#genuine question do other fat people wear button up shirts? or is that only a skinny people thing

[sqrkyclean]

Once I’m consistently making decent money I need to invest in. Better clothes

[neokollection]

Reaction To Their S/O Feeling Ugly While Pregnant

NCT 127 [Minus Win & Haechan]

A/N: Bc this is a genuine fear of mine Long btw, so buckle up.

Taeil:

You leant over the counter of the sink, your swollen stomach pressing uncomfortably to the cool tile- The urge to pee suddenly overcame you and the mascara wand in your hand faltered, brushing your eyelid by accident. You held a breath, before carelessly dropping it into the sink, your hands on the counter as you took a moment to collect yourself. You’d already been agitated after waking up with a sore back, and now you couldn’t even complete the simplest of tasks.

You went to the bathroom, taking your time as Taeil was still asleep.

Facing yourself in the mirror once more made a lump rise in your throat. You hated having to see yourself more than you already had too- You felt ugly and fat, face bloated and eyes wetting. You sat on the toilet lid, holding your face in your hands as small sobs and sniffles escaped you. You tried to stay quiet, not wanting to wake your sleeping husband in the other room-

“Hey...?”

He seemed to be awake already though... Soft footsteps padded across the tile from the ajar door. You ripped a wad of toilet paper from nearby, using it to blot at your eyes and cheeks.

“W-What’s wrong?”

He squatted down in front of you, his hands placed gently upon your knees before he reached on up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Nothing,” you assured, wiping your nose-

You didn’t want him to look at you, you must have looked even uglier crying.

“Baby,” he crooned gently, placing his cheek upon your thigh affectionately momentarily before he drew back.

“You can tell me-”

“I just...” you sighed, “I just feel so ugly.”

His eyes were wide, mused hair would have made his face almost comical if not for the context.

“No- No!” he shushed, “Nothing about you is ugly-”

Even with puffy eyes, smudged mascara, messy hair, and a few pounds extra he saw you as his perfect angel.

“You’re beautiful,” he assured, reaching up to cradle the lump of your stomach as he rose to his feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Johnny:

You retched into the toilet bowl- It’d come to the point, you couldn’t even have a simple night in without feeling sick, rushing to the bathroom. A light knock sounded upon the door. Johnny.

“Love?” he called gently, “You okay?”

“Just a minute,” you answered back, catching your breath as you sat against the nearby wall.

Oddly enough you could feel his presence still there and it was comforting, the shadows of his slippers beneath the door reminding you he was waiting for you just outside. You flushed the toilet, which Johnny took as a notion that you were finished, opening the door slowly. You quickly wiped at your mouth with some toilet paper before dropping it into the spiraling water. Johnny wore a slight pout, unhappy to see you in such a sad state, curled up on the floor by the toilet looking sickly.

“All better?”

“For now... I just want to lay down...”

He squatted down next to you, pulling one of your arms away from yourself and placing it around his shoulder before scooping up your legs.

“N-Don’t- I’m heavy...”

You’d put on not only a baby, but a few more extra pounds, feeling swollen and gross.

“You’re not that heavy,” he waved off, standing with you as you held on, “Besides, it’s not you- It’s him.”

Your fiancé wore a mock glare as he stared at the swell of your stomach. He was careful as he placed you down upon the bed, helping you situate yourself with your pillows before he crawled on the end of it.

“He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”

He was already raising your top before you could stop him, eyes feasting upon the glorious bulge of your stomach. Though you may have been self conscious about revealing your new body to him, he never thought twice about it, pressing a hard kiss to the mound with a grunt- His fingertips trailed along your side lightly, tickling you.

“Such a rascal, I’ll have to teach him a lesson when he comes out-”

Before you could even counter, he was blowing a raspberry on the side of your mound, causing you to giggle before he sat back, tucking your shirt back in place.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Though it was burdensome, it was all worth it, seeing how happy the man you loved was.

Taeyong:

You had absolutely nothing to wear. You’d just begun showing- Your leggings and jeans all seemed to suffocate you or not button- You had a lone pair of black sweatpants, but you felt fat when you wore them even before there was a baby involved. You had dresses, but if you dressed up you’d feel the need to also do your makeup or hair- Which you were in no mood to do- All you needed to do was go to the grocery for crying aloud... You suppose... You could send Taeyong, but you felt like a pest- He was busy on the phone talking over some business about releases and you weren’t even far enough along yet to pull that card you felt. Huffing, you sat down on the bed, staring at your closet.

“So, maybe next week then?”

His voice was getting closer. You were in nothing but your undergarments, so decided to go into the closet, not wanting him to see you so blatantly.

“Alright- Thanks- Haha, of course!”

With a loud sigh and a sudden whoosh it sounded as if he’d faceplanted upon the bed, dropping his phone to the side before curling around a pillow.

You caught his eye as you looked over your shoulder from the closet.

“What’s up?” he questioned.

“Hmm, nothing...”

You were still racking your brain for possible solutions...

“I need to go to the store.”

He hummed along in acknowledgement, watching as you thrust hanger to hanger aside. Your huff of irritation not going unnoticed. Sensing your distance and annoyance, he stood from the bed, making his was towards the closet.

“What is it?” he questioned, leaning upon the door frame.

“Nothing, just- Can you-” you tried, wanting him to leave.

His gaze flickered to the pile of clothes of the floor before settling on you, taking in the soft swell of your belly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked again, his tone softer as he draped himself around your, letting the palms of his hands smooth over your stomach.

“Nothing fits...” you admitted, voice nearly cracking, “I have nothing to wear-”

He hummed in thought, turning to place his cheek upon the crown of your head as he assessed his side of the closet.

“How about this?”

He pulled himself away from you, causing you to miss his warmth as he plucked a stripped shirt from a stack, unfolding it to show it’s size. It made you feel worse though... You didn’t need an XXXXL size did you?

“You look cute in my clothes,” he smiled, holding it up to you, “It’s like a dress~”

Pulling it over your head you frowned, the sleeves were too long and the length was quite short.

“It’s kind of short...”

“Hm- You’re right,” he acknowledged, “I can’t have my babies going out looking like this-”

He assessed you with a quirk of his brow and bite of his lip, causing you to nudge his shoulder in turn.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it,” he practically sang, rolling your sleeves up.

Yuta:

You hadn’t left the house in days- Hadn’t done your makeup or hair, had simply done the bare minimum of showering and dressing yourself in loungewear. Your spirits were just down in the dumps- You'd been having cravings nearly each day, snacking late at night and munching on sugary sweets. Next to him you felt so ugly- Even fresh out the shower he was glowing, skin flawless, eyes bright, hair a mused mess he liked to rake his hands through- He was gorgeous and it’s a fact everyone knew and agreed with. Next to him you’d always tried your hardest to seem on his level, you never wanted people to think you looked out of place or an odd couple. But now... it felt inevitable. You felt fat and ugly, skin dry, hair matted, eyes with bags... How could he even look at you?

Being the keen and observant man he was your change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed- How you’d distanced yourself from him, how your answers were curt and sighs long, how you never changed in front of him... He understood why, having confided in his sister a tad about your change and getting all the answers he’d needed. He’d wanted to lighten your mood and surprise you, have a night in with you together, watching a movie and snacking together. He’d already started the washing machine, busy hanging up the load he’d just taken out.

“What’re you doing...?”

You questioned, shifting your weight from one foot to the doorframe.

“What’s it look like?”

“Well, just... You never usually do it...”

“Come on, I’m not that bad-”

Silence ensued before he finished and came to you.

“Am I that bad?”

“No,” you shushed, placing a hand upon his chest gently with a small smile.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he quipped, taking your hand and leading you around the corner to the kitchen.

“I know you’ve been having cravings lately so I stocked up- So, you don’t have to go to the store anytime soon-”

“Great. So I can get fatter?”

It wasn’t really a question and it came out much more spiteful than you intended. He was mid-opening the pantry when he stopped.

“You’re not fat-”

“Look at me,” you whined, feeling the flood gate about the burst.

“You look the same! The only difference is this guy,” he asserted, coming to press his palms to the side of your stomach. “Look at you,” he continued, “If anything, you’ve lost weight- Maybe from the stress or sickness- but-”

He gripped your arm, showing you how he could easily touch his thumb and index finger together around the circumference of your forearm.

“I don’t want you to feel bad or hide from me- I love you- And I’m here for you.”

“I love you too,” you sniffled gently, casting your gaze downward as he pulled you into an embrace, “Did you get Oreos...?”

A/N: It long, but if you likey I can do pt 2 with Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Mark, n Doyoungie

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Might I request some fluffy Felicia/m!Corrin feeding hijinks (5, 9, 10 ,11, maybe a bit of 6 if you're feeling it)? I would be eternally grateful

5) Stuffing/feeding/etc.9) Button popping/seam ripping/etc.10) Humiliation11) Magical wg6) Mutual wg

Being stuck in the castle for his whole life, there were several ways Corrin learned to pass the long, long time he often had on his hands. If asked, he could tell you how many stones and the various types that were used to construct the great fortress, how often people come and go, and what times of year they were most likely to eat certain dishes. Food, however, was usually the high point of staying within the halls of the Northern Fortress. Being a part of the royal family, and only visited by the others – practically never by Garon himself – no one really told him no or questioned why the prince would eat maybe a little too much or at odd times of day.

The servants at the fortress were, in general, rather kind. Corrin got to know those closest to him, such as Jacob and Lilith, as well as the maids, Flora and Felicia. It was one of the sister maids, however, that the young prince ended up becoming closest with. She was almost desperate to please – which, given how clumsy she could be at her job, wasn’t very farfetched. When the other staff grew too frustrated with her spilling tea, breaking plates or messing up laundry, it was Corrin who often asked her to spend time with him. Many retainers though he may have, they had plenty of other duties to attend to considering he never left the fortress, and so he was still often left on his own. Felicia was good company; she was lively and genuine, and even if she wasn’t a good cook, she was determined to make sure Corrin enjoyed their time together.

So, while King Garon desired for Corrin to become a strong, battle-worthy asset, he ended up spending more time eating meals with his favorite maid instead of training. 

At first, it started out simply enough. They’d have long talks and tea with sandwiches or cakes of varying kinds. Corrin got to learn more about Felicia herself, as well as her family and her people. She quickly became a friend to him, and then, more than a friend as they continued to bond. Their meals stretched out longer and longer as they talked in more depth or simply spent time together in a comfortable silence. Seeing how Corrin seemed to enjoy all the different foods that the kitchen staff could create, Felicia would bring more and more to choose from as time went on. Their meals could extend for several hours at a time, with the two of them eating and drinking in utter excess.

Now, no longer dedicating the time he used to to training, and eating so much, it was starting to show up very clearly on him. Corrin started to notice that his armor no longer fit as it should, and so stopped using it entirely – telling himself that he’d get it refitted, but never actually getting around to it. He switched over to wearing looser, more comfortable clothing, but even those only lasted so long as his weight continued to climb.

What started off as simply his face filling out a little, or perhaps a bit of softness around his middle, soon graduated to not being able to get pants on or popping a button off of a shirt. One such occurrence happened while he was sharing dinner with his visiting siblings. He’d been laughing at a story Elise was recounting about her retainers, when the pressure of his too tight shirt suddenly let up around the apex of his belly, the shiny button pinging off a few dishes before spinning onto the table in plain sight. There was a deathly silence afterward, everyone at the table surprised by the suddenness and secondhand embarrassment of it all, until Leo snickered from behind his hand. 

“Well, nice to not be the one having clothing issues for once,” he chuckled, not entirely in a derisive manner, but neither was it lighthearted ribbing. “I might be a bit forgetful when it comes to checking if my shirts are in proper order, but at least I fit into mine!”

Camilla and Xander were quick to try and chastise their younger brother, but the words had been put out there on top of what had happened, and Corrin couldn’t help going red in the face. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into his quarters, but there was still food left on the table, and he didn’t want to waste the time he had with his siblings, as it was few and far between that they visited. He fidgeted in his seat afterwards, trying not to let his eyes dart down to the soft, pale flesh that was poking out of the space left behind from his burst button. It all but oozed out of his confining clothes, no matter how much he attempted to suck in his stomach as conversation was sharply turned away to something noncommittal.

—

Later that night, Corrin had been changing into his night clothes when there was the sound of something skidding across the floor before a loud bang from his door that made him jump – his plump belly and round tits bouncing with the sudden motion. Felicia peeked her head in sheepishly not too long after, cheeks flushed and a tremble in her body that Corrin could see from where he was standing. Giving her a quizzical look, he asked her what she needed – it was rather late, after all, and he still held his nightshirt in a chubby hand, everything above the waist bare to the cool of the night air.

“I just–! I wanted to, um–! Y-You know, this went a lot better in my head…,” she stammered, fidgeting and fussing, her eyes seeming to dart up to his face, before dropping down to his gut, and then repeating the whole process as she prattled on nervously. Taking a deep breath – and, perhaps, holding it a bit too long, as her pink cheeks went a darker scarlet – before practically shouting out, “I saw you bust your button off at dinner, and I couldn’t look away while watching you eat and eat even after, and–” She devolved into a bit of a rushed mess after that, but what Corrin did hear made him blush and had his heart beating excited-nervous in his chest.

“So, you…don’t think it’s a bad thing? The way I eat like a spoiled pig?” Corrin prodded, testing. He’d been sweet on Felicia for a while now, but was she really being serious here? Liking that he stuffed his face until he literally burst out of his clothes?

“We…Well, you’re a prince, right?” the maid pointed out, seeming to gain a little bit of confidence after getting everything out in the open and not immediately being rejected. “Royalty should do whatever they feel like, eat whatever they like and however much of it that they want to. A prince should show off his luxury to others…Should look like he enjoys every bit of excess that passes his lips.” Her tone is short and breathy, face still a bright red, but no longer out of nervousness or fear.

Corrin closed the distance between them, almost crowding Felicia in by the door with is chubby figure. “If you’re a part of that excess, I can’t think of a better way to live. After all, eating with you has been one of the best things in my life. Eating for you can only be better, right?” Boldly spoken, a smirk on his cherubic face as he thought about it. Thought about all the meals Felicia and he would share, every luxury they could enjoy together – unrestrained and uncaring for what others thought. If they wanted to mock or be disgusted, they’d make sure that envy and jealousy over their gluttonous decadence was quick to overtake any other feeling. 

Felicia was all too happy to do her part. She made sure that Corrin ate only the largest, most lavish meals all day long. If his arms got tired of the mechanical action of raising a spoon or fork or glass to his lips, she cheerfully took over; whispering sweet nothings and light teasing in his ears as she hand-fed him. She got a front row seat to how Corrin grew and expanded day after day, month after month. He either spent his time in bed, or set up at the great dining table – no matter where he was, he always had a full mouth and a hungry belly. A belly which had grown exponentially at Felicia’s devoted attention. The staff were constantly trying to keep up with the prince’s appetite and waistline – more food being made, and clothes continuously being adjusted. 

Corrin’s thighs and hips squished out between the seat of his chair and the arms, love handles and belly pressing down on the arms from above. The thick, heavy wood of the chair creaked and groaned; it wouldn’t last much longer, and would need to be replaced just like the ones that had come before it. His lap was completely obscured, and if not for the way his seat forced his fat legs together, Corrin’s monster gut would be forcing them apart – begging for more room to expand. It was a thing of beauty, quite honestly; pale and quivering as he demolished whatever was set before him, it was long past the point of ever seeming to get full. Throughout meals, Felicia would rub and squeeze that behemoth of a belly, kneading the plush fat with one hand and filling it up to the brim with food with the other hand. Shirts could only contain it for so long, and rarely did they last through an entire meal, so it was often on display to some degree as the day wore on. 

With every meal made, Felicia added a bit of Ice Tribe magic to it – living in such a cold area, they had long ago harnessed magic to help themselves survive; often, this came in the form of adding fat reserves to the body to make it through freezing winters that never seemed to have an end. For her, it was easy enough to double or triple the amount of calories any one meal contained. She could slow down Corrin’s metabolism to a crawl, making the weight pile on that much faster. It worked such wonders on her love, and it warmed her heart to see her tribe’s skills being used to make someone she cared for so much so large and happy in his ever increasing size.

Of course, with all this food around, Corrin wasn’t the only one to put on weight. Before, the two of them had always shared meals together, and the sheer amount of rich food had shown up on Felicia as well. Certainly not to the same degree as her beloved prince, but she’d developed quite the lovely, slightly exaggerated hourglass figure; all soft curves around her widened hips, and overflowing breasts that Corrin would often lazily but lovingly grab and tease when she leaned over to press a forkful of food to his lips.

No matter what others in Garon’s court thought or said about the steadily growing royal, Corrin and Felicia were completely and utterly in love with each other and the lifestyle of indulgence – both food and affection – that they’d jumped into together.

[jjkfire]

Hi sweety! How are you? It’s been a while since I last text you. How did the project go? Hope you got some rest too! I loved the drabble game! Are you still doing it? Let’s see... it’s so hard to pick one. 🤔 e2l! And 3. I dreamed of you last night! You pick whatever member you’d like! 😉 Hope you’re having a good day! 😘

omg I love u and I’m sorry it took so long to reply! I respond to your ask below the drabble but anyway, here’s your drabble!

//

e2l!hoseok + "I dreamed of you last night"

"I dreamed of you last night."

"Yeah?" Hoseok smirks, his hand coming to rest at your waist. "You know what they say about dreams... it's a reflection of your subconscious, meaning that you think about me all the ti—"

"You died."

Hoseok clears his throat uncomfortably, drawing his hand away to scratch at his neck.

"I guess I should have expected that." He laughs. "I mean it is you we're talking about. I never know what's going on up here,” He snorts, tapping you on the forehead.

You pout, eyebrows knitted as you look up at him.

"I woke up sweating."

"Well, t-that's comforting and disconcerting at the same time."

You yank him forward by the collar, your expression stern now and Hoseok gulps because you, you're such a wildcard when you're drunk.

"You're not allowed to die unless it's by my hands, do you understand?"

“N-no? I’m uhh, not really following here.”

Hoseok can feel his heart hammering against his chest. Your lips are a hair’s breadth away and boy, there’s been numerous times he’s really wanted you to shut your mouth, and this time’s no exception but this time he wants to shut you up with his lips... on yours.

“You piece of— You think just because you’re all nice now you think I don’t remember the years you and your buddies spent jeering and teasing me in high school?”

“I— I’ve apologized for that,” He frowns, his hand coming up to envelope your wrist, urging you to let go of his collar. “I was dumb and impressionable back then.”

There’s a sigh that leaves your lips. You know that you should leave the past in the past, but sometimes it was hard to. Hoseok and his friends had said mean comments in passing, had embarrassed you in front of the entire student body, had made high school an overall unpleasurable time for you. So much so that when your father’s new job posting meant that you were moving to a city in the next state, you packed your bags long before you were even told to. Of course, you’re being a little too hard on Hoseok. Among all of them, he was the nicest. It almost seemed as if he was part of the group just so he wasn’t the one being bullied instead. Still, it didn’t make what he did right. It was hard to think that when he would pull you aside when the hallways were quiet just to ask if you were okay. Of course you only ever shrugged him away, responding with a quiet I’m fine before you dashed away from him.

When he wasn’t with the boys, he seemed like an entirely different person. He was kind and funny. Though that had only been something you seen when he and his parents came over to your house for the occasional dinner. All of a sudden, it would seem like the two of you were friends. You and him would talk for hours as the parents had their own conversation. It was nice. You liked him when he was like that... but when he was in school, that was a whole different guy.

The night before you were due to leave, you opened the door to a timid looking Hoseok with nothing but a handwritten letter in his hands. He looked... sad, which isn’t a look you saw on him often. It was odd. He seemed distraught, almost as if he didn’t want you to leave and you wondered if it was because he wouldn’t have anyone to bully anymore. You pocketed the letter, waved him goodbye and said good riddance as you closed the door. It was exciting to finally close that chapter in your life. You thought that would have been the last you’ve seen of him but 3 years later, high school now over as you find yourself as a fresh-faced freshman on campus, who else do you run into but Hoseok?

He’s different now. Not at all the same boy you remember. He’s sweet and charming and everyone knows him to be the nicest guy ever in the dorms but you, you knew Hoseok. Give him a second and he’ll switch, turn into your worst nightmare. That’s what you told your neighbours but they look at you as if you’ve grown a second head because it’s 3 months into college and the worst thing Hoseok has done is not park his bike on the bike rack.

Even so, you keep your interactions with him short, avoiding him when you can but your friends love him so, it’s proven to be a feat to stay away from him. From what you can tell, he really has changed and for some reason he’s taken some sort of liking to you. He’s always finding a reason to stay close, a reason to be talking to you and maybe he wears down your defenses a little. Just a little.

“It still hurts sometimes,” You mumble. “All the things you and the boys said. I know all of that’s in the past and I should let go of all of that but—”

“You have every right to hate me,’ He murmurs, tipping your chin up so you would look up at him. “You really do... but I’ve grown a lot. I’m not that guy anymore and of course, you don’t have to forgive me but all I’m asking is for a chance to prove that I’m different.”

“I know you’re different,” You hum, fingers moving to mindlessly play with the button on his shirt. “It’s just— you and all the other guys get to strut around campus like you didn’t make every single day in high school hard for me. Everyone here loves you and it’s petty but I suffered and you didn’t.”

Hearing you put into words just how much pain he caused you makes his heart break. He genuinely had no excuse other than that he wanted to be with the in crowd at school. Though he had what was perhaps the biggest crush on you, that didn’t stop him. In any case, you would give him attention. Although, it wasn’t exactly positive... He really just likes to maintain that he wasn’t really the brightest in high school.

“I suffered,” He frowns. “When you moved away, it felt like a punch to the gut. A wake-up call.”

“Why? They turned around and started bullying you after I left?”

“No,” He mumbles. “I realized you were the only person who actually knew me. Everyone else just knew this facade of myself that I had put on.”

“You had so much potential,” You sigh, cupping his cheeks. “If you were actually nice to me back then, I think we would’ve been good together.”

“T-together?”

You furrow your eyebrows before a moment of realization hits you and you feel a blush creeping on.

“As friends!” You correct, sputtering. “Just, uhh... friends.”

“Did you ever read my letter?” Hoseok questions, smiling because if you said together, it must’ve meant you know about his big giant fat crush he had (and still has) on you. It must’ve meant you read—

“No, trashed it the moment I got into the house.”

His smile falters for just a second before he realizes he’s got a second chance and that this time when he confesses, he’s going to get it right.

“You’re heartless,” He frowns clutching his chest jokingly.

“Oh, I was the one you bullied and I’m the heartless one?” You snort. “Like I said, you’re not dying unless it’s by my hands, you understand? I’m going to make you regret everything you did in high school. Then you’ll know how heartless I can be.”

You’re all talk, he’s positive. You could have tattled to his parents at any one of the dinners back then about him misbehaving in school but you never did. You always chose to see the good in people. It’s a flaw and a strength. Either way, he’s grateful.

He smiles, pulling you closer as you continue to ramble on and on about just how heartless you can be. He nods, just glad that this is the longest conversation the two of you have had since college started. You said he isn’t dying unless it’s by your hands. He honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.  

//

hello!!! i’m good! i’ve been crazy busy but i’ve been good (: the project went alright and i’m glad it’s all done!!! i’m officially a college graduate now so hahaha that’s great.

I’m so sorry i took so long to respond to this ask ))): it’s just been really hectic getting everything in order! i hope you’ve been well (: how have you been doing? what have you been up to?

[gehlien]

eremin | soulmate AU | 2,4k | fluff, mutual pining & happy ending

Eren Jaeger had a simple ‘hi’ written on his wrist, aka the blandest thing the universe could come up with for him.

He couldn’t count the amount of mini heart attacks he’d experienced every time someone introduced themselves to him. The sudden leap from being hopeful to feeling disappointed always left a dry taste in his mouth. To prevent such situations, every time he heard ‘hi’ he would respond with some stupid sayings or random facts about marine life. Thanks to this he got plenty of weirded-out acquaintances, but no soulmate, because apparently no one had ‘I sexually identify as an alien’ tattooed on their skin.

Also, his sudden crush on his best friend Armin wasn’t helping at all. Because they were never supposed to work out. At least that’s what the experts said.

As opposed to Eren, the universe cursed Armin with the most bizarre soulmate mark it could offer. Many people had snorted their noodles out of their noses upon discovering it, others had made some silly remarks about it being kinky. Their reactions were totally understandable and justified, because how many people have ‘daddy’ forever carved onto their skin? A very exposed piece of skin, on top of that.

Another discouraging thing was the fact that all of their friends had already found their soulmate. In the case of Connie and Sasha, there was no room for misunderstanding, because each one of them had a very specific message on their skin. ‘Can I have your potatoes?’ and ‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll get too fat?’ are really hard to miss. Jean’s and Mikasa’a teetered on the edge of a casual exchange (‘Your hair is beautiful!’ followed by a simple ‘Thanks’), so it was a close call, but they managed to find themselves eventually, much to Eren’s displeasure.

“Come on, Armin, everyone knows what your mark says. You should stop wearing long sleeves to school,” Eren said, tugging at the hem of Armin’s shirt while they were on the bus.

“But the teachers have no idea,” he objected.

“If you’re so worried about it then you could cover it with another tattoo.”

“I’m not over eighteen yet.”

“You could get a written permission from you grandad?” Eren was one of these people who believed that finding a solution to a problem was always possible. As long as you also wanted to find it, of course. Which Armin seemed really reluctant to do.

“Maybe I’ll do it when I find my soulmate.”

“Why? Are you worried they won’t believe that it really says what is says?” It was supposed to be a genuine question, but came out as a snicker. “By the way, who the hell would be crazy enough to call you that in the first place? Probably some twat.”

“People these days are very cautious, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to check it. Which is understandable. I’d also want to be completely sure first before deciding to spend the rest of my life with one person,” said Armin, ignoring Eren’s second comment. “And that’s why you have to be three times as certain. In your case it’s even trickier.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Hi? This system is fucking stupid.”

“But accurate.”

“Who knows? Maybe there’s another person who’s so much better than your ‘soulmate’, but you’ll never know because you settled for what your wrist tattoo told you.”

Eren just couldn’t take it all at face value. Not when the love of his life was walking right beside him. It wouldn’t take a lot of effort to reach for the other boy’s hand. ‘Why can’t this be you?’ he thought, admiring Armin’s diminutive stature, his cute button nose, regal profile, and swaying blond bangs.

He looked at his tattoo, “I wish it said ‘Why don’t you ever fight back?’”. It was the first sentence he’d ever spoken to Armin and since then they’d always been on the same wavelength, no matter the circumstances. How could fate make such a grave mistake?

“I’m staying the night at Jean’s,” Mikasa said, stuffing her backpack with pyjamas and skin care products. “You can invite Armin over.”

“Does mom know?” Eren asked, propping his head on his hand. It was a sunny Friday evening, but he hadn’t got enough rest, so there he was lying flat on his stomach and scrolling through Facebook.

“Of course.”

“Use protection,” he whispered loud enough for her to hear. In turn, Mikasa threw a towel at his face. “Ew, I hope it never had anything to do with horseface’s body fluids.” He threw it back, and Mikasa caught it effortlessly.

“You wish.”

“Dude... you’re disgusting.”

He texted Armin that he was welcome to come over if he wanted. Armin didn’t let him down and agreed without second thoughts. Eren felt his soul ascend.

No other person in the world would ever be able to make him appreciate life as much as Armin. ‘They were perfect for each other’ didn’t even fit the description of how special their bond really was. But there existed a word that could.

Soulmate.

Remember that person you thought about in superlatives only, who met all of your expectations, understood you like no one else, and on top of that had an adorable laugh? Whose only flaw was that they were off limits? That’s how Eren perceived his current situation.

Eren looked at his wrist with burning hatred. He wanted to cry, scream, and punch, but instead he looked at Mikasa with bland expression, defeated.

“Are you happy with Jean?”

Mikasa looked at him, her expression stunned, and put down her phone.

“Yes. Why are you asking?”

“Are you sure he’s the one for you?”

“Well...” She put some stray hair behind her ear in one graceful motion. “We’ve been together for a year now... And I have no complains so far. Actually, I’m happy it’s him.”

“Hm...,” he let out a soft grunt. “Thanks, Mikasa. Have fun.”

After she left the room Eren desperately tried to look up some phrases like ‘soulmate mistakes’ or ‘wrong soulmate assigned to me’, but all in vain. The system was foolproof.

The only results that kind of answered his query were extreme cases like premature deaths, murderers, no soulmate mark or more than one tattoo. All interesting, but did nothing to calm his nerves.

Armin came into his house in a simple black T-shirt, no long sleeves in sight, and Eren sighed with relief. Also, he couldn’t deny that Armin looked like a snack with his forearms exposed and collarbone peeking from behind the material. ‘Is this what people call thirsty?,’ he thought, standing up to grab some spare pillows.

They spent an eternity deciding on a show to watch. The laptop lying on Eren’s lap generated so much heat that in the middle of the movie he had to take off his tank top.

The moment he did it Armin said, “I would kill for an iced coffee.”

Eren sent him a suspicious glare. Was it a direct comment about his bare torso? He wished it was, but at the same time he didn’t allow himself to interrogate Armin more, because in the worst case he’d be outed as a desperate over-reactor.

“I was thinking about going to a night club,” Armin said immediately after the credits rolled on the screen.

“Huh? Why?” The picture of Armin in such a dilapidated, dirty location rubbed Eren up the wrong way.

“I think that’s the place where I’m the most likely to be called...you know, daddy. God, it sounds so stupid.” The fact that Armin still couldn’t openly discuss his mark made the situation even more amusing. Frustration looked funny on his face. “Why are you laughing?”

“It’s good to see that I’m not the only one who’s desperate,” Eren said, winking at him suggestively.

Armin snorted, but let it go.

“Well, all jokes aside, it’s high time we finally found them,” he sighed.

As it turned out later, the drastic measures Armin proposed weren’t needed at all.

A distinct sound of giggles lured them both downstairs, where they found Carla and Armin’s mum sitting on the couch and visibly out of breath.

Upon entering the room they exchanged concerned glances. What was the purpose of this weird meeting?

“Why are you so shocked?” asked Armin’s mum.

“Who told you that old women couldn’t have a girls’ night?” Carla barely kept her composure.

There was a bottle of wine, half empty, and it explained everything. Eren sighed with great pain and drank straight from it; so did Armin a moment later, except he only took a gulp.

“Oi, you’re still a baby!” Carla’s motherly instinct kicked in despite her silly state.

Eren stuck his tongue out and launched himself at the pillows next to Carla. She just waved at him dismissively. Armin plopped down next to his mother and she ruffled his pretty hair. ‘They’re like two peas in a pond,” Eren thought. If you compared their looks and body type, they were almost the same: short, slim, and blonde.

Only Armin’s eyes made a difference, beautiful, deep, and ocean-like. Simply mesmerising.

“What are you doing?” Armin asked, peeking with curiosity above his mother’s arm. That’s when Eren also noticed she was holding a box full of photos.

“We were just talking about what a pain in the neck you two were when you were little,” Carla huffed, crossing her arms on her chest.

“Always ready to fight...” Armin’s mum sighed, probably remembering some vivid details.

“...and Mikasa had to save you every time...”

“because someone couldn’t stop baiting flat earthers...”

Armin let out a nervous laugh. He looked at Eren and shrugged. It really was pretty dumb.

“...and someone couldn’t contain his aggression.” Carla pulled Eren’s ear, who in turn yodelled.

“We get it!” They both said at the same time.

Carla went through the photos and took one with Eren still in diapers. She smiled fondly before showing it to others. “You were cute though,” she said. “I can’t believe you are already sixteen.”

“Muuum,” Eren whined. He couldn’t believe she had forgotten. “I’m already seventeen.” He hoped it was a joke.

Carla’s hand stopped mid-air, her eyes filled with dread. She quickly concealed it and mouthed something to Armin’s mother, who in turn paled and nodded.

“Really?” Eren raised a brow. He wasn’t offended or anything like that, he was just surprised by his mother’s forgetfulness. She always remembered about other people’s birthdays.

“As if you remember how old I am,” she said in an attempt to redeem herself.

“Forty five?” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“You hesitated.”

“But I’m right,” Eren argued. Carla didn’t respond. Without saying a word, she got up and started rummaging through a cardboard labelled “kids”, and finally found a VHS cassette. Eren hadn’t seen one in a long time.

“What is it for?” Armin asked, out of his depth. For the whole time he was just watching the situation unfold like a complete bystander.

“You’ll see,” she said with a mischievous smirk.

Armin looked at his mother, hoping she’d give them some clue, but she shushed him. They could only watch Carla as she set up an old VHS recorder. It didn’t seem to cooperate at first, but eventually it swallowed the cassette whole.

Eren was expecting something tooth rotting and embarrassing, and his fears came true. He was now facing his ten month old self with chubby cheeks and running nose.

“Smile at mummy! Eren, look!” Grisha pointed at Carla, who was hidden behind the camera. She giggled. “Mummy’s right here!” The kid finally looked at the camera with innocent curiosity.

“Daddy?”

“Not daddy. It’s mum! M-u-m,” he said it, prolonging every vowel. This time little Eren managed to reproduce the sound with his unique, childish accent.

“Aww.” Carla was in awe.

Off-screen the door let out a soft creak, and then footsteps could be heard. Armin’s mum appeared in the frame with long fair hair and a cute baby boy in tow.

“Oh, who’s that? It’s auntie and Armin” Grisha told excited Eren, who suddenly started wriggling in his arms, probably begging to be put down on the floor. Mister Jaeger compelled and another shot showed Eren sitting in front of Armin, who seemed very interested in his thin brown hair. Eren, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring into his big azure eyes. Some things never change.

“Daddy,” he said suddenly.

Armin, of course, didn’t understand, but replied with a word of his own.

“Hi.”

And then everything clicked into place.

Eren immediately found Armin’s eyes. They were looking back with delight.

“Does it mean what I think it means?” Eren asked, breathless. He felt as if a certain weight had been lifted.

“I can’t believe this...,” Armin said, and for a moment Eren’s heart stopped. Was he disappointed? Unsatisfied? “I’m so glad it’s you.”

If it weren’t for their mothers’ presence, Eren would jump into his arms and smother his face with kisses. One for every time he���d wanted to do that before. Unfortunately, he had to stay civil. At least for another while.

“I guess we’ll leave you boys to yourself?” Carla asked, visibly content with the outcome of this situation.

“Yeah.” Eren nodded. “Just one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Why have you kept this a secret for so long?” The question was also directed at Armin’s mum.

“Oh, honey...,” Carla sighed. “Would you rather I had told you when you were fourteen?”

“Yes. No.” Eren hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Children this age have better things to worry about than falling in love.”

“We were worried it would change your relationship. And you weren’t ready for romance yet,” Armin’s mother added, getting up and dragging Carla behind her. “We’ll leave you alone for a while.”

“Remember about consent. It’s important.” Was the last thing Carla said before exiting the room, and later the house.

It’s awkward, Eren thought, seeing how Armin kept avoiding his gaze. He could relate; those weren’t the best circumstances to find out someone you had already spent half your life with was your legitimate soulmate. At the same time, he understood his mother’s decision to withhold this news. It wasn’t a coincidence that 98% of people found their significant others in high school or even later.

“I’ve had a crush on you since we started high school,” Eren said to loosen the atmosphere.

“I’ve had a crush on you since you punched Floch that time.”

“Holy shit, that’s long!”

“But I think I always knew. That it’s you, I mean.”

“And are you happy about this?”

“Of course.”

“You’re lying!”

“Have I ever lied to you, Eren?”

Eren smiled. “Never.” Trying not to act too obviously, he sat a little bit closer. “So, can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Armin smiled and leaned in for a kiss, meeting Eren halfway.

[thepheonixesorphanage]

30 Day OC Challenge

So my friends and I decided to do a 30 OC Challenge just for fun! I’ve decided to post the first 10 days here. Feel free to read and give me any feedback. I’d love criticism or comments on what you think of them. Very much looking to improve on my writing.

Days 1-10 below the cut. 

DAY 1: Introduction

Elliot was red. She was cherry lollipops and red vans. Her skin was tan and freckled like constellations, but inside she was burning a dark red that was hot to the touch. Her personality singed skin and left marks that you wanted to show off. With determination and confidence, she owned herself and didn’t let anyone forget that. She was a touch of spice you didn’t know you wanted until you got a taste. And it burned. But oh was it just right. Elliot Katherine Demarco. Even her name rolled off the tongue like waterfalls crashing onto rocks, or the sheathing of a newly forged blade. She was the jump out of an airplane, the start of an avalanche, the build up of adrenaline, and you couldn’t get enough.

June was just as June as her name portrayed her to be. She was vibrant in an array of colors only she could see and outgoing like a bird eager to take flight. She was dark skinned with soft edges that made you want to get lost, with hair just as all over the place as she was. A standard unto her own that no one could take. Her mind was scattered, tangled in thought and question that never seemed to stop. She was warm summer nights that left imprints of curiosity and wonder, a desire unspoken on the tip of the tongue. Her dark brown eyes were filled with a never ending burst of excitement and fascination that you didn’t want to look away from. June was warm, sweet, intoxicating, and everyone craved more.

DAY 2: Job

Lulu’s Cafe was that small coffee shop in downtown San Francisco. It had a cute hipster vibe on the outside with a calm rustique charm on the inside that was always thriving during lunch time no matter the day. Lulu’s cafe was the place that attracted the young teens and hipster wannabes. Mason was made for Lulu’s. A coffee enthusiast, with a love for the simple things in life, and not to mention, a hipster girls wet dream. Mason was a doc martin’s, plaid shirt and leather jacket kind of guy, complete with a close shave and thick, wavy, brown hair.

The customers loved Mason. His customer service routine was equipped with big smiles, laughter, and pleasant conversations between him and the guests. This is what made him so good at his job. Everything he did was genuine. But that’s the kind of guy Mason was. Lulu’s was happy to have Mason, and Mason was happy to have Lulu’s.

Monty’s theater was a fifty plus year old theater in the heart of San Francisco with the charm of a typical grandmother’s home. The type of home with a bowl of strawberry candies and pillow mints that no one knew where they came from or how long they had been there for. The theater smelt of fresh popcorn and at times, the vague lemony scent of furniture polish. As anything over fifty years would be, it was falling apart, with its fading carpet that looked like it belonged in a blockbuster video store, and cabinets that were barely hanging on to its last nail. Even though the theater was a bit “outdated”, to Kam, it was home. Or at least a second home. He had become close friends with the people he worked with and enjoyed his time there. Even though the pay wasn’t the best, Kam treasured the small theater for the people he met and the coworkers he had befriended, and goddammit, he knew he would be stuck there forever.

DAY 3: Hobbies

June spent 90% of her time with Jamie her best friend. At school, after school, before school, at home. They did everything from getting coffee to sleeping over to sneaking out at night. June typically had free range to do whatever she wanted when it came to her dad as long as it wasn’t illegal and she was home before 11pm. June often followed Jamie around after school. Instead of doing her homework she had taken to accompanying him to his improv practices in drama club on tuesdays and thursdays. Every other day, she spent the remainder of her time in her room either watching tv or “attempting” to do homework with Jamie. When Jamie was busy, June didn’t really know what to do besides watch TV or sit on the computer. Hobbies weren’t something she picked up on. Sure she didn’t mind reading but her attention span didn’t really allow her to sit for too long on one thing.

DAY 4: Family

Adopted from Hawaii just after birth, June was very much loved by her mother Stella and her father Aaron. Or so June thought. Four years later, June began to wonder how much her mother really loved her when she left them for another man and his family. Over the next 13 years, her mother kept in contact with her father but June wanted nothing to do with her. So much so she purposely went by June, the abbreviated form of her middle name Juniper, instead of her first name Stella; of course named after her mother. Just saying it was like vile in the back of her throat. June however, loved her father very much. He worked long and hard hours as an accountant to provide for her and gave her a wonderful life full of everything she could want and she saw that everyday when he came home from work with tired eyes. It was just the two of them, and that was how she liked it.

Two older brothers, one younger, her grandmother, a rather young mother and father, and of course, Elliot. The Demarco household was always full. Together Elliot and her family lived in a tiny trailer park that barely housed the lot of them but nonetheless, they made it work. There was never a dull moment. Noah and Liam, the two oldest fought over the dumbest of things. “Those are my fucking socks!” Liam would shout. “We have the same fucking pair!” Noah would shout back. Their mother would simply shake her head. The youngest Ben was always going on about the latest fad or interest. One week would be painting, the next would be basketball. Her grandmother, Camille, hogged the one tv they owned in the living room, always watching TLC or HGTV. Between that, or talking to her friend Janice on the landline from her weekly knitting club. John and Theresa, Elliot’s parents worked early in the morning and came home in the afternoon. Family time was important to them and even though they didn’t have a lot of money, they were happy. It was crazy and loud, and sometimes Elliot thought she’d go insane, but it was home nonetheless.

DAY 5: Friends

June was rather well known in school for her loud and funny personality. She didn’t care what people thought and loved making people laugh. She had a few people she might consider friends but they weren’t really the friends she went to for things or asked to hangout with on a daily basis. Jamie however, was her best friend. Like her, he too, didn’t care what anyone thought and just like her, had a big mouth, except he didn’t have a filter. They were the comedy duo of Ulysses Memorial High School. Jamie was openly gay and proud. He wore collared shirts buttoned at the top with pants in various patterns that changed depending on the day of the week. Every conversation he had usually consisted of, “So listen hoe,” or “Honey you did not?”, and 90% of the time, “Okay sunshine, calm down.” Sunshine was his nickname for June. No real reason in particular. Jamie happened to say it one day and it just stuck. He was the God of nicknames. June tried one day by calling him the “Full Moon” to her “Sunshine”.

“Are you calling me fat? Juniper Martell, calling her best friend full to his face. Okay hoe, I see.” Needless to say it didn’t catch on. Despite the terrible nickname, their friendship was like that of the sun and the moon. They both came with a strong force that brought them closer and no matter what came at them, they would always be there for each other.

It was Linda, Martin, Chris, Jack, and Elliot. Always together, anywhere in town, anytime of day. Besides school of course. Elliot shared a class with all of them except Martin, but they spent enough time outside of school that it didn’t matter. Most of the time they could be found in The Main, a small part of town where a lot of the local businesses were located, one in particular being Fun Center USA, their favorite. Linda and Martin always competed for the top score on Space Invaders. This typically took hours with a small crowd joining in to see the new record. Jack talked to the girls that came in on friday nights, and when there were no girls dumb enough to feed into what he had to say, he hit up the arcade. Elliot and Chris went straight to the batting cages. There was nothing like the rush of the impact and the sting of the bat in their hands. Seeing the ball shoot across the field made Elliot’s adrenaline pump and they constantly fought to see who could hit the ball harder and farther. Chris always said it wasn’t a contest and didn’t matter, but Elliot liked to argue it was because he couldn’t admit to losing. Elliot wouldn’t say she was exactly close to them all, but as far as friends went, she guessed they were a pretty cool group to run the town with.

DAY 6: Guilty Pleasure

Elliot could spend hours upon hours watching TLC. She blamed her grandmother of course but like she said, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink.” She was right of course, but Elliot wasn’t going to admit it. Cake boss was the shit. The cakes where beyond amazing. How in God’s name do they create these sculptures that you can EAT?! And the drama??? The show consumed her. She could care less whether it was real or not, that shit was entertaining. That and Four Weddings. Elliot never knew if she wanted to get married, or if she’d even get the option, but that didn’t stop her from rating other peoples weddings and seeing how terrible or great the night went. Some of the women on that show went all out spending thousands on a dress they’d only wear once, and the perfect venue they spend maybe five hours of their life at. Her favorites where the more bizarre brides. The ones with a halloween theme, or a batman themed wedding, or a fucking underwater theme. The list could go on. She would never outright tell anyone, but she had a soft spot for family and home channels.  

DAY 7: Casual Outfit

It was all bright colors for June. From yellow polka dotted pants to blue dresses to checkered skater skirts with bright purple tights. June’s closet looked like a rainbow exploded in her room. She accessorized with sparkly rings and necklaces that caught the light and large bangles that matched the days color scheme, if you could say she even had one. Her favorite shoes where a pair of basic black flats that buckled at the ankle and match anything and everything. Her go to pair for any outfit. June’s clothing was loud and bright just like her personality. It wasn’t a secret that she stood out in school, but if she was going to, she was going to own it.

Three pairs of ripped jeans, one nice for special occasions. Graphic tees galore. That was mostly what people gave up to thrift stores, but Elliot was happy to take them off their hands. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure right? Her favorite piece however, was her shoes. Red checkered vans, a birthday present from her parents. She wore them everywhere and anywhere. The only other pair was a beat up pair of off-brand black vans that she wore for when she was running out for something real quick. Elliot wasn’t one for accessories but she was always seen with a faded red backwards hat. It was against school dress code of course, but that didn’t stop her from carrying it along with her for when she decided to leave. Fashion and clothing wasn’t Elliots main focus. They were second handed and worse for wear, but her style was hers and no one could take that from her.

DAY 8: Formal Outift

Elliot was a same four outfits a week kind of person with only one formal outfit for whatever special occasion it called for. If it weren’t for her mother, Elliot would roll up to a wedding with ripped jeans and faded graphic tees, unfortunately her mother nagged to the point they spent a whole day at Goodwill and various other thrift stores looking for the perfect outfit. After trying on a skin tight, yellow mini dress, and a pant suit that made her look like she belonged in a Michael Jackson music video, Elliot found pants that just so happened to work perfectly with the top and shoes her mother found. Everything about the outfit was perfect. The pants were a navy blue with matching suspenders. The fabric stretched ever so slightly fitting the curve of her hips and buttoning at the waist. The top was a white and navy blue striped button up that Elliot tucked into the pants and rolled the sleeves to just below the elbow. The top was soft and lay perfectly over her shoulders, dipping into the curve of her waist, accentuating her feminine figure as the suspenders gave her a hint masculinity to the outfit. It was subtle but much needed addition to the outfit. Elliot felt beautiful and confident and thought maybe this wasn’t so bad afterall.  

DAY 9: Spirituality

June had been raised in a non-denominational church her whole life. Her father was a deacon at a reasonably big church a few miles downtown, and June participated in the choir like she had been doing since she was ten. She was religious, but when she discovered she was attracted to girls, she wasn’t so sure anymore. It’s not that she instantly decided God wasn’t real, but most christians preached such things as sin and that you’d end up in hell. Her church had never preached against it, it was just never really...brought up? June believed in Heaven and Hell, she believed in God, but to her something didn’t add up. Her father was a very religious man. Not the kind to drill the word of God into sinners of the world, just one proud to be Christian and expressed that through crocheted pillows and inspirational wall art. One day June would tell her father how she felt, but not for a while. Maybe when she went off to college? Or moved out of state? Or when the people of Earth decided to colonize Mars? Whichever came first.

Elliot’s family wasn’t the religious type. If anything, they’d call themselves agnostic. They knew something had to be out there, but what exactly, they didn’t know. The Demarco’s were quite possibly the most open minded and non-judgmental family anyone could meet. Elliot had come out to her family when she was thirteen. When she told her parents she thought she liked girls, her dad responded with a handshake and a, “Welcome to the club!” The oldest brother Liam responded with, “Wait, so you’re a fa-” but didn’t get to finish before their grandmother slapped the shit out of him, and never again did Liam say another word like that again.

DAY 10: Broken Temper

Mason was a calm type of mad. Not much angered him. Some days he didn’t get enough sleep, skipped coffee, or just wasn’t in the mood. When he was like this he mostly kept to himself. Slight nods, silent treatments, snappy answers. Kam knew not to bother him too much on days like that. Kam had seen Mason truly angry only once. The day began with much begging and a million please’s as Kam finally talked Mason into going to a free concert at a downtown bar. It was open to the public with local performers playing throughout the night. Everything was fine until Mason left to use the restroom and came back to find a man pushing himself on Kam. With a beer in one hand and the other holding on tightly to his shoulder, Mason’s expression changed in a heartbeat. The man leaned in close to talk to Kam, who in return, looked very uncomfortable. Mason knew Kam was too nice to tell him to leave him alone. He was about to politely pull Kam away, until the stranger moved his hand down the small of his back before pushing himself onto him. Mason was there in seconds, shoving the man off Kam. Mason’s voice was loud and harsh. “Hey, get the fuck off of him!” Mason could smell the alcohol on his breath, clearly drunk. “Fuck you man! You don’t own him!” He retaliated, stepping up to Mason who had a good few inches over him. Mason had him by the collar when he felt a light tug on his shirt. He turned around to see Kam holding on, his eyes soft and pleading. Mason turned back to the guy and let go, taking Kam by the hand and leading him out without another word. His grip was tight and firm as he made a beeline for the door. Kam’s only thought after that night was to see aggressive Mason more often.

No one could stop Elliot when someone made her mad. This isn’t the complaining and cursing about life and dumb people type of mad, but the type that actually made her snap. It wasn’t a surprise when people heard that Elliot was caught in a fight at school. Guys liked to test her and push her buttons and Elliot damn well made sure they knew what they had gotten themselves into. 90% of Chris and Jacks responsibility as her friend was spent keeping her out of fights or, when they were too late, pulling her off the poor guy that decided to say the wrong thing to her.

Unfortunately Chris was absent the day Elliot had overheard a conversation between Caleb and his friends over another kid a seat away who could clearly hear every word they were saying. Elliot wasted no time walking over to tell him to “Shut the hell up!” This led to some words being passed back and forth before Elliot took her fist to his face, leaving the giant man baby, as she called him, on the floor, stunned. The end result was a broken nose and a fractured hand, which Elliot thought was well worth it. When questioned by the principal as to why she did what she did, she answered with, “Well maybe if he had left Tyler alone and not decided to call him a, ‘faggot little bitch who can shove a ruler up his ass’, to the entire cafeteria, then maybe I wouldn’t have.” Elliot said holding onto her hand, her voice harsh, brown eyes sharp.  

The principal sighed, rubbing her hand down her face. Elliot had gotten to know Mrs. Larsen really well over the past few years.

[jbankai89]

Never Let Me Go [21/37]

A/N: NSFW Chapter!

Chapter Twenty – Don't Leave Me

“We shouldn't be doing this,” Otabek breathed as Yuri's back hit the mattress, forcing a soft gasp from the omega's lungs, “this is such a bad idea...”

“I don't care,” Yuri panted as he hooked an arm around Otabek's neck, and dragged him into a kiss. “We can regret it later. Please, just give this to me.”

“Yuri...” Otabek whimpered as he leant in to kiss him again, their lips parting in a rough, needy kiss.

They grappled at each other, hands shaking minutely as they tugged blindly at the upper clothing of the other, but Yuri merely laughed softly, and relaxed into the bed while he allowed Otabek to take control.

Otabek's arousal seemed to spike at this, while Yuri's innate omega instincts seemed to hum in approval at the move. Otabek kissed Yuri again, more tenderly this time, and Yuri reached up, a hand cupping the alpha's cheek while Otabek's large hands, soft from his charmed life, slipped beneath the hem of Yuri's shirt.

Yuri's stomach sucked in at the tickling sensation of Otabek's fingers brushing over his abdomen, and he lifted his arms above his head invitingly. Otabek smiled at him, and in particular at his open, silent admission of trust, something that he had been trying to gain for months.

Otabek's fingers fell to the hem of the sweater he wore, and he felt the alpha freeze in hesitation.

“Please, Beka,” Yuri begged softly, “please give me this, let me have something of yours to take with me when I go.”

“Is keeping me in your heart not enough?” Otabek asked, and Yuri laughed.

“You are so sentimental,” Yuri teased lightly. “I just...I feel like I need this. I don't know when I'll see you again, or if I ever will. Put your morals aside and give me one night, that's all I'm asking.”

“Oh, Yuri,” Otabek moaned as he once more gave in to temptation, and peeled off Yuri's sweater and T-shirt in one swift move. “I've wanted this for so long...I've wanted you for so long...”

“Then have me,” Yuri replied, and felt his face grow hot at the cheesy line. Otabek laughed, though it was a warm sound, and not teasing. He leant in to kiss Yuri again, but this time his mouth did not remain solely against Yuri's, but moved gently along his jaw and throat. He paused over Yuri's bonding gland, and the omega's breath hitched. Before he could protest, Otabek moved on to explore the rest of him.

“Oh, Yuri,” Otabek breathed, “you are just so lovely...” he nipped at Yuri's clavicle, and Yuri shivered again. “Every part of you is just so perfect...I lo—” Otabek broke off abruptly, and kissed his sternum. Yuri let out a breath as the kisses moved to his chest. Strangely, Yuri was deeply relieved that Otabek had not finished his phrase. Yuri had a feeling it would be next to impossible to say goodbye if he'd actually voiced his true feelings.

Otabek's exploratory mouth moved to Yuri's right nipple, and he shivered as the alpha encircled it with his tongue, then suckled on the hardened nub gently. Yuri moaned and arched his back, one hand moving to Otabek's hair, silently spurring him forward.

“Beka...” Yuri whined, panting a little as one of Otabek's hands trailed down his front and to his jeans, where he deftly unbuttoned the garment and pulled down the zip before he slipped his hand into Yuri's underwear.

He's done this before... Yuri thought hazily as the large hand of his alpha coiled around his cock, already hard and aching, and he arched into the touch. The vague thought was not pleasant; Yuri disliked the idea of anyone touching Otabek that was not him, though Yuri imagined that likely the same was true for Otabek. Otabek had been quite possessive of him in the past, after all, and Yuri knew that that was not a cultural attitude thing, that was an instinctual alpha thing.

“Yuri...” Otabek panted when he lifted his mouth from the blushing nipple, “you feel so good...you...you...” the alpha appeared to be at a loss for words, and in response, Yuri sat up and kissed him hard.

“Don't think,” Yuri breathed against his lips while his hands dropped to the buttons on his shirt. “Just feel me.”

Otabek whimpered weakly at the way Yuri offered himself so freely, and leant back a little (though it seemed to be a genuine struggle for him) as he allowed Yuri to unbutton his shirt.

The alpha shrugged out of the garment and tossed it aside, closely followed by the fitted undershirt he had been wearing beneath it.

The last time Yuri had seen Otabek even partially undressed it had been months before, back when Otabek had insisted they share a bed. At the time, it had usually been in the dark that Yuri would witness him changing, and when they were actually in bed together Yuri had made a point of trying to avoid looking at him.

Now, Yuri drank in the sight hungrily.

Otabek was mostly hairless, save for a narrow trail of dark, wiry hairs that disappeared into the top of his visibly tented jeans. He seemed to have no body fat, and his chest and abdomen were nothing but hard muscle.

Yuri reached out, and pressed his palm to Otabek's abdomen, and smiled a little when he felt the muscle twitch under his hand.

His smile broadening a little, Yuri reached up with his free hand, coiled it around the back of Otabek's neck, and pulled him into another kiss.

At the same time, Yuri's hand trailed slowly downward, teasing the edge of the alpha's jeans idly before he slipped his hand into the warm confines, and in a mirror move to his alpha, closed his hand around his deliciously thick cock.

Otabek broke the kiss as he let out a low groan, and his whole body seemed to tense at the familiar touch.

“Yuri...” he moaned, and kissed him again as he began to tug one-handed at Yuri's jeans in an effort to get them off. Yuri chuckled at his efforts, and lifted his ass off the bed slightly, enabling Otabek to peel the garment off more easily.

It was strangely freeing to feel the garment fall away, and Yuri shivered when he felt Otabek's hands press into the tops of his bare thighs, and snake up towards his aching hard-on.

“Please,” Yuri panted for what felt like the millionth time, “Beka, please...”

“Yuri...” Otabek breathed in a similar tone of voice as his hand curled around the omega's cock.

It was like finding an oasis after wandering around a desert for weeks, or living in Plato's cave and seeing people for the first time, or watching the sun rise after a winter of darkness in the arctic.

It was what Yuri had been missing all his life.

Yuri rocked his hips, arching into the touch of his alpha, while tears of happiness poured down his cheeks. Otabek wiped them away without question or protest; he seemed to understand that they were not a show of anguish.

“My Beka, I—” Yuri moaned, but bit down hard on the words that threatened to tumble from his lips. To proclaim his love felt strangely wrong in that moment; in part because Yuri was still uncertain how much of the feeling was genuine, but also because saying it would make it more real, and make leaving all that much harder come the morning.

“Tell me that you want this,” Otabek commanded softly, his tone less of an order, and more of a plea,  as though he wanted to be certain that Yuri wanted this to happen before he moved forward.

“I want this,” Yuri replied at once as he tugged at the beltloops of Otabek's jeans, “I want you. Please, let me see you.”

Smiling faintly, Otabek curled his fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, and tugged them down, exposing himself fully to his omega.

Like all alphas, Otabek sported an enviable cock. Yuri licked his lips at the sight of it, and he could swear he felt his ass tingle, longing to be filled.

Yuri reached out and wrapped his hand around the base of it, and smiled when he felt Otabek shiver slightly. His fingers, long as they were, closed around the shaft easily, but it was still deliciously thick, and as Yuri bowed forward to taste it, he nearly moaned aloud at the way his lips stretched around the alpha's girth.

A shuddering moan slipped past Otabek's lips as a hand dropped to Yuri's shoulder, the fingers twitching as though he wasn't certain whether he wanted to stop Yuri, or encourage him.

Yuri took advantage of Otabek's indecision, and slowly worked the thick cock farther into his mouth and down his throat. It had been quite some time since he'd done this for anybody, but for the first time he was doing it willingly, and not because he was being paid, which was a new experience for him, and Yuri was marginally amazed and how much he liked it.

“Oh, Yuri...” Otabek groaned, his hips twitching weakly as he struggled to keep from thrusting forward and possibly hurting his lover, while Yuri reached up to give his ass a good squeeze of reassurance.

Yuri would have liked for Otabek to cum down his throat, but unlike omegas, who were only fertile during their heats and had twice the energy to burn, alphas could rut at any time, but usually could not cum a second time, given how physically exhausting it was for them. Having an in-heat omega around usually helped to remedy this, but given that Yuri was not in heat, he had no desire to tire out his lover too quickly, he reluctantly pulled back, licking his lips like a cat with a bowl of cream.

There was a confusing look on Otabek's face when Yuri finally looked back up at him. It was much more sorrowful than a man should look after having his cock sucked, and strangely, Yuri knew that it had nothing to do with his impending trip.

Yuri opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but Otabek silenced him with a kiss before he could ask. The omega reached up and wrapped his arms around Otabek's neck, and trembled as the alpha slowly coaxed him onto his back. Being pinned down like this should have been nerve-racking, but instead it was nothing short of glorious.

“Yuri,” Otabek said, his voice shaking a little as his hands dropped to cup the omega's ass. “are you—”

“—don't ask me if I'm sure,” Yuri interrupted, his voice trembling similarly to Otabek's. He kissed the alpha again. “I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. All I know is that I need this, Beka.”

The pet name in lieu of Otabek's proper name seemed to succeed in shutting the alpha up, for the moment, anyway, and he leant in to kiss Yuri one last time before he reached for the bedside table. He dug into the drawer, and pulled out a tube of lubricant. Yuri felt his breath catch with nervous excitement.

“Let me know if I hurt you, sweetheart,” Otabek said gently, and Yuri trembled all over at the sound of the nickname. When they reunited, Yuri hoped that Otabek would call him nothing else.

Yuri nodded as he watched Otabek squeeze out a measure of the lube onto his fingers and spread it out onto the digits, ensuring that they were evenly coated. He then rested his free hand against Yuri's hip, adjusting the omega's position before he gently parted his cheeks, and teased his entrance with one of the lubricated fingers. Yuri shivered at the sensation, his eyes slipping shut as he eased back against the mattress and relaxed.

“Don't fall asleep on me now,” Otabek teased as one of his fingers began to slip past Yuri's ring of guardian muscles, which caused the omega to laugh.

“No chance of that,” Yuri replied as he parted his thighs a little more, and Otabek eased the finger in deeper, making him shiver.

Otabek seemed to have worked out that this was hardly Yuri's first time, and thus spent a little less time preparing him than what one might do for a virgin. For the moment, at least, Otabek seemed to have no desire to sit down and discuss it, and instead moved forward, removing his fingers, and reaching for the condoms.

Which was when Yuri stopped him.

“I'm not in heat,” Yuri reminded him gently as his hand closed around the alpha's wrist. “No chance of accidental...anything. You know that omegas are totally infertile outside their heats. Beka, I want you to fill me.”

“Yuri, I don't—”

“—please.”

Otabek eyed him dubiously, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, as though he suspected Yuri was up to something. Yuri whimpered plaintively as he sat back up and pressed a kiss to the corner of Otabek's mouth gently.

“Beka, please,” Yuri murmured, his hands pressing to the alpha's chest, and he trailed them up to his neck. Otabek shivered a little at Yuri's touch, but still appeared doubtful.

“But what if by some fluke—”

“—I wind up with a bun in the oven?” Yuri asked, and Otabek nodded a little. “Beka, I'm not in heat. Omegas cannot conceive outside their heats, period. Do you not want to do this? Because—”

“—no,” Otabek interrupted, “I want to, believe me, but I worry, too. What if something does happen, and you're left to go through it alone?”

“There are ways,” Yuri reassured him, “if by some ridiculous fluke something like that were to happen, there are always ways to get in touch. I know my own body, Beka, and if I say there's no risk, then there is no risk.”

At last Otabek's body seemed to sag in silent understanding, and he nodded as with a small smile while he leant in for another kiss.

“I love the idea of filling you up, Yuri,” Otabek murmured in between kisses, “I just don't want to do something that might harm your future...should you decide that I am not good enough for you.”

Yuri smiled softly at Otabek, and reached out to gently touch his cheek before he kissed him again.

He really has changed, Yuri thought approvingly, when all this is over, he'll finally be someone I can be proud to call my alpha.

As they kissed, Otabek gently eased Yuri onto his back again. His heartbeat tripled in anticipation while he reached up to bury his fingers in the alpha's hair, eliciting a soft groan from him.

“Yura...” Otabek breathed reverently as he pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, and moved his hands to his hips, guiding his omega back into position. Yuri went with him without hesitation, trust radiating from him in every move that he made.

Yuri watched with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as Otabek lined himself up with Yuri's prepared hole, and ever so slowly he breached Yuri's entrance.

Yuri groaned at the sensation of his ass stretching around Otabek's cock, and clenched around the organ instinctively, which caused Otabek to shudder as he struggled to enter Yuri slowly, rather than sheath himself in one swift movement.

Yuri let out a soft whine of impatience, to which Otabek merely chuckled and leant in to kiss Yuri again, more gently this time, his hands shifting to Yuri's thighs and holding him in position as he slowly slid himself inside. Yuri's legs trembled a little from the strain, but Otabek's hands holding him steady eased some of the discomfort, and after what felt like an infuriatingly long time, Otabek sheathed himself fully inside of his omega.

Yuri instinctively wrapped his legs around Otabek's waist and locked his ankles together at the small of his back. Otabek let out a soft groan around their kiss as he began to rock his hips, sliding in and out of Yuri fluidly, as though they had done this a hundred times before. Yuri fell back onto the bed as Otabek straightened up, holding onto Yuri's narrow hips in an almost bruising grip, while his gentle thrusts increased in speed, and he slammed into Yuri roughly, making him grunt and jerk along with his alpha, his head tilted up to stare at Otabek as he fucked him, the alpha appearing as though he had ascended to  some higher plain of consciousness.

And the place he's ascended to is me, Yuri thought, his chest heaving as Otabek thrust into him, his pace brutal and rough, ensuring that Yuri would feel it long after they'd parted.

Yuri could feel Otabek's knot beginning to swell, and his mind seemed to explode in sensation as his alpha pushed it past Yuri's ring of muscle. Despite not being a virgin, Yuri had always been careful to not take alpha customers, unless it was for oral sex. As a result he had never been knotted before, and now, Yuri was grateful that it was Otabek who was his first in that respect. The overwhelming sense of completion that washed over Yuri as Otabek locked them together was unlike anything Yuri had heretofore experienced. He had never in his life felt so perfect and loved, and Yuri had no idea whether that was from being knotted, or just because it was Otabek knotting him.

“B-Beka...” Yuri whispered as tears began to trickle down his cheeks—tears of joy.

“Shh, my precious Yura,” Otabek murmured, his voice shaking a little through the overwhelming pleasure, “it's all right, you're fine...”

Yuri arched up a little to kiss his alpha, just as he rocked forward one last time, sealing himself firmly in place as he groaned and found his release. The sheer volume of cum did indeed fill him, and Yuri clenched down on Otabek's cock, determined to hold in the semen, even after he pulled out later. Yuri, too, found his release, it splattering all over their stomachs as they continued to kiss, but Yuri barely noticed it, with his mind still so hyper-focused on the cock in his ass.

“Thank you, Beka,” Yuri breathed, panting softly as they broke the kiss, and he reached up to touch the alpha's cheek. The muscle under his fingers twitched into a warm smile, and with on hand at Yuri's back, he eased them onto their sides.

“Was this what you wanted—to remember me by?” Otabek asked softly, the hand moving to stroke Yuri's hair while they waited for Otabek's knot to deflate.

“Yes, thank you,” Yuri replied, shifting carefully as he tried to get comfortable, but even with all his caution, each small move caused Otabek to wince or grimace. “Was it...good for you too?”

“Oh, yes,” Otabek said, laughter in his tone as he leant forward to brush a kiss to Yuri's temple. “You completely seduced me, Yura.”

Yuri smiled indulgently at Otabek's confession, while the alpha wrapped his arms more securely around the omega, holding him close.

“This encounter, so to speak, has taught me one thing, however...” Otabek said suddenly, and Yuri's gaze snapped up in alarm. He felt his stomach drop at the serious look upon his face, and Yuri realized, stupidly, that Otabek had worked it out—what he had done to keep himself fed and clothed while on the streets. Yuri bit his lip, bracing himself for a rejection. What sort of well-respected alpha would want a former whore as their bondmate?

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry that you had to go through that.”

Yuri blinked, certain that he'd misheard him.

“What?”

“I'm sorry that you had to subject yourself to that, just to stay alive,” Otabek repeated, “no one should have to do that to themselves just to keep their bellies full. I'm sorry that our completely backwards system forced you into it.”

“You're not...mad?”

“Why would I be mad about that?” he asked, blinking at Yuri with confusion. “You had no choice—or, at least, not a lot of choice. It'd be like being mad that you had no home, or didn't eat every day—it wasn't your fault, so it'd be stupid to blame you for it.”

“You know what, Beka?” Yuri said, and the alpha arched an eyebrow at him. “I could easily fall in love with you.”

“I know, Yura,” Otabek replied as he brushed a kiss to Yuri's temple, “me too.”

~*~

Yuri would have liked to lie in Otabek's arms and pray that the morning would never come. Unfortunately, Otabek seemed more keen on being responsible, and after a quick shower, he offered Yuri one last kiss before he escorted him to the door.

“Go pack,” Otabek ordered him gently, “remember—only what you need. Don't forget your suppressants. I need to get the plane tickets for you and your grandfather, but you can come back here and we can go to sleep together if you want, but do this first, all right?”

“Yeah, all right,” Yuri replied with a small wince as he got on his toes to kiss Otabek again. He didn't want to go—he wanted to go even less now—but he knew now that there would be no swaying the alpha, and decided it'd be better to save his protests for another time.

Yuri shuffled down the hall and to his room, intending to make a beeline for the closet and grab his bag, but instead he was stopped short by Minami, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, his arms crossed, and a disapproving frown on his face. In that moment, he looked very much like a parent catching their child coming home after curfew.

“All packed?” Yuri asked conversationally as he meandered over to his closet and tugged out his bag—a new backpack to replace the one the tiger had destroyed during Yuri's bid for freedom. The remark did not soften the omega's expression, and Minami glared at him. “What?”

“You know goddamn well what,” Minami said, his voice more angry than Yuri had ever heard it before. “Are you insane?”

“What did I do?”

“You are in heat, and you slept with Otabek—and don't deny it, I'm not stupid. You and I are in sync, I started this morning, but I'm taking my suppressants, and I doubled up out of nerves because of what happened with Phichit, so I wouldn't show any symptoms. So are you, I found the empty bottle in your garbage. Yuri, you can still get pregnant on suppressants, it's not a contraceptive. What on earth were you thinking?”

“It's insurance, all right?” Yuri hissed, but the quick explanation did not seem to placate the other omega at all. “It's not what you think.”

“Yeah? Because I'm thinking you did this to force Otabek to not let you go.”

“That's not it,” Yuri replied at once, but Minami did not seem to believe him. “Look, I know how these Omega Relocation people work, there is a very good chance this escape attempt will blow up in our faces, and I'll get carted off anyway, maybe you too, I don't know. But the government here, they're very conservative, and they'll be less hard on a pregnant omega. It's insurance to make sure I survive retraining so that I can get back to Beka and you.”

“You don't know if you'll get taken, Otabek will make sure you're safe—”

“—he'll try,” Yuri corrected, “there's no guarantees in this life, not for us. I don't know if I'm really mom material, or how Otabek will feel when he finds out, but...this little blob of cells that's probably in there already is the only thing that will keep me from getting totally destroyed by a Trainer.”

Minami eyed Yuri dubiously, the look of disapproval never falling from his face. He crossed his arms, and shook his head a little.

“I think you're being extremely stupid, Yuri, but for the sake of your child, I really hope you know what you're doing.”

Yuri grimaced, and pressed a palm to his flat abdomen.

“Yeah, me too.”

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P

NLMG Masterpost

[7fics]

Jackson plays crappy matchmaker for Youngjae and Jaebum, and Youngjae avoids his feelings long enough to hurt Yugyeom.

Warnings: swearing, and some sexual content (not too explicit though)

Word Count: 5.6k+

Author(s): Mia and Chewy

A/N: It’s been a really long time, but our promised fic for our lottery winner from celebrating 2k followers is finally done! Sorry it took so long, but hopefully we’ve done your prompt justice :) 

I tried my best to incorporate the things you wanted. There’s also some yugjae because I have no control over my writing and who pops up in it, as usual. I really hope you like it. 

Tall, polished windows set in gold-yellow sills spanning the length of at least two regular department stores call out to him, whispering in bittersweet chorus. They want him to empty his savings for the month on some stupid party where it will be too dark for anyone to see what he’s wearing anyway. Is he bitter? Yes. Does he have the right to be? Hell yes. His senior Junho told him to come dressed his best, that he should want to make a good impression since a bunch of alumni and other seniors are going to be there. Youngjae isn’t even completely convinced that he wants to be in Kappa Sigma anyway. It just seems like the college thing to do, and Junho may have twisted his arm about it.

Regardless, here he is, walking through the front door of Club Z, cringing at the ding that sounds out and prompts some shoppers to look in his direction curiously. Some couldn’t care either way and return to what they were doing. Others give him looks ranging from amusement to disgust to genuine confusion. It’s obvious his jeans and band t-shirt combo are to be looked down upon here.

Rich, snotty bastards.

Youngjae is very disappointed that there are as many men as women, thus his excuse of being apart of the stereotypically less fashion-savvy gender is useless. Now, walking around cluelessly touching this and that with absolutely no idea of what any of it is or what to pair anything with is just embarrassing.

Adding to his budding headache, just glimpses of the different clothing pieces tell him that he’ll have to be here for hours just to find a semi-decent outfit. He was born as round as a circle, and even though he lost some baby fat in childhood, traces of it harbor his cheeks, making the tiny shirt holes seem like future humiliation. He also has thick limbs and a flat but soft tummy. No abs. No definition. No chance of him looking good in any of the shear due to his slight but soft frame and not an inkling of hope in the crisper button downs because of the aforementioned reason. It was always easier to resign himself to the ranks of the fashion terrorists and call it a day. Not only is he overwhelmed, but he’s confused, and a bit terrified as well.

To make his situation worse, a handsome, well-dressed man is making his way over from across the floor where women were previously fawning over him, giggling and shoving to get their opportunity at stealing his attention. He pays no mind to the glares they cast at him for that.

His real concern is what he’s going to say to the man when he gets there. He can’t say that he doesn’t need any help because he obviously does. He has a shirt and these insufferable looking shorts in his hands that, even to his inexperienced eyes, don’t match at all. The man will see through that lie in a split second and then he’ll have to put his head in a dark hole and wait for lightning to strike him dead. If he says that he was just looking around he might be met with the same expression he has witnessed twice already today. That expression that clearly says ‘why come if you’re going to touch everything you can’t afford and then leave?’.  He doesn’t think he can handle that a third time.

He may just drop everything and bolt. But then he’ll be looking through his entire wardrobe last minute, getting frustrated that nothing is good enough, eventually just blow the event off and live the rest of his college career as a hermit who never goes anywhere or does anything because he has no friends and can't dress himself properly.

...Okay, so maybe that last part is mostly just exaggerated speculation. But some of it holds true. Youngjae has been wearing the same thing since he was a geeky freshman through senior year. A fresh look is long overdue. He has no idea where to start though, or where he wants to end up for that matter.

Youngjae is still caught up in his internal dialogue when the man finally arrives, having to announce himself twice before Youngjae looks up, conflicted and nervous. He feels like a small child, mismatched clothes in hand and confidence draining from his body. Up close, the man is even more striking. Although Youngjae has no idea what he’s wearing by name, he knows that it looks good. Broad muscles fill up the shirt that would be too tight in some places and too loose in others on Youngjae. Long, built legs compliment his black slacks and shiny, dark shoes top off his whole ‘I’m too hot to approach, but feel free to drool from afar’ ensemble.

“Can I help you?” the man asks with amusement in his voice. He surveys Youngjae’s “outfit” with a speculative expression and raises one eyebrow. “You have a rather particular taste. I’m not judging, but it’s kind of written in my job description to give customers advice.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae says. “And what’s your advice?”

“Lose the shorts and we’ll see what we can do with the shirt…”

“Youngjae.”

The man smiles easily. “Jaebum.”

After twenty minutes of trying on things Jaebum brings to him, Youngjae is over the whole process. He appreciates the man’s well-intentioned determination but he’s on the verge of calling everything off because  nothing is looking right despite Jaebum’s undying optimism.

“Here, last one.” Jaebum’s arm splits through the dressing room curtains with a pair of straight-legged black jeans and a soft blue cotton button-up. He’s skeptical, but puts them and steps out in front of the full-length ready to accept his fate, when he opens his eyes gingerly and is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate the ensemble.

The jeans make his legs look lean, which they aren’t, and the shirt doesn’t make him particularly podgy in any place.

“Good?” Jaebum asks with an expectant grin and a hesitant thumbs up.

“Good,” Youngjae replies.

“Awesome.” Jaebum waves him over to the register and they get on with it. Youngjae is more than glad to get the heck out of there after having sent way too much time already, even if he doesn’t mind being with Jaebum at all.

“So you go to Yeongnam U?” Jaebum asks as he’s ringing up the stuff.

“Uh, yeah. I’m majoring in Music Therapy.”

“Sweet.” Jaebum smiles and Youngjae’s heart does this thing where it feels like it’s going to explode. “So, you wanna, like, help people and stuff? Way cool. I’m only going for Composition so I can write songs and sell ‘em. But that’s noble, Youngjae.”

“Um, noble, okay. Thanks.” Youngjae scratches the back of his neck slightly as Jaebum bags the clothes and taps some numbers in the register. Youngjae pays what he owes and waves the man goodbye as he tries not to look like an animal fleeing its cage on his way out.

                                                 *     *     *    *     *

Parties have never been Youngjae’s forte.

He’s an awkward human being. It was built in him to be that way, he supposes. He’s terrible at small talk, hates being squashed by sweaty, drunk people in dark, loud places. He never knows what to say or do. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing an expensive outfit that doesn’t feel like him at all, doesn’t mold to his body like a good pair of jeans and a graphic tee. So, not only is he struggling to be anyone but himself, he’s also trying to live up to the bigshot persona clothes from Glitz warrant from someone. This was destined to be a horrible idea the second he walked in the front door. Jinyoung and Bambam ditched him, obviously preferring to hang out with their rich, cultured group of friends, leaving Youngjae to fend for himself.

Youngjae doesn’t have to think about what to do; it’s instinct by this point. He pushes his way through the writhing bodies until he gets to the back door.

Worse has come to worst.

As Youngjae is slipping outside into the warm night, a very familiar face clocks on his radar. He doesn’t have anything better to do, so he sulks on a barren swing as he watches through squinted eyes at the bodies suffocating each other on a bench near the back door. Jaebum finally comes up for air, and a girl Youngjae recognizes from his Psych class, Dasom, giggles and hiccups, begging him to come back. He shoos her away, coming to his feet and allowing her time to scramble up herself. She scurries after him like a puppy as he goes inside.

Seeing them together is almost as bitter as whatever is in his cup. He only has to take a sip to decide that the stuff is awful. He keeps drinking, though, because one, he has nothing better to do, and two, it takes some of the hurt away. He’s halfway through it when the air surrounding him becomes more crowded and the other swing’s creaking mixes in with his. As terrible as that sound is, it’s oddly comforting. It reminds him of when he would go to his friend’s house as a child to play. He had this rusty swing set that was probably the most dangerous thing they could find to play on, but it never collapsed on them and they enjoyed each other’s company while using it. He doesn’t question the welcome intrusion.

“The party’s in there,” the voice says. It has some bass, while still being very youthful. Attractive.

“I’m having my own party.” Youngjae shakes his head sadly, taking another sip out of his cup. “A party of one.”

“Make that a party of two.” The guy takes the cup right out of Youngjae’s hand and takes a whig himself. Youngjae isn’t too upset as he follows the thieving hand to a handsome face. Large yet angular brown eyes, a high, straight nose, and thick lips is what he can pick out in the semi-darkness. The stranger lets loose a long, loud sigh and returns the cup. Youngjae takes it apprehensively, sloshing what’s left boredly. He thinks he’s starting to feel it, whatever it is. This is not his first time drinking alcohol, but it’s definitely his first time getting past a few gulps without gagging and passing the wretched stuff to a more willing party-goer, or putting it back.

“I’m Yugyeom, by the way.” The stranger--Yugyeom, kicks off and begins to swing gently. The creaking gets louder.

“Youngjae.” He follows the other’s lead. The warmth growing inside of him as the liquor works its way through his system mixed with the cool breeze he unearths once he starts swinging is creating a strange synergy around him. The night becomes a little more bearable. Yugyeom is handsome, has a nice voice as well.

“So, Youngjae-hyung. You out here for a reason?” Yugyeom asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, coughing to clear his clogged throat. The alcohol causes it to burn a little, but it’s just comforting warmth after that. “I’m kinda bummed about something. And I don’t really like parties. This is my frat. I would just go to my room, but there’s probably someone having sex in it. So…” He twirls the cup some more, distractedly.

“Yeah, that could get awkward.” Yugyeom laughs quietly. Another nice sound. It’s sweet, something Youngjae feels rather than just hears. It bounces along the night breeze and takes over his muddled senses.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks.

“Same, I guess. Bummed. Not one for parties,” Yugyeom says. “My friend asked me to come because he wanted to find someone here and didn’t want to look like a loser waiting around by himself. Now I’m the loser by myself. That asshole.”

“Friends suck,” Youngjae muses. He raises his nearly empty cup. It sways lightly in his loosening grip. Whatever was in it and the little bit left is strong. “Toast to the decent people left on the earth.”

So they toast to each other and drink the night away, buried in what they can handle. Surprisingly, considering his sheer height, Yugyeom is a lightweight and Youngjae has to stop himself from overdoing it because the younger had reached that point a while ago, sleepily humming tunes to songs and occasionally pairing them with the wrong words as Youngjae piggybacks him to his dorm.

The air is sweetly warm, whispering across Youngjae’s bare chest as he rummages through his drawers for some less sweaty clothes, goading on the beads of sweat as they collect uncomfortably in the crevices of his body and force him to crack the window more and more.

After tugging Yugyeom’s uncooperative limbs into cooler, cleaner clothes, Youngjae slips in beside the tall freshman, slightly distressed to find that he fits perfectly as if it were in some predestined scheme for the younger to toss one of his long, heavy arms over Youngjae’s torso, anchoring him temporarily.

“He’s a little funny-looking,” Yugyeom whispers suddenly to him. Youngjae can safely say that he is both startled and extremely peeved because how long has this ingrate been awake and why couldn’t he walk his goliath ass back to his own dorm? He’s just about ready to give it to him when the soft murmur is broken by a snor, a snuffle, and nothingness, only to repeat again a minute later with different words. Something like ‘but, cute too’.

And Youngjae realizes Yugyeom is sleep talking.

And sleep insulting him, too. This bastard.

“Hyung,” he babbles, pulling Youngjae closer. “Toast.”

Youngjae would be more livid if Yugyeom weren’t so damn cute.

                                           *     *     *    *     *

The next time Yugyeom is drunk off his ass is at Youngjae’s induction to Kappa Sigma. His newly dubbed crush is sitting right in his lap, a hard drink of something swaying in his unreliable fingers, as they’re at the table trying to keep something down besides liquor.

It isn’t going too hot.

More than half surrounding the stupidly large table are drunk out of their minds, and the other half are swimming in varying states of less severe drunkenness, but not completely lucid all the same. Youngjae is one of the few who are still upright, and he’s not gung ho on the thought of having to carry Yugyeom across campus not a second, or third, but fourth time. He’s a sloppy drunk and bad drinker, barely able to hold his fluids after about three cups of something.

“Hyung, bathroom.” Yugyeom paws at Youngjae’s chest with a pout, wrinkling his dumb, new shirt purchased at (where else, honestly?) Club Z. “I have to peeeeeeee.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae grumbles miserably, helping Yugyeom to his feet, and pulling the boy over to the stairs. As they’re going up Youngjae thinks that his “wonderful induction night” can’t get suckier; then he and Yugyeom reach the first landing, padding mutely over the hardwood as they turn and commit to climbing the rest to get to the top, and Youngjae hears a gross noise upon reaching the second floor.

It’s dark, loopy, a little hot, and Youngjae can still outline Jaebum’s body pressed up against someone else’s at the beginning of the corridor, just before a long stretch of darkness absorbs anything remotely tangible into an indecipherable blob of mystery.

Youngjae aches that much more because it’s a guy he’s got his hands all over in the sticky shadows, meaning Jaebum is bi, swings both ways, and he probably would never even want to take a whack in Youngjae’s direction.

What makes it all worse is Yugyeom starts whining again, reminding Youngjae that has a new responsibility to deal with, cute sweet Yugyeom who Youngjae is almost sure likes him back. He helps the boy, finally, to the bathroom, switching the light on and pulling the toilet seat up so he can relieve himself.

Youngjae looks on with a mixture of fondness and guilt as he takes out his phone from his jeans pocket, looking away briefly to check the message from Jackson left hours ago.

i know ur butt hurt from the lecture, but jaebum’s gonna be at ur tea party later, sooooo ;););) use protection -wang jackass, 5:34pm

Youngjae sends a quick text back, a digital middle finger, before he’s focusing on Yugyeom again, watching glassily as he fumbles for soap to wash his hands and zoning out simultaneously, thinking back to the lecture in question from earlier.

Youngjae had come into his Music Theory hall with a little smile on his face from serial texting Yugyeom. It had been two weeks since the sleepover incident and they were really hitting it off. Yugyeom, Youngjae’s polisci angel, is also into reading for pleasure, so they were texting about a book they had both read just that summer, crying over the fact that the author isn’t going to release a sequel until the following Spring like a couple of nerds.

He had nearly tripped over someone from having his nose stuck in his screen. That someone turned out to be Jaebum sitting like an Adonis statue and outshining everything in Youngjae’s view. He cursed silently under his breath and scurried past the man, pretending not to hear his pleasant greeting in favor of crowding his body into a ditch and suffocating on his own damn inadequacy.

Instead he just fled a few rows down and drowned in his own awkward sorrow. It had been his own idiocy that forced him to retell all of this to Jackson, because what had Youngjae imagined him doing different from what he usually does? Which is insert new names and post anything remotely amusing that happens in his sorry little life to SNS.

Youngjae shouldn’t have been surprised to see the trials of Jaebin in his twitter feed later, along with a comment by Jaebum, ‘cute’, to which Jackson replied with ‘very’.

So Youngjae isn’t talking to Jackson right now. He couldn’t even if he wanted to because he’s too busy holding onto Yugyeom and ushering him back downstairs, past where Jaebum and some other dude were just sucking face among other things.

                                            *     *     *     *      *    

It’s at another party that shit finally hits the fan. Youngjae is on the couch with Yugyeom on his lap. He has a hard on and the younger’s weight on top of it feels good, really good. He’s doing this twisting thing that makes it feel even better. Summer air, the bass of the music, and his boyfriend’s sweet lips are all sensations that vibrate across his warm, damp skin. He would say it were a perfect night, if only Jaebum weren’t in his head kicking up a disgusting fuss.

He’s trying to give Yugyeom all of his attention, as the boy is licking into his mouth as eager as a puppy, hands playing with the little hairs on the back of Youngjae’s neck, gentle yet urgent. It shouldn’t be hard to do. Yugyeom has his long, supermodel legs swung over Youngjae’s lap, knees weighed into the couch on both sides of him, and his bum is skipping on top of Youngjae’s clothed erection, torsos brushing. It shouldn’t be hard at all to dwell solely on his sweet boyfriend’s playful hands, his busy hips, and intoxicating scent all spawned from some unfathomable source out to end his very existence.

Yugyeom is stunning, and he wants Youngjae, possibly even more than the older wants him if his breathy moans and insistent whines hold any bearing. So the fact that he’s sitting here, hot boyfriend grinding on his lap, thinking about Jaebum, has him reorganizing his priorities. Youngjae has no time to clear his mind though, because Yugyeom must sense it as his hips stop rolling and he stares down at Youngjae with a little frown that the older wishes he could just kiss away.

“It is about Jaebum?”

Youngjae blanches.

“Y-you know Jaebum?” From where? How?

“Not personally.” Yugyeom sighs. “But I hear Jackson-hyung talking about him and you get...weird. Like, your mind freezes and I could never figure out why. And, believe me, I’m not being conceited here. Just speculative. But I’m on your lap, damn near dry humping you, and nothing. Your little man downstairs has been limp for the past ten minutes. Is it because I’m not attractive enough or-”

“No, not at all.” Youngjae reaches up to cradle Yugyeom’s face and bring him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm and sweet, but even when he’s connected to him, his polisci angel, his mind is on Jaebum. Yugyeom pulls away with this sad look in his pretty eyes and Youngjae is on the brink of smashing something because those sad, pretty eyes are his fault.

“Do you like him...more than me?” Yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s choking up a bit.

Youngjae hates himself because he doesn’t even have the balls to say ‘yes’.  

“Look, hyung. I like you. A lot. But I can see you need to do some thinking right now. So I’m gonna go.” Yugyeom presses a kiss to Youngjae’s forehead just as empty as his lap when Yugyeom slinks away.

Everything hurts.

This party is stupid.

Jaebum is stupid.

The only thing Youngjae can think to do to clear his head is get so drunk he can’t remember his own name.

He gets very close. He only remembers that Jaebum is stupid and that his dorm is on the east side of campus. He’s stumbling through the dark, eyes only half-way open as the world flies by in clips of sensations. Loud noises. Questionable smells.

Somehow he ends up in a warm building. On an elevator. Tripping through the hall. Banging on a door.

“Youngjae?” It’s truly sick that Youngjae recognizes that voice even when he’s supposed to be blown off his ass tore down.

“Asshole.” Hiccup. “Y-you, you--fuck you.”

“Youngjae, you okay?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Hiccup. “Just...just, I like you dammit!”

“You what?”

That’s when he passes out.

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

Food doesn’t taste the way it should. Youngjae’s stomach is gurgling and his head is making very loud music without his permission, against his will really.

“Good job, dummy.” Jackson scoops more soup into his bowel and pats his head placatingly, shit-eating grin full force. “Jaebum knows you’re hard for him and he still wants to take you out. You know, you definitely come off as the prunish, incompetent type. But you’ve got skills after all.”

“I’m not hard for him.” Youngjae fusses uselessly as he spoons the soup into his mouth and tries to keep it down.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

                                         *     *     *     *      *  

Youngjae is sitting in class a few days later when his phone starts ringing against his pants. After a few moments of awkward fumbling and thanking the heavens that he remembered to change his ringtone back from whatever crap Jackson put on it, he manages to turn it off without looking at the screen.

By the time he gets out of class, he’s completely forgotten about the call. In fact, Youngjae also forgets to turn his phone back on. Which is why he’s sitting in a baggy t-shirt he’s had since middle school, paired with athletic shorts that he exclusively uses for lounging and his one-time-a-year trips to the gym. He flips through the channels, pausing on a predictable drama as the stereotypical rich-guy takes the stereotypical poor-girl to buy some tacky name brand clothes for the first time in her life. As if the girl didn’t already own an iPhone 7 Plus.

What is completely not predictable is the knock on the door that comes right as the girl trips and falls dramatically into the main lead’s arms.

Youngjae scratches his head. Did I order pizza?

When he opens the door, instead of the rich and savory smell of Italian pie, Youngjae is greeted with a crisp and cool cologne. When he looks up to look Jaebum in the eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Are you wearing a turtleneck under a dress shirt?”

Jaebum just laughs. “I said I’d pick you up at seven. I’m fifteen minutes late. Sorry.”

“That date thing is tonight?”

“Yes, the date thing is tonight. Forget?” Jaebum puts on a thinking face. “Weird. Just a few days ago someone was banging on my door like the sky was falling, confessing their undying love-”

“I said, and I quote, ‘I like you dammit’. Hardly anything undying about that.” Youngjae hopes the sass can distract Jaebum from his inner-chaos. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Jaebum stops him with a hand on his chest. Youngjae isn’t screaming. The tea’s done. “You wanna change into something less, sporty?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret.” Jaebum sing-songs. “Just get dolled up and meet me at my car, okay? I’m parked right out front.”

“Okay…?”

Youngjae slides in Jaebum’s car about twenty minutes later. He spent ten minutes having an existential crisis and the other ten minutes running around forsaking everything in his wardrobe before deciding on jeans so black they can almost pass for slacks and a white button down that he tucked in them.

Jaebums glances over for a second. He hesitates a moment, and then reaches over to grab Youngjae’s hand. “You look really handsome tonight.”

Youngjae frowns. While he appreciates the sweetness, he can’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed. Youngjae tries to sneakily untangle their fingers so he can wipe off the sweat that is slowly gathering in his palms. When he goes back to rap Jaebum’s hand once more, however, it’s already back on the steering wheel. Youngjae sits, staring at the hand for a moment before realizing Jaebum is talking again.

“—just opened but I heard it’s really popular. I thought you would like it. There’s a live band and everything. Your clothes are fine too.”

“Oh really?” Youngjae perks up again at hearing there’s a live band. He imagines a hipster club, the perfect opportunity to see Jaebum at his sexiest: when dancing. As his mood lightens, he gets chattier, going into a story about Jackson’s latest antics.

“We’re here.”

Shit.

Youngjae was expecting fancy, but he wasn’t expecting this. It looks like somewhere people who sneeze money frequent. The kind of place with little personal packs of fruity smelling soap in the bathroom that they’re not even afraid of people stealing because who would be caught pilfering little soaps when they have hand-made, hypoallergenic imports from Milan? Jaebum is smiling again when the maitre'd leads them to their booth and Youngjae’s breath is no longer with him. He just listens as Jaebum tells him the name of the restaurant, something European, and Youngjae can only nod and smile. Looking down at his menu, he sees that it’s all written in French, maybe, or Italian, except the prices. Youngjae actually gasps out loud when he takes in the digits, which fails to go unnoticed by Jaebum.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks sweetly. He smiles and reaches his hand across the table. When Youngjae just meekly nods, Jaebum asks, “Are you ready to order?” He then calls for the waiter in a voice that would have Youngjae drooling, if he wasn’t still trying to figure out what everything meant.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter asks. Youngjae can’t help but feel relieved that the waiter speaks Korean, at least.

“Yeah, um, I’ll just have… This,” he decides, pointing at one of the menu options. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.

Jaebum orders, the waiter goes, and they sit in silence. Youngjae’s not sure if Jaebum thinks it’s an awkward silence or if he’s enjoying the music, and the tapping of his fingers gives no hint to either. Youngjae perks up in excitement to see their waiter returning with their food. And then he realizes that this date is really and truly just meant to be a prolonged hell as he takes in the cucumbers lining a plate of greens.

As the dinner wraps up with both Jaebum and Youngjae claiming to be too full for desserts (although they both also still have piles of food left on their plates) Youngjae reaches into his pockets to be left with emptiness. Or really, nothingness, because he doesn’t actually have pockets. Or his wallet. Or his phone to pay with apple pay. Or anything at all. Youngjae panics and looks up to explain himself to Jaebum, only to find that Jaebum has already paid for their meal.

Walking back to the car, Youngjae speaks up, “That was a pretty nice first date, I guess.” He can’t help but cringe at how insincere that sounds.

“You know what. I have to confess something,” Jaebum declares, turning to him.

“What?” Youngjae can’t help but think, This is it, this is the moment. He’s going to say he never wants to see me again.

“I actually, really, really don’t like—“

Oh shit here it comes.

“—Western food. And I don’t know if maybe you don’t like it either because you didn’t eat much of your food either, I noticed, but the restaurant had nice reviews, and I wanted to make this really special, and you didn’t respond to my texts so I wasn’t sure in the first place if you would like it or not but I thought it would be okay because Jackson recommended it, but then again Jackson trained in France for a year so he probably likes french food? But I just—“

Youngjae has to stop him there. “Wait. I just. I don’t like cucumbers, but I can’t read French.”

“Oh.”

“And I actually turned my phone off today so I didn’t get any of your texts, which is why I’m dressed like trash, as always, and you look so sleek and good and everybody thinks that you’re too good for me because you are literally in a turtleneck and dress shirt blazer leather pants suede shoes combo thingy and I’m not. Maybe I should have let you dress me again, ha ha.” Youngjae finishes with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.”

“I also don’t have pockets. Or anything. Except some lettuce stuck in my teeth that I can’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“So, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Youngjae isn’t sure how to proceed anymore. I mean, he thinks, I literally just told him I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. There’s an awkward pause, and then Youngjae says, “So do you want some bingsu?”

“Yes. A classic Korean dessert.”

Youngjae returns home that night with a smile on his face. He can’t help but blush as he thinks about Jaebum. About how cute Jaebum looked when he got a brain freeze from eating too fast. How cute he looked when he lost at the arcade Dance Dance Revolution game to a seven year old and pouted about it. How cute he looked when he had pepper paste smudged on his cheek when they got spicy rice cake for dinner, round two. And especially how cute he looked when he ran away after placing a peck on Youngjae’s cheek at his front door.

Jaebum’s really not chic and sexy at all, Youngjae decides. He’s just a ball of fluff.

As Youngjae lays on his side to get comfortable for bed, he fishes out his phone to send a message to Jackson.

you’re not a complete ding dong. the date was nice. -you, 11.03pm

                                           *     *     *     *      *  

“Jackson. When I said you could plan our date, I meant that you could pick a nice restaurant or movie for us to go to, heck, even an amusement park. Why is there a script?” Youngjae doesn’t know what to do with the packet of paper he holds in his hands. He looks over at the similar copy that Jaebum has (but with different highlights) and decides the only thing left to do is go out and plant some trees. Maybe they can plant two trees together in the name of love. The sound of Jackson slapping his Director’s Copy of the script onto the table whips him out of his daydreams.

“It’s not a script!” Jackson protests. “It’s just suggestions for the theme?”

Jaebum has already started flipping through the book, questioning, “Did you get this from the morning drama that Youngjae likes to watch? The lines are literally the same.”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Jackson protests, flapping his hands back and forth, as if that will help dispel any claims of plagiarism.

“This is literally a ‘the rich guy takes the poor girl shopping for better clothes scene,’” Youngjae deadpans. “This is so cliche. I can’t believe I’m the poor girl with bad taste in clothes.”

Jaebum pauses from where he’s flipping through the book. “But you do have bad taste in clothes.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation, “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

“NO!” Jackson gasps. “Not after all the hard work I put into getting you two together! If anything, at the very least go on this date, and then I made a reservation for this really nice restaurant where you can have a steak dinner, and then you guys can break up as Youngjae throws a cup of water in Jaebum’s face, and it’ll be perfect!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jackson,” Jaebum groans. “Let’s just get this over with.” He reaches out and grabs Youngjae’s hand, asking for a final time, “You ready?”

Youngjae laughs and follows along as Jaebum tugs him out the door.

Jackson trails behind them, oohing and ahhing at their cuteness. “And! If I’m cliche, then you cute little assholes are cliche, too! Don’t think I’m gonna forget how you two first met! I asked the manager for a copy of the CCTV tapes!”

“You know,” Jaebum whispers to Youngjae as he looks back at Jackson, trailing along behind them, “I know it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage, but it looks like we’ve already adopted a kid.”

Youngjae laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s because this second is the happiest moment of his life.

[the-ocfeedback-gal-blog]

Yat-Sen Tay Review

TW: Anxiety, depression, eating disorder, mention of self-harm.

The-OCfeedback-Gal’s notes will be italicized.

Physical Description: Around 1.80 m (5'11") and 62 kg (136 lbs). Slightly dark, warm skin. Slim face with high cheekbones. Freckles on his nose and cheeks. He usually has a small stubble. A beauty mark on his right cheek. Full, arched lips. Very upturned, double-lid, hooded eyes. Long, dark lashes. Clear, light brown eye colour. Full, straight eyebrows that arched at the end. Hair is usually pretty curly (Type 3b) and it falls into his eyes, but he straightens it and styles it back for work. Hair colour is dark brown, his eyebrows match his hair. Bottom heavy, top slim. Prominent collarbones. Slim neck, shoulders, arms and chest. Thicker thighs, butt and legs. Average feet and hands. He shaves most of his body once a week. He wears glasses, he has two pairs. One pair is big and round, the other is the hipster style frame. He wears the second one to work. Wears a silver ring with a red jewel on his left hand and a silver watch with a red display on his left wrist. He wears a lot of burgundies. His style is usually lazy, button-up shirts with shorts and socks at home. At work, he wears formal sweaters or cardigans with cotton trousers and dress shoes.

I have a clear idea in my mind from this description.

Name: Yat-Sen (given name) Tay (surname) 

Flows off the tongue pretty well.

Species/Race: He’s a black Asian from Singapore!

This is interesting, since I know that many people who grow up in Asian countries but don’t look 100% native tend to have a very hard time feeling like an outsider and never being accepted by their own people. Does he ever have problems like this?

Age: 26. His birthday is 8th of September 1991, so he is a Virgo and Gold Goat. 

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Questionable, but probably aromantic asexual.

Friends: He has a few colleagues he gets along with and some high school buddies he gets together with from time to time, but he usually prefers not to meddle with other people. He does get acquainted with a lot of people throughout the story and even gets deeply involved with a few, but that’s later on.

Family: He has a good bond with his older sister after having patched things up with her from when he was still a teen. His dad was never really a person he could close to, a typical businessman. His mother is still bitter about the past, so he doesn’t want to make the effort to talk it out anymore since it always ends up in a fight and a lot of stress for everyone. He was close with his grandmother, but she died when he was thirteen. She would usually resolve all the quarrels between him, his mother and his sister. Pets: He finds a Fennec fox at a river in the beginning of the story. When he was little (5 years old till 13 years old) he would take care of the hedgehogs in his grandma’s garden.

A fennec is highly unusual, as they are from Africa, and the Sahara no less. That being said, they aren’t endangered so I could see one somehow getting shipped in as part of the exotic pets trade and escaping a pet store or something similar. They are very cute and likely to be sold as pets.

Hobbies: He used to like reading and writing. After he moved out he also started to enjoy cooking for himself. He’s very obsessed about his weight, so he works out a lot by jogging in the park that’s nearby his apartment and going for a swim in the pool where he is signed up at.

Sounds good in theory, but is can be hard to avoid crowds/touching people during peak times of the year at swimming pools. Does going to the pool and being in front of people in nothing but swimwear make him nervous?

Likes: Sleeping and eating healthy food. The tired and burning feeling he gets after a good work out. Water, drinking or swimming. Thunderstorms at night. Warm, scented baths. The flowers he takes care of at the park. The smell of books. Soft clothes. Doing household chores.

Dislikes: Lots of noise. Small talk. Nosy people. Crowds. Physical contact, especially from strangers. Messy rooms. Grease. Being wrong. Asking for help and needing it in general.

He seems like a very sensory focused person, which is pretty cool.

Personality: Yat-sen is a soft-spoken introvert, who is violent minded. He hates conflict and strong emotions, so he avoids situations that could cause either of them. He tends to pent up his frustrations and when he needs to vent he goes for an extra long jog or He always has been someone who is heavily dependent on routine and planning, so he makes a to-do list every evening for the next day. He likes being knowledgeable about everything, so he leaves time open every day to do research about something he found interesting that day.

He struggles a lot with his weight, because he used to be pretty overweight when he was younger and that caused a lot of very unpleasant situations. He also struggles with depression since a couple of years, it was never a suicidal sort of depression though. He can’t find enjoyment in his hobbies and even when he tried switching up things a lot, nothing seemed to excite him. He gave up on trying to find a new hobby and he just fell back into his old rhythm, he does most things on auto-pilot now.

He works well under pressure, but after he is released from it, he feels very anxious and stressed, so he also tries to avoid pressure as much as possible. He has a fondness for small animals since they calm him down. He spaces out a lot when he is doing something that does not require his 100% attention, so he takes long to finish things, also because he’s a die-hard perfectionist. He is a coward that avoids everything he doesn’t like instead of overcoming it. He gives up on people and things quickly if things don’t work out perfectly off the bat.

A couple things that seem to conflict. Why would someone who works well under pressure and even becomes upset when not under pressure avoid pressure? Most perfectionists and workaholics I know actively seek out tasks and problems to keep their mind busy. Giving up easily also doesn’t seem to fit into the perfectionist mindset. If anything perfectionists tend to put too much effort into things.

He is very good at building and keeping habits, but they’re hard to get rid off. He easily gets addicted to things, they don’t always have to be bad things, but he knows he’s susceptible so he is cautious of trying new things he doesn’t understand completely.

If he’s good at building habits, which a perfectionist probably would be, why is he bad at putting effort into things that aren’t inherently perfect? It seems weird that he’s willing to put in so much effort into himself but not really anything else if he is labeled as a perfectionist. Maybe self conscious or hard on himself would be a better term for him.

History: He used to be a very fat kid, so he was shamed and shunned a lot by his family and classmates. He developed an inferiority complex and an eating disorder which never really went away. He grew up in Singapore for most of his life where he learned English and Mandarin. Mandarin was the main language used in his neighborhood, but since almost everything was taught in English at school in Singapore he grew up Bilingual. He was an overachiever at school and genuinely enjoyed studying, so he always got good grades. He was really interested in literature, however, so he told his mother he wasn’t planning on becoming any sort of doctor, lawyer or whatever she wanted him to be. He already had anxiety problems at a young age so he didn’t want to be involved in such high-pressure jobs either way. He said he wanted to be a literature collector and own a bookstore, so he was going to earn an English and business degree.

Specifically an English degree or a literature degree? Since this takes place in Singapore I’m not very sure.

This was one of the many disputes between him and his mother besides his weight. He also tended to have some interests that his mother saw as too feminine, so she accused him of being gay and tried to ‘fix’ him. They also fought a lot because he was brought up as Taoist, but he accused his mother of being a fake believer and such since she was always so hateful and judgmental according to him. His grandmother from his mother’s side lived very close so he used to go there all the time to relax and hear some of his grandmother’s stories. She also educated him about Taoism and helped him read the Tao Te Ching, so he was very fond of her and he loved her very much. She gave him all the love he was missing at home. He fought with his sister mostly about stupid things, like who ate the last cookie and such, but sometimes the remarks would be very nasty. On both sides.

Taoism is a very interesting religion and learning directly from his grandmother would help explain his vastly different opinion on things from his mother, who sounds like she might be more influenced by the general opinion in Singapore on things like Homosexuality and weight. The fact that you admit that Yat-Sen was not innocent in fighting with his sister is good, as sibling fights are rarely one sided.

When Yat-sen was sixteen he lied to his sister An about seeing her at the time boyfriend cheating on her to get back at her for something, but he didn’t know they were just about to get engaged (his sister was 21 at the time) and she got into a big fight with her boyfriend which resulted in a break-up. When Yat-sen finally came clean about it, she wouldn’t talk to him at all and did not keep contact with him after she moved out two years later. Only after three more years when Yat-sen sincerely apologized and they talked it out could she forgive him. Mostly because it turned out the ex-boyfriend was only after her because of their father’s money because he was deeply in debt from gambling. He got thrown in prison for stealing money from seniors by pretending to help them carry their groceries to their home and then taking their savings and running off.

You mentioned earlier that he and his sister get along very well now and that there seems to be no hard feelings between the siblings, which I find hard to believe. Even if Yat-Sen, with all his heart, felt remorse for his actions and even if the boyfriend turned out to be a bad person, I know that if I had been the sister, I would not have fully forgiven him. It’s a strong mark of character to potentially ruin two people’s lives as an act of revenge and the fact that all is forgiven because the boyfriend wasn’t very nice after all feels rather cheap, like there was no negative effect and Yat-Sen is almost rewarded for doing something that is honestly a horrible thing to do. Like, the sister can forgive him if she chooses, but to have absolutely no hard feeling about it at all is quite strange. 

“…forgiveness does not mean you become best friends with the person who wronged you. Forgiveness is not saying what happened was ok. Forgiveness is not saying you accept the person who wronged you. Instead, forgiveness is choosing to accept what happened as it happened rather than what could or should have happened. Forgiveness can mean that you let go. Forgiveness can mean you love from a distance. Forgiveness can mean you step into your present rather than anchoring in the past.” -Psychology Today, The Psychology of Forgiveness, Sept. 16, 2014

Yat-sen’s dad was almost never home because he usually worked overseas and traveled a lot as a representative in a big firm in Singapore. When he was home, however, the talk was mostly small talk and very basic questions, like “How is school?” and “So are there any girls you like?”. Yat-sen thought his father didn’t even try to make an effort to get to know him because he kept asking the same questions, even over the phone when he would call his mother.

The truth was that his father did try to get to know him, but he had nothing to start with since he had become so estranged from his family over time. He did not know what to ask and he did not want to make Yat-sen uncomfortable, so he quickly stopped after a few minutes of talking since it was very obvious Yat-sen did not like it. He also did not know of the tension at home, which escalated after grandmother died.

After the death of his grandmother, Yat-sen fell into a cycle of anxiety and self-harm by starvation and things at school become worse. By age sixteen he had lost so much weight he was clinically underweight, but his mother was happy to finally not have to be ashamed for her fat son. When he finally turned 18 he left for college and decided to live on campus to escape the toxic situation at home. He went to study Marketing and Business Development. Marketing took 4 years for a Bachelors degree and Business Development 3 years, so he was 25 years old when he finished.

During his studies he took on various part-time jobs to start to pay for his own apartment and bills, so he wasn’t so dependent on his parents. After his studies, he kept his job at one of the bigger libraries that are also a part of a bookstore a few blocks further, for experience and he got upgraded to a full-time employee. Now he shifts between the library and the store during the week, but he doesn’t mind that too much.

Overall a very well thought out backstory and personality. You clearly put a lot of thought into both his positive and negative traits, which is very good! I can see him being a solid character to build a story around. The mother seems a bit one dimensional, but if we are seeing this from the son’s perspective that’s not unusual.

Any Extras?(For example: A Harry Potter OC might talk about their wand or a Naruto OC might talk about their jutsu): Don’t think so, if you have any questions, you can ask away!

Most of any questions I might have I typed out while reading the character sheet.

Final Notes: I’m so sorry this is so long and that the way of describing is so all over the place. I didn’t know if I should stick to a telegram-style of writing, in the end, it got scrapped, haha.

It’s all good, as long as it is somewhat easy on the eyes for reading I can handle it.

I have a bit of an idea on what he probably looks like based off of the description you gave but just to be sure when you get some pictures of him feel free to send them in if you want the “First three OCs submitted get free art” offer. Sorry I didn’t have more to say, without the context of a fandom I have to just go off of what I can gather from the character sheet without knowing anything about the world or surrounding characters, so I hope you’re happy with the critique.