#you think you know what a room would look like & then you draw it and are like. fuck. what the hell. how does interior design work again

[catmask]

meowdy! looks like our move to a new apartment is not going to be so peaceful after all - our old apartment is currently leaking sewage water and we have to evacuate four people and two cats! donations are appreciated, but im opening an emergency sale + commissions too! (more under the cut)

KO-FI SHOP SALE + EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

DISCOUNT CODE IS 'LEAK' IN ALL CAPS

so for this section, i'm going to break down everything thats happening + when things will come off hiatus! i'm hoping that everything will be set up in the new place by JUNE 1st, so that is the hard deadline i'm setting to start all functions up again as usual.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

two years ago, my fiance and i were offered emergency housing when we (very suddenly and tragically) became the parents to his orphaned little sister. both of us are only 26 and had to move 8 hours from where we had been living at the time, so the housing we had was the best 2 people with few connections and no established jobs could find within a single weeks notice.

since then, we have been saving up and working to finally have a proper place to live. and we did so! at the beginning of this month we found an apartment where all of us can move to. we have a friend staying with us who is helping with the move as well.

i really wanted this move to be seamless - basically, you wouldn't have had to know it was happening. we were going to pay double rent for two months while i would stream and work from the old place, and begin sleeping at the new one. its expensive, but i didn't want my real life to trouble anyone here.

unfortunately this is no longer possible. the old building we were staying at had a pipe begin to leak, then eventually flood our entire apartment. this has been a reoccurring problem the landlord hasn't seemed to find a solution for, and it's led to a biohazard where we were planning on slowly moving from - leading to an immediate and emergency evacuation for the safety of everyone in our family.

SO... STREAMING?

will be back online as soon as possible! we moved out our tech as soon as we could due to fear of water damage, and it seems like everything is A-OK. we just need to rebuild my desk and sound proof the new room, so this will probaaabbly be back online within a week? im just going to take the week off to make sure everything is set up and there are no bugs. (digital. digital bugs.)

LAIKA'S COMET?

for the sake of not losing my buffer crazystyle, i'm pausing laika's until JUNE 1st. but i'm going to post one more page right now to leave you guys on a cliffhanger because i think it's funny. (the ko-fi will still update as regular as i finish pages! tbh, in between moving i am going to be drawing.... a LOT... it's like my only self soothing activity i have access to right now </3)

SHOP STUFF?

you basically won't notice a difference. orders go out every 2 weeks anyway, and literally the day before this happened we completely caught up to date. that + all of the goods we had were already moved over because (similar to the tech) we were worried about water damage, so nothing will be yucky... (i dont know if i can say the same about our furniture or clothes ; _ ; )

FINAL NOTES

while we did manage to get out with emergency bags and a weeks worth of outfits + things to sleep on + cook with, we have no real means of knowing the extent of damage until we bring things out of the apartment and clean them here. thankfully *most* things appear undamaged, its largely the flooring and the smell that are unliveable... walking through puddles of sewage water and having to wear a mask to breathe is not really liveable conditions.

however, considering this move is sped up way faster than planned, and i wont be able to work during it - any sales or donations are hugely appreciated. ; w ;

i'm sorry to ask for help like this, and its only if you are comfortable to do so!!! i can work hard, so i don't mind doing a little extra art to make money, this is just if you feel okay to help out and would like to.

if you read this far, thank you so much - hopefully next time i will return with good news - and maybe a new apartment tour...?

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you��s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[abbotjack]

when would jack stutter, have to catch his breath? whether it be something he sees, hears, smells. what makes him take pause?

Jack Abbot doesn’t stutter for effect. He doesn’t lose his words in arguments or get flustered in tension. He was trained—trained—to speak clearly through chaos. To radio for medevac while pressure-wrapping a wound with one hand. To give the date, time, and morphine dose to a nineteen-year-old he was holding together by sheer will while bullets cracked overhead. Words, for Jack, have always been tools. Precise. Tactical. Controlled.

So when Jack stutters, it’s never performance. It’s never dramatics. It’s malfunction. It means something short-circuited so violently inside him that all his practiced scripts—the field medic instincts, the ER attending cadence, the gallows humor—all of it collapses under the weight of something real.

It’s not trauma that makes him pause. He’s acclimated to that. It’s gentleness. It’s earnestness. It's the things no one ever trained him to survive.

It starts small.

You’re in his kitchen one morning, still in sleep clothes. No makeup. You open the fridge and mutter, “We need more eggs.” Not he needs. Not you need. We.

Jack freezes.

Just for a second. Just long enough that the corner of the coffee filter burns.

Because he’s spent years learning how to survive alone. Alone is safe. Alone is math he can do. But we? We is dangerous. We has loss baked into it.

So when you say something that sounds like permanence without even realizing it, Jack looks down at the mug in his hand like he forgot how it got there.

“You okay?” you ask, still rummaging.

“Yeah, I just—” He exhales, blinks. “I—uh, it’s—fine.”

It’s not the word he’s fumbling over. It’s the feeling.

Then it escalates.

You wear his sweatshirt to the grocery store and complain about the sleeves being too long. You say it in passing—no agenda, no performance. Just an offhanded “How the hell do your arms fit in this thing?”

Jack laughs. He nods. He goes quiet.

And later, when you’re brushing your teeth, he stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you like he’s never seen anything more disarming.

“You know you, uh—” He pauses. Swallows. “You look good in that.”

And that stutter? It’s not nerves. It’s not lust. It’s ache. It’s how dare you look like home in my clothes when I never thought I’d have one again. It’s him tasting the fact that someone might love him with the lights on. With the ghosts still in the room.

But the worst of it—the deepest malfunction—is when you touch the part of him he hides.

It’s a Tuesday. You’re lying in bed. Jack’s out of the shower, towel around his waist, residual steam curling off his shoulders. You’re half asleep when he climbs in, careful, always careful. The prosthetic is off. His right leg ends below the knee, the skin there pale, uneven in tone, scarred in a way that doesn’t fade with time.

You don’t flinch. You never have.

You roll over, press your face into his chest, and—without thinking—run your hand down his thigh and stop at the point where flesh becomes absence. Where history lives in muscle memory.

He draws in a sharp breath—sudden, ragged—like it knocked the wind out of him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, pulling back.

But he grabs your wrist. Not to stop you. To ground himself. To hold the moment in place.

“No, I—” His voice cracks. The words don’t follow. “It’s not—I just—” He blinks fast, jaw twitching. “I wasn’t—expecting that.”

Because what you touched wasn’t just skin. It was the thing he’s ashamed of needing love through. The thing people look at and get polite. The thing strangers pretend not to notice. The thing he never believed could be part of desire. And you just touched it like it was his. Like it was safe.

That’s when Jack stutters.

When you make the part of him he’s spent years compartmentalizing feel not just accepted—but wanted.

But maybe the most dangerous kind of stutter—the kind that ruins him—isn’t even about touch.

It’s when you fight.

Not over something petty. Something real. Something that threatens the fragile trust he’s learning to build. Maybe you accuse him of shutting you out again. Of pulling back every time things get too close. And you’re right. You’re so right it guts him.

He raises his voice. Snaps something defensive. His default. Control the room. Win the logic. Out-talk the fear.

But then you say it.

“Jack, you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

And that sentence? That sentence breaks him.

Not because of what it is.

Because of what it isn’t.

It isn’t a demand. It isn’t a plea. It’s grace. Unconditional. Unflinching. And it makes no goddamn sense to a man who’s only ever been valued for what he can fix, what he can endure, what he can sacrifice.

So he stares at you.

“You don’t—” His voice falters. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you whisper.

And he stutters. He turns away. Rubs his jaw. Blinks hard.

Because he wants to believe you. More than anything. But his nervous system doesn’t know how to file that truth under anything but threat.

He says, “I just—” and never finishes.

Because he can’t.

Because it’s too much.

Because your love is louder than his guilt, and that is a sound Jack Abbot doesn’t know how to live through.

That’s when he stutters.

When you say something that unravels the wire he’s been holding himself together with since the war. Since the job started asking more than he had to give and he gave it anyway.

When you look at him like he is not a burden. Like he is allowed to stay.

That’s what makes Jack Abbot forget how to speak.

Not blood.

Not death.

But the unbearable mercy of being loved anyway.

[4linos]

the stranger you loved 2.

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: you don’t know him anymore. but minho knows you, every laugh, every tear, every promise. and he’s not giving up.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, memory loss, emotional manipulation, mentions of family rejection.

wc: 11,879

[part 1]

He had been alone in his thoughts for too long.

Minho sat in the dim corner of the hospital corridor where the light flickered just a little too much, that familiar, sterile hum filling his ears. His hoodie was damp from where he’d wiped his face. His eyes ached. His heart ached more. Time had stopped having any shape or meaning, just hours of cold air, the occasional footsteps echoing off linoleum, and the unbearable weight of not being able to fix anything.

He couldn’t keep sitting there. Couldn’t stay in the silence, with the ache growing heavier by the minute. Eventually, he stood, slowly, stiffly and made his way back to your hospital room. He just needed to see you again, maybe even talk to you from the doorway. Nothing intense. Nothing that would make things worse. Just presence. Just proof that he was still here.

But as he neared your room, one of the nurses, one he vaguely recognized from the night shift stepped in front of him, hands gentle but firm.

“Mr. Lee,” she said softly, “I’m really sorry, but… we’re asking you not to go in right now.”

Minho blinked. At first, he thought he’d misheard. “What?”

The nurse glanced over her shoulder, toward your room, then turned back, her expression apologetic. “The doctor spoke with Y/N not long after you left. She was… visibly shaken. Scared, confused. Her vitals spiked. She was overwhelmed. We think it’s best to give her a little space while she adjusts.”

Minho stared at her like the words didn’t quite make sense. His eyebrows slowly drew together, a disbelieving scoff slipping from his lips. “I’m not some random guy off the street,” he said, voice rising just enough to draw a few glances. “I stayed by her side all night. I didn’t leave the room once. Not when the monitors beeped, not when the nurses came in, not even when you told me visiting hours were over. You all saw me there. You know that.”

The nurse’s expression didn’t waver, but her voice softened. “I do. We all saw it. And I know how much you care. But she doesn’t remember that, Minho. Right now, from her perspective… she’s waking up in a strange place, surrounded by strangers. Her memory is fractured. And when she saw your face, when you reacted so emotionally, it startled her. She’s not in a place yet where she can process all of that safely.”

Minho exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He could feel the sting behind his eyes again, and he fought it, hard. He wasn’t angry at the nurse. Not really. But he didn’t know where else to aim the pain inside him. The grief. The helplessness. Because how was it fair? He had held your hand through the night. Had whispered to you about the little bakery you loved, your favorite songs, how you always pretended not to cry at sad movies but always did anyway. He had begged you to wake up.

And you had.

Only now, he wasn’t allowed near you.

“I just want to see her,” he said again, quieter now. “I won’t upset her. I’ll stay back. I won’t even speak if that’s what you want. Just let me be there. Please.”

The nurse looked torn. She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I’ll talk to the doctor. Maybe tomorrow, after some rest and evaluation, we can try again. But tonight... she needs calm. The brain needs quiet to begin the healing process. For now, just, trust us, okay?”

Minho didn’t answer. He nodded stiffly, backing away from the door like it burned him.

But in his chest, he could feel the unraveling.

He returned to that same quiet hallway, but this time it felt colder. Lonelier. He leaned against the wall, staring at the pale floor tiles like they might give him something clarity, answers, maybe just a way to stay grounded when everything he knew was crumbling.

He was still here.

Still your Minho.

But you didn’t remember that.

And now… you weren’t ready to see him.

Even love, deep, steady, desperate love wasn’t enough right now.

And that was a kind of heartbreak he never knew existed.

-

Minho had barely slept.

The coffee in his hand was lukewarm now, even though he’d just bought it minutes ago. He hadn’t tasted it. He didn’t care. The bitter steam curling from the cup only reminded him of the night before, hours of pacing cold hallways, of sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs, of whispering to your unconscious body like it might tether you back to him.

And then the morning came, and with it, the nurse’s gentle insistence that he stay back. That his presence had made you worse. That for now, it was better if you didn’t see him at all.

He hadn't fought them again. Not this time. Not after seeing the look in your eyes, the way you'd flinched at his touch. The quiet, scared voice asking him to leave.

But it didn’t stop the ache that settled into his chest like a second heartbeat, pulsing with every second that passed without you remembering him.

He was just coming back from the hospital lobby, a paper cup in one hand and his phone in the other, the screen still black. No messages. No calls. Not that he was expecting any. The only message he wanted was your voice, saying his name like you remembered. Like you loved him again.

He turned the corner, heading back toward the ICU, when he saw him.

Jay.

At first, Minho froze, unsure if he was imagining it. It had been so long since he'd seen that face, longer still since he’d thought of him. But there he was, standing stiffly at the nurse’s desk, dressed too neatly for a hospital visit, his dark hair styled like he was coming from somewhere important.

Minho’s blood ran cold.

Jay.

What the hell is he doing here?

He watched, heart pounding, as Jay leaned in toward the nurse with an overly concerned expression on his face. Like he belonged there. Like he had the right.

“Hi,” Jay said, glancing at the nameplate clipped to her scrubs, “I’m a friend of Y/N’s. I heard about the accident—I just need to know what room she’s in, and what happened. Please. I need to see her.”

The nurse gave him a quick look of polite skepticism, as she should. But before she could say anything, Minho was already moving, hot coffee sloshing in his cup as his steps quickened across the hallway floor.

“Hey,” Minho snapped, his voice sharp, tense with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jay turned slowly, his mouth pulling into a tight, false smile. “Minho.”

Minho stood toe to toe with him now, hands clenched, posture rigid. He didn’t want to cause a scene, not here, not in the hallway of the ICU, but he couldn’t stop the fire rising in his chest. “You don’t belong here.”

“I came to check on Y/N,” Jay said smoothly, unbothered. “Someone had to.”

That was it.

Minho’s jaw locked. “Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care,” Jay countered. “Not that you’d know anything about being a real friend.”

The insult was barely veiled, and Minho flinched like he'd been struck. But it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, not from him.

Because Jay wasn’t just anyone.

He was the friend you used to be inseparable from, the one you trusted with everything, until Minho came along. And from the moment Jay realized how serious the two of you were becoming, he’d tried everything he could to sabotage it. The comments. The rumors. The passive-aggressive texts. That one night he cornered you after practice and told you Minho would never love you the way you deserved, that he was cold, manipulative, temporary.

Jay never liked Minho. Never even pretended to. And when you chose Minho anyway, when you distanced yourself from Jay and made it clear where your heart was, he turned bitter. He stopped pretending. Started treating Minho like the enemy.

And now here he was.

Minho stepped forward, voice low, teeth clenched. “You think showing up now makes up for what you did? You weren’t there when she needed support. You weren’t there when she was hurting. You disappeared the second she chose me, and now you want to show up like some concerned guardian?”

“She doesn’t remember you, does she?” Jay asked, his tone light but the venom unmistakable. “So maybe this is the universe giving her a second chance.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists. He saw red for a moment pure, unfiltered rage bubbling just under his skin.

The nurse intervened then, stepping between them before things could go further. “Hey, please. This is a hospital.”

Minho turned to her, still breathing hard. “You can’t let him see her. He’s not family. He’s not—he’s not anything to her anymore.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

The words stung more than Minho expected. The truth was, right now… he wasn’t sure how to answer. Because to you, in your broken, half-lit memories, he was nothing. A stranger. An unfamiliar face who cried too easily and begged too hard.

The nurse looked between the two men, clearly uncomfortable. “I can’t make decisions based on history I don’t know. If the patient recognizes Mr. Jay, and she’s comfortable with it, we allow visitors. But for now, we’re trying to avoid overwhelming her.”

She turned back to Jay. “You may go in, but keep it short. And speak gently. She’s still very fragile.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest, but it was already too late.

Jay was walking past him, heading for your room with confident strides, as if he had every right in the world to be there. As if he hadn’t tried to pull you away from Minho every chance he got.

And the worst part? Minho couldn’t follow.

He stood there in the hallway, helpless, his fists clenched and his heart in his throat. The nurse gave him an apologetic glance before walking away.

Minho was left standing alone again.

Another locked door. Another piece of you slipping further from his grasp.

And now he was in there with you.

He didn’t know if you’d recognize Jay. If your mind had pulled him back while leaving Minho behind. If you’d smile for him. Laugh. If Jay would take advantage of the blank slate that the accident had given you.

But Minho knew one thing with unbearable certainty.

He’d spent the night holding your hand, whispering his love into the dark like a prayer.

And now he was being replaced again by the one person who had always wanted to take you away.

The nurses and doctors kept saying you were getting better.

They said it like it was a fact, like a milestone you had clearly reached "You’ll be out of here in no time," they smiled, charts in hand, voices warm with optimism. "Your vitals are strong, and your cognition is improving every day. Just keep resting, okay?"

But the truth was, you didn’t feel better.

You felt like you were drowning.

Not in pain exactly, though your head still throbbed sometimes and your body felt stiff in ways that made simple movements difficult, but in confusion. In the aching, suffocating emptiness where your memories used to be. People told you things: names, stories, reassurances. Faces came and went, some that sparked a flicker of recognition, most that didn’t. The world around you looked familiar, but distant like trying to peer through fogged glass at a life that had once been yours.

You tried so hard.

You spent hours straining your mind, pushing yourself to remember anything. A moment. A voice. A laugh. A feeling. You stared at photos, flipped through magazines, even listened to music they said you used to love. But it was all blank. All white noise.

So when the nurses brought you a puzzle and suggested you work on it to pass the time, you agreed because at least it gave your hands something to do. Something to focus on besides the panic always threatening to creep in at the edges of your silence.

You were bent over the little tray table, trying to find the right edge piece, when the door creaked open behind you.

At first, you didn’t look up. You assumed it was another nurse with more encouraging platitudes or another round of gentle cognitive tests. But then you heard his voice.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

“Hey...”

You turned slowly, and your eyes landed on a tall figure standing awkwardly just inside the room, his hand still resting on the door handle like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve come in. He looked nervous. His smile was small, but his eyes were filled with something else, something harder to define.

And something in you stirred.

You stared at him.

His face... it was like a name on the tip of your tongue. Like a dream you’d half forgotten the second you woke up. It pulled at something deep inside you, something quiet and buried.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just... I heard about what happened, and I had to see you.”

Your heart picked up speed.

There was something about the way he said it. Something real. Something that rang true in a way nothing else had since you woke up in this hospital bed.

You blinked fast, overwhelmed.

“Do I... do I know you?” you asked quietly, the words cracking on their way out.

The boy stepped forward slowly, eyes flicking toward the puzzle pieces, then back to your face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You do. Or... you did. I’m Jay.”

And then it hit you.

Like a rush of cold air after being underwater too long.

Jay.

You knew that name. You knew him.

It wasn’t everything not a full memory, not even close, but it was a spark. A sliver of light through the fog. You remembered the way he laughed, the way he talked too fast when he was excited. You remembered late nights and long walks, sitting on sidewalks and laughing at dumb things only the two of you found funny.

Your breath caught.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it was coming. Your hand reached up to cover your mouth as a sob built in your throat.

Jay’s face softened immediately, and before you could speak, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you gently, careful not to hurt you.

And you let him.

You let yourself sink into that hug, into the one familiar feeling you'd had in days. Your fingers clutched at the back of his shirt as you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his embrace, your body shaking from emotion you didn’t have words for.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you. And for a brief, flickering second, the ache in your chest eased. You weren’t drowning anymore. Not in that moment.

He remembered you.
And, finally you remembered something.

-

Jay stayed with you for a long time.

Longer than any of the doctors or nurses expected, longer than any other visitor had. And you didn’t mind. In fact, for the first time since waking up in that sterile white room, you felt… okay. Not good, exactly. Not whole. But safe. Familiar. Like the world around you had finally cracked open just a little bit and let in a beam of warmth.

He sat in the chair beside your bed, his body slouched like he’d done it a hundred times before. He looked around like he hated the hospital, called it “soulless,” said it didn’t suit someone like you and you laughed at that. It was a genuine laugh. Small, but real. You didn’t even realize how long it had been since you’d felt one rise naturally from your chest.

Jay began to tell you stories. Small, scattered things. Fleeting moments from your childhood, things he said the two of you used to joke about. He mentioned how you used to dare each other to jump into freezing water at the lake near your old neighborhood. How you used to call his mom “Mom #2” and how she always made your favorite pancakes with too many chocolate chips. He told you about a time you’d both skipped school and gone to a matinee movie, just the two of you, stuffing your pockets with snacks and swearing the popcorn had never tasted better.

You didn’t remember the details, not really, but the way he told them made you believe they were true. Made you feel like somewhere, deep down, maybe those memories were still there. You smiled as he spoke, sometimes even laughed softly, and each time you did, he smiled wider. Like he was proud of himself. Like helping you feel something again meant something to him too.

Then, after a pause, his tone changed.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the hallway outside. He leaned forward, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was about to say. His voice lowered, gentled, but carried a certain edge beneath the softness.

He started talking about Minho.

“You might not remember him,” Jay said slowly, “but… maybe that’s for the best.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the name. Minho. It tugged at something in your chest, nothing solid, but not nothing either.

“He’s not who you think,” Jay continued. “Everyone acts like you two were some kind of perfect couple, but I was there. I saw what it was really like. He was bad news. Controlling. Jealous. He made you change cut people off, stop doing things you loved. You stopped talking to me because of him. Said he didn’t like the way I ‘got in the middle.’”

You blinked, the confusion settling heavy over your features.

“I’m not saying this to upset you,” he added, eyes searching yours. “I just want you to be careful. If you don’t remember him, don’t let anyone rush you into something you don’t feel. Don’t let them convince you of a version of the past that wasn’t real.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared down at your hands, now limp in your lap. The warmth you’d felt earlier had started to drain away, replaced by a fog of doubt. Who was Minho to you, really? What did you forget?

Jay noticed your silence. He reached out and gently touched your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving your fingers a soft squeeze. “I didn’t mean to drop all that on you. I just… I care about you. I always have.”

And when he stood to leave, hours later, after the sun had shifted across the room and the nurses had come in twice to check your vitals, you felt a panic rise in your chest. You didn’t want him to go.

You didn’t want to be alone again.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” you asked, your voice small.

His eyes softened, but he shook his head. “I want to. I do. But they said visiting hours are over. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

And for some reason, that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes again. He stepped close, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and said gently, “Try to rest. Don’t think too much. Just take it one day at a time.”

You nodded.

But once he was gone, and the door clicked shut behind him, the room suddenly felt colder. And quieter. And your thoughts, once briefly still, began to race again.

Who was Minho?

And why did Jay’s words make something in your heart feel uneasy?

Minho was going crazy.

Not in the dramatic, exaggerated way people throw that word around. He was unraveling in real time, second by second, thread by thread, as the hands of the clock moved painfully slow.

It had been exactly three hours since Jay walked into your hospital room. Minho knew because he’d been counting. Watching the time tick by on the faded wall clock above the nurses’ station like it was mocking him. Every minute that passed with Jay in your room and not him made something deep inside his chest tighten.

He’d tried everything.

First, he asked the nurses calmly if he could go in, just for a moment. They said no. Said they’d been advised to limit your visitors for your “emotional recovery.” He reminded them, again that he wasn’t just anyone. That he’d been there every day since the accident. That he’d slept in those hard plastic chairs outside your room. That he’d sat by your bedside, talking to you even when you couldn’t respond. That he loved you.

They gave him tight smiles. Apologetic, tired ones. “We understand, Mr. Lee, but she needs time. She was very distressed last time. We’re following doctor’s orders.”

He didn’t yell. Not at first. He just clenched his jaw and walked away, pacing the hallway like a man trying to out-walk his own panic. But every so often, he returned. Softened. Pleaded. Asked a different nurse. Asked again. Just one of them to please, please check in on you, just make sure you were okay. That Jay wasn’t saying anything that might confuse or hurt you.

At some point, after the third nurse, the fourth, maybe the fifth, they stopped pretending to care. They brushed him off with distracted nods or curt reassurances. One even told him to go get some fresh air, that “hovering wasn’t helping anyone.”

He almost laughed at that. Hovering? He wanted to scream.

And then finally, finally, Jay emerged.

The door to your room swung open, and Minho’s heart immediately surged with hope. Maybe he could go in now. Maybe you were asking for him. Maybe you remembered.

But then he saw him.

Jay stepped into the hallway like he owned the place, his hands casually tucked in his coat pockets, that same smug, self-satisfied look on his face that Minho had hated since the very first time they met. The glint in his eye, the cocky tilt of his head, it was like he was silently daring Minho to say something. Like he wanted a reaction.

Minho stood frozen. His fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked. He could feel every part of his body screaming at him to move, to do something, to grab him, shove him against the wall, demand to know what he said to you. Because he knew Jay. Knew the games he played. Knew how good he was at twisting the truth, planting seeds of doubt.

He also knew how much Jay had always hated him.

Jay had never made a secret of it. From the very start, he’d done everything he could to tear the two of you apart. Told you Minho was bad for you. Controlling. Dangerous. Said things behind Minho’s back, things he couldn’t prove but could feel were poisoning you slowly. He'd always smiled to your face but looked at Minho like he was a threat. And now, with you vulnerable, confused, unable to remember, he finally had the chance to rewrite history. To plant his own version of the past in your head.

Minho could see it in the way Jay looked at him now. Like he’d won.

Jay gave a small, mocking nod as he walked past, brushing just close enough to Minho’s shoulder that it could’ve been an accident, but wasn’t. And Minho… Minho had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from doing something reckless. Something he’d regret.

He didn’t care what the nurses said anymore.

He needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes and hear your voice. To remind you of the truth, your truth and not whatever lies Jay had just spent three hours feeding you.

Minho waited until Jay disappeared down the hallway before moving.

He lingered just out of view behind the corner of the hallway, where the nurses wouldn’t notice him, where the monitors wouldn’t give away his presence. He was done being brushed off, done being treated like he was some stranger hovering around a patient who didn’t want him. Because he knew the truth, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

He had spent every day since the accident aching to be by your side. But for hours now, he had paced, waited, begged just for a chance to see you. And now, Jay was finally gone. The coast was clear. The nurses were distracted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your door stood slightly open. Like fate had finally cracked a window in the thick, suffocating wall that had kept him out.

He moved quickly, quietly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he swore it echoed through the floor.

As he stepped into the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him made you look up from a puzzle on your tray.

The moment your eyes landed on him, something shifted.

Minho froze.

You were staring at him, not with recognition, not with warmth, but with the same look you’d had the first time you saw him after waking up: confusion. Hesitation. That faint edge of alarm. It hit him like a punch to the chest. He didn’t even get a word out before he saw your hand move not toward him, but toward the red call button clipped to the side of your bed.

His instincts kicked in. He stepped forward quickly and reached out, not to hurt, not to scare, just to stop you. His hand gently covered yours, just before your finger could press it.

"Please," he breathed out, his voice cracking already. “Just… please. Just give me a minute. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

You stared at him, your lips parted but no words coming out. Your hand under his didn’t move, but you didn’t pull away either. You were trying to place him, he could see it in your eyes. Like your brain was flipping through the pages of a book that had been burned halfway through, trying to find a sentence that made sense.

He pulled his hand back, slowly. Raised both palms, like he was surrendering.

“I know you don’t remember me,” he said softly. “I know I’m just some… stranger in your eyes. I get it. I saw it the second you looked at me. But I’m not a stranger. I’m not.”

You were still silent. He didn’t even know if you were hearing him, really hearing him, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out now. They’d been bottled up for too long.

“I’m Minho,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m the guy who’s been here every day. I’ve been sitting outside that door since the day they brought you here. I slept in that chair—” he gestured to the hard plastic seat by your bed “—because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. Not even for a second.”

Your expression didn’t change, and that broke him a little more.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

His throat tightened, and he looked down, trying to blink back the sting in his eyes, but it was no use. The tears came. Quiet, helpless tears. The kind that didn’t come from just sadness, but from fear. Fear that you were slipping through his fingers. That he’d already lost you, not to death, but to forgetting.

“I don’t know what Jay said to you,” he said, barely able to speak through the lump in his throat, “but whatever it was… whatever he told you… it’s not the whole story. Please don’t let him be the one to define us.”

You watched him. Still silent. Still unsure. Your eyes were softening, but you didn’t speak, and he didn’t push you.

“I just want a chance,” he murmured. “To help you remember. To remind you who we were. Who we are. Even if you never remember, even if it takes forever, I’ll be here.”

He let the silence settle then, stepping back just enough to give you space, but close enough that you could still feel the weight of his presence. His heart was in his hands now, and all he could do was wait.

When you didn’t respond, didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t even blink for what felt like an eternity, Minho felt something inside him shatter.

He had come in here, heart in his hands, stripped raw with desperation and grief, hoping that something in you would remember him. Hoping your silence meant your mind was turning over something familiar, that maybe, maybe some part of you was starting to click into place.

But you just… stared.

Like he was nobody. Like he hadn’t spent years building a life with you. Like he hadn’t held you on the nights you couldn’t sleep, memorized the rhythms of your laugh, or traced every line of your face a thousand times. You stared at him like he was just another person in a room full of machines and white walls.

And he couldn’t take it.

He wiped at his cheeks roughly, turning away so you wouldn’t see the full force of it, the way his face twisted as he tried to swallow the hurt. He muttered something under his breath, barely audible but bitter. A curse word. Anger at himself, at the situation, at fate for putting the person he loved most in front of him only to make her forget who he even was.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said, voice flat now, hollowed out by pain. “Maybe you’re better off without me if you really don’t see anything left. If Jay already got in your head, maybe I was stupid to think—”

He turned, hand reaching for the doorknob. He was about to walk out, to disappear the way everyone seemed to want him to.

But then, your voice cut through the quiet.

“Wait.”

It was soft. Hesitant. But enough.

He froze mid-step, his fingers resting against the cool metal of the door handle, shoulders rigid as he slowly turned back around to face you.

You looked nervous. Your eyes flickered between his and your own hands, which were now fidgeting with the edge of the blanket in your lap. You swallowed before speaking again, voice still unsure but steadier.

“Jay… he told me things. About you. About us.”

Minho stayed still, his gaze locked on you, not daring to interrupt.

“He said…” you hesitated, trying to remember the exact words, “that we were together. But that you weren’t good for me. That we were toxic. He said you… made me feel small. That you made me cry a lot. That I changed when I was with you, and not in a good way.”

You looked at him now, not with confusion, but something else. Something bordering on hurt. Vulnerability.

“I don’t remember those things,” you said. “But I don’t remember not feeling that way either. So how do I know what’s true?”

Minho’s jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t lash out. He didn’t defend himself with rage or denial. Instead, he just looked down, breathing through his nose, composing himself before speaking.

You continued, quieter now. “I want to believe you. I really do. But right now… I believe Jay. Because he’s the only one who’s reminded me of anything. He made me laugh. He told me stories I could almost remember. And you… you just make me feel confused. Scared.”

Minho winced like you’d hit him, but still he didn’t walk away.

Then, you said the words that changed everything.

“So prove him wrong.”

The room went still again, but this time it was charged. Like the air had shifted.

Your voice steadied with the weight of your decision. “If everything he said is a lie, then prove it. Prove to me that I wasn’t wrong to love you. Prove that I didn’t make a mistake.”

Minho stared at you for a long time. His heart still ached, but now there was something else, something sparking behind his eyes. A flicker of hope.

He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

“I will,” he said, voice thick but firm. “Whatever it takes. I’ll remind you of every good thing. Every moment that mattered. And I’ll do it without pushing, without rushing. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. But I won’t stop until you see the truth.”

His expression softened. “Because I know what we had. And I know what kind of man I am when I’m with you. That’s what I’m going to show you.”

You nodded, unsure of what you were agreeing to, but willing to let him try.

And for the first time since everything changed, there was a thread, thin, fragile, but real connecting the two of you again.

The morning sun filtered gently through the half-closed blinds of your hospital room, casting soft gold streaks across the floor. You had barely slept, your mind buzzing from the night before, Minho’s visit, his tears, his voice as he pleaded for you to remember him, to trust him. Something about the way he looked at you had stayed with you long after he left. It felt too intense to be fake. Too familiar to be made up.

Still, when Jay showed up early, carrying a takeout tray of warm breakfast and that easy, familiar smile of his, you felt the same uneasiness. He looked like a piece of a memory you couldn’t quite reach but almost could. The way he greeted you, cheerful, teasing, like you’d just seen him yesterday, felt grounding. It made the confusion from the night before quiet down a bit.

“I brought your favorite,” he said, holding up the tray with a dramatic grin as he set it down on your tray table. “Okay, well, at least what I think used to be your favorite. I might be wrong. But I’m also usually right.”

You smiled small, but genuine and he noticed, clearly pleased with himself. He helped you unwrap the meal, cutting pieces where you struggled, holding your water cup steady. It wasn’t the most graceful moment, but he filled the quiet with light jokes and soft reassurances. You laughed once, softly. He smiled wider.

Then, between bites, you spoke.

“Minho came by last night.”

Jay’s hands stilled.

You didn’t notice right away. You were focused on your fork, pushing around a piece of fruit.

“He just… showed up. The nurses didn’t know he came in. He said he loves me.”

The silence between you and Jay stretched suddenly. When you finally glanced up, his face had changed. He was no longer smiling.

Jay set the cup in his hand down slowly, his eyes scanning yours as if trying to read how deeply you meant what you were saying. “He said he loves you?”

You nodded. “I don’t remember everything. I still don’t. But something about the way he said it… felt real.”

Jay leaned back slightly, his mouth tightening into a line. His voice dropped, no longer as playful as it had been just moments ago.

“I told you, he’s not what he says he is,” he said. “Minho might look convincing, but he’s good at that. That’s the problem.”

You furrowed your brow, unsure.

“He said he’d prove it,” you murmured. “That he’d show me what we had.”

Jay sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. “I didn’t want to do this unless I had to,” he said, unlocking the screen, “but I can’t sit here and let him manipulate you again. Not after everything I watched him put you through.”

You watched as he tapped a few times on the screen before turning it toward you.

There were screenshots, texts. They looked like messages from Minho. Angry words, frustration, accusations. “You never listen to me,” one said. Another: “I’m not doing this anymore, you're impossible.”

You stared at them, trying to make sense of the harsh tone. You didn’t know enough to understand the context, but it felt like something. Like a warning. Maybe Jay had been right.

Then he showed you a photo. You weren’t in it, but it was of Minho, arms around another girl at what looked like a party, dim lighting and loud energy caught in the background. Jay didn’t even explain it; he just let it sit there between you.

“You still want to believe he’s the kind of person who’ll prove anything?” he asked softly, but there was an edge under it. “He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t know if the texts were real. You didn’t know if that girl in the picture was just a friend. But Jay sounded so sure. And you didn’t remember anything to fight what he was saying. All you had were emotions, and right now, they were tangled and contradicting.

You looked down, quietly.

Jay noticed, leaning forward a little. “I’m not trying to control what you do. But I’m your friend. I care about you. I’ve always been the one who told you the truth, even when it hurt.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say.

Outside your room, the hallway stirred faintly with movement. Unseen by you or Jay, Minho had arrived, earlier than expected, just like he promised himself. And he had heard just enough to stop him cold in his tracks.

-

Minho stood frozen just outside the doorway, the hospital corridor quiet around him except for the low hum of distant monitors and footsteps. He hadn’t expected Jay to be there again, hadn’t expected that.

He had arrived early, just like he told himself he would, carrying a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Inside were pieces of your shared life: polaroid photos from your first trip together, a worn hoodie he knew you used to steal from him when you couldn’t sleep, a playlist he'd burned onto an old CD because you once said you missed mixtapes. He was ready. He had come here to remind you who he was, who you both were.

But now, as he stood just out of view and listened to Jay’s voice, quiet but sharp, digging into your uncertainty, Minho felt his stomach turn.

"He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself."

Minho’s fingers clenched around the strap of the duffel bag.

Jay’s voice dripped with conviction, too confident, too rehearsed. And the worst part was, you weren’t arguing. You weren’t correcting him. You weren’t defending Minho at all. You were silent.

That silence did something to him.

Minho could feel the heat rising in his chest, shame, frustration, fear, all wrapped tight together. His jaw tensed, his throat burning. He wanted to burst in, tell you Jay was lying, that he had twisted every story, poisoned everything good between you. But he knew how that would look. Sound. Emotional, desperate, unstable. Exactly how Jay wanted him to look.

He backed away from the door, slowly. His breath was uneven, and he could feel his hands shaking as he tried to keep himself calm. This wasn’t just about you not remembering him anymore. This was about someone else rewriting the memories you did still have. Someone you used to trust. Jay wasn’t just some ex-friend trying to help. He was rewriting history while Minho had to wait behind locked doors.

The weight of that was unbearable.

Minho turned and walked away from the door before either of you could see him, his mind racing, pulse hammering in his ears. He made it to the end of the hall and leaned heavily against the wall, his bag sliding off his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath that shook too hard to hide. You didn’t even look at him like you once had. You were starting to look at Jay that way instead.

He hated him. He hated him for being in that room. For sounding so sure. For smiling while you forgot everything Minho had fought to build with you.

But more than anything, Minho was terrified, terrified that this time, Jay might actually succeed in taking you away.

-

Minho couldn’t back down.

His chest burned with every step as he marched back toward your room, the echoes of Jay’s voice bouncing off the walls of his skull like static he couldn’t shut off. His hands were fists, white-knuckled, the strap of the duffel now hanging loose at his side, forgotten. He didn’t even remember dropping it.

All he could think about was you sitting there, looking at Jay like he was someone you could trust. Like he was the one who had stayed, who had held your hand during sleepless nights, who had loved you through every breakdown, every high and low. Like he was the one who knew how you liked your coffee, how you couldn’t fall asleep unless someone rubbed your back in slow circles. Like he was the one who had never left you, not once.

The door was cracked open.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed it open so hard it hit the wall with a thud.

Both you and Jay jumped, startled and before Jay could even rise to his feet, Minho was on him.

He stormed in like a wave breaking through a dam, grabbing Jay by the front of his hoodie and yanking him up so hard his chair scraped backward across the linoleum. Jay stumbled straight into Minho’s chest, caught in the grip of hands that had been trembling just seconds earlier.

“You’re done talking to her,” Minho growled, voice low and shaking with barely contained fury. “You’re done lying to her.”

Jay didn’t react the way Minho thought he would. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t shout. Instead, his lips curled faintly, not into a full smile, but just enough. Enough for Minho to see it. Just enough to feel sick.

Then, with the theatrical subtlety of someone who had rehearsed this very moment, Jay turned his face toward you. His expression shifted instantly eyes wide, breath shallow, voice trembling with false vulnerability.

“See what I mean?” Jay said, loud enough for you to hear. “This is what I’m talking about. This is how he is. You think I’m making it up? Look at him.”

Minho froze.

His eyes snapped to you. You were sitting up in bed, the half-eaten breakfast tray still beside you. You were staring at him, not scared exactly, but unsure. Shaken. Like someone who had just watched two parts of their fractured life slam together with no warning.

Minho’s grip loosened.

His hands fell away from Jay’s hoodie, and Jay took a dramatic step back, brushing himself off with an exaggerated tremble in his fingers. His eyes never left you, like he was waiting for you to flinch or speak or believe.

But it was Minho who looked devastated.

His chest was rising and falling too fast now, not from rage but from panic. His whole expression crumpled in front of you like a paper burned at the edges. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t come in here to make things worse. He had come to fight for you, but not like this.

He turned to you fully now, his voice cracking when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just… I heard him, and I lost it. I lost you, and now he’s trying to take what little I have left.”

He looked so different then, no longer the angry, storming version of himself that had burst through the door. He looked like a man barely holding it together. Like someone who had spent every second loving you, only to be shut out when you needed love the most.

And yet, he didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for you. He just stood there, waiting for you to decide what you believed.

Jay didn’t wait a second.

The moment Minho stepped back, just far enough for the tension to hang, thick and bitter in the air Jay straightened himself up, smoothing out his hoodie like it had actually been disturbed. His smirk had vanished again, replaced once more by that carefully measured, concerned expression he knew worked on people. The same one he used on teachers when he was younger, on your parents when he wanted their trust, on you now that he had your attention again.

He gave a subtle glance your way soft, comforting, almost protective. Like Minho was the threat and he was the shield.

Then he moved, stepping slightly in front of you not too obviously, just enough to make it seem like instinct. Like reflex. Like he was trying to keep you safe.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Minho look even more volatile in comparison.

“This is exactly what I was trying to explain to you,” Jay said, shaking his head like he hated being right. “You don’t remember what he’s like when he gets like this. You never liked seeing him angry, remember? I told you he was bad for you.”

He turned to you fully now, crouching down just enough so he could meet your eyes on the same level. His tone softened even more.

“I know it’s confusing,” he said, carefully, like he was walking you through a lie he’d practiced a hundred times. “Everything’s messed up in your head right now. I get it. But you have to trust what you feel. That sick feeling in your gut when he stormed in? That means something.”

Minho opened his mouth to speak, but Jay didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not trying to turn you against him,” Jay said quickly, eyes still on you. “I’m just reminding you what’s real. You were scared of him once. I was there. I saw it. He wasn’t good to you. Not really.”

That last part hit Minho like a slap, his fists clenched again, not to strike, but to hold back the scream in his throat. He wanted to yell that it was a lie, that you were never afraid of him, that everything Jay was saying was calculated, twisted, wrong.

But Jay’s trap was already set. Calm versus chaos. Friend versus partner. His words against Minho’s silence.

And Jay, he didn’t need to win the whole war. Just this one moment. Just enough to plant the seed of doubt.

So he placed a hand gently over yours on the blanket. Softly. Casually. And looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And Minho watched you, watched your face, your eyes, your hands under Jay’s as if he could still find the version of you that remembered.

Because Jay hadn’t won. Not yet. Not completely.

Minho stood there with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his other hand gripped tightly around the strap like it was the only thing holding him together.

He hadn’t come back that morning expecting a perfect reunion, he wasn’t that naive, but he hadn’t expected this either. Jay, already in your room like he belonged there. Jay, sitting at your side, feeding you bites of breakfast like it was normal. Jay, looking at him with that smug little grin barely hidden beneath faux concern. Like he’d already won.

Minho couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t watch someone else fill the space he’d been fighting to stay in. He’d spent the whole night digging through old things photos, playlists, that sweatshirt you always stole, things he thought might help trigger your memory, things he’d wanted to bring to you. To help you remember them. Remember him.

But instead, all he could do was stand there and watch Jay plant more lies in your mind. And you, you didn’t even know they were lies. You were just trying to survive inside your own confusion.

He lowered his head, letting his hand fall from the strap. He felt heavy. Tired in a way he hadn't even let himself admit until now.

“I’m going,” Minho muttered, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He didn’t look at you. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

You looked up, surprised. You hadn’t expected him to give up, not so suddenly, not when it was clear how much this meant to him. Jay didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair with a sigh, already satisfied.

“You should let him go,” Jay finally said under his breath, just loud enough for the silence to catch it. “He’s already done enough.”

Minho stiffened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t yell. He turned toward the door with heavy steps, his hand brushing against the knob.

That’s when you said it.

“Min.”

Just one word. Just that nickname. Small, almost unsure, but the second it passed your lips, it was like the entire room stopped breathing.

Minho froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, not all the way, just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes wide, almost disbelieving.

You saw it on his face immediately. Shock. Pain. Hope. All of it tangled together like a wound trying to heal too fast.

You didn’t even mean to say it. It had just slipped out, like it had been waiting quietly in the back of your mind for the right moment to rise. You didn’t remember everything. But something about the way he looked when he stood there, his shoulders hunched, that duffel bag barely clinging to him, his voice cracking, something about it broke your heart in a way that felt familiar.

Jay stiffened. His jaw clenched.

Minho turned fully now, his eyes locked on you. “What did you just say?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “Min…”

It felt real in your mouth. Natural. Like it always had been.

Minho took one slow step back into the room. His duffel bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.His eyes were glassy, his breathing unsteady.

“You used to call me that,” he whispered. “You used to call me Min. Everyday.”

Jay stood abruptly, suddenly aware that the atmosphere had shifted. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly. “It’s just a nickname—”

“Shut up,” Minho snapped, not even looking at him. His eyes stayed on you.

“I didn’t think you remembered anything,” he said, voice barely holding together. “But maybe… maybe something's coming back.”

Your heart beat faster. You didn’t know why you said it, but now that you had, you didn’t want to take it back.

And Minho saw it. That flicker of recognition. The sliver of light trying to break through the dark.

It started like a whisper in the back of your mind.

As soon as the word “Min” left your mouth and you saw the way his eyes lit up, wet, wide, desperate, you felt something inside you shift. Something warm and painful and real. It didn’t come in a rush, didn’t hit you like a bolt of lightning the way people said memory sometimes did. It was softer than that. Like the faint flicker of a candle in a pitch-dark room. A glow you hadn’t seen in so long you forgot it was even there.

Minho took a careful step toward you, his expression so gentle, as if any wrong move might scare the moment away. Jay was saying something beside you, probably trying to pull your attention back, but you didn’t hear it. You were looking at Minho.

“I… I think I remember something,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. You swallowed, and your hands gripped the edge of your blanket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “It was raining. And I didn’t have anywhere to go. My family, my mom said I couldn’t come back. She locked the door. Jay told me it was my fault, that I ruined everything, and I, I didn’t know where else to go. I felt so stupid.”

Minho’s breath caught in his throat. You could see the way his body tensed at your words. He knew exactly what you were remembering.

“I was soaking wet,” you continued. “It was late. I called you… we hadn’t even been together that long. I don’t even know why I called. I just—something told me you’d answer. You told me to come over, and when I did, you were already waiting outside. You didn’t say anything when you saw me. You just… held me.”

The memory unfolded like a fragile piece of paper being smoothed out. You remembered the warmth of his arms. The scent of his hoodie. The way he kept brushing your wet hair out of your face, even though you were shivering and crying too hard to even speak. And then later, curled up on the old pull-out couch in his apartment, when you finally managed to get the words out, how he’d looked at you.

And said, “You don’t have to earn love. Not here. Not with me.”

“I remember,” you said again, your voice cracking. “You gave me dry clothes and made tea even though you didn’t know how. You burned the first batch.”

Minho let out a short, broken laugh. He was already wiping his eyes before you even finished speaking.

“I did,” he said, voice thick. “I left the bag in for twenty minutes. You still drank it.”

“Because I didn’t want to be rude.”

“No, it’s because you were trying not to cry again.”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you didn’t even realize when a tear slipped down your cheek.

Then Minho suddenly knelt down and set his duffel bag on the chair beside your bed. He unzipped it with a hand that was shaking now for a different reason. He rummaged through it for a few seconds before he pulled something out, a crumpled gray hoodie.

Your eyes widened. You knew that hoodie. Your fingers itched just looking at it.

“I kept it,” Minho said, his voice soft. “You used to wear it every night for the first few weeks you stayed with me. Even after we moved in together. I found it in the bottom of your drawer. It still smells like you. I brought it… just in case.”

You reached out for it, your hand hesitant at first, but then firmer, more certain. When your fingers touched the worn fabric, another memory sparked, curling into yourself in the corner of his couch, that same hoodie swallowing your frame, while Minho sat beside you, holding your hand and talking you through your breathing.

Minho saw the recognition in your face and gently helped you hold the hoodie in your lap. He crouched beside the bed, both hands resting on the mattress as he looked up at you.

“I didn’t just take you in,” he said quietly. “I wanted you there. You didn’t ruin anything. You saved me too. And I’ve been trying to hold on to you ever since.”

Behind you, Jay shifted in his seat, but neither of you looked at him. His presence seemed to fade as the moment between you and Minho deepened.

“You really said that?” you asked, tears streaming now.

Minho nodded, his own eyes just as glassy. “Every word.”

And even though your mind still felt like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, one thing suddenly became very clear: Minho hadn’t just been someone you loved.

He was home.

Jay shifted in the corner of the room, his chair scraping faintly against the hospital floor, the sound sharp in the silence that had settled after you finished speaking to Minho. His eyes flicked from your tear-streaked face to the hoodie in your lap, then to Minho’s crouched form beside your bed. You could see the way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His whole body screamed discomfort not guilt, not regret, but defensiveness. Like a man losing control over a story he’d worked hard to rewrite.

He stood up.

“You can’t seriously believe all that,” Jay said, voice low but pointed. “It’s been months. You’ve been through a trauma. Your memory isn’t reliable. You don’t even know if what you’re remembering is—”

“Stop.”

Your voice cut through the room sharper than you meant it to, but you didn’t take it back. Jay flinched slightly, blinking like he couldn’t believe you’d raise your voice at him. You sat up a little straighter, hoodie still gripped in your lap, and looked directly at him, really looked. For the first time in days, something in your gaze felt solid. Anchored.

Jay’s mouth opened like he wanted to interrupt, but you kept going.

“I remember when everything fell apart. When my mom told me to leave. When I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. You were the first person I called.”

You paused, swallowing.

The image of yourself standing outside his apartment door came rushing back with more clarity than you were ready for, the rain slamming down so hard it felt like it was trying to punch through your skin. The thunder, the way your phone screen had gone blurry from the water, how your fingers had started to go numb from the cold.

“I called you. I begged you to let me stay for just one night. You answered the door, saw me standing there soaking wet, and you looked me in the eye and told me I’d made my choice.”

Jay’s face paled, but he didn’t speak.

“You said, ‘You wanted Minho so bad? Go ask him for help.’ And then you shut the door.”

Minho, still crouched beside your bed, slowly turned his head toward Jay with a look that was anything but forgiving.

Jay’s lips parted again, trying to find something to say, but you weren’t done.

“You let me stand in the pouring rain,” you said, voice cracking just a little at the edges now. “You knew I had nowhere else to go. And you punished me for being with someone who actually cared about me.”

Jay's expression flickered, his smugness cracked for the first time since you’d woken up in that hospital bed. And all he could muster was a weak, “That’s not how it happened.”

“It is how it happened,” you replied, without hesitation. “And the fact that you came here, pretending like I could trust you after that… that you twisted everything just so I’d forget him…”

You shook your head slowly.

“You don’t get to play savior, Jay. Not after abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

Silence fell heavy between the three of you. Jay looked like he wanted to argue, to find a thread to pull so the truth would unravel again, but there were none left. You had your piece. The memory, fractured though it had been, was real. You felt it in your chest like a bruise that had finally begun to heal.

Minho didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His hand quietly found yours on the bed, and you let it. No hesitation this time.

Jay stood there for a long moment, eyes bouncing between you both, before he scoffed under his breath,, more out of disbelief than anger and turned toward the door.

You didn’t stop him.

For the first time since the accident, Minho felt like he could breathe.

It wasn’t just a metaphor, his lungs physically expanded with the deepest breath he’d taken in days, maybe weeks. His shoulders, always tense lately like they were holding up the weight of the entire world, finally relaxed, even if only slightly. There was a softness in your expression that hadn’t been there before, a quiet kind of trust peeking through the fog of confusion and hurt. And for him, that was everything.

He exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief, as if he had been holding that breath in ever since you forgot him. Ever since you looked into his eyes in that hospital room and saw a stranger.

But now, the faint curve of your lips, the gentle smile you gave him told him that maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to see him again. Not just as a person, but as your person.

You tilted your head toward him, voice soft, curious. “What else did you bring?”

Minho’s eyes lit up.

He immediately reached for the worn black duffel bag he had placed beside your hospital bed, he’d been dragging it around since the night he left to gather everything he could find that might help you remember. His fingers moved gently, reverently, like he was handling something sacred as he lifted it onto your lap, careful not to jostle you too much.

“This,” he said, unzipping it, “is basically our entire life in a bag.”

He opened it fully, revealing a chaotic but heartfelt assortment of items: Polaroids, little keepsakes, your favorite hoodie of his (the one you used to steal every other week), and even a coffee mug that had a tiny chip on the rim, something you always teased him for never replacing.

He pulled out the first photo, its edges slightly curled. It was a candid one, taken at the beach on your first trip together. You were mid-laugh, wind tangling your hair, Minho’s arm looped lazily around your waist. He handed it to you, watching carefully for your reaction.

“I took this one the day you said the sea always made you feel like you belonged to something bigger,” he murmured. “We got sunburned that day because we forgot sunscreen. I remember you yelled at me for it and then made me rub aloe vera on your back like twenty times.”

A small laugh slipped out of you, and his heart swelled.

One by one, he pulled out more, A charm bracelet with a single initial, M, you had bought it at a market and insisted on wearing it every day, even though the chain was barely holding together. Your shared apartment’s spare key, taped to a sticky note with your handwriting on it: “Don’t lose this, dummy.” And then finally, a notebook. Minho opened it and flipped to the dog-eared pages.

“This was your dream journal,” he said quietly. “You used to wake me up at like 2 AM just to write down the weird dreams you had. Sometimes they were scary, sometimes they made no sense, but you never wanted to forget them. You said they meant something. That all dreams do.”

You took the notebook slowly, running your fingers over the cover like it was a relic from another life. And in a way, it was.

“You kept all this?” you whispered.

“I kept everything,” he said. “Even the smallest things. Because you never know what will mean something later. What might bring you back.”

For a long time, you didn’t say anything. You just looked through the contents of the duffel bag, piece by piece, and with each item, something in your face softened. The fog hadn’t cleared completely, but there were pockets of clarity now, glimpses of the life you’d had, the love that still waited patiently for you to remember it.

Minho didn’t rush you. He just sat beside your bed, one hand loosely holding yours, hope flickering steadily in his chest now.

He had brought your life back to you. And this time, you didn’t push it away.

Minho stayed with you the entire time, watching with quiet devotion as you sifted through the pieces of the life you had forgotten.

Each item was a breadcrumb leading you somewhere deeper, somewhere softer, toward a version of yourself that still felt far away but not impossible to reach. You didn’t rush. You turned every photo gently in your hands, paused over every note, reread every little caption or scribbled doodle. You could feel the weight of them, not just the physical weight, but the emotional one. These weren’t just things. They were echoes. Proof of something real.

And Minho never said a word. He didn’t press you or try to force anything. He just stayed.

Eventually, the silence settled around you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt like safety, the kind that could only exist between two people who didn’t need to fill every space with words. His head had slowly tipped back against the chair, his arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out in front of him. His breathing had gone soft and steady, and you glanced at him through the corner of your eye.

He’d fallen asleep.

You stared at him for a long while, taking him in again, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks, the slight crease between his brows that made it seem like he never fully relaxed, not even in sleep. There was a gentleness to him in that moment that tugged at something in your chest. You had this strange feeling like you’d seen him sleep like this before.

And then it hit you.

The memory didn’t return like lightning. It came in quietly, softly, almost like a dream.

You remembered a night, not too long after you’d first moved in with him. It had been raining. You were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. The reality of what had happened, being kicked out by the people you once called family, losing your home, your stability had hit you like a tidal wave. You remembered how you had been trying so hard to stay strong for days. But that night, you broke.

And Minho… Minho didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to tell you that it would all be okay. He didn’t offer platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. Instead, he’d knelt down beside you and just… held you.

He’d pulled a hoodie over your head, one of his, because you were shivering. He wrapped you in his arms like a fortress and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

And you had cried in his arms that night, not because you were weak, but because you were finally safe enough to fall apart.

The memory washed over you like warmth, like light breaking through after weeks of storm.

You looked back down at the things in your lap, and your fingers found the exact hoodie from that night, the one he had wrapped around you like a second skin. You held it against your chest, letting yourself feel every layer of the moment return. The rain. The ache. His voice.

And for the first time since the accident, the memory didn’t feel like a puzzle piece struggling to fit. It felt like something that had always been there. You had just forgotten where to look.

You turned back to Minho, still sleeping in the chair beside you, and whispered so quietly that only the stillness could hear:

“I remember.”

Minho stirred awake slowly, his body stiff from sleeping upright in the hospital chair, neck craned slightly to the side. He blinked a few times, disoriented, until his eyes adjusted to the soft morning light spilling in through the blinds. The rustling of the blanket over your legs caught his attention, and when he looked up fully, his breath caught.

You were watching him.

There was something different in your expression this time gentler, steadier. Your eyes weren’t clouded by confusion or hesitation. They were clearer, like something inside had clicked into place, even if just partially.

“Hey,” he said groggily, straightening up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You shook your head and gave him a small, knowing smile. “It’s okay. You were here.”

That alone made his chest tighten. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, searching your face like he was still afraid it might disappear.

Then you spoke again quietly, but firmly. “Minho… I remember.”

His heart stopped.

You saw the way his entire body froze, his mouth parted like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly. Before he could ask, before he could even breathe, you continued.

“I remembered that night,” you said softly, your fingers running along the edge of the hoodie in your lap, the one he’d given you all that time ago. “That night I stayed with you. After everything happened with my family… with Jay.”

His throat bobbed, overwhelmed.

“I remembered the rain. I remembered standing outside Jay’s place soaked and scared, calling him and him hanging up on me. And I remembered you, Minho. You opened the door to your apartment and didn’t even ask me why I was there. You just… pulled me inside and told me I wasn’t alone.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists in his lap. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to not break down right then and there.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as I woke up this morning,” you added, voice faltering, “but Jay got here first. And I— I didn’t want to say anything with him in the room. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. So… I waited. I pretended I didn’t remember. Because I wanted to say it to you. First.”

Minho let out a choked sound, like something between a laugh and a sob. “You remembered,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “You remembered.”

You reached out and took his hand, your grip still tentative, still cautious, but it was yours. And it was real.

“My memories are still… fuzzy,” you admitted, “like I’m walking through fog. But I remember you. I remember how you made me feel. Safe. Seen. Loved.”

Tears welled up in Minho’s eyes again, but this time he didn’t look away. He let them fall, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against your joined hands. “That’s all I need,” he whispered. “I’ll remind you of the rest. No rush. Just… let me stay. Let me be here.”

You smiled, heart aching with something so full it nearly brought you to tears. “I never wanted you to go. Even when I didn’t remember, some part of me missed you.”

Minho lifted his head, looking at you with awe, like you were a miracle he still couldn’t quite believe had returned. “You came back to me,” he whispered.

“No,” you corrected gently. “You never left me.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that there were still gaps in your memory or questions left unanswered. What mattered was that the one person who had held you through the darkness was still here, steady as ever, ready to walk you home, one step at a time.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

a/n: ending was a little rushed i’m sorry 🙃. “jay” is someone i made up, not an idol 👍

[permanent taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[TSYL taglist @ari-hwanggg]

[haikyu-mp4]

Damning evidence – Daichi x reader wc 846 – f!reader requested by @cottonlemonade for A blast from the past, parenting edition<3

Your lips were pursed when your husband got home from work in the late afternoon, and you gestured for him not to take his uniform off. He had been working overtime to earn a bit extra for your son’s upcoming school trip, but he would have to do a little work at home, too. “Our neighbour was just here.”

“The one with all the cats or the one with the annoying tree,” Daichi asked, leaning in to peck your forehead in greeting before toeing off his shoes.

“The one with the cats,” you confirmed, nodding slowly.

Daichi squinted at you. “And?”

“One of those cats was missing when she came home from work. She had reasons to believe it was a catnapping.” Doing your best not to chuckle, you gave Daichi the information you had gotten from the lady before pointing over your shoulder and lowering your voice. “I think our son stole the cat.”

Daichi’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“There was a very clear meow from his room when I knocked on the door asking if he wanted dinner before or after you got home. He said that he needed to do some homework. In other words, he asked me not to come in.”

You finally cracked, letting out a little snort of laughter at the same time as Daichi did, and you both spent a minute leaning on each other and snickering at your son’s ridiculous crime. Daichi was quite hungry, so you also stopped by the kitchen for an apple and had a briefing on his day before you made your way to the stairs. “Good cop, bad cop?” you asked.

“I’m thinking cop,” Daichi pointed to himself, then to you. “Mother.”

You snorted, waving him off. “You’re an idiot.”

Daichi scoffed in insult, gesturing to his well-worn uniform and looking somewhat cocky in his next words. “I’m literally a cop.”

You knocked on your son’s door, opening it despite his urgency in telling you to keep out. “We have a warrant!”

Walking inside calmly, you just managed to see your son using his foot to push something under his bed before he turned to you like the young gentleman he was. “Dad! ‘Sup, how was work?”

“You can address me as Officer Sawamura.” You did a double-take and looked at your husband with surprise, before following his lead.

“The police came, they’re investigating a catnapping. A kidnapping. Of a cat.”

“Oh, that’s a shame for real,” your son empathised. You nodded in agreement.

“A meow was reportedly heard from this room about an hour ago,” Daichi told him, pretending to read from the little notebook he had pulled from his uniform pocket. “We have reason to believe you were involved in the kidnapping.”

Your son scratched the back of his head and used the tip of his slipper to draw patterns on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe the cat distribution system found a new home for it.”

“Evidence number two.” By now, you were watching Daichi just as curiously as your son was watching nervously. “The wrapper from a cat food packet. Found in the trash can downstairs.”

Your son chuckled awkwardly and looked at you. “Damn, mom. Didn’t know you ate those.”

Holding a hand over your mouth, you pretended to be coughing to hide any hint of a snicker. “I don’t.”

“Son, please be honest with us,” Daichi requested, finally done with the script he had made up while going up the stairs.

“That’s pretty damning evidence, honey,” you added, walking over to your son and patting him on the back. “Is there a cat under your bed?”

Just as you said that, a grey cat made its way out from under the bed, licking its lips before meowing again. The boy sighed. “There was.”

Daichi picked up the cat, scratching it around the neck. “Why did you steal it?”

“I wanted to show this girl in my class. Her cat died, and she’s been so sad about it,” he muttered.

You looked at Daichi with a pout, and he seemed equally moved by the purpose. “That’s valiant of you, but you could have just asked to go pet the cats.”

Groaning, he rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Return the cat before dinner. Tell her about the girl, she’ll forgive you right away,” Daichi instructed, a caring smile on his face. “And you’re grounded for the rest of the week, no computer except for doing homework.”

“Fine.” He took the cat from his dad, huffing in annoyance before stomping down the stairs.

Daichi looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows. “Want me to make that two weeks?” he yelled.

Shaking your head affectionately, you gave your husband a big smooch on the lips before following your son down the stairs to get dinner started. Meanwhile, you wondered if Daichi remembered that time he cut his neighbour’s flowers with scissors to bring you a nice bouquet for your first date, back when you were teenagers. Like father, like son.

masterlist

[smutmind]

RENT IS PAID

Minnie X Male OC

The room smelled like warm laundry, candle wax, and the sweet rot of an untouched peach in the sink.

Minnie stood in front of the fan in her cutoff tank and cotton shorts, belly bare, shirt clinging to the slight curve of her breasts. She swayed in place, distracted by the heat, licking popsicle juice off her knuckle.

The knock startled her.

She opened the door without thinking—still barefoot, still sticky—and blinked up at Mr. Vega.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her. His gaze dropped, lingered at the soft dip between her ribs and waistband.

Her arms instinctively crossed over her stomach. “Hi,” she said quickly. “Is it—? Oh.”

He stepped inside without asking. “It’s the twelfth, Minnie.”

“I know,” she said. She curled her toes on the carpet. “I—I haven’t gotten it yet. I will.”

He nodded slowly. His eyes didn’t leave her. “You always say that.”

“I’m trying, I swear.”

Mr. Vega looked around. Dirty plates on the windowsill. Crumpled receipt on the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck, then let that hand drop—too close, brushing the side of her hip. She tensed.

“There are other ways to settle a debt,” he said. “If you’re open.”

She blinked. “Like… chores?”

His lips curved. “Not exactly.”

Minnie swallowed. Her heart thudded a little faster. “I don’t—I mean, I can’t just…”

His hand grazed her stomach. Just fingertips. Light, like testing how far she’d let him go. She gasped—then froze.

“You’re real pretty, you know that?” His voice was low. “Always walking around like this. Teasing.”

“I—I’m not—” Her voice caught. She backed toward the kitchen counter. He followed.

“Minnie,” he said, quieter now. “I’m not going to make you do anything. But if you want help… real help... I’d want something honest.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, brushing her side again. “Just think about it.”

She bit her lip, chest rising with shallow breaths. She didn’t say no.

She didn’t say yes, either.

“I am thinking,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked to her lips.

Her breath hitched. “Do people really do that?”

He stepped closer. “Sometimes.”

She didn’t move away.

Her fingers curled on the counter’s edge. “And if I did? What would you… want?”

His hand hovered at her waist again. “Just you. Like this.”

She looked down at herself—bare midriff, shorts low on her hips. Her stomach fluttered under his gaze.

“And if I say yes?” Her voice cracked.

“I’ll take care of it. All of it.” He touched her, firm now. Palm flat against her hipbone. “You just nod, Minnie. That’s all.”

She stared at him.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

The shift was instant.

His mouth was on hers—deep, hungry. One hand cupped her jaw, the other slid under her shirt, warm on bare skin. She gasped into him. His fingers splayed across her lower back, drawing her in until her hips pressed flush against him.

Her body answered before her mind could catch up. She arched into his chest, hands bunching in his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’ve never…” Her voice vanished.

“I’ll be careful.”

He lifted her onto the counter. Her legs opened, unthinking. He stepped between them, hand tracing the inside of her thigh. She shivered, clinging to his shoulders.

His mouth dropped to her neck, lips grazing her pulse. “You still sure?”

Minnie nodded again. Barely. But she did.

“You’re still not saying anything,” he murmured, lips brushing her jaw.

Minnie’s breath fluttered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to. Your body’s louder than words.”

He kissed under her ear and felt her shiver. His hands moved slowly—just fingertips now—along the bare skin of her sides, tracing the space between her top and shorts. He watched her eyes close.

“Sensitive, huh?” he said.

Her head dipped, cheeks hot. “I didn’t know I was.”

He chuckled. “That’s the best kind.”

His hands slipped higher, under the tank. Her stomach jumped under his touch. When his thumbs brushed just under her bra, she sucked in a breath.

“Uhm,” she whispered.

Mr. Vega grinned. He loved watching her like this—barely keeping up with the pace of her own arousal. Her legs tightened around him when his palms cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing slow over her nipples through the thin fabric.

Her head tipped back with a soft gasp.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty you are like this,” he muttered.

“I—God,” she stammered, “I didn’t think it’d feel like—”

He tugged her tank higher, let it bunch just above her chest. She didn’t stop him. His mouth lowered. Lips, then tongue, over her nipple. She jolted—then whimpered. Her hand reached for his shoulder, fingers clutching tight.

“Oh, God—Mr. Vega—”

“That’s right. Say it like that.”

Her thighs squeezed his hips. He moved down, kissing a slow line from her chest to the soft slope of her belly. Her shorts shifted with every kiss. Her breath hitched at every new inch of skin he uncovered.

He glanced up.

“You okay?”

Her eyes met his. Wide. Dark. Her mouth opened—but no words came.

She nodded.

“Good.” His voice dropped. “Because I’m not stopping now.”

He pressed his palm against her mound, over the fabric. Her hips jerked.

“Fuck—” she whispered.

He watched her face, savoring every twitch. “That mouth of yours finally woke up.”

“I didn’t know it’d feel like that,” she whispered, dazed.

He smiled. “It gets better.”

Mr. Vega hooked his fingers in the waistband of her shorts.

She tensed. Not resisting—just holding her breath.

He looked up. “Still good?”

She bit her lip and nodded once.

He slid them down slow, thumbs grazing her thighs as he went. The cotton peeled off her skin, inch by inch. Her legs trembled, knees falling wider apart without her meaning to.

“No panties?” he murmured, voice thick.

Her breath caught. “I—I was hot.”

He laughed softly. “You’re perfect.”

He let the shorts drop to the floor.

Then he stepped back. Just for a moment. Just to look.

Her bare skin in the light. Her legs open, feet dangling off the counter. Her chest rising in quick little breaths, shirt bunched up, nipples flushed and stiff from his mouth.

“Goddamn, Minnie.” His voice was almost reverent. “Look at you.”

She blinked, lips parted. “Don’t stare like that.”

“Why not?” He stepped between her knees again. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kissed her stomach first—slow, deep kisses. Then lower. She gasped when his tongue flicked just below her navel.

“You’re shaking again.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He traced his fingers along her inner thighs, watching every twitch, every flutter. She made a soft, helpless noise when his thumb grazed the top of her slit.

“You like being touched here,” he whispered.

She nodded frantically, mouth slack.

“I can see it.” He parted her folds, slow and careful. “You’re soaked.”

Her hips bucked. “Oh—!”

He leaned in.

Minnie’s hand flew to his hair the second his tongue touched her. She whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his shoulders. Her heels dug into his back.

“Oh my God… oh—what are you—”

“You taste so good,” he said between strokes, voice vibrating against her. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

She moaned, head tipping back.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say what I’m doing.”

“You’re… you’re licking me,” she gasped.

“Louder.”

“You’re licking my pussy—”

He groaned into her, tongue circling faster.

She fell apart.

Minnie still trembled on the counter, legs weak, breath ragged.

Mr. Vega stood between her knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

“You’ve never come like that before, have you?”

She shook her head, cheeks flushed. “Never.”

He smiled. “Good.”

Then his hand slid to the back of her neck.

“You ready to be good for me now?”

Her lips parted. “What do you mean?”

“I want to see that pretty mouth of yours do something else.”

Her breath caught again. “Oh.”

He stepped back just enough to unbutton his jeans. Pulled himself free—hard, thick, flushed at the tip. Minnie’s eyes widened.

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.”

She slid down off the counter, legs shaky. The floor felt cold under her feet. She knelt in front of him without being told twice. Her eyes flicked up to his.

He stroked himself once, slow, guiding her closer. “You ever done this before?”

She shook her head again. “Never…”

He grinned. “Good. Then pay attention.”

He touched her chin, lifted her face.

“Open.”

She obeyed.

“Wider.”

Her lips stretched around him as he pushed in—slow, firm, deliberate. Her tongue flattened instinctively, her jaw tense with effort.

“Just like that,” he groaned. “You feel that? That’s mine now.”

She made a small sound, startled and flushed.

“Look at me when you do it.”

Her eyes rose to his. Her hands steadied against his thighs.

He rocked into her gently, watching her take more. Her gag reflex fluttered once—he stopped, stroked her cheek.

“You okay?”

She nodded, mouth still full, drool slipping down her chin.

“Messy girl. I like that.”

She sucked harder. His hand tangled in her hair, guiding her rhythm, low grunts spilling from his throat.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. That mouth—.”

She hummed around him, proud, even as her eyes watered.

And when he tensed—gripping her tighter, breath stuttering—he pulled back just enough to finish on her tongue.

“Open for me,” he said, voice rough.

She obeyed, tongue out, mouth wide.

He looked down at her, breathless. “Good girl. Keep it there. Let me see you swallow.”

She did.

Minnie wiped her mouth, still kneeling, face flushed, chest rising in soft, unsteady breaths.

Mr. Vega looked down at her—shirt open, cock glistening from her lips, still half-hard.

“You’re not done,” he said.

She blinked. “I’m not?”

He hauled her up by the arm—gentle, but with no room for doubt. She stumbled into his chest, breath catching as he turned her and bent her over the counter in one smooth motion.

Her palms hit the cold laminate. She gasped.

“You gonna let me take you?” he asked, voice close at her ear, one hand gripping her waist. “Like this?”

She nodded. “Please—”

He tugged her back by the hips, shorts still tangled around her ankles. Her ass arched up for him, bare and soft and trembling. His cock rubbed along her slit—slick, swollen, aching.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Dripping for it.”

She whimpered. “Just do it.”

He didn’t hesitate.

The head of his cock pressed against her entrance—slow, thick, stretching her inch by inch. She cried out, fingernails scraping the counter.

“Oh my god—he’s—” she gasped. “It’s so big—”

“Take it,” he grunted, pushing deeper. “All of it.”

Her body clenched tight around him, but she didn’t pull away. Her hips rocked back, desperate for more.

He bottomed out with a groan. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

She moaned—high, breathless.

Then he moved.

Long, deep thrusts—slow at first, letting her feel the weight of him inside. Her breath came in broken gasps, lips parted, drool slick on her chin. He gripped her hips hard, rhythm building, skin slapping skin.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s me fucking you. That’s rent. That’s mine.”

She couldn’t speak. Just nodded, moaned, shoved her ass back into him.

His hand came around, fingers finding her clit. She yelped.

“I want you to come again,” he said through gritted teeth. “All over my cock this time.”

Her whole body tensed—then bucked.

“Oh—fuck—I’m—”

She came fast, shuddering, crying out as her pussy clenched hard around him. He groaned, fucked her through it, pace turning brutal.

“Good girl. That’s it. That’s it—”

His thrusts grew wild—then sharp, then still.

He buried himself deep, hips pressed flush.

“Fuck—Minnie—fuck—”

She felt the heat of him inside, thick and pulsing.

They both collapsed against the counter, panting.

He pulled out slow, her legs shaking beneath her.

“Look at that mess,” he murmured.

She turned, cheeks pink, lips bruised, legs slick between the thighs.

“Are we… square?” she asked.

“Stand up,” he said, voice low but firm.

Minnie’s knees shook as he helped her off the floor. Her legs felt boneless, her mouth still wet from him, lips swollen. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Mr. Vega turned her around, bent her over the counter with both hands.

She gasped. “Wait—what are you—”

“You know what.”

Her chest pressed to the cold surface. Her ass arched up, exposed. She tried to look back, but he was already behind her—one hand on her lower back, the other guiding himself against her slick entrance.

“I’ve never—” she breathed.

He leaned down, mouth at her ear. “You’re about to.”

She trembled under him. “Please… gentle. I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” he growled. “You will.”

The head of his cock slid between her folds, wet with need and the mess from her mouth. He nudged in slowly—just the tip—and she tensed with a tiny, breathless cry.

“Oh—wait—”

He gripped her hips tighter. “You’re fine. Breathe.”

She did. Barely.

He pushed deeper. Thick, slow, stretching her inch by inch until her knees buckled and she whimpered into her arm.

“Too big,” she whispered. “I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he murmured, fully buried now, still. “You’re taking it.”

She trembled under the weight of him. Her body struggled to adjust, gripping him tight. He didn’t move yet—just savored the feel of her around him, her warmth, the pulse of her breath.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me inside you. Every inch.”

She nodded, face against the counter, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Move,” she said softly. “I—just go slow…”

He pulled back, then slid in again, smoother this time. Her whole body jolted.

“Fuck—” she whimpered. “Too deep—”

“Take it,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “You’re made for this.”

Her fingers curled against the counter. Her voice was a breathy mess of whimpers and sharp exhales. Every time he bottomed out, she made that tiny, broken sound that made him grunt harder.

“God, you feel good,” he said. “Tight little thing. You’re gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

“I don’t know if I can come again,” she gasped.

“You don’t need to. This is for me now.”

He fucked her harder—rhythmic, deliberate, hand sliding around to grab her breast, thumb flicking her nipple. Her body jolted.

She moaned—loud and raw. “Mr. Vega—”

“You wanted to pay with your body,” he growled. “This is what that means.”

She nodded into the counter, whimpering with every thrust. He was all she could feel.

His breath grew ragged. His pace faster. Hips snapping into her with loud, wet slaps that echoed through the tiny apartment. Her legs shook violently.

And then—he slammed in, deep, stayed there.

“Fucking hell—Minnie—”

She gasped as he came, hot pulses flooding her, thick and warm inside her body.

They stayed like that, frozen—his chest on her back, breath ragged in her ear.

She didn’t speak. Just let the tremble take her.

Then he pulled out, slowly.

His hand slid down to her thigh, wet with him, slick and shining.

“Look at the mess you made me make,” he said, low and hungry.

He pulled out of her slowly, cock slick, her pussy fluttering from the stretch. His come trickled down her thighs, hot against her skin.

She didn’t move. Just lay slumped over the counter, arms limp, chest heaving.

Mr. Vega bent down and kissed the curve of her lower back. “Come on,” he said softly. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

He carried her to the couch like she weighed nothing. Laid her down gently, then stretched out beside her.

She blinked up at the ceiling, dazed. Her thighs still twitched from aftershocks.

He slid his hand down between her legs—lazy fingers parting her lips again, stroking her slick clit in slow, teasing circles. She flinched.

“N-no—too much,” she gasped.

He didn’t stop. Just kissed her temple, then her neck. “You’ll take it.”

Her body jerked under him, hips trying to twist away, but her clit throbbed against his touch. He watched her face.

“You’re still so wet,” he murmured. “Still open for me.”

Her hands fisted in the blanket.

Then his other hand came up—cupped her breast, warm and firm. He leaned down and sucked her nipple into his mouth. She cried out, arching.

“M-Mr. Vega—”

“You like this,” he said against her skin, voice thick. “You’re too good not to.”

She was panting now, helpless. Legs falling open. Her hips lifted into his hand.

He didn’t stop.

Just circled her clit tighter, mouth flicking over her nipple until she shook beneath him again, mouth parted, eyes dazed.

Her body gave up a second time—softer, slower—her thighs twitching, pussy clenching around nothing.

He grinned.

Then whispered against her breast: “Rent’s paid.”

[minus-plus-zer0]

Drawing on His Face

Bakugou just looked too cute while he slept. 

You didn’t understand how he could be so handsome even while unconscious. He retained his adorable little scowl, like something managed to piss him off even as he napped. 

Bakugou should’ve known better than to sleep while you were around. He should’ve known better than to give you the key to his dorm. And he should’ve known better than to trust you wholeheartedly. Silly Bakugou. Silly, silly Bakugou. 

You uncapped your permanent marker with a cheeky grin. This would be the perfect payback for when Bakugou squished your face in public yesterday. You then lowered your marker onto his soft cheek, doodling god knows what without remorse. Nothing obscene, of course. But by the end his face was covered in your handiwork. 

You were putting the finishing touches when he finally woke up. 

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Bakugou grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you over, pinning you down by sitting on your stomach. 

“What were you doing?!” Bakugou snapped.

“Nothing!” you lied, trying to break free from under him. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

Bakugou spotted the marker that you dropped on his bed, right out of your reach. He snatched it before you could do anything else. 

Bakugou held the marker away from you as he grabbed his phone to check his face. His phone camera clearly reflected the damage you dealt to him. He put the phone away, a dark look shadowing over his face.

“Um… I’m sorry?” You raised a shaky smile.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Bakugou muttered. 

Bakugou drew forth the permanent marker, a feral grin now emerging. 

You squealed as you tried to push him off but Bakugou fought through your frantic hands and scribbled all over your face, grumbling all the while. When he finished, Bakugou capped the marker and threw it across the room. Now neither of you could doodle anything anymore. You whined in frustration, annoyed that your face was totally ruined by his latest flash of creativity. 

Bakugou inspected his penmanship. He cupped your jaw with one hand, his eyes relaxing as he gazed down upon your messy face.

“You look good,” he said, softly.

“You scribbled all over me!”

Bakugou scoffed. “You did it first!”

“Because you’re always teasing me! Why can’t I tease you right back?”

“You should’ve been more careful if you didn’t want to get caught!”

You knew he had a point, but you wouldn’t admit it. 

While still sitting on your stomach, Bakugou leaned down to hug your adorably angry self, squeezing the life out of your lungs. 

“Ya shouldn’t have woken me up,” Bakugou said, snuggling into you. “I’ve got you now… This is what you get for messing with me.”

You giggled as his face tickled your neck. “You’re sooooo annoying!”

“Am not!” Bakugou growled, digging his face further into you. 

Finally, Bakugou lifted his head and a look of surprise dawned on him. The markings on his face were smudged. He reached out to touch your neck and his fingers returned marked black. ”Crap…”

His new facial markings had smeared against your neck. Another annoyed look spread across your cute face.

“Oh no…”

“WELL IT’S NOT MY FAULT! THAT’S WHY YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DRAWN ON ME! NOW WE CAN’T CUDDLE! THANKS A LOT!” Bakugou sighed. “…Tch, you know what? I think I’ll cuddle you anyways.”

Bakugou angrily kissed your forehead, smudging some of his markings against yours. Blushing hard, Bakugou spat out a “Bleh!” and wiped his mouth. 

“Tastes funny,” he said, eyeing your flustered face with a giddy look of his own. He dove back in to nuzzle your neck and to plant kiss after kiss.

To ensure that you never played that prank again, Bakugou insisted that you two sleep together from now on in the same bed. After all, you couldn’t sneak off to get a permanent marker if he locked you in his arms for the night. He needed to make sure you stayed put.

At the very least, you didn’t mind this idea.

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 12/05

@carcinogeneticist-writes-fanfic asked: I know your policy has been to hold off listening to the official albums until you're done with HS and I totally get that, wanting to hear them in the context of the comic first is totally valid. That said, would you be willing to give early consideration to Michael Bowman's solo album, "Mobius Trip and Hadron Kaleido?" It's got the rather dubious honor of being one of only two or three official albums (out of like 30!) to NOT see any rep in the comic at all and I'd hate for you to miss out.

Found it on the Collection! It's generally a very chill album, with a lot of lower-energy tracks that might have been hard to fit in one of Homestuck's high-octane Flash animations.

It's not really my type of music, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate something different every once in a while! I think my personal favorite is Dawn of Man.

@likelyvampirical asked: While on the subject of Bowman, On The Thirteenth Day has been sent to you.

This one's fucking great. It feels like the kind of track you'd hear over the opening/ending to a Homestuck anime.

It also sounds vaguely like Sburban Jungle, but I don't know if I'd call it a remix; it feels more like it's gesturing meaningfully in Sburban Jungle's direction, which I like a lot.

@shelbybunny asked: re: voice headcanons in the (as of writing) latest ask comp; i think a good voice headcanon for John is Toby Fox’s voice in his ska cover of sunsetter or Michael Guy Bowman’s cover of How Do I Live

It's still so weird hearing Toby Fox's actual voice. He feels like the kind of guy who shouldn't have a concrete presence in our reality.

Anyway, these voices are both fairly close to how I imagine John sounding. Toby even looks somewhat like John - or, at least, his hair does.

@heattth asked: Hi, I believe you mentioned once that if Tumblr died you would continue this blog on Discord. I don't know how likely this is to happen, but, could I ask you which server that would be?

I currently run an on-and-off gaming Discord which is open to all the blog's followers. If Tumblr goes down for good, I might just convert it into the new primary liveblogging platform - although Discord has its own issues, so I'm not 100% committed to that. Guess we'll see what happens!

@manorinthewoods asked: I've heard the Hockerberts (Hockengberts?) called the House of J. Unsure how common that is. ~LOSS (28/4/25) @cationicflood asked: the prospit kids may also collectively be referred to as the J-squad, as all four of them have names beginning with J (this is a trait that i do not think any other character outside this group possesses)

Yeah, there's no real way to legibly combine all four names. I came up with 'Prospit Patrol' the other day, and I honestly kind of love it - but I guess that'd technically include the Prospit trolls, too.

Anonymous asked: i think the key difference between jade and jake’s social lives despite being completely isolated is that jade at least had bec and prospit. with jakes dreamself dead (which presumably never woke up) and no guardian to speak of, hes pretty much completely alone out there

Actually a very good point. We eventually learned that Jade was in contact with the White Queen, so she was doing some in-person socialization. Clearly, that mattered a lot more than I realized.

@morganwick asked: Recall that future Jade shared your frustration over causal time loops, wanting ideas to actually come from where they came from. She did manage to get Karkat to be just vague enough to get her to do what she wanted herself to do while still giving herself enough room to come up with as much of the idea as possible herself. Karkat technically didn't even tell her to captchalogue the window, only draw it, the assumption/understanding being that she'd use the scribblepad to do so.

I definitely like that interpretation a lot better than the idea that the information was spontaneously stable-looped into existence, so I'm adopting it as my personal canon. The less loop-generated intel we have, the better.

@that-good-ol-fashioned-mothgirl asked: funny how Jane “biggest fan of a baking empire” Crocker subscribes to empiricism

Clearly, an 'empire' is any organization that values tangible evidence over logical reasoning. Jane's brainwashing is clearly benign - the Condesce is just trying to make her a better skeptic!

@that-good-ol-fashioned-mothgirl asked: the green sun is the theoretically infinite felt on English’s temporal pool table

In other words, the entire multiverse is part of Lord English's game. Seems fitting to me.

@elkian asked: Something I put together recently thanks to your blogging: the more conventially intelligent/sapient a Sprite component, the better a Sprite can communicate with the Player. BUT, these are also more independent and can operate on their own impetus, proving in some cases (like Jadesprite) to be unwilling/unable to help the Player for whatever reason. It's a neat balancing mechanic.

That's actually a really good explanation for why Jadesprite was so independent.

She's not the only one who's exhibited this trait, either - Davesprite also seemed comfortable with resisting sprite programming!

@mhafanlol2000 asked: Dave spent his childhood with Cal, too, and he doesn’t seem hypnotized. What makes you so convinced that Dirk will turn out to be worshipping English, or something?

Ah, but Dave didn't actually own the doll.

Bro was the one carrying it around all day, and he can't be flash-stepping around Dave that often. For the majority of the time, he was the one receiving the lion's share of Cal's miasma, as he has been since the moment he was cloned.

Dirk is the same, of course, but he's only had Cal for sixteen years, while Bro was in his thirties, at least. Dirk seems a lot more normal than his counterpart, so we can at least assume he's less corrupted than Bro.

Anonymous asked: I'm not going to lie, the fact that the entire acts 1-5 of homestuck are ONE DAY is one of my favorite fucked up facts about this story. Like, honestly maybe more than 24 hours passed, but because we got untethered from Earth time immediately after entering and it's not like the Incipisphere has a day/night cycle, A VERY LONG MONDAY AFTERNOON INDEED

The second the camera cuts away from John and Jade, they're going to immediately pass out for a good twenty hours.

Hey, do we think Davesprite needs to sleep? Surely not, right? Alright, he can look after them, then.

@elkian asked: Just wanted to say that I'm loving the liveblog in general, and in particular I really like your take on how the Alpha timeline works. "Based on what this character would most likely do in this situation" not only frees it from some of the rigidity of predestination, which can definitely get stifling or flatten a story if taken too far; it's also a good explanation in terms of meta. It works as both a general explanation and story-themed one, and I like it a lot. Seems accurate, too!

You can thank Terry Pratchett for putting the idea in my head, back when I was first reading Night Watch. It's a really satisfying way to resolve the identity issues surrounding time travel, isn't it?

@drakethedeep asked: Keep that thought in mind regarding a timeline involving interfering with the green sun. On a similar train of thought, timelines seemed to become doomed when they can no longer contribute to the timeloop that created them to begin with. For example, in the first doomed timeline we see, because John dies, he cannot perform the ectobiology that results in the creation of him and his friends/family. so keeping that in mind, what conclusion/ theories about the alpha timeline do you have?

Initially, I thought that any timeline which could no longer satisfy its own loops would be instantly doomed - but that would have caused Davesprite's timeline to fade long before Future Dave actually left, since John's death immediately made the Veil cloning impossible.

However, the wording you use here comes close to fixing that issue. Davesprite's timeline could never fulfil the time loop created by John's Veil cloning - but it still contributed to the Alpha Timeline, via Davesprite. Maybe a timeline only fades once it can no longer contribute to the Alpha in any way whatsoever.

@wolygan asked: Kinda neat how as Sollux is dying his powers change from the red and blue to just his blood colour, as if he is casting from his health instead of just having an ability, now that his eyes are burnt out.

Oh, interesting. I didn't consider that!

Sollux has said he's retiring his duality schtick, and apparently that includes his red/blue motif. After all, he's not really 'the duality guy' anymore - he's just Sollux.

@liliflower137 asked: This is probably a little late as I'm still catching up but,,, gush, Vriska's conversation with John, where she expresses regret, where she thinks back on what she has done… It made her my favorite character for a while. Just. The potential of her learning to be different, of becoming something more than the world she was born into. Seeing a character so HORRIBLE, so AWFUL, turn around and… realize. It's so powerful.

Yup. Super fucked up that she died before she was able to complete her metamorphosis - but I'm confident that her story's not over. After all, we've already started hanging out with her ghost!

@liliflower137 asked: Hello!! I am not quite caught up yet but your description of Scratch as thinking like an author is BRILLIANT, I never would've thought of that and it makes him make so much more sense!!! Man he's way more interesting to me now, thank you!!! This liveblog continues to be the most fascinating read of all time!!

Thanks - it just made sense to me, y'know? Scratch even talks a little like Hussie sometimes, and the idea that he's a pseudo-author is the only thing I can think of that explains some otherwise extremely strange phrasing on his part.

@liliflower137 asked: Hello hello again! I've just seen the map you showed of Rose's coordinates and you can literally see the town i live in on that map!! So I can tell you Northern New York State, at least around that section, is VERY rural. The closest Starbucks is in Canada and its mostly dairy farms and cornfields around here! New York is a big state and aside from the city itself and some other places it's actually surprisingly empty. Hell, I've lived here for like 9 years and I've never even been close to NYC! But its definitely not remote, people live and work in that national park nearby! And there's plenty of burger kings for sure. (I'd even say maybe the one 40 minutes away was the one in my town but I'm pretty sure it opened after I moved here so probably not) It's so wild I could pretty easily drive to where Rose's house would've been… crazy.

Oh, fun - it's like you're her neighbor!

If you're that local, you might be living closer to Rose's address than any other Homestuck fan on the planet. You've got to be at least in the top ten, right?

@liliflower137 asked: Another addition to the jade seer of light fakeout that I've noticed during my own reread (inspired by yours!) Remember Jade's wardrobifier? One of her possible shirt symbols was the symbol for the Light Aspect!

Hussie's Trick continues to bamboozle the unprepared.

@liliflower137 asked: After sending you a bunch of asks while reading, I'm finally caught up!! Whew I can finally stop accidentally staying up until like 5am reading your incredible analysis and being distracted at work! I'm free!! Thanks for the ride!!

Hah, this really is a serious compliment. Don't worry, I've been staying up till pretty close to 5 lately as well. That's what happens when you're gaming on a server in a US timezone!

Anonymous asked: hello ms wertsearch! i have just finished binging your entire liveblog in lieu of any meaningful way to access homestuck OR the unofficial homestuck collection (kind of a lie - i'm sure it's on the wayback machine) and i have to say you might just be the ideal homestuck reader! you analyze these characters AND this story so quickly and perfectly it is very awesome to read. i cannot wait for you to stick it out through the rest of act 6! have a wonderful day!!!

Thank you so much! As far as I'm aware, there are still a couple of unofficial mirrors of the comic floating around online. I asked around on the Discord and was provided with this link, which seems perfectly functional to me.

Anonymous asked: I just want to send a message to let you know how much I appreciate and enjoy your blog. Ive had a very rough couple of years (who hasn't, right?) and reading this blog has been such an escape. It makes me feel like I'm 13 again and reading homestuck on the school computer with my friends. You have such insightful things to say about the comic. I never really jelled with the homestuck fandom outside of my irl friends I read the comic with, so your blog is kind of like a second shot at participating in the fandom for me. I'm having so much fun. Thanks for doing this. <3

As always, messages like these are the greatest motivator I have for continuing to liveblog. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but thank you for sharing! :)

Anonymous asked: Your liveblog is So fun to read, especially when you predict plot points that are either extremely true or extremely false (like when you theorised at the very beginning that jade was genetically modified to be a sburb player! Or when [spoiler] and also [spoiler] and especially [spoiler]) Are you planning to read through your own liveblog when you've finished reading the comments to see how many things you jokingly predicted that came true? Or are you relying on asks to point out things like that?

I'm definitely reading through it when I'm done! I've even half-jokinly considered liveblogging the liveblog, but that might be a bridge too far even for me, lmao

@manorinthewoods asked: I've found another HS liveblog! 'researchhpurposes'. They've not made it through Act 5 yet, so hopefully they're spoiler-free - although, like you, they're going in only mostly blind, so there might be a stray thing here or there. Going to read through and see if there's anything extraordinary. ~LOSS (29/4/25)

(I'm noticing they *do* engage with reblogs, so without reading the whole thing, I'd say there's probably *some* spoilers. -V)

I can't wait to take a gander at some other liveblogs - but, yes, strangely enough, some of them can still spoil the comic, even if they're even farther back than I am!

@mrjocrafter asked: Once Upon a Time, a serialized live action soap opera / fantasy show with a batshit convoluted plot on par with Homestuck (i highly recommend it) has this concept called The Author, who's an individual blessed/cursed with the power to rewrite reality by literally writing in book(s), but if this power is suppressed, overpowered, or lost, the wielder is just some guy with a pen/quill. This is how I like to think of character!Hussie in Homestuck.

I've actually been watching a Once Upon a Time retrospective series on YouTube, and it's been an enjoyable watch so far. I even checked out the first couple of seasons myself - and, yes, batshit is exactly how I'd describe the average day in Storybrooke. Why the fuck wasn't it in Kingdom Hearts?

Anonymous asked: Yo so i was just rewatching Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency and i was thinking since you like homestuck you should watch that if you haven't seen it already. Similar vibes. It's super excellent, it stars Elijah Wood. It did get cancelled after season 2 which sucks but each season is its own story with its own resolution. The stuff they were setting up for season 3 looked so dope tho, it's so tragic i'll never get to see it. It's the only thing that gives me the same feeling as homestuck. I don't want to like, say what it's about cuz like homestuck i think it's best to just jump in blind. If you have already seen it i'd love to hear your thoughts.

I haven't seen it myself, but I know the book it's based off. Dirk Gently shares an author with one of my favourite series, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I feel like the show is probably up my alley too. Will definitely add it to the list!

Anonymous asked: Community is a sitcom about a study group at a community college. I recommend it, it's got a wit to it that I think you'd like.

I've seen a couple of clips of Community, but it didn't really click with me. That said, it's hard to judge the overall quality of a show from just a handful of clips, so I may give it another chance.

@manorinthewoods asked: There's a further benefit to the three-year time skip; it'll bring the characters roughly in line with the IRL time movement. April 2009 -> November 2011 is five months off the three-year timespan - which is sensible, since you need that time to actually write the story. Five months is. Probably a reasonable expectation, from the outset, for how long it might take to progress to the end of the timeskip - but, of course, this is a webcomic, and webcomics are very well known for taking absolutely ages to write. ~LOSS (29/4/25)

If that's true, and Hussie is timing things so that the kids emerge in November, then they're kind of playing with fire here.

I mean, committing yourself to maintain a consistent posting schedule for five months? Couldn't be me, is all I'm saying.

[ultralightpoe]

Nancy Drew - Eddie Munson

Authors Note: This has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS guys. And the sequel is only half done. But it needed to be freed, those drafts are piling up baddddddddd -Ultralightpoe

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Um none?

Description: Eddie and reader are a sleuthing teammmm

Main Master List - - Stranger Things Master List

[Thank You For The Gif @eashmo ]

-

The Case Of The Missing Lunch Box. 

“She’s an…. Odd one. But there is nothing wrong with that.”

Odd one. 

Odd. 

It was the term most used to describe you, always had been so long as you could remember. It was the word your aunt used to explain to your mom about what it had been like babysitting you. It had been the word your kindergarten teacher used when she explained your behaviour during free time. 

Your principal had called you an ‘oddity’ the year you solved the swing case, the year you figured out that the 5th graders had been taking the screws off the swing set before school so that no one would be able to steal them before them at recess. You had spent far too much time trying to figure it out before your teacher told your principal to have a meeting. 

Oddity. Which… did in fact have the word odd so you liked to think it still counted. 

Odd, is the first word the doctor used to describe the symptoms your mother was having when she got sick. Odd was the first word your grandmother used to your father when she didn’t like how you were acting at the funeral, focusing on fixing the plates and cleaning the vases that held the flowers rather than crying in front of strangers that had a habit of touching you. 

Odd. It was the word you would have used to describe the deep gashing feeling in your chest as you stared at your mothers photo that day instead of listening to the sermon. You knew her survival rate wasn’t high, she had told you herself. You knew she would pass and you had spent every second you could with her until it happened. And yet you felt like nothing would ever be fine again. Odd. 

Odd that you cried while packing your room. You didn’t have friends here and it was better to leave the house your mother died in, and yet you couldn’t stop the feelings that destroyed you. 

And odd had been the word your own father had used while describing you to your new teacher. He had held the strap of your backpack as if you would run away, and forced an awkward smile on his face as you blatantly refused to shake her hand. He took the time to describe your…. Oddness… while you organized the random desk they sat you at. Taking the time to clean up all the pencil shavings and neatly stack the papers, using a tissue to scrub off the drawings on the desk while the adults talked. 

“My biggest hope for her here is to make friends. She struggled with it at the other school, and after the loss of her mother…. I am just worried.”

“She is at the perfect place.” The teacher smiled, making sure to smile in your direction as well to try and make you comfortable, but you merely saw the lipstick on her front tooth. And as if your father could read your thoughts he reached over to flick your ear with a knowing look while you tried to smile back. 

And then he left, and the teacher showed you the desk that would be yours, muttering a “I just know you will fit in well here.” 

But once the bell rang and all the students came running in you could merely watch as they all ignored you and kept to their own groups. 

And when the kid sat in the desk you had sat in he let out an angry groan, looking around the room in accusation. “Which dipshit cleaned my desk?”

“Edward Wayne Munson!” The teacher snapped, right as he made eye contact with you. 

So much for fitting in, not that you ever thought you would. 

Being odd and all. 

- 

Two weeks, it merely took two weeks for you to earn the odd status you seemed to carry with you everywhere you went. 

Carol Perkins said that you were a freak for how clean you kept your desk, and Tommy Hagan said you must be a robot clone, which started an entire chain of rumors and left your classmates beeping whenever you tried to speak with them. 

And your teacher, Mrs. Stason had seemed to forget her promise of you fitting in. Or maybe she just truly didn’t see how much you were resented with how busy she was trying to maintain the classroom. 

But it wasn’t truly upsetting. Not really. It meant that people left you alone. Especially at lunch, which gives you time to watch everyone. 

You often watched Carol show her friends something from her mothers makeup collection that had been stolen, and Jamie liked to race back and forth in the cafeteria before he was yelled at by the aid. Tommy would brag about his lunch, always store bought, and he would almost always complain about his little brother's peanut allergy when any of his friends brought in pb&j sandwiches. 

Eddie Munson, the boy that hated you for cleaning his desk, was the only one that seemed to be left out of the camaraderie of the classmates, in fact it seemed his lunch was always packed with cartoon comics that he read during lunch. With his Beatles lunch box, that had a bandaid working as tape in the corner. 

But things got interesting when Tommy Hagan brought in his own Beatles lunch box and claimed that Eddie had been copying him the whole time. And all you could think was how silly it all was as Tommy threw a fit about it. 

It was a Wednesday that the pattern was disrupted. 

The routine was natural at this point. Mrs. Stason would let them have 10 minutes of reading time before she took them through the words of the day, in which she would use one of those words to announce lunch time. 

“And today we will all SCAMPER to grab our lunches and make our way to the lunch room.” And that would cue the scraping of chairs as everyone rushed to their cubbies. But today, when Eddie normally rushed out of the room first to get his favorite spot in the cafeteria, he merely blinked at his cubby before digging around once more and gasping in anger as the room cleared out. 

You slowly grabbed your own lunch as you watched the boy tear out his backpack and dig through it before flipping it up and down to dump out its contents as the teacher gasped out and moved to stop him. But he didn’t seem to notice her, instead he looked into the empty cubby once more. 

“MY LUNCHBOX IS GONE!”

“Edward, please.”

“It’s gone!” 

“This isn’t the time for dramatics. Let’s walk to the office and see if anything was put in lost and fo-“ He doesn’t wait until she finishes her sentence, storming off and leaving her to follow. And you are left in the classroom by yourself, staring at the open door before something catches your eye. 

There was a smudge in Eddie’s cubby. This wasn’t uncommon for the boy, considering you had cleaned his desk that first day, but this smudge? Pink. 

Without thinking you swiped a finger through it, rubbing it between your fingers as it spreads softly before you looked to see that it had gotten on his backpack as well. It was recognizable and yet you couldn’t place where you had seen that shade of pink or what it was exactly. So you grabbed a tissue from the box and swiped some more of it in the tissue, making sure to fold it before tucking it in your desk and walking to the lunchroom. 

When Eddie returns with the teacher he seems twice as aggravated. You offer him half your sandwich, he pushes it away and throws your muffin in the trash before storming off with heavy stomps. 

Fair enough. 

But it stuck with you, even as you walked home. It wasn’t until you saw your neighbor, Sandra, watering her plants that you recognized the shade of pink adorning her lips. 

“Ms. Parsen?” You call, walking up to her as she turns to give you her full attention. She takes a minute to compliment your outfit and exclaim about how happy she was to see you since you had moved in. You allowed her to babble for a second before pulling out the tissue. 

“Do you know this color?” 

“It’s pink.” She smiles. 

“Well yes. But would you recognize if it’s makeup?” 

“Dearie, it doesn’t take the brightest pear on the tree to see that it’s lipstick.” She huffs, and though you don’t understand her reference you don’t bother arguing. 

The next day at school when the teacher uses the word rogue to introduce lunch you decide to go on a little rogue mission of your own. Pretending to tie your shoe as the rest of the class leaves, before heading over to Carol's desk and flipping it open. 

“What are you doing?” A voice asks, making you jump so hard the desk slams loudly, whirling to find Eddie Munson standing in the doorway. 

His eyes widen at the sound before he shuts the door so no teachers will come and yell at you, turning back to watch you. 

“What are you doing?”  You parrot back, panicking that you had just been caught breaking the rules. 

“I came….” His neck grows red as he looks around the room in an attempt to avoid your gaze. “I came to apologize. I packed an extra brownie for lunch….. cause I messed up your muffin.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Nah. It wasn’t. You were being nice in offering me half your lunch. I was upset that I lost my uncle's lunch box. I knew my pa was gonna be mad.” At the mention of the missing lunch box you look to see his grip on a paper sack, and notice the welt on his hand. But Eddie didn’t seem like the type to answer questions freely. So you turned back to Carol's desk. “You shouldn’t do that. She gets real upset about people touching her stuff.” 

“She won’t have to know.” You respond, reaching for her pencil case and opening it up to reveal a lipstick tube. Without bothering to look back to Eddie you lose the cap of it and match it to the tissue before rushing to his cubby and matching it to the stain on his backpack. 

“The hell is that?” He asks, peering over your shoulder. 

“That is my first clue.” 

And so he follows you to the lunchroom, and sits with you while you question Carol, only she doesn’t break. And by the time the bell rings you are left with no answers. 

Eddie, with his mouth stuffed with brownie, offers you the second by sliding it closer to you on a napkin. “Not right now.” You mumble, standing to follow the class back to your room. 

And it’s there you stare at Carol….. Well, glare is the better term. 

Eddie keeps turning around in his desk to watch you narrow your eyes at the girl, watching as she begins to fidget in her seat before recess is called. And you waste no time cornering her. 

“I’ll tell the teacher about the makeup.” You threaten, folding your arms. “Tell me what you know.” 

“I caught Tommy taking it!” She snitches, stomping her foot. “I was going to apply the lipstick that morning, only when I walked into the class I caught Tommy at the cubbies while Eddie was in the bathroom. We heard the warning bell so I rushed to help him put Eddie’s backpack back in the cubby before anyone saw.” 

She rushes off after that, and Eddie is excited as ever. “Come on! Let’s go corner Tommy!” 

“No. Follow me.” You order; turning to walk into the classroom with Eddie hot on your heels. 

“Oh, dearies, it’s recess time-“ your teacher tries to explain before you stomp to Tommy’s cubby and tear it out. 

“Now what do you think you are doing young lady?!” 

“Here!” You smile, showing the lunchbox.  “This is Eddie’s!” 

“No dear. That’s Tommy’s. Eddie, it’s not fair to blame Tommy for losing your belongings.” 

“No! Look. It’s got the bandaid on the corner- AND-“ you open it up to reveal day old comics that were meant to be read yesterday. 

“What does that prove?” 

You hand the tin off to Eddie before rushing to his desk, flipping it open and digging through the stack of papers you organized on the first day. “Here!” 

In your hand you showed the rest of the comics Eddie kept, more proof. 

“Oh. Well I best be getting Tommy. wait here you two.” She sighs, rushing down the hall to get to the playground doors while Eddie smiles at you clutching his lunchbox.

“He’s gonna be in so much trouble!” 

You merely shrug, moving to organize the papers in your hand as you wait. 10 minutes later Tommy is explaining that he broke his biking home and hadn’t wanted to get into trouble so he took Eddie’s. 

By the time you are all dismissed back to recess Eddie is wound up in excitement. “You solved the case! My pa can’t be mad at me anymore.” 

And you can’t help the smile that makes its way across your face before you reach the doors. 

Normally you sit by yourself at one of the tables, reading until the period is over. And so you move to do just that, only for Eddie to follow you. 

“Aren’t you going to swing?” Just as he always did at recess. 

“They are already full. No use.” He shrugs, following you to the table. “Whatcha reading?” 

“Nancy drew.” You shrug back, showing him. He’s smiling from ear to ear as you blink back. 

“You’re an odd one. Aren’t ya?” And for the first time, the word actually sounded like a compliment. 

-

The Case Of The Vanishing Homework.

“Quit wasting my time.” Eddie Munson growls as his eyebrows pinch together and his lips twitch as he holds back a frown at the scene before him. “You’re playing with me, right?”

It was lunch time, and the rest of your class was rushing around where the two of you sat at the worn down picnic tables off to the side while Eddie seemed dead set on throwing a fit. The worn wood was warm under your thighs and the sun was currently beating down on you, forming a flush to your cheeks and sweat to the back of your neck. 

It never made sense to you why they couldn’t add any shade to the playground. 

“It’s what my dad packed.” You shrug, pushing your sandwich towards him. “Half or not.”

“Not.” Eddie snaps back, giving your turkey swiss sandwich a firm glare as he pulls his pb&j back to his side of the table. 

“I think you are being a bit dramati-” You don’t get a chance to finish your complaint before you see his eyebrow raise a bit as he stares at your side of the lunch, eyes holding a curious glint as they narrow in on the bread. “Eddie just try it.”

“But the cheese has holes.”

“And all cheese is technically mold. We are middle schoolers now, grow up.” You scoff, pushing half the sandwich to him and snatching half of his before you split your carrots and he splits his brownie. A nice routine the two of you built up, since his lunchbox had yet to go missing again.  

It was your 7th grade year, or the beginning of it really. Since you had met Eddie Munson 2 years ago it was safe to say you both had been attached at the hip. You shared lunch, and you did homework together. He came over to your house for weekly dinners and you spent hours in the library halls. 

43 Cases solved within your friendship as well. Missing halloween candy, a broken window, a lost dog which led to a lost cat, and Eddie’s favorite was the case of the flaming bag bandit. Which ended up being some nerdy kid trying to get payback on his brother's bullies. [Eddie ended up leaving a couple more to help the cause, you never asked where he got all the dog feces]

There was a term in the dictionary your teacher had you going through everyday to pick a word of the day, and your word today just so happened to be ‘codependent’.  And you would use that word to describe your friendship with Eddie. And you didn’t know if that was a good thing. 

“Hey Eds.” You start, tilting your head a bit as he looks up at you with his mouth full of the sandwich he had been hating on a mere minute ago. “Do you think it’s bad that we are so codependent?”

“Cowendats?” He parrots with his mouth still full as he struggles to chew, covering his mouth when you show your outward disgust before finally clearing his throat and stealing your water bottle to drink from. 

“Smaller bites unless you want to choke.”

“Codependent?”

“Yes. It means-”

“I know what it means, Who said we are codependent? They can mind their own business. We are the two most dependent people I know.”

“I just think-”

“There you two are.” A sharp voice interrupts you both, making you jump in your skin as Eddie visibly flinches, and then you both are scrambling for coverage. He’s snatching up the food as you grab both your bags, tripping over yourselves as you both try to escape the approaching hag.

Hag…… or better known as the 8th grade teacher, Mrs. Bradford. She had a reputation at the school for being a cruel cruel beast. Overdoing homework. Detention nearly everyday. Her classroom was spoken to be an absolute drab of grey.  And the rumors of her shoving kids in closets did nothing to actually help her reputation. 

“‘I’ve already seen you. No point in running.” She huffs, head tilting up to the sky in aggravation as you and Eddie freeze in your positions, slowly turning to look at where she currently stood. With hands on her hips and a heavy gaze she looks to the both of you, sweat beginning to form on her forehead. “I hear you like to solve cases. I have come to collect you.”

“Oh!” You nod, your spine far too tight for the movement to seem natural. “The only problem is we are on lunch and it’s almost over. We have math class-”

“Really important class.” Eddie rushes out, snapping his fingers in a ‘dang it’ motion before his jaw tightens while a grimace coats his features and he inhales in fake frustration. “And we were so willing to help…… come on let’s go.”

Within a split second his fake grimace is dropped and he’s grabbing your elbow to lead you away in a hurry, but not before Mrs. Bradford steps in front of you both with a bored expression. Eddie nearly runs face first into her chest, stopping so quickly that you run into his back.

“I have hall passes for your next class.” Mrs. Bradford explains, her eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she motions with a finger for you both to follow. “Come on now. Before I change my mind.”

She walks away then, assuming you both would follow, but instead you merely stand next to Eddie near the table watching her go. 

“What do we do?” 

“I don’t think we have a choice….” He answers, shrugging a bit. “And anything beats missing math class.”

“You NEED math class ,may I remind you.” You seethe, shaking your head. “You got a 2 on the last assignment.”

“I don’t remember that.” 

“Well I do an-”

“Are you two coming?!” Mrs. Bradford snaps out, giving you both an angry look that has the two of you scrambling to catch up with her from down the hall. Your backpack slips from your shoulder a bit, Eddie is quick to help you place it back while shoving the rest of the swiss sandwich in his mouth. He smiles a bit when he hears you mutter about it under your breath, flicking your nose before taking the lead in following the teacher. 

“Alright, come on. This is my classroom.” She grumbles out, opening the door to reveal a bland but clean room. “I had booklets due yesterday, they were given two weeks ago and today one of these delinquents stole them all.”

“Stole them?” 

“They were sitting on this corner last night. By this morning they were all gone and the only one left is the one I use to grade everyone else’s work. My own packet.” She explains, picking up her own packet before tossing it on one of the desks by where you stood. Eddie watches the packet slide before stopping it with a finger and swooping it up to hand to you. 

“I’m a bit confused on why you need our help?” 

“I need to know who took them. They were a part of the final grade in this class, I was planning on presenting them at the parent teacher conferences tonight. But I guess that plan is mute. Just….. I don’t really know what I am expecting here. Principal Beltz told me to find you.”

“Any suspects?” You ask, watching her closely.

“Dana Mitchell was quite snippy when I was collecting them, told me she hoped I lost them. Trevor….. Well he had detention and left after me because I had a class to attend and he was taking forever to pack up his bag. And Jesse didn’t even do his. So I’m sure this is just a pathetic attempt to ruin everyone else's grades.”

“Alright.” Eddie nods, watching you trace along the edges of the booklet before flipping it open. “Give us a few to look around.”

“If you think I’m leaving a Munson in this room without supervision then you are completely mistaken.” 

“I have supervision.” He argues, gesturing to you. Her eyes flicker back and forth before she sighs out and nods, grabbing her keys and heading to the door. She makes sure it doesn’t slam, heading down the hall and leaving you two in the room. Eddie is quick, jumping to sit on a desk as you reach into your backpack and grab the notebook your father had given you. 

“Alright, what do we know?”

“The packets are 40 pages long- jeez I hope I don’t get her class next year- and there are at least 17 kids in her class. That would be a pretty heavy stack to steal.”

“What else?”

“Jessie didn’t do his. Trevor had detention and was the last person in the room. Dana Mitchell was pretty mad about it as well.” He lists before looking offended. “Why is it Dana Mitchell? She’s the only Dana we have.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Why do they say her last name?”

“I…. I don’t know.” You shrug, bending down to check under the desk. “Green gum. It looks like it has a piece of torn paper connected to it.”

“So trash?” It was a question meant to piss you off with the way he is already smiling when you turn to glare. “Also, Mrs. Bradford doesn’t know how to spell.”

“What?”

“Half these words are misspelled.”  In two easy steps you are right beside him, snatching the book and flipping through it. 

“It doesn’t have a name, but this is for sure not Mrs. Bradfords.” You note, trying to find something to work with. “Wait. There.” 

He peers down to where you point, where Jesse has been practicing his signature like a celebrity. “This is Jesse’s booklet. The only reason it’s here is cause he turned it in today.” 

“Which means that Mrs. Bradfords is with the rest.” 

“Alright. Look around for clues.”  And he does, hopping down from a desk, only Eddie’s version of looking for clues is following behind you as you look at things. 

“Boot print near the door.” 

“Why does that matter?”

“Because the rest of the floors are completely clean. But the gum and the bootprint are both right here.” 

“Nice. Nice.” 

“And…. look!” You reach to snatch the earring that had fallen under the desk, showing him what you found, a blue hoop. 

“Dana Mit- Dana wears those. They are so ra ra cheerleader but she seems to like em.” 

“Seems like we have a primary suspect.” You nod, moving to stand up, allowing him to reach to help you up before patting yourself down. 

“They are all on lunch. Let’s go.” He leads the way through the halls, smiling to the janitor and giving him a big wave. Paul notes this, stopping his work of trying to lift the can off his car to wave back. His stops chewing his gum to mutter out a brief hello before Eddie helps haul the can for him. 

By the time you both make it to the cafeteria the hall is backed. 

Dana seems to pinpoint you the second you walk into the cafeteria, rolling her eyes when you both sit across from her and pushing her tray away with a freshly manicured hand. “Nancy Drew and her boy toy.”

“She’s got an actual name you know?” Eddie snips out, eyes narrowed as his neck extends in a peckish manner. 

“It’s worthy to note that it was her name that you corrected and not me calling you her boy toy.” Dana huffs out, chewing on her gum obnoxiously. “I didn’t steal the friggin homework.”

“How did you know we were here about the homework?” 

“Because it’s in your hand dipshit.”

“Right.” Eddie nods, his neck tinging with a bit of red before he looks at you and you try not to laugh at his face. The weirdest thing about Eddie was his lack of care for embarrassment, it could take him less than 2 seconds to wipe something off and find the humor of it all.  

You are about to make a joke for him until Dana pops her gum and pulls your attention back to her, noting when it gets stuck to her lip. 

“Well thank you for your time.” You smile, standing up quickly and leading Eddie out of the hall. He sputters on his words, trying to figure out why you ended that so early but you were already walking ahead. 

“Why did you end that? We had her nervous, ready to confess.” He grunts, struggling to keep up. “Let’s go back and get her to confess.”

“She didn’t do it.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Why do you bother questioning me after all this time?”

“Not a clue actually.”

He waits while you take pictures before walking you back to class, bumping his shoulder with yours every time he gets bored, making you roll your eyes a bit until he decides to dead weight on you last minute, sending you both sliding across the floor in fits of laughter before a teacher yells at you to get to class. 

By the time school is out for the day you have a plan, you just know Eddie isn’t gonna love it. “Tonight, at the parent teacher conferences we meet up by our classroom. Deal?” 

He extends his pinkie out to you, which you grasp in your own before leaning forward to butt your foreheads together in your signature handshake. Groaning out and rubbing the sore spots when the hit hurts. 

“That was a good one-”

“You get a metal plate installed?” You blurt out before laughing, leaning up to kiss his cheek and rush to your bike to get home. 

By the time you get home your dad is back from work, struggling to remove his tie as you rush to grab your detective bag. He spots it sitting by the front door while you both eat dinner, narrowing his eyes at you in a protective manner. “Why do you have your sleuth kit out?”

“Oh no reason.” You shrug, moving to make a plate for Eddie since the mac n cheese was always one of his favorites. 

“Right. Make sure to grab Eddie some broccoli too. And make sure he actually eats it this time please!” His voice grows louder when he makes it to the kitchen to clean up, and you grab Eddie exactly three pieces, already knowing you’ll struggle to get him to eat them. 

By the time you make it to the school the plate is covered with a wrap and Eddie is nowhere to be seen, though you weren’t too worried about it yet while your dad began looking around. “Alright, who do you and Eddie hang out with?”

“What?”

“Your friends. You and Eddie. Where are your friends?” He asks, wiping dust off his jacket while you blink at him like he’s grown a third head. 

“Eddie isn’t here yet.” You explain. 

“I realize that. But where are the rest of your friends?”  

You gape at him, embarrassment beginning to claim you as you realize that you don’t have any other friends and he expected you to, and right as you were beginning to mouth the lame excuse Eddie Munson showed up to save you. An arm wrapping around your shoulders easily as your fathers eyes widen. 

You realize why your father looked so shocked the second you turn to your friend, who was smiling even though a dark bruise and a split lip covered half his face. “What? Am I so beautiful you are at a loss for words?”

“I made you a plate. Dad says you have to eat the brocc-”

“This must be the famous Nancy Drew.” Someone calls out, walking up to where the three of you had been standing. Your father stands straight, already glaring, before the man in the jean jacket grabs Eddie’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze and extends his hand. “I’m his Uncle Wayne. His father couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Oh. Right.” Your father nods, before hearing something clatter behind him and clearing his throat. “Shall we go in, Wayne? I’m sure we can get some good seats in the far back.”

“I like the way you think.” 

“You. Do not wander off too far. You hear me?” Your dad asks, giving a fake glare which you nod to before leading Wayne into the classroom. 

“Alright, what’s this plan of yours?”

“What happened to your face?” You blurt, unable to stop the question as Eddie removes his arm from your shoulder and pulls out his flashlight. 

“Just a run in with a wall.” He shrugs, not looking at you as his hand swipes across the buzz cut on his head, scratching a bit which is a sign he is nervous or lying. Both, from what you can tell. 

“Alright. You’re lying but I’ll allow it.” You huff, pulling out your sleuthing kit, snatching the camera from the sleeve and zipping it back up. “Follow me.”

He does, flicking his flashlight on once you get to the section of the school where the lights are already turned off for the night, going down the stairs into the basement. 

“It was weird to me that the rest of the floors were clean, but not around the desk. There was even the boot mark  by it as if someone had tripped.” You begin to explain, keeping pace with him as he leads you through the mechanical room. “And when Mrs. Bradford sat in her chair it groaned, and a screw had been sitting by a leg of the chair but it was full of new screws.”

“Which means?”

“That someone had messed with her chair. I think it was Trevor, he waited until she left after the detention to mess with her chair, a harmless prank.”

“Then how did it get fixed?”

“Thursdays are mopping and wax nights, Paul always wears his grey uniform on thursdays because of the wax ruining fabric and he hates that one. On Fridays he wears his blue, which he wore yesterday.”

“And he looked great.”

“Right, anyways, the boots he wore match the markings. Here’s what I think happened. Paul had back surgery 2 months ago, this is his second week back which means he’s bound to take lots of breaks especially since he hauls things with his back everyday-”

“Poor guy.”

“I think he went to sit in Mrs. Bradfords chair and because of Trevors prank he ended up falling. Which made him panic, he’s too nice, and he was worried about the chair so he took the time to fix it.”

“Got it.” 

“I think when he fell he kicked the stack and they landed in his bin, which is why he struggled to lift it today.”

“But what about the gum? Dana chewed gum.”

“So did Paul. Dana’s was pink, bubblegum, it got stuck to her lip today at lunch. Pauls is spearmint. I guarantee it.” You finish explaining, leading him to the janitors closet. “I just need you to pick the lock so we can see in.”

“Anything you need.” He smiles, bending to make quick work of the lock before the door swings open and he smiles up at you at his work. “You and me against the world.”

You smile back before rushing past to dig through the bins before stopping at the one with a blue mark, pulling forward to look inside. “FOUND EM!”

He laughs, pulling forward to help you snatch them up in a pile, helping you carry them out until you make it back to Mrs. Bradfords class and setting them on her desk right as she finishes up her speech to the parents within the class. Eddie smiles at her, she rolls her eyes, and just like that another mystery solved. 

By the next morning you manage  to make it to class with a little extra time, stopping by the janitors closet to find Paul. 

“What can I do for ya?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay after your fall. And to bring you some fruit.” You extend the basket out, handing it to him as he laughs before setting it down to a stack of comics. “Munson already stopped by. You both make quite the pair.”

Yes. Co-dependent? Sure. But that didn’t matter at all.

- 

The Case Of The Missing Hours. 

Freshman year and not much had changed in the life of crime fighting. Case after case. Test after test. And you could handle it all, at least that’s what you told yourself. 

Eddie had been removed from his dads custody though he hated talking about it, and had since moved in with his Uncle Wayne in the 1 bedroom trailer home near the edge of town. Wayne had allowed him to take the room, and at first you had HATED it. He never kept his room clean, and it was a new territory to you that broke your everyday pattern. 

But over time that began to change. 

Your father began working morning noon and night, which often times left you alone at the house. For some this seemed to be the perfect way to spend their time, for you it just left time to overthink. You couldn’t sleep lately, with so much to do and anytime you nearly got to sleep something woke you up. A tree hitting a window. A car alarm from down the street. A creak in your house that had you assuming the worst. 

And if it wasn’t something keeping you up then it was your brain. The way Tammys zipper was down after lunch, the one pencil missing in a case. One thing out of place and you were in for a long night. 

But with Eddie you could just breathe. There was a comfort in knowing you could spend time with someone who didn’t care if everything was out of place. Where you got the urge to right everything you had somehow learned to coast in the way he lived. 

So time at his trailer became natural. Though it never helped you catch up on your sleep. Which he was beginning to notice, had even rubbed eyeliner under his own eyes to imitate your eyebags one day, laughing his butt off until you hit him with a pillow. 

Until it all changed. 

You had at least 50 assignments due, and 20 million cases to solve. Which in regular math meant you had 7 assignments and 2 cases. But all that on top of lack of sleep in the past 7 days was beginning to drag you down, words were hard to read and you couldn’t concentrate. So you packed your backpack ans headed to Eddie’s. 

It took 2 knocks until he was there, swinging the door so hard that he swishes on his own feet, the hair he had been growing out now swishing a bit with him at his ears before his smile lands on you. Immediately you are basked in what you could only describe as sunlight. 

Because that’s how it felt. When Eddie had his attention on you it felt like sunlight. Warm, welcoming, chasing all your shadows away and making you nearly melt under his gaze. The newest change had been when your heart began speeding up everytime he smiled at you, the way the back of your neck warmed with the flush that spread through you and you hoped to god he didn’t see the blush traveling your cheeks. 

Oh right, the biggest change of all, you were painfully in love with Eddie Munson. 

How utterly screwed you were.

“Let me guess. You need my help with the math homework?”

“Oh how smart you are.” You smile, pushing your feet to move forwards when he moves to the side to let you in, pulling a bit of your hair as you pass to make you laugh while Wayne stands from his chair to give you a hug. 

“Don’t be letting my boy distract you now, one of you has to keep up the good grades.” Wayne teases, moving to sit back down. You knew that here in 30 minutes he would be heading to work. 

“Oh real funny.” Eddie huffs, leading you to his room. When he opens his door he has to shove a little harder to move the pile of clothes that had built up from his closet, giving you a guilty look but not before showing off the shirt he was wearing. “Couldn’t find this badboy.”

“Your plain baseball tee?”

“Yah! I was thinking of making it into a band tee or somethin’.” He explains, kicking a pillow up into the air so he could catch it before smashing it onto the bed and falling into it like a wrestler would, kickign his feet to banish his backpack from the top so that you could take up your normal place to study. “Milady…”

“How generous.” You smile, falling into the bed and moving to grab your textbook out before opening it to the page you had left off on as Eddie snatches his guitar from the wall and begins messing with the chords. 

It had been a christmas gift from Wayne, you had gotten him the books to go along with learning and you had made a bet that he wouldn’t practice everyday for a year. You knew he would, Eddie lived for music, you also knew he had better chances of doing so if he was gonna win 50 bucks at the end of it. You had the 50 stored in your jewelry box, ready for when the time came. 

“What ya workin’ on?” He asks, not looking up from the guitar but pushing his foot out to tap the book with a socked toe. You push his foot away and mumble out a simple “Science homework.”

He scoffs, mimicking your voice before using his toe to poke you. “You’d be more comfortable against the pillows. You’d concentrate more.”  

“What happened to not leaking all my brain juice onto your pillows?”

“That was when you were sick and had the ear infection. How was I supposed to know you weren’t going to drain onto the pil-”

“Drainage happens within the canal-”

“Just come sit. I want you to sit by me.” He sighs, scooching over a bit so you would have room, and you didn’t bother arguing more, already moving until you were sitting side by side so you could keep reading. Only he was right, it was really comfortable, and he smelled great and it was so warm. 

Before you could really stop it you sunk down further and further. 

No. You told yourself. You will not fall asleep. You have so much homework to do. And you still need to go out and check Harrisons garage door….. 

You wouldn’t fall asleep. You would not fall asleep. 

… 

You wake to the sound of music from Eddie’s radio playing softly, normally it was filled with rock music but today it’s a tune you immediately recognize. Fur Elise, Beethoven. It takes you a moment to blink, waking up from a sleep so deep you struggled to get any of your limbs to move. Or maybe that was because you were attached so closely to Eddie. Your legs woven with his as you hugged him close, one of his arms wrapped around you and the other holding the pillow up so you both remained comfortable as he snored. 

It takes a moment to fully register everything. You had fallen asleep, last time you checked it was still sunny outside and yet now it was pitch black. And you were wrapped up in Eddie's arms. Your science book sat neatly on the nightstand. 

Eddie must feel you stir, because in a moment he is inhaling and his eyes shoot open as he looks around the room for a problem, narrowing his eyes at you. “Why youf wake upn?” 

You shrug, the only answer you think you can get out with how heavy your tongue is and dry your mouth is, blinking slowly as you struggle to sit up. 

“No.” Eddie whines out, shoving his face into the pillow while you reach for his alarm clock. 

“2 am. Eddie!” You accuse, standing quickly. 

“What? Where are you going?”

“I had so much to do! Homework and case work and we were supposed to go look at Harrisons garage.”

“Screw the harrisons.” Eddie huffs, slapping the pillow before sitting up. “Listen. You have bags under your bags. You need sleep. I called and let your dad know you were here and we have all weekend to do the homework. The cases can wait.  If Harrison is mad because someone broke into his garage and wrecked his car then he can go to the police.”

“But-”

“No. Come on. You are still tired and I did not waste 3 dollars on this Bach cassette-”

“Beethoven.” You correct, already shuffling back to the bed, stopping just short of climbing in which makes him glare and reach out an arm like he was preparing to catch you if you tried to leave once more. But you weren’t looking to escape, you were thinking of how uncomfortable your jeans were. “Do you have a shirt I can wear?”

“Does it have to be clean?” 

“Eddie.”

“I know I know.” He huffs, jumping up to open a drawer and throw a tee at you, before slamming his body back down with enough force that he bounces a bit on the mattress. You struggle to take your jeans off, even hitting your head on the door enough to make Eddie flinch before you find yourself on the bed. Locking pinkies, hitting foreheads and laying side by side before you both pass out. 

He was right, you had all weekend to catch up. For now you were fine with Eddie snoring in your ear. 

- 

The Case Of The Lovesick Fool. 

“Welp.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear, watching the police haul off one of the perps you had just caught. A string of home burglaries that had led to a stalker situation. It had taken you all but 2 weeks to figure it out. “That’s a wrap on the burglar case.”

His hand comes up to flick your nose, but once he’s done with that me makes sure to take a moment to brush the hair out of your face. His smile is tense but he’s doing his best to seem calm and at ease, even after being shoved off the second story balcony of the Tarney home. 

“What do we do now?” You ask, stepping closer to him as someone pushes past you on the sidewalk. His hands shoot out to catch you, keeping you in place, while sending a glare to the guy passing. And while his hand rubs your arms up and down you can’t help but stare at him intently. “Maybe burgers.”

“Woah….” He gasps, reaching out a ringed hand to check your forehead for a fever in a way that makes you scoff and pull back, fixing your hair at the motion as he shakes his head. “I never thought we’d see the day that you suggest something other than finding another mystery.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Did you hit your head? Catch the plague while you were crawling through tunnels? No! Don’t tell me! A serial killer cut your skin off and has been wearing it around pretending to be you!”

“Are you done? My stomach is rumbling.” You groan, moving to walk in front of him. He whirls, catching up with you in a moment, keeping your pace as he continues to list off reasons you’d want to go get food. 

“You think Benny is killing people and hoarding their bodies in the basement?” He asks while opening your door to his van, extending a hand to help you in and making sure you are comfortable before slamming it shut and rushing to his side. It takes two turns to start, and once it does he hits the wheel in excitement before kissing the wheel and muttering a thank you under his breath. 

It was junior year now, and things with Eddie had changed quite a bit. 

His hair was longer now, much much longer. His fingers adorned with rings, nearly every outfit was worn with a leather jacket and a jean vest, even when it was far too hot out. Under Wayne’s care he had managed to pick up his life a bit. His smiles were all for the most part real and you never saw him with bruises anymore….. Okay unless he got a little too real in the mystery world which you always felt guilty over. 

Another thing that had changed? Eddie managed to make friends. 

You had taken up journalism at school for some extra credit points, and while you had that after school he decided DnD would be how he spent time. And there he was introduced to Gareth, Jeff and Doug. They grew close pretty quickly, which you would have thought to be great, only they didn’t seem too crazy about you. 

You tried, you swear it. You attempted to go to their game nights, you tried to watch them play in the bad they had been forming and when Eddie insisted you sit with them at lunch you tried to bring out some of your best jokes. But everything you said fell flat, every joke met with pity chuckles that made it all the worse and every question was answered with a bored expression or attitude at you not knowing. 

But the worst thing was the way they made fun of the mysteries. 

But Eddie loved them, and you loved Eddie. 

So it was no surprise that when you both entered Benny’s burger house the DnD group was there calling for him to come sit in the back booth. 

Eddie casts an excited glance your way before grabbing your arm and leading you to where they all sat, talking in your ear about how exciting it was that they were here. And you tried to place a smile on, even though you had wanted it to be just the two of you. 

“Eds! We thought she’d be dragging you around on that mystery all day!” Gareth laughs, pulling an extra chair over with his leg for Eddie to sit in while you get the final spot in the booth by Jeff. You attempt a smile, which is sadly returned with a terse nod in return. 

“Well Nancy Drew here managed to solve it in record time…. Only after I was pushed out a window.” Eddie teases, bumping his shoulder into yours before snatching a menu to look at. 

“Nancy Drew.” Doug scoffs, chuckling a bit. “Are you like best friends with the cops?”

“Dude, I bet Nancy Drew has Hopper on speed dial.” Gareth cackles, clapping hands with Jeff when he starts laughing too, and you attempt to laugh like it’s so funny but really you just feel like some sort of cheap joke. The wound digs even deeper when you turn to find Eddie laughing with them, covering his face and keeling over from how funny he thought it was. 

“I have a name you know.” Even your voice comes out tense, though you wanted it to sound like you were having fun. 

“There you guys are!” A female voice calls out, pulling all their attention to where the prettiest girl you’d ever seen is currently walking up, smiling from ear to ear. Her hair is teased, perfectly so, in the way that you could never actually figure out and she is wearing one of those hellfire tees that Eddie and you had made during a sleepover, only hers is tied into a shorter version that ends at her ribcage. “Ugh the traffic was terrible.”

“You say that every time you run late, Trish. Just admit you took too long with your makeup.” Gareth teases, a large smile forming on his face. 

A wave of excitement passes through you when you realize she was coming to hang out, and you might get a chance to have another female around in this ragtag group. You can feel a smile break out as you stand and extend a hand out, introducing yourself. 

She blinks at the hand before her lipstick covered lips tilt up in a smirk that has your hackles rising. Before she gets the next words out you know how this will play out, you had dealt with plenty of girls who hated you enough to know.  

“I didn’t realize this was a business meeting.” She giggles, walking past you to get into the booth where you had just been sitting, leaning forward to grab Eddie’s jaw like she had been doing it forever. “What happened to you? Oh you look miserable, baby.”

Baby. 

“Nancy Drew dragged him on another mystery,” Doug grumbles, gesturing his thumb to you with a sneer and a roll of his eyes. 

“I have to go.” You blurt, body completely frozen with your heart beating through your chest as you take in the scene before you, at just how comfortable they all seemed together. You were the odd man out here, and you had places to be. “Bye.”

You turn on your heels, rushing for the door as a wave of exhaustion hits you all at once, blinking back tears from that encounter as you hear Eddie rush out an apology before the sound of his feet chase after you on the diner tile. 

“Hey Nancy Drew!” Benny calls out, and it feels like a punch to the gut when the rest of the booth starts laughing out while you make work to push the front door open and escape. 

“Wait. Hang on.” Eddie huffs, grabbing your arm in the parking lot before you can make your escape. “What’s going on? I thought you were hungry?”

“I just have to go.” You rush out. “I remembered I have a paper due for class and I promised my dad I’d be home soon-”

“Why don’t you worry about that after you eat? Come on, our friends are here-”

“Your friends.” You correct with a shake of your head while he stops short. You can see in the moment that you shouldn’t have, because his shoulder drop and his eyes close, reaching a hand up to rub at them in annoyance. “They aren-”

“I know! I know!” He snaps, eyes opening to glare at you now. “They aren’t your friends. You’ve made that clear. But it’s not shocking because you could probably list all of your friends on one fucking hand.”

“Well I-” You attempt to argue, shocked by this outburst, but he beats you to the punch. 

“Me. That’s it. That’s your only friend.” He growls out. “I am working in overtime trying to get you to hang out with more people. I am wasting so much energy trying to help you get along with everyone.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You snap back, voice tight. 

“No you didn’t because you seem to think I’m the only friend you need. Always around me. Always attached. So co dependent.”

“You haven’t said anything about it before.” He hadn’t, and you were trying really hard not to let your eyes water in this moment. 

“Because I felt bad! You’re so odd, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings about it. I love hanging out with you but just maybe not…. So much.”

“That Trish girl, you hadn’t even mentioned her before. How long has she been in DnD?” You ask, hating the way he seems to blush at the mention of her name. 

“She’s not technically. She hangs out with us when we practice for gigs an-”

“But you said that only the people in Hellfire got the shirts!” What a lame argument, you think to yourself. 

“That’s cause the boys- they just-”

“It’s fine.” You snap out, turning to walk away, tears running down your face causing a hot sticky feeling to follow under the dense heat. “I get it.”

“This didn’t have to be such a problem.” He calls after you, following a few steps behind. “Come on, don’t make this a fight. We can work-”

“It’s fine. I have another case I can work o-”

“Of course you do.” He laughs, and you turn back to see him whirl around with his hands up in a dramatic motion before slamming them to his hips. “Of course you have another case. That’s all you ever have.”

“It was fine for me.” You seethe, embarrassed at the fact that he was seeing you cry in a burger joint parking lot. “I like the cases, and I like not having a ton of friends. If you told me that you felt like I was too attached I would have pulled back.”

He gapes at you, his neck going a little red as he openly stares before taking a step forward in attempt to wipe some of the tears off your face only you pull back and slap his hand away. “I didn’t mean it…. It’s just been a long day and I’m sor-”

“I have to go.” You don’t risk another look back, even when he calls out your name. 

And once you get home, sobbing now, you make quick work of throwing away all the Nancy Drew books you had collected over the years.

-

Want a part 2 with an epic nancy drew mystery?

Find it HERE

[filmtv2022]

The Mirror: Let Me Hold This With You (18+)

Please read the warnings and the author's note before you read this one.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/The Void x Reader

(The Mirror)

This can be read as a stand-alone (I think), but it is technically a continuation of "The Mirror". I think it would be best served by having read the other part first.

Story: Picking up the pieces after 'The Incident', Y/N finds herself struggling to keep "The Other Side" of herself in check. The shadows threaten to drag her under as the throes of depression worsen. Thankfully, Bob is right there by her side to help. He knows all too well the way things get during times like this. Bob does everything he can to help her deal with this setback. Most importantly, he wants to make sure she knows that she is not alone.

Warnings: Depression, the reader is struggling to take care of her basic needs (eating, brushing of teeth, showering, changing clothes, etc.), some language, allusion to suicide.

A/N. This one is pretty heavy, I'm not going to lie. I tried to treat this with the respect it deserves. Mostly, I hope that people who connect with the reader in this installment know they are not alone. I know I've needed that reminder myself. There are people who care and want to help. Know that it is okay to need help, and that trying to pretend like everything is okay, or that you've got it all handled... it can't last forever. Eventually, we all need to let others help us carry the burden. Who that is will vary from person to person. Maybe it's family or friends, maybe it's a therapist. But no matter what, don't hold it on your own. Please seek help if you need it! The world is a better place with you in it, I promise. (And, as always, I apologize for any mistakes.)

(I'm not a mental health professional.)

‐-----------------------------------

Your head hung low between your shoulders, your palms pressed flat on the cool marble of the vanity. The steady hum of the light overhead buzzed in your ears, fuzzing your thoughts and trapping you further within yourself. You could feel the electricity licking over your body, matching the slow crawl of shadows over your skin. There was no need to look in the mirror, for you knew what you would find. Pinprick eyes of flaming red,  and a sea of night so dark no light could escape it, staring back in the mirror. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your knuckles turned white from holding on to the only solid thing you could feel. The lights flickered, losing power as you stole from its current. Your hold on the counter intensified, buckling the stone between your fingers and breaking it into dust. Sweat poured from your brow and slid down the length of your spine. Droplets fell to the broken surface, sticking the dust together in harried piles. The air began to crackle as the shadows descended, taking over your thoughts and leaving only the echo of the past. 

You were held captive in the prison of your mind, and the darkness was calling to you. It screamed for attention, begging for you to give in, to draw in close. The bars that held the threat at bay rattled, shrieking under its weight. An emptiness tore at you, closing in inch by inch, crushing what remained of your broken and battered soul. 

And then you could feel him. The room seemed to settle slowly and then all at once. The tension in your shoulders loosened just enough to let your lungs flow more freely. The closer he came, the more the world righted itself around you. Bob closed the distance, letting his palm fall low on your back, rubbing gentle circles. The relief was instantaneous, though not complete. A hollowness continued to sit heavy in your chest, gnawing at the air in your lungs. 

The color returned to your skin, and your eyes followed in turn, getting back their normal stunning hue. You could feel him roving over your frame with his eyes, checking for any sign of injury. Robert continued on instinct, allowing himself to follow the path that had become so dear to him. With one gentle step, he came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he relinquished the worries of his own mind. But he wanted… no, needed more.

His face fell to the curve of your neck as he buried himself there. The threadbare cotton of his sweater hung from your frame, enticing him further into your space with the sure-fire promise of your mingled scents that clung there.  A deep inhale brought his heart rate down, letting him focus back on you as he shoved the cacophony of voices that threatened to burn him down into the deepest recesses of his mind. 

Your body quaked with silent sobs, but no further tears were spilled, for it would have been a waste. And even more than that, there was nothing left to give. Tenderly, he turned to lean against the fractured counter, positioning you between his thighs. With a hand on your waist, his fingertips just barely brushing warm skin beneath the hem of your shirt, the other held the delicate column of your neck. He could feel your pulse, steady and strong, and it did him wonders of good to know just how alive you really were, despite the enemy lurking just below the surface. 

“How ‘bout a shower? Hmm?” He nodded lightly, hoping you'd take the offer, but knew that it was unlikely. He felt that bone-deep exhaustion that coursed through your veins. So there was no surprise when he felt you crumple in his arms. He cradled the back of your head, holding you close as you balled his shirt between your fingers. 

“I have an idea. You trust me?” He whispered this time, ruffling the baby hairs at your temple with his words. 

He could feel you nod, your forehead pressed to his chest. He took that as the go-ahead, leading you carefully back to his room. Once inside, he cracked the door behind himself, keeping out the world, but not preventing you from leaving either. Bob perched you in the chair he'd placed beside the window. Sunlight poured in, running over your body for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Satisfied that you were safe within his space, he stood to full height and made his way across the room. You stared out, taking in the blue of the sky, listening to him grab whatever it was he was looking for. It didn't take him long to gather what he needed and return to you. Arms full, Bob knelt on the ground in front of you, placing what he'd grabbed on the book-laden table beside him before reaching for your hand. 

For just a moment, he let himself really look at you. The harsh blue hues that painted under your eyes, the tangle of your hair, the haunted look in your expression… it was an eerie sight to behold, for it was one that he had grown far too familiar with on himself. As if you could feel him looking, you broke away from the outside world and met his gaze. The piercing blue held you in place, waiting for him to speak again. 

“Can I take this off?” He gestured toward the sweater you'd borrowed. It had certainly seen better days and was in desperate need of a washing,  but he wouldn't dare take it from you without permission. 

It came in the form of yet another silent nod of acquiescence. Free to move, he sat up on his knees as he helped you out of your shirt, tossing it in the hamper nearby. The container of wipes proved to be more difficult to navigate than he'd planned, but in no time, he held one in his hand. 

“It's gonna be cold, but I think it'll help.” He reached for you, but stopped part of the way, “Tell me if you want to stop.”  

He felt you flinch as the chilled cloth met your skin. He wanted to chase away the goosebumps that flashed boldly over every inch of you. A fraction of a pause let you adjust to the temperature, the likes of which were in utter contrast to the heat that constantly radiated from you. Bob knew it well.

Robert worked in feather-light sweeps over your exposed skin, landing back on your wrist before drawing it to his lips. The pressure was a ghost of what he wanted to give, but he didn't dare push the limits. A rattling exhale slipped past his lips at the buttery expanse of your skin. He held there a second longer, memorizing the feeling of you. Just this touch, this fragment of an embrace, sent the void inside him reeling. The darkness grew vicious, thrashing in the pit of his chest, though just as fast as it flared, it died, fading to a dull roar. 

The ripple of shadow flickered in you too, mirroring the burden in him. A sharp gasp forced its way out of Bob at the hint of fire that colored your eyes. “You still with me?” 

“Yes.” You croaked, using your voice for the first time in days. Bob tried his best to hide the relief he felt hearing it, not wanting you to retreat further. Trying to keep you going, he plucked the bottle of mouthwash and a Dixie cup from the stand, filling it just enough for you to take a sip to swish. 

“Here, swish this around.” The tremble in your hands made grabbing for the tiny cup more difficult, but you did what he asked, letting the astringent liquid coat your tongue and wash away the grime that had built there over the previous days. You spat it back into the cup, and before you could so much as look for a trash can, Bob had taken it from you. “I’ll take care of it.” 

His jaw clenched, searching for how to proceed. Robert knew how far he had already pushed you. Leaving your room, freshening up, talking… they were all steps in the right direction, despite how it may have appeared from the outside. He also knew how even the simplest of tasks felt like climbing a mountain when the lows hit. It was more than enough work to keep yourself Earthside, let alone manage the day-to-day functions one was supposed to complete without thinking.

“You can be done for today… or we can keep going. Either way is okay.” He offered the options like a lifeline, praying that you would take one, but your vacant expression told him enough. “It’s okay. Let’s go lie down, we can try the rest of it in the morning, or whenever, yeah? How’s that sound?” 

“Good.” Your gaze dropped to the ground, away from the window where it had been planted for almost the whole time. Robert pushed from his knees with ease, taking you by the elbows as he went. Standing to your full height, in nothing but a dingy pair of sweatpants and an old sports bar, you should have felt exposed, self-conscious even, but the thought never crossed your mind. The only thing you could focus on was the warmth that radiated from him where your bodies touched. 

The sheets were cool against your flushed skin as Bob helped you onto the bed. Crawling beneath the covers, you felt the whisper of a breeze on your skin, and it was euphoria. A pitiful moan bubbled to the surface at the feeling, and Robert couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He folded back his side before ridding himself of the hoodie he’d thrown on earlier in the day. “Yelena found it online; it’s literally air-conditioned.” 

He climbed in, leaving space between you, but still scooched close enough to send his heart racing. This wasn’t new territory; the pair of you had found yourselves like this many nights at the lab, huddled close for comfort. But being here, like this, on the precipice of a new world together, one he’d never allowed himself to imagine… it was thrilling in a way he hadn’t expected. 

Despite the exhaustion and despite the creature that surged inside its cage, you found yourself drawing closer to the man who had quickly become your home. Your hands found his waist and chest, your legs tangled together in a messy heap. The chill that surrounded you filled in the gaps, keeping the blistering heat of your bodies at bay. With practiced care, Bob rested his brow on yours, inhaling deeply as he hauled you closer. 

He was on the verge of sleep, noting the way your breathing slowed, when he felt the words you spoke on his chest. “Tell Yelena she’s a genius. I could kiss her for this.” 

“I’ll tell her.” Bob's chuckle rumbled low, vibrating through your body.

“An’, Bob?” You waited for him to respond, unsure if he had already fallen asleep.

“Yeah?” His voice was gentle as he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Thank you.” Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay awake, but you held him tighter as the peace of his presence washed over you. You couldn’t be sure what was different than before, but the terrifying ‘other’ that lurked in the back of your mind was quiet, satisfied even, as though you had given it exactly what it needed, the medicine for its aching existence. And even without speaking, you knew that Robert must feel the same. The raging twister of his mind had slowed enough for sleep to take over, drawing his heavy lids over his cerulean eyes. So like this, held safely in each other’s arms, you found sleep. Not unconsciousness plagued by violent nightmares, but true and restful sleep, and for that, you were immeasurably grateful! 

[creatortools]

MY ENTRY FOR THE KARMOR MINI CONTEST!

I made my Karmor’s (Creatormor’s) full body ref, put in his colour palette and drew out how his powers work. Idk what makes him stand out so I’ll just give you guys a more in depth explanation of his powers, design choices/symbolism and some facts about my Karmor (sorry I’m probably gonna be yapping a whole lot) down below! (Also WARNING ⚠️ mentioning some spoilers of the bvz series, except for the episode thats coming out in like five days on YouTube ofc bc I haven’t seen it, if you guys haven’t seen the full series)

(Also I got too lazy with the Karmor drawings at the bottom mb)

CREATORMOR (Basic) INFO:

-He/They (Male)

-Half Chinese, half European

-5’6

-He crashes out a lot, hater, but is also still a nervous wreck

-He barely gets sleep because he’s scared that the Mad Crow might take over his body or his powers going out of control. Even though he’s not sure if the Mad Crow is able to do that, he’s still worries about the possibility.

-He tolerates the rest of the BvZ cast (COUGH, sorry) (Go HERE and HERE for more basic info, there is info about his powers too but I'm basically just rewriting it down below)

Describing Powers:

-HE’S USING HACKS ‼️ ⚠️

-A screen/pop up hologram kind of thing pops up right in front of him. The screen could also move with him. Like for example, if Karmor turned 180 degrees, the pop up will follow to still be in front of Karmor.

-Karmor is the only one who can see this pop up

-The pop up looks like a bootleg version of Google LMAO, he can type what he wants to change, like for example, “Save Mahatma” or “Save the Doctor” when you know…(AUGH I CRIED FULL ON SOBBED)

-After, he would touch the object or person he wants to change, the thing he touched will start to glitch.

-The sounds of lightning (sound effects when Karmor uses his powers) is the sounds of the object or person changing

-If he uses his powers too much, or what he changes is so extreme the blood vessels in his eyes burst, making him temporarily blind or make his vision temporarily blurry. The veins near his mouth also turns purple. His finger tips also become numb and the screen would become too glitchy to even see or use.

-So when he saved Mahatma, what he changed was considered extreme so yeah that happened.

Design choices:

His mouth scars

-Okay, so his mouth scars that are on the mouth were intentional.

-I was thinking like, why would the Mad Crow choose to introduce the zombies if they aren’t really a threat anymore? So I was like, maybe Karmor could look kinda like a zombie. Zombies usually have this rot around their mouths which sometimes shows their teeth beyond just an open mouth. So, anyone could mistaken Karmor for another zombie and try to kill him (especially at a distance)! GUYS IM NOT INSANE I say as they drag me to a white room/j (IM JOKING)

-When he opens his mouth, especially, he looks like a zombie

His pony tail:

-The shape of his pony tail was also intentional

-It supposed to look like a lightning bolt, lightning is associated with electricity, and also his powers make lightning sounds so yeah.

-I was like how else am I gonna put the lightning symbolism...hmmm...his hair! IM A GENIUS/j

POWERS:

-His powers were vaguely inspired by the "Life is a simulation" theory, I just think it kinda fits the BvZ storyline as a whole. Because of what he can do. Like him changing something and the events as a whole change as well? It has like a similar vibe? I guess? Idk I just thought it fits pretty well.

-The design of the pop up does have some symbolism. The crow logo represents the Mad Crow's influence and how the Mad Crow is always watching him and with him.

That's all I can think of so far, I might add more but maybe not. Hope you guys like my Karmor and what I did for my take on Karmor. I did put some thought into him grr maybe too much. (I sound so insane LMAO)

[98tsuki]

midnight idles.

moonlight spills silk through curtains that sway in front of the window, opened just a crack to let a gentle breeze sift through snow white strands.

peace, once his enemy, relents instantly at the first touch.

it begins with hovering just before you make contact with his infinity—with him—gaze never leaving him. an unknown feeling lodges itself in his chest and burrows deep, making a home.

he’ll be selfish just this once, he tells himself. he curls into the feeling of human touch initiated by someone else, snow white lashes settling over high cheekbones. his shoulders ease gently as the sky beats a gentle legato against the window panes. neither of you move to close it.

fingertips chase the outline of his jaw, leading up to behind the shell of his ear, and he peers at you, curious. calculating. it saddens you. he knows it does.

force of habit, he mumbles. you know.

but here, he learns to drop his troubles at the foot of your bed before he makes himself at home. long limbs tangle with yours and take what you can give him. you wonder if it will ever be enough.

satoru gojo hoards touch like a man starved.

it eats at him wholly, foreign and uncertain, but he craves it. lingering touches, arms brushing past, gentle squeezes on shoulders. you hover over him each and every time, a silent question always present, and that indescribable feeling digs a larger hole in his heart.

the world whittles down to the smell of rain and your laundry detergent, and he’s almost lulled to sleep from the miscellaneous shapes you draw into his shoulder. his head nestles into the crook of your neck like the last puzzle piece slotted into place, content and whole. he feels whole, and uncharacteristically quiet, he mulls over his choices.

“what’re you thinking about?”

a multitude of things, really. his next mission, the people he could afford to care about, their safety—trying to protect them long enough before the world greedily swallows them whole and spits them back, returning in shells of their former selves. the world isn’t kind to most. (he would know.)

and you.

“me?” he shifts to look at you, and your expression is one of pleasant surprise, fingers stilling. they’re still warm against the slight chill of his skin, and the contact spreads heat down his arm. he moves to intertwine his fingers with yours.

he hums his agreement, “always thinking about you.”

force of habit. you smile.

“you changed my life, you know?” the admission is soft, mumbled against your skin, and just barely audible above the gentle rustling of clothes. his gaze lands on the contrast of your fingers resting above his knuckles. “i feel.. safe. with you.”

he doesn’t say since then, but it’s heard. you squeeze his hand three times instead and he exhales softly.

“besides. ‘gumi likes you, so there’s no getting rid of you now. you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

he snorts a laugh when you reach to pinch him with your free hand, fondly remembering the boy sleeping soundly a room over from yours.

“no objections from me.”

[leyavo]

Thinking about the TF141 guys having a lottery syndicate. Where they all put in some money and choose their numbers.

Price checking the results on his phone as the guys huddle round talking about what they’re going to buy with a million pounds.

Price wants a canal boat, don’t ask him why even he doesn’t know. On going joke about getting him a new hat for his boat driving. Maybe even a fishing suit. He hasn’t thought of his height or the small space of a boat like that. “Might wanna trade up the old wagon.”-“that’s a classic boys, engines still ticking away.” Price then goes on about cars not being made as reliable now and how he likes being able to fix stuff without having to plug it into a sodding computer. He’d pay off his mortgage too as he already has a house.

Johnny wants to buy a pub for retirement and he’s constantly trying to convince the guys to go into business with him. He’s even got a plan and seen a derelict building that would be perfect. It’s normally when he’s drunk does he go into the details. “This could be us lads,” he says hooking his arms around Simon and Kyle’s shoulders.(Price is smoking outside and Simon’s regretting not joining him now). All whilst he spills his beer over them.

Kyle would invest his money in wine (that’s where the big money is). Then he’d buy himself a nice motorbike to weave in and out of the traffic in London. He’ll come back to the investment then buy a nice house later on. “You boring bastard, investing?!”-“you won’t be laughing when I double my winnings mate.” He’d also buy his mums house for her.

Simon’s wish shocks them the most, a nice house with a garden maybe near the beach (he hates the beach) - “for the dog, not me.”-“What do you need all those rooms for?”-“Don’t say for the dog.” He’s definitely looking on rightmove each night before the lotto draw. He still lives in the same studio flat on a rundown council estate, the first one he rented and then bought in his twenties.

When they don’t win the big money, they split whatever money they get or if it’s a small amount it goes towards drinks at the pub.

They don’t dare calculate how much they’ve spent on it though.

[Masterlist]

[rafeys-angel13]

✩ ℬ𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝓀𝓃𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓁ℯ𝓈 + ℬ𝓁ℴℴ𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝒸ℴ𝓌𝓁𝓈 ✩

summary: rafe always lets you wear what you want to parties as long as you stick by his side, everyone in outer banks knows you’re his anyway so no one would dare touch you. tonight is different though, when you leave to grab a drink a brave touron starts flirting with you, sliding a hand up your waist. what will rafe do..?

warnings: violence…?

wc: 679

writers notes: is this cringe?! i feel like this is cringe ᵟຶᴖᵟຶ

sunshine!reader x rafe cameron

you and rafe are at toppers party, along with most of figure eight. he keeps a tight grip on your waist, not painful but definitely possesive.

"rafe, i'm going to get another drink, you want one?" you rest a hand on his arm and look up at him.

"no thanks, baby girl. don't take long though..." he reluctantly lets go of your waist and you make your way into the kitchen where all the drinks are. you find an unopened bottle of cider, youre drunk enough to not even care what you're drinking at this point.

as you open the bottle you feel a hand on your butt, you turn around and look up at who you think is rafe. you see an unfamiliar face. you push hit hand off you and give him a dirty look, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. he scoffs and pushes his body against yours.

"c'mon, sexy... don't play hard to get, you know you want a piece of this." he slurs, gesturing to himself and laughing to himself. he's obviously plastered.

you hold your hand up to show the delicate ring on your ring finger,

"i'm taken, fuck off" it's a promise ring but he doesn't need to know that.

he rolls his eyes and walks off, muttering something under his breath.

once you make your way back to where rafe and your friends were, rafe isn't there. you tap toppers arm,

"where's rafe?" you ask him as you look around the room.

topper doesn't say anything but points outside, rafe is stood infront of the guy that was just talking to you. his hand gripping his collar. rafes obviously heated about something, did he see the guy talking to you?

"topper what the fuck, why you letting him just start fights?!" you groan and drag topper outside, walking towards rafe and the guy just as rafe starts punching the guy.

"rafe!" you groan, why does he always have to be fighting someone?

topper chuckles and sips his beer, ruthie and some of our friends coming over to us now.

"top, do something, man!" you shove him towards rafe.

rafe keeps punching and pushing the guy, the touron is fighting back a lot. there's blood and a lot of it, you cant even tell who's it is.

"damn! rafe, dude!" topper shouts as he grabs rafe off the touron.

rafe tries to push topper off him but sighs and gives up as the other guy lays on the floor. you make your way over to top and rafe, grabbing rafes arm.

"stay the fuck away from her you dick!" rafe shouts at the guy, earning a smack on the chest from you.

"sit the fuck down, hard ass" you snap and pull him over to the steps on the porch, standing between his legs.

"so pushy..." he mumbles. spitting out some blood on the grass.

"i'll be damn pushy in a minute, what the fuck was that?!" you grab his chin, inspecting his face. you're mad but you're more worried about him too.

he sighs and lets you look, his hands on your waist.

"m'sorry, baby girl..." he mumbles, looking you in the eyes to show you he means really means it. you sigh and look at his hands that are bruised black and blue already.

"just wish you'd think sometimes, babe... you're not 16 anymore, cant fight everyone who pisses you off..." you scold gently, kissing his bloody knuckles.

he nods and rests his head on your stomach, sighing.

"c'mon... we're going home..." you pull him to his feet and head through the garden to the street, heading back to rafe's house.

when you get home you grab a cotton pad and some alcohol, rubbing the blood off his face and knuckles. he huffs and groans as you do so.

"don't start fights and i won't have to do this..."

he glares at you and you finish cleaning him and you peck his lips.

"bedtime?" you tilt your head and he nods defeatedly. with that, you two go to bed.

[makeyuomine]

studio styles // part 1

Summary: (Y/N), a newly hired Architectural Assistant at the renowned architecture firm Studio Styles, grapples with imposter syndrome as she navigates the pressures of her first major role in the field. Balancing ambition with uncertainty, she finds herself drawn to her supervisor—Harry, the firm's brilliant yet enigmatic Principal Architect. As professional boundaries blur under late-night deadlines and quiet moments, (Y/N) must confront the question of what she's really building: a career, a future… or something much more complicated.

architect!harry.

Author’s Note: Thank you all for taking the time to read my work! Pleaseeeee let me know your thoughts! Ideas for more are encouraged :)

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The office smelled faintly of concrete dust and expensive coffee—an oddly comforting blend for (Y/N), who still couldn't believe she worked here.

Only one month in, and the sensation of imposter syndrome clung to her like glue. But each time she caught her reflection in the sleek glass doors of the downtown firm, dressed in black slacks and a structured blazer, she reminded herself: You earned this.

Freshly 25, (Y/N) was the firm’s newest Architectural Assistant, freshly graduated with a Master's and still blinking in the unfamiliar rhythm of a life no longer defined by GPA calculators or studio reviews. Her mind often wandered to one question: Who am I now that I’m not a student?

Work, it seemed, was determined to fill that identity vacuum. She welcomed it. Chased it. Whether it was a zoning analysis for a low-rise mixed-use project or drafting elevation concepts for a civic plaza in the City, she raised her hand for everything. Her ambition didn’t just burn—it blazed.

But no amount of ambition had prepared her for Harry Styles.

The moment she had stepped into the interview room a month ago, she had felt it. The unmistakable shift in the air. The strong current between them.

Harry—Principal Architect, her direct supervisor, and the owner of the very firm she now worked at, Studio Styles—was, in a word, unfair. Thirty-seven, tall, and effortlessly magnetic, he carried the kind of refined charisma that seemed to say: Yes, I know I look good in this tailored navy suit, but I promise I won’t make it your problem.

The man who interviewed her, hired her, and now walked past her desk with rolled-up sleeves and the kind of quiet intensity that made architectural specs seem like poetry. Honestly, how was anyone supposed to stay focused?

Everyone in the office respected him, admired him—even joked about him being the "greenest of flags." But (Y/N) saw something else too: a softness in his voice when he explained design theory, the weight he carried in his brow when he thought no one was looking, the restraint in his gaze when their eyes met.

She wondered if he felt it too. That pull.

Harry had kept things strictly professional, of course. She could tell he worked hard to focus only on the technical, the mentorship. But sometimes—when they hovered side by side over CAD drawings or walked together during site visits—she could swear his fingers brushed hers just a moment too long.

Still, she had goals. Real ones. The promotion to Architect I was not guaranteed. It was the next step, the first real test in proving she could belong in this rarefied world. It would be a long year of learning, proving, and adapting.

Romance? That was the plot of her old daydreams, back in undergrad when her biggest worry was a group project going sideways.

Now? Now she had deadlines. Career reviews. A whole identity to build from scratch.

And yet, as she watched Harry gesture thoughtfully at a floorplan from across the room, smiling that small, half-lidded smile that always made her stomach twist—(Y/N) couldn’t help but think:

If I’m building a life from the ground up… is it so wrong that he might be a part of it? Or is this what happens when you spend years chasing degrees and suddenly find yourself in the real world—down bad for your boss like some HR training video gone rogue?

♡ ♡

The hum of the office had quieted, reduced to the occasional tap of a keyboard and the distant whirl of the plotter spitting out floorplans. Most of the team had already cleared out for the evening, but (Y/N) was still at her desk, editing renderings with the intensity of someone who feared the smallest oversight could unravel everything.

She didn’t hear him approach—just the soft sound of leather soles stopping beside her.

"Got a minute?" Harry asked gently, holding a thick project folder in one hand.

She glanced up, blinking. "Yeah, of course."

He gestured toward the small glass-walled conference room at the corner of the floor. Her heart gave the faintest stutter.

What did he want to discuss? Had someone filed a complaint? Was she being fired?

Inside the conference room, he set the folder on the table between them. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms flexing as he opened the file.

She did her best to hide the nerves tightening her chest, but it was written all over her face.

"Well, don't look so worried," Harry smiled at her reassuringly.

She let out a soft laugh. "I'm sorry, I tend to overthink."

"Don't worry. I actually wanted to discuss a new project with you," he looked at her.

(Y/N)'s brows lifted, curiosity sparking in her expression. A new project? That hadn’t come up in the staff meeting earlier.

"This is the new Rivera Cultural Center downtown," he said, eyes scanning the drawings. "It’s a multi-phase project, community-driven, green-certified. City's backing it heavily, and it's going to be high-profile."

She nodded slowly, her eyes following the path of his finger as it traced the plans. She couldn’t help but notice his hands—steady, capable, and undeniably masculine.

"I want you to take the lead on schematic design," Harry said, looking up at her. "Concept, massing, program alignment, early elevations. You’ll collaborate with me directly."

The words snapped her out of every lingering daydream. (Y/N)'s heart thudded loudly enough; she was sure he could hear it. "Wait—me?"

He smiled faintly. "Yes. You."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. She wanted to say yes. God, she always wanted to take on a big project. But this one felt… massive.

"I’ve never led something like this before," she said quietly, brows furrowing. "I—I don’t want to mess it up. Or let you down."

"You won’t," he said. "Because I’ll be there. Every step of the way. And I wouldn’t hand you this unless I was sure you were ready for it."

There it was. No patronizing. No sugarcoating. Just belief. Pure and steady.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. And something passed between them then—something unspoken, heavy with possibility. Like the silence before the first line is drawn.

She wondered if he felt it too, that current, that magnetic shift. From the way his gaze held hers, unwavering and sincere, she knew the answer.

But neither of them said it. Not yet.

Instead, she nodded once.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it."

He smiled. And this time, it reached all the way to his eyes.

♡ ♡

The office was quieter than usual this evening, the glow of the city skyline filtering in through the windows as the last of the staff trickled out. (Y/N) had stayed behind, focused on the schematics for the Rivera Cultural Center. She'd already gone over the designs three times, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

She was staring at the plans when Harry approached her desk, a soft thud of his shoes on the polished wood floor. She glanced up, startled but grateful for the distraction.

"Everything going okay?" Harry asked, his voice warm but low.

She smiled, pushing the frustration aside. "Yeah. Just trying to figure out the massing for the main lobby. I feel like I’m overthinking it."

"You are," he teased lightly, sitting down in the chair across from her. But his eyes softened as he continued, "But that’s good. Means you're invested."

She shifted in her seat, pulling up a few of the elevation designs. "I just don’t want to miss anything. I want it to be perfect."

"You’re on the right track," Harry said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locked on the plans. He was close enough now that she could see the faint creases in his shirt, the way the lines of his suit jacket stretched over his shoulders. His presence was comforting, grounding her. "We’re getting there. I can help you with this—walk you through the next step."

She hesitated, glancing up at him, meeting his eyes. He seemed genuinely invested in her progress. There was no condescension, no rush. Just the quiet assurance that she was more than capable.

"You’ve been really supportive," she admitted, almost shyly. "I didn’t expect it to be like this. I thought you'd… I don’t know, be more hands-off."

"Do you want me to be hands-off?" he quickly asked.

She looked up, their eyes immediately connecting.

There was a slight pause. "N-No," she stuttered.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as his gaze lingered on her face. They both turned their attention back to the plans, but there was something different in the air now, something thicker between them that made the space feel smaller, more intimate.

Harry stood, moving to the whiteboard beside her desk to sketch a few notes. She could feel the subtle shift in energy as he reached over her, their shoulders brushing for just a second. It wasn't intentional, but the warmth of his body, the nearness, sent a jolt through her.

When he stepped back, their eyes met again. She was sure he felt it too—the quiet tension hanging in the air, the pull that neither of them acknowledged aloud.

"It's getting late… you should probably head out," (Y/N) said, glancing toward the window where the sky had already begun to fade into evening hues.

"Yeah, I'll get going soon. Just want to make sure you're alright," he said.

The sincerity in his voice truly touched (Y/N).

"I don't know what I'd do without you on this," she admitted.

He stepped closer, gaze on her.

Harry’s expression darkened. His hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.

"You won't ever have to find out," he murmured.

That did it.

Her breath hitched just before he leaned in, and then his mouth was on hers—firm, searching, not hesitant at all. She responded instantly, her hand sliding into his shirt collar, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, the weight of everything they hadn't said crashing into that one desperate moment.

His hand found her waist, and with a quiet groan he walked her back until she bumped into the edge of the desk. The plans crinkled beneath her as he lifted her—strong hands guiding her to lie back over the very designs they’d been pouring over just minutes earlier.

The moment was charged, a collision of ambition, desire, and months of restraint finally breaking loose.

He hovered over her, breathing hard. "Tell me to stop."

She didn't.

Instead, she reached up and kissed him again.

The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. Harry's hands framed her hips, her fingers curled into his shirt. Every thought, every rule, every hesitation had vanished the second their lips met. The sound of paper rustling beneath them—plans and sketches now forgotten—only fueled the urgency.

And then—ding!

The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical chime, slicing through the moment like a blade.

They froze.

A beat later, the telltale squeak of rubber wheels echoed down the hall, followed by the soft clatter of cleaning supplies and the faint shuffle of footsteps. The janitor had arrived for the night shift.

Harry pulled back, breathing heavily. (Y/N) sat up fast, heart hammering, cheeks flushed as she frantically smoothed down her blouse and skirt. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the collar of his shirt, then leaned casually against the edge of the desk like they'd been talking about floor plans—not making out on top of them.

A faint tune drifted into the studio—some upbeat song the janitor was whistling along to, completely oblivious, earbuds tucked firmly into his ears. He didn't even glance their way as he pushed the trash bin through the hallway, humming to himself and wheeling toward the break room.

(Y/N) let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

"That was close," she whispered, glancing sideways at Harry.

He looked at her, and despite the attempt at nonchalance, there was a spark in his eyes—mischief, disbelief, desire. His lips curved into a crooked smile, a silent what just happened? passing between them.

She couldn't help the grin that tugged at her own mouth, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress it. Their gazes lingered, playful and loaded.

Neither of them said a word, but the silence said everything.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Author's Note: Thank you all for taking the time to read my work! How are we liking architect!harry?

[cosmicaura7]

AITA SERIES

Pairings : pedro pascal characters x reader

Genre : f/m, sexual implications, controversial topics, taboo topics, use of R to refer to reader, 

Synopsis : So Reddit, Am I the Asshole…?

Clint Flood (Freaky Tales)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for being in love with my boyfriend’s dad?

I know how this sounds. I’m not proud of it. But I also can’t stop thinking about it, so here I am.

I (26F) have been dating J (28M) for almost a year now. He’s a good guy, steady, kind and a little boring but safe. The kind of guy you’re supposed to want to marry. The kind your mom would approve of.

Then there’s his dad. C (mid-50s). A little rough around the edges. Quiet, tall and intense. He’s got these piercing eyes that feel like they can see right through you and this whole ex-military and no-bullshit vibe that makes the air change when he walks into a room.

The first time I met him, I already felt something. But I ignored it, pushed it down. But it’s gotten worse. Every time I visit their family cabin, every time we sit across from each other at dinner, I feel his gaze linger just a little too long. I catch him watching me when he thinks I won’t notice. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look right back. It’s not just lust, either. He actually sees me, listens to me in a way his son never really does. He remembers the small things I say, and even notices when I change my hair. Once, when I was quietly crying in the hallway during a family weekend (long story), he was the one who came out and handed me a glass of water without a word.

I feel so drawn to him. And I know how messed up that is, I’m dating his son after all. There’s no world where this ends well. I haven’t cheated. I haven’t done anything beyond maybe letting my imagination wander and entertaining a few dreams I’ll never admit out loud. But lately, when I’m with J, I just feel off. Like I’m pretending. Like I’m waiting for someone else to walk into the room. Someone who makes my skin burn with just a glance.

So Reddit… AITA for staying in a relationship when my heart might be somewhere else? Am I horrible for wanting a man I can’t have? Or is this just a passing obsession I need to bury deeper?

Dave York (The Equalizer 2)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for not acting on feelings for my kids’ babysitter even though she clearly wants me to?

Okay Reddit, I know how this sounds, but hear me out before you jump to “creep” in the comments.

I (41M) am a divorced dad of two daughters, A (10) and M (7). They’re my world. Been raising them mostly solo for the past three years since the split and it hasn’t been easy. Between work, school pickups and dance recitals, I needed help. Enter her (let’s call her R, 26F), the babysitter I hired after a friend’s recommendation.

She’s absolutely incredible. Responsible, patient, smart, funny and grounded. Everything you’d want in a woman. My girls adore her. They draw her pictures, ask for her when they’re sick, even slip up and call her “Mom” sometimes. I figured that would make things easier, someone stable in their lives.

What I didn’t expect was me being the unstable one. Because the problem is, she’s also gorgeous. Like, unfairly so. And lately, I can’t tell if I’m imagining things or if she’s trying to test me. The casual touches, the way she lingers in the kitchen when I come home, the soft voice when she tells me I look tired and should get more sleep, the ridiculously tight tank tops, the lip gloss and the way she looks at me when she doesn’t think I notice.

Part of me, a big part, wants to give in. I’m a man, I’m not oblivious to it. But the other part? The one that tucks my daughters in at night? That part is scared shitless. What if I misread everything? What if this ruins the bond she has with my girls? What if they lose someone they love because their dad couldn’t keep it in his pants?

She’s never said anything outright, never crossed a clear line. But I can feel the tension and I can feel myself getting closer to breaking every day. I want her so badly but I also want what’s best for my kids. I just don’t know if those two things can exist at the same time.

So Reddit… AITA for keeping her at arm’s length when all I want to do is pull her closer?

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for falling in love with my fake PR girlfriend and not knowing if she actually likes me or is just a better actor than I am?

Okay. Buckle up, internet strangers because I’m spiraling.

I (early 40s M, actor, you’ve probably seen me snort a line or die dramatically in something) was recently paired up with another actor (let’s call her R, 30s F, wildly talented, unfairly hot and intimidatingly cool) to star in this big dramatic slow-burn romance film. Think tortured artists, rainy kisses and completely Oscar bait.

To sell it? The studios and our agents cooked up this genius idea, let’s fake date. Hold hands at events, post blurry selfies on Instagram, give flirty interviews. You know, classic “no, we’re just good friends… wink” PR bait. At first, I laughed. I’ve done this crap before. All the camera flashes, fake kisses, casually mentioning her in interviews, rinse and repeat.

Except it stopped feeling fake. I stopped feeling fake. Somewhere between the shared hotel rooms, the quiet after-parties, the little glances during press junkets, I fell for her. Fully, horrifically and irrevocably. The kind of fall that makes your chest hurt and your ego scream. The worst part? I have no clue if she feels the same. She’s good, man. Oscar-nominee good. She leans into my arm like she means it. Laughs at my dumb jokes like they’re brilliant. Once she looked at me after a long day of shooting and said, “Sometimes I forget this isn’t real.” and I swear to god my soul left my body.

But then the next morning she’ll be cold again. Professional and distant. Like I dreamed the whole thing. Like it’s all just lines from a script I don’t have a copy of. Now I’m sitting here, fully in love with the woman I’m supposed to be pretending to love and I don’t know if I should say anything. What if I ruin everything? What if she is just pretending? What if I’m just another role she nails while I’m over here method acting heartbreak?

So Reddit… AITA for catching real feelings during a fake relationship? Or just an idiot with a crush and no chill?

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for not following through with a hit because I fell in love with the target?

Yeah. That title’s a mess. So’s the situation.

I (40M) work in a niche line of work. Let’s just say I solve problems that require extreme discretion and no paper trail. You hire me and the problem disappears. Clean and quiet within a blink of an eye.

A few months ago, I got a high-paying job from a rich smug prick who wanted his ex-wife taken care of. No explanation, just names, photos and a price I couldn’t ignore. I’ve done worse for less so I took it. Her name is R (36F). First time I saw her, she was sitting outside a little bookstore she owns, sipping coffee, talking to some neighborhood kid like she wasn’t marked for death. I kept my distance. Observed and waited for the right time.

Only it never came.

The more I watched, the harder it became to see her as a target. She volunteers at shelters. Leaves snacks out for delivery drivers. She sings in her car when she thinks no one’s watching. She’s light and warm. The kind of woman you protect, not eliminate.

I told myself I was just gathering intel but days turned to weeks. I started memorizing her routines. I learned the way she laughs when she texts her sister, the exact brand of tea she drinks, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous. Somewhere along the way, the job stopped being a job. I never made contact, never said a word. But I started feeling and now I’m in too deep. I backed out of the job quietly. Told the client it was unworkable, returned the deposit. He wasn’t happy but I’d rather deal with him than live with the thought of hurting her.

Problem is, I still want her. And I’ve imagined going up to her. Introducing myself as just a guy who walked into her in a random shop. Letting her fall for me without knowing who I really am. But that feels like a lie. I’ve already lied by omission.

So Reddit… AITA for falling for her while stalking her? For not telling her the truth even though every part of me wants to protect her now? Or would telling her everything be the most selfish thing I could do?

Ezra (The Prospect)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for secretly dating my best friend’s brother even though she explicitly told me not to?

So I (F, 27) have been best friends with this girl since we were 7. We grew up together, sleepovers, secrets, teenage rebellion, the whole deal. She’s like a sister to me and we’ve been through everything.

Which means I also grew up around E (M, 34), her older brother. E was the charming, sarcastic, effortlessly cool older brother who’d tease us when we were kids, drive us around when we were teens, and smirk at me in that infuriating way that made me blush harder than I’d like to admit. We always had this… thing. Flirty comments, lingering looks, stupid jokes that only made sense to us. But I never acted on it. My best friend made it very clear and very early on that E was off limits. “It’d be weird.” She said, “Gross. I don’t want my bestie being near my brother like that

Fast forward to last year. I ran into E at a party she dragged me to and it was different. The flirting was heavier. The air was tense. He looked at me like he really saw me. One thing led to another, and… yeah. We started secretly dating. At first, it was light, late-night texting, stolen moments, private dinners. But it grew deeper. He’s thoughtful, steady, makes me laugh and makes me feel safe. He listens. We talk about everything. I think I’ve loved him longer than I’ve even known what love was.

We’ve been together for 5 months now. My best friend doesn’t know. I’ve lied to her face more times than I can count and I hate it. Every time E and I sneak around, a part of me dies a little because I know how betrayed she’ll feel if (when) she finds out.

But here’s the thing, it’s not some casual fling. We’re in love. I want to tell her. We both do. We just don’t know how without blowing up twenty years of friendship. And I can’t stop asking myself, do I owe her that level of loyalty? Or am I allowed to be happy even if it’s messy?

So Reddit… AITA for going behind my best friend’s back and dating her brother, the one person she begged me not to fall for?

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for wanting to ask out a woman who used to sleep with my best friend (even though I’ve liked her for years)?

Yeah, I know how this sounds. Buckle up.

I (38M) have this friend, let’s call him Pope, who I’ve known forever. We’ve been through the shit together. The kind of friendship where you’d kill for the guy, no questions asked.

A few years ago, he was hooking up with this woman (let’s call her R, 30F). Nothing serious. Just casual, no-strings. He made that clear to all of us. And she seemed fine with it. They’d hook up after drinks or late nights but it fizzled out naturally. No drama. No breakup. Just life moving on.

Thing is that I liked her, always liked her. Since day one. She’s smart, hilarious, can handle a room full of testosterone like it’s nothing and has this way of looking at you that makes you feel like you’re the only guy in the world. I kept my distance out of respect. You don’t move in on your best friend’s girl even if she was never really his girl. But now, years later, I still haven’t stopped thinking about her. We still talk and hang out sometimes. There’s a spark there, I swear. But I haven’t said a damn thing. Partly because I’m a coward, partly because I don’t want to blow up my friendship with Pope.

I asked him once, hypothetically, how he’d feel if someone dated a girl he’d just “hooked up with.” He shrugged and said, “If it was just a hook-up, I wouldn’t give a shit.” But I don’t know if he actually meant it. And I don’t know if it’s different when it’s one of us, tight-knit, military bond and all.

So Reddit… AITA if I ask her out? Am I a bad friend for wanting a chance with the woman he technically had first, even if it was casual and years ago? Or should I just shut my mouth and keep pretending I don’t care?

Harry Castillo (The Materialists)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for wanting to financially support my assistant in a way that might make me her sugar daddy?

Throwaway because, well, obviously.

I (42M) run several successful business firms and have a phenomenal assistant (26F). Let’s call her R. She’s sharp, competent, endlessly patient with my disorganization and frankly the reason this whole damn office runs at all.

Here’s the thing, I’ve noticed she’s been struggling lately. She’s skipping meals, avoiding turning on the office heat even when she’s freezing. I caught her patching a hole in her shoe with tape. She’s proud and never complains, but it’s obvious she’s barely staying afloat. I pay her more than what she deserves for her position but I know life’s expensive, especially in Manhattan. I also know she’s got student loans and takes care of her family. And I hate seeing her like this, it’s been eating at me.

So here’s where I might be the asshole, I’ve been toying with the idea of offering her help. Not a raise (I already gave her one recently). Not a loan (she’d never accept). More like a “no strings attached” arrangement where I’d take care of her rent, groceries or whatever she needs, if she lets me. Yes, I know how that sounds. I’m not trying to be a creep. I’m not expecting anything in return, no paying back, no sexual favors. But there’s no way to make this offer without it sounding like I want to be her sugar daddy.

Truth is… I wouldn’t hate that idea if she was open to something more. She’s beautiful and smart. The kind of woman I’d fall for in another life. But that’s not what this is about. I just want to take care of her and make sure she’s okay. If there’s anything more deserving in living the lavish life, it’s definitely her. 

So Reddit… AITA for even thinking about offering something like that? And if not, how the hell do I go about it without sounding like an old pervert?

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels (Kingsman)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for being cold to a woman at work because she reminds me of my dead wife?

I (late 40s, M) work in a high-risk field, let’s just call it federal-level security with a cowboy hat on top. I’m used to staying sharp and staying detached. I’ve had to be, ever since I lost my wife ten years ago. She was my everything. Sweet, sharp-tongued and tough as nails under lace. When she died… I buried my heart with her.

Then came her.

Let’s call her R (mid-30s, F). She’s the new secretary at our organization. Handles the logistics, the schedules, the background noise of our chaos. Always has a coffee in hand, always humming something, always looking at the world like it still deserves to be forgiven. The first time I saw her, I froze. She didn’t look exactly like my wife, not quite, but she moved like her, laughed like her and smiled with that same little tilt that used to undo me in an instant. And ever since then, I’ve treated her like she’s done something wrong just by walking into the damn room.

I’m short and dismissive with her, sometimes even rude. I pretend not to hear her when she says good morning. Once or twice, I’ve even corrected her harshly in front of others for mistakes she didn’t make. I know I’m being cruel. She hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve it. But every time she opens her mouth, I hear a ghost. Thing is, she’s never pushed back. She just looks at me with this confused kind of hurt, like she doesn’t understand what she did wrong and the truth is, she didn’t, never did. I did. I’m the one turning grief into anger. I’m the one who never dealt with losing the woman I loved and now I’m taking it out on someone who’s just being kind.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about apologizing, about telling her the truth. But I’m afraid if I let her in, I’ll start feeling again. And I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to lose someone twice.

So Reddit… AITA for being a jackass to someone just because she reminds me of someone I lost? Or is this just the only way I know how to cope?

Javi Guttierez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for kissing my assistant and confessing my feelings, only for her to completely ignore it the next day?

This might be a mess so bear with me.

I (M, 33) am a scriptwriter and producer. I’ve worked my way up in this business and I take it seriously. One of the smartest things I ever did was hire her, my assistant (F, 28). Let’s call her R. She’s incredible. Organized, sharp, cool under pressure, has this dry humor that makes me laugh at the worst times and somehow remembers every detail about everyone I ever meet. She makes me better. She makes the job look easy.

And I’ve been in love with her for almost two years.

I know it’s unprofessional. I kept it quiet, never crossed a line, not even a toe near one. Because she deserves respect and I’d rather suffer in silence than make her uncomfortable or jeopardize her career.

But it’s been getting harder lately, especially at industry parties. She turns heads when she walks into a room. Every actor, every big name, they all want a piece of her. And I just stand there, pretending I don’t care. Pretending I’m not dying inside when they make her laugh, when they ask for her number, when she says, “I’m working” and looks away.

Then came this gala. One too many champagne flutes. One too many guys trying to corner her. She looked uncomfortable, kept glancing at me across the room. And something in me snapped. I pulled her away from the crowd, took her to the balcony, and without thinking, I kissed her. Then I told her everything. That I’ve liked her since week one. That I think about her all the time. That it kills me to watch her with anyone else.

And she just ran. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked away.

Next morning? It was like it never happened. She showed up, clipboard in hand, rattling off schedules, looking me dead in the eye like she hadn’t fled from my lips ten hours prior. I’ve tried talking to her. I’ve begged for just five minutes of her time. She dodges me, changes subjects, acts like everything is normal, and it’s driving me insane. I feel like I crossed a boundary. But also, I was honest. I never forced anything. I just said how I felt.

So Reddit… AITA for kissing my assistant and confessing my feelings after years of silence, even if now she won’t speak to me?

Javier Peña (Narcos)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for constantly rejecting my coworker’s advances even though I’m actually in love with him?

This is going to sound like I’m the world’s biggest idiot, but here goes.

I (29F) work for the government. It's a hard, high-stress job and there’s not a lot of room for vulnerability or, y’know, romance. Which sucks because I’ve been half in love with my colleague, let’s call him J, since the day I met him.

He’s everything you’d want in a man. Confident, charming and dangerous in that bad boy way. He walks into a room and women stare. He talks and people listen. He flirts like it’s breathing. And yeah, he’s got a reputation. Everyone knows he’s been around, probably the most sexually experienced man I’ve ever met.

Me? I’ve never even had sex. Not religious, not traumatized, it just never happened for me. I’ve always been shy and easily intimidated. I was the "shy bunny" in the academy, not the one guys chased after. And when J started flirting with me, like really flirting, I froze.

It’s not like I’m not interested, I am. But every time he makes a move, I panic, I dodge, I pretend that I’m too busy or brush him off with a joke. Because the thought of actually being with him, of taking off my clothes in front of a man like that, makes me want to crawl into a hole. I’m scared I’ll disappoint him. That I’ll be awkward or inexperienced or just not enough. And then I’ll ruin the one good relationship I have on this damn job. He still flirts, still checks in. But I can feel the distance growing. I think he’s starting to think I’m not into him. Or worse, that I’m playing games. I’m not. I just don’t know how to tell him why I keep backing off.

So Reddit… AITA for rejecting him over and over while secretly being in love with him? Should I be honest and risk everything? Or just keep my mouth shut and let him move on to someone who won’t choke up the second he touches her?

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for having feelings for my dad’s best friend, who basically helped raise me?

Okay, so this is going to sound real bad on paper, but hear me out.

I (26F) have known this man, J, since I was a kid. He’s my dad’s best friend, a grumpy rugged Texan who’s been around for every milestone in my life. School plays, birthdays, college move-in day, you name it, J was always there, usually fixing something or standing off to the side with a cup of coffee and his permanent scowl.

Here’s the thing, somewhere in the last year or two, I started not seeing J as just “Dad’s friend.” Like, I’ll walk into the kitchen in my pajamas and he’s fixing the sink with his sleeves rolled up, arms flexing and suddenly I’m thinking things I should probably be arrested for. It’s not just physical. He listens to me, respects me and treats me like a grown woman, not a little girl.

A few nights ago, he stayed over after helping Dad rebuild the deck. I poured him a whiskey after Dad went to bed and we talked for hours. At one point, he brushed my hand and didn’t pull away right away. It was small but it felt like something shifted. Here’s the kicker, I want something to happen. I want him but I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet because 1.) he’s my dad’s best friend, 2.) he’s literally 20+ years older than me, and 3.) I know if my dad ever found out, it’d destroy their friendship.

So Reddit… AITA for wanting to sleep with the man who basically helped raise me? I haven’t acted on it yet, but I want to desperately. Am I a terrible person for thinking so?

Marcus Acacius (Gladiator II)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for secretly dating my professor after we hooked up, even though I was the one who pursued him first?

Throwaway for obvious reasons. This is messy and I know it.

So I (22F) am a senior in college, finishing my degree in classical studies. For the past year, I’ve been taking a Roman history seminar taught by Professor M (M, late 30s?). He’s brilliant, sharp-tongued, a little intimidating and, honestly, incredibly attractive in that cold, untouchable kind of way. I’ve had a crush on him since day one.

He’s very professional, like textbook boundary-keeper. Never gave me special treatment, never even hinted at anything, even though I was top of his class and probably tried way too hard to impress him. I figured it would stay one-sided forever. Until a few weeks ago, I went to a bar near campus with friends. And who do I run into? Him. Out of the suit, out of the lecture hall, totally relaxed. He buys me a drink. We talk, like, really talk. He’s charming, funny and flirty. I was shocked. One thing led to another and I ended up at his apartment. We slept together. It was intense, passionate and everything I’d secretly fantasize about.

We talked the next morning. He made it very clear that he hadn’t planned it, that it was wrong in theory, but neither of us wanted to stop. So we kept seeing each otherecretly. Always professional on campus. No PDA. No weird behavior in class. It’s all strictly off the clock.

And honestly? I’m happy. I care about him. I think he cares about me too. But lately, some classmates have started joking that he favors me, not knowing anything is happening, and it’s making me feel paranoid. I’m terrified of ruining his reputation, of jeopardizing his career or mine. 

So Reddit… AITA for crossing that line with him? Or are we just two adults trying to be careful about something real in a setting that doesn’t make room for it?

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for feeling blindsided that my neighbor, who babysits my daughter and I might be falling for, has a kid I didn’t know about?

Hey Reddit, this might sound like a midlife crisis-in-the-making but I really need some outside perspective.

I (M, 39) am a single dad. My daughter, also M (F, 8), is the best part of my life. I work a demanding job, and for the past year or so, my neighbor (F, 35), let’s call her R, has been babysitting M when I’m away. She’s kind, dependable and just gets my daughter in a way that instantly puts me at ease.

More than that, she gets me. We’ve grown close. Coffee on porches. Passing each other in the hall. Sometimes we talk until midnight over paper takeout boxes and M’s school projects. I always chalked it up to neighborly chemistry, nothing more. But lately, I’ve caught myself looking at her differently, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she might feel the same. My daughter doesn’t help. Every other night it’s, “Daddy, she has a crush on you.” Or “I think she’d be a great mom someday, like, to me.” Kids, right?

I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I figured if she felt something, she’d say something or maybe I’d grow the courage to bring it up myself. But then, this weekend, a car pulls up in her driveway. I look out the window and I see a man step out, not threatening, just there. And then a little boy hops out of the back seat and runs into R’s arms.

My heart dropped. Turns out she has a kid, a son. From a previous marriage, she’s divorced. None of this was ever mentioned in all our conversations and now I feel off? Confused. A little betrayed? I know that sounds unfair, she’s not obligated to tell me her life story. But after all these quiet, close nights and tender moments and hearing from my daughter that she might have feelings for me, why didn’t she ever tell me about her son? I haven’t said anything. I don’t want to make her feel guilty. She still babysits my daughter. But I can’t stop replaying it all. Did she keep it from me on purpose? Was I just a fool for thinking we had something? Or am I just overwhelmed because I wanted her to be part of our little family and didn’t realize she already had one of her own?

So Reddit… AITA for feeling a little heartbroken and distant after finding out my neighbor has a son she never told me about?

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for not telling my best friend that I’m secretly dating the man she just asked me to help her get with?

I (F, 30s) have been dating a coworker of mine, let’s call him M (late 30s, thoughtful, charming, ridiculously handsome) for over three years. We met working in the same department (federal law enforcement, so discretion is basically part of the uniform), and from the start, we kept it quiet. No PDA at work, no romantic texts on company phones, nothing that could put us under scrutiny. It was just easier that way, completely private and ours.

Fast-forward to now, we’ve built a whole life together in the shadows. We take trips, spend weekends at each other’s apartments, and talk about buying a house someday. The real deal.

Here’s the problem, my best friend, who also works in our agency, pulled me aside a few days ago and told me she has a huge crush on M. She said she’s had a thing for him for months but didn’t know how to approach it. And then she asked if I could help set her up with him, talk her up, ease her in, “put in a good word.” She has no idea I’m with him. We’ve never told anyone. And the worst part? She was genuinely excited when she told me, like school girl giddy level. She said, “I really think he could be the one.”

Now I feel sick. I didn’t know what to say. I kind of froze, gave a weird laugh and changed the subject. But now she keeps asking about it. And I feel like I’m betraying both of them, M, by not protecting our relationship and her, by hiding something huge.

M says we can go public. That he’s fine with it if I am but then what? I tell her I’ve been with the guy she’s secretly pining over for years and just didn’t say anything? Won’t she feel humiliated? Betrayed? I’m terrified it’ll destroy our friendship.

So Reddit… AITA for not telling my best friend I’m already with the guy she wants? And if not, what the hell do I do now?

Max Philips (Bloodsucking Bastards)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for wanting to quit because my boss won’t turn me into a vampire even though I’m literally the top performer?

I (24F) started an internship at a mid-size sales company a few months ago. I was just trying to get some experience and a paycheck. I didn’t expect, you know, vampires to be a part of that experience.

The office rumor (that everyone knows is true) is that M (mid-30s? ageless? hot in a soul-sucking Wall Street vampire sort of way) is the boss who handpicks the best employees to “promote” aka turn them into vampires. It’s a reward. Eternal life, endless energy, better insurance and apparently a coffee tolerance that doesn’t make your hands shake. Thing is, I’ve crushed the sales board for three months straight. Like, no competition. The next closest guy is 42 calls behind and cries during lunch. I stayed up late. I meet quotas no one else touches. My neck is basically exposed at this point, figuratively and literally.

And yet nothing. No shadowy invite. No creepy-but-glamorous “let’s talk in my office with the lights off.” M just gives me these weird once-overs in the elevator and says things like, “Good work, kid,” like I’m still in high school. Meanwhile, last month’s top performer (D, who sells like he’s reading from a cereal box) got “promoted” after one good week.

I tried asking. M just smiled, that smug fanged GQ smile and said, “It’s not just about the numbers.” Which… okay? What is it about then? Charm? Blood type? Being less annoying during meetings? Now I’m spiraling. Like am I not vampire material? Am I too ambitious? Not attractive enough? Too human? Every day I walk past the break room and see the cool undead crowd sipping their crimson smoothies and laughing at inside jokes about graveyards and their never ending orgies, and I feel like the nerd no one wants at the slumber party.

I’m starting to hate him. Not just because he won’t bite me but because I wanted it. I earned it. And now I’m stuck here, mortal, exhausted and drinking stale coffee while wondering if I’m not enough.

So Reddit… AITA for wanting to quit my job because my boss won’t make me a vampire? Or am I just taking professional rejection way too personally?

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for wanting to ask out my son’s teacher even though I’m afraid of messing up his life again?

So, I (M, early 40s) am a single dad to the best kid on the planet, A (9M). Sweet, brilliant and too good for me honestly. His mom and I split a few years ago and I’ve been doing the whole daddy CEO redemption arc thing ever since. Trying to be a good man. Trying to keep the chaos in check. Trying not to completely screw this kid up.

Enter her. My son’s teacher. Let’s call her R (30s F). She’s sunshine in human form. Whip-smart, patient and warm. She talks to A like he’s the most important person in the room, and hell, she talks to me like I’m not just a walking Wall Street headline. I’ve been smitten since parent-teacher night. Every time I drop A off or pick him up, I try to be charming, likeable, funny, confident. You know, my usual moves.

And I fail miserably. Every. Single. Time.

She doesn’t laugh at my stupid money jokes, she gives me this look when I bring her overpriced coffee like she knows I googled “gifts teachers love.” Once, I tried to compliment her and said, “You’re doing really admirable work wrangling a room full of small people.” I sounded like I was describing a livestock auction. Still, she smiles. She’s kind and I think, maybe, she likes me back? Or at least doesn’t hate me. Which, for me, is progress.

Here’s the problem, I’ve been thinking about asking her out. Just coffee, something simple. But I keep stopping myself because of A. He adores her. I mean, glows when he talks about her. I don’t want to confuse him. I don’t want him to feel weird if she becomes something more to me than “Ms. R.”

But lately, he’s been drawing pictures of the three of us. Me, him and her. He says stuff like, “Ms. R would make a good mom.” Or, “Ms. R always makes me feel safe.” And I can’t help but wonder, is he already hoping for something more?

So Reddit… AITA for wanting to ask out my son’s teacher even if it risks changing something sacred in his life? Or should I just keep pretending this isn’t killing me a little more every time I see her?

Lucien De Leon (The Uninvited)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for not being able to look at my best friend the same after I saw her camming and moaning my name?

Yeah. I know how that sounds. But please let me explain before you judge.

I (M, 29) have been best friends with R (F, 28) since we were kids. Grew up in the same neighborhood, went through awkward teen years together, cried on each other’s shoulders during breakups, shared popcorn during horror movie marathons, the whole “platonic soulmates” deal. Everyone always assumed we’d end up together but we never crossed the line. Mostly because I never had the guts.

Truth is, I’ve been in love with her since high school. She’s funny, brilliant, completely unfiltered and has this laugh that makes me feel like everything’s okay. I never told her because I didn’t want to lose what we had.

Then last week, I was up late, bored, scrolling whatever and I ended up on a cam site. Just clicking around, not expecting anything.

And there she was.

On camera. 

In the most sinful lingerie I’ve ever seen and looking gorgeous as ever. And at first I froze. I thought, “No way. That can’t be her.” But it was 100% her. The mole on her hip, the way she chews her lip when nervous, her voice. 

And then she moaned my name. Not in passing. Not like in a roleplay type of way. My actual real name. I exited so fast I nearly dropped my phone. I haven’t told her. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop picturing it. Her, saying my name, like that. And now every time we hang out, it’s like a war in my head, part of me still wanting to protect her, the other part completely wrecked by desire and curiosity. I feel like I’ve violated something, even though she’s the one streaming it publicly. I feel like a creep but also kind of hopeful? Like maybe she feels something for me, too? I don’t know what to do. I can’t unsee it and I don’t know if I should talk to her, confess, or bury it forever.

So Reddit… AITA for not being able to treat my best friend the same now that I’ve seen her in that way, even if she doesn’t know I know?

Oberyn Martell (Game of Throne)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for falling in love with the enemy and not telling her I originally used her to get revenge on her family?

I (41M) come from a family with blood in the streets and revenge in its bones. We’ve been at war with another family, let’s call them the Ls, for decades. The kind of feud where you don’t just destroy businesses, you burn bloodlines.

A while back, I met her. Let’s call her R (32F) and is the youngest from that said family. She walked into a neutral club downtown like she owned it, and every man in the room turned to look. So did I. At first, I saw an opportunity. I’m not proud of it but I’ll be honest, I wanted to get close to her to hurt her family. Seduce her. Use her. Break her heart. Maybe learn a few secrets along the way. That was the plan.

Except, it didn’t go that way.

She didn’t fall easily. She’s not some porcelain princess. She challenged me, even mocked me. Didn’t take any of my shit. And somehow, in all that fire and venom, I started wanting her. Not as a pawn. As a person. As mine. We've been seeing each other in secret for almost a year now. Behind closed doors, it’s real. It’s not a game. I bring her flowers. She brings me peace. She’s the only one who touches me like I’m a man, not a monster. And gods help me, I think I’d burn down my whole empire just to keep her safe.

But I haven’t told her the truth. That I used her at first. That I lied when I said I just "ran into her." That I walked into her life with a knife hidden behind my back and only dropped it once I realized I didn’t want to hurt her, I wanted to keep her. Now I’m stuck. If I tell her the truth, I risk losing her forever. If I don’t, I’m living a lie. Every time I touch her, I wonder if she’d still look at me the same if she knew what I was when this started.

So Reddit… AITA for not telling her? For falling in love with the one woman I was supposed to destroy?

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for wanting to say yes when my boss’s daughter asked me to get her pregnant to avoid sleeping with her fiancé?

I know how that title sounds. Believe me, I’ve lost sleep over it.

I (late 30s M), am an ex-military, currently working in private security. I was hired by a very rich, very controlling man to be his daughter’s bodyguard. Let’s call her R (mid-20s, beautiful, clever, and way too good for this world or for me).

R’s family is old-money, traditional and practically treats her like a business asset. A few months ago, they arranged for her to marry some stiff in a suit who’s more in love with her father’s power than with her. She doesn't love him, she’s made that clear. And now her family is pushing for kids. Like, very soon. Like, contracts signed and wedding night kind of pressure.

I’ve seen the way she looks after long meetings. Like she’s drowning. I’ve heard her cry in her room when she thinks no one’s listening. But I didn’t expect what she asked me. She pulled me aside yesterday. Calm, serious and no games. She said she couldn’t go through with letting a stranger own her body. That if she had to have a child, she wanted to choose the father. Someone she trusted. Someone she felt safe with. Someone like me. She said she wouldn’t expect anything else. No strings. No relationship. Just this one thing. And god help me, I want to say yes.

Because I’ve been falling for her since day one. Quietly. From the shadows. I was hired to protect her, not touch her, but every time I see her, I want to pull her away from all of this. From her family. From the cold fiancé. From the life she never chose.

But if I say yes, am I crossing a line? Taking advantage of her desperation? If I say no, I keep things clean, professional but I leave her alone in something that clearly terrifies her.

So Reddit… AITA for wanting to say yes when she asked me to give her something real in a life full of things she never chose?

Reed Richards (Fantastic 4)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for constantly arguing with my scientific rival, even though I might actually be in love with her?

Let me start by saying I’m not great with emotions. Equations? Fine. Quantum mechanics? My playground. Human connection? That’s where I fall apart.

I (40M) work in advanced theoretical physics, and I’m fairly well-known in my field. A few years ago, a new name started popping up in peer-reviewed journals. Let’s call her R (34F). She’s brilliant, bold and completely unapologetic. And somehow, infuriatingly, smarter than me in areas I used to dominate.

We met at a symposium and things escalated. What began as subtle jabs turned into full-blown intellectual warfare. Debates in front of panels. Arguments in laboratories. Petty rebuttals in published work. To everyone else, we’re rivals, frenemies at best, sworn enemies at worst.

But here’s the part no one knows, I don’t hate her at all.

In fact, I admire her more than anyone I’ve ever met. She challenges me. She keeps me on my toes. And, God help me, she’s gorgeous when she’s yelling at me about my “antiquated entropy model.” I’ve even found myself intentionally provoking her just to see the fire in her eyes. The problem? I’ve backed myself into a corner. I’ve spent so long acting like she’s my nemesis that I don’t know how to flip the script. I can’t just say, “Hey, I know I’ve spent the last three years criticizing your work in front of Nobel committees, but want to grab dinner sometime?”

She probably does hate me. Or worse, she sees me as a childish competitor who can’t handle being challenged by a woman. And maybe that’s not entirely wrong.

So Reddit… AITA for keeping up the act? For pretending to hate her when in reality I can’t stop thinking about her? I don’t even know if she’d take me seriously if I tried to be honest now. Or is it too late to change the rules of the game?

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion)

~~ COMING SOON ~~

AITA for developing feelings for a witness in a murder case even though I’m the lead investigator and she’s the victim’s wife?

I know how it sounds. I hate that I’m even writing this. But here we are.

I (M, 40s) work in law enforcement, been doing it a long time. I’ve seen the worst of people. I’ve interviewed killers with no soul behind their eyes, and families so broken by grief I had to go sit in my car afterward and just breathe.

Then came her.

Let’s call her R (30s F). She was the wife of the man we found shot dead in their home. Brutal scene. She was there too, barely alive when we arrived. Beaten, bloodied and she fought like hell to survive. We think she wasn’t supposed to make it. Suspect must’ve thought she was dead when he fled.

We put her into a protective program while we sort this out. There’s still a threat, still pieces missing. And since I’m the lead on the case, I’ve been around a lot.

It started small, making sure she felt safe. Bringing her updates. Listening when she needed to talk about the past. Her husband wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. There’s a lot to unpack there. And somewhere along the line, I started seeing her as more than a witness. More than a case file. She’s sharp and resilient. The kind of woman who makes you want to be softer just standing near her. And she smiles at me, like she’s grateful I’m there, like she trusts me.

But here’s the thing: her husband just died violently. No matter how their marriage was, he’s gone and I’m the man investigating it. I’m supposed to be objective, professional. And I am, I swear I am. But I can’t lie to myself anymore and pretend I’m not catching feelings I shouldn’t. I haven’t acted on anything. I’d never cross that line. But the way she looks at me sometimes, I wonder if she feels it too.

So Reddit… AITA for wanting something with a woman who’s still technically grieving her dead husband, while I’m supposed to be the one protecting her?