him.

“Stay still,” you muttered, as you prepared a piece of gauze with some alcohol on it. As you reached forward to place it on his gash, he jerked back and hissed through his teeth.

“Ow!” he hissed. “Can’t you be a little more gentle?”

“And can’t you sit still?” you asked, fury burning through your veins.

He scoffed and wave his hand. “Your touch leaves much to be desired, my dear.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words and you leaned away slightly. “Don’t call me that. Now sit still and let me treat you.”

He frowned, but you caught eyes with him for just a moment – but it was a moment too long, nonetheless, and his gaze hardened the longer he looked at you. Your insides squirmed and you looked away, peeling your eyes from his own. His stare burned holes into your skin, and you suddenly felt a pang of regret for being so mean to him, so curt. He was a patient here, after all; maybe you needed to be kinder. You were a nurse, after all.

“Please,” you said again, a little softer this time.

He hesitated, before nodding, relaxing into h is spot on the bed. You reached forward, gently dabbing at the gash above his brow. He winced, but didn’t pull away this time; he was quiet as he let you work, continuing to bandage his wounds, ensuring they were properly cleaned and covered to prevent infection. He smelled of sweat and something metallic, something like gunpowder and a factory. Perhaps that’s where he’d been staying for weeks. But as you worked, you felt his eyes continuing to burn holes in your skin, as if you were something to be studied.

You frowned. “You can stop staring at me like that,” you muttered.          

“Like what?” he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

“Like…” God, you didn’t even know how to explain it. All you knew was that the way he stared at you made your cheeks flush and your insides warm. With fury or desire, you didn’t know which ruled you more.

“I’m simply curious, is all,” he said. “About whether you’re still fitting to be my Red Queen…or something else.”

“You better not call me Alice,” you muttered, before he could continue.

He paused, his brows raising slightly, but he remained quiet. As soon as you were finished with bandaging his last wound, you sat back and stared at him, your eyes narrowed. He stared back at you, but as he reached for his hat, he winced, cradling his arm in his hand.

You quickly looked him over. “You might have a sprain,” you said.

“Can you grab my hat for me?” he asked.

You sighed. The last thing you wanted to do was encourage him, but you grabbed his hat anyway, the material soft against your fingertips. You turned back, watching as he continued to cradle his arm in his hand. Sighing, you placed the hat back onto his head, but as you did, something inside of you shifted as your heart leapt into your throat. He gazed up at you, before smiling, his lips twisting into something strangely pleasant and warm.

“Stop smiling like that,” you muttered, stepping back. But as your arms dropped to your side, his hand suddenly shot out, snatching up your wrists – and in that moment, you realized he had been faking his sprain.

“You know,” he said after a moment. “You’re much better suiter to be Alice than you are the Red Queen.”

You paused, his words taking you aback, blinking as you tried to process what he said. Your mouth went dry, panic crawling up your throat.

“Or are you better suited to be the Red Queen?” he asked, almost a curiosity in his tone. “To be the enemy of Alice? To all of Wonderland?”

“Jervis…” you said, your tone testing. “Let go of me. Right now.”

“But, my dear, don’t you see?” he asked, rising to his feet. “We can be more than enemies. Aren’t you tired of this little dance we do time and time again?”

His words were like a slap in the face, like a knife being thrust into your heart. His hand tightened around your wrist, fingers digging into your flesh. Ever since you’d started working here, you had done this strange dance with Jervis: the hatred, the insults, the glaring at each other every time one of you walked by. That fire burned in your belly as bright as a dying star. Fury filled your eyes as you yanked your arm from his grasp.

“You are crossing a big line, Tetch,” you said, a warning in your tone.

“Oh, but alas,” he said. “I think I’ve far from overstepped.” He smiled, a wide-toothed grin, his eyes alighting with desire and desperation.

You gasped as he closed the distance between you two, and in one stride, he grabbed your face between his hands and pulled his lips to yours. His mouth tasted of blood and sweat, but his tongue brushed against your own as you gasped. His hands were warm on your skin – and a sudden warmth trickled through your veins. It had been so long since you’d been kissed, so long since anyone touched you – and there was something deeply primal about kissing a man you hated so much. The gauze fell from your hand and fluttered to the floor, and you relaxed against Jervis, letting him kiss you as you kissed him back. One of your hands came up around and fisted in his light blonde hair, twisting your fingers in the strands. He was warm and soft as his body pressed against your own, as sick desire twisted in your own gut. Warmth pooled in you core, alighting inside of you, and you moaned into his mouth.

His hands tightened around you as he pushed you back against the nearby counter, his warm body enveloping yours. His teeth nipped at your lips, and you pushed yourself harder against him, grinding yourself into him, desperate for more.

“God, I hate you,” you whispered, though you couldn’t pull your lips away.

That made him chuckle, a low rumble deep in his throat. “And I hate you just as much, my dear Alice,” he murmured.

But just as his lips found yours again, footsteps down the hall suddenly made you pull away. You gasped as the realization of what you were doing – that you were kissing a patient – made you step farther back, putting distance between the two of you. His eyes widened, his mouth falling agape as the two of you stared at one another. But you gritted your teeth and scowled, realizing just what you’d done. Words died on your tongue as you stood there, heart hammering against your ribcage, trying to process just what you’d done – but with an angry huff, you turned on your heels and raced out of the room.

“Until next time, Alice!” he cried as you stormed out of the infirmary.

But as you stormed down the hall, fury burning in your stomach, you couldn’t help but smile.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Hello, since then I have been reading your postings for reader x eltingville and so on. I think they're amazing in writing and catching their personalities I enjoy your posts ♥️♥️ If it's not too much trouble, I did find your parent posts with the Eltingville Club interesting. I wanted to know your thoughts on how they might respond to the more difficult parts of parenting. For example having to ground their child or handle tantrums things like that

sorry if this came out too formal or something like that I got really nervous 💔

( YES I LOVE THIS

"So little yet takes up half the bed."

Josh as a dad dealing with his little girl’s tantrum over wanting to sleep in his bed:

Josh is the kind of dad who thinks he’ll lay down the law but crumbles the second he hears sniffles. The moment his daughter starts crying—full-on meltdown, little fists balled up, tears down her cheeks, saying, “But I’m scared, I don’t wanna sleep alone!”—he’s totally thrown off his game.

At first? He tries to argue like she's another adult:

> “Kiddo, we’ve been over this. Your bed is your bed, and my bed is my bed, okay? That’s the system. There’s a system.”

But she just cries harder. And Josh—who can barely regulate his own emotions—starts pacing. Muttering. Maybe rubbing his temples like, God, this is happening again.

> “You can’t manipulate me with crocodile tears. This isn’t the Wrath of Khan, I’m not falling for it.”

But then she pulls out the big guns: trembling lip, reaching for him with tiny arms. Maybe she says, “But I feel safe with you,” and that’s it. He’s toast. His heart does a full-body cringe.

Cue dramatic sigh and grumbling as he throws back the covers:

> “Fine. But just for tonight. And no kicking me in your sleep this time. You elbowed me in the spleen last week.”

Then, as soon as she curls up beside him and drifts off? He softens. Quiet. Protective. One arm loosely draped around her without even realizing it.

Later, he’ll tell someone—

> “I’m not going soft. She’s got this Jedi mind trick thing. It’s psychological warfare.”

But he’ll sleep better with her there. He always does.

—

"Its not poison its a fairy potion."

Jerry handling his daughter’s tantrum over bad-tasting medicine:

The meltdown starts fast—her little face scrunching up as she shouts, “No! It’s yucky! I hate it!” and maybe even kicks the cabinet where the bottle is kept. Jerry flinches at the noise, nearly spilling the dose on the floor.

> “Okay, okay, sweetie—please don’t—let’s not break the furniture, that’s teak—”

He tries to reason, to plead:

> “You have to take it. You’ve got a fever, and I already called the pediatrician, and I can’t not give it to you—please don’t make me call again.”

But when she starts to cry? Jerry breaks into a sweat. His hands start shaking. His brain is racing—he’s imagining CPS kicking down the door, “Eltingville’s Least Liked Club Member Denies Medicine to Child,” and then—

Idea. His voice shifts, awkwardly adopting a whimsical tone like he’s never done a magic trick in his life but he’s trying.

> “Wait, wait—hang on a second. This isn’t just medicine. This is… um… Fairy Potion. Yeah. Straight from Queen Mildew of the Night Grove.”

His daughter blinks at him, sniffling. He’s surprised it worked even that much, so he doubles down.

> “It’s very rare. Only given to brave little girls who’ve proven themselves worthy by surviving… broccoli night. Which you did. With honors.”

He grabs a clean measuring cup like it’s a chalice, pours in the thick purple goo, and solemnly hands it over.

> “One sip, and you’ll get temporary powers of—uh—dreamflight and… itch resistance. And probably something sparkly. But only if you drink the whole thing.”

She’s skeptical. But she’s also five. So she drinks it, grimacing through the taste.

Jerry gasps theatrically:

> “Did you feel that? I think you’re glowing. We better tuck you in before you start levitating.”

And she giggles. It works. He nearly cries from relief.

Later, he’ll stand at the sink, washing the cup, quietly muttering to himself:

> “God. That was exhausting. I’m not cut out for this. I need flash cards or—something.”

—

"But you promised."

Epilogue Pete with his daughter throwing a tantrum because he won’t play dolls with her:

She’s been begging for twenty minutes while Pete’s trying to fix a busted remote. Wires on the table, screwdriver in hand, but over her shrieking? You’d think he was refusing her water in a desert.

> “I said I don’t wanna play dolls without you! You promised! You promised!”

Pete flinches like she just took a bat to his kneecap. He rubs his face with both hands.

> “Kid, come on. I just got home, my back’s killin’ me, and I don’t know if I got the emotional range to be ‘Princess Glitter Sparkle’ right now, alright?”

But she’s already red in the face, crumpling onto the carpet, letting out this shrill “I’ll never be happy ever again!!” that hits him right in the soul. He stares at her. Swears under his breath.

> “Jesus, you're dramatic. You been watchin’ your mother’s telenovelas again?”

She doesn’t answer. Just sobs harder, clutching her Barbie like it’s the corpse of a fallen soldier.

And that’s it. Pete slams the screwdriver down and mutters:

> “Goddammit. Alright, alright—fine. Lemme just—gimme a sec.”

Cut to two minutes later: he’s sitting cross-legged on the rug, looking utterly dead inside, with a plastic crown too small for his head and a Ken doll shoved in his calloused hand. His daughter perks right up like nothing ever happened, suddenly cheery.

> “Okay, Daddy, now Ken’s in love with the fairy queen, and you gotta make him say something romantic!”

Pete groans.

> “Ken’s got commitment issues, baby. I dunno if he’s ready for all that.”

She glares at him, tiny arms crossed.

Pete sighs again. Deeper. Resigned.

> “…Fine. ‘Ya eyes are like two diamonds in the dark, shinin’ right into my soul or whatever. I’m losin’ my freakin’ mind over here, fairy queen.’”

His daughter bursts into giggles like it's the funniest, most romantic thing she's ever heard. Pete stares at the doll in his hand like it just insulted his lineage, then flicks its molded hair.

> “This guy better appreciate you. I had a social life once, ya know.”

But he’d do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Because his principessa runs the joint.

-‐-

"Beauty and the beast—literally."

Epilogue Bill Dickey with his daughter throwing a tantrum because he didn’t tell Mom (you) she looked beautiful after her makeover:

You finally walk out of the bedroom—hair done, lipstick perfect, dress zipped up without a single snag. You've got your heels on. Your daughter gasps. She claps her hands like you’re a fairy godmother emerging from a transformation sequence.

And Bill? He’s on the couch in a stained “Man-Thing vs. Swamp Thing” T-shirt, shoveling cold lo mein into his mouth, barely glances up.

> “Yuh-huh. You do that yourself? Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”

You shoot him a look. Your daughter does more than that.

> “DADDY!!”

He jumps like she set off fireworks under his ass.

> “Jesus Christ, what now?!”

> “You didn’t say Mommy looked beautiful! You’re supposed to say it! You’re being MEAN!”

> “She knows she looks good! What do you want me to do, serenade her? Paint a mural? She’s my wife, not friggin’ Aphrodite!”

But his daughter’s already halfway to a meltdown. She’s got a tight grip on her My First Makeup Bag and the same look in her eye he used to get when some jerk at the comic shop said “Star Wars” was better than “Star Trek.”

> “If you won’t say it right, I’m putting makeup on you!”

> “No, you’re not. Don’t even—HEY! Don’t open that—you get that mascara wand away from me!”

Cut to Bill, slumped in a chair with a face full of blush and sparkles, eyeshadow up to his eyebrows, and lips painted in a wobbly red mess like he lost a fight with a circus clown.

He looks directly at you, dead serious:

> “If you take a picture of this, I swear to God, I will burn every photo album in this house and salt the earth.”

Your daughter beams. She’s got lip gloss on her forehead and zero regrets.

> “Now say Mommy looks beautiful or I’m putting glitter on your comics!”

Bill lets out a guttural sigh, throws his head back.

> “Fine. You look beautiful, okay?! Like you walked outta one of those perfume commercials with the whispery French voice and the dead-eyed anorexic model falling into a pool.”

Your daughter pauses, then nods. “Good. Now kiss her hand.”

> “What is this, Les Misérables?! I—ugh, fine.”

He kisses your hand dramatically, muttering:

> “This is what I get for raising a drama goblin. You’re both outta your minds.”

But as soon as she's not looking, he gives your hand a little squeeze. And when your back is turned, he saves the lipstick-stained napkin like it’s part of a collector’s set.

---

[frantic-fiction]

Reunions

(Pic: lovelybluebirdie) I cropped it a bit

Astarion x gn!reader, Astarion x reincarnated!Tav

Summary: A few months after reconnecting to your past life as Tav, a party is set to meet the rest of the group. You're nervous, worried about not living up to who you once were. Will you be enough?

This is a little part 2 of I'll Find My Way Back to You

Notes/ Warning: Pretty much just fluff. Reader is insecure. Astarion is a supportive partner. I kept all 6 origin characters alive because it's my story and I don't want to imagine any of them dead. Also, Halsin's here cause druids live to be like a thousand or whatever.

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

You're not panicking. Why would you be? It's not like you're meeting a group of people you've only met in dreams—a group of strangers you've painted for the better part of your existence- a family forged through hardship from a past life you're still trying to remember fully.

No, you're not panicking. You're not scared that the people who are so excited to see you will not like what they see. You're not terrified the family Astarion has helped you remember will look at you disappointed once they realize you are no longer the Tav they once knew. You're not worried at all. Not. One. Bit.

You spent the afternoon cleaning the house from top to bottom. It was sparkling, and your fingers ached from the hours of scrubbing you filled in the restless day with. No surface was left untouched. Bookshelves were dusted, baseboards were spotless, and even the top of the cupboards, where no one would ever see, were wiped down. The floors were swept and mopped three times now, but you keep finding spots you missed. Astarion even physically stopped you from scaling the roof to clean the chimney when you ran out of things to occupy yourself with.

There's a roast in the oven, potatoes, and veggies cooking alongside it, and a pie cooling on the counter. You wanted to cook more, but you were worried that not everyone would like blueberries or that someone had turned to a plant-based diet. Astarion quickly reminded you that they used to eat food out of dusty barrels and mildewed chests.

Currently, you stand in front of your floor-length mirror. Astarion is out on a quick hunt before the party arrives, leaving you to obsess over your thoughts of inadequacy. The majority of your closet littered the floor. You're scrutinizing a simple tunic and legging combo. Was it too simple? Should you wear something more eye-catching?

You're trying to remember what Tav would have worn. All you can recall is blood-stained armor and simple camp clothes. But this occasion garners something more. Fuck. Stripping off the current outfit, you replace it with an almost identical one and look at yourself in the mirror again. You weren't sure what you expected, maybe to magically love this pair of pants and old tunic. But in reality, you were just as frustrated and worried.

The clothes weren't the problem, you knew that, but it was easier to be pissed at a blouse than to accept that you were scared. You were frightened to face Astarion and Tav's friends. You have Tav's memories and feel an odd kinship with these people. But you weren't Tav, and you would never be them, at least not entirely.

You felt like an imposter to try and convince anyone otherwise. Tears of frustration and disappointment in yourself began to trail down your cheeks. How could a silly artist hold a candle to the kind and heroic savior of Baldur's Gate? You glared at yourself, wishing things could have been different.

You jump when you feel cold arms wrap around your torso and a warm kiss at the nape of your neck. Astarion loved to use his lack of reflection to sneak up on you. You, on the other hand, hated it. Still, you found yourself leaning back into his firm chest.

"Hello, my love,"

You try to stop the pathetic sniffle, but it's useless. Astarion turns you in his arms and cups your jaw. "Darling," is all he says because he knows. Of course, he knows.

That simple pet name causes the floodgates to open, and you crumple into Astarion's chest, nuzzling his neck. He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body. Astarion lets you cry, knowing how nervous you've been for this meetup.

He rubs soft circles on the small of your back and peppers kisses to the crown of your head. "You can talk to me,"

"W-what if they don't li-like me?"

Astarion moves you both to the bed, skirting around the mess you made. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap to look you in the eyes better. "Why wouldn't they love you?" He prompts, not wanting to push you.

"Star, you know why. I'm not Tav," you hiccup, and you're positive the words you're speaking are incoherent. "I have their memories and some of their mannerisms and…and I'm also allergic to bees, but I'm not them. What if they hate me because I'm not Tav."

Astarion pecks your lips to halt your panicked words. He wipes the tears from your damp face. "No, you are not Tav, but they are part of you. They live in your art, laugh, and kind heart."

"But wha-"

"Let me finish, my love," Astarion smiles, brushing some hair behind your ear. "No one expects you to be Tav. We all love them deeply, but Tav's gone." He swallows hard, the words still hard to voice for him.

Astarion kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and continues to pepper kisses over your face, catching stray tears. "They just want to get to know the beautiful artist I fell in love with. Gale's big mouth might have let them know more about our history than I would have liked, but that doesn't change anything."

"And if they don't like the person you fell in love with?" You ask softly.

"Then fuck all of them. I love you, and if they don't love you as well, then they have no place in my life." His eyes pierce deep into yours, and there's no denying the truth of his words. You are overcome with a wave of love for your vampire and kiss him softly once more. "Now come, my love, by the smell, your roast is done."

"Shit!" You jump off his lap and rush out of the room, self-doubt pushed to the side.

*

The roast is fine if slightly burnt on the top. It looked juicy and smelled amazing. The vegetables are mush, but the potatoes are tender and seasoned well. It's not your best meal, but there's nothing you can do to fix it now. You left it on the counter to rest and found Astarion in the living room.

He was rehanging one of your paintings- the one you drew late last year after waking up in a cold sweat. It was a complete picture of the party standing on a dock overlooking the Grey Harbor just as the sun rose above the horizon. Astarion helps you fill in the gaps, telling you that this followed the fall of the Absolute.

"What are you doing?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the wall. You had hidden away most of your art, too embarrassed by the sheer number of canvases depicting the guest due here any minute.

Astarion finishes hanging the painting above the fireplace and turns to you. "I liked this one and thought I'd put it back."

Before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Your stomach instantly dropped, and your heart beat hard in your chest. As if sensing your rising anxiety, Astarion moved to your side, his large palm finding the small of your back.

He swiftly kisses your cheek. "One word and I'll throw them all out."

Astarion leaves you and walks to answer the door. Your palms are sweating, and you rub them down your thighs. You take a few deep breaths and pace the room. Not knowing what else to do, you idly fluff up the decorative pillows of the couch and stall.

"Pull yourself together." You mumbled under your breath. You hear the sounds of multiple footsteps, and you know they're all here.

Why did Astarion request for them to arrive all at once? You're still not sure. But you're suddenly very pissed at him for his decision. Having all of them looking upon you like an art exhibit terrifies you.

"My dear," Astarion pokes his head into the room, a warm smile adorning his sharp features. "Would you like to meet our guest?"

You swallowed hard and nodded. Putting on a brave smile, you rounded the couch and reached for Astarion's hand. Threading his fingers with yours, you curled around his arm like a lifeline.

Moving out into the foyer, you shyly look at the group before you. Gale, given the circumstances of your and Astarion's meeting, you had already met. He had relentlessly bothered Astarion until an introduction was made between you and the wizard. But you've only seen the others in the paintings you've made and the dreams you've seen.

Karlach bounced on her feet, Wyll smiling brightly behind her left shoulder. Haslin stood by the door, a beautifully sculpted wooden bear in his arms. Shadowheart stood beside him, her face passive but relaxed and almost pleased. Lae'zel was the farthest from the group, brooding in the corner, looking at you suspiciously. Still, she even loosened her tense shoulders and stepped forward upon your entry.

"Um, hi." You waved meekly, giving them your name, cringing when your voice cracked.

It's quiet for a moment too long, and you're a step away from fleeing when Karlach skips over to you.

"Can I hug you?!" She almost yells, shaking her fists excitedly.

"Karlach!" Astarion scolds. The Tiefling had, by the looks of it, broken a rule he had set for your comfort.

"Sorry, sorry." Karlach's smile fades, and she moves to retreat. Your heart clenches, and it's like your body moves on instinct. You detach from Astarion before you can think, and then your arms are around her waist. Her scalding heat seeps into your bones and listen to the cranks of her engine.

"Hi Karlach," you whispered into her torso. The wind squeezed from your body, and your feet were off the ground.

"It's nice to finally meet you! The letters fangs write didn't do you justice."

Quickly, the group connects like magnets. Wyll crowds in and hugs you from behind, pressing you closer to Karlach. Gale piles on after, then Halsin. Shadowheart nudges her way between the men and apologizes on behalf of everyone but gives you an equally tight squeeze. The group even wrangles Astarion and Lae'zel into this group hug.

These people are supposed to be strangers, but having them close, seeing this family you've watched through someone else's memories for most of your life right before you. It fills you with familiar warmth and affection and has tears of joy in your eyes. You might not be Tav, not entirely, but you still have a place in this little family.

"Um…excuse me, I can't breathe." You squeak out after a moment of suffocation, and the group is quick to disperse.

Wiping away the lingering dampness from your cheek, you take a moment to compose yourself, clearing your throat with a subtle grace. Your hand instinctively finds its way back, and Astarion swiftly recovers it, his touch reassuring. Soft circles dance on the back of your hand, a silent question lingering in his gaze, seeking affirmation that you're all right. You respond with a nod and a comforting squeeze of his hand.

"Ah, well…" you chuckle with a hint of self-awareness. "I have a roast with everyone's names on it. And a blueberry pie; Astarion found a wild patch on one of his hunts."

"Thank the gods, I'm famished," Wyll sighs, his appetite evident as he sniffs the air dreamily. A nudged Karlach sets the communal movement toward the dining room in motion.

Astarion emerges with the wine, gracefully pouring glasses of red for everyone. Gale, the sole visitor to your home beforehand, takes charge of the table settings. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, plates and silverware align harmoniously. The stage set, the food emerges, and the night takes flight.

It feels like a cinematic scene picking up where it had once paused, a seamless continuation. Laughter weaves through the air, stories unfold, and even the occasional argument dissolves into a chorus of joyous laughter. Though new and fresh, the conversation flows as naturally as breathing. Strangers evolve into friends, and amidst the clinking of glasses, a familial bond begins to sprout. Tav was indeed fortunate to have these beautiful souls around.

As the night bids farewell and everyone departs, you find solace curled up against Astarion. His voice, a gentle undercurrent, softly reads from his newest book, and you gaze up, fixated on the beautiful man before you. A silent expression of gratitude graces your lips, an unspoken acknowledgment directed at Tav. Thanks for giving you a family and the love of your life.

Astarion's fingers scratch your scalp, tenderly coaxing your eyes closed. "What are you thinking about, little love?"

"Just how lucky I am."

"I would argue I'm the lucky one, but I suppose we can share," he smiles; he continues to read to you and massage your scalp until you're puddy against his body, sleep having all but consumed you. The night settles into a tranquil symphony, the warmth of shared love lingering in the serenity.

Okay I know it was a bit cheesy, but I needed so fluffy shit today. Anyway, tell me what you thought I love talking with y'all.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna, marina-and-the-memes

[lanaroff]

Unwanted- Part 11

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N is an enhanced SHIELD agent who is forced to work with the Avengers. What happens when they discover that she’s not alone?

You stood in front of the crumbling house, the once grand estate now decayed, covered in the scars of time. The windows were cracked, the door hanging loosely on its hinges. It was nothing like you remembered. But then again, you hadn't thought about it in years. You had been a child when you had last stepped through these doors, a child still unaware of the monster your mother had been.

Your hands were shaking, not from fear but from something darker. The anger had taken root inside you, and now it was coursing through your veins. You had come here for answers. For retribution. To confront the woman who had made you a weapon, the woman who had destroyed your life before you even had the chance to live it.

Venom stirred beneath your skin, sensing the gravity of the moment. You could feel its unease, its hunger. The alien had been quiet lately, too quiet. But you didn’t care. You didn’t need it anymore.

*We can make her suffer,* Venom whispered, its voice thick with malice. *She deserves it.*

"No," you muttered, clenching your fists. "I have my own plans."

You pushed the door open with a force that made it creak and groan. The smell of mildew and decay greeted you as you stepped inside, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the house.

In the corner, you saw her.

Your mother.

She was sitting in a chair by the window, her frail body wrapped in a thick blanket, her hair thin and gray. She looked nothing like the woman who had once been a ruthless scientist, whose cold eyes had always looked at you as little more than a tool, an experiment. Now, she was just... old. Weak. Sick. Her face, once sharp with the precision of a scientist, now sagged with age and exhaustion. She didn’t even look up when you entered.

You stood there for a long moment, the weight of everything you had gone through hanging over you like a suffocating blanket. The rage, the memories, the betrayals. Everything you had ever suffered because of her.

“Mother,” you spat, your voice low and cold.

Her head turned slowly, and her eyes—cloudy and tired—met yours. A faint, almost apologetic look crossed her face, but you didn’t care. You had no sympathy left for her.

“You’re... still alive,” you muttered, the words thick with bitterness. "I expected you to die a long time ago."

She sighed, the sound coming from deep within her chest. "I didn't think you'd come. I thought you hated me too much to ever see me again."

"Why did you do it?" you demanded, stepping closer, your voice rising. "Why did you turn me into this—into a *monster*? Why did you make me a lab rat? Why did you kill my father and pretend it was an accident?"

Her expression faltered, a moment of guilt flashing across her face, but it quickly faded. She reached for a glass of water, her hands trembling, and took a sip before speaking.

"You were... the perfect candidate," she said slowly, her voice weak but still carrying that cold detachment. "You were broken enough to be shaped into what we needed. You... you couldn't love, you didn't care about anyone. You were a blank slate, an empty vessel." She paused, staring into your eyes. "That's why you were chosen."

You stared at her, the words searing into your mind. You couldn’t hear them. *You couldn't love. You were nothing but a tool.* She had never seen you as a person, just an experiment.

You wanted to scream, to tear her apart, but you held it in. The pain was too much.

"I was your daughter ," you growled, your voice quivering with barely controlled rage. "And you treated me like a science project."

Her eyes softened with regret, but there was no compassion in her expression. "You were never meant to be loved," she whispered. "And I... I thought I was doing what was best for you. Hydra thought you would be the answer to everything.

You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your skin, your pulse thundering in your ears. You had been broken, yes. But to hear it from her lips... to hear the justification for what she had done to you, it was unbearable.

"You're lying," you spat. "I’m not some... some *thing* you made to carry out your sick plans. I’m a person. You ruined me. You ruined my life, my family—*my father*." The words choked you. "And for what? Power? Control? You *murdered* him, and then you pretended it was an accident. How could you live with yourself?"

Her eyes dropped to the ground, her face twisting with something that might have been shame—or maybe just resignation.

"I didn't want to. But Hydra made me. They told me it was the only way. They threatened me. They threatened you. And I... I thought it was the only way to protect you, to give you a future," she said, her voice trembling now.

"Enough!" you shouted. "I don’t care anymore. You’re a broken old woman, and your explanations mean nothing."

As you stepped forward, ready to finish it, a familiar voice echoed from the doorway.

"Don't do it."

You froze. Wanda stood there, her eyes pleading with you, her voice shaking.

"Please, don’t kill her," Wanda said softly, stepping closer. "If you do this, there’s no turning back. You’ll become just like her."

"Like *her*?" you scoffed. "You think I care about becoming like her? She ruined my life! She made me a weapon!"

Wanda stepped closer, her voice strained. "I know. I know what she did. But this—this won’t fix anything. It’ll only make it worse. You don’t need to be a monster, [Y/N]. Not again."

But just as you took another step toward your mother, a new sound echoed through the room—footsteps, marching quickly. And before anyone could react, the doors exploded open, and Hydra’s soldiers stormed in, weapons raised.

Shit.

The room exploded into chaos.

Wanda shoved you out of the way as gunfire rang out. You instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, your hands ready to strike, to kill. The Avengers weren’t far behind, and soon, the room was filled with flashing lights, the clash of metal, and the sound of shouting. The air was thick with violence.

You lost sight of your mother in the chaos, but there was no time to search. Hydra had come, and you were too busy fighting for your life to care about anything else.

The battle raged on, the room filled with gunfire and explosions. You fought with ruthless efficiency, taking down Hydra agents without mercy. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the nagging thought of your mother. Where had she gone? Was she still alive?

It wasn’t until the smoke began to clear that you finally found her.

She was in an empty room, standing with her back to you. She was holding something—a detonator.

You charged forward, fury consuming you. "What the hell are you doing?"

Your mother turned slowly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I’m so sorry."

And before you could react, she pressed the button.

The explosion was deafening.

---

The world seemed to shift, the air thick with smoke and fire. You didn’t even feel the blast at first—just the intense heat. But then it hit you. The flames surrounded you, closing in fast.

You felt the intense pain, the fire licking at your skin, and then... *Venom*.

The alien inside you was thrashing, screaming in agony. You could hear it, feel it tearing at your body.

*This is it,* Venom whispered weakly. *It’s too much. I can’t... I can’t take it.*

Your vision blurred, and you screamed, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was from the agony of feeling the creature inside you begin to die.

You looked around, desperate. Steve was nearby, but you couldn’t move. The fire was eating away at your body, and you could feel it. Venom was dying. And if Venom died, so would you.

*Let go,* Venom whispered. *You have to let me go. You were a good host. You saved me... Now, I need to save you.*

You didn’t want to. You couldn’t. You fought to hold on, your chest tightening. But the alien was weakening, and the fire was too strong. You felt it pulling away, slipping from your grasp.

"Don’t leave me," you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

But Venom’s voice grew softer, fainter.

*I have to go. I’m sorry...*

And then, you felt it. The alien left you. Gone.

You collapsed to the ground, your body falling into unconsciousness just as Steve reached you.

He scooped you up, his face etched with fear. "No, no, no," he muttered under his breath. "Not again."

And as the world around you burned, Steve carried you to safety.

[selfcestmovies]

The Broken Mirror

The scene we're all craving Yelena Belova x Void!Yelena Belova Rating M (rough sex, self-cest, deep emotional healing) Wordcount: ~1200

_____

Entering the void had no warning signs. No slow fade into emptiness, like when she was snapped into dust. Just a shock of complete and overwhelming darkness.

Yelena knew she had to reach Bob somehow. There must be a way to get through to him—to walk through the void and come out on the other side, where Bob would be waiting, able to help... somehow. It was stupid. Suicidal. Whatever. In a flash, she had vanished into shadow.

Then... nothing.

Then... the memory of her childhood. Yelena's first taste of abandonment.

After that... flashes from the Red Room. Moments of her past where she could feel herself slipping away, losing control.

Now?

Now she was standing in a cracked, piss-yellow bathroom lit by a single buzzing fluorescent bulb. The air tasted like mildew and old trauma. Sitting there on the floor was a body—a blonde woman that Yelena recognized. Drunk. Depressed.

Identical.

Same short blonde hair, same pretty face. Yelena approached the other figure slowly—she was slouched on the floor, leaning back against the mildew-ridden tub with a bottle of vodka on her hip, long-since drained. It was a scene that Yelena couldn't remember exactly, but she knew the setting and the all-too-familiar scent of loneliness and despair. The other Yelena wasn't wearing her black tactical gear—just a hoodie draped over her shoulder and ripped cargo pants. Her eyes were closed, but deep-set with eye shadow and red puffiness. This Yelena was wrecked.

"I look like shit," Yelena whispered at the sight. But her impulse to protect helpless others was too much to ignore, even if it was a spitting-image of her worst moments. She leaned down to check for a pulse.

The other Yelena bolted awake. Her hand shot upward to Yelena's neck, moving to choke the life out of her.

“Pitiful,” the drunk Yelena said, voice slurred. “We always are."

Yelena stiffened. She tried to stand. She twisted and grappled against the other body. “What the hell—" she choked on the words.

The other Yelena snorted. “You deserve nothing. We deserve nothing. I'm the you who drank herself to sleep every night to drown out the sound of little girls screaming.”

Yelena’s fists curled. She finally found enough leverage to rip herself free from the other's grasp. “You’re not me.”

“Oh,” The drunk Yelena's smile widened. “I’m the most you part of you there is.”

And then she lunged.

They collided like mirror images made flesh—savage, precise, and perfectly matched. Elbows cracked against ribs, fists smashed against tile. The mirror behind them shattered as they slammed into it, shards spraying across the sink. Blood bloomed on both sets of knuckles.

Yelena drove her doppelgänger back against the wall—only to get swept into a chokehold and thrown headfirst through a rotting drywall panel into a grimy bedroom beyond.

Yelena landed on a grimy, dust-covered mattress. Her double followed, landing on top of her, knees pinning her arms.

“I'm the you that you push deep down inside,” the drunk Yelena hissed. “The you you're too sad to admit is real.”

“There's more,” Yelena spat, struggling. “There's more we can be—”

Her double tightened the choke, eyes full of something manic and breaking. “You abandoned me.”

They rolled again off the bed, smashing into a dresser, splintering wood beneath them. Yelena landed a punch to her double’s side. Her double responded with a savage elbow to the jaw. They clawed, kicked, bit, trying to tear each other apart. Yelena was outmatched; this other body had all her strength, all her agility, but fueled by unbridled rage. She pinned Yelena back to the mattress with her hand around her neck.

“I hate you,” her double whispered.

Yelena’s breath hitched. She knew it was true. Yelena couldn't fight this side of herself. It was impossible.

So she reached up—not to strike, but to touch. Fingers trembling as they found her own cheek. Yelena was surprised how soft and warm it felt.

“I know,” Yelena choked. She could feel the life being squeezed from her. “But I'd love you if I could.”

Yelena felt the grip on her throat soften, just slightly. Enough for her to breathe. The silence between the two felt heavier than the violence. It stretched, pulsing with tension.

Yelena watched the expression on her other self change. The rage seemed to evaporate. Her eyes flitted down to Yelena's mouth, then back up to meet her gaze.

And then—without warning—her double kissed her.

It was soft, at first. Innocent. Exploratory. Yelena was shocked at how gentle it felt, the feeling of her lips against her own.

But it didn't stay innocent for long. Yelena reached a hand to grip the back of her twin's neck and pull her tighter—their mouths gasping for air and coming together with more heat and mess and vigor. It was a collision of mouths, a kiss not born of lust or even tenderness, but desperation. Their lips crashed together, teeth scraping, bruising instantly. It was hot, wet, frantic. Their breath tangled in the space between moans.

Yelena gasped into her own mouth. Her own scent, her own taste, the bite of pressure when hands grabbed at her waist and yanked her closer.

She could feel herself—literally feel herself—grinding against her. The absurdity barely registered. All she knew was the ache.

Her double grabbed her hair, yanking her back, eyes wild and pleading.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, voice breaking. “Please—let me feel something that isn’t pain.”

Yelena nodded. She swallowed hard.

And then she kissed her again.

Slower now. Fuller. Tongue sliding deep, slow and claiming. Her hand cupped her other’s jaw, thumb stroking gently as their mouths moved. It was like touching the part of herself she’d always ignored. She kissed that pain, held it between her lips, soothed it with her tongue.

When she pressed her double back onto the bed, hips slotting between thighs that trembled in response, it felt like home and war all at once.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, kissing down her own throat. “I never told myself that. I should’ve.”

“You’re strong,” her double whispered back, fingers clutching Yelena’s shoulders. “I want you.”

“I am you.”

They moved like mirrors. Her double bucked up into her hand, hips rising, breath hitching as their bodies tangled tighter.

Their foreheads pressed together, sweat slicking their skin.

“Don’t stop,” her double begged.

“I won’t.”

“Don't leave me.”

“I won’t.”

Her double clenching tight, moaning into her own shoulder as she trembled apart.

And then—like a match in gasoline—the room shifted. Light cracked through the ceiling like lightning. The void was releasing control.

Yelena blinked. Her double was gone, like she’d never existed. She had found a key to proving to the void what she needed to prove. Forgiveness was possible.