#and somehow it really works and makes sense

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— it’s the little things —

Warnings: fluff, some angst

Summary: There’s some harder questions to answer about Jason.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

A/N: An idea that popped up when I couldn’t answer a niece’s question about her father’s job (he’s a firefighter). Enjoy!

"Momma, why doesn't daddy smile a lot?" He looked up at you, his young face serious, as if pondering some profound thought.

Six year old Owen was sitting at the dining table, a picture book sprawled open in front of him. While he often asked about Jason’s “work”, this time his questioning took a different turn.

You looked at him, your movements slowing down as you mulled over your answer. “He does, baby. He smiles when you play with him, remember?” You turned the tap on, washing off the soap on the plate.

Owen shrugged, his young mind processing the answer, his fingers idly tracing the pictures in the open book.

“But it's not like yours,” he pointed out. The pure innocence and simplicity of his remark struck at your heart. He looked back up at you, his eyes curious and childlike. “Why aren't his smiles like yours? You smile a lot.”

You tilted your head a bit. “Wanna explain a bit?” You asked gently, trying to both pry into his question and buy yourself time to find a good answer for him.

Owen thought for a moment, his young mind struggling to put his thoughts into words. He was quiet as he looked at the picture book, then back at you.

He finally spoke, his voice filled with innocence and curiosity. “Daddy's smiles are different. They're small and quick, like he's not really happy.”

He paused, his little brow furrowing as he continued. “Your smiles are big and warm. It's like you're really, really happy,” he added with lilt in his tone as if he thought it was his fault somehow.

You hummed in a contemplative manner. “I guess he does do those quick smiles, doesn’t he?” You were still stalling. You knew Owen had questions about his father, but you didn’t think you’d get this question while Jason was out for evening patrol.

You turned off the tap. Owen nodded, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Yeah... and he doesn't laugh often either, like you do when you watch funny movies.” His small lips pursing as if in thought. “Why is that, momma? Why does daddy laugh and smile less than you do?”

You started drying the dishes, thinking over your answer before you said something that wouldn’t make sense to a six year old. “He’s… not unhappy, Owen. He’s just…” you trailed off, searching for the right words.

You found it hard to find the right words to explain the complexity of Jason’s emotional state to an innocent and curious child.

“Just…?” Owen prompted, his young eyes fixed on you, silently urging you to continue.

You looked down at the dishes for a moment, prolonging your next words. “You know how he tells you about those adventures he goes on during work?” You breathed in deeply as Owen’s eyes lit up.

Owen nodded, his interest piqued. “Yeah, the ones where he's a super cool hero who beats up the bad guys.”

You hummed in agreement. “Sometimes, there’s bad people who hurt good people,” you started slowly, watching his reaction to your carefully crafted words. “And sometimes, your daddy can’t help all of them get better.”

Owen's expression turned pensive, his young mind trying to grasp the concept. His little fingers traced the same picture in the open book, as if trying to make sense of the world.

He looked back up at you, his voice soft. “Why can't daddy help them all get better, momma?”

“Because he can’t be everywhere all at once, right?” You put away the last plate and wiped your hands on a towel before sitting down on the kitchen island stool beside Owen.

Owen nodded, his young mind slowly processing your words. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze again fixed on the picture book in front of him.

Then, looking up at you, he spoke, his voice soft and a hint of concern in his eyes. "Does that make daddy sad? That he can't help everybody?"

You nodded. “It does, baby,” you confirmed with a gentle yet sad smile. “It makes him sad, but then he comes home to us and we make him feel better.” You raked a hand through his dark hair gently.

Owen's face softened at your touch, leaning slightly into your hand. He looked up at you, his eyes now filled with a mixture of understanding and love.

He nodded silently, his tiny hand reaching out to hold yours for a moment. The weight of your words seemed to sink in, his young mind grappling with the reality of his father's job and the complicated emotions it brought about.

“Your momma’s right,” Jason’s voice came from behind. Both you and Owen looked over to the doorway to see Jason standing there, leaning against the doorframe, his tired eyes observing the two of you.

Owen brightened visibly at the sight of his father, his usual energetic self returning momentarily. “Daddy! You're home early!”

Jason pushed off the doorframe and approached you both, his weariness momentarily replaced by a hint of warmth as he looked at Owen. He spoke, his rough voice slightly hoarse. “Yeah, buddy. Patrol wrapped up a bit earlier than expected.”

His eyes darted to you for a brief moment, eyes conveying his appreciation for your way of explaining his feelings in a way he couldn’t himself comprehend.

“You kicked some bad guys' butts, right, daddy?”Owen smiled widely, his innocent excitement at seeing his father evident. He looked up at Jason with a sense of admiration that only a child could feel.

Jason grinned, albeit a bit strained. He ruffled Owen’s hair. “Heck yeah, I did.”

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-four - a little of me, warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

You had woken up feeling awful. It doesn’t really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.

You were so wrong.

Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you weren’t just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it – given his love to announce everyone’s news like they’re his own.

So, it didn’t take you long to figure out there’s definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.

And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you can’t seem to cough. It’s torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.

“Jesus. You look awful.” Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.

“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?” Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence guys.” You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.

You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.

“Do you even have makeup on?” Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way it’s directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.

“Yeah. I have concealer on.”

“Yikes.” Sunghoon coughs.

“Maybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circles” Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.

“Are you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?”

“Your makeup. Duh.” Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.

You think you’re aware that you don’t look your best. Although to be quite honest you’re not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You don’t get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isn’t very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.

You’re really praying to every fucking god that exists you’re not actually falling sick.

You’ll be fine though – or at least that’s what you think. That’s what you keep praying for -

Please god please please please!!

At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon aren’t gonna bother you too much.

However, it does get to you when you’re face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You don’t think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.

“Oh, you look...” he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be “not every good.” He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. You’re not very sure of anything anymore.

“For fuck’s sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!” you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.

“Aww yn. Don’t mind these silly boys. They’re just being dumb.” Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.

“Like always.” She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words. 

“Are you sick?” She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing. 

You don’t think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that you’ve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).

“I think I’m just a little tired.” you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry. 

“You don’t look a little tired though.” She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver “thankfully, you don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I do have a bit of a headache.” You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.

“Maybe you should head home.” She rubs your shoulder soothingly.

“And do what?”

“Rest.” Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.

“Oh, I’ll be fine don’t worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- “Soojin doesn’t even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. It’s warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is. 

“Jay, does yn have anything urgent today?” 

“Not really. Jake’s schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.” The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.

“Great!” she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and it’s somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun “I’m getting you an uber and you’re going home to rest!”

“Soojin I’m fine seriously. “Once again, she doesn’t give room for you to argue, your words – or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.

“You owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?” she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness “we need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.”

“Okay.” You sigh and she smiles “If I feel worse then I’ll leave!-“ you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.

“Jay.” She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat “call jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.” Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.

As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesn’t seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they aren’t as aware of.

“Ivy’s the boss here. whatever she says, happens.” He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe it’s the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.

But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while you’re still attempting to fight the decisions already made, you’d think you’re somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.

“That guy is whipped for you.” you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.

“No, he’s not.” Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head “He’s that way with everyone.” She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.

“He doesn’t even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.” your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members “and she’s his actual boss!” you whisper yell. 

“Shut up your uber is almost here.” She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.

“Why does he call you Ivy anyway?”

“It’s my English name.”

“That’s cute. You must be special.” You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.

“Very cute. Now go rest and if you need anything don’t hesitate to text me.” She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.

Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.

“Thank you.” you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows you’re about to cry so in the next moment she’s slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.

“I can’t hear you!” her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and it’s more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.

On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when you’re inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize you’re not sure what to do if you’re not working.

You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but it’s been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when it’s light outside, when your body knows you should be working.

That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.

Niki.

Jake

Niki

Jake

Niki.

You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then you’re taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.

“Thick or regular?” Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.

“Uh-“ you blink at the black screen of your tv “What are we talking about exactly?”

“Soy sauce.” He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.

“I didn’t even know there’s such thing as thick soy sauce.”

“Apparently thickness is taking over the world. That’s why bbls are a thing yn.” you snort.

“Maybe you should consider getting one.” A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.

“Okay I’m surrounded by soy sauce and you’re talking about how flat my ass is I’m so overwhelmed right now.” The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter “It’s not like I’m getting backshots soon.” He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you aren’t careful enough.

“I will be the one doing backshots,” you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.

“Okay moving on from you and your shots.” You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified “Are you at the supermarket?” you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.

“Yeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.”

“You seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?” you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.

“What’s up with you? you sound like shit.” He asks after a few beats of silence.

“Thanks, I only heard that like ten times today.”

“Are you sick?”

“Probably. I’m really overwhelmed right now too.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.

“I’m honestly still really worried about Niki.” You mumble.

“What did that fucker do?” The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.

“Nothing. I’m just worried about him. I know he said he’s gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.” You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder “Never. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I can’t help but worry about him.” You add.

“Yeah I know – hold on-“ there’s shuffling on the other line. Heeseung’s voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear “Hey can you stop being a little bitch?” The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of what’s going on.

“Or go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.” He adds and then there’s an unsettling silence. It doesn’t last long, and it’s interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing “MOM!!”

“Kids these days am I right?” Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.

“Heeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?”

“Yeah. Anyways back to Niki,” you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then you’re shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives it’s little that surprises you with him.

“Yeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.”

“Not really. He’s been acting the same too.” He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry “If you’re that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.” He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded “I don’t know if he’ll be happy about it though.”

You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.

“Hold on,” you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch “What do you mean shifts? He’s been working at the restaurant?”

“Shit yeah. it’s been a while now. You didn't know?”

“What the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body can’t handle it.” you berate, frustration woven in your tone.

“I don’t fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.”

“Did he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.” You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you aren’t sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.

“I really don’t know yn.” Heeseung sighs on the other line “But either way I’ll talk to him when he comes into work later. Don’t worry.”

“That would be good, thank you.” you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.

“Of course.”

“I’ll talk to him about everything properly once I’m over this cold or whatever it is. I don’t want him to get sick.” You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.

“Yeah, you better rest for now. I’ll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like they’re taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didn’t feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadn’t noticed?

The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasn’t moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath

Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You aren’t sure how long you slept. It’s long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.

The only reason that’s strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think it’s a part of your dream but you’re picking apples and they’re crispy red and shiny but there’s a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?

You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then it’s nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.

Your doorbell rings again and this time it’s repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost don’t recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.

You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags he’s carrying.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.

“Yn.” he exhales as if he’s relieved, he’s not stumbling upon your corpse and instead you’re alive “Jay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh – “ he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps that’s why it feels like you don’t understand anything he’s saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.

You must be really sick or still dreaming.

“Anyways are you okay?” He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.

He tells himself he shouldn’t be this panicked – this nervous. Shouldn’t let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuck’s sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and there’s embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.

And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. It’s solely why you don’t say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.

“Yn.” Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again “Bunny.”

You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands it’s not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadn’t spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, what’s best for you. he doesn’t touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.

“Bunny what’s wrong? Are you dizzy?” his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.

“Can you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?” He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why can’t his hand be as gentle “Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Mhm?” he suggests once again.

“My head hurts so bad.” You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. It’s the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.

“Okay.” He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and he’s looking around as if he’s trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair “Painkillers. I’ll get you some painkillers.” And then he’s walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.

“Fucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?” He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. “Do you have any painkillers?” He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if it’s something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesn’t last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and there’s a glass of water in his hand.

“This will make you feel better. Come on bunny.”

He’s standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.

“I’m really nauseous and I don’t feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.” You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if you’re about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. It’s uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if there’s no way for him not to feel you.

You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine he’s fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.

But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.” He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.

You’re unsure if you’re dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because he’s suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and it’s been so long since he touched you.

“Is there anything else that’s hurting you?” He asks – whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.

“My body hurts too.” You reply – whisper back just as delicately - and you can’t fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, you’d be cringing at how dramatic you’re acting.

“Thankfully you don’t seem to be having a fever.” The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly “You’ll be okay.” He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you aren’t sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

“I have you.” it’s a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you don’t want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.

“Do you promise?” you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.

“I promise.” He replies and you sigh because you don’t know if he means that you’ll be okay or that he’s got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.

It’s only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“Do you think you could try taking the painkiller now?”

“Yeah.” you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.

Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and it’s only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.

“For troubling you. Being a burden. I don’t know.” you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.

“You’re not a burden bunny.” You can sense there’s more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait “I’m here because I was worried about you.” he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.

“Does your body still hurt?” He asks when you’re quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didn’t feel his face burning up at his confession.

“A bit.” You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat “Can you hand me my laptop, please?” you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.

“For what?”

“There’s a couple of stuff I need to get done.”

“Like what? What’s so important that you need to do now?”

“Bills. Rent is due soon and there’s Yeonjun’s car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.” You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.

“Car fees?” he questions and you nod as if he’s supposed to understand “yeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.” You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you don’t get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.

You wish he wouldn’t kneel so easily, as if he won’t swallow your heart up and flee.

“Are they urgent?” He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isn’t enough room for your breaths to leave.

“No but I have to do them right now.” You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.

“Shh, you don’t need to do anything right now, okay?” he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you aren’t sure if it’s because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you aren’t sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.

I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.

“You’re on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.” His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours “You can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?” you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.

“Okay.” You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.

“Good.” He grins, overtaken by triumphant.

Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you don’t think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldn’t cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.

You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. You’re so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.

“How about I run you a bath?” He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.

“No.”

“Why not? It will help you feel better.”

“I don’t really wanna move right now.” As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.

And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise – his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when he’s everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.

“Weren’t you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?”

“That’s different.” You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.

“It will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.” He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe it’s you.

“My ache is fine actually, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?” he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if they’re claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, haven’t realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.

“That’s because I’m cold.”

Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didn’t know you could miss someone when they’re right in front of you and you didn’t quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him – where touching him isn’t forbidden and looking at him comes easily – without threats for your words to spill.

“What about you?” you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.

“I can handle the cold just fine.” He retorts “You know what would help you warm up though? A bath.”

“I’m gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.”

“I’ll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness you’re gonna feel.” He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. You’re quiet, as if you’re contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere – he misses you.

“What if the water is too hot it burns my skin?” you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again – as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isn’t sure how to deal with it.

The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.

“I’ll make sure nothing like that happens to you.” he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And it’s unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.

“How about this,” he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and you’re envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features “I’ll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you don’t want to go in, you don’t have to, okay?”

You don’t think you’re brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home – within your soul.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges – hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because you’re scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys. 

“I’ll be back.” He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.

Your house – a small apartment is the complete opposite of his. He never was into the intricacies of home décor. Hence why the space of his home remains plain and simple. His own touches of life lacking and the only thing close to boisterous are his forget me nots and the painting that somehow managed to lead back to you.

You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.

He’s gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.

“Changed your mind?” He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.

“The thought of a bath didn’t seem so bad after all.” You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.

The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.

“This smells just like you.”

“It is my bodywash after all.”

“I like it.” He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you don’t.

When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and there’s a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when he’s leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.

“Y-You don’t have to do this Jake.” You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.

“I know.” He looks up at you “I want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He questions throwing your socks to the side. You’re left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.

“No.” you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.

“Can I?” He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.

Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.

And it stays even when you’re finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.

“Just call for me if you need anything, alright?”

Suddenly you’re inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.

“Alright, bunny?” He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then you’re shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.

“What if I need something but I can’t call for you?” stupid, stupid yearning.

Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before – not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, he’d rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.

“I’ll just stay then.” He tells you, tender and you’re shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.

You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace that’s always there.

It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And it’s him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace – his – remains around your neck even when you’re bare. It’s like you’re wearing him, and he likes to think he’s woven into the fabric of your soul.

He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God – you’re breathtaking.

“I just had a stupid thought.” He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.

“Tell me.” you say, and he thinks you’re too tangled in his soul.

“It just feels like it’s been a while since we looked at each other.” He says softly “But we see each other every day so it’s stupid.” He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.

“It’s not stupid.” you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul “I have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.”

“They’re extraordinary, I wouldn’t call them stupid.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying I’m stupid.” You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.

“Shut up you’re not stupid.” He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.

You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and it’s vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything you’ve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe it’s been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesn���t feel like that. It’s akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.

“You’re the last person I expected it to see today if I’m being honest.” You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.

“What would have you done if I wasn’t here?” He doesn’t ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.

“Probably become one with my couch until I felt better.” You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself you’re growing too hot and that’s it.

“I wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.” He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you aren’t sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” There’s no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.

Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?

But Jake hasn’t been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, it’s evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like there’s room for him. He touched you like he wasn’t made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but they’re all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.

“I’m here now.” He says, I’m here to take care of you, you hear.

The enormity of his desire disgusts him, it’s a craving beyond his flesh and it’s unjust. I’ll shape myself into something that’s worth taking care of you, he means.

“You have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.” He adds when you’re quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, they’re pink and the sky is gray.

He’s unworthy but it’s a great honor to think he’s the reason why.

“Tell that to my boss.” You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.

“I actually heard your boss is super nice,”

“Did you now?”

“Uh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.” He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.

“Who’s feeding you these lies? Jay?”

“So, you don’t agree that I’m handsome?”

“Beauty is subjective.”

“Is that a no?” a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you can’t help it.

A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.

“In all seriousness,” he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isn’t provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, they’re soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.

“You’re doing a good job, bunny.” Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment – the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;

You have managed to stumble on a lost star – he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.

“You’re doing a good job too, Jake.” He smiles and your mind careens.

“Tell that to my assistant.”

This time it’s you who splashes him with water and this time it’s him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you don’t tell him that you didn’t let the water get to him on purpose, and you don’t show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.

“Shall I help you wash your hair?” He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.

“You don’t have to.”

At your answer he’s already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When he’s behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. It’s foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you don’t remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And there’s unavoidable loneliness at the thought, there’s melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.

No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through – none of them are yours.

“Bunny I can’t wash your hair if you’re leaning that far off.” Jake comments with a chuckle.

You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you aren’t sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.

Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks you’re stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks you’re teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and it’s a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You don’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.

His hands aren’t soft against your skin, they’re rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you haven’t been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness – unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.

It’s another stupid thought – but maybe there’s room for something to belong to you.

When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.

You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.

“You okay?” He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.

“Just a little tired.” You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering – perhaps for days – how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.

In his dreams, his heart isn’t as filthy and merging into you isn’t as fearful.

In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Mhm.” You lean your head back onto his chest when he’s standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.

“Not yet.” He inhales you.

“We’ll need to get some food in your system, yeah?” He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair “We’ll also need to do something about your hair – can’t have you getting sicker.”

“I don’t feel like doing anything.” You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.

“I’ll do it for you.” He replies with an amused grin at the way you’re acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.

You aren’t sure what he means by that – however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. He’s extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you don’t even provide for your own hair. And there’s a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.

“I never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.” You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.

“My mum taught me.” he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair “I used to braid her hair for her all the time.”

“That’s really sweet.” You reply with a lowered tone – a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.

“I vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.” His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. It’s an image that still glides throughout his reality.

“She always joked that it’s better this way. That it’s easier for me to braid.” He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant – longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.

I’m sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but you’re well aware that’s not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It won’t ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness – anger. You’re well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when he’s dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.

What is he like when his anger isn’t restrained – what is he like when he’s not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You don’t give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know it’s not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.

“She sounds like a lively woman.”

“She is.” He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair “She was.” He corrects in a fleeting second “She was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.”

Jake’s lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. There’s softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. It’s a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesn’t know why he tells you all this and doesn’t know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours there’s not a single cell of regret in his body.

You don’t look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like it’s just – him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But you’re there, in the midst of it all and you’re not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isn’t made of prickling thorns.

“I’m sure she’s still watching over you, proudly.” You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldn’t shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he can’t say anything back to you. You don’t look at him as shame or grief and he can’t let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.         

Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies – his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesn’t find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that it’s not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.

“All done.”

“Wow! it’s really well done actually.” You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and it’s peculiar to feel like you’re holding a piece of him so delicately.

“it’s just one of my many talents.” He quips and you giggle slightly.

You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than he’d like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.

“My mom,” you speak suddenly and then you’re looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face “my mom never really taught me anything.” You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, they’re raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.

It’s bitter and doesn’t belong in you.

“You still turned out wonderful.” He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be – he wonders if there’s room for him to linger around.

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m sick.” You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.

“No.” you answer, and you think you can’t slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.

You realize it then – how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything that’s coming your way.

And he realizes it then – that there’s so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadn’t given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.

You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. It’s an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.

Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.

“Sorry,” you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.

“Is everything okay?” he asks at your lingering worry.

“Yeah um,” your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him “Niki is here?” you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No,” you lock your phone and stand up “I told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.” You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.

The sound of your door unlocking has Jake’s eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?

“Anyways it probably won’t be long so just stay here.” You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .

“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asks eyes trailing over your figure.

“Yeah, why?”

“You have been complaining about being cold all day and now you’re wearing shorts? Do you want to die?” you blink at him slowly “Change. Wear something warm.” He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, it’s slightly amusing  and it has your lips twitching upwards.

“Yes boss.” You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, it’s adorned with affection.

After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.

“What the fuck yn?”

To be continued....

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[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Like a part 2. Reader meets the BAU but they are impressed like reader is so rich but humble and loves Aaron and Jack so much.

The mystery woman | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing it's fluff

A/N: I loooveeeeddd working on this!!!!!

Hotch's relationship with you had always been something of a mystery to his team. While he was naturally private about his personal life, the snippets they’d heard over time painted a picture of someone warm, grounded, and, to their surprise, immensely wealthy. It was something they hadn’t expected — someone who seemed to belong to an entirely different world yet had seamlessly become a part of Hotch and Jack’s.

They never pried — Hotch would have shut that down in an instant — but curiosity lingered nonetheless. For all his long hours, endless casework, and rarely taking a day off, somehow Hotch had managed to meet someone so different from the chaotic nature of the BAU. It wasn’t just your wealth that fascinated them; it was how easily you fit into his life. If anything, it only fueled their curiosity. How had someone as busy and emotionally guarded as Hotch caught someone like you?

It wasn’t lost on the team that Hotch rarely spoke about you unless someone specifically asked. Even then, he was usually brief — mentioning how you’d taken Jack to the park or baked cookies for a school event. But the way his expression softened at the mention of your name hinted at something deeper, something they all could sense but couldn’t quite pin down — something that hinted at a human connection he hadn't felt since Haley.

That curiosity finally found an outlet when you joined Aaron and Jack at Rossi’s dinner party.

Rossi had insisted that the whole BAU team come together, spouses included, determined to create an evening to wind down, where hopefully work could be forgotten for a while. Naturally, the team had been eager to meet you, though they hadn’t dared to push Hotch for details.

Hotch had paused just long enough for the team to notice before replying, almost offhandedly, that he wasn’t sure if you were coming when Rossi announced the party. Your schedule that week had been especially hectic, and he didn't want to pressure you to join if you didn't have the time. “She’s… busy,” he had said, the slight hesitation in his voice giving away a faint uncertainty about whether you’d even be able to attend.

It was enough for the team to conclude: you, too, were a workaholic. Of course, you were — you had to be, considering the kind of lifestyle and responsibilities they imagined you must manage. The thought only added to their intrigue. What kind of person juggled such an overwhelming schedule yet found time to date?

But what they didn’t know — what Hotch himself hadn’t quite expected — was how enthusiastic you were about attending. The moment you’d heard about the dinner, you had set to work rearranging your obligations, clearing your calendar, and delegating tasks. While your schedule may have been packed, you never hesitated to prioritize moments like these.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you had told Aaron firmly, brushing aside his protest about how much effort it would take to move things around. The excitement in your voice had been unmistakable. It wasn’t just about meeting his team—it was about being there for him and Jack, stepping into a part of their world that mattered so much to them, about meeting their family, and showing how much you truly cared for them.

It was a side of you that Aaron cherished, though he rarely spoke of it to others: your ability to make time for the people you loved, no matter how busy life got. And now, as the dinner drew closer, the team’s long-standing curiosity was about to be answered.

When you arrived, dressed impeccably but not overly flashy, the team’s first impression was of someone who exuded elegance. The second thing they noticed — impossible to miss really — was the way Jack clung to your hand, his small fingers wrapped around yours like he never wanted to let go. His face lit up the moment you stepped through the door, his excitement bubbling over instantly.

“Uncle Dave, this is Y/N!” Jack declared proudly as he tugged you forward. “She’s the best. She makes the most awesome pancakes!”

The team exchanged amused glances, charmed by the adoration in Jack’s voice. Even Hotch, standing off to the side, looked relaxed with a rare smile on his lips as he watched the interaction.

You laughed and crouched slightly to tousle Jack’s hair. “Jack’s biased,” you teased as you glanced up at Rossi. Straightening, you extended a hand to greet him with a polite, confident handshake. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

Rossi grinned, shaking your hand firmly. “Well, anyone who can win over Jack is already a favorite in my book.”

The casual ease of the interaction left the rest of the team intrigued. While they had expected someone polished, they hadn’t anticipated such genuine warmth. You seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that you were meeting a room full of highly trained profilers. Instead, you carried yourself with a natural charm that immediately put everyone at ease, making it clear that, to you, this wasn’t a performance or an obligation.

And as Jack dragged you over to show you a plate of cookies Rossi had set out, the team couldn’t help but exchange glances. This was someone who had Jack’s trust and admiration. If there had been any lingering doubts about what kind of person had captured Aaron Hotchner’s heart, they were already starting to dissipate.

As the evening unfolded, the team couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly you navigated the gathering. You shared stories of your philanthropic ventures but downplayed your role in running them. When asked about your background, you focused on your hobbies and interests rather than the lavish lifestyle they knew you could easily flaunt.

But what stood out most was your connection with Aaron and Jack. You weren’t just present; you were integral. When Jack pulled you to sit with him, you leaned in to listen as if whatever he was saying was the most important thing in the world. And Aaron had a softness in his eyes when he looked at you.

At one point, JJ leaned toward Emily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

“Or Jack this smitten,” Emily added, watching as Jack giggled uncontrollably at some joke you whispered in his ear.

Later in the evening, Spencer approached you hesitantly, curious but respectful. “I hope this isn’t intrusive, but… how do you balance everything? Your work, your family, and, well…” He glanced at Aaron and Jack, who were chatting nearby.

You smiled, thoughtful. “It’s not always easy, but with him, it’s worth it. Jack too. They remind me that it’s not about how much you have or do — it’s about who you share it with.”

As the night ended, the team left with a newfound understanding of the person who had captured Hotch's heart. You weren’t just wealthy; you were kind, and deeply in love with Aaron and Jack. And for the first time in a long time, they saw their unit chief not as their leader who had gone through so much but as a man who’d found something extraordinary — someone extraordinary.

[princesskenny1998]

hey can you write a draco malfoy x reader where instances draco is showing signs of softness towards reader? like they aren't close but some students are noticing even the golden trio that he is fond of the reader but reader is oblivious. an example would be reader struggling to carry something to the great hall and draco happen to pass by and help her?

Hello <3

That's a good idea, hope you like it!

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor!Reader ~ Helper

It started with small things, too small to be anything but easily overlooked. You’d barely noticed, really, and it was only after Hermione’s nudging that you started to pay attention. But the way Draco Malfoy—the Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prince and known nemesis to all things Gryffindor—acted around you seemed... off. Off, in the sense that he was somehow kind, or at the very least unexpectedly considerate, and in ways that simply didn’t line up with his reputation.

The first time it happened, you’d been balancing a rather tall stack of books, struggling to get them from the library to the Great Hall. You couldn’t see much past the top of the stack, but you were determined to make it without asking for help, ignoring the sore strain in your arms.

“Honestly, Y/N, let me help,” Hermione had tried, reaching out to take some of the books from you.

But you’d waved her off. “I’m fine, really! I can—”

You barely got the words out before colliding with something—or rather, someone. The stack tilted, wobbling, and you braced yourself for the inevitable crash of books spilling all over the floor. But to your surprise, they didn’t fall. Two hands appeared over yours, steadying the pile.

“Careful there, you’re about to topple over,” said a cool voice, and you looked up to find Draco Malfoy staring down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, caught off guard by the unexpected assistance. You blinked, half-expecting him to make a snide comment, but instead, he adjusted his grip, taking some of the books from the top of the stack without another word.

“Going to the Great Hall?” he asked casually, and when you nodded, he simply fell into step beside you, carrying the books as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione, who’d been watching the whole scene with a look of pure bewilderment, fell in on your other side. Once you reached the doors of the Great Hall, Draco handed you back the books, offering you a curt nod before striding off toward the Slytherin table as though nothing strange had happened.

“Did... did Malfoy just help you?” Hermione whispered, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Without insulting anyone?”

“I... guess?” you said, feeling just as baffled as she looked.

But you shrugged it off as a fluke, an unusual but meaningless gesture. After all, this was Draco Malfoy—there was no way he’d actually done it out of kindness.

Yet it kept happening.

The next incident was in Potions, a subject where you usually didn’t mind working on your own. Slughorn had paired you with Draco, a twist of fate that might have been concerning had Draco not been unexpectedly cooperative. As the two of you worked to brew the particularly complex Amortentia potion, you’d reached for the ground rose petals only to find the jar was just out of reach.

Before you could think about grabbing a stool to reach it, Draco was there, his arm stretching over yours to retrieve the jar. He handed it to you without comment, his hand brushing yours for a brief moment. His face betrayed no emotion as he went back to his side of the cauldron, focused as if this were all a matter of simple practicality. You weren’t sure if you imagined it, but there was a gentleness in his movements, a subtle care he didn’t usually show in class.

By the end of the lesson, your potion had turned out perfectly, and Slughorn had even given you both a rare word of approval. As you cleaned up your station, Hermione, who’d been working nearby, gave you a significant look.

“He didn’t seem like his usual self, did he?” she murmured, casting a suspicious glance in Draco’s direction.

“Who, Malfoy?” You shrugged. “I think he just wanted to get a good grade. No big deal.”

But Hermione only narrowed her eyes, as if she could see something you couldn’t. It wasn’t just her, though; Harry and Ron had noticed too. After class, they caught up to you in the corridor, exchanging conspiratorial glances.

“Malfoy was being weirdly decent in there,” Harry remarked. “And not just today. Remember the book incident?”

“Probably trying to mess with you, better be careful,” Ron said, but he sounded uncertain.

You laughed, brushing it off. “You lot are making it sound like there's more to it than there really is. He’s just being his weird Malfoy self.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the strange, unspoken understanding that had begun forming between you and Draco. There were little gestures here and there—moments when he’d pause to hold a door open for you, or when he’d linger just a second too long after handing you a quill you’d dropped. They were subtle things, things that no one else seemed to notice unless they were watching closely. And your friends had certainly started watching closely.

One day in the library, as you were struggling to reach a thick volume on a high shelf, you felt someone’s presence behind you. Expecting it to be Neville or Hermione, you didn’t think twice about it—until a pale hand appeared, effortlessly pulling the book down and holding it out to you.

“Here,” Draco said, his voice soft but unmistakable.

“Oh. Thanks, Malfoy,” you said, surprised yet again. He’d been helping you more often lately, and you couldn’t quite explain why.

He just nodded, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than usual before he turned and walked away. You stared after him, the weight of his glance lingering even after he was gone.

By now, it had become something of a regular occurrence: Draco being unusually helpful or considerate, in ways that left your friends dumbfounded and you more confused than ever. And while you tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything, there was a certain look in his eyes, a certain softness in his gaze, that was hard to ignore.

As winter deepened, you found yourself in the courtyard one chilly afternoon, attempting to light a small fire with a charm you hadn’t quite mastered. The wind kept putting it out, and despite several tries, you hadn’t managed to get the flame to last more than a few seconds.

A soft chuckle sounded behind you, and you turned to see Draco leaning against a nearby pillar, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re going to catch frostbite at this rate,” he said, coming over to stand beside you. “Let me help.”

Before you could protest, he muttered the charm under his breath, and a steady, warm flame flickered to life between his hands. He released it gently, and it floated into the small pile of kindling you’d been working on, crackling into a cozy blaze.

You looked at him, half-grateful, half-bewildered. “Thank you, but…why are you doing this?”

His expression faltered for a moment, the usual mask slipping just slightly. For a second, he looked almost vulnerable, as though he were considering his next words carefully.

“Maybe,” he began slowly, “I don’t have to be the person everyone thinks I am.” His eyes flicked away, and he cleared his throat, his usual guardedness returning. “Anyway, don’t overthink it.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you to stare after him, the warmth of the fire mingling with the confusing, lingering warmth in your chest.

By the time spring arrived, it wasn’t just your friends who had noticed Draco’s subtle attentions. Whispers began circulating around the castle. You heard your name linked with his in hushed tones, the rumors painting you as some kind of enigma who’d managed to charm the Slytherin prince himself. You dismissed it all, brushing off the gossip with a laugh. It was Draco, after all; whatever strange kindness he’d shown you, it had to be some fluke.

But your friends were less easily swayed. One evening in the Gryffindor common room, as you were studying with Hermione and Neville while Harry and Ron lounged on the couch nearby, Lavender joined in, and talk turned, inevitably, to Draco.

“I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, Y/N,” Lavender said dreamily. “He’s always watching you in class. It’s almost… sweet.”

“Sweet?” Ron scoffed, though he shot you a curious look. “It’s Malfoy we’re talking about, remember? Are we sure he doesn’t have some hidden agenda?”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” Neville said thoughtfully. “There’s something different in the way he acts around you, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “You lot are making way too much of this. Malfoy’s probably just trying to get back at me for some reason. It’s not like he—”

But even as you spoke, you felt a strange flutter in your chest, a flicker of doubt that was hard to shake. Because, deep down, you knew it wasn’t just an act. You’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in those brief, almost tender moments when he’d let his guard down. Draco Malfoy was far more complicated than you’d ever imagined.

Then, one day, everything changed. It was a particularly rough day; you’d been overwhelmed with coursework, stressed over an upcoming exam, and generally exhausted—physically and mentally. You were in the library, nearly on the verge of giving up, when Draco appeared by your side, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You looked up, ready to decline, but something in his expression stopped you. You hesitated, then nodded, and for the next hour, he sat beside you, helping you work through the complex spellwork that had been giving you trouble. There were no biting comments, no sarcasm—just a quiet, unexpected patience that left you feeling disarmed and strangely comforted.

When you finished, he didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he lingered, his gaze searching yours as though he wanted to say something important. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with you.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I—”

But before he could finish, the clock chimed the late hour, breaking the spell between you. He straightened, his expression closing off as if he’d remembered himself. Without another word, he stood and left, leaving you to sit there, confused and with a thousand questions swirling in your mind.

That night, as you lay awake in your dormitory, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Draco had looked at you—the softness, the uncertainty, the way he’d almost seemed... vulnerable. It was something you’d never associated with him before, and yet it had been there, clear as day.

And you realized, with a dawning, disconcerting clarity, that maybe you’d been oblivious all along.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ n side, a. iosivas. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it's the night after the night that didn't happen. andrei is on a mission to make it happen.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: listen... that summary makes zero sense because i'm finishing this at one in the morning. this is the second part to bad liar <3 this is also long asf, been writing this for nearly a month lol

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. friends to lovers, andrei is a simp part 2, language, college setting, first dates, first times, protected sex, oral (male receiving), slight overstim, fingering.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: andrei iosivas x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 7.8k.

The TV's blue glow had been replaced with the soft light of dawn peeking through your curtains before you arose. You blinked awake to find Andrei's arms still wrapped around you, his face smushed cutely against the pillow that somehow ended up on his side during the night. You lay there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet of the early morning a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. The room was still, your friends sprawled across the floor and chair like discarded ragdolls.

Carefully, you remove yourself from his embrace, not wanting to wake him yet. You padded over to the window and pushed the curtains aside before lifting the window open, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. The sky was a soft pink, hinting at the promise of a beautiful autumn day. You felt a pang of guilt for your skipped MCAT studies but pushed it aside, telling yourself that one night off wouldn't hurt.

Kaia stirred from the chair, her eyes squinting against the light. "What time is it?" she mumbled, her voice groggy.

You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. "A little past six."

Kaia groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Why the fuck are you up so early? You don't have class until 10."

You shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." You glanced back at Andrei, still peacefully asleep. "Besides, I need to get ready for that MCAT prep class I'm taking."

Kaia rolled her eyes. "Always the overachiever," she teased, stretching her limbs. "But seriously, are you okay with all this?" She nodded towards the makeshift camp of sleeping bodies scattered around the room. "I know it gets overwhelming sometimes when everyone crashes here. I don’t want you to feel like we’re taking advantage of you."

You couldn't help but smile as you studied the scene. "Yeah, it's fine. They're all just comfortable." You turned back to the window, the cool breeze from the opened window ruffling your hair. "And honestly, it's kind of nice to have everyone so close."

Kaia sat up, her eyes searching yours. "And what about Andrei?" she whispered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Y'all was looking real comfortable last night. Kissin' and shit in the middle of the room." Her tone changing to poke fun at her friend's change in behavior.

You felt the blush creep up your neck. "It's not like that," you protested weakly, but Kaia only giggled, not fooled for a second. "Okay, it's kind of like that." you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Kaia hummed in response, standing up and walking over to poke at Faith who was drooling on Javi's chest.

"Kai," you hissed as she turned around. "Pinky promise you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you?"

Your best friend's eyes widened and she leaned in closer, holding up her pinky. "Pinky promise," she whispered back, a grin spreading across her face.

"I wanna fuck him, so bad," you confessed in a whisper, your eyes on Andrei. You could barely get the full sentence out before the two of you dissolved into hushed laughter. Kaia's head fell back as she tried to silence her giggles. "Girl, I was so close to jumping his bones last night," you continued, her voice a mix of amazement and frustration.

Kaia gave you a knowing look. "Why didn't you?"

"Because, Kaia," you whispered, "I don't know if he was just drunk or if he really means it. I don't want to mess up our friendship."

Kaia rolled her eyes playfully. "You've been crushing on him for months, he's been obsessed with you for years, and now you're gonna get all 'what if' on me? If he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have been so persistent all this time," she whispered back, her voice filled with amusement and a hint of understanding.

You sighed, leaning your forehead against the cool glass of the window. "But what if we do it and it's terrible? What if we ruin everything?"

Kaia's eyes softened as she leaned against the wall. "You're the smartest girl I know," she said, her voice low enough not to wake the others. "You'll figure it out, keep him in line. Just go for it."

Your gaze drifted back to Andrei. He had rolled over in his sleep and was now facing you, his features relaxed and peaceful. You felt a warmth spread through your chest. "You think?" you whispered.

Kaia nodded firmly. "I know. Just don't overthink it, bae. Sometimes, you just gotta take the risk." She yawned and stood up fully, stretching her arms over her head. "Do you have anything to eat in here or did they eat everything?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "We should pop into Dunkin', grab some breakfast." You turned to grab your keys, carefully stepping over Malik's outstretched legs. "Malik and Faith both have an 8AM, so they'll probably be up soon anyways."

The two of you made your way out of the dorm, the brisk morning air a welcome dose of reality after the hazy warmth of the night before. The quiet hallways were a stark contrast to the loud festivities you had left behind in the clubs. As you walked to and from the Dunkin' Donuts, your mind swirled with thoughts of Andrei and what your relationship might become.

When you returned, the room was a little more chaotic. Malik was up, rummaging through your mini-fridge for something edible, while Javi and Faith were still entangled at the foot of the bed, their breathing steady and deep. Andrei was sitting up in bed, scrolling through his phone with a sleepy smile on his face. He looked up as you and Kaia entered, his eyes immediately finding yours.

"Good morning," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You couldn't help but feel a thrill at his greeting. It felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room. "Good morning," you replied, handing him a bag of his go-to sandwich—a sausage, egg, and cheese on a croissant—and an apple juice. "How did you sleep?"

He took the food with a grateful smile, his eyes lingering on yours before glancing down. "Surprisingly well," he said, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Your bed's pretty comfy."

"Do you got food for me, too?" Malik called out from the mini-fridge, his voice muffled by the fridge door.

You tossed him a bag with a roll of your eyes. "You know the drill, Malik. You eat then you get the fuck out."

Malik caught the bag with one hand and pulled out a donut with the other. "But I'm your favorite," he protested with a mouthful.

"Not after last night," Javi retorted with a laugh as he was finally shaken out of his sleep from the smell of greasy breakfast food. Faith stretched, looking around the room with bleary eyes.

You balled up a napkin and tossed it at Javi playfully. "You're all my favorite, but you're all still leaving after you eat," you said, your smile not quite reaching your eyes as you turned back to Andrei.

The room grew quieter as you all ate, the occasional laugh piercing through the silence. As you all finished, you cleared your throat, looking at the clock. "I really do need to get ready for that MCAT class," you said, trying to keep you voice light. "So love you all but please leave."

Andrei took the hint and stood up, stretching. "Alright, I'll walk you there, it's on my way to my dorm," he offered, his voice hopeful. You felt a thrill at his words, the promise of a moment alone with him making your heart race. Kaia smirked as she watched them, nudging Malik who was still scarfing down the last of his food.

"Come on y'all, let's get going," Kaia said, shooing the rest of the group out of the room. "We don't want to ruin their morning after."

Malik and Javi groaned, reluctantly peeling themselves off the floor. Faith giggled, her cheeks flushed as she looked at Javi. "You two are adorable," she whispered to you with a knowing wink as she slid past. Andrei could only blush to himself as he avoided eye contact with the other guys who made kissy faces as they left.

Once the room had emptied, Andrei helped you gather the trash and empty shot glasses scattered from your night of partying. The air was charged with an electricity that made your skin tingle. As you worked, your bodies brushed against each other, sending a thrill through you that you hadn't felt in a long time.

When the room was back to its semi-tidy state, Andrei turned to you, the playfulness in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach flip. "So, about that date," he began, his voice low and earnest. "I wasn't just saying that because I was drunk or because everyone else is in love or whatever. I've wanted to ask you out for a while."

You felt a mix of excitement and nerves wash over you. "I know," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've noticed." You took a step closer to him, your eyes locked. "But why didn't you?"

Andrei took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. "I was fuckin’ terrified," he admitted, his voice cracking slightly with a nervous laugh. "Afraid of rejection, afraid of messing up our friendship, afraid of what everyone else would think."

You reached out and placed your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "But we're all adults, right?" you said, your voice gentle. "We can handle it."

Andrei's eyes were sincere, void of any signs of doubt. "Yeah," he said, his voice firm. "We can handle it."

You both knew that saying it was one thing, but navigating the murky waters of a relationship while balancing school and your social lives would be another challenge entirely. But in that moment, with the sun just starting to peek through the curtains, you felt like you could conquer the world. "Okay," you said, your voice filled with excitement. "Let's do it."

Andrei's smile grew wider as he took your hand in his. "It's a date," he said, raising your wrist to his lips and giving it a gentle kiss. You shared a moment, your eyes locked, the anticipation of your newfound romance palpable in the air.

"Stop that," you said, giggling and pulling your hand away, though you couldn't hide the smile on your lips.

Andrei grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "What, this?" He leaned in and kissed your wrist again, sending a jolt of desire through you.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tugged upwards. "Yeah, that." You stepped back and began to gather your textbooks, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time your fingers brushed together.

Andrei took the hint and grabbed his shoes, laughing quietly. "Alright, alright, got you blushin' and shit." He nudged you playfully as he slipped them on.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in the room dissipating as you stepped into the hallway, leaving the confines of your dorm behind. The quiet of the early morning was a stark contrast to the noise of the night before. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, your hands occasionally brushing against each other before Andrei gave into the temptation, taking your hand as you descended the stairs.

As you reached the bottom, your heart fluttered when Andrei leaned in and whispered, "Thank you for not throwing me out with the trash." His breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You playfully swatted his arm. "You know you're not trash, you're more like a recyclable," you teased, trying to keep the conversation light despite the weight of your newfound feelings.

The walk to class was filled with easy conversation and occasional glances that spoke volumes more than words ever could. The leaves crunched under your feet as the cool October air kissed your cheeks, a perfect backdrop to your blossoming romance. As you approached the biology building, Andrei paused, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand.

"So, tonight?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "You're free, right?"

"I am not," you laughed, your eyes sparkling. "But I'll make an exception for you." You had a study group for the MCAT later tonight, but you figured you could spare a couple of hours.

Andrei's face lit up. "Really? Does that mean I'm special?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile. "Bye Andrei," you said, pulling your hand away gently. "See you tonight." You turned to enter the building, feeling his eyes on you until you disappeared from his view.

The day passed in a blur of classes and study groups. You couldn't help but think about the date you had agreed to, your thoughts drifting to what you should wear and what you would do. You had texted Andrei all day, your messages light and flirty, filled with anticipation for the night ahead. Finally, the evening came and with it, the realization that you had to tell your study group you couldn't make it. You bit your lip nervously as you sent the text, half expecting them to be upset, but they only responded with a string of texts congratulating you on taking a well-deserved break.

When Andrei arrived to pick you up, he was dressed casually in a short-sleeved button-up and jeans, looking like he had put in more effort than your usual hangouts. His dark hair was gelled, the straight strands tamed to your liking. His eyes swept over you, taking in your own carefully chosen outfit of straight leg jeans and a square-neck top, giving you an appreciative nod. "You look amazing," he said, his voice soft with nerves. You felt a rush of heat creep up your neck, but you took his compliment as he pulled you into a hug.

The two of you walked to the local Indian restaurant that you had both mentioned you loved but had never gone to together. The warm glow of the lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, mingling with the cool evening air. Inside, the smell of sizzling meats and ginger filled the space, making your mouth water. Andrei held the door open for you, and you couldn't help but notice the way his hand lingered on the small of your back as he guided you to a cozy booth.

"Thank you," you said, slipping into the booth across from Andrei.

The conversation flowed easily over dinner, filled with stories from your classes and shared laughs at the absurdity of your college experiences. Andrei had always been a gentle conversationalist, listening intently to every word you spoke and responding with thoughtfulness that made you feel seen. Despite the three years you had known each other, it was as if you were discovering each other for the first time, peeling back layers that had been hidden beneath the surface of friendship.

"So, what's your go-to?" Andrei asked, his eyes scanning the extensive menu.

You thought for a moment before saying, "Butter chicken and garlic naan, every time." You glanced up to find him looking at you with an amused expression. "What?"

Andrei chuckled. "It's just that everyone says that. It's like the safest bet here." 

You scoffed playfully. "Maybe it's because it's the best thing on the menu."

The waiter arrived, and you placed your orders. The conversation turned to your costumes and the wild night you had shared. Andrei leaned in, his eyes twinkling. "Javi and Faith disappeared for, like, two hours, bro." You couldn't help but laugh, remembering your friends' unabashed PDA. "They're so in love," you said, a hint of wistfulness in your tone.

Andrei reached across the table and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But we had fun too," he said, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded, smiling, and you shared a moment of understanding that this was just the beginning of something special between you.

"Yeah, we did," you said, your voice a bit softer. Andrei's touch was reassuring, a reminder that you weren't alone in navigating this new chapter of your changing relationship.

The waiter returned drink refills, breaking the momentary silence. Andrei took a sip of his water, his eyes gazing into yours. "So, what do you want to do after dinner?"

You felt a thrill at the casualness of the question. "There's an after dinner?" you teased, raising an eyebrow. Andrei chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

"Always," he said, his smile warm. "But, I was thinking something low-key. Maybe we could grab some ice cream and walk around the quad?"

You nodded eagerly. "That sounds perfect."

The rest of dinner passed by in a blur of delicious food and easy conversation. You shared stories, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company in a way that was both familiar and new. When the plates were cleared and the check paid, Andrei suggested you go to the local ice cream parlor that was open late for the Princeton crowd.

As you stepped outside into the brisk night air, Andrei put his arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body and the comfort of his embrace. The quad was lit by soft, yellow lamps that cast long shadows across the cobblestone walkways. The sound of your footsteps echoed through the quiet night as you made your way to the ice cream shop.

The bell chimed as you pushed open the door, and the familiar smell of waffle cones and sugary treats greeted the two of you. The place was mostly empty, save for a few other students cramming for exams or enjoying a late-night study break. Andrei ordered mint chocolate chip while you went with your usual, a classic vanilla on a waffle cone. You found a small table by the window and sat down, watching the occasional person stroll by.

You took a bite of your ice cream, savoring the sweetness that melted on your tongue. "So, what came over you last night? You've had this crush since freshman year?" you asked playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

Andrei's cheeks reddened slightly, and he took a moment before responding. "I don't know. I just couldn't hold it in anymore. I've seen you with other guys, and it always made me feel... jealous, I guess." He took a deep breath and met your gaze. "But when you walked out in your costume, looking like that..." He trailed off, his voice thick with unspoken feelings.

You felt your cheeks warm at his admission. You had never seen this soft, romantic side of Andrei, and it was endearing. You leaned in closer, your voice low and earnest. "So you liked it?"

Andrei swallowed hard before nodding. "Yeah, I liked it a lot," he said, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. "A lot," he emphasized with a laugh. You couldn't help but join in, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

The two of you enjoyed your ice cream, sharing bites and smiles, until the cold started to seep into your bones. Andrei suggested he walk you back to your dorm, and you agreed, your heart fluttering at the prospect of more time together. As you strolled under the arching branches of the trees, your laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves, You felt a sense of peace you hadn't experienced in weeks. The stress of your schoolwork had momentarily faded into the background, replaced by the comforting presence of Andrei beside you.

When you reached the steps of your dorm, you turned to face you. "Thank you for dinner," you said, your voice a mix of shyness and sincerity. 

Andrei's gaze searched yours, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand as he held onto your fingers. "It was my pleasure," he replied, taking a step closer. His eyes flickered to your lips, biting at his own.

"Are you gonna kiss me, Iosivas?" You teased, your voice low and playful. Andrei's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was a perfect blend of sweet and hungry. You melted into him, your arms winding around his neck as his free hand rested on your lower back, pulling you closer. The night air was cool, but the warmth from his body and the heat of your kiss made you feel as if you were floating.

When you finally pulled apart, Andrei's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or hesitation. You felt none. Instead, you felt a thrilling rush of excitement for the future of your relationship. "Come upstairs?" you whispered, your heart racing. Andrei nodded, and you climbed the stairs to your dorm hand in hand, the weight of your decision hanging in the air.

In your room, the quiet was a stark contrast to the noise of the previous night. The lights were soft, and the space felt intimate. The two of you kicked off your shoes before you moved to your vinyl rack, selecting a record to play on your vintage record player. The sound of Stevie Wonder filled the room, a soft melody that seemed to wrap around you as he stood there awkwardly, unsure of what came next.

You laughed as you turned back to see Andrei standing there, his eyes wide. "You okay?" you asked, taking his hand and leading him to your bed. You both sat down, and you scooted closer, the mattress squeaking slightly beneath you.

Andrei took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, just... I never thought we'd actually ever do this," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You leaned in and kissed him again, your hands cupping his face. "Well, we're doing it now," you whispered, feeling the tension between you build.

Andrei's hands found their way around your waist, his grip firm but gentle. You kissed slowly, exploring each other's mouths, tasting the sweetness of the mint chocolate chip and vanilla on your tongues. Your hands traveled up to his neck, playing with the hair at the nape, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt tense and relaxing with every touch.

The record played on, Stevie Wonder's voice serenading your tentative exploration. Andrei pulled away to look at you, his eyes searching for permission. You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. He leaned in again, kissing you more urgently this time. His hands began to roam, tracing the lines of your body, his thumbs grazing the tops of your thighs. The heat from his touch was making it increasingly difficult for you to think about anything other than him. One of his hands reached for your jean-clad thigh, his fingertips brushing searing heat into your skin.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into him, your hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warmth of his bare chest. His skin was smooth, his muscles firm under your touch. He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. You kissed deeper, your bodies moving closer together as if magnetized. Andrei's hand pulled the thigh under his grasp over his lap, shifting your weight so that you were straddling him. The music continued setting the tempo for your escalating passion.

Breaking away from the kiss, Andrei looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mix of desire and anticipation. "Is this okay?" he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. You nodded, your breath shallow and your chest heaving. You leaned back slightly, giving him the space he needed to remove your shirt. The cool air kissed your skin, and you watched as his eyes darkened with want.

"Damn," Andrei murmured, his voice thick with arousal. He reached up, tracing the edge of your lacy bra with the thumbs. You felt a rush of heat pool in your stomach, and you bit your lower lip to stifle a moan. His attention was pulled to the roll of your hips as you whimpered, the fabric of your jeans rubbing against him deliciously.

Andrei leaned back, his eyes stuck on yours as he unzipped your pants. You helped him slide them down, and you were left in just your panties and bra. He took a moment to drink you in, his eyes lingering on the way your breasts heaved with every breath you took. "You're so beautiful," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced as you felt his hands skim your skin. You leaned in and kissed him again, your hands working at the buttons of his shirt. You were both fumbling, a mix of excitement and nerves getting the better of you. The fabric of his shirt gave way, revealing his well-defined chest. His abs rippled under the soft light, and you couldn't help but trace the lines of his stomach muscles with your fingernails, causing him to suck in a breath. You ran your hands over the ink on his shoulder, feeling his muscles under your fingertips.

You moved together in a silent dance of desire, your kisses growing more urgent as your hands explored. You, growing impatient with the layers between the two of you, pushed Andrei's torso back onto the bed. He chuckled against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. With a playful smirk, you trailed your kisses down his chest, your teeth lightly grazing his skin, making him hiss in pleasure.

Your eyes searched for any sign of protest, but all you saw was the fire that matched the one burning within you. You continued to work your kisses downward, your hands fumbling with the button and zipper of his pants. With a groan, Andrei lifted his hips, helping you free him from the fabric of his boxer briefs. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his tip glistening with need, and you couldn't resist leaning in to kiss him there softly, causing him to jolt in surprise.

"Shit!" Andrei cursed, his voice strained with pleasure, as your lips wrapped around his dick. You giggled against him, feeling empowered by his reaction. You took the angry red tip into your mouth, your eyes still locked on his, watching as his expression morphed from shock to pure ecstasy. His hands found your braids, his grip tightening as you moved your head up and down, your tongue swirling around him. His breath grew ragged, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he kept your hair out of your face, thrusting his hips upward to meet your mouth. You took him deeper, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him, your tongue playing with the vein on the underside of his shaft. Your hand slipped inside his boxers, your palm cupping his balls, rolling them gently as you sucked him off. 

You released him with a pop, looking up at him with a seductive heat in your eyes, watching his face contort in agonizing pleasure as you began to stroke him with a self-indulgent smile. “Fuck, princess,” his eyes opened as he released a loud moan, groaning again as his thighs trembled under your touch.

You giggled at the pet name tumbling from his pink lips. You dipped your head, your lips closing around his tip, your hand still moving to jerk his shaft up and down steadily. His eyes rolled back as his hands stilled, their grip tightening on your braids and keeping them back in a makeshift ponytail.

Andrei couldn't believe it. The girl he'd crushed on for so long was giving him the best blowjob he had ever had. He could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing with every stroke of your tongue. He didn't want it to end, but he also couldn't wait to be inside you. With a reluctant groan, he pulled you back up and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your lips.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you straddled him, your own need growing more intense with every passing second. You reached for the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom, tossing it to him with a grin. Andrei's hands trembled slightly as he nervously struggled with the packaging.

You giggled as you watched him, your nails gently scratching at his chest in an attempt to ground yourself. "Let me," you offered. "Here," you said, taking the condom from his hand. 

You tore open the packet with your teeth and slid it onto him with a smooth, practiced ease that made Andrei's eyes widen in amazement. He watched as you positioned yourself above him, one hand on his chest for balance as the other trailed down to pull your underwear to the side.

"Ready?" You asked, your voice husky and filled with anticipation. Andrei nodded, his eyes never leaving yours as you lowered your weight onto him. He felt himself enter you, the tightness of you making him groan. You were wet and hot, and the sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His hands found your hips, holding you still against him as you both adjusted to the feeling.

"Fuck, yes," Andrei murmured as you began to move again, sinking deeper onto him, taking him in inch by inch. Your eyes never left his, watching the pleasure etch lines across his face. When you were fully seated on him, you both took a moment to savor the feeling of your bodies joined together, the culmination of your years of flirtation and unspoken longing.

"I'm not gonna last," Andrei warned, his voice strained with desire as he watched your body begin to move. 

You smiled, your rhythm slow and deliberate. "You don't have to," you whispered, your voice a sultry purr in his ear, "Just feel me."

And so he did. Andrei felt every inch of you as you began to ride him, your movements growing more urgent with every stroke. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving half-moons in his skin. His own hips began to lift to meet yours, the base of his cock smacking against you with each thrust. The friction was almost too much, and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from losing it too quickly.

The music played on, the beat syncing with your movements. As you bounced on him, Andrei's hands wandered to your breasts, tweaking your nipples through the lace of your bra. You gasped as a strap fell down your shoulder, your head rolling back in pleasure. He sat up, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer, his mouth finding your neck. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access as his teeth scraped your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breathing grew ragged as your pace increased. The bed creaked beneath you, melding with the rhythm of your bodies. Andrei could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his core tightening in anticipation. Your walls tightened around him, your breath hitching as you felt his strength shift to guide your hips, setting a tempo that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core.

"Andrei," you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders as you leaned back, your arms reaching back to rest on his outstretched legs. Your breasts bounced with each upward movement on his lap as he controlled your pace, brown eyes connecting in the heat of your passion. His eyes trailed down to your chest, watching the mesmerizing sight, his arms flexing as he slowed the speed of your hips, taking a moment to capture your lips in a kiss as he rocked your hips agonizingly slow over his.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your breath coming in short gasps as you felt yourself building up to the edge. Andrei's kisses grew more demanding, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hands moved down to your ass, guiding your movements. He felt your walls tighten around him, the wetness of your sex coating his dick, and he knew you were close.

"Fuck—oh, yeah, yes," Andrei groaned against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. His grip tightened as you began to bounce faster, your breath coming in ragged pants. You could feel him twitch inside you, his hips becoming more erratic as he lost control.

The tension grew, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. Your moans grew louder, filling the room. Andrei couldn't hold back anymore, his head dipped to press his lips to the valley between your breasts. With a stifled moan against your chest, he buried himself deep inside you, feeling his orgasm rip through his body and spill warmly into the condom.

"Oh, shit," Andrei breathed out, his body trembling as he held onto you tightly, feeling the aftershocks of his climax. "Gimme a second," he managed, his chest heaving. You giggled as you ran your nails up and down his back, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own. You leaned down and kissed him softly, your breath warm against his cheek.

Your own orgasm was just around the corner. Andrei could feel it in the way you clenched around him, your breath hitching in your throat. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he lifted you from his dick. He turned your body, pressing your back against his chest as he fell back against the sheets of your bed with an athleticism that should not have surprised you as much as it did.

"What are you doing?" You gasped, feeling a new wave of arousal as Andrei's strong hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open. He kissed your neck, shushing you with a gentle nip of his teeth. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

With your legs open wide, Andrei's hands moved to caress your inner thighs, his fingers lightly brushing against your slick folds as he pulled your panties to the side once again. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he touched you, exploring you with a gentle curiosity. The pad of his finger found your clit, and you gasped, arching your back into his touch. He circled the sensitive bud, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertip.

Your breath grew shallow as Andrei's ministrations grew more intense. Your hips began to rock against his hand, seeking relief from the delicious pressure building within you. He could feel the heat of you against him, your body begging for more. His mouth found your neck, his lips nipping and kissing the soft skin as he worked his thumb in slow, deliberate circles.

"Fuck, Andrei," you whispered, your voice thick with pleasure. Your head raised briefly to watch as a finger dipped to enter you, the wetness of your arousal making it easy for him to slide in and out of you. He curled his finger inside you before adding another one, feeling your tightness clench around him and your breath hitched.

"Feels good?" he asked, his voice gruff as he watched your reaction. You could only moan in response, your head falling back again. The sensation was maddening, the way he filled you up and then left you empty only to fill you again. One of your hands found his thick hair, your nails scratching gently at his scalp as the other reached down to guide his fingers inside of you, pressing it harder into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Andrei's unoccupied hand moved from its spot on your dark thighs, running upwards to squeeze your breasts, his thumb playing with your nipple, the lace scraping against your skin.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breathing shallower, your body writhing against him. He felt you tense, your pussy contracting around his fingers, and knew you were close. He picked up his pace, his thumb flicking your clit in a way that made your back arch and your toes curl.

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, Andrei whispered in your ear, "Go ahead, princess." His voice was a command wrapped in velvet, sending a shiver down your spine. With one final thrust of his fingers, you came apart. Your body tensed, muscles contracting, as you climaxed around his fingers. Your moan was muffled by your hand, your eyes screwed shut. He watched you, fascinated by the way you came apart in his arms, the way you clenched around him, your body begging for more.

As you rode out your orgasm, your breathing slowing, Andrei pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to your mouth. 

"Taste yourself," he said, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Your eyes snapped open, meeting his dark gaze. Without hesitation, you took his fingers into your mouth, suckling them clean. The taste was foreign yet intimate, and it only served to make you want more of him.

The two of you lay there, panting and sweaty, your bodies tangled together. Andrei's arms were wrapped around you, holding you close as if you were something precious, something to be cherished. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a feeling you hadn't felt in a long time. It was more than just the afterglow of great sex; it was a connection that you hadn't realized was missing in your life.

You stayed that way for a while, just basking in the intimacy of the moment, your hearts beating in sync with the fading bass of the music outside. Eventually, you turned your body over in his arms to face him, your hand tracing the lines of his jaw, your thumb brushing against his full bottom lip.

Andrei brought you back down, pressing your front against his. "Thank you, for this," he said, his voice gruff and sincere. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips. It was a gentle kiss, one that spoke of affection and something deeper than the physical connection you just shared.

Your heart swelled, and you kissed him back with equal passion. "Thank you," you murmured, your eyes searching his. You could see the emotions swirling in his gaze—desire, relief, and a hint of vulnerability you hadn't expected from the usually laidback multi-sport athlete. It was endearing, and you found yourself smiling against his mouth.

Lifting your chest from his, your nails gently raked up and down his abs, your thighs straddling his hips. "I’ll be right back," you whispered, breaking the spell. Andrei's grip loosened, and he nodded, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he watched you move away from the bed. You walked to the bathroom, your legs feeling like jelly. Your chest ached at the loss of his warm touch. 

You took care of yourself, then looked in the mirror, your makeup melting slightly from the heat of your encounter. You attempted to calm yourself, washing what was left of your makeup away with your makeup wipes, your eyes bright with excitement. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts, but they remained a jumbled mess of pleasure and wonder.

When you emerged, Andrei was still laying in your bed, his bare chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. He looked up as you approached, the smile on his face growing as he reached for you. "You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'm good," you said, climbing back in beside him. He pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. "Where the fuck did you learn that?" You asked after a beat, your voice muffled by his skin.

Andrei laughed out loud, the tension leaving his body, his fingers caressing your skin softly. "I have my ways," he replied with a smug grin, not giving anything away. You smacked his chest playfully, Andrei’s cheeks flushed from your encounter. 

"Ow, asshole," he huffed, feigning pain.

The two of you laid there, your bodies cooling down but the warmth of your connection remained. Finally finding the strength to lift yourself off Andrei's chest, you reached for his phone on the nightstand. Flicking his flashlight on, you directed the light to his face. His flushed cheeks and swollen lips made him look even more handsome than you had ever seen him.

He squinted under the strength of the light, groaning with dissatisfaction. “Dude… what the fuck?”

With a giggle you moved your attention to the rest of his face, "You have makeup all over your face," you pointed out, wiping away the remnants of your gloss from his lips. 

Andrei's smile grew wider, his eyes bright with mischief. "Worth it," he murmured, sitting up to kiss you again.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you said, standing up from the bed to reach for Andrei's forgotten button-up. You smiled to yourself as Andrei watched you with a lazy grin, his eyes tracing your every move. Your fingers moved gracefully across the material, pulling your hands through the sleeves while Andrei stepped into his boxers.

In the bathroom, the warm light cast a glow on your half-dressed bodies as you crowded around the mirror. Andrei lifted you to sit on the counter, catching you by surprise, your legs dangling as he stepped between them, his underwear hanging low on his hips, his silver chain glittering against his tanned skin. He leaned into your touch, you beginning to clean him up. You were meticulous, your movements tender as you wiped away smudges of foundation and the rest of your lip gloss from his face. His eyes swept over your face, committing your post-sex glow to memory as you worked diligently.

"You're so beautiful," Andrei murmured, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as you focused on removing the last of your makeup from his face. You ducked your head, trying to hide your smile.

"You're just saying that because I gave you head," you teased, your voice light and playful. 

He leaned in, kissing your neck gently, his stubble scraping against your skin. "Best head of my life," he conceded, making you laugh and shove him away.

Andrei stepped back between your legs, his hands resting on your knees. "But seriously, you're stunning, princess." The use of the pet name again drew a shy smile out of you again. His words were sincere, and you could feel his eyes on you as you worked to clean off the last smudges of makeup from his face. You felt the tug of your smile against your lips, but you didn't look away from the task at hand.

When you were done, you tossed the wipe into the trash and leaned back against the mirror, looking at him with a soft expression. "What now?" you asked, your voice still playful despite the weight of your earlier conversation.

Andrei's expression grew more serious, his hands stilling on your thighs. "Now, we do this right." He paused, searching your eyes for any hesitation. "I don't want this to just be a one-time thing. I want to date you, for real."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Okay," you said, your voice a breathless whisper.

"Okay?" Andrei teased, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, hands squeezing your plush thighs softly.

"Yes, John Green. Okay," you scoffed with a roll of your eyes, your voice filled with excitement as you leaned in to kiss him again, this time with more passion. Andrei wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as your kiss deepened. You broke apart, both of you grinning like fools.

"So, we're dating?" You asked, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and happiness. Andrei nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I've liked you for a long time. And if you're willing to put up with me and all my shit, then I'm all in."

"And what if I'm the one with the shit?" You countered, raising an eyebrow. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flutter. "Then I'll just have to be extra patient."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect, leaning in to kiss Andrei again. This time, there was no teasing or heat, just the sweetness of two people discovering each other on a deeper level. His arms tightened around you, and you felt yourself melting into him. It was a perfect moment, one you hadn't allowed yourself to dream of.

He lifted you off the counter, setting you on your feet, and you both took a moment to look into each other's eyes, the gravity of your decision settling in. The room was filled with an electrifying silence that seemed to crackle with anticipation. You felt your heart racing as you stared into his brown eyes quietly. With a sudden movement, Andrei bent down to pick you up bridal style, making you squeal with laughter as he carried you to the bed, flicking the light switch in the bathroom off.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight coming in through the window. He laid you down gently, the mattress sinking under your combined weight. The two of you shared another kiss, slower this time, savoring the moment. You felt the warmth of Andrei's skin against yours, and you knew you had made the right choice. You had never felt so alive, so seen, and so desired.

You settled against the sheets, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence. Andrei's hand caressed your side. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt your softness next to him, he knew he never wanted to let go of this feeling. 

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you whispered, "Don't fuck this up for me, Iosivas. I really like you."

Andrei chuckled, kissing your forehead. "I'll do my best, princess."

[revelboo]

Hello. Your stories are beautiful. Can I ask you write something with Optimus Prime IDW? Thank you very much in advance. ^^

Sure

Gravity Pt 7

IDW Optimus x Reader

• You’re dancing again and he watches from the corner of his optic as he works, one foot sliding sideways before you shift your weight and spin. Servos stilling on his keyboard, he rumbles softly. Likes to watch you move, the way you can twist and bend like you’re boneless. And you catch him watching, flashing your little teeth at him with a laugh. “When I was a kid, my mom was obsessed with living out her dumb ballerina dreams through me,” you say, arms above your head. “Bet she’s rolling in her grave that I ended up an exotic dancer.”

• “Exotic?” He asks and he’s so innocent, it’s sweet. Running through the moves helps you relax, gives your worry and tension an outlet. You wonder what the big guy would think of you if you actually explain it to him, your slide from rebellious teenager to desperate adult. Because working in that dump was only the latest in a string of bad decisions. Every attempt you make to claw your way out of the gutter only driving home that maybe that’s where you belong. You’d resigned yourself to it, gotten tougher and blunter out of necessity, but somehow you can’t make yourself tell him that. He’s just this pinnacle of good and right. And he might not touch you so kindly or at all if he knew how awful you really are. “You were alone?” He asks when you don’t respond. Worrying over you like he always does.

• Blowing out a breath, you rake your fingers through your hair to send it into disarray and stare up at him. Little teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you wave a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it, big guy,” you tell him, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I can take care of myself.” You can, but still. You’re his to care for and protect, but he won’t pry or push. Hopes you’ll open up to him eventually. Entrust your burdens to him.

• Reaching out slowly as if giving you the option to avoid his touch, he hovers a servo just in front of you and you lean into it, wrapping your arms around that big digit. “I know you can, but I’ll still here if you need me,” he says and the that deep, rumbling voice rolls through you. Makes you realize that you’ve stopped plotting escape or even looking for an opportunity. That you don’t want to go back to your old life. There’s no one left to care for you or even notice that you’ve disappeared except your creditors anyway. Sure, Optimus is only invested in you to keep his own people safe and out of a weird sense of honor, but you want to pretend he really cares. That you belong here and that this time home won’t be ripped out of your fingers.

• “Sure,” you say, little arms hugging his servo and the feel of your heart beating against him. So small, but you try so hard to be independent. Not asking him for anything, even though he’d try to find you whatever you need to be happy. Smiling all the time like you are now, even though it’s brittle. Pretending nothing touches you, when he can tell it does. And all he can do is wait for you to trust him. To really talk to him, because until then he’ll hoard those details of your past that you accidentally let slip.

Previous

[screamofdespair]

Director 出﨑 統 Osamu Dezaki talks about Oniisama E...

Oniisama E... was the first project I worked on at Tezuka Productions. At that time, I had left my work at Tokyo Movie Shinsha and was focusing on OVA projects like B.B. and Sō Ryū Den. One day, a producer named Kuniharu Nagayama, with whom I had worked since my time at Mushi Production and who later joined Tezuka Productions, approached me with an offer. He said: "Why don't you direct it?" I replied, "I always wanted to work on Tezuka Osamu’s original works, but at Mushi Production, I was working on Ashita no Joe" Even after joining Tezuka Productions, they still wouldn’t let me handle Tezuka-sensei’s works. That dream was eventually fulfilled with Black Jack later.

Since I directed the second half of The Rose of Versailles, which is also a work by Ikeda-san, she apparently remembered me, and I imagine there was a conversation suggesting: 'If we’re going to adapt Oniisama E… into an anime, it should be done by that person."

I don’t usually read shoujo manga a lot. The only ones I’ve read are The Rose of Versailles and Aim for the Ace!, which I personally adapted into anime. I feel embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know anything about Oniisama E..., so I quickly read the original work. I found it very interesting. It’s a story full of selfish characters, and I really love that kind of thing.

Some may think this work differs from my past projects, but even with series like Ashita no Joe and Aim for the Ace!, which are often categorized as “sports dramas,” what I truly want to focus on isn’t the sports themselves but the human relationships and drama behind them. I’m someone who wants to portray drama, so I thought, “Oniisama E... is exactly the kind of drama I’m talking about!” (laughs).

“This is a world completely unknown to me. How fascinating!” I thought. As men, we don’t understand women, do we? There are times I find them amazing, and other times, scary. They are truly an unknown world. Throughout my life, I’ve had relationships with a few women, but that’s just a small part of the overall picture. In that sense, i just let my imagination run wild and thought, 'It would be amazing if such creatures existed!'. But as I read and tried to understand the original work, I also thought, They are just human beings like us.

Before starting the anime adaptation, I met with Ikeda-san to discuss about it. She didn’t provide any detailed requests or instructions in the direction, she simply said, 'I’ll leave it in your hands.' However, she made one exception: she specifically asked that Kaoru no Kimi, who dies in the original work ending, remain alive in the anime.

Ikeda-san's charm as a writer lies in how every character is desperately trying to live. Their actions make sense as you read, and you can empathize with them. They end up this way because they are trying their best. They end up this way because they’re hurt. They are people who, in regard to what they’ve done, somehow try to take personal responsibility, aren't they? In that sense, I really "understand" them.

The first character to catch my attention was Rei Asaka, or Saint-Juste. First, I just loved the name “Saint-Juste.” It left a strong impression on me because the name appeared in the The Rose of Versailles as the alias of an assassin. The powerful imagery of that story stayed with me. I thought, “This guy is really fascinating.” However, in the anime, we only managed to explore his character for one or two episodes. Because of that, I wanted to portray Saint-Juste in Oniisama E... as if she were someone transcending time and space. she’s such a poetic and deeply complex character, isn’t she? That's why I had her take pills from the very first episode.

Since it was broadcast on satellite TV, I was told we could push boundaries... This story focuses on adolescents peeking into the adult world, right? So, I figured that kind of portrayal was fitting. All the characters in the story bear emotional scars, don’t they? Whether it’s Saint-Juste or Kaoru no Kimi. Nanako was the only one who didn’t, which made her think, “I want scars too”. That’s essentially what the story is about, right?

Mariko Shinobu was also a fascinating character to depict. Her lipstick left a strong impression. When she made her vibrant entrance in the first episode, I remember thinking, “Ah, this series might really work.” Every project has a moment where a certain image feels like its the “starting point,” and for Oniisama E, that was Mariko. Even in the original work, she’s very impactful. The way her wavering emotions as a young girl are portrayed is truly compelling.

For instance, the way her father’s story unfolds feels incredibly realistic. And the way she quickly bonds with Nanako, that kind of behavior feels uniquely feminine, doesn’t it? Between men it’s difficult to overcome emotional barriers, and relationships tend to be much more detached. But between women, they can form extraordinarily close bonds, which might later transform into hatred.

If the other person is just a little more attractive or possesses something you lack, you may initially admire them and try to discover what makes them so special. But the moment you realize that quality can never truly be yours, they become your enemy. On the surface, you might get along, but if something sets it off, everything falls apart. You don’t even want to see them or hear their voice. You might even go so far as to steal the guy they’re dating. It can escalate to that level.

Men, I think, suppress those raw emotional instincts to some degree. On the other hand, women live constantly in that kind of emotional tension... That must be exhausting. Well, this is just from my imagination, of course (laughs).

Kaoru no Kimi has a masculine purity, yet she is bound by the fate of being a woman. She is more manly than any man. In a story like this, which features only women, the contrast might raise the question: 'What should a man be like?'

I created a scene where Kaoru no Kimi and Saint-Juste end up in bed together, but this wasn’t about homosexuality or anything like that. It was a manifestation of tenderness between two souls, each burdened with their own profound wounds. It was meant to show that something like this could happen. I wanted to portray it beautifully. However, those who saw it may have interpreted it differently (laughs).

As I was working on it, I came to realize that the one carrying the deepest emotional scars was actually Fukiko. When I realized that, she started to resemble to Reika Ryuzaki, aka Madame Butterfly, from Aim for the Ace! I portrayed Madame Butterfly as a woman so exemplary, so beautiful, and so strong that it inevitably leads people to wonder if such perfection hides deep inner struggles. My basic premise is that "the more beautiful a person is, the heavier the burdens they must bear." "The more beautiful they are, the more they must suffer." Of course, it's not always like that in real life. So, I decided to portray Fukiko's past and inner thoughts, as if looking through a magnifying glass. I even started imagining things that weren’t in the original work. Especially in the latter half of the series. Fukiko was particularly well-developed.

In terms of expanding the original story, which only consisted of two volumes, into 39 episodes, the writers really worked hard. At that time, Masami Mori also wrote the script for the OVA Black Jack that I directed, she was around 20 years old. Tomoko Komparu was in her 30s, and Chifude Asakura was in her 40s, so we had three female scriptwriters from different generations, and they all worked really hard. I would often ask them things like, "Isn’t this really how women are?" or "You must be thinking this, right?" and try to get them to open up their true feelings. Even so, it was hard to get them to reveal their true feelings, but when women write, sometimes there would be lines that would make me think, "Huh?", "A man could never have written this." I’m not the kind of director who always follows the script to make the storyboard but i used those impactful lines as a starting point, and then I explored the characters complexities. It was a really interesting and stimulating process. Every time I met Ikeda-san, she would ask me, "How do you understand women so well, Dezaki-san?" I would reply, "Eh? I don’t understand them at all" (laughs). It’s all just from my imagination. I’m sure in reality it’s different, but that’s how I portrayed it.

I think Akio Sugino probably enjoyed drawing women like Fukiko. Her grace was something only he could depict. Without that grace, her strength wouldn’t have been conveyed. That sense of elegance in his artwork was something he must have been born with. Well, that’s how it is with all of his works, but that quality really contributed strongly to the drama.

For the cast, I had the late sound director Etsuji Yamada think through a lot of things. We had a truly luxurious cast. Among so many experienced professionals, I had Hiroko Kasahara play Nanako. After listening to her audition tape, I felt something from it. However, I believe it was one of her first lead roles in a series. For that, her character was a bit too heavy, don’t you think?. She struggled at first, but gradually, she got better. In a way, I think she probably synced well with the character of Nanako, who was gradually growing and developing. For the dubbing, the first episode had the colors already added to the animation, but after that, we mostly recorded with just the finished drawings. Of course, this wasn’t something to be praised, but for this particular work, I think it might have actually worked well. The idea was that, by not focusing on synchronizing the voice with the lip movements, the voice actors were able to pour more energy into their performances. There were a lot of heavy lines, after all. Recording authentic, raw dialogue and then matching the animation’s lip movements to it. I think this approach worked well for the piece in the end. There was one time when the animation’s mouth movements and the voice didn’t quite match. It was in episode 17, where Fukiko found the letter Nanako wrote to her older brother and scolded Nanako for it. I decided to darken the scene at that moment. The line "Now, rip it in front of me" was a very striking one, so I secretly thought it turned out to be a good effect.

Source: Oniisama E... Blu-Ray BOX SET Booklet.

Note : The translation might not be the most accurate word-for-word, but i did my best to make it coherent.

[jjonglemons]

all my works can be found here

Eyes On You

my friend requested i write a dom/stalker yeosang fanfic so enjoy my freaktiny ;)

Summary: yeosang can't stay away from you, nor can you stay away from him. you both feel crazy, so what else is there to do but feel it together?

WC: 1.8k

Tags: smut, cnc, stalking, toxic, stalker!yeosang, victim!reader, dom!yeosang, sub!reader, fem!reader, dark, some dacryphila, praise, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't)

There you were. 

You were sitting in the corner of a local cafe, sipping on what seemed to be a cappuccino whilst you typed away on your laptop. Ever so often, you’d let out an exasperated sigh, slamming your fingers onto the keys out of frustration. You buried your head into your hands before regaining composure and continuing your work.

Yeosang sat quietly in the opposite corner, sneaking glances at you throughout reading a novel. He tried to make it as subtle as possible, yet wanted to somehow indicate to you that he was watching. Truthfully, you had noticed him looking at you nearly every time you were both in the cafe, but never had the courage to actually confront him.

In all honesty, you were simultaneously terrified and thrilled by the thought of Yeosang constantly watching you. Following you. You’d never said a word to this man in your life, but the way his hair draped over his eyes while the little bits of chocolate peeked through the gaps and met yours made you forget the fact he had been stalking you for nearly two weeks.

It all started on a Monday evening on your walk home from work. You stopped by the grocery store on your way back, feeling moved to buy a bouquet of flowers to decorate your home. You’d been so drained from your week that you were in need of something to brighten up your space and curb your bad mood. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, bumping into a body as you turned the corner to reach the cashier. You looked up, taking in the face of who was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“No worries,” the man chuckled, stepping aside so you could pass.

You felt his eyes on you as you quickly shuffled passed him to the counter. You could sense the man’s gaze boring into the back of your head the entire checkout process.

“Thank you,” you smiled at the cashier, trying to hide your growing nervousness as you hastily grabbed the bouquet and exited the shop.

Yeosang was careful to stay at a distance as he trailed behind you. He watched the way your body swayed in the dimly lit streets, the way your ass bounced with each step. He couldn’t help but salivate at the thought and gripping it as he pounded his cock into you while you screamed for more. 

Once you reached your apartment, you glanced nervously at your surroundings before speedily going inside and slamming the door shut. Whoever this man was, he wanted you to know he was there; that he was watching. But he also wanted you to be somewhat oblivious to his presence. He certainly did a good job of maintaining that ideal, because that’s exactly how you felt.

The cycle continued from then on. He memorised every route you took home and to run errands, when you would take your lunch break, and even when you’d step outside onto your balcony to partake in a joint. 

Yeosang felt insane. No, he didn’t feel insane. He was insane. Never in his life had he been so obsessed with someone that he stalked their every move. He couldn’t stop. God, he was so enamoured by the thrill of it all. 

And you were, too.

On your way out of the cafe, you shot him a nearly unnoticeable, needy look as you gently bit your bottom lip, purposefully manoeuvring your step in a way that would have him drooling. Yeosang let out a short breath, eyes widening as he watched your thighs exit the building.

Fuck, he thought, I’m really going to fucking lose it if she keeps this up. 

You wanted him to lose it. Perversely, you wanted him to break into your apartment in the eerie hours of the night and slam you against the wall, hands pressed against your dripping cunt. 

He could picture it, too; your pretty little tears running down your face as you tried to keep him out. But he’d win, and he’d take you until you came undone beneath him as his cock filled every inch of you. You’d moan his name over and over as he thrusted with no remorse, releasing himself into your beautiful cunt. 

That night as you stood on the balcony, you peered at the corner where he always sat. There was a bench right across from the small community park beside your apartment complex. You took a puff of your joint and giggled as he continued to “read” his novel, knowing full well it was just a cover up so he wouldn’t look suspicious to the locals. At a certain point, his eyes met yours. You swallowed hard, shocked that you could sense each other’s gaze despite the grand distance between you two.

A few moments later, he stood up and began to approach your apartment building.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, quickly snuffing out the half-smoked joint, and shakily going back inside of your apartment. You closed the curtains, still being sure to take a few peeks here and there to see where he was. 

You saw him standing at the door, and his eyes met yours again for a brief moment. You closed the gap of the curtain quickly, startled and fell to the floor. Your heart was pounding and your hands began to sweat. You were horrified, yet somehow aroused by the whole ordeal, your throbbing cunt beginning to create a pool in your panties.

“Love,” you heard the man sing from the floor below, “I’d really like to see you.”

Your mind was pulling you into two different directions. No, you screamed in your head, he’s a stalker, y/n, what’s wrong with you? You stood up from the floor, slowly making your way towards the buzzer to let him in. 

“I must be crazy,” you said to yourself, “I can’t believe I’m actually about to let him in.”

And you did. You pressed open the front door, seconds later hearing a knock at the door of your apartment unit.

“Love,” the man sang again, “please open up.”

He was enjoying the game. The chase was driving him mad, and you were the guide. Silently, you turned the locks on your door, gently stepping away towards the center of the room.

“Y-you can come in now,” you exhaled shakily, bracing yourself for his entrance.

The door knob clicked, the slight creaking of the door becoming drowned out by the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Instantly, you found yourself running towards it in an attempt to shut it in his face and lock it again. 

“Don’t be so mean,” he instigated, fighting against your resistance on the other side, “I know you want to play.”

“N-no please,” you began to cry. The crazy part was that you had begun to stop putting force against the door, allowing him the opportunity to fully enter your apartment. You stumbled back towards the center of the room again, standing completely still as he came in and shut the door behind him.

“Finally,” the man breathed, slowly approaching you. You stood frozen as his hands feathered up and down your arms. The tears continued to paint your cheeks. His smile seemed almost sinister, and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together because of your growing arousal. He noticed and chuckled. “Oh? It seems like you’re enjoying this, hmm?” You gulped as his mouth hovered over your ear. “Tell me,” he whispered, “am I right?”

“Y-yes,” you hesitated, inhaling sharply as his arms came in contact with your hips. He gently brushed his fingertips along them. 

“Good,” he hummed, stepping back for a moment, “then, I’m going to take you now.”

You didn’t have time to respond before he had you shoved against your living room wall, nipping at your neck as his hands slipped up your thighs.

“You have time to stop me, you know.”

But you didn’t stop him. You allowed yourself to melt into his touch, eyes rolling backwards as his fingers pressed your skin. He trailed them upwards towards your sex. You threw your hands up to grips his hair as his fingers came in contact with your sensitive nub. You whimpered as he lightly tugged it between his pointer and middle, using his thumb to spread out your slick simultaneously.

“Oh, wow,” he hissed, “you really are enjoying this, aren’t you, stranger?”

“Y/N,” you managed to choke out between moans, “my name is Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N,” he grinned, shoving one finger into you, “I’m Yeosang.” The room was filled with your cries as he curled his finger into you, soon adding a second. “Oh, baby, I can’t wait to put my cock into you.”

“Please,” you begged, squirming in his grip.

“Not yet,” he cooed, “I want you to come all over my fingers first. Can you do that for me?”

“I-I can.”

“Good.”

Yeosang began to pick up his speed, playfully matching your moans as you released yourself onto his fingers.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, feeling your warmth spread along his hand, “you did so well for me, love.”

“Did I?” You asked, eyes glistening as you looked up at him with a puppy-like pout. 

Yeosang couldn’t handle it. Seconds later you were on the couch, face pressed into cushions and ass up. “You absolutely did,” he praised, pushing himself into you.

You cried both from the pain of the lack of adjustment and the pleasure of his cock rubbing your walls. He pounded into you with a relentless speed, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back. You gripped the couch as you screamed his name, gasping for air.

“Yeosang! Fuck!”

He gripped your hair, forcing your body to arch upwards. “That’s it,” he seethed, slapping your ass one time, “say it again,” then another. 

“Yeosang!”

“Louder, baby,” he commanded, squeezing your waist harshly, “I know you can.”

“S-shit,” you choked as he moved his hands from your hair to your throat, keeping you steady in your current position, “YEOSANG!”

“Oh, fuck,” he yelled, pushing his final thrust into you, “please let me come in you, love.”

“Please,” you mewled, completely falling apart beneath him. You pressed down your palm onto your throbbing clit, using the final bit of stimulation to come a second time.

Yeosang let out a loud groan as he painted your walls white, your juices mixing with his. You could feel him throbbing inside of you as he twitched, collapsing onto your back.

The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, breathing heavily as you tried to come to.

“Guess we aren’t strangers anymore, huh?” You teased.

“Only if you don’t want to be.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, “maybe break in a few more times and we’ll see.”

[lauralot89]

So I just watched Bram Stoker's Dracula for the first time since I was a child and what is even the fuck

(I have NO idea how I watched this as a child, it must have been an edited version on TV because there is no way my parents would have rented it for us)

It's incredible really. Nearly every choice made in this film was the wrong choice, and yet it was wrong in ways that fascinated and delighted me

(I'm not including the costuming/sets/sound design as wrong choices, those were all great)

At one point, Mina is crying and Dracula touches her tears and turns them into DIAMONDS with the vampire turning-tears-into-diamonds power I guess I forgot they have

I have rarely seen such levels of camp in a movie that I think I was supposed to take seriously, but there you go

did Terry Gilliam ghost-direct every scene in the asylum, that shot composition was straight out of Twelve Monkeys

there is no earthly reason that this Dracula/Mina romance plot makes any sense, but somehow Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder made it seem almost believable

I think it worked for me because

a) Their meet-cute is Mina reading Dracula to filth for being a creepy fuck, roasting him for thinking that moving pictures are science, and only giving him the time of day because he has a sick ass pet wolf

b) The blood-drinking scene is straight up Mina being such a monster fucker it actually weirds out Dracula, he's like "No I love you too much to condemn you to a life of vampirism" and she's all "shut up and bleed"

also like

imagine filming that scene and just having to lick all over your coworker's chest for like a dozen takes, awkward

It's truly bizarre how this is both the closest film I've ever seen to the source material and yet also is full of noncanonical nonsense and everyone's personality is replaced by horny, how am I supposed to reconcile this

Highlights of the film for me:

The aforementioned costuming, sets, and sound design

The fact that all the effects were done in camera

Dracula randomly waving a sword in Jonathan's face

Arthur Holmwood is the Dread Pirate Roberts

Instead of Dracula breaking a wolf out of the zoo to throw at a window, the wolf just breaks itself out to hang with him

Vampire Lucy

Dracula has a turning tears into diamonds power

Mina is like YOU KILLED LUCY for fifteen seconds and then immediately starts demanding to get vamped in the very same conversation

Jonathan spent weeks as the brides' juice box

Gary Oldman being ridiculously melodramatic and half of his lines sounding like they were delivered on the brink of an orgasm

Dracula's ridiculous Peter Pan shadow

The closest I think any movie has come to the Dracula death from the book

Dracula crying blood, always wonderful

My Mom's Complaints

Everything

Seriously, like every fifteen minutes or so she'd ask why we're even watching this

During the "Dracula and Lucy fucking in the garden" scene she asked if this movie actually had a theatrical release, and if it was the biggest bomb of all time

She did not like Old Dracula's hair

She did not like his motivation for becoming a vampire

She did not like his wolf form or his bat form or his old form

My Grandmother's Complaint:

Van Helsing would not have been so cavalier and undignified in telling Mina and Jonathan about Lucy's beheading

[laviefantasie]

Video 5

| series masterlist |

You’ve never been good at lying. Or, more specifically, you’ve never been good at lying to him. Satoru Gojo is practically a human lie detector, and unfortunately for you, that makes planning his surprise birthday party a Herculean task.

“This is ridiculous” you mutter into your camera, recording yourself while crouched behind a stack of file cabinets in the staff lounge, “It’s like he has a sixth sense for people talking about him. We’ve barely started, and he’s already suspicious!”

Shoko’s voice crackles, her tone flat as always, “That’s because you’re terrible at keeping secrets. Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even trying”

“Because it’s for Gojo!” you hiss, “He’d never expect it, and—”

You hear footsteps. Light, purposeful. Immediately, you slap your videocamera against your chest to muffle the recording and freeze.

“Are you talking about me again?” Satoru’s unmistakable voice rings out, smug and teasing.

“No” you reply too quickly, shoving your camera behind your back, “What are you doing here?”

Satoru leans against the doorway, his sunglasses glinting under the fluorescent lights. His smirk is as insufferable as ever.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought I heard someone whispering my name”

You make a show of looking at your sides in confusion and standing up.

“I don’t think so. We were just discussing next week’s missions. Very boring stuff. You’d hate it”

His grin widens, and you know he doesn’t believe you, “Really? Because you’re looking awfully guilty”

Before you can defend yourself, Geto walks in, holding two coffees and looking entirely unbothered by the tension in the room.

“Satoru, do you ever think about leaving people alone?”

“Never”

He hands you one of the coffees and shrugs, “See? He’s incapable of basic decency. Good luck”

And just like that, he’s gone, taking Shoko with you, leaving you alone with a now curious Gojo.

“You’re up to something” he says, folding his arms.

“Nope. Not at all”

But you know this isn’t over. Satoru Gojo doesn’t let things go easily.

Hours later, you reconvene with Shoko and Geto in a secluded corner of the courtyard. You’ve somehow convinced them to help you with your grand plan: throwing the most chaotic yet heartfelt birthday party Satoru Gojo has ever seen.

“This is a terrible idea” Shoko says bluntly, sipping on a cigarette instead of her coffee now as you fix the camera’s position, “He’s going to figure it out”

“Not if we’re careful” you insist, flipping through your notes, “Okay, here’s what we’ve got so far: decorations, cake, gifts, and a playlist. Shoko, you’re on distraction duty”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one he won’t suspect of being sentimental” Geto answers, lounging lazily on the grass.

You point to him next, “Geto, you’re handling decorations”

“Can’t wait to see what kind of sparkly nonsense he likes” Geto deadpans.

“And I’ll take care of the cake and gifts” you finish, “We’ll record everything so we can show him later how much effort went into this”

Shoko raises an eyebrow, “You really think he’s going to care about that?”

You hesitate, then grin, “No, but it’ll annoy him to know he didn’t catch us in the act”

The next few days are a whirlwind of poorly concealed planning and increasingly desperate attempts to throw Gojo off your trail.

You and Shoko are browsing through decorations online during lunch when Gojo suddenly appears behind you like a specter. The videocamera right by your side recording the process.

“What are you guys looking at?”

You slam your laptop shut so fast that Shoko flinches, “Nothing! Just… work stuff”

“Work stuff?” he echoes, leaning in uncomfortably close, “Lemme see”

“Absolutely not”

Shoko sighs dramatically and hands him her phone, “Here. Have this. Go bother someone else”

He snatches it, pouting, “This better not be another video of a cat falling off a table—oh, it is. Nice”

As soon as he’s distracted, you and Shoko bolt.

Geto is tasked with picking up decorations. He returns to the school with a bag of multicolored streamers, balloons, and—somehow—a life-sized cutout of Gojo himself.

“Where did you even find this?” you ask, incredulous, putting the camera down.

“Doesn’t matter” he replies, smirking, “It’s perfect”

“Perfect for what?”

You nearly drop the cutout as Gojo materializes out of thin air.

“For… uh…” You flail, searching for an excuse.

“A training exercise” Geto supplies smoothly.

Gojo eyes the cutout skeptically, “A training exercise with a cardboard version of me?”

“Yes” you say, clapping Geto on the shoulder, “We’re trying to improve our reaction times. Totally normal. Bye!”

You shove the cutout behind your back, grab your camera, and drag Geto away before Gojo can ask more questions.

The cake is a disaster.

“This is fine” you say, staring at the lopsided monstrosity you’ve just pulled out of the oven.

“It’s not fine” Shoko says, filming the whole thing, “This is a crime against baking”

“We’ll fix it!”

Shoko zooms in on the uneven frosting job as you frantically try to salvage the cake. “You’re lucky Satoru has no taste”

“Shut up and pass me the sprinkles”

By some miracle, everything comes together on the day of the party. The courtyard is decorated with streamers and balloons (and the Gojo cutout, which now has a party hat), the cake is… presentable, and a playlist of Gojo’s favorite obnoxious pop songs is ready to go.

The only problem is keeping him out of the area long enough to set everything up.

“That’s your job” you tell Shoko as you finish arranging the table, making sure the camera is set at the perfect angle, “Just stall him for an hour”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure. I’ll just tell him we’re doing a surprise intervention for his ego”

“That might actually work” Geto muses.

You shoo them both away and look towards the camera, “Okay, it’s almost time. If we can just keep him distracted a little longer, this might actually work—”

“Keep who distracted?”

You whip around to see Satoru standing behind you, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a suspicious look on his face.

“Uh—no one!” you say, trying to block his view of the decorations.

He steps closer, peering over your shoulder, “Is that… a cardboard version of me wearing a party hat?”

Panic sets in, “No! It’s for… science!”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, “Science?”

“Yes!” You grab his arm and start steering him away, “And you can’t be here because it’s classified science”

Why couldn’t you be better at lying?

He plants his feet, refusing to budge, “Classified, huh? Sounds fake”

“It’s not!”

But it’s too late. He’s already spotted the cake on the table, and the realization dawns on his face. A soft look, almost unnoticeable, appears on his face.

“You’re throwing me a party?”

You groan, dropping your hands, “We were trying to surprise you”

Satoru grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself, “Aww, you guys shouldn’t have”

“We really shouldn’t have” Shoko says, appearing with Geto behind him.

“Well, since you ruined the surprise” Geto adds, smirking, “you might as well enjoy it”

Despite the rocky execution, the party is a success. Satoru spends the evening teasing you all mercilessly while eating an alarming amount of cake and insisting on taking selfies with the cardboard cutout.

Later, as you’re cleaning up, he sidles up to you with a rare, genuine smile.

“Thanks for this. It was… nice”

You roll your eyes, “You’re welcome. But next year, you’re not getting anything”

“We’ll see about that” he says, ruffling your hair before wandering off to bother Shoko.

And even though it was chaotic, exhausting, and mildly traumatic, you can’t help but feel a little proud. Because for once, you managed to surprise the unbeatable Satoru Gojo—even if only for a moment.

The camera records the light blush that forms on your face as you smile at him without his notice.

taglist: @gumiiiiezzzz @reagan707

TUMBLR HAS ME FUMING WITH THAT BS ABOUT NOT LETTING ME ADD LINKS. HERE IS THE MASTERLIST LINK https://www.tumblr.com/laviefantasie/751113004215648256/the-gojos-video-diaries

[sarbear94]

Because Evan-

(It’s a long one…sorry not sorry 😘)

Okay…. I’ve been rewatching some old Buddie scenes because of the potential of Eddie moving back to El Paso and…. excuse my language but…. What the fuck?

It’s like the writers are new or don’t know what to do with Eddie anymore. Or like someway, somehow the episodes are out of order.

In THAT scene, Buck asks “he has grandparents, family” and Eddie reply’s “After Shannon left, they tried to guilt me into giving Christopher to them. It wasn’t what I wanted then, it’s not what I want now.” They then both agreed that no one would fight harder for Chris than Buck.

So WHY THE FUCK haven’t either of them gotten him back yet??

Eddie started season 7 with Marisol and Chris and everyone’s fine. Then Chris is dating multiple girls (Eddie is baffled and doesn’t know how to handle it so he asks Buck for help) and said it has to do with his mom to Buck and we get that EMOTIONAL shot of Eddie devastated after hearing this. Then proceeds to give him a letter to bring about closure for him. Eddie seemed to already have closure or at least repressed it.

Then Eddie meets Kim…. And the Eddie we have loved for 6 seasons is IMMEDIATELY GONE. He does the exact same thing that he told Buck about Christopher was not okay And needed to be fixed (he was BEGGING Buck for help).

Like, my dude, how did you think this was gonna go? You kept everyone in the dark. Your son, your best friend, your GIRLFRIEND and even Kim! What was his end goal? It doesn’t make any sense.

Like I understand that if Gavin wasn’t gonna be around next season, and you need to write him off but have him potentially come back, there were several ways you could have done that but still kept true to the characters. Have Chris go to a boarding school. Or a school trip. Or literally ANYTHING ELSE! Then season 8, keep the Kim storyline, but Chris is already gone and doesn’t witness it. Cause now that whole confession thing with Kim pretending to be Shannon and actually get closure was pointless. If they’d done that with Chris gone, he’d have the closure. Work on the PTSD crawling back up in an empty house, keep the Priest and finding Joy and then keep that for a bit and then heal.

That was a whole side tangent really for the main point I was trying to make, but why does Eddie- lose Chris, grow a mustache, grieve for not having his son, have an episode where a Priest says “let yourself have Joy,” then take it away in the next couple of episodes by saying “I’m thinking of moving to Texas” based on the words of a psycho actor??

Chris is a TEENAGER! Hell- he might still be a preteen, grow the fuck up and go parent your son. You’ve put your foot down before, why is this any different?? After a few weeks, I would have been like “nope, we’re done with this. I get I fucked up, but I’m still your dad so we are gonna talk about this and figure out some common ground.” I understand feeling guilty and not wanting to push him even farther away but you’re not even trying! Phone calls don’t show “I want you here with me,” it says “I’m okay with you being gone.”

You’re thinking moving to El Paso is a great idea… but it’s not. Your parents suck. You know this. YOU MOVED HALF WAY ACROSS THE US TO GET AWAY FROM THEM FOR A REASON! I get you patched things up slightly, but not enough.

ALSO! Why wasn’t Buck an option?!? Because of Tommy? I get because Gavin being out of the show(temporarily?) would have made that impossible but why wasn’t it even mentioned? I mean, He’s run to him before, he’s called him when Eddie had his breakdown and Chris didn’t know what to do. But like THEY HAD THE WILL, why wasn’t it even a factor in this. At the time, it felt like, at least to Chris, that Eddie was incapable of taking care of him, which means that Chris should go to Buck. Not his grandparents.

I just don’t understand what they are doing with these two. E and C. Bucks got his bisexual journey(relationship with Tommy). Bobby has multiple storylines. The Hans had the Mara and new baby storylines. Hen and Karen had the Ortiz/Mara and Denny/Halloween storylines. Athena has literally any storyline involving cops. And all those storylines make sense for each character. Eddie’s and Chris’s doesn’t. They keep pushing Eddie to be sad then happy then making stupid decisions. DEVELOP YOUR FUCKING CHARACTER! You’ve been dropping the ball since at least the network switch. Which I find super funny because yes, he does the emotional scenes super amazing but now it seems like his character is more open. He’s making more funny faces, he’s got the loose hair, he makes comedic jokes. But he’s almost(so close) to reminding me of Buck 1.0.. but it doesn’t fit with the storyline at all. At least to me…

Like does anyone agree with any of this? Am I just seeing things? Did the writers get told Gavin was leaving too late and made this story on the fly and rolled with it? Does Ryan want out of the show and they are keeping it under wraps? Like WHAT IS HAPPENING? Make it make sense!

Ps. I did not proofread this before posting so if something doesn’t make sense, let me know. I was just trying to get down all my thoughts on this. Currently me vvv

[lucrezianoin]

Grey Warden Rook

trying to put together the grey warden rook timeline because it makes no sense

The First Warden introduces himself to Rook indipendently from Rook being a Grey Warden, and then says:

Which seems to imply they never met?

but then if when you meet Evka you say "The first warden has a stick up his ass" she says:

Also meeting Evka and Antoine Rook knows them and he says it has been a while. Which is a bit awkward because Harding is the one who found them. And later in Minrathous when you meet the wounded Warden she says "Warden Rook" like she recognizes Rook...

In the Taash first quest the only line about their past is indipendent from choosing the two options (something like being different things is enriching / being different things is hard):

And when Emmrich asks "Hey, Rook, where are you from?"

So he definitely was in Weisshaupt for a period.

The First Warden could dislike Rook post-first meeting, especially given he is usually in Tevinter and not Weisshaupt. Davrin seems more familiar with the First Warden in general.

So I suppose it is realistic that Rook trained in Weisshaupt for a bit before being sent somewhere else.

Davrin calls Weisshaupt the only home he has, he seems VERY familiar with the place, like he lived in it for a while, but somehow Rook never heard of him or met him.

The only timeline I can think of is if:

Rook arrived at Weisshaupt before Davrin/While Davrin was away

Stayed only for a few weeks/months, before moving somewhere else in the Anderfels to train

Then Rook never really visited Weisshaupt again and moved with some other Wardens somewhere else (could be the Anderfels or who knows where)

Davrin instead stayed in Weisshaupt longer and worked from there, mainly

[david-blackthorn]

I havnt read those books in the shadowhunter chronicles yet, what are your favorite things about them? (Im curious whether I should read them or not since I have such a big tbr already)

Oh maaan you're in for a ride

I have no idea which series in the Shadowhunter Universe you meant exactly but i'll start with my fav

Part I:

The Dark Artifices:

Do you ever feel like your soul needs a good mix of romantic pining, chaotic battles, and emotional devastation? The Dark Artifices is calling your name.

But seriously if you love stories that combine heart-pounding action, deep family bonds, and characters so real you’ll find yourself thinking about them long after you've finished the books? This is the series for you!

This series follows a family of Shadowhunters in sunny Los Angeles (yes, there are beaches AND demon fights) as they deal with forbidden love, ancient laws that make no sense, and plot twists that will leave you staring at the ceiling at 3 AM like: what just happened.

It’s got:

Two people who can’t be together because of reasons but have enough chemistry to destroy you.

A goofy warlock with more secrets than anyone is ready for.

A soft boy who paints and probably writes poetry but will absolutely murder you if you hurt his siblings and childhood friend.

A broody faerie loner who says “I work alone” but would probably die for his friends.

“I would die for my siblings, but also, they’re so annoying” energy.

Found-family dynamics that will have you texting your friends, “DO YOU SEE THIS?”

And, of course, the *painful but addictive* mix of love, loyalty, and chaos...

Enemies-to-lovers? No, wait—friends-to-lovers? Actually, it’s more like "reluctantly obsessed but too emotionally constipated to say it."

Three people staring dramatically at each other like ‘Is this polyamory or a REALLY complicated love triangle?

Characters who will make you scream, “JUST COMMUNICATE,” but you’ll love them anyway.

Enough family angst to fuel a therapy session for years.

A genius, autistic boy who solves mysteries but can’t solve the mystery of his own feelings

Main characters? Let’s just say there’s a parabatai bond that’s more complicated than your high school crush.

The plot? Fast-paced, full of betrayal, and packed with vicious fight scenes.

The family? Everything is fine...except when it’s not.

The romance? You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll probably scream and definitely ship things that should not be shipped. :)

Basically a murder mystery, faerie politics, and the most relatable struggle of all: Trying to keep your family alive and well while the world is falling apart.

Fair warning: you’ll never emotionally recover (and you’ll love every second).

part II:

The Mortal Instruments:

If you’re looking for a fast-paced urban fantasy series full of adventure, humor, and heart, you need to pick up The Mortal Instruments.

It’s got everything: shadowy secrets, epic battles, forbidden love, and enough twists and turns to keep you hooked from start to finish. Plus, the friendships and family bonds will hit you right in the feels.

If you like:

Hot people with emotional trauma

Family dynamics so messy even you would say "y’all need therapy"

Enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-allies-to-love(maybe) but make it *gay*

Bonus gay dads with actual functional communication (because someone has to balance the chaos)

A love triangle that's not technically a triangle, but don't worry, it'll still destroy your soul

If you do then babe, let me introduce you to The Mortal Instruments:

It’s like Twilight, but everyone fights better is hotter and has sarcasm set to ✨maximum damage✨.

You'll question the characters' life choices, then realize your own aren’t much better.

There’s an overachieving golden boy with a superiority complex who definitely Googles his own name but is secretly baby.

A girl who just wants to vibe and maybe not be surrounded by apocalypses, but alas.

A cinnamon roll nerd who says, “I don’t want to be here,” but somehow ends up saving the day every time.

And a guy who walks in like: "I’m too goth for this mess," but then adopts everyone and pays for dinner.

The Mortal Instruments is what happens when an ex fanfic writer starts a writing carrier and makes a book series: chaotic, emotional, weirdly self-aware, and packed with heart. Read it. Your inner emo kid will thank you.

Bonus:

The plot? Like Supernatural on speed.

The dialogue? Whedon-esque but with more sass per square inch.

The drama? Every fanfic writer wishes they wrote this level of ✨chaotic bisexual disaster energy✨.

If this sounds appealing, congratulations! This series was literally written for you.

part III:

The Infernal Devices:

The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare is an absolute gem of a series, blending romance, adventure, and a touch of Victorian-era steampunk. If you love books with unforgettable characters, heart-wrenching love triangles (in the best way), and a beautifully atmospheric setting, this is the series for you.

It’s full of witty banter, emotional depth, and a story that stays with you long after you turn the last page. Trust me—there’s no ‘right’ team to root for, but you’ll love every moment of trying to decide.

The plot? Wild.

The romance? Devastating.

The side characters? Hot, chaotic, and probably more interesting than the main ones in most other books you’ve read.

Let’s not forget:

The Victorian Aesthetic™ (it’s giving Pinterest board).

A robot army that would make Skynet say, “You okay, bro?”

Poetry recitals that feel like life-or-death declarations.

And more tragic backstories than a Shakespearean play.

It's got:

a steampunk version of London where demons and shadowhunters roam the cobblestone streets, and your biggest problem isn’t the fog, but the ✨existential dread✨.

There’s a protagonist who just wanted to read books but accidentally became the center of everyone’s emotional drama (relatable queen).

A golden retriever boy who’s so perfect it physically hurts and is slowly dying.

And a sad boy™️ who looks like he stepped straight out of a My Chemical Romance album, only with a reading obsession.

A love triangle where instead of fighting, the two love interests are like, ‘Hey, what if we all just loved each other?’

Friendships so deep they’ll make you scream, “WHY CAN’T THE WORLD LET THEM BE HAPPY?”

A heroine who’s like, ‘Do I choose the guy who might secretly hate himself more than anyone else alive, or the literal angel in human form?’ (Spoiler: she chooses both. Iconic.)

Brooding boys who quote poetry in life-or-death situations (because of course they do).

*A love triangle where instead of fighting, the two love interests are like, ‘Hey, what if we all just loved each other?’

Start with Clockwork Angel and get ready to laugh, cry, and ugly sob over Will, Jem, and Tessa. But be warned: this series will RUIN you in the most beautiful way possible.

I won't write a summary of The Last Hours since i haven't finished it yet sorry babes, but hope you liked these *mwa*

[dirtyzucchini]

Mountie Sings The Blues Solved?

Mountie Sings The Blues never made much sense to me. Yes, the Frannie/Turnbull is VERY cute and, frankly, I ship it, but I was always wondering about Fraser and Ray and why they're so weird with each other. Fraser is being a snippy bitch (and not just with Ray, he's super confrontational with everyone for two thirds of the episode), Ray is a petty brat (sticks his tongue out at Fraser, are you kidding me?) and me, I'm just confused.

Or I was, until a recent rewatch with @sammaggs when I FINALLY realized what the hell is going on: Fraser and Ray are having a domestic!

Hear me out: whatever their deal is may have started before the episode even opens. Fraser is uncharacteristically direct with Jeffers and very openly disapproving of Turnbull. We don't see much of Ray on that first day, but in the scene they're together in Welsh's office for, they're pretty much at different ends of the room, which really isn't standard procedure for these two.

The real action happens on the next day, though. They work as well together as they always do, but the bickering, bantering and teasing is off the charts. Ray is Fraser-baiting with the supermodel return address remark - check the way he's daring Fraser to say something right after Frannie defends the Siberian dream - but Fraser chooses to disapprove silently. Then there are the little exchanges at the recording studio to look at. Fraser sounds downright worried when he asks if Ray finds the backing singer attractive, and Ray's "I don't care" in response is extra dismissive, like Fraser is missing the point somehow. And while "Singing like a bird" is kinda sweet, Ray yanks it right back with "I didn't tell you what kind of bird".

And then we're on day number three, where the boys seem to be making an effort to play nice again. Ray doesn't blow up at Fraser for interrupting the interview, and Fraser apologizes sincerely for doing so. A little later he pours Ray a coffee but doesn't take any for himself. Ray accepts and even drinks at least some of the coffee before he dumps either the cup or what's left of very bad coffee discreetly behind Fraser's back. They're back to normal.

Conclusion: What I get from all of this is that their domestic was a very minor, completely unrelated to work issue on the level of someone leaving the empty butter dish in the fridge one too many times. They're not mad at each other, exactly, just annoyed.

I also think that they seem to agree that somehow Fraser is at fault. Ray isn't always this openly impatient with Fraser's little lectures, yet Fraser very pointedly ignores his antics. Fraser might as well ask "Are you going to leave me for someone less complicated?" instead of "Good as in attractive?" in that scene. Ray's reply clearly says "That is not the kind of trouble you're in, my friend". Same thing with yanking back the compliment about Fraser's singing - translation: "You are not off the hook yet."

They do somehow resolve their tiff overnight, though, and both are going to great lengths to show that everything's fine again.

With all this in mind, the whole episode starts making sense to me, but that's me. Does anyone have thoughts on this?

[sleepysuburb]

Top 5 Steve/Reece character designs? (Hopefully this hasn't already been asked lol? ^_^

it hasn't!! character design is one of my main passions so this is an ideal question 👀 I really went balls to the wall for this one so it's under a readmore!! sorry for the chunks of text!

REECE

1. Stu. I'm so obsessed with Stu's design choices; the way he's clearly meant to look a little "too old" (not my opinion! I think he looks gorgeous) for his fashion sense, with his little tummy and his loud shirt, his tight jeans and very 90s auburn-blonde hair, his pink lip gloss (!!!!!!)... he's comfortable in himself and knows what works for him, so why change it as he gets older?

Conversely, the loud way he dresses is put into stark contrast with Carl's more age-appropriate, sensible dress and neat haircut, which gives him just one more reason to be at odds with him. He's visibly gay and camp with it, while Carl's repression is mirrored by his straightlaced design - I always see this canyon between their respective expressions and what it represents as a big source of bitterness, embarrassment and envy in their relationship, going both ways.

2. Stella. Oh Stella the riot grrrl you are... the choker, the lace tights, the leather pinafore over black mesh; it's all so babes in toyland/hole etc. Her hair is so quintessentially 90s, but specifically its a style and colour combo often worn by rebellious, troublesome, outcast women in media; to me, her design embodies this yearning for excitement outside of her marriage and a resistance to 'settling down', especially with Charlie. also she's hot. who said that

3. Mr Jelly. Never has a washed up clown looked so... washed up. I love the way his makeup is clearly slept in and not touched up for days/weeks/months at a time, cracking around his persistent frown lines and pilling around his eye bags, and how his hair is badly combed over his bald cap like he's actually trying to hide a severely receding hairline. He looks like the sort of grimy, scary horror clown you wouldn't want around your kids, only to subverse that somewhat - he's not cruel or creepy really, just a sad, disenfranchised man whose career was stolen by medical malpractice and intellectual theft. and his hook!! what a great tool for clowning-based mishaps.

4. Brian Macmillan. I'm predictable. but LOOK at him. we never really see him without at least an element of the dame - sometimes he's in full costume, sometimes half dressed in a bra and girdle with his makeup partway done, and sometimes looking totally regular, but wearing that scoop neck polka dot blouse we're all obsessed with. Despite the dame typically being a comic, matronly character he brings this glamorous drag queen flair to the role and, with his angular glasses, a sense of sharp, cruel intelligence that reminds me of the big bad wolf, with his permanent sneer and the way he prowls around the theatre lording himself over everyone... he feels like he should have fangs all the better to eat you with. also he's hot. who said that

5. Neville Griffin. my gf will kill me for this one because they hate the way he looks, and I get it - his design, even in isolation to his rotten personality, does a great job of making you hate him. He starts off as this lank, greasy, ungroomed-looking young man with casual, ill-fitting clothes; he's ill at ease in himself at this point, hasn't figured his career out, let alone his image. not even enough to make himself presentable. You almost (almost) feel sorry for him. and then cut to him further along in his career - he's arrogant and obnoxious, with his turtleneck and flash suits, his gold jewellery, all of it screaming that he knows he's better than you and he feels untouchable. somehow he still looks greasy, but this time like he doesn't care about other people enough to be fucked showering properly, you know? and always, always in the background, those awful posters of him with his big, bared-teeth grin. also he's h

STEVE

1. Herr Lipp. everything about Herr Lipp is just so unsettling and creepy. his suits are that uncomfortably 70s-sleaze combo of brown tweed, yellow, orange and green that so many people instantly associate with pervy old men. he always looks so wet, like mystery wet all the time, glistening upper lip and shiny forehead, his eyes all bloodshot and damp-looking due to the - I'm guessing some kind of tape or glue? - Steve has in his undereye crease, his hair slicked to the side... it's like he's always exterting himself or sweating guiltily because he knows he's doing something really wrong. that just ramps up when he's trying to get Justin to stay, and the way his appearance maniacally degrades through that sequence is genuinely the stuff of nightmares.

2. Pauline. the human embodiment of a 90s M&S workwear catalogue. she looks like if a generic office job grew legs and developed a seething hatred for everyone below it, and at first, that's kind of what she is. I love the motif of sharpness and orderly lines in her design, from her 'horned' hairstyle to her straight pencil skirt to her angular specs. it's all set off by her lurid pink lipstick, that betrays the real harsh interior lying beneath her neat, jobsworth exterior. in s3 her design becomes notably less put-together and more masculine, as if to try and offset her new vulnerability; her hair is cropped short and her clothing more masc-leaning, tending more business-casual than just business. she doesn't have her job to cling onto anymore, and it shows - but I also love that they went headfirst into making her more visibly queer. also sh

3. Ed Buchan. he's smart, anyone could tell that, what with the way he dresses like an academic - but despite that his clothing is so at odds with what's 'normal'. he looks old-fashioned and out of touch with his patterned jumper vests and his glasses with their chain, especially next to all the police in their sleek, no-nonsense suits. He's automatically an outcast and othered from them all. he has this sweet soft face and the look of a puppy vying for approval, while the others appear hardened and jaded; and they (mostly) are, while he remains gentle even after being kidnapped. also

4. Jed Hunter. he's so clearly influenced by real casting directors the league must've met. there's a slight southern inflection to his speech and since we see him in London in s3 I'm going to assume he's from there - his design, with the mullet situation, designer stubble, sleek clothes and smooth mannerisms, screams well-off, gentrified londoner. he's out of place in Royston vasey, but equally his pretentious brand of normalcy is strange in its own right. he's a caricature of 'cool'.

5. David Sowerbutts. David's design is almost cartoonish, which isn't a surprise considering his concept art was drawn by Reece and was cartoony and exaggerated from the off. he puts me in mind of a little boy in a propeller hat, but if that boy was a grown man and the propellor hat was an appalling bowlcut. all his changeable features, his terrible kitchen-scissor half-shaved haircut, his chunky utilitarian glasses and his simple, dull clothes are minimal maintenence things, making it clear Maureen does everything for him and does it in the most no-frills way. the fake teeth are excellent because they extend his lower jaw and force him to keep his mouth open a bit, making him look more vacant, but on top of it all you have these furrowed brows and intimidating stare that let you know he's capable of more than he lets on.