#much to think about......we'll see what i actually end up doing this is still mostly hypothetical. and for fun

[funsizedcrow]

if im separating oot zelda into 3 for the different timelines does this mean i have to include age of calamity zelda also.

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Twenty-Five Going on Forty-Seven

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 12k words (.....yes. 12k. i-)

summary: Flirting with the guy who fixed your car turns out to lead to much, much more when you find out he's actually not just some random guy, but your new neighbour and father's new best friend, Jake Seresin.

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. this is entirely based on my new fixation on dbf!jake. i have so many thots. so many that they led to a 12k oneshot lmfao. anyway, as always, a list of things to watch out for:

pet names used in an unholy way, safe sex (i fucking managed to finally give them a condom whooooohoooo), oral sex for the both of them (yes i also wrote a blowjob. this is unbelievable i know), dom!jake, some praise kink, a smidge of strength kink at the end. a lot of begging. as always. mention of shower sex. mostly vanilla. jake fucks in missionary because he wants to be nice for his first time with her. if there's ever a sequel i swear to god he will be the most unholy fucker ever

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

The first time Jake meets you isn't the first time he's supposed to meet you. He's supposed to come by for dinner that evening, to finally get to know the daughter your parents have told him so much about. And it's not his fault that he meets you seven hours earlier that day. Not really.

Because the pictures your parents had kept showing him were all old. Mostly childhood photographs, some from your graduation, but none recent enough to connect the dots.

So it's really not his fault that he doesn't recognise you when he sees you standing there on the side of the road, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder, the hood of your car all the way up. With how wildly you're gesturing, Jake guesses that you're not particularly close to fixing whatever problem you have.

You're wary when he pulls up behind you and opens his door. It's rarely a good sign when random men prey on very obviously helpless and distressed young women. But Jake doesn't even get closer at first, just stands there in the opened car door and asks if you need any help. For a little moment, you debate whether it's worth the risk. Then your father's voice rings out from your phone and you decide that there's not much this guy could do to you in broad daylight on a well used street with your father on the phone.

So you tell him the truth. Yes, you most definitely have a problem. The way he makes sure it's okay for him to come over and take a look calms you even more. He's considerate and careful and maybe you're actually lucky and he's just a guy who genuinely wants to help.

He steps out from the door and walks up to you and honestly, for a moment there you're startled. He has to be in his forties, but damn, he's attractive. Suddenly you're glad you picked your sundress over your sweatpants this morning.

You let him lean over your car and take a closer look.

"If he can't help, I'll just come pick you up and we'll call a tow truck", your father says after you've filled him in on what's happening. Honestly, you'd really rather not have to call a tow truck though, because that's just going to cost you a bunch of money again, which isn't particularly the way you want to spend it.

Also, this guy leaning over your car - and you're not even denying that you're very much eyeing him up - seems like he actually knows what he's doing there.

He takes a minute or two before he comes up again. He's smiling, which you take as a good sign. He opens his mouth and you hear what he's saying - but because you have no clue what it is that he's trying to tell you, you just nod along. You're not a mechanic, you don't know the goddamn terminology. Something something battery, something something fuel pump, whatever. You take the time to notice his accent instead.

The good news is he thinks he can fix whatever he's found, but you'll still have to get it checked out later on.

He walks back to his own car, rummages around and comes back with a toolbox and an unopened water bottle.

"It might take a while", he tells you as he offers you the bottle. "Feel free to turn on my radio."

You take the waterbottle and bite down on your lip to keep from grinning. He's sweet. Goddamn. Because you've deemed the whole thing safe, you tell your father goodbye and hang up - you honestly just want a bit of privacy to stare at this hunk of a man who's bending over the hood of your car again and offering you a very... good look at his backside.

It's summer. He's wearing a wife pleaser, which is reasonable in these temperatures, but the sight of his forearms working almost makes you feel like he knows what he's doing by wearing it. Does he have a wife to please, though? He's old enough to have kids - your age, maybe a few years younger. He's about as old as your dad. If he has a wife, maybe he's wearing it for her. Maybe she likes the way his biceps flexes just like you do.

You squint at his hands as you uncap the water bottle and take a sip. There's no ring as far as you can see. Would it be entirely unreasonable to assume he's... single?

It's been a minute, maybe, when you decide it's probably awkward for you to stand there and watch him, so you go with his suggestion and lean into his car, palms bracing against the seat to reach for the radio.

You turn it on, switch through a few channels until you find one you like and turn the volume up. Because it's probably just as awkward if you stay in his car - if not bordering on creepy - you step around the opened door and settle yourself against the hood. Your thighs stick to the warmed metal, but that's something you're willing to deal with.

Your eyes cling to him as he works. You don't know what the hell he's doing, you just hope he knows and you're not left with an even worse problem after. But he doesn't seem like that type of guy. And since he's seemingly unmarried... You don't stop yourself from staring.

Fuck, maybe he has a girlfriend, not everyone gets married at thirty. Not everyone wears their wedding ring either. But a girl can dream, right? And you're dreaming, for just a few minutes. You allow yourself to dream.

He looks so good. He looks so fucking good.

Sandy-blond hair, cut short, but not too short, broad, broad, broad shoulders... those arms, that back.

When he straightenes and looks at you, greasy fingers and a triumphant grin on his lips, you also have to admit that he's got chiseled fucking features. You swallow hard and do your best to pretend you haven't been ogling him.

"All done", he says. You raise your eyebrows.

"Really? That quickly?"

He grins and takes a step back, offering you to take a look yourself. You bite back a smile and push off the hood of his car - your hips are swaying as you walk, yeah, but as far as you're aware, he's single and just fixed your car for you, for free, in less than fifteen minutes.

Also, he's hot.

"Looks no different to me", you admit. He lets out a chuckle.

"Try it", he says, reaches for the hood and pulls it down as you slip into the driver's seat. You look up to him through the windshield before you turn the key in the ignition and-

The car starts.

The fucking car starts.

He's actually managed it.

You turn the key back and shake your head in disbelief. If he hadn't accidentally stumbled upon you, you'd probably have had to call the tow truck by now. Instead, you reach for the glove compartment and grab your purse.

"How-", you start as you climb out of the car seat again, shutting the door behind you. "How the hell?"

He chuckles.

"Actually, don't tell me", you interrupt yourself, throwing your hands up. "I don't even want to know. Here."

You reach into your purse and pull out disinfection wipes, offering them to him. He takes one with a smile and a drawled thanks and cleans off the grease on his hands before folding it up and letting it disappear into his pocket.

"So you're my knight in shining armour today", you say, biting down on your lip. Fuck it. You're gonna find out here and now whether or not he's single. "Otherwise I'm sure the tow truck would've cost me a hundred bucks - at least."

"Yeah, probably", he agrees, his eyes dropping to your mouth for just a second.

"Well, then", you smile, as coyly as you can manage. "How can I thank you?"

And just as you hoped, he stills, taking you in - maybe for the first time, you're not sure. His eyes rake down your body, your cleavage, your waist, your legs. His lips tug into a grin, but when he looks back up at you, he's serious.

"No worries", he tells you. "I'm not the tow truck."

He's not pushing you. Actually, he's doing the opposite, and you're not a fan. Maybe he isn't single after all. Maybe he does have a girlfriend. Or a wife. Or maybe he's not interested. Maybe... but you can give it a try, right? Just one try.

"I can't just drive off", you argue, blinking up at him a little more, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Fuck, are you really doing this? Your breath catches for a moment. But then again, if he isn't single, you're just gonna get into your car and never see him again. So who cares? "How about I give you my number?"

Your heartbeat quickens as he looks at you and straightens up. He's still grinning. You can't quite figure him out.

"I'm forty-seven, darling", he chuckles. You try your hardest to ignore how that pet name sounds, all sweet and intimate and god, you'd do a lot to have him say it again.

"So?", you ask and raise an eyebrow. "Does that mean you don't have a phone?"

Jake shakes his head with a chuckle, but you keep looking up at him so seductively, keep smiling so flirtatiously that he can't help himself. You're wearing such a pretty dress, such a dainty necklace around your throat. And you're serious about this.

He's had younger women flirt with him, yes, but usually five, ten years younger at most - and even that's been a while, because he isn't going to bars every night anymore.

You're really young. You're too young. You're, what, twenty-six? You can't be much older.

But you're stunning. Gorgeous eyes, kissable lips, glossy and plush and for just a moment, Jake loses himself in the images his mind seems to produce immediately when he looks at you - has been, from the second he'd spotted you through his windshield.

He's old enough to know better. But he still reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone.

...

The first time Jake officially meets you is seven hours later when he knocks on your parents' door and takes a step back to wait for it to open.

"That's gotta be Jake, someone get the door!", your mother's voice calls out, and it takes a few seconds until he hears soft footsteps coming down the hallway.

Then the door cracks open.

And there stands-

You.

You're smiling widely for the entirety of two seconds. Then your face falls.

Jake feels like the rug is pulled out from under his feet. He tumbles deep down a dark, dark hole as he stares at your pretty eyes, all shocked and wide, mouth open.

"You", you let out, almost breathless.

"You", Jake echoes, in quite the same tone.

Within seconds, you're stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind you and holding out your hand in front of you, as if to keep him a safe distance away.

You're quick, almost stumbling over your own words as you come to conclusions and try to grasp all their consequences. Jake has a hard time even listening to you. He's frozen in his spot, barely comprehending the entire situation.

The young woman that had so unashamedly flirted with him this morning - that he had most definitely flirted back with - is his neighbour's daughter. His friend's daughter.

So he's fucking frozen in spot, yes.

He's frozen even as you're ushering him into the house with a smile on your lips that's just a bit too wide. He's frozen as he sits down at the dinner table and frozen as your mother offers him a beer. He's frozen as he settles on the couch after and as your father turns on a football game. He's frozen as you scoff at the tv and disappear up the stairs.

Your father asks him what's wrong, but there's no way Jake can tell him.

Even without your lecture on the porch, there would've been no way he would have admitted that he's got your number saved in his phone, "Twenty-five" with a winky face emoji behind it.

So he says he hasn't been all that well - maybe getting the flu or something.

Which is bullshit. He doesn't get sick. He's been sick two, maybe three times in all his life.

But he does think he'll be sick when you take your last step down the stairs half an hour later, in pajamas that barely cover anything - satin or something, he's too focused not focusing on your bare skin to notice anything except your bare skin, really. You just traipse over to the kitchen on tiptoes, eyes glued to your phone, hushed voices reaching his ears when you talk to your mother before you reappear in the living room.

"I'm going to bed", you announce, phone clutched tightly in your hands. "It's been a long day."

Jake can't hear your father's answer. He can't hear the commentator or the cheers from the tv. He can't hear anything, not when you're standing there in the doorway, when he's concentrating so fucking hard on not looking at you.

He fails miserably.

His eyes rake down your body so scorchingly hot that they burn holes into your skin. You have to swallow hard at his expression.

You're not tired at all, actually. Yes, it's been a long day, but if anything, you're buzzing with adrenaline. Which is worse. Because the entire dinner long, you've just had to sit there and stare at him and not do anything about it.

So you're aching to finally hide away in your room, to crawl into bed and contemplate what the fuck is happening. And, just maybe, to dip your fingers into your pajama shorts and think about his shoulders, his arms, his jawline...

Jake manages to grunt some kind of 'goodnight' before you flee - but he doesn't manage to drag his eyes back up from your stomach, all exposed and on display for him. And he doesn't manage to hide it from you.

...

He sees you often over the following weeks. He's been over at your parents' house almost every day for the past six months anyway, and that doesn't change just because you've come back home. Your father still invites him for football games, your mother still talks him into coming over for lunch or for dinner or both and whenever they're outside tinkering on something, he's being called to help.

And - because of course, it's your house as well - you're there, too.

All around him, all the time.

At first, it's innocent. You walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water and smile and say hello. You sit on the couch on a call with a friend and wave at him through the window. You come back from a walk with the dog and ask how he's doing before you disappear inside.

But then there come moments... Moments in which you lie down on a sun lounger in a skimpy bikini while he's painting the fence with your father, sunglasses high on your nose, a book in your hands, rubbing sunscreen into your skin and biting your lip when he can't help but look at you. Moments in which you brush up against him in the kitchen with a giggled 'Sorry', your mother's back turned to you as she grabs milk from the fridge, his fists clenching at his sides, his coffee cup held decently in front of his crotch. Moments in which you sit next to him on the couch and have to lean over him with a lengthy apology, your father just disappearing into the bathroom, your palm high enough on his thigh to stagger into the inappropriate.

The only time he's safe is at work. And even then, you're on his mind constantly.

Those pretty dresses you wear all the time, low-cut in the front and so short they hardly reach past your mid-thighs, in all colours of the rainbow. Those skimpy tops with the flowers on them and jeans-shorts or skirts he's more than once noticed are actually skorts.

He shouldn't be attracted to you. It's so wrong on so many levels. You're too young, much too young, twenty-two years younger than him. And - worse - he's best friends with your father.

He can't be attracted to his best friend's daughter. He simply can't.

It's wrong. It's so, so wrong.

But he can't help himself. He can't help himself when you brush up against him, when you touch him, when you look like that right in front of him.

He doesn't know how he survives those first weeks. He doesn't feel like he's alive, really. Every waking thought is of you - of you and of how wrong it is that he can't stop thinking about you. That he keeps imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to-

No.

No, he can't.

Even though you're making it practically impossible for him.

And it's not like you really know what you're doing either. But ever since the car incident that very first day back home, you've been picturing those arms, those shoulders - and after the first time you caught sight of him working shirtless on some project in the backyard with your father, those fucking abs. All glistening, sweaty skin, that v-line, that happy trail...

It's not your fault he's starring in all of your late night fantasies now. It's his. It's his because he shouldn't be allowed to look that fucking good, to smell and sound and feel that good, when you can't have him. Because of course you can't.

He's twenty-two years older than you. He's your dad's new best friend.

You can't.

You can't flirt with him like you want to, you can't have him, because it would be wrong. But you also can't not.

You don't mean to taunt him, not at first. At first, it's just instincts. Talk to him, get his attention. But the more you're around him... the less you can control yourself.

You want to then. You want to graze your fingers across his thigh when your father isn't looking, you want to suck the straw of your drink into your mouth while you blink up at him, you want to accidentally drop your spoon and bend over in front of him. You want to because you know he wants you to.

Even though he doesn't say it, even though he forces himself to turn away when you walk by him, you see the way he looks at you. You catch him staring, you catch him eyeing you up and down. You notice the tick in his jaw and the way his fists clench at his sides. You watch his knuckles turn white as he grabs the neck of his beer bottle and takes a deep sip.

You know he's most definitely attracted to you.

Because even if you imagine half of those things - there's still the car incident. There's still your number saved in his phone. There's still 'darling' on your mind. Mostly the way he's repeated it since then, two or three times maybe, each one inspiring more sinful bedtime scenarios.

You can't.

He can't.

And yet neither of you doesn't.

...

Your parents are away when it happens. Your dad has to go on a trip for work and he takes your mother with him, surprises her with an extra weekend of romance just for the two of them. They're gone by Wednesday morning and won't be back until Sunday afternoon and even though you're twenty-five and have experience living on your own, they've asked Jake to check in on you, just to make sure you're okay.

The first time he 'checks in on you' is involuntary. He's just come back from work, it's Wednesday, 3pm, and he's sitting down on his back porch with a beer when he spots you.

He really doesn't mean to. He hadn't even known you were there.

But the fence between your house and his isn't high and so it's only natural that his eyes flick over to your garden once.

And then twice.

Because you're climbing out of the pool in the tiniest black bikini Jake has ever seen in his life, looking like some angelic, biblic, ancient goddess - your hair in a messy bun, droplets of water running down your bare skin, muscles working as you pull yourself up the little ladder and put both feet against solid, dry ground, leaving wet footprints with every step you take until you grab your towel, sling it around your shoulders and-

Look right at him.

Your lips tug into a flirty grin. You wave at him, your hand lingering in the air a second too long before you wrap the towel tightly around yourself and tread towards the fence. Jake can't do anything but watch you go and swallow hard.

The other option would probably be to drag you into his arms and ravage you until your throat is sore from screaming his name.

So he just sits there and stares at you instead.

"Hey there", you greet as soon as you're close enough to the fence that he can't look past your belly button anymore.

"Hey", Jake says and for whatever reason, his voice sounds raspy even to himself. Your grin only deepens.

"Do you have plans for dinner yet?", you ask. You bat your lashes at him innocently as you dry off your arms. "I was going to order take out."

So that's why three hours later, Jake rings your doorbell, in a black button up he spent twenty minutes picking out. The last time he'd spent that long in front of the closet, he'd been about fifteen years younger and about to go on an actual date. This isn't an actual date. This is anything but a date, because he's only supposed to check in on his best friend's daughter. He's supposed to look after you. Keep you safe.

But you open the door in an oversized, washed out band tee and smile so stunningly that he forgets what he's supposed to do in about half a second.

There's a moment of silence as Jake stares at you. He knows that damn band tee.

"Is that... mine?", he asks in disbelief as he waits for the sight to sink in, which it does not do. His mind blanks completely. It's not just that it's oversized and that you look like you're drowning in it, which already has him imagining the way he could flatten his palms against your stomach and feel for you in that heap of fabric. It's also that he knows this fucking shirt because he's been wearing it for the past ten years.

You look down like you're just realising what you have on, not like you'd almost had a heart attack when you'd seen it in the laundry basket, squealing so loudly that your mother had come in to check on you. Jake had worn that shirt the same day and apparently forgotten to put it back on when he'd gone home, so your mother had put it in the laundry.

She hadn't realised that you'd stolen it for yourself before she could wash it. She probably hadn't paid it that much attention.

You had though. And tonight had felt like the perfect occasion to wear it.

"I found it in the laundry", you say truthfully, looking up at him with big eyes. "Dad said it wasn't his so I just took it. Maybe a mix up. Do you want it back?"

Your fingers reach for the hem of the shirt down by your thighs, tugging mindlessly up just a tiny bit. Jake almost stumbles over his own words with how quick he is in denying you.

"No, no, keep it", he reassures. "Keep it."

You let go of the shirt as your grin widens.

"Okay then", you say softly, turn around and leave the door open so Jake can get in. You stroll into the kitchen, crack open the fridge and grab the freshly made iced tea while Jake closes the door behind him and puts away his shoes.

It could have easily been awkward. Honestly, Jake isn't sure that it's not. But it doesn't feel like that. It just feels... heavy. Drowsy. As though you're moving in slow motion, looking at him over your shoulder with a sultry grin. And in his shirt as well. His fucking shirt, it's unbelievable.

You're smiling at him over Chinese take out food with the radio playing softly in the background and the dim kitchen light on and it could have been almost normal, almost nothing, almost just a friendly dinner with his best friend's daughter.

But it isn't.

It isn't because you're leaning over the table and stealing a spring roll from him, grinning at him when he starts to protest. It isn't because you're pushing him back down onto his chair when he wants to get up and help you clear the table, leaning most definitely too close to him to grab his plate and bending most definitely too far down to put it into the dishwasher. It isn't because you're opening a bottle of whiskey, pouring him one and only then asking if he's going to stay and watch a movie with you.

You've already poured him the drink.

Not that he'd been planning to say no.

You're not close to him on the couch, not really. You're a respectful distance away as you put your own drink onto the table in front of you and grab the remote. You're still a respectful distance away as you scroll through a bunch of movies and ask him if he's got any preferences - besides football, of course.

But when you decide on a movie, on one of those rom-coms he'd never watch willingly, you're draping your legs over his and brushing your hair away from your face and he has to swallow hard.

His hands drop to your bare skin almost instinctively. He can't keep them off of you, not when you're this close to him, not when you're offering so prettily. It's like he has to touch you, has to brush his thumbs across your ankles.

This could all be normal. This could all be usual.

Jake doesn't bother paying attention to the movie. It's not like he could possibly pay attention to it, not when his fingers are running up and down your soft skin. So he doesn't really mind that he misses their first kiss, even as you look up from the drink you're refilling with a gasp and wide eyes to watch.

Jake just watches the way your hair frames your face, those droplets of iced tea on your lips before you wipe them off. He's sure he could taste them if he tried to.

You lean back into the couch then and stretch and your shirt - Jake's shirt - rides so far up that he catches sight of your underwear. Fuck.

He has to grab onto you hard so that he doesn't launch himself right on top of you. His mouth is dry all of a sudden, so dry that he has to swallow. You blink up at him as you feel his hands clench around your ankles, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep from grinning.

He needs a few seconds to even look up at you. It's like his eyes are glued to that expanse of bare skin at your hip, clinging to the thought of you in your underwear right before him. You're always wearing shorts. You're always wearing shorts. You're always fucking wearing shorts.

Shit.

He shouldn't. He can't.

But his hands brush up your calves and he does look back at you then, which really isn't better, because your lip is still caught between your teeth and your expression is so sinful that he has to bite down on his own tongue.

"Jake", you breathe, all soft and quiet and that's it. That's his breaking point.

You can't just say his fucking name like that, not in his shirt, not while presenting him such a good look at your underwear, and expect him to be okay.

"Fuck", he mutters, then he's on you.

It's an uncomfortable position. You're half turned to him, half away, your legs are still thrown over his lap, which means he can't really push close to you, but his lips are against yours, so firmly, so passionately that you can't care, not right then.

Your eyes fall shut and you kiss him back with the same fervor, the same heat, the same fucking desperation to finally feel him. You part you lips almost too eagerly, too quickly, just so he can stroke his tongue along yours. His hands dig into your thighs, grabbing you tightly, and your arms cross behind his neck to drag him down to you - just that your legs are really in the way now and you have to try and pry one from his lap so that he doesn't crush it, which isn't all that comfortable and takes a while too long to still be sexy. You hardly mind. Jake doesn't either, only pulls his knees up to the couch to climb on top of you.

The whole thing is complicated and annoying and decidedly too time consuming, but his lips are on yours and he's pressing against you, catching himself with a palm against the couch cushions and lowering you to lie down, every single touch frenzied and hurried and hot. Heady and heavy and horny.

You're dragging your hands through his hair, tugging, pulling, scratching your nails across his scalp. He's grabbing your hips with his free hand, grasping your thighs, tangling his fingers in your shirt and digging them into your skin.

You're grinding against him. Not softly, not carefully, not secretly. You're wrapping your legs around him and grinding against him, almost without realising it - you need to be close, you need to be closer. You need to move. You need to feel him.

At the first moan you let out, Jake stills. When you breathily add his name, he pulls back entirely.

It's cold and empty without him, cold and empty and confusing as he settles back on his ankles, panting and wide-eyed. Your arms and legs drop to the couch as you try to catch your breath.

"No", Jake mutters. "We can't."

You push yourself up onto your palms, chest still heaving as you look up at him. Your cheeks feel so hot that you're sure they're embarrassingly red by now and your mind is still hazy with what just happened -

Jake had kissed you. He'd kissed you and you'd kissed him back.

And now he isn't kissing you anymore and you're absolutely not alright with that. You need him to kiss you again. You need to dig your hands into his hair and feel him knead your thighs again. You need to find out what it's like to rake your nails along his arms and scratch down his back.

"Jake", you breathe, staring at him all wide-eyed as he shakes his head and inches even further away from you. He seems like he's in a trance. You repeat his name more forcefully and reach out for him - but he only shakes his head again and runs a hand down his face.

You still for the entirety of two seconds. Then you sit up, inches closer to him than necessary, and toy with the hem of your shirt. You've got a hunch that giving and taking the sight of your underwear will only help your case here.

"Why not?", you ask as you watch his eyes drop down, just like you'd wanted. His breath catches.

"You're twenty-five", he begins, his voice a bit too rough to sound unaffected. "And I'm friends with your father."

You take a long look at him.

"Would you if you weren't friends with my father?"

You bite down on your lip and blink up at him as prettily as you can manage. You're quite sure you know the answer. Especially with that car incident... With your number saved in his phone. With that smug grin you still see in your fantasies.

He hadn't been too concerned with your age back then.

"I am friends with your father", Jake says, all the while struggling to drag his eyes back up your body.

"But if you weren't", you go on, not ready just yet to leave this be - because you know that if you back down now, you'll never get a chance again. Not like this. Not with him. "If you weren't friends with my father. Would you?"

A muscle ticks in his jaw. You hold your breath - one, two, three seconds. Then he's on you yet again and this time, this time with no end in sight. Not as he pushes you back down onto the couch and sets both his palms down next to your head. Not as you wrap your legs around his waist and work the buttons of his shirt, fingers moving so frantically that you slip up more than once - not that you care.

You're kissing Jake. After what has felt like an eternity of teasing and quietly flirting, you're finally kissing him, touching him, feeling him. On top of you, all around you.

Yes, he fucking would. You were right.

His shirt finally unbuttons and you can hardly push it out of the way quickly enough to run your hands down his chest - exploring his collarbones, his abs, that fucking happy trail that has been driving you insane ever since you saw it for the first time. Your fingers brush bare skin, warm, hot, bare skin, before they catch on his waistband. He grinds his hips onto yours as you draw your fingertips along his belt and swallows the moan you so pathetically let out.

You're just about to get to work on opening his belt buckle when he shifts his weight onto one hand and grasps your wrist with the other, pulling an inch away from you as he does so, lips parting in sticky intoxication.

"Jake", you mewl, but when you blink open your eyes he's already shaking his head softly and- grinning. Grinning that smug grin that you've been dreaming of. The one you haven't seen since the very first time you met him. Not with your dad around or directed at anyone else, no. The grin that takes your breath away right then, and you can't even tell why.

It's confident and cocky and cheeky and so, so very, very sexy. Fuck.

You stare at him with wide eyes and parted lips, too caught up in taking him in to notice how he's bringing both your hands up over your head.

"If we're doing this, I'm doing it right, darling", he mutters, all low and rough and the pet name has you clamping your thighs even harder around him. "And only if you want me to."

You can't nod quickly enough.

"I need you to tell me, baby", he grins, exposing those pearly whites that you'd very much like to feel biting into your neck or something. "I need you to say yes."

"Yes, Jake", you push past your lips, breathless and panting and desperate. Desperate for him. "Please."

His chuckle reverberates in your own chest. He runs his hand down your side and rubs a soft circle against the bare skin of your hip, catching on the flimsy fabric of your underwear.

"Already begging for me", he mutters with a grin, his fingers hooking into your waistband. Your hips buck up into his and a moan drops from your lips and Jake just keeps on grinning. Keeps on running his thumbs along your hip bones. "That easily."

You can't even deny it, deny him. You need him to touch you and you need him to do it now.

"You're lucky I want to taste you, because I'm sure it'd be fun to tease you", he chuckles, holds you down against the couch as he sits back on his ankles, keeping your legs spread and the dark spot on your underwear right on display for him. "I could keep you here all night."

You're not sure what excites you more - the promise of all night or the tasting you part. Either way, you bury your hands into your own hair and tug hard to keep yourself from sitting up, pushing him onto his back and riding him into oblivion. He wouldn't let you anyway, you're guessing.

Jake runs his free hand down the inside of your thigh and you really have to concentrate on not moving then. Every touch, every brush and every stroke sends shivers down your spine and pools in your core, heating up each inch of your skin.

When he reaches your underwear once more, he hooks his second thumb into it as well and tugs. Your jaw clenches. God, you've gotta keep still, you've just gotta wait-

He looks up then and raises his eyebrows.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, before he can even say anything. His eyes drop again and he pulls your underwear down, down, down, pushing your knees together to slide them off your legs and you're holding your breath, holding your breath in this intoxicating mess of a moment as he parts your thighs again and leans in. Leans closer.

Leans... not close enough.

Instead, he grabs the hem of your shirt.

"As much as I like that you're wearing my shirt", he mutters, already pushing it up and exposing your stomach to him, "I want to see you."

You let out a pathetic little moan, loosen your hands from your hair and pull his shirt over your head instead, dropping it down onto the floor without looking or bothering where it lands. You're not really bothered about anything besides getting Jake's mouth on you right now.

You're dripping already, dripping down your own thighs as he takes you in - all naked, all bare in front of him, soft skin and smooth curves, chest rising and falling with your heavy breath, eyes half-closed, lips parted and kiss-swollen.

It's wrong. He shouldn't. But he's already gone too far and now, now, with all of you for him to see, to touch, to feel, he can't go back. He can't ever go back.

He wants to burn this image into his memory forever.

"Jake", you whisper, voice just as soft and silky as the rest of you and he snaps out of his trance, runs his fingertips over your stomach, studies you as your breath catches. He leans down again, but his eyes are fixed on you still, focused even as he presses a kiss to your hipbone, then to the inside of your thigh. His teeth graze your skin and his fingers brush against the underside of your boobs.

Fuck.

You bite down on your lip.

Jake thinks he might be in heaven as he palms at your breasts, swiping his thumbs across your nipples and watching your expression change ever so slightly. He breathes against your wetness and his eyes flicker down to finally look at you, dripping for him. His fingers still for just a moment.

If he does this, there's no going back. He's crossing a line that he can never uncross.

But in all honesty - he's already long crossed that line.

So he flattens his tongue against you and tastes you. And you throw you head back and let out a moan that's so filthy that he can't even be bothered to care about what fucking lines he's crossing anymore. He just buries his face in your wetness and basks in the way your eyes roll back into your head.

Your hands dig into his hair all by themselves, tug and pull and push him closer, further into you. You taste heavenly. You are in heaven. You're in heaven with Jake between your legs, brushing his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth and groaning into you. He's running his fingers over your breasts, palming and grasping at them, circling and tracing.

That's when the movie stops.

You hadn't even realised it was still on, to be honest, but now, in the silence, your moans echo three times as loud. Jake bathes in the sounds you're letting out. You're absolutely gorgeous like that, teeth tugging at your bottom lip, cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering closed before you blink them open again to look at him, to watch him as he lays between your thighs.

You're soaking in the way he swipes his tongue against you, the way he palms at your skin. With every touch and every brush, you can feel the knot tightening. Can feel the tension in your limbs growing. Can feel the way your legs are starting to clamp tighter, tighter and tighter around Jake's head.

He's so good at this. He's so fucking good at this.

Your grip on his hair tightens so much that you're sure you have to be hurting him, but he doesn't show the slightest hint of wanting to tell you off for it. No, quite the opposite: he pushes further into you and groans his approval.

Which is about the last thing you can take.

Your legs cramp, your hands drag at his hair, your back arches, your head hits the armrest of the couch and Jake guides you through your high, eyes set on you, focused and fixed on you, watching every single reaction you have to him, drinking in the sight of you, drinking in your moans. You're pushing back against him, panting and clawing at him, lips parted and eyes shut tightly as you take in a shaky breath and sink slowly back against the couch.

The air is heavy. Heavy with your emotions, heavy with your orgasm, heavy with your moans.

Jake pulls back slowly, softly, draws his hands down to your stomach to rub circles onto your skin - significantly warmer now than before. You're still breathing heavily, legs unhooking from around his head only reluctantly. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded if he'd just decided to stay down there for the next three to five business days. But you also don't mind as he pushes himself up and presses a kiss to your lips, because he tastes like you and you get to hook your arms around his neck and pull him even further down onto you.

With his half-bare chest pushed against yours, his tongue runs along your lips and you open willingly up to him. More than just willingly. Because with him on top of you, his lips sticky and syrupy on yours, not wanting or not able to part from yours, there's already anticipation running in your veins, wetness pooling in your core again, the urge to wrap your legs around him and grind against him growing and growing with every second that he's kissing you.

You draw your hands down his throat, push his shirt out of the way and brush your palms down his bare torso, all hard abs against your fingertips. He's in such good fucking shape you could truly be running your hands up and down a washboard right now. It feels unfair that he's more than twenty years older than you and somehow fitter.

Your fingers catch on his waistband then.

"Jake", you whine softly against him. "Please, I need you."

He groans, drops his head down to your neck and for a second, you just hear him breathe - all hot and heavy before his lips graze your skin.

"Fuck, you can't say that, darling", he mutters. "You don't know what you do to me."

His belt buckle feels cold against your fingertips, so cold against your sticky, sweaty skin.

"Show me", you whine, beg, plead. He's not teasing you, not taking his time, he's not waiting or edging or anything, and still- Still, you're so fucking desperate. He's finally got you here, finally, and as much as you're sure you'd enjoy his teasing... You just need him to fuck you. Now.

Jake chuckles breathily as he raises his head to look down at you. There's that grin again. That fucking grin.

Then he plants that grin onto your lips and you moan softly, hooking your fingers into his belt and pulling hard. You've just started loosening it successfully when he sits back onto his ankles, leaves you cold and lonely and fully naked on the couch. You mewl.

"Jake-", you let out, but he's already standing up, climbing off of the couch and you're sitting up as if in trance, just to follow him, whatever it is that he has in mind.

He slips off his shoes before he starts to work his belt and then lets that fall to the ground too. You reach for him instinctively, drawing your fingertips along his thighs as he pops the button of his jeans and pulls down his zipper, but when he hooks his thumbs beneath his waistband and tugs down, something snaps inside of you.

"Wait", you whisper. "Let me."

You reach out for him and graze your fingers along his waistband, taking a breath as your eyes flutter up at him. He swallows hard, lets his arms drop to his sides and nods heavily. God, he looks so fucking attractive. His hair all messy, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed solely on you. You make sure to work quickly, almost frenzied, hurriedly pulling down his jeans and taking his briefs right with them. You won't spend unnecessary time on unimportant things.

Your breath catches, palms stilling against his thighs.

Fuck.

Jake's hand twitches, then clenches into a fist. But he stays right where he is, doesn't move an inch. Everything in him screams at him to run his fingers through your hair and guide you closer to him - but he doesn't. He won't. Not tonight, not right now. Right now, he wants to give you every out he can. Just in case you want to take it.

You don't. Of course not.

Not when you can see just how much he's holding himself back.

So instead you lean down and kitten-lick his tip. His hand flexes, again, and even though he lets out a deep groan that will surely echo in your head for the next two weeks, he stays still.

You just wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and take him into your mouth.

He has to close his eyes and tilt his head up to keep from bucking into you. Damn, it hasn't even been that long since he got blown. And he didn't react like a teenager then. But something about your warm, wet mouth, something about the way your dainty fingers reach around him, something about how you eagerly take him so far that he hits the back of your throat, something about that soft little gagging noise you make just before you pull off of him to breathe in deeply-

Fuck, you're making this really hard for him.

"Jake", you mutter, your hand still working him. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, looks down at you sitting there on the couch, completely naked, eyes all wide and cheeks flushed and so fucking stunning. His fingers brush along your forehead, tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

"Jake", you repeat, a little more breathlessly this time. "Don't hold back for me. I won't break."

His jaw clenches again, but you just blink up at him, the weight of your words heavy between you. His eyes roam your face for any sign of uncertainty - then he nods. He'd like to disagree, though. He's more than afraid he'll break you.

You're so young, so sweet, so fragile.

Just not innocent. And you feel like you have to remind him of that - of your more than obvious flirting, of your sultry grins and half-naked hints, of your number sitting so unashamedly in his contacts.

So you lean in again, pull your free hand from his thigh and grab his wrist instead, dragging it away from your cheek and planting it on the back of your head as you wrap your lips around him. He takes a shallow breath and your hand drops back down to his thigh. There's one, two seconds in which your eyes just flutter closed and your nails dig into his skin-

Then, finally, fucking finally! Jake tangles his fingers into your hair and pushes you into him. You loosen your hand from around him and put it against his other thigh, allowing him to pull you closer and closer. You breathe deeply through your nose as Jake groans above you - and it takes everything in you not to grin. Instead, you just let him guide you, blink open your eyes to look at him and try to ignore the arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs. He looks so fucking good, it should truly be forbidden, because now you have to press your legs together and steady your palms against him.

Jake feels about the same. His breathing is heavy, his grip on your hair firm, and his eyes are set on you - on how he disappears inside your mouth, again and again, your spit coating him, your throat tight. He can't help but push you down, one time, two times, and pull you back, three times, four times, then push you down and pull you back again. And again. And again. He can hardly concentrate on how good you're making him feel when you're looking that fucking sinful.

Shit.

Before he can come right then and there in your mouth, he tugs you off fully, his jaw clenching involuntarily at the soft whine you let slip. But you can barely be truly bothered when he leans down and presses his lips to yours instead. You're not bothered about anything, really - about anything but his tongue against yours as you cross your arms behind his neck and draw him in, your hands dragging into his hair, your mouth moving desperately against his, sloppily, silently begging him for more.

Jake steadies his palms against the back rest and pulls away heavily, breathing hard as you open your eyes again to look at him - half-lidded, all languid and slow. He swallows hard.

"Do you-", he starts, his voice low and rough and you nod, letting your arms drop from around him to point at the side table.

Have a condom, he'd wanted to ask. In any other situation, he'd have one himself, but something about bringing condoms for a check in on his best friends daughter would have felt incredibly wrong.

"In my makeup bag", you say, your voice thin and breathy as he stretches and reaches for the lavender coloured pouch, unzipping it and looking for the condoms between all the brushes and lipglosses. He can barely pull one out before your fingers close around it, before you've carefully torn it open. He drops your makeup bag back onto the side table right as you straighten up to press a kiss to his lips - almost innocent, almost, if it weren't for the taste of him on your tongue. Then you press a kiss onto his collarbone. Then one right onto his abs. Then one just above that happy trail that has been driving you fucking insane. And then, then, you run your tongue over his tip again before you roll the condom onto him.

Which means it's his turn.

And he doesn't hesitate.

He's not rough in the way he pushes you onto your back on the couch, no, he's smooth with it, hands running along your skin as he cages you in, as he rests his arms next to your head - but he's firm nonetheless. He takes control easily, moving you how and where he wants to, claiming your mouth, pressing his lips to yours. You let him. More even, you relish in giving in to him, in giving him control, in letting go, in trusting him. You bathe in his kisses, in his touches, in his soft grunts as he guides himself into you.

"Jake", you whine against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair, eyes falling shut. The stretch is delicious, heavenly. He fills you slowly, dragging his lips down your throat as you tilt your head back and let out a filthy moan. Your legs wrap around him, pull him closer. His teeth graze your neck, drawing a moan from you as he settles. He gives you a moment to adjust.

A moment too long.

Way too long.

Even with his lips on your skin, with your nails dragging down his neck, digging into his shoulders, even with him inside of you, you need more. You need him to move. Right fucking now.

"Jake", you mewl, your eyes fluttering open. He raises his head to look at you and- Fuck, good lord. You've messed up his hair and his pupils are wide and his cheeks are red and he looks fucking heavenly. So heavenly that your breath catches. You forget what you wanted to say for a moment. Then his thumb brushes your cheek and you remember.

"Move", you breathe, digging your fingers into his skin and wrapping your legs around him tightly. You need him to move. But his lips tug up in that grin again and, as quickly as you can, you add- "Please, Jake."

His grin widens as he looks down at you, all pretty and desperate, clenching around him, lips parting in a silent moan. It would be so easy to tease you, so easy to make you beg and plead for him... And you'd look so gorgeous doing it. You're already so eager to please him.

But not tonight. Not right now. Right now, he just needs to make you feel good. So he leans down, presses a kiss to your lips and moves. Finally.

You open up to him eagerly, letting him run his tongue along yours, moaning into him as he thrusts into you. Deep and languid, hitting all the right spots like no one has before. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

You're really doing this. He's really doing this. You claw at his back, scratch down his skin, sure to leave bruises as he pulls his head up to look at you, to watch the way you arch up into him. Your skin glistens with sweat, your lips part to let out a breathy mewl and the coil in your stomach tightens, tightens, tightens.

Jake shifts his weight onto one arm, frees a hand to brush his fingers through your hair, tugging, tilting your head back, exposing your throat to him. You moan at the ceiling as he drops a filthy kiss onto your collarbone before he lets go of your hair again, trailing his hand down your side instead - and his hand is so fucking big, so big as he draws it down your body, brushing his fingertips over your boob, sweeping over your hip, grasping your thigh. You pull him down onto you, crash your lips back onto his hard. You need to feel him, you need to kiss him, you need to hold him right now. You need him. You need this.

He smoothes his fingers down your skin until they catch on your clit.

"Jake", you moan into his mouth, pathetic even to your own ears. He only grins into the kiss and circles your clit as he thrusts into you, again and again and again, your legs clenching harder and harder and harder around him before he pulls away, pulls even further away even though you chase after his lips, his eyes roaming your face as you squeeze yours shut tightly.

"Look at me, darling", he drawls, his voice low and raspy, his fingers rough against your clit. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You let out some kind of deranged moan at his crude wording, opening your eyes and blinking up at him because there's no fucking way you can deny him. Not when he calls you darling like that. Not when he thrusts inside you just right. Not when the view of him, messy hair and grinning and all, has you clenching around him this hard.

You're close. So close.

"Atta girl", he mutters, and that does it for you.

Your legs cramp and your lips part again to let out a gorgeous little moan that Jake swallows up immediately, slotting his mouth over yours and drinking up the way you clench around him. It takes everything in him not to come too. You're so fucking pretty and you're clenching so fucking perfectly around him, but he needs to make you feel good first, he needs to make you come first, he needs...

"Jake", you mewl, face scrunched up, back arched, as he guides you through your second high of the night. "Fuck, fuck."

He's grinning when you come down. You grab his hand and pull it away from your clit. It's too much right now, too much. It takes a second for you to even realise that he's stopped moving entirely, too focused on watching you, on drinking up the sight of you, tousled hair and red cheeks and parted lips and all. You look like an angel, so fucking heavenly that he can't believe his eyes, not really.

"Jake", you mutter, slurring his name so prettily and pulling him in for another kiss, your arms loose around his neck, your fingers lazily brushing through his hair. "Come for me?"

It's barely more than a breath, barely more than a whisper onto his lips, but he hears it, oh, he hears it. He lets out a groan as he draws away again, his eyes roaming your face. You're unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.

You're asking him to come for you. Begging him to come for you.

And there's no grin in sight, no smug smile, no hint of trying to take control of him - it's not a command, not even close, you're actually, genuinely pleading, your eyes half-lidded and barely focusing, just needing him to feel good now, too.

You're really fucking unbelievable.

He can't remember ever having a woman ask him to come.

He kisses you so hard you become dizzy, pressing his lips onto yours and tangling a hand into your hair. He pushes impossibly closer, thrusts back into you and pulls another string of moans from you, bordering on incomprehensible, hardly more than breaths, mewls that he swallows before they can flee into the empty air of the living room.

His own breathing comes in pants, his muscles clenching and tensing and he's there quicker than he thought he'd be. He's close, really close, and that's when you decide to dig your teeth into his lip and tug and fuck, he's there, alright. He's done then. He spills inside you with a groan, pulling back right as you flash him a dazed grin, eyes fluttering open to take him in.

Your throat feels way too dry all of a sudden.

You don't think you'll get this image out of your head ever again, this image of him coming undone on top of you. It's burning itself into your memory while you watch, never to be forgotten.

Because hell no, you won't forget this.

"Fuck", Jake groans, his voice all rough and hoarse and he leans down to press a kiss to your lips again, slow this time, almost soft. He brushes a thumb down your cheek, lightly cups your jaw and pulls you even closer, your skin warm beneath his fingers.

You tighten your arms around his neck a bit, keeping him firmly there, firmly on top of you, firmly inside of you. But he makes no move to leave, anyway. Just runs his tongue tenderly along yours, unhurried and gentle, and holds you close. You don't know for how long. He could've kept you there for eternity and you wouldn't have minded. How could you mind, basking in the afterglow like this, with his skin sticking to yours, his fingers grazing your cheek, his lips brushing against yours? No, really, you could've stayed there for the rest of forever.

But he pulls back after a while, of course, and pulls out, too. You let out some kind of disappointed mewl, but that's about everything you can do before he gently grasps your wrists and pulls your arms from around him, smiling in a way you can't even begin to complain.

"Lets get you cleaned up, darling", he says softly, carefully helping you sit up, his hands everywhere but nowhere nearly long enough.

You sigh dramatically, blinking your eyes open to look at him, even as you let him pull you up. Your legs feel like pudding. You feel like pudding.

"If we have to", you give in, smiling as Jake grins and shakes his head at you.

"We have to", he chuckles, hauls you up into his arms and waits for you to hold onto him before he carries you into the bathroom - seemingly fucking without any problem whatsoever, as if you weigh nothing at all to him.

You bite down on your lip and rest your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut to not have to look at him while you contemplate his strength. He should not be this fucking strong. He should not be allowed to be this fucking strong.

"Careful", Jake says, his voice low, as he sets you gently down on the toilet seat. You flinch away from the ice-cold seat against your thighs, fingernails digging into his shoulders for one, two, three seconds before you relax and settle down.

Jake lets go of you just as softly, steadying you until he's sure you won't just fall right off the toilet. He turns and you look up, his back right there to stare at, a smile tugging at your lips again - goddamn, he looks way too good, holy shit. You barely hear the garbage can open and close as he throws away the used condom, then rummages through the drawers until he finds a washcloth that he can soak in luke warm water.

He turns with a smile, grabs your chin tenderly and presses a kiss to your lips, just one, all sweet and languid, so unlike the rest of his kisses. You hardly notice that he's cleaning you off as he kneels down in front of you, simply because you're so entranced by him. God, but he really looks like he's fucking glowing, you hate him for having this effect on you.

He wraps his arms around you again - did he put the washcloth away? fuck, did you miss that? - and you cuddle close, almost (but just almost) letting out a pleased sigh. Fuck, he's so broad and so strong and so comfortable...

He sets you down on the couch and smiles.

"Wait here for me, darling", he mutters, bending down to pick up your shirt (his shirt, really) and slide it carefully over your head once again. You hug yourself close and settle deep into the couch as Jake disappears. His steps echo through the house.

Then there's silence.

Absolute silence.

You rest your head against the headrest and close your eyes, your fingertips absentmindedly drawing circles against your heated skin.

And in this quiet emptiness... the reality of the situation finally sinks in.

For the first time.

Because you just slept with Jake Seresin.

Jake Seresin. Your neighbour Jake Seresin. Your dad's best friend Jake Seresin. Twenty-two years older than you Jake Seresin.

Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit.

This actually happened. This actually fucking happened. You slept with Jake Seresin. And somehow... somehow- Somehow you can't feel guilty. You can't feel bad or ashamed. Not like you should. And you definitely should. Because this is Jake Seresin, not some random frat guy. This is forty-seven year old, your dad's best friend Jake Seresin.

But you can't feel bad.

You really do try, for the entirety of a minute or two, while somewhere in the back of the house, a door is opened and closed again. But you still can't feel bad. So you don't.

Jake comes back with a water bottle and his briefs back on, which you can't help but feel disappointed at. He sits down on the couch next to you and hands you the bottle.

"Drink", he nods, so you uncap it carefully and take a sip. It's charming, really, how the first time you'd met him with your car broken down, he'd also handed you a water bottle. A grin tugs at your lips involuntarily. It's just coincidence, you know that, but there's something incredibly sweet about the way he's seemingly always made sure to keep you hydrated. There's something sweet about him, simple as that, with how softly he's cleaned you off and settled you down on the couch after.

You put the bottle down on the table and turn to him.

He looks almost normal again, almost like before. He's still nearly naked though (which you certainly aren't complaining about), and his hair still looks like he's just walked straight out of a hurricane. He raises his eyebrows at you as you take him in.

"We should probably talk about this", you say, your voice cracking halfway through. You're not sure you want to talk about it. And with the way Jake's face falls... yeah, he doesn't seem to, either. But he still straightens up and brings some more distance between the both of you.

Maybe that's smart, actually. Maybe. But then again, you've already done everything you could to try and feel bad, so instead of doing the reasonable (you're already way past the reasonable anyway) and pushing further away from Jake too, you stretch out a leg and drape it over his lap again.

A muscle in his jaw ticks and he grasps your ankle almost immediately, as if there's no other choice but to touch you even while he's trying to keep his distance.

"But", you grin, scooching a little closer as an idea forms in your mind, "You know, I still have to shower. Chlorine is so bad for the skin unless you wash it off. And I did spend quite a while in the pool today."

...

It's Monday afternoon and even hotter than the weeks before. You're sitting outside, sunbathing in the fifteenth layer of sunscreen of the day, with sunglasses on that hardly seem to do anything and wearing nothing but a bikini because god, you're fucking melting. It hasn't been this hot the entire year.

The only really good thing about the scorching heat is that Jake, for lack of swimming pools in his garden, is doing sets in yours. You're incredibly glad for your sunglasses, because even though your mother is sitting right next to you, burying her nose in another of the novels she'd checked out from the library two weeks earlier, you can ogle Jake without worrying that she'll catch you.

And goddamn, you're ogling, alright.

It's not like you haven't stared at him enough. Over the past five days, you've barely been doing anything else. Well, except for those times you'd had your eyes closed and his lips on yours, of course. But still, you don't really feel like you could ever possibly get enough of staring at him.

And right now, right now, with the way he climbs out of the pool, arms tensing and flexing, water dropping down his skin, his hands running through his soaking wet hair...

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You bite down on your lip and press your thighs together. God, if you aren't careful, you'll have to disappear into the house and shower early, because you're sure you could not pass the dark spot on your bikini bottoms off as sweat.

Jake turns away to grab his towel and starts to dry off and you're already mulling over how you'll phrase the message you'll send him (something along the lines of 'tell my parents you need to use the bathroom' with a shower selfie attached? You've already sent him way worse things while he'd been at work) when your mother suddenly gasps.

Three heads turn to her simultaneously.

"Jake!", she chokes, her book sinking down into her lap. Jake raises his eyebrows at her, just as clueless as you are. She parts her lips and then clamps her mouth shut again, apparently lost for words. "Your back."

It hits you like a tidal wave.

Oh, shit. Oh, holy fucking shit.

You should've noticed earlier. Much earlier. You should've- God, he'd known, too, hadn't he? But you'd been the one to stare at his back long enough that you should've noticed. Yesterday. You should've noticed the long, red lines running down his skin. Your long, red lines running down his skin. Fuck, fuck-

"Oh, that-"

Jake stumbles over his own words for the first time ever since you've met him. His eyes find yours, for just a moment or two, and you can see the panic in them. It's the second fucking day your parents are back. The second fucking day. And you're already messing up, you're already-

"I knew it", your mother grins, clapping her hands together and letting out a laugh that startles you so hard you flinch. "I knew you were a womanizer after all! I mean, looking like that, there's no other way-"

"Honey!", your father gasps, and she giggles and throws her hands up. But he's grinning too and you know him well enough to say he isn't really mad that she's complimenting Jake.

"Sorry, sorry, just saying." She chuckles to herself and grabs her book again, her voice dropping to a mumble. "I can't believe it though, we go away for five days and suddenly he's hooking up with someone! I think we need to stop inviting him over so often if we want him to find somebody."

Your father laughs and gets up to offer Jake a beer.

"You didn't happen to see who he brought home, did you?", your mother asks, her voice almost too casual to really be casual as she turns her head to look at you with raised eyebrows.

You choke on your breath.

"Um-", you start, but your father already rolls his eyes and saves you without meaning to.

"You're not nosy at all", he chides, resting his beer bottle against her foot. She tugs it away and shakes her head at him.

"Just curious", she grins. "Just curious."

Yeah. Just curious. You pray to god that just curious won't one day expose the little secret you've got going on with Jake. Next time, you'll really have to be more careful with your nails.

[justmystyles]

Big Winners - Part 1

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x record producer plus size reader

*i say it's a plus size reader, but it is not something that i focus on explicitly in my fics, because your size should not define you. it will only come up if it comes into the story organically.*

word count: 3,118

summary: Harry and Y/N have been friends for fifteen years, they finally work together on an album, and it leads them to a night that will change everything for them.

a/n: earlier this month, all the grammy memories popped up, and it inspired me to write this. i have a million half finished 'moment turned fic' stories in my drafts, but I actually managed to (mostly) finish this one. this is either going to be 2 or 3 parts, i still have a bit to finish, so we'll see.

tags: @abby8694 @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @likeapplejuicenpeach @lilfreakjez @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

Y/N and Harry met fifteen years ago, One Direction had been recently formed, and she was doing an internship at the studio where they were working on their debut album. She had befriended the entire band, but she and Harry clicked instantly, and formed a tight bond. 

They stayed close throughout the years. Harry’s career, both with the band and as a solo artist skyrocketed, while Y/N moved through the industry and had found herself producing some smaller projects. She rarely turned down an opportunity, taking on any work that came her way just to get the experience and the connections. Then, she received the offer of a lifetime. 

Once Harry had finished Love on Tour, he celebrated by inviting some of his closest friends and family to his villa in Italy for two weeks to relax and recharge. Y/N was one of the first people he asked. One night during the trip, Harry and Y/N snuck away from the group; it was intentional on his end, because he had something he was dying to ask her. 

As they sat on the moonlit beach shoulder to shoulder, their toes in the sand, Harry leaned over and bumped his shoulder against hers. “So, I’m going to be starting work on the new album soon.”

“Jesus Har, you’re not even finished with your recharge vacation and you’re already thinking about the next thing?” She chuckled. 

“You know I can’t turn it off.” He said with a sheepish laugh. “But there’s actually a reason I brought it up… I’ve been thinking about the direction I want to take, and who I want to work with, and I was wondering if you’d want to produce it for me?”

Y/N lets out a loud bark of laughter, startling Harry. “Good one.” 

“I’m serious.” He looks at her, and she can see that he really does mean what he says. 

“Harry, I don’t have production experience on that level.” She says, still in shock. “I mean, unless this is like a lullaby album or something.” 

Harry chuckles. “It’s not, but I know you can do it. I know your work, you’re so much more talented than you give yourself credit for. And sure, you haven’t got experience on my level, but you’re never going to get it if you don’t put yourself out there, who better to get the experience with than your best friend?” He says with a toothy, dimpled grin. 

“Literally anyone else?” She teases.

“Hey,” he whines with a furrowed brow. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” The two of them are silent for a moment, while she lets his offer sink in. “You really want me to do this? You want me to be your producer?”

“That’s why I asked.” He scoffs. “But seriously, nobody knows me better than you, you understand me, you always push me when I need it, and you don’t take my shit. Imagine how that would translate to music. I think it could be something really amazing. Plus, we’d get to hang out a bunch.” 

“Ugh… you were making a good argument until you mentioned spending that much time together.” She says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes.

“Hey,” Harry says in a serious tone. “If you don’t want to do it, just tell me. But I really can’t imagine taking the next step in my career with anyone else.”

She sighs and smiles softly at him. “I would really love to work with you, Harry. If you’re sure, let’s do it.” 

His smile grows once again as he pulls her into a big hug. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” 

A few months later, the two of them embarked on their first collaboration, Harry’s fourth studio album, and it was an even better experience than either of them thought it would be. They knew each other so well, that they were perfectly in sync with every chord and every lyric. By the time they had a completed album, they were both confident that this was the best work of their careers. 

They were so proud of what they had done that they didn’t care how it sold, or what the reviews said, they knew that they had created something magical and if they were the only two people that liked it, they couldn't care less. However, that wasn’t the case. The record was a hit; glowing reviews, great numbers, and the fans positively ate it up. 

Harry and Y/N’s friendship was one that was well known, his fans would go crazy everytime they were seen together, the fandom was constantly shipping them. So when they found out that she was producing the record, it amped up the anticipation tenfold. As soon as it was released, they were combing the lyrics, and criticizing every background vocal and sound to find any clues about the true standing of the relationship. Of course, there was plenty of speculation, but the truth wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as the conspiracies and analysis. They were genuinely just two best friends with creative minds that made something amazing together. 

Given the reception the album received, it was no surprise that, when award season rolled around, they received a generous amount of nominations. So here they were, in LA, sharing a hotel suite and preparing to attend the Grammy Awards. 

As Y/N sat down to begin the hair and makeup process, Harry stepped out to go for a run to clear his mind. He was nervous about what the evening would hold. Partly for his performance, especially given the mistake at the beginning of his last Grammy appearance in 2023. He had insisted on extra rehearsal time, and extended the production meeting to make sure that everyone knew exactly what needed to happen and when. But more than that, he wanted this night to be perfect for Y/N. He had won awards before, but this was her first time being nominated. When they had first met, Y/N had told him about her dreams and one of the things she mentioned was the Grammys. He wanted this for her more than he did for himself. And although he knew she had matured in the last fifteen years, and valued more than just accolades and awards, if he could be the reason one of her childhood dreams came true, that would mean more to him than anything. 

When Harry returned from his run, he saw Y/N sitting in the common area, her hair and makeup still being worked on. She locks eyes with him through the mirror. 

“Hey, did the run help?” She asks. 

Harry shrugs as he approaches her. “A little, still pretty nervous though.” 

“What’s making you nervous? The nominations, or the performance?” 

Harry thought about the best way to answer this question, he didn’t want to tell her that he was nervous for her. He knew that even though she was hiding it well, she was nervous too, and his nerves on her behalf would make hers worse. On top of that, Y/N was alway so sweet and empathetic, she would take it personally and see herself as the reason he was nervous and end up feeling bad. He didn’t want to put a damper on this night for her. 

“Mostly the performance, I guess.” He finally responds. 

She extends her arm out, wiggling her fingers in an invitation for him to take her hand. When he joins his hand with hers, she squeezes gently. “You’re going to be amazing. I’ve never seen you give a bad performance. You’re going to kill it, and I’m going to be right there in the crowd losing my shit for you, just like I always do.” 

Harry laughs at her pep talk. “You know this is an industry thing, not a concert, right? People aren’t exactly going to be losing their shit in the audience.” 

“Good, then it will be easier for you to notice me from the stage.” She looks over at him with a sweet smirk. 

“Like I could ever miss you.” He scoffs, squeezing her hand.

“You’re showering before you get dressed, right?” She asks with an arched brow, lightning the mood. 

“Not before I give you a big, sweaty hug…” He says, outstretching his arms and moving closer.

“Harry Edward,” she says in a warning tone. “I’m already forty-five minutes into getting ready, and still have at least thirty to go. I cannot start over.

“God, you’re such a girl…” He groans and kisses her on the cheek before going into the bathroom to shower. 

While Harry showered, Y/N’s mind was racing. She’d known Harry long enough to know that there was more going on than just being nervous about the performance, but she wasn’t going to push him. She would just do everything she could to support and comfort him.

After his shower, Harry stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe just as Y/N’s hair and makeup was being finished. She stood from her chair, thanked her glam team and stepped up to Harry. 

“We should just go like this, it would cause quite a stir.” She joked as they stood face to face in their matching bathrobes. 

He smiles softly, still feeling the nerves flow through him. 

“Hey, you’ve got this… we’ve got this.” She assures him. “Even if we don’t win, the album was amazing. We made something beautiful. If the academy sees that, great. If not, whatever, we don’t need them anyway.”

Harry smiles and pulls her into a hug. “Yeah, I know, I know. No matter what, I am so proud of what we did. It’s better than I even imagined it would be, and I owe all of that to you.”

She giggles as she pulls out of the hug. “I didn’t do anything. I just pushed buttons and bossed you around.” 

Harry laughs loudly. “Two things you’re good at. Being bossy and pushing my buttons.” She gasps in mock outrage and slaps his chest playfully. “Seriously though, you brought my vision to life, and you did all the behind the scenes work to make sure it was the best album possible. You’re the biggest reason we’re here tonight.” 

Y/N smiles shyly and blushes. “Oh come on…”

Harry smirks mischievously, he always found it hilarious when he’d make her blush. He decided to double down. “Well, whatever the outcome, at least I’ll have the cutest date in the room.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“God, you’re the worst.” She chuckles as her blush deepens. “I have to go put my dress on. You changing?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’ll do that now. Meet you back here in ten?”

“It’s a complicated dress, might need fifteen…”

“God,” he groans playfully. “Such a diva!”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at him and turns to go into her room to get dressed. 

Twenty minutes later, Harry is pacing around in his suit, it’s a simple black suit with a gold silk shirt, unbuttoned enough to display the sparrows on his chest, and the butterfly across his abdomen. He steps up to her door and knocks gently as a reminder that they need to get going. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She calls through the door. 

A few moments later, she emerges in a long gown, made of the same golden silk as Harry’s shirt. Harry’s eyes go wide when he sees her. She looks stunning, the gown hugs her curves in all the right places, and compliments her skin tone perfectly. 

Harry’s silence makes Y/N feel a little self conscious. She rarely dresses up, and when she does, she doesn’t usually pick things that put her body on display like this.

“Is it… do I look okay?” She asks tentatively. 

“It’s stunning, Y/N.” Harry looks at her in awe. “You look so incredibly beautiful, like an angel…”

“Alright Har, come on…” she says bashfully as she drops her gaze. 

“No, seriously. You clean up nice.” He chuckles, punching her on the arm playfully. 

“Yeah, well you don’t look so bad yourself.” She looks him over, a small smirk appearing on her face. “Is this why you wanted me to work with your team to pick my outfit? So we would be matching?” 

Harry chuckles and shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe…”

“You’re such a little pain in the ass.” She chuckles. 

“Whatever, it was worth it.” He says, grabbing her wrist and positioning them in front of the full length mirror. “We look damn good” 

“That we do.” She replies with a smile. She notices his expression grow more serious and furrows her brow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just… fifteen years…” He says wistfully. “We’ve had a hell of a run, you and I.”

“Well it’s not over yet!”

“No, I know. Will you just shut up and let me have a moment?” He says as he nudges her. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I can’t really express how much it means to be standing here with you right now. No matter what happens tonight, we’ve definitely already won.” 

“Yeah, we have.” She sighs, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling him into a side hug. “Now cut it out with all this mushy stuff, my makeup took way too long for me to start crying right now.” 

Harry laughs and pulls her into a tight hug. “Alright, alright, we’ll save the mushy crying for later.” He gives her one last squeeze before pulling out of the embrace. “Ready to go?”

She nods and he leads her out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. As it makes its descent to the lobby, Y/N gets uncharacteristically quiet. 

“You good?” Harry asks softly. “You seem quiet.”

She looks up at him, almost as if the sound of his voice broke her out of a trance. “Hmm? Yeah, sorry. I think the gravity of everything is finally hitting me. Like, it was all conceptual before, just words. But it’s real, we’re on our way to the Grammy awards… we’re nominated.”

Harry takes her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. But you can’t worry about it, no more stressing out, okay? Tonight is our night, we just need to go out there and enjoy it.” 

“Can I say one more mushy thing before we stop trying to make each other cry?” 

Harry chuckles and nods, looking forward to hearing what Y/N has to say.

“I… when I decided I wanted to be a producer, my big thing was that I always told people I wanted to win Grammy awards. And I know we shouldn’t be defined by awards, but in an industry like this, you have to have some way to quantify or legitimize what you do to people who aren’t a part of it, and that was my way of doing it. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and this is the first time I’ve been nominated. I can’t tell you how glad I am that my first nomination is with you. It means the world to me that I can have this moment, share this milestone with my best friend. So thank you for letting me be a part of this album. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Harry is taken aback by Y/N’s words. While they were close, and shared everything, she would rarely be so open and vulnerable with her words. No matter what happened at the award show, that moment, right there in the elevator, would be the highlight of his night. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, burying his face in her neck. 

“You have no idea what this means to me.” He mumbles against her neck. 

“Okay, so no nerves then?” She asks, pulling out of his embrace. “Whatever happens tonight, we will always have this moment together, and that’s what matters.” 

“Agreed.” Harry says, holding his hand out to shake hers. She giggles at the gesture and shakes his hand firmly. 

After a short ride in the limo, Harry slips out of the car and extends his hand, helping Y/N out. They walk through security and up to the start of the red carpet. Harry turns to face Y/N, and she adjusts his jacket, making sure he looks picture perfect. 

“Okay, go out there and smile big. I’ll see you on the other side.” She says like a proud mom, sending her son off to picture day. 

“How’s my hair?” He asks cheekily. 

She giggles and runs her hand through his hair. “Perfect.” 

He winks and gives her a sly smirk before stepping out onto the carpet and posing for the cameras. 

Y/N watches him take a few pictures, and once he moves on to the second pose position on the carpet, she turns to walk behind the step and repeat. Her arm is quickly grabbed by one of the producers. “You’re up.” He tells her.

“Oh no no no, I’m not walking the carpet.” Y/N insists. 

“Are you nominated?” She nods, a slight panic on her expression. Y/N was a behind the scenes person, she didn’t step in front of the camera. “Then you walk the carpet.” He nudges her forward, and she finds herself standing on the first mark, posing awkwardly for the camera. 

A few steps away, Harry’s gaze is traveling from camera to camera, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Y/N posing, he also sees the panic on her face. He quickly backtracks, coming up beside her and placing his hand on the small of her back. 

“You okay?” He whispers softly. 

“I didn’t know they were going to make me do the carpet…” She whispers nervously. 

Harry keeps his hand on the small of her back, his fingers moving along the skin gently to soothe her. “I know, I know. But you’ve got this, I’m right here with you, we’re going to do this together, this is our night.”

She nods, feeling more comfortable with Harry by her side. The two pose together as they move down the carpet. Harry was completely in tune with Y/N’s emotions, and any time he’d feel her start to stiffen up or get nervous, he would whisper a joke or silly comment in her ear to loosen her up. 

The photographers went crazy observing the chemistry between the two of them. Harry was aware what would be printed about them, and the status of their relationship, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him in that moment was that nothing ruined this night for Y/N. 

[didyougaming]

Hi, gamers. I know the results of the Sandwich Poll have been gnawing at you. So many people wondering whether they answered correctly, which as a reminder is a very important factor in determining which afterlife you end up in when you die. Please understand that I needed a lot of time to internally process these poll results and also that I've been kinda busy/tired. But the people need to know, so here we go.

In total, we received 372 responses. I also spent a lot of my weekend annoying anyone who would listen to me in person about these questions, but I didn't write those answers down.

Question 1 was fairly non-controversial, as it should be. It is worth noting that 3.2% of respondents chose to write-in an answer, and most of these write-in answers were what scientists would call "bad" and "not really useful." So you can assume a 3.2% margin of error on everything in this survey. That's how statistics works.

Question 2 is where we see a real divide. Most respondents consider a sandwich cut into two separate but equal pieces to be one sandwich. This is a real shame, because it's the wrong answer. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Question 3 considers whether one piece of bread cut in half and used for sandwich-making results in a sandwich, and surprisingly the majority of respondents do consider this to be one sandwich. This is really interesting, because despite ending up with functionally and aesthetically the same result as one of the pieces of the sandwich from question 2, a significant number of respondents believe the results to be inherently different. I wish there was a way to better track how much overlap there was for those two seemingly contradictory answers, but the big Sheets page Google Docs is daunting and I don't feel like figuring out how to parse that data, so we just need to accept that we'll never have that exact number. That's how statistics works.

Question 4 mostly just cements the findings of the previous two questions. I do want to point out the one person who answered "who the fuck does this". Sandwich shops do this. Go to a sandwich shop for once in your life and really watch them do their work. Open your eyes.

Question 5 did not get me a lot of useful data, as it turns out having a question that only allowed for write-in answers was a bad idea. However, there are more or less two camps for people who really took these questions seriously and gave it their all. The first school of thought suggests that intent is the most important factor, and if you deem what you've made to be a sandwich, it's a sandwich. While I appreciate the critical thinking on display here, I believe in the other school of thought, which is that when you put ingredients between two breads that's a sandwich, baby. There is a sub-school of thought here that requires those two pieces to be whole pieces, but that's wrong.

One question that I should have included in the survey I think proves my point. If you order a sandwich platter from a deli and they use a single really long piece of bread (think like a several foot long hero) into multiple sections, you would say that you have sandwiches, plural. If you wanted to grab one, you wouldn't say "I'm going to grab a 64th of a sandwich" because you would sound deranged. Despite being parts of a larger whole, they are still ingredients between pieces of bread, and thus fit the definition of "sandwich."

Anyway, thank you for coming on this non-gaming detour with me. It was extremely important that I prove a friend wrong on this topic, and even though I don't think I did that and I think he's choosing to double down on his incorrect opinions, I'm still choosing to spin this as a personal and moral victory. New actual DidYouGamings will come out as soon as I discover any new facts about video games (right now there's only a couple hundred facts about video games at all and I've basically covered all of them.)

[t-r99]

Thank You

Oliver knows it can be hard to trust him. He would do anything to prove that he changed when he met you.

I spent way too long writing this stupid thing and now I think it’s crap. Bleh

It's because I posted this

Oliver Aiku x reader

wc: 1.3k

"What's going on with you? At this rate we'll be the laughingstock of Japan."

Aiku ignores Niou. For the first time in his life, he's distracted during a match. He's the captain of the team and their best defender, but he can hardly focus on anything other than you and your teary eyes and broken voice.

It's been two days.

It feels longer.

Aiku doesn't like being away from you for this long and that's what's fucking with him. He doesn't know when he got so attached.

He's Oliver Aiku, for goodness' sake. He doesn't do relationship issues, he usually is the issue itself, and he doesn't exactly do relationships either.

It's the first time he's ashamed of being a so called womanizer. Aiku's past antics have finally come back to bite him in the ass.

"You okay there?" Sendou asks.

Everyone is well aware of the fact that something is wrong. Aiku has been mostly quiet and keeping to himself for the past two days, having only practiced like crazy.

"'m fine." Oliver grunts.

"Get yourself together then." Niou says. "We need you out there."

The team needs him, but Aiku needs you. He feels so lost without you that it's nauseating.

Oliver thinks back to two days prior when several old flings suddenly showed up out of nowhere.

It's not like it was ever a secret that he used to get around, but it all changed when he met you. You're so much more than that, and now you think he's just a shameless cheater.

"Aiku," Niou speaks again. "get your shit together. We're going back out in ten minutes."

Oliver . . . doesn't care.

All he wants is to hold you right now. Aiku is sure you hate him, and why wouldn't you? Before you actually gave him a chance, you rejected him because of his past and reputation, then when you finally gave him a chance you ended up walking in on a bunch of girls all over him. How could anyone not think he was cheating?

If only you would talk to him. Oliver just wants to explain what happened.

He's looking down at his phone, screen black. While he wants to text you, he honestly has no idea what to type out anymore.

Aiku's mind drifts again and he thinks back to two days ago.

What do I say? I should . . . He sighs. Oliver really has no idea what to say. He's already called and texted numerous times but you haven’t answered or replied.

He sees your face in front of him again and he hears your voice echo in his mind, "I knew it. This is what I was scared would happen but you promised and now . . ." You didn't yell at him, but he honestly wishes you had. You just sounded defeated.

Aiku wants to bash his head into the nearest wall in an effort to erase the memory from his mind.

His phone vibrates, barely a minute before half time is over.

It's not from you. Of course it isn't. Oliver doesn't recognize the number, but the bottom of the text says that it's from one of your friends, reading, I was asked to text you that you're being pathetic. Come on, you're better than that.

Asked? Asked by whom? By you?

Aiku gulps. Does that mean you're watching the match from home? You've never actually been interested in sports, but if you're watching even when hurt and pissed at him then maybe . . .

Oliver puts his phone away.

He's still a bit distracted now that the second half has begun, but it's not as bad anymore. He now knows you watched the first half and Oliver hopes you're still watching.

You know a bit about the sport even though you're not a fan, and you've praised him for his skills plenty. It swells his ego like never before to have you tell him he did a great job on the field.

He's thinking about it now while facing the opposing team's striker. If everything between you two was okay right now, he would defend the goal and block the shot, make sure no one would score, his team would win, and he would get to go to you and get praised and smothered with kisses all over his face, he absolutely loves it.

God, he really wants to see you.

*

It was close, but they won.

The team celebrates but Oliver sits defeated, towel on his head with his hair covering his eyes.

He managed to get his shit together enough to block every shot from the opposing team but now that the match is over he's once again reminded of how you're not there to tell him he did well.

Aiku takes his gloves off and tosses them to the side.

The team notices, but no one says anything. They think he's mentally reprimanding himself for his performance in the first half.

Oliver only got himself together because he knew you were watching, not wanting to disappoint you. Now he wishes he could just hug you and annoy you with endless, "Did you see what I did? I was amazing, wasn't I?"

He grabs his phone, hoping he'll unlock it to find a message from you, but there's nothing.

Nothing, He thinks, locking it again.

Aiku gets up and showers. The team wants to go out for a celebratory dinner but he declines.

That finally makes everyone start to pester him. One is asking what his issue is, another asks if something happened, someone tells him he's acting weird, but Oliver ignores everything.

"I want to be alone." He says, picking his bag up.

What an idiot he is.

You're too good for him, he doesn't deserve you.

Aiku pushes the exit door open and looks up.

"Wha-. . ."

He's dreaming right?

The second your eyes meet you look down, brows furrowing. You look both hurt and anxious, hands balled into fists by your sides, shifting your weight on your feet, just uncomfortable.

Are you uncomfortable because you're finally in his presence again? The question crosses Aiku's mind and he swears he feels actual physical pain.

He drops his bag.

You're honestly caught off guard when he sprints up to you and engulfs you in a near suffocating hug.

Oliver clings to you desperately, pulling you into his chest with a relieved sigh. He nuzzles into your shoulder for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of holding you in his arms again, then turns his head to kiss your cheek and buries his face in the side of your neck. "I never wanted to hurt you." Aiku mumbles.

He sounds so defeated.

You don't do much, only putting a hand on the back of his head. "What happened the other day?" Your voice is small and quiet.

"I don't know." Oliver admits.

"You ever cheated on me?" You ask.

Deep down you know that the answer is no. Oliver dotes on you and never fails to show how much you mean to him. Sure, you had your doubts in the beginning, but he's never given you a reason to think he was fooling around with others.

Oliver gives a soft, "No." and hugs you tighter.

"Okay." You mumble, playing with his hair. "I believe you."

"Yeah?" Aiku sighs in relief. "Thank you."

"It's not easy, though."

"I know." Oliver is well aware of his reputation. He's never cared before, but he does now. He cares because it affects you. "I'm sorry."

"You were really pathetic in the first half." You suddenly say and he snorts, smiling. "Did my message help?"

"Why didn't you text me yourself?" He asks.

"I wanted to see you in person before talking over the phone."

Oliver pulls back enough to look down at you. You're looking away from him with a small pout on your face, a light blush on your cheeks. "Thank you." He kisses your temple.

[secondratefiction]

That 70's Show Drabble request: It's your and your twin brother Eric's 16th birthday, kitty and red usually remember but they forget yours this year, your boyfriend Hyde notices and gives you one of the best birthdays ever, including you two both having sex for the first time. Hyde also does a little cussing at red And kitty for forgetting their youngest daughter's special day.

'ello my love, always nice to see you around 😁

Afraid I might have gone a little off the brief for this one, but hopefully it still hits at least most of what you wanted 💜

(Ok, yes, timeline wise, Hyde was living with the Foreman's before he got the car, but this is basically the fandom versions of "...who's like is it anyway?" where the stories are made up and canon events don't matter, so... just roll with it)

You're blaming Eric for this.

He was the one who decided he didn't want to share a birthday party with you any more

Now, granted, you had agreed, mostly out of anger and annoyance with him in the moment - "Fine! Why would I want another stupid Star Wars themed party anyway!" - But you hadn't thought it would end up here...

The decision had been made after the disastrous aftermath of your last combined party, and it was something that had slipped your mind over the last year.

Of course in the month before, Eric was sure to bring it up, and remind your parents that you were doing separate celebrations... although, you weren't expecting exactly how that ended up working out.

Your mother had seemed to pull out all the stops for this year "Sixteen is such a special age after all..."

There were pancakes and all of Eric's favorites at breakfast... only Eric's though

And you tried not to let that get to you, but you didn't even get so much as a happy birthday out of any of them... not even your Dad which stung quite a bit considering that it was no secret that he had a tendency to favor you over Eric and even Lori.

But you sucked it up, put on a brave face, and tried to act like it wasn't a big deal... which you were actually pretty good at -

At least until you got sent down to the basement to collect a few things for your mom. That's when Hyde spotted you...

He sat up from the couch looking like he was struggling to wake up. Which, in all fairness, he was, "Hey, little Foreman." You rolled your eyes at him, leaning on the ack of the couch, "Did you sleep here again?" "Yeah." He nodded, leaning into kiss you. "You're gonna get caught..." He only smirked up at you with a shrug, "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Standing up, he vaulted over the back of the couch to pull you into a proper kiss that honestly made you a little weak in the knees, leaning into him more as he pulled away, "Happy Birthday baby."

And just like that the damn broke...

You let out a strangled, broken laugh, quickly burying your face in his chest to try and hide the fact tears had immediately sprung up, and that you were losing the fight to keep them contained.

To say Hyde was caught off guard would be the under statement of the century. He almost panicked as he scrambled trying to figure out what was wrong, what he'd said to set you off.

All of this despite your poor attempts to assure him it was nothing. "Hey, no. Look at me," He pulled you back from him so you couldn't keep hiding, and waiting until you actually looked up to meet his eyes, "If you are this upset, it is not 'nothing'. Now, tell me what happened."

You tried to fight it, keep your mouth shut, but there was an intensity in his gaze that left no room for argument... he wasn't going to let this go until you told him, so you did, laying out all the events of the morning, "... I can't believe they fucking forgot my birthday."

For a moment Hyde's expression was unreadable and you had just started to ask what he was thinking when he grabbed you by your elbow and started walking you towards the door "Wait! Steven, what are you - I'm supposed to be grabbing a box for my mom." "Don't worry about it, I'll get it."

He walked you straight out of the garage, putting you in the Camino, still very confused before he turned around a disappeared back down the basement steps.

He grabbed the box you had indicated and made his way up to the kitchen. Smiling tightly and nodding in greeting when Kitty noticed him. "I didn't realize you were here Steven." "I just came by to pick up Y/N... plans for her birthday, you know."

He took the moment of realization and shock on her face as a chance to drop the box on the table and make a quick exit out the sliding glass door.

He was sliding into the driver's seat by the time Kitty could be heard shouting for Red inside the house, throwing his arm behind your head as he looked to back the car out of the drive

"Ok..." You said slowly as he turned around to put the car in drive, pulling away from your house, "So what are we doing?"

"Don't know yet, that's up to you," He said, smirking at you, letting his hand come to rest on your knee, "Tell me what you want to do, and I'll make it happen."

You couldn't help but laugh a little bit, almost beaming at him as you put your own hand over his, "Anything I want?" "Anything."

[sargeantposting]

Logan: And I couldn't thank my mechanic enough. And also my parents, uh, they really helped me to be able to win the world championship and it’s just an amazing feeling.  Interviewer: I mean, did you, did you, what did you do when you found out you won? Did you call your friends at home? Did you phone your grandpa? What did you get up to?  Logan: Uh, no, I just gave my mom and dad a really big hug. Interviewer: Is it still sinking in now?  Logan: Yeah, it's, it's a really emotional thing. [full transcript continues below cut]

Interviewer: I can imagine. I can imagine. You said that your mechanic Scott and also your driver Coach Gary really helped you along the way. How did, how did they do that?  Logan: Um, well, my driver coach Gary, he helped me a lot. Of course, he manages everything and he always keeps me calm before the races and just makes sure I'm always at my best. And Scott, of course, he always just makes sure the cart is perfect, make sure all the tire pressures are good and yeah, that's about it.  Interviewer: What's the difference before you get into the race? You said he keeps you calm and then when you put your helmet and you're actually sitting in the car. How do you feel? What's the difference?  Logan: Well, until the engines start, it's a bit, it was, it was a bit nerve wracking. But once the engines start, you forget about everything and you're ready.  Interviewer: And do you, do you just believe that you can beat all of your fellow races because sometimes some of those races there's like 90 odd other kids aren't there? Logan: Yeah, that weekend I was feeling really confident because I had been quick the whole week and I had won the pre-final. So I, yes, I did believe I could win.  Interviewer: Tell me about when you were a little bit younger than you are now. You're only 14 now. But why racing, why, why is this so important to you?  Logan: Um, well, my dad bought me a, a racing kart when I was five years old and we started from there. We thought it would just be like a little hobby and, uh, it ended up becoming like a professional thing we did. So. Interviewer: So, so was there a moment when you, when you or your dad just thought ‘Wow, I'm quick. I can do this’?  Logan: Um, well, not really. We just kept progressing and then, um, when we, when we decided to come to Europe to race, um, we moved to Switzerland and from then on we were just, uh, going to school, I started going to school in Switzerland. And, yeah, and then we just kept going and then ended up like this.  Interviewer: Do you have any other hobbies? Can you fit anything else in?  Logan: Um, well, other than school it's really hard. But when I get my breaks and I go back to Florida for, um, I like to go fishing a lot and, yeah, that's what I do. Mostly.  Interviewer: Nice, nice and relaxing. Schumacher, Vettel and Senna are just some of your idols, aren't they? What is it about them that you love?  Logan: Uh, just like the legacy that they've built and how, how good they were.  Interviewer: So, is that what you want to achieve?  Logan: Yeah, definitely.  Interviewer: Where do you want to go from here?  Logan: Um, well, next year I'll be racing in KF and then after that I'll try and make my way to Formula One.  Interviewer: And do you think if you achieved getting to Formula One, do you think you could match maybe Lewis Hamilton or Sebastian Vettel's four titles or even Michael's?  Logan: Well, we're far away away from that. But, um, hopefully, yeah, we'll see.  Interviewer: You must think about it though. Teenagers always think about stuff like this, don't they?  Logan: Yeah, of course. But it's a long way away. So I, I'm just focused on next year.  Interviewer: Well, we wish you lots of luck for next year and well done. Logan: Thank you very much.

[cosmerelists]

Top 10 Minor Stormlight Characters I Want To See More Of

Don't get me wrong. I will take 1500 pgs of Kaladin being Kaladin and Shallan being Shallan etc. etc. But there are some characters who just don't get very much screentime who I would LOVE to see featured in Stormlight 5. Here are my Top 10 picks!

[Contains spoilers for Stormlight!]

#10: Zu

I do love me some Windrunners, Lightweavers, and Bondsmiths, but I'd love to see some of the other Orders get featured too. Zu is a Stoneward (like Taln!) and she seemed cool in her brief appearances during the Shademar diplomatic trip. There's that bit about how she seems to be better at combat than her known background would suggest and how she seemed super perceptive...but mostly, I'm not gonna lie, I just want to learn more about Stonewards and cool ladies.

#9: Thude

I mean, since Stormlight 4 ended with [SPOILERS INCOMING WHOOP WHOOP] Venli finding the Listener community hidden away, I assume we'll get more from them in Stormlight 5?? I hope so! Thude in particular seemed cool: I feel like it was largely due to him that some Listeners escaped from Odium, and I'd just like to spend more time with those characters. Venli's mom too!

#8: Those two cute Ardents

I had to look up their names: Ashir & Geranid. They're the cute couple of Ardents who live on a Reshi Island and seem to be living their best lives? Ashir likes to eat sweet food and cook, and as a man this would be scandal were he not an Ardent. And Geranid is doing science experiments on flamespren. I would love to see what they're both up to these days!

#7: Axies the Collector

I just like learning about all the different spren, I think. And so Axies was a fun character to follow around. He needs to meet Kaladin so he can learn that imprisonment spren are real!

#6: Cusicesh

This is that big huge spren in Iri that rises out of the water at the same time every day and cycles through faces--we meet them in the Axies the Collector chapter. And I dunno! Something about Cusicesh just captured my imagination! What are they the spren of exactly?? Why are they so punctual?? What does it all mean?? I don't really expect to find out, to be honest, but I would love to visit there again.

#5: Azure

I know Azure is a major character in a certain other series, but she was a fairly minor part of Stormlight. But she was great! I don't know if she'll really be coming back--her heading off into Shadesmar felt final--but Nightblood is still on Roshar so maybe? I'd love to see more of her interactions with Rosharans!

#4: Malata

Here again we see my desire to just see more of the orders! We haven't seen much of the Releasers, and I'd like to see more. I don't want them to be written off as the "evil" order or something, and I think Malata is an interesting character.

#3: Dieno (The Mink)

Like, not only is Dieno a super interesting character in his own right, but he also provides a much-needed Alethi-critical perspective, I think. I'd definitely like to see him more in Stormlight 5!

#2: Cord

I mean, Cord was featured heavily in Dawnshard, but I'd say she's definitely more of a minor character in the main Stormlight series. And I'd love to see more of her! She's tough, cool, hopefully gay for Rysn...and I'm also a big fan of Rock, so I like seeing members of his family. I also appreciate that Rock & Cord have such different outlooks but still seem to have a really (rock?)solid relationship. Stormlight can use more healthy families, you know?

#1: Hesina

But the number one character I want to see more of and my actual motivation for writing this list is Hesina! I feel like Hesina has appeared quite a few times--certainly more than some of the others on this list--but her scenes usually also involve Kaladin and Lirin, and Kaladin and Lirin usually dominate the interactions. I am desperate to see more Hesina-as-Hesina, not just Hesina-dealing-with-the-father-son-drama-that-is-her-constant-background. I'd love to see Hesina interact with other characters too--I think there was been tumblr discussion of Hesina interacting with Adolin or more with Rlain: that'd be great! Honestly, I would take ANY Hesina POV section, as I'm not sure we've ever had one?

#morehesina2024!

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

One of my favorite shows of the year comes to an end, and we continue to be blessed with another great Japanese drama with queer themes. This first show is on Gaga and the second is available via fan sub, and I highly recommend watching both! And in case you haven't heard, a full series version of I Hear the Sunspot is taking over this timeslot, so we'll be kicking that off next week!

At 25:00 in Akasaka

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

We come to the end with Hayama and Shirasaki, and what a sweet ending it was. This is officially my favorite jbl of 2024, and I am so happy it stuck the landing. Also fascinated that counter trope and genre expectations, there was not actually a classic jbl run in this show! Hayama technically ran after Shirasaki when he tried to slink out in the morning, but it happened mostly offscreen and was not in the usual mode of the big realization followed by the frantic run. Hayama thought he had already made himself quite clear, but our Shirasaki needs to be told things several times and with no ambiguity before they will sink in, god bless him. I loved seeing the instant relief in every line of Hayama's body when he finally realized the misunderstanding that was getting in the way, and immediately cleared it up. I also love the way the show faked us out on the show within a show ending, and we saw today that it was definitely a happy one. I do have one real critique: we are missing a beat or two that would have more clearly landed the arc on Shirasaki's lack of confidence both in love and his career. But that is a minor complaint. This is a great drama and everyone should watch it!

Bonus: Ossan no pantsu ga nandatte ii janai ka

Episodes 5 - 7 have been made available on @isaksbestpillow's blog, and I got to watch 5 and 6 before posting this. I still love this show to pieces. I continue to love that this show makes time for all its characters and their struggles. In episode 5, we got to spend more time with Daichi and Madoka and see the origin of their love story, as well as see Makoto learn that being an ally is a bit more complicated than he realized when he accidentally outed them at a family BBQ. I loved this conflict because it made perfect sense for Makoto to think he was doing the right thing by welcoming Madoka and explicitly acknowledging who he is to Daichi--he was trying to express his interest and make it clear they were safe with him. But Madoka is not out and this immediately put him into a state of fear and anxiety. Makoto has much more to learn!

In episode 6 we got to see him process and sincerely apologize for that, and I loved that he asked Daichi not to give up on him. He really is trying his best, but he is simply not equipped for some of the nuances around these issues yet. We also got to see more about Mika in this episode and explore the ways her family takes her for granted. All she wanted was a couple minutes of acknowledgment of her hard work, but they were all too wrapped up in their own stuff to notice. Her thoughts on how women are often expected to give up on their dreams to be caretakers were heartbreaking and resonant, and I really liked that Makoto figured out on his own how they had fucked up and came up with an idea for making her feel seen. The family banding together to get her those kpop tickets was just adorable.

Tagging @bengiyo for a manga update.

[vanmarkus]

so we know buck likes to do flowers/hot air balloon/etc...

but curious what tommy's love language/how he'll be romantic is. Like, he def likes the flirty teasing to show affection, but do you think he likes giving gifts or cooking dinners... idk, Buck is more the romantic speech giver, tommy prob prefers action.

idk, just wanna know how tommy romances bc so far he's wooed buck by being a) muscly b)Cool and c) a dork

mm actually... i think Buck is into the actions and big gestures, though he is getting better at talking about his feelings, not just letting them take the reigns and see where he ends up with them lmao

on the other hand, Tommy is very measured. he doesn't seem to say anything without intention, even his silly little quips and dark jokes are all there as a stress response — plus he listened to Buck ramble on and on, before realising he had a shot and shutting him up with a kiss lmao

based on what Lou told us about what he imagines Tommy's background to be like and what we saw in canon in season 2 and season 7... Tommy's childhood traumas seem to be pretty similar at the core as Buck's; abandonment issues, feeling alone and lonely, looking for love and family, people to belong to and a place to call home — the difference is that Buck had Maddie (on and off, but mostly on) and then the 118 and Bobby, while Tommy had no one.

for most of his adult life, Buck has been surrounded by people who he could come out to without an overwhelming fear that he'd lose the relationships, so much so that he went for it after having one kiss and a botched date with a guy.

Tommy had a homophobic boss/father figure of sorts, and a bunch of guys who followed Gerrard's lead; even if he had a months- or even years long relationship with a man, I don't think he would've ever risked coming out at all.

Tommy learned what his needs and wants are, and how to recognise his feelings, what's the appropriate way to express them and how to be true to himself, probably through a lot of self-reflection and therapy. (and now he clearly has a lot of friends and is easy to make friends with — however deep those relationships run, we'll just have to see if they'll show us more of that in s8)

all this to say; Tommy recognises Buck's needs and wants because he has been there and is probably still there.

so the way i see it; Tommy would already know how he feels, but would wait for Buck to say 'I love you' first, allowing him to set the pace and show his comfort levels in the the relationship.

but after that? he would say it to Buck every day, he'd tell him how important he is to Tommy, he would make time for just the two of them, but would also include Buck in group activities with his friends, he would never stop checking in on him, even when he's kinda sure that Buck really is just tired and he would know when something is important to Buck even when he waves it off as 'nevermind' and if they ever had a fight, he'd let Buck walk it off, cool down and when he was back, they would sit down and talk and they wouldn't get up until they talked everything through and reached a peaceful middle ground

and when Buck would show up with the bouquets and the fancy tickets to monster truck derbys and packed lunch for their couple's hikes, Tommy would tell him in every which way possible with his words and his touch just how much he truly appreciates Buck's presence in his life.

TLDR: Tommy's love language is communication and reassurance.

[sunshine-jesse]

The Incest End is Not The Bad End, Part 3: The Only End I Know For Real

Alt title: We're roleplaying the endings, not choosing them.

I've focused a lot before on how sickly sweet the chemistry between Ashley and Andrew is and how unproblematic their relationship would actually be under different circumstances, mostly societal ones. I mostly did so to counter the idea that the incest end was primarily a bad end and bring up the assertion that it was the one with the most hope. In doing so, I basically interpreted all of the text within the game in a very positive light, giving off the impression that I think it'll be all sunshine and roses. The reality couldn't be further from the truth? While I think it's the end with the most hope, I ALSO think it'll be incredibly difficult for everyone involved.

As a matter of fact, I think the Questionable end will be the most difficult one to navigate through for Ashley herself.

"But wait," you say, alarm bells ringing in your head, "doesn't she literally fucking die in the Decay ending?"

And I don't think it's that obvious.

First off, why do I think the Questionable end will be difficult to navigate through? After all, Andrew is calm, collected, and Ashley is just a little bit nervous about how he's changing. She also has that ultimate leverage over him, knowing that he's sexually attracted to her and she can use it to keep him by her side. There's little for anyone to worry about, right? Well, no. Not really. As another analyst has pointed out, in the Questionable ending, Ashley has no OTHER leverage over Andrew.

The trinket? Shown to be only situationally useful to them. The future visions don't always show danger, sometimes the demon can just troll them. Sleep? No, he no longer needs Ashley for that. A scapegoat? Not even that. In the Burial ending, he starts to take responsibility for the violence he inflicts on others and has no need to pin the blame on Ashley.

Outside of sex, Ashley is more or less useless to him now, at least in her own mind. Truthfully, Ashley is still the most important person in the world to Andrew and doesn't seem to need a reason to keep her around anymore, but Ashley doesn't realize that; it's part of why she's so confused and uncertain. Their dynamic is changing, and she doesn't like it. But in the Questionable ending, all Andrew has to do is not have sex with Ashley (easier said than done if the fanbase [myself] is any indication) and she'll have nothing left. She'll likely have no other choice but to look inward at this point, especially if Andrew doesn't give off any of the usual red flags that make her think he'd leave her.

There's a good chance at this point that their dynamic will flip entirely. Ashley will be the one who needs comfort, and Andrew shows every indication of being emotionally stable enough to provide it. We'll see some Real Mental Illness instead of Possible To Infer But Maybe Problematic To Do So Mental Illness. Whether or not she changes for the better or worse will likely determine the ending we'll get.

…

Except probably not.

Sane vs Questionable can't be THAT different, or we'd be getting 3A, 3B, 3C, and 3D instead of 3A and 3B. And, y'know what? Now I'm gonna start reaching really hard into theory territory rather than just analysis. So, hear me out here.

Both dreams are canon no matter the ending. The only difference is whether or not Andrew sleeps or not; if he does, the vision he gets is for HIM, and Ashley only incidentally sees it. It's much more important to him than to Ashley, because Ashley doesn't get a clear vision like she did in the motel. If them fucking was actually relevant to Ashley, she likely would've seen it no matter the ending. Her reactions reflect this; at first, she appears weirded out, maybe uncomfortable. Then she finds it hilarious. She considers it as a means of manipulation, sure, but the writing is on the wall: She won't NEED to do so no matter what.

Unfortunately, due to her not being able to open both doors, she won't be able to realize this. Oops!

At this point in time it's basically impossible to ascertain what her own personal vision means. I've given my interpretation before, but I ultimately have my doubts that the specific sequence of events is all to relevant. Most weird dream metaphors are clear parallels to past events, but the dream seems to be a metaphor for what the future will hold. The most relevant part is not the ghosts, but instead how Ashley reacts to what is clearly Andrew's soul. She jokes about trapping it in the bottle, but it being as a joke more than anything is a far cry from how desperate her attempts to keep him normally seem. So what gives? What does this mean?

I think, funnily enough, the Decay ending holds the answer.

My most-distanced-from-a-literal-or-metaphorical-reading-of-the-text-but-is-relatively-easy-to-accept theory is that the choices we are given in the game aren't asking us what we want to see from them, but rather, how we see the characters and their relationship. People are distracted by the idea of choice, but the reality is that we're being asked to roleplay (this is an RPG after all) as the siblings and do what we expect them to do. This isn't about choice. This is about BEING them and DOING WHAT WE THINK THEY'D DO.

Here's what I mean.

If we interpret Ashley as having trust in Andrew and his judgment, then it makes perfect sense she'd trust him with her parents. She might be a little worried, but it's pretty clear that her overwhelming desire to keep Andrew by her side is underscored by genuine love and trust. From there, if we interpret Andrew as having genuine love for his sister and a desire to take care of her, then it becomes everyone else's problem that they can't be together; not his. In killing their parents, he comes to terms with this and self-actualizes. He's willing to take responsibility for the violence he inflicts on others and has no discomfort with dismembering them.

But if you interpret Andrew as viewing Ashley as a burden and a problem, he can't bring himself to save their parents and have a better life because he views himself as too far gone. He hates himself as much as Ashley hates herself for being unable to break free from her influence. He still feels like she's his responsibility, but the love that exists there is greatly muted and overshadowed by his sense of responsibility and a carnal, physical desire for her. Knowing this is likely part of the reason he hates himself; part of the reason he can't let go.

He, crucially, also squanders Ashley's genuine display of trust. It's HIS fault that things break apart, which is why the skull appears over his head when you accept the mom's offer. Ashley genuinely, seriously loves Andrew and wants what's best for him. She's posessive, but her care is a lot less selfish than Andrew thinks, and he can't see that because he's too blinded by his hatred and (partially sexual) frustration to see who she really is.

On the other side of things, if you view Ashley as being a primarily toxic influence that views Andrew as more of an object than anything, she doesn't trust Andrew to deal with their parents and it's HER fault that things break apart, as the skull appears over her head. She sees him as an object, as a child or toy. She sees him as Andy, not Andrew, and can't process the fact that he can change. It's very overbearingly maternalistic, and I believe this specific choice is the only one where Ashley is actually more like their mother than Andrew, eye colors be damned.

In Burial, she wants to share the vision with Andrew, and he wants to share it with her, because their feelings are genuine and mutual and they want to share the experience (because they might get two visions from it, sure, but the principle isn't that much different) But in Decay, she keeps it to herself. She doesn't trust him or his input, either because she doesn't view his feelings as important or because he either almost squandered her trust (if she was listening in), or because he was generally hostile and disincentivized her from wanting to share.

There are other examples too, like when we're allowed to control Andrew to kill the hitman. If we view him as unprepared or unwilling to kill, we empty the whole clip because he's nervous and doesn't want to do this. If we view him as prepared, calm, and in control, he kills in one clean shot without much of an issue. Washing the [REDACTED] out of the shower drain? We basically get to see if Ashley is actually all that competent at housework or not, and if we don't know the right order, neither does she.

This comes to a head in both of the endings.

In the Questionable ending, we're shown that Andrew slept through the dream. We see what he really wants and the depths of his true feelings. He has very obvious romantic feelings for Ashley, and it's not just physical desire. Ashley's very obviously obsessed with Andrew still, but the fact that he can be present in every painting shows that she ACTUALLY views him that way. She's not just seeking validation; her feelings are real, and she knows it.

Remember, this dream is SHARED. We are seeing how BOTH of them feel.

In the Sane ending, Andrew isn't present, and Ashley is never given a chance to view their relationship as anything other than platonic. We don't know how Andrew feels, and we're arguably never given a view into Ashley's true feelings either, because that would-be revelation is cut off by a vision (indicated by eyes). We're just shown what she should do, needs to do, or will do.

Because we don't view their relationship as romantic, light is never shone on the reality of their dynamic. We never see how obsessed Ashley really is (if anything, we're being misdirected by being shown the opposite), and we never see that Andrew has romantic- if buried- feelings for Ashley that can't just be passed off as carnal physical desire. But since it's still the Burial ending, the dynamic still clearly exists; the endings would be too different otherwise. We CHOSE how we see their dynamic in the basement scene.

In other words…

Without love, the truth cannot be seen.

Reader who is in the know: "…hey wait a fuckin' minute" Me: "MOVING ON"

At some point- probably early on- the Sane and Questionable endings have to converge. Andrew and Ashley will have to have the nature of their dynamic laid out for them in a way they can't deny, and the likely only difference between Sane and Questionable will be whether or not Andrew is surprised/embarrassed, or just goes "I guess that dickhead demon wasn't just tricking us after all" and then the route will proceed as normal. Whether or not they have sex will likely be determined by your choices in Chapter 3 itself rather than Chapter 2 with this in mind. Either way, I think Ashley will go through most of the chapter confused and uncertain and will be forced to develop as a person, for better or worse.

In the Decay ending, as said, we're shown that Ashley doesn't even attempt to share a vision with Andrew, so we get to see a vision where Ashley's frame of mind isn't one driven by mutual affection. In this route, we see Ashley constantly running from -something,- and given dreams are metaphors, I think it's reasonable to assume that it's showing us that Ashley is primarily motivated by a fear of Andrew. Fear of what, exactly, isn't really clear; we know for a fact that she's afraid of losing him, but she's also afraid of the violence he can inflict upon her. Either way, she runs away, we can see the demon say "hmmm how interesting," and then we get a vision of the future.

But it's important to note, that vision is a metaphor, not a literal vision of the future. It takes place in the dream world- unlike any other vision, which takes place in the real world- and there are no out-of-frame eyes in the CGs like there are in the Questionable route. Also, (albeit less convincingly), all the eyes are in the background rather than on the map themselves, like they are when we see the hitman vision. The eyes only exist in the background in the Sane vision too, further adding to the idea that they're a metaphor.

So. If it's not a literal depiction of what will happen, then what exactly is it a metaphor for? Okay. Hear me out. This is my wildest fucking theory yet.

It's a metaphor for the Burial route. Or rather, the kind of event that happened in the Burial route.

What we are being shown in the metaphor is a reconciliation of their relationship, where their true feelings are laid bare. We are put in a situation where they are forced to decide how they feel for each other once and for all. If Andrew holds all the power in the relationship but has no control or awareness of his feelings- represented by whether he was composed enough or not to unload his entire clip-, he unceremoniously kills Ashley. Without that awareness, Ashley cannot even defend herself. She has no control because she isn't dealing with someone who has any either.

(Whether he actually kills Ashley or just some abstract representation of Leyley isn't clear, but it doesn't matter much for the purpose of analysis.)

But if Andrew does have that awareness of his feelings- represented by only shooting one bullet- they can negotiate. Because Andrew is in control, Ashley is also in control, and she can make one of two choices:

She can choose to save herself (and either maintain the status quo or just fucking kill Andrew depending on how literal the vision is). With this choice, she lets her fear overtake her and discards Andrew- the cause of her fear- like trash. He is an object that only exists for her sake, after all, and she can discard him just as easily as he seemed like her could discard her during the strangulation scene.

She can choose to trust and accept Andrew. And given a heart appears over her head, she can choose to love him, and overcome her fear, even at the cost of either her life or their prior dynamic (once more, depending on how literal it is).

Decay is asking us if we think Ashley is primarily motivated by selfish fear or genuine selfless love. But both exist either way, and their relationship must be understood and reconciled at some point; this route might honestly be their only hope for a platonic good ending, but it's going to be dismal and painful either way.

So with that in mind, why is the gun not relevant to the Burial route (yet) if it's such a strong metaphor?

Because the reconciling event WAS the basement scene.

We had to make that same choice there. Was Ashley too afraid of Andrew's interaction with her parents to let him handle it? Or did she love and trust him enough to make that choice? In choosing yes, the ball in Andrew's court. If he chooses to care for her needs, their relationship evolves. If he or Ashley refuse make that choice, that can is kicked down the road, and their relationship continues to deteriorate.

Or decay, as it may.

But in Burial, with that reconciling event having happened, the ball is in Ashley's court. With Andrew having come to terms with many of his feelings (minus his sexual desire), most of his arc is finished. There's probably still a lot of him to unpack on the Burial route, but in the Decay ending, as long as Ashley shows love for him, the final choice always falls on his shoulders. And with his final choice having been made in Burial, all that's left is Ashley's.

And what final choice will she have to make?

I don't know, I'm not a prophet.

But either way, she'll still have to make the choice of whether or not to be ruled by her fear of losing him, and desperately try to grasp for control she no longer needs, or cast aside that fear and allow for genuine, mutual love to flourish. Think about it this way: When you see a corpse, how do you react? If you don't care for the corpse or fear it, you stay away and let it decay. If the corpse belongs to someone you love, you tend to it and bury it.

And what do I think the best case scenario is? Well, I've made my opinion obvious, but I think there's one final thing I need to emphasize:

You don't claw at someone's back like a wild fucking animal if you're not really into it.

[viktor-howl]

Onceler's office analysis 1/2

Okay so there's probably a LOT of posts about this already but I wanted to give my take —although this is mostly to draw his office correctly. Gotta make that office Viktorler look canon— And also show my screenshot collection because I just love his office.

(tiny little reminder that I am NOT making a deep analysis. I'm not gonna talk about things like the year in which this takes place, or the specifics about use of camera angles to signify things and so on)

Now! Before getting to the actual office, let's take a look at...

the hallway!

The first thing that I wanted to point out is how closed off it is, not even a single window, no natural light entering, as the only light source here are the red lamps. The next big thing about the hallway is the paintings, paintings of healthy truffula trees, a blue sky... Of course he has these as a way to distract himself from reality, since the actual forest is gone by this point, and the fact that the whole hallway is so closed off makes it even more obvious. And yes, we all saw the too big to fail painting of himself, but I think that's pretty self-explanatory...

I'd also like to point out the way the carpet makes space for the desk —of course Onceler's mother would have her own desk. God forbid the carpet gets on her way!—

And just look at how prominent the green is here, we'll keep seeing a lot of greens, reds and goldens, but I don't wanna rant too much here.

Next, the doors to the office!

Ah yes, the constant use of reds and goldens, specifically how expensive everything looks, fancy pants rich McGee over here. Still, I do love the use of (what looks like?) luxury red velvet for the door, which looks almost if not the same as his seat in the office. If it wasn't already obvious how rich this guy is, you must have a pretty good idea by now.

You can also see where the red carpet ends, inside the office, and— okay I can't pretend I don't see it. Can we talk about the door handles???

Dear god what is that ATROCITY?? Why is it pointing INWARDS... Every time I see it I just ask myself why? Why is it like that?? Why is it so ugly—

And finally, a look into the actual office itself!

You can clearly tell why everything is placed the way it is: Onceler's desk is in the middle of the room, and his desk is facing away from the windows. (windows? Door things? There's two pair of doors and the middle one is definetly a window.) He's purposefully facing away from the mess he's made, and there's also the fact that his seat is big enough to block his view from the outside from the main window.

We also have another painting of the truffula valley! This time, adding a river / lake. Reminds you of anything? We can also see his desk, and if you look closely, on the far left of the picture... Yep, it's a framed picture of the truffula forest! (this one is a detail that you can also see on the desk in HBCIB! If you know me from Twitter you probably saw me talking about it a long while ago) He really is in denial, or just clueless... Well, I wouldn't say he's actually clueless, but you get the idea. The rest of it is just the phone, his tiny thneedville, the computer and so on.

Here we can get a better view of the painting, as well as how the walls look outside, sharing the same toned down green as the inside—although I have even more screenshots to show that later!—

I also wanted to add this one since it's the only one so far in which the angle of the camera lets you see the other side of the doors. You can also see just how tall they are! And, may I add, I find rather... Interesting the choice of putting those velvet curtains there, when there's... Nothing. Not even a window. But, you know, the aesthetic is nice!

Here's another look at the curtain on the background, you can almost see just how far up it goes! As well as how tall the painting is!

... I just realized. There is a TEN IMAGE LIMIT. You can tell that I'm still new to tumblr, huh? I still wanted to add just how the concept art from the office correlates to the final piece in the movie, the stairs around his desk in HBCIB, the way the toned down colors make the desk, curtains and Onceler pop out more than the scene when he walked through the hallway, are you kidding?? I'm gonna have to split this into two or more posts 😭😭😭 okay everyone... Stay tuned, I might post the second part in a bit.

[onredrouge]

skk hate each other, and no one's actually surprised.

Everyone seems to be losing their shit over what Asagiri has said. And when I said everyone, it's mostly those skk haters celebrating their imagined downfall of Soukoku. To be honest, what Asagiri said doesn't surprise me anymore. 

I don't really get people saying Dazai and Chuuya don't hate each other when that has been the foundation of their relationship ever since their first meeting. They're both strong in their own ways, and they showcase that by never concealing what they feel about each other. Both of them have never been passively aggressive about that. They show it with their words and their actions; their entire dynamic is built on the fact that they hate each other's guts. Sometimes (or most of the time), it is that "oh, I hate you so much and you should pay attention to me so I could show you how much I hate you" kind of hatred. At some point, it was a childish exchange between two teenagers finally finding a sort of escape from their toxic environment in the form of annoying the hell out of each other. They spent time together, blah, blah, blah, and then it turned to an unexplainable visceral kind of hatred that allows them to work so well with each other like one soul in two bodies. Is it toxic? Maybe it is, just like all the other things they experienced and would never deserve. They're not some high school friends meeting up in a park after class. They're both morally gray individuals who find a sort of familiarity between their shared hatred towards each other. I can't really explain, and I don't even want to try putting into words the kind of connection they have. That's mostly the reason why they're so interesting. Soukoku have this kind of connection that will make you want to rip your hair out just trying to find the right words to describe them.

Hating someone doesn't mean you can't feel other things for them. I think Asagiri just meant to say that hatred is not a mask for anything, mainly because they've always been upfront with their feelings for each other. Whatever other emotions they feel for each other have always been hinted at. I don't know about what Asagiri wants to say about that but it's there. I'd love to see more exploration of their dynamics because I'm genuinely crazy about them, but I've accepted it a long time ago that there's a slim chance Asagiri's going to do any of that. Dazai's still so heavily connected to the mafia, the whole agency is; however, there are so many other connections Asagiri would choose to discuss when it comes to Dazai, and his relationship with Chuuya's most definitely not going to be the first choice no matter how interesting it is for the majority. (I'm going to still dream about that every day though.) It doesn't mean their relationship is suddenly unimportant; that would be contrary to what has been brewing in the manga. It doesn't mean their connection is a thing of the past as their lives are still very much intertwined with each other. However, a deep exploration of their connection is probably only possible once all the major issues in the manga are settled. That's where the derivative works enter the scene. Asagiri's not really going to give us any deeper insight on the other dynamics of their relationship, so fans are free to interpret them in any way they like (just not in a way that trashes their individual characters, like what some skk fans do). Who knows?  Maybe someday we'll learn something more about them. Right now, one thing we're sure about is their hatred for each other (as confirmed by the author himself) and the countless different possibilities fan works can explore. They hate each other? Wow, would you look at that? Another added spice to many series of fics that are sure to come. Soukoku's not ending. Unless Chuuya's going to weirdly disappear in mersault arc, then I don't think this downfall you all are wishing for is going to happen.

[n7lebron]

It took a while but here it is, Master Grade Gundam Barbatos! Only my second master grade and I decided to go out of my way and hand paint all of it. From the frame to the armor and weapons and even picking up the p-bandai expansion set and painting some of that too (a set I do plan to finish and post about eventually). And it was a lot! A little overwhelming at times and definitely is not something I'll do regularly at this scale but was so worth it in the end.

It has only been a couple of years since I started this hobby and being able to get this kind of finish was a bit of a dream for me then. There's still room for improvement and part of that will come with more experience, but seeing what a difference just a year of painting kits can make has me genuinely excited to keep going.

Now how about the actual kit though...

The bare frame is probably my favorite part of the kit and also is where most of the actual build is. Even unpainted it's so nice to look at and pose, it is such a treat to build up what's practically the skeleton of an action figure. Obviously though painting it takes it to a whole other level, as I did here with metallic paints from Mr. Hobby Aqueous and Tamiya. It's just a real joy seeing all the wires and pistons contrasted with the frame, especially on the backside. I was almost ready to leave it as is without the armor it's so good, but it is Gundam Barbatos and not just a Gundam frame so we continue with…

The armor! Nothing too different from the original gundam colors though. Some slightly altered base colors here, a few off-white panels there, some messy panel lines because I didn't rescribe the lines partially out of laziness, but overall I'm very happy with how it came out. Probably the most accidentally impressive thing to me was all of the white being so smooth, minus a couple of spots. Even now looking at the kit in my hand I don't entirely know how I did that with a brush. I will always recommend the Mr. Hobby Aqueous paints in general but definitely for hand painting specifically. It has the benefits of being very easy to work with like water based acrylics and being more durable than those too. But let's not forget about...

The weapons! Only a bit more interesting here, as they're mostly metallic, using all of the same colors as the frame as well as some new ones. The body of the smoothbore gun is, like the other colors, a slight deviation from the color guide. At first I wasn't sure if the copper (Tamiya's XF-28 Dark Copper) on the sword edge was going to be too much, thinking maybe I should've used a silver like the pile bunker on the mace, but I think it works well and helps the sword stand out from the rest of the loadout.

After all that the only thing missing is a top coat, which I haven't done yet because summer weather in NC can be real wet. So for now it'll have to go without one. But I'm not upset about it, other than the three primary colors being glossy it's like it doesn't even need one and looks great as is so I may skip it entirely. We'll see, next time though I'm go back to doing a few high grades starting with some more G-Witch p-bandai kits! Hope you enjoy! ✌🏼

[ddejavvu]

Multiverse Monday with Aaron hotchner comforting you on the jet because you hate flying?

I love your writing! 🤍

thanks so much! 💗

--

Your motion sickness bracelets are not doing their job. Or, maybe they are, maybe you're not nauseous because you're flying, maybe you're nauseous from nerves. It's not the motion of the plane that has your stomach churning, it's the thought of being on it.

Your grip on the seat is close to cracking the cushion open and letting stuffing spill from its confines. It looks like you're just sitting with your arms at your sides, but when Hotch stands up to get himself a refill on coffee, he notices your hand curled into the seat.

He makes his way to the kitchen, intent on not causing a scene. He snags a packet of crackers out of the small snack stash they've got on board, bland so that it wouldn't aggravate your stomach but substantial enough to give you something to do. He's never fixed his coffee faster, and he sets it on the table just before the plane hits mild turbulence. A drop or two sloshes over the rim of his mug, but that's the least of his concerns. Your face goes tight with fear, eyes squeezing shut as your chest puffs with a breath. He crouches by the side of your seat, balancing on his calves with the toes of his shoes planted on the floor of the plane.

"Ease up," He murmurs, and you only notice he's there when he speaks. He takes your hand into his own, squeezing it gently to let you know it's okay to use him as your replacement stress toy. Your fingers are clammy and shaky, but you try to keep them loose so that you don't cut off his circulation.

"Rossi doesn't like flying either," Hotch informs you, and the man turns around to glare at him ferociously from behind, "This doesn't happen often, though. It'll be okay, it's just a little turbulence."

"Turbulence is mostly harmless," Reid revs into action, "That's actually the least of our problems. We should be worried about-"

"Spencer." Hotch snaps, eyes blazing, "Not now."

"Oh." Spencer's face pales, and he eyes your rapidly rising and falling chest, "Uh, right. Sorry Y/L/N."

"He's just rambling." Aaron assures you, "There's no danger, okay? We're fine, we've never had issues with the jet before, and this isn't anything bad. If you want, I'll go ask the pilot when he thinks we'll be out of the clear?"

"No!" You speak without thinking, slightly embarrassed for your outburst, "Uh, I just- can you... stay?"

"Scoot," He nods quickly, keeping your hand in his as he stands. You scramble to the other end of the bench of seats and he slides in next to you, shutting the window that's now directly to your left.

"Thank you," Your voice is thin, trembling with fear, "Uh, I'm really sorry about this, Hotch. I know this probably isn't the most professional thing in the world. But I-!" You let out a squeak at a particularly large jolt of the plane, "I just get nervous."

"It's okay. Everyone's afraid of something, that's human nature. Reid," Hotch calls back to the poor doctor, still probably caught off guard from the way he'd snapped earlier, "Would you go and ask about the turbulence? Just see if he's got an estimate."

"Will do," The lanky man is off towards the cockpit without a second thought.

With an estimate of two minutes of mild turbulence left, all you can do is wait. Hotch keeps you grounded, hand tight around yours and thigh pressed to your own.

"I said everyone was afraid of something," He repeats, keeping conversation to distract you, "Do you want to know what I'm afraid of?"

A few ears perk around the jet; no one wants to miss this. Fortunately, Hotch notices, and leans in to whisper in your ear when you nod, "Weasels."

You frown, "What?"

"They were always so scary on cartoons," Hotch laughs, a breathy sound that hits your neck in a puff of air, "Always stealing people's stuff and running in packs. I was convinced I was going to see some if I ventured to the empty side of the schoolyard. There was a storage shed back there and I knew there was a group of them living inside."

"Weasels," You giggle, albeit weakly. Hotch is glad for any improvement at all, though, and doesn't mind the childish embarrassment, "That's a fair point, they were scary."

"They always smoked those fat cigars," Hotch muses, a smile quirking up his lips, "I thought I was gonna pass out when Rossi first did it in front of me."

That gets you laughing, really laughing. You don't even notice as the plane stabilizes, time slipping away through an hourglass you're not worried enough to search for anymore.

"Derek's claustrophobic, though." Hotch teases, louder this time.

The aforementioned agent looks up; scandalized, "Hey!"

"It's true!" Spencer nods, swatting away a slap that Derek tries aiming for his arm. You're settled back into your seat now, no longer tense and panicked, but Hotch's hand stays firm in your own as Spencer gushes, "There was this one time when we got stuck in an elevator together, and-"