#i am sorry i just really need respondents

[teaboot]

Hey! Bamboo toilet paper person here. Your response was very thoughtful-- I want to apologize for placing the onus of climate issues on individual action, haha. I work at a zoo that bills itself as being very heavy on conservation messaging, but as a non-partisan organization we're obviously not allowed to talk about the evils of capitalism. This means that in our programming, we MUST place the responsibility of stopping climate change on individual guests, encouraging them to make more environmentally conscientious decisions like buying reef safe sunscreen or reducing carbon emissions by driving less. The most "political" we're allowed to get is telling people to stay educated and vote in favor of laws that will have a positive impact on the environment. I think I've been drinking the Zoolaid a little TOO much recently, because you're totally right-- the vast, VAST majority of damage to the environment is caused by major corporations, not random people working around their own unique needs. It was also low key a little ableist of me to take issue with that ngl.

Obviously no obligation to respond to this publicly (though it's fine if you choose to do so), but I did want to thank you for your response and mention that it did get through the nonprofit mission-based-organization propaganda living rent free in my head haha. Cheers!

Hey, you work at a zoo? That is SO cool, aadsdggjjg@!!!

And hey, no worries, you totally had a good point about endless waste and trying to counter it where possible- Just from personal experience involved in the barest edge of the fashion industry, I really, really, REALLY hate the idea that, like... people can't access simple shit like plastic straws, even if they're the best, most practical, least-harmful option for them.... because a 12 year old made up some random number for a school project about plastic waste

Where, as a zoo person, I imagine you're already aware that the average sea turtle is WILDLY more likely to die from abandoned plastic fishing nets or ocean-dump grocery bags than accidentally get a straw inside it

So here we are, using paper straws!- which may be an improvement, or may not, I don't have that data, and construction emissions are their own thing- BUT WE STILL HAVE OCEANS FULL OF ABANDONED NETS

WHICH ARE OBJECTIVELY WORSE, but MUCH harder to get rid of, and as the average person doesn't USE fishing nets, it'd much harder to market as a "You, not me" sort of issue.

Cleaning up fishing nets isn't trendy. It isn't sexy. You can't troubleshoot a cute little trendy solution for it that you can market to upwardly-mobile tweens.

But a reusable water bottle? A cute canvas tote? A metal straw? That's a solution you can buy and feel good about.

Never mind that you need to use a single cotton reusable bag somewhere like a million times before the cost of its construction counterbalances the cost of a single grocery bag every time you shop- which, hey, some of us were reusing as trash liners for their wastebaskets, or bundle bags for donating clothes, or lining for our leaky winter boots!

If a better option is available, I'll take it. But as ZERO HARM is next to impossible at this time, I personally am gonna aim for MINIMAL HARM as long as I can.

...sorry, I didn't mean to ramble off again.

But hey, if your nonprofit is doing good things, feel free to shoot me a link! I can post it on my blog :D

(Link to original post for context lol)

[leclarifies]

THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE (LN4)

✰ lando norris x ex!reader ✰

summary → in which lando keeps dialing your number even after you've changed it.

genre → angst (im not sorry)

word count → 2.1k

author's note → remember how i broke ur hearts with carlos sainz angst for my first fic about him? YEAH HERE'S THE LANDO VERSION!!!!!!!! i know yall love it either way so, enjoy reading! very short btw, i just wanted to put something out for today

"where did we go wrong? i know we started out all right. where did we go wrong? i swear i knew we'd last this time." - lany, "13"

it takes three rings.

then he hears that stupid automated voice again, "the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try—"

"for fuck's sake."

after he ends the attempted call, the furious typing is apparent in the empty, dark room. the artificial keyboard clicking fills the room as he tries his best to reach her. it's futile really, with every text he sends, the more agitated he becomes.

he knew that he shouldn't do this, that she was probably trying her best to move on, but he couldn't. he couldn't let her slip away from his grasp so easily.

"i just want you here for my races, is that so hard to ask for?" lando sounded desperate, he was desperate. he was a guy who needed his girlfriend and it didn't help that his girlfriend couldn't be there with him when he needed it the most, especially at times like these.

she was tired, he could tell, he didn't want to turn this into an argument but he was going to base it off of how she was going to respond, "lando, i can't. you know this. i have family here that i need to support, i can't just quit—"

"i'm not asking you to quit, i'm asking you to come just when you can," lando ruffled his hair so hard that it hurt, "the races are on weekends— for fuck's sake! why can't you just listen to me and actually hear what i'm saying?"

"i am listening! you're not listening to me!" she had tears in her eyes now, he hated it. he hated when he got riled up like this. it wasn't her fault, he knew it but he wanted her around him at least every few races, he hadn't been able to see her on the paddock at all this year and it pained him.

an exasperated sigh leaves his lips and he tries calling again, he knows she's not gonna pick up. he knows that he's probably blocked everywhere, but he wants to try. he wants to talk. he just wanted to fix things.

"the number you have dialed is—"

the next thing he heard was his phone shattering against the wall after he threw it across the room.

it was only two days later when he got a new phone and tried again, it wasn't going to go through. he knew it, but he just wanted to try. he wanted to show her that he was willing to make a compromise with her, just to make sure that she was there for him.

he didn't understand why he raised his voice so easily when it came to her, maybe because emotions ran high and he didn't know what else to do to express himself. he didn't know. all he knew was that he was a selfish prick and he deserved all of this.

he tried again.

"the number you have dialed is cu—"

he wanted to smash that brand new phone into the wall like its predecessor but he held himself back, he knew that the money that was needed to buy him a new phone was priceless to him, he was a formula one driver. it was pennies to him. all that money and he couldn't keep the most priceless thing to him, her.

he didn't care how selfish it sounded, or how convoluted their issues were. he just wanted her here, to hug, to kiss, to just comfort him. he had so many things on his mind right now and it could've been solved just by a simple touch and kiss to the forehead.

he was losing his mind and he knew it.

something akin to a sob bubbles from his throat when he hears the automated voice again.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected, please try again later."

he fucked up, he knows now. she didn't have to rub it in his face like this, by changing her number and disappearing off of the face of the earth.

he just wanted to be home.

gentle knocking wakes her up from her slumber, it's unusual to get guests at this hour and on top of that, she wasn't expecting anyone. a huff escapes her lips as she gently takes the covers off of her and sits up on the bed. the knocks become more persistent as she begrudgingly gets up from her comfortable bed.

at first, she contemplates whether she should open the door or not but she opens it against her better judgement, her eyes widening when she realizes who it was.

"lando, what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be in aus—"

she gets engulfed in a hug before she could even utter another word.

inhaling her scent after so long had been a breath of a fresh air for lando, he missed her. she's confused on how lando even knows where she lived. she had moved out of her last flat to avoid him on purpose, and now he's here, when he's supposed to be all the way in australia getting ready for a race.

his hug wasn't reciprocated, unfortunately for him.

"lando—" she was cut off by her ex standing in front of her, his eyes were glassy, puffy, like he had been crying all the way from australia to here.

"i just wanted to see you, that's all."

"we broke up two months ago, you can't just show up in front of my flat like this."

"i know but—"

"there aren't any buts lando, didn't me changing my number make it clear to you?" she folded her arms in front of her chest, her hair was still a mess from sleep and she was in pajamas, but her eyes were nowhere near his, not wanting to have any type of eye contact.

lando could only look down on the ground in embarrassment, he knew it was wrong. he knew he shouldn't have asked her friends where she lived, all of them had turned down his questions, telling him that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore but it wasn't anything a little persistence couldn't solve.

"is that all? you have a race to catch," she didn't even give him the chance to speak before trying to close the door on his face, but he blocked it with his foot, he wanted to talk. to fix things. he knew that things were irreparable but he wanted to try.

lando pushes the door open, despite her insistence of not letting him in, "i want to fix things, love—"

"there's nothing to fix lando, we're done. we've been done. what part of done do you not understand?" she was on the verge of tears, she didn't want to end it with lando, no, not at all but she felt that it was best for the both of them, she couldn't provide him with what he needed and he couldn't with her either, so it was best to just separate because why be in a relationship when you don't feel the love?

her eyes were still on the floor, not even daring to look up at lando's. it hurt for her too of course, just throwing away their year-long relationship out the window when the beginning of their relationship was so lovely, but now all there was is resentment and she didn't want that in her relationship.

lando couldn't utter anything out his mouth, he was stuck in place by her words. he let himself in earlier after he pushed the door open, he gently closed the door behind him before sighing, "we didn't even talk about it, you just decided for yourself that you didn't want to be apart of this anymore, you didn't even wait until my race ended before i could respond. how can i let it go?"

she swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked out the window, still refusing to look at lando, because she knew that if she did, she would start crying, "you just do lando. sometimes break-ups aren't always mutual, sometimes it's one person who doesn't want to be in a relationship anymore. it takes two to tango."

lando tousled with his hair, what could he say to that? she wasn't wrong. she couldn't deny the hurt and sadness that was in his green eyes, she hated that she made him feel that way but they were nothing. they've been broken up. by definition, they didn't have anything to do with eachother anymore, but she still had that care inside of her heart for him. after all, it had only been two months.

"just hear me out, and by the end of tonight, if you don't want to see me anymore, i'm gone. i won't try to contact you anymore," lando gave an ultimatum and she was fine with that, because she knew well that whatever he said, she would still say no.

she sat down on her couch, patting the space next to her to at least give him some sort of hospitality, wanting to hear him out even though she was steadfast in her decision.

"i won't bug you to come to my races anymore, i'll even help you with helping your family—"

"you can't throw money at this problem, lando."

"i'm not throwing money at it, i'm just saying that it's an option and you can take it if you feel like you need it," lando's voice was always pleading— begging for her to hear him out. he wasn't that type of guy, never. all of his exes got the same type of treatment, if they said that they were done, then lando wouldn't even bother.

he was a formula one driver, he didn't have the time.

but for her, he did.

she looks up, her arms still folded in front of her chest, legs curled up beneath her as she tries to find a comfortable position in an uncomfortable situation. glancing at the clock on the coffee table, it read in bright red neon numbers that it at 4:27 am, far too early or late for him to be here.

"we've had a similar conversation before, and i refused. so i'm refusing again," she sighs before meeting lando's eyes for the second time tonight, "i don't understand why you would want to keep this relationship. it doesn't benefit you for dating a poor girl."

"do you really think i care about your financial status?" lando asked, almost if it the thought of him caring about his (ex)girlfriend's financial status was ridiculous. he didn't care, it's the way she made him feel for the entirety of last year. she made him feel whole, like even if the world was against him, she would still be there.

she was used to men coming into her life who could think that they could "save" her and lando was no different to all of those other men. sure, she was definitely struggling trying to pay for her younger siblings education while working and pursuing her degree at the same time but that doesn't mean she was a damsel in distress and she expressed that to lando.

lando closed his eyes in frustration, "no, i didn't mean it like that—"

"well you sure as hell worded it like that," she looks away from him yet again, refusing to meet his eyes again until he had to leave. her eyes were glued to the window that overlooked the city, it was beautiful, calming— peaceful even, "i'm not changing my mind lando, we're worlds apart. i don't need you helping me, i can take care of myself."

with that, lando bit his lip and she ushers him out of her flat.

it had been months since lando's seen her, but he never forgot. he couldn't. the way she smelt, the way she laughed, everything still stuck in his brain as he continued his career.

the world didn't revolve around him, so the show must go on.

calling her old number had also become routine, almost an obsession. every finish, every weekend, anything that had to do with his career, lando would try and call her and tell her how his races were going, as if he wasn't talking to an automated robot on the other end of the line. the automated voice was practically his best friend because he's heard the damn voice so many times.

"the number you have dialed is currently unavailable or disconnected. please try again later."

and try again later he would.

he didn't understand himself, was it an obsession or was it the comfort that it gave him when he dialed her number? he didn't know. but sometimes he would hold up that phone to his ear and talk as if she was on the other end of the line, even though lando knew that there was no one waiting on the other line for him, not anymore.

but, the show must go on, right?

[biteyoubiteme]

don't you want me?

soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: don't you want your boyfriend?

warnings: 🔞!!! this is just smut no plot lol, some nipple play, soobin calls reader bunny, no protection, creampie, fingering, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 0.9k

an: thank you so much saturn for requesting! I hope you like this one sorry it’s short ;-; <3333

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

had only been a day since the last time you had seen him, snuggled up in his bed after he had tired himself out with using you. It wasn't uncommon for him to go round after round, at least not with you. No partner had ever made him feel this needy, always hard even after one go. His whiny pleas to keep going mixed with his scrunched brow always worked to get you to agree. He was always so good at begging. 

You had planned a study date, your bag weighing down your shoulder as you knocked on his door. Sometimes you even got some studying done, only it was usually when you were in public and not plagued by the thought of his bedroom only being a foot away. Because you were also to blame for always getting him started, purposefully wearing things he couldn't keep his eyes off of, and brushing his thigh every other time you had the chance to. 

Now was no different, although it wasn't intentional, you really did think you would get some kind of studying done.Dressed down in your pajamas, oversized shirt covering your shorts enough to give soobin the illusion that you had none on in the first place. He pulls your bag from you, having enough control to place it down on the coffee table before tugging you down with him onto the couch. 

“You didn't even say hi!” you're giggling, his kisses peppering down your neck, hips pushing you into the sofa, hands pushing up your shirt. 

“Hi, hello, I'm sorry, I just missed you,” he's not even trying to hide the fact he's already hard, that he's been hard just thinking about you coming over. 

“We both have exams tomorrow,” you try to remind him, fingers brushing through his hair as his lips are finding half-faded marks he's sucked onto your skin only the day before. “We should really study,” 

“Don't you want me?” he asks, nose bumping your ear, hand sliding down the outside of your thigh. “because all I could think about was the way you felt under me,” he hooks his hand under your knee pulling your leg enough so that he can sink his hips closer to yours. “how am I supposed to pay attention to anything other than you?” 

All you can respond with is a moan when he presses his bulge against you, dragging his hips to put pressure right on your clothed clit. “please bunny, please,” 

You didn't need much begging to get stripped, even less begging when you finally felt him slip into you. His whining gasps fanning over your skin, one hand keeps him up and the other squeezes your breast, thumb running over your peaked nipple. “Look at your perfect tits, all for me,” 

He's trying to hold back, to draw out the pleasure as long as he can but it's impossible when buried in you. Warm walls sucking him in, begging for him to just pound into you, push you into the sofa, and just take over without any thoughts on his mind. He wants to, just thinking about it makes him whimper, “Tell me you missed me, didn't you miss me?” 

“Yes-” you gasp, arms wrapped around his neck, the heels of your feet digging into his ass pushing him closer to you. “I missed you so much,” 

“I missed your perfect pussy, bunny, always so ready and wet for me,” all of his rambling broken up by throaty moans, “I can't stop thinking about you, filling you up,” 

His rhythmic thrusts press so deep inside you, leaving you speechless with every drag. But he's not paying attention to getting you off just yet, his body disconnecting from his mind as he beats his hips against yours. He feels his orgasm building and knows any second he will cum. Enough to make it so easy to keep going, stuffing it all right back in, just thinking about it has him whimpering in your ear. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” you ask, his body falling closer to you, always wanting to be pressed as close as he can get when he cums.

He’s nodding into your neck, breathy whines mixing with his answer. “Yes, oh god- please,” every sloppy thrust followed by his little ah-ah’s. “You feel so good, I’m-” he feels his balls draw up, his hips stuttering to a stop as he lets out streams of cum into your waiting cunt, cock pulsing as he moans into your neck. It isn't until he pulls out and catches his breath that he realizes that you didn't finish, too caught up in chasing his own high. 

“I'm so sorry bunny, let me take care of you as good as you take care of me,” 

He gave you no time to realize the switch, his long fingers shoving into your sensitive entrance, pushing back in all his cum as he pumps in time with his previous thrusts. He uses his other hand to fiercely rub at your clit. The stimulation makes your back arch, hands scratching at the fabric of the couch. “Look at my pretty bunny,” he coos, the squelching sounds from all your slick mixing with your moans. “Are you going to cum for me?” he asks, using your own words on you. 

“Yes- yes-” It's almost too much for you, his fingers not stopping even as you cum. You're a mess of stammering words and faltering breaths, trying to find yourself as your knees try to close in around him. 

Just watching you fall apart is enough to get him semi-hard again, ready for another round. He slathers his wet fingers over your entrance, keeping as much wetness as possible from sliding out. “Just one more please-” 

“Soobin our exams-” 

“Please, I'll be quick, don't you want me?” 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! and thank you to @hyukascampfire for being the sweetest angel who ever lived, personally taking the time to read this for me ily. 🤍

[heelix1r]

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 LET ME ROCK YOUR WORLD , BABY ! 🍒

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ they’ll stop at nothing from getting their hands on the prize — you. too bad for them, since you couldn’t care less.

bela is typing . . . this is purely self indulgent ,, totally not my guilty pleasure 🫡 I WILL HAVE A MAKNAE LINE VER TOO TRUST

hyung line x f!reader | drabble | a little suggestive ? | playboy!enha | college au

masterlist | guidelines

content : swearing , skinship , lots of persistence and nonstop pursuing , suggestive for hyung line only !

. ° ༘ 🍒⋆ 🪽 ₊˚ෆ [ LEE HEESEUNG ]

heeseung stood in the kitchen, his bottle nearly empty from the soju he had been drinking.

amidst the chaos, the loud noises, his shit-faced peers enjoying life without a care in the world, he was on the prowl. he could feel it in his senses that someone was out there for him. here, at this party. his eyes were narrowed as he observed the rooms before him, amidst the faces that blurred together.

he was waiting for that spark. that feeling he knew all too well — the adrenaline rush, the chase of finding someone worth his time. someone he could satisfy like no other; sure, there were others, but he had to get that experience somewhere.

as he was lost in thought, someone bumped into him as he prepared to reenter the party, and he huffed as he looked down.

he had bumped into none other than you.

“sorry,” you mumbled, reaching behind him to grab a bottle of soju. he never budged, forcing you to press your chest against his. “needed this.”

in a flash, he felt his heart race. there it was. he had gotten the signal he had been waiting for all night—and he didn’t even have to look that hard. here you were, giving yourself to him like that. it was meant to be.

“hold on, princess.” he called out to you as you turned to leave, grabbing you by your free hand and pulling him back to you with ease. it was enough to press your chest against his once more, and he felt his body light on fire. fuck, you definitely were the one.

his lips curled into a knowing smirk as he slowly grabbed the bottle of soju from your hand. “let me open that for you.” you didn’t protest as he popped the cap open in one swift motion, and he returned the bottle, soon opening another one to share with you. “i haven’t seen your pretty face around here before,” he cooed, his eyes shamelessly scanning your figure. “are you new here?”

his eyebrow cocked upwards as you took a step back from him, and he took note of the lack of amusement on your face. “no,” you responded bluntly. “i know who you are, lee heeseung.”

he felt his heart thumping wildly as you said his name. it sounded so sweet, he could taste the honey that dripped from your voice. he almost wanted you to say it again.

he couldn’t help but laugh at this predicament — god, you were so adorable. he could eat you right up.

and he really, really wanted to.

“i guess i am,” he confessed, holding up his hands as if to feign innocence. “there’s just a lot of names to remember… mind if you give me yours?” he reached over and took your hand in his, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of it. “i promise i’ll never forget it.”

“like you need to know.” shaking your head, you pulled your hand back, taking a sip of the soju in your hand. “if you didn’t know it before, you don’t need to learn it today.”

he raised both eyebrows this time. if he was unsure of your lack of interest, he certainly got the hint. he had his fair share of rejections, but this early on? it jabbed at his ego.

but that anticipation in his chest bubbled, threatening to overflow. he wasn’t one to pursue the chase for too long, but by the way you snapped at him, the way you leaned against a hip and stared him down as if he meant nothing more than a fly on the wall — shit, is he actually into that?

he cleared his throat, composing himself before pushing himself off the table. he approached you slowly, a charming smile stretched across his lips.

“well,” he began, returning your gaze with one that spoke of a challenge. “will you give me a chance to earn it then, baby?” as he spoke, his hand snaked its way around your waist, wasting no time to pull you back to him. he couldn’t help but let his curiosity get the best of him, digging his fingers a little deeper into your curves, and he felt something stirring within himself.

god, he needed to earn you.

you scoffed at his advances, pressing a hand against his chest and pushing him away. “in your dreams, heeseung.” but he noticed the way you took in the sight of him for a moment longer, a ghost of a smile creeping to the corners of your lips as you turned away.

his heart was pounding as he took another sip of his soju as he watched you walk away. his eyes lowered, to the way your hips swayed with each step. he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth, the adrenaline swallowing him whole.

this was a challenge worth chasing.

. ° ༘ 🍒⋆ 🪽 ₊˚ෆ [ PARK JONGSEONG ]

you were just so… good.

something about you screamed exuberance. you attained a higher level of goodness that every time you walked into a room, jay’s eyes couldn’t get enough of you. you were a magnet, a siren call that lured him in. you never tried to—that was just your charm.

and god, he wanted a piece of that goodness.

he found you in the library while perusing the campus, a glint in his eye twinkling with want as he watched you type away on your laptop, that mesmerizing, angelic goodness reverberating from you. you were here, alone, and his for the taking. that siren call made its way back into his brain, and he made up his mind.

slowly, he made his way over to you, his mind made up. this was his chance to move, his chance to make him yours. there were so many ways he wanted to rock your world, and it drove him crazy just thinking about it. his heart raced with fervent anticipation as he closed the distance between the two of you—you were clueless as to how hard he was going to rock your world. he was going to be the experience of a lifetime.

without hesitating, he pulled a chair across from you and plopped down, his eyes locked onto yours as he waited for you to notice him. it took a few seconds, but you sensed your presence, you stopped typing, your eyes made its way to him, and his breath hitched at the eye contact. you were right there.

“can i help you?” you asked, a growing look of confusing spreading across your features. god, you were so goddamn cute. jay’s lips curled into a smile, that same charming smile that had won the hearts of so many women before you. but none of them mattered right now—only you were in his crosshairs.

he had a lot of different ways you could help him playing in his mind, but he kept it cool. he was no stranger to playing it cool, even if the truth was that his desire to pounce surged throughout his body.

“maybe,” he hummed, leaning forward from his seat, his eyes fixated on yours. “are you interested in helping me, angel?”

“do you need… tutoring lessons?” you asked him, not catching his drift.

the idea appalled him, until he realized what that could mean. the smirk on his face made it clear. “will that include alone time with you?” he asked, pushing your laptop to close in order to get a better look at you. his gaze intensified, moving his eyes shamelessly across your profile. you were right here in front of him. he never needed you more than he did in this moment.

but you didn’t seem to catch on. you sat a little straighter, lifting your laptop back upwards. “i guess,” you replied, looking around. “if the library is empty. but it usually isn’t.”

no, not the goddamn library.

“i wasn’t thinking here, angel,” he corrected you. “i was more thinking…” he began, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “… private tutoring lessons back in your room. or mine.”

he observed your face closely, watching with excitement as he noticed a faint blush spread to your cheeks. there was no way he missed the way you slowly moved your hands to rest on your cheeks, and he bit his bottom lip as he soaked in his triumph. hook, line, and sinker.

just as he was thinking that he was finally going to have you wrapped around his finger, his eyebrows scrunched in frustration as you flashed him an awkward smile, closing your laptop and swiftly returning it into your bag.

“oh—i don’t do that.” you shook your head, standing up as quickly as you zipped your backpack. “i’m flattered, though. if you ever do need any tutoring lessons, i’m more than happy to help.” with a final wave and a smile, you were gone.

jay sat there, stunned. by the time he snapped out of it, he looked around and realized you weren’t anywhere in sight. you didn’t even consider his offer.

what the hell was that?

he ran a hand through his hair, wondering where he went wrong. there was no way you could just say no so quickly and leave, right?

he saw the way you reacted to his proposal. you were intrigued. he piqued your interest.

he wanted the chase. oh god, the things he would do to win you over. he desperately needed you, thoughts of you swirling in his head as he exited the library.

he’ll have a piece of that goodness, or he’ll die trying.

. ° ༘ 🍒⋆ 🪽 ₊˚ෆ [ SIM JAEYUN ]

“jake, what do you want?” you asked, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips as he sauntered over to you, grinning widely in return.

“i know you’re so excited to see me again, princess.” he towered over you, bending down enough to have you at eye level. “i just wouldn’t wait to see you. i’ve been thinking about you all day.”

you took a step back from him, raising an eyebrow in suspicion and shaking your head. “really?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips. “how many other girls have you said that to today?”

laughing at your response, he clutched his chest in mock pain. “you wound me,” he cried, approaching you yet again. this close proximity was so much fun, it was part of the exhilaration that came with pursuing you. “you know i’m all yours, baby.” as he said so, he quickly snaked a hand around your waist, as if to prove his point.

even as he closed the distance between you, you never wavered. “you never answered my question, jake.”

“baby, does that really matter?” he asked, pouting softly. “it’s meaningless, unless it’s for you.”

“it does, actually.” you tentatively removed his hold of your waist, the lack of amusement clear on your face. “i know you better than that, jake sim.”

even when you were so aloof, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you. it excited him, this dynamic where he could say whatever he wanted to charm you. and even though you turned him down each time, you still entertained him. it was so much fun watching your eyebrows scrunch at him, falling for each attempt to hold you close. the end goal wasn’t to have you close, it was to have you touch him, even if it was just his hand, his chest, or anything that would make you push him away. the connection was enough for him. you were electrifying to him, in a way that drove him crazy for you.

this game, or whatever it was, made jake desire you that much more. your sharp gaze makes his heart skip a beat, and the way you said his name put his mind in a frenzy. it was like a song he could put on repeat—he desperately craved the adrenaline rush you gave him.

he craved you.

“you know i can’t resist a good time with anyone, baby.” confessing to your question, he smiled innocently. “but if you really just wanted all of that attention for yourself, you know i’d do anything for you.”

“you always know what to say,” you muttered under your breath. his lips curled into a teasing smirk as he caught you rolling your eyes. you were so easy to tease, and he loved it. you were just too easy.

if only he could have you, it would make things that much more fun.

“anything to entertain you, princess.” jake leaned in closer to you, his heart racing as he cupped your face.

“come on, baby. just one day. a whole day to let me rock your world.” his eyes narrowed, trailing your body in a fit of desperation. “you know i would never disappoint you. i’ll make it worth your time, more than you could ever imagine.” his voice lowered intimately, so only you could hear him. “say yes, baby. i promise you’ll be begging to have more of me.”

he watched silently as you pressed your lips together, letting out a huff as you rejected his advances once more, taking another step back from him and crossing your arms. you never hesitated. “in your dreams, jake.”

watching you step back away from him, he stood back up straight, a sweet smile spread across his face as he placed his hands in his pockets. “i tried,” he hummed, seemingly unaffected by yet another failed attempt to get you to give him a chance. “i’ll just have to try harder. i’ll make you want me sooner or later.”

“yeah, sure.” when he tried leaning in again, you wasted no time in pushing his face away. “okay, that’s enough out of you. i’m going to class.” slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you began to walk away without looking back. jake was hoping you’d give him one last look, but to no avail. it gave him a chance to watch you walk from behind, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

but when you turned the corner and left his line of sight, his eyes narrowed. this was more than just a game. his body desperately craved you—he was addicted to the way you carried yourself around him, and it made him want you that much more. you thrilled him, made him work for something. imagining the day he would finally triumph over you kept him focused on chasing you.

he knows you’ll say yes one day if he tries hard enough.

. ° ༘ 🍒⋆ 🪽 ₊˚ෆ [ PARK SUNGHOON ]

sunghoon was warned against pursuing you. you, notoriously known for minding your own business, were the flame that ignited a challenge in him.

he just wanted to prove that he could have you.

sunghoon was on alert now, now that he had a goal in mind. just a few nice words, a smile, and his eyes focused on you was all you would need to fold for him. the satisfaction of wrapping you around his finger was intoxicating. no matter how many times he did this, it never gets old. he was addicted the rush of the satisfaction, the high of knowing he could have anyone he wanted.

he found you after a class you two shared—he never noticed you before, but after learning what he now knows about you, he had his eyes on the prize. as he approached you, an excited grin tugged the corners of his lips. he was going to have so much fun with you.

by the time he was done, you’d be begging for him. you’ll need him after this.

“hey.” you turned to face him, and he graced you with a soft, endearing smile. “the professor was talking about the final project being done in groups, right?”

he kept note of your reaction to him as he kept up the nice guy act. he was slightly ticked at your nonchalance, but nothing that fazed him.

“yeah,” you replied, “that’s right.”

he waited for you to say something else. his face dropped as soon as he realized that was all he was going to get from you.

“i see.” you were giving him nothing to work with, and he was starting to see that notoriety of yours for himself. he paused, trying to make sense of the way you looked at him without a bother, without a care. this certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

he cleared his throat before running a hand through his hair. “well,” he began, hesitating with his words. “since the professor hasn’t chosen any specific groups… i was wondering if you wanted to work with me?” he tilted his head slightly, as if to prove his “innocent” intentions. “i think we’d make a really good team.”

instead of the nod he was expecting, you stared at him blankly. you didn’t even look slightly interested—just confused.

“why?” was the only thing you asked him.

his eye twitched. what the hell was wrong with you?

he gritted his teeth, realizing that this was going to be a lot harder than he thought. but sunghoon was not the type to back down from a challenge, and you were right here, for the taking. he’d find ways to make you more interested, and not this insufferable bluntness.

taking a new direction, he composed himself, his eyes looking at you with a newfound gentleness. this had to work. he’d drive himself crazy otherwise.

“if i’m being honest,” he confessed, “i think you’re beautiful.” as he spoke, he approached you slowly. “i’ve been wanting to get to know you for a while, and i figured working on this project together would be the perfect chance to become well acquainted together.” he spoke sweetly, trying hard to entice you to consider his offer. “and maybe after this,” he added, delicately enveloping your hand within his own, “i could take you out. you know, as a way of celebrating our work.”

he waited with bated breath. was he really this desperate for you to say yes? he almost couldn’t believe that the words really came from his mouth.

you pressed your lips together awkwardly, removing your hand away to maintain the distance between the two of you. “that’s real sweet,” you began, awkwardly offering you a half-smile. “but i already made plans with my friends to work on the project together. i’ll have to pass, sorry.”

his eyes widened as you gave him a sad excuse of a wave, turning away from him. “i’ll see you around,” you mumbled, leaving him behind to meet with your friends elsewhere.

sunghoon frowned, his eyes narrowing as he watched you disappear. he was appalled that he was almost desperate to get you to say yes, and you still said no.

he couldn’t accept it. there was no way.

he clicked his tongue, feeling his heart thumping in a way that felt foreign to him. this was infuriating—you were infuriating.

and yet, he didn’t want to give up.

he couldn’t leave it at that. he felt a newfound desire surging into his body, and he realized that he needed you, whether he wanted to or not. it angered and excited him all at once as the realization dawned on him.

you were going to be a challenge, alright. he was the fool for underestimating you.

but he would have the last laugh, without a doubt. everyone had their weakness, a point where they give in. sunghoon knew you were no different, and the thought comforted him.

he crossed his arms lightly, a twisted smile spread across his face. this was the chase he had been wanting all along. you were going to be his favorite challenge. he’d make you want him more than you’d ever want anything else—he’ll make you feel a fraction of the frustration you made him go through.

and he’ll love every minute of it.

2024 © heelix1r.

[em-ontv]

Need some space — d.w.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: Dean could never keep his hands off of you, latching onto you whenever he could

Content: fluff, established relationship, clingy/touch-starved Dean, not proofread, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: 912

Dean was a lot of things—sharp-tongued, reckless at times, stupidly brave—but you hadn't expected "clingy boyfriend" to be added to the list.

Yet somehow, here you were, flipping through dusty books with his head in your lap, eyes half-closed like an oversized housecat. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, clearly uninterested in the research you were trying to get through.

"Dean," you sighed, nudging the book away from where it almost brushed against his face. "How am I supposed to read with your giant head in the way?"

"Don't mind me, sweetheart." he mumbled, eyes closing and voice bordering a purr. "You're doing great. Keep it up."

You gave his forehead a flick, earning a dramatic groan. He swatted half-heartedly at your hand but refused to move an inch. Instead, he stretched his legs out further, making himself even more comfortable.

"Seriously? You're not even gonna pretend to help?" you glared at him. "You know, I'd really appreciate it if you started flipping through some books too."

"Helping," he said lazily, cracking one eye open and giving you a smirk. "Emotional support."

Without waiting any further, he reached up, took your hand, and pressed it to his head. Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, and he melted under your touch like butter on a hot pan.

When you stopped and started to pull your hand back so you could flip a page of the book, he let out a pathetic whine, pushing your hand back against his head, like he’d die before letting you go.

"You're such a baby. I have to get this done before Sam comes back." you muttered, squishing his face between your fingers, making him pout.

"Cut it out," he grumbled, frowning up at you, though the way his frown dissolved when you laughed said otherwise.

"If you're not gonna help, you're not gonna complain either." you said, and he retaliated by kissing your wrist, peppering soft, warm kisses all the way up your arm.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. Dean's touchy-feely tendencies had only escalated since you started dating. Take the case last week, for example.

You'd been interviewing a witness at a diner, trying to keep your questions subtle and professional. Dean, however, had other ideas.

"So, you're saying the lights flickered just before you heard the noise?" you asked the frazzled waitress.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, glancing nervously between you and Dean.

Before you could respond, his hand found its way to the small of your back. Not a casual graze either—nope—it was a slow, deliberate caress, his fingers curling just enough to make his presence known. You froze, shooting him a warning glance, trying to shrug him off, but he was already leaning in closer, the picture of shamelessness.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "You're doing amazing. Keep it up."

"Dean," you hissed through a forced smile. "Go sit down."

"What? I'm just keeping an eye on you," he replied, all wide-eyed innocence, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The poor waitress looked like she wanted to crawl into the freezer.

And then there was that time in the library when you'd been deep into research, scanning page after page. Dean had sauntered in, plopped down next to you, and proceeded to rest his chin on your shoulder while humming AC/DC under his breath.

"Keep reading, sweetheart. I’m comfy." he murmured when you tried to shoo him off, knowing he'd just distract you. His arm snaked around your waist, and before you could protest, he was already pressing slow, feather-light kisses along your jaw.

Or the night you snuck into the kitchen for some quiet time with a PB&J. Five minutes later, Dean appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked half-asleep, his brows pinched in sleepy frustration.

"What are you doing?" you asked, mid-bite of a PB&J.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, padding over to you with a frown. "Why'd you leave?"

"Dean, I was gone for five minutes."

He made a noise of dissatisfaction, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling lazily into the crook of your neck. "Come back to bed with me." he muttered, his voice soft and heavy with sleep.

It was ridiculous. The same tough-as-nails hunter who'd taken on demons, monsters, and literal death couldn't go five minutes without missing you. But as much as you teased him for it, it brought a certain warmth to your heart.

Because for all his bravado, Dean was just a guy who'd spent most of his life terrified of losing the people he cared about, loved. His over-the-top clinginess? It was his way of making up for lost time.

"Alright, fine," you said, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich and dusting your hands off.

He grinned—smug at first, but it quickly melted into something far softer. He let out a content hum, nuzzling closer.

"Right now, please." he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

"Alright, just don't fall asleep on me in the middle of the kitchen." you said, rubbing his arm, leading him back to the comfort of your shared bed.

Under the covers, Dean curled up against you, his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried in your neck. His breath was gentle and even, warm against your skin. Just before sleep took him, he murmured faintly, "Love you, sweetheart."

[sir3n-s]

Since Eddie came to live with him, Wayne has seen him bring home many things.

Mainly bugs or hurt animals.

One time he brought home a skunk. Sometimes Wayne thinks he can still smell it.

But this? This is something else.

"Wayne I can explain" he says standing in the doorway with a jar.

A jar that has a pixie in it.

"That jar better have holes in it, Edward.'" He's praying that his nephew didn't hurt the pixie.

Pixies have been around for centuries and helping them will bring good luck. As in the pixie will most likely bring you gifts.

Hurting a pixie though?

He has heard some stories that would be labeled as horror if they were movies.

"Of course, it has holes in it!" Eddie says like it was ridiculous of him to ask, "I'm not stupid" Wayne thinks that is debatable but now is not the time for that.

"Yet you have a pixie in a jar" he sighs, wondering why this kid can't give him a break, "knowing what they are capable of."

"I know, I know!" Eddie says, looking down at the jar. "I just wanted to say hi, and then he attacked me! I didn't want to hurt him, but he wouldn't leave me alone!"

"So you thought putting it in a jar would make it like you," he says while getting up.

"Well no but I tried runng but he followed me"

He's going to need a beer after this. 

"Give me the jar," he says standing in front of his nephew. 

Eddie doesn't hesitate to hand it over. 

Wayne walks out the door of the trailer and starts opening the jar, "I apologize for my nephew, he doesn't think before he acts. He's a good kid, please don't hurt him" he takes the top off and lets the pixie fly out.

It flies in front of Wayne’s face for a moment before smiling and nodding at him, then zooms off.

Wayne walks back into the trailer to grab a beer and start lecturing his nephew.

-

Over the next few weeks, Eddie sees the pixie, who he learns name is Steve, come by the trailer to give gifts to Wayne.  

Eddie has tried to get close enough to apologize but Steve always files away the moment he sees Eddie. 

But he also doesn't do anything to Eddie so he guesses that Steve likes Wayne enough to leave his nephew alone. 

Which is good because pixies can be terrifying. 

"Give him some fruit," Wayne suggests after hearing Eddie complain about Steve leaving once he saw Eddie pull up to the trailer. "He really likes peaches." 

So Eddie cuts up a peach and puts it on a plate. He takes it outside to the bench close by and waits. 

Steve does eventually show up but Eddie can tell he's still cautious of him because he doesn't immediately go for the peach like he would if Wayne was the one offering it.

Eddie smiles at him and pushes the plate towards him hoping to encourage him to eat it.

Steve must have decided to trust Eddie because he dives for the peach slices.

He watches Steve eat a really small amount of the the peach, but pixies are so small it was probably a lot to him.

Once it seems like Steve had his fill of the fruit Eddie sets a napkin down next to the plate.

Steve wipes his hands and face with it. Then he just sits there and stares at Eddie for a moment.

"Thank you" the pixie says. And honestly Eddie is surprised, he didn't know they could communicate with humans.

"You're welcome" he responds, tapping his finger on the table, "I am sorry about the jar thing, I really didn't mean to hurt you"

Steve reached for Eddie's hand and placed his tiny hand on top of his finger, stopping its movement.

"Its okay" Steve smiles at him.

[ilyrafe]

𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒆𝒕 ✧ 𝒅. 𝒔.

pairing: drew starkey x f!reader

warnings: miscarriage but its so fluffy yall :((

word count: 1.2k

a/n: this is so shitty y’all i’m sorry djfjdk

pls he looks so cute here

when you said you wanted him to enjoy the moment with his family, he thought it was strange, but he didn’t argue. you’ve always understood how close he is to his family, and this moment in his career is important, you want him to celebrate with his parents, siblings, and closest friends.

you’ve only been together for a short time, and you’re not close enough to his family to be at family gatherings, you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

“we can celebrate later, just you and me.” you said, sealing your promise with a kiss, before you left his apartment, three days ago.

drew found it strange, but he thought you were just giving him space, which he appreciated. after a lot of family celebration, he went to your place, ready to spend at least a whole weekend, which you loved. there’s so much to talk about.

when you think about it, you didn’t think this thing with drew would go as far as it has been, because his schedule is chaotic and so is yours. when you first met, he was about to go to morocco to shoot outer banks, but he kept texting, calling.

“i know this is kinda all over the place right now, but i wanna see where this is going. do you?”

“i do.”

and that was it. you knew then and there, with only three weeks of dating (online dating for the most part), that you were in love. he’s so sweet, and so silly, too. somehow, you trust him. after being let down so many times, he’s made you feel safe from day one.

you’re not scared to tell him.

you’re on your bed, just waiting for him to get out of the shower. you’re barely paying attention to the tv, you’re just mindlessly scrolling through reels on your instagram, just waiting.

he comes out, shirtless, with damp hair and wearing the sluttiest thing a man can wear - black boxers that fit him just right. he’s such a beautiful man.

“d’you wanna take a picture?” he jokes when he catches you staring.

“you do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“of course i do.”

he gets under the covers and immediately latches onto you, resting his head on your chest. all he really wants is to feel you near him. it turns out, he wanted you with his family. he wanted you there, he wanted to properly introduce you to his loved ones, but maybe you’re not ready and he’ll give you all the time you need.

“i’ve missed you so much,” he says, his voice muffled by your skin.

you smell like french vanilla, and he loves that scent on you. he delights himself in your touch, when your nails lightly scratch his scalp and the nape of his neck.

“i’ve missed you, too. very much.”

he smiles against your skin and takes a long, deep breath, finally allowing his body to relax.

“um… so, i was kind of wanting to talk to you.” you say, trying to sound calm. well, you are calm, but you are also just a tad nervous.

he sits up, no longer relaxed.

“what is it?”

you sigh, look down and extend your hands, as a silent request for his. drew understands and places his hands on yours. your face is serene, but he can tell something is wrong.

“babe, tell me. i knew something was wrong, you were too distant these last couple of weeks.”

you chuckle - you can’t hide anything from this man.

“i’m gonna preface it by saying that i am okay, i am fine, but something did happen, and i’ve debated whether or not i should tell you, and i thought that you deserve to know.”

“you’re scaring me.”

“no, please, it’s… it’s okay. just let me say it all first and then you can speak, okay?” drew doesn’t respond, but you take his silence as a nod. “so, a few weeks ago, i was taking a shower and felt a weird abdominal pain, and then there was blood. i wasn’t on my period, so i got a bit scared and went to the hospital. i had a few tests done and found out… um…” you trail off, because this is surprisingly hard to talk about. he lightly squeezes your hands, encouraging you to keep going. “i had a miscarriage.”

oh.

wait.

what?

“a miscarriage?”

“i didn’t know. the doctor explained that it was common for women to have a miscarriage before even knowing they were pregnant.”

drew is quiet, absorbing the whole information. you were pregnant, and didn’t even know it. you had a miscarriage and he wasn’t there for you.

“why didn’t you tell me? i would’ve taken the first flight back to be here with you.”

“i know you would, that’s why i didn’t.” you explain, kissing the back of his hand right after. “also, i needed to figure it out by myself first. i was shocked to learn through a miscarriage that i was pregnant. it was a lot to process.”

“i can’t even imagine. but… how are you now?”

“i’m okay, i promise. i have one last appointment next week.”

“i’ll go with you.”

“okay. that’d be great, actually.”

he sighs, a bit relieved. at least you’re okay.

“i thought you should know because, well, i was pregnant. and if nothing had happened, i would still be pregnant, and i know it’s early, we haven’t talked about these things and i’m not pressuring you to do or say anything, but i still wanted you to know. felt really wrong to keep this from you.”

“no, you did the right thing.” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “i’m just sorry you went through all of this alone.”

“it’s okay, though. i wanted you to be the first person to know. and maybe the only one. i don’t think we should tell anyone else about this. like, it’d be just… pointless.”

“right. but, uh, if you do want to talk about kids, we can.”

“oh?”

“i mean… i’ve thought about it.” he admits. “i’m the eldest of the family, my mom has already started asking me for grandbabies, she says liliana needs a cousin.” you giggle. “but at the same time, the life i live today wouldn’t be possible with a kid, if i’m honest. i barely have time to sleep, let alone raise a child, and if i’m meant to have kids, i want to be there.”

“when i would think about children, i thought about pregnancy and how i needed to avoid it like the plague during my teenage years,” you laugh. “even when some of my friends got pregnant, i never really saw myself in their position, you know? i guess it wasn’t a priority for me, and still isn’t, but… i’m not ruling it out.”

“i’m not either.”

“so… there’s that.” you shrug, relieved that it all went well. “thank you for listening, i was a bit nervous.”

he nods, completely enchanted by you. he wishes he could navigate difficult topics the way you do. so natural, so easy. you seem to have your shit together and he’s so jealous of that.

“you can always tell me anything.”

“i know.”

“if something like this happens again, tell me. i don’t want you to go through anything bad alone ever again, okay?”

you nod, letting him hug you. oh, you love him.

“we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it and other stuff, too.”

i love feedback! let me know what you think!

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[ellstersmash]

Prompt time! Solas and Athi discuss at length if the other would love them as a worm. Please and thank you 🙏

“Are you comfortable in that form?”

Athi’s voice cuts into the quiet of the Fade and Solas’ own silent musings, the path they’re currently on less twisting, and therefore less mentally demanding, than most.

“This form?” he responds. “Or do you refer to another?”

“You know, most people don’t have to specify that.”

“I believe we can agree that I am not most people.”

Athi’s features scrunch together in amusement as she most certainly prepares to tease him—her favorite pastime, not that the Fade provides much of a variety from which to choose. “So true,” she says, the sing-song notes of it echoing in the shifting emptiness around them. “You’re very special.”

“Your approval of my circumstances is paramount,” he states dryly. “Which form are you currently curious about?”

“Your new—or, well, old—spirit form. It’s very… tendrily.”

Solas chuckles. “I can say with great confidence that I have never before been accused of being ‘tendrily.’”

“Love that we’re still finding firsts. Don’t you?” Athi nudges him with an elbow. The self-satisfied smile on her face makes its own light, her playfulness a beacon in the dull dark of this domain.

“You are right,” he says, “and I should hardly be surprised that you are still able to surprise me.”

“Or maybe you should be surprised by my surprising you, otherwise it’s not much of a surprise, is it? But back to my question: do you like to hang around as your tendrily spirit-self?”

“It is not so dissimilar to this one.”

“It floats.”

“Well, yes.”

“And you don’t have hands.”

Solas chuckles. “But many tendrils, as I’ve been recently informed. Besides, one does not need appendages to affect the Fade; only a capable mind and sufficient will.”

“Well, you need appendages to affect me,” Athi mumbles.

Solas grins over at her then, waiting until he catches her eye to lean closer, lower his voice, and ask, “Do I?”

She’s not the only one with the power to tease. It has the intended effect, of course: her eyes widen and unfocus for a few long moments, the air thickening with desire before she shakes it off.

“So is that a yes, then?” she asks.

“Yes, I am comfortable in that form, as I am comfortable in this one.”

“But not the wolf.”

This is not something he’s considered, and he takes his time answering. “The Dread Wolf was born of a specific need to threaten the evanuris and as a show of power and protection for those who would escape or oppose them. And, as you know, it takes a great deal of energy to maintain. I would not call it ‘comfortable’ by any stretch of the definition.”

“Cute, though.”

Solas rolls his eyes at her flippancy. “I refuse to dignify that statement with a response.”

“That is a response.” But she takes his hand and squeezes, warmth diffusing into Solas’ chest as her affection washes over him in gentle waves.

Some time later, it occurs to him to wonder why she brought this subject up in the first place. “Are you comfortable with my spirit form, Athi?”

“I mean, sure. It’s just new. And it is different, at least to me. Not as solid.”

“Different in a bad way?”

“No. I mean, yes in some ways. Harder to kiss you, for one thing.” She squeezes his hand again. “Also I’m never really sure which eyes to look into.”

“In truth, that form does not have eyes, or even sight in the way you’d experience it.” 

Athi looks up at him, a vacant expression which he can only classify as bewilderment on her face.

“There are other senses which allow me to perceive the world,” he continues. “Ones which are very difficult to explain to someone who cannot experience them, but rest assured that I know where you are and what you are doing, whether in spirit form or this one.”

“That clears things up less than I think you think it does.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps you might simply choose your favorite ‘eye’ with which to maintain contact as we converse.”

“Right, I’ll give that a go.” 

“Does it truly bother you? Does it change your opinion of me?”

Athi stops short, her hand still clasped in his tugging him to a halt in turn. “What? No, it doesn’t ‘bother’ me. It’s just different. And I have to be different with it.”

“But I am still…” He is unsure how to ask the right question, but feels it imperative that he discover the answer. “I am still Solas, to you? Even when I wear that form?”

“Who else would you be?”

“Does it change how you feel about me? Your—” It is still so hard for him to accept the concept that even forming the word is a challenge. “Your love for me?”

“Oh.” Athi’s whole being relaxes on a sigh and a soft smile. She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses two of his knuckles. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing can change that.”

“Well. That is a relief. Thank you.”

They continue along their path, but the quiet hardly has time to settle back in when Athi speaks again.

“Solas?”

He hums an acknowledgement.

“If I were in a different form, would you still love me?”

The answer is obvious, but he entertains the subject. “Temporarily?”

“No, I think permanently.”

“Of course I would. It is your spirit that I adore—though I am fond of your form as well.”

She laughs brightly. “Good answer! But what if it was really different? Like a fish? Or a worm? What if you woke up one day and I was a worm?”

“Is your spirit intact within this worm?”

“Let’s say yes.”

“Then yes, I would still love you. And I would learn to love your worm form in time.”

“Okay.” She’s silent long enough that he thinks the matter dropped, then: “But what if my spirit was changed, too? What if I had a worm spirit now?”

“That would be an impossibility.” Even more impossible than the premise, but he keeps that to himself. “If your spirit was no longer yours, but a worm’s, then there would be no you within it. I would cherish your memory into eternity, and leave the worm to live out its life.”

Athi gasps and stops again, dropping his hand to match her other one on her hip. “You would leave me?!”

“It would not be you, vhenan. It would be a worm.”

“But I would be the worm!”

“You’re not the worm. Without your spirit, the worm is just a worm.”

“What if I was always the worm?”

She appears genuinely distressed, and Solas isn’t sure he can reason his way out of a conversation this ridiculous. “Then we likely would never have met. You would not love me either.”

“You don’t know that!”

Solas sighs heavily, cradling his temples in one hand. “I fear we’ve stepped out of the incredibly hypothetical discussion we began and into a deeper one.”

Athi starts ahead without him. “You’ve certainly stepped into something.”

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

I’m a transfem Christian, and sometimes I worry that I’m twisting Christianity to suit my politics and views rather than the reverse. I was raised as a Southern Baptist and left for the Episcopal Church, with the conservatism of the former church being a large reason for my departure. I really don’t want to have to chose between either being able to transition and being a good Christian, but I’m so worried that I’ll have to make that choice.

Hey there, I am so sorry for the delay in responding to this. I don't for a second believe you are "twisting" Christianity to suit your views by living into your true self:

Jesus tells us that we can know a thing by its fruit — if the fruit is good, the tree is good; if the fruit is bad, the tree is bad (Luke 6:43-45; Matthew 7:15-20).

What are the fruits of transition? Joy, community, reconnection with your own body? Life?

What are the fruits of the things preached by ultra conservative churches? Hatred, fear of difference, violence? Deportation instead of love of stranger, judgment instead of mercy, control via terror instead of liberation through God's love?

Near the end of this webpage of mine about a liberatory framework for reading scripture, I address the accusation that queer Christians are just "reading into" the Bible what we want to see. To sum it up, I agree that all people bring our biases to the text — heck, the biblical authors brought their own biases to the text!

“The truth is, you can bend Scripture to say just about anything you want it to say. You can bend it until it breaks. For those who count the Bible as sacred, interpretation is not a matter of whether to pick and choose, but how to pick and choose. We’re all selective. We all wrestle with how to interpret and apply the Bible in our lives. We all go to the text looking for something, and we all have a tendency to find it." - Rachel Held Evans

Many theologians say that when we accept both our own biases and the biases of the people who wrote, edited, and compiled the books of the Bible, the best way to determine what is Divine in scripture is to follow The Rule of Love:

"Any interpretation of scripture is wrong that shows indifference or contempt for any individual or group inside or outside the church. All right interpretations reflect the love of God...for all kinds of people everywhere, everyone included and no one excluded.”

- Shirley Guthrie

The webpage offers more details about this way of reading the Bible, if you are interested. But at the end of the day, the main thing I hope you can come to believe not only in your head but in your heart and your body is that you are beloved. That God created you exactly as you are with purpose and delight. That you have vital gifts to share with the world that the Body of Christ is not whole without.

If you need further assurance through theology, I invite you to check out Austen Hartke's Transgender and Christian YouTube series.

You may also find Rev. Nicole Garcia's story encouraging; she's a trans pastor who once said that she has experienced two vocations in life: one to ordained ministry, and one to being a woman.

God is calling you, too. I pray that you can feel Their presence and love in your life -- even when it's hard to believe in it yourself. <3

(For more, I have a trans tag and an affirmation tag and trans women tag and also an FAQ you might like to peruse through)

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

@duskdog

Hiiii! Been meaning to respond to this because you raised some really interesting ideas, sorry that it’s taken me a hot sec.

The crazy part is (like a lot of things about Steph) we get conflicting information about how Bruce sees Steph in relation to her father.

Steph consistently worries Batman is judging her by her fathers actions when she’s sanctioned at Spoiler. She identifies it as a potential reason the rest of the team doesn’t trust her.

This tracks with how Steph is shown to have a pattern of feeling responsible for the Cluemasters actions (which as I’ve mentioned before I see as an extension of her helplessness to protect herself and her mother from him during her childhood).

She identifies on multiple occasions that her choice to be the Spoiler is rooted in the misgivings of her father. Clear, easy example of this mindset is when she states because her dad is an asshole, she “has a lot to make up for” (Robin 80 Page Giant). She finds herself responsible in some part for his actions.

So it makes a lot of sense that Stephanie keeps asssuming other people are holding her to this same standard, judging her based off of her fathers criminal ways.

However, this assumption is not really substantiated.

I can’t think of a time Batman says or thinks anything which implies he gives a fuck who her dad is, besides when they first meet assuming she’s working with the Cluemaster instead of against him. (I’m not perfect however and I Might have missed one)

That is, until… Bruce Wayne: The Road Home Batgirl (🎉I love talking about BWTRHB!!!!! The worlds shittiest acronym!!!🎉)

After his little assessment and convo with Steph, Bruce tells Alfred that Stephanie and Wendy “need watching”, as their dads were both “criminals”.

This train of thought comes out of nowhere. As already stated, there’s very little evidence that Batman cared much that her dad was a criminal before this point.

Additionally, half his goddamn team has criminal fathers/mothers, ranging from mob bosses to goons to cult assassins to international terrorists. What is he even saying.

This is a total inconsistency. But I can see your view kinda accounts for that hypocrisy. If Bruce sees Cluemaster as a “lesser” threat and holds him in less esteem than the more formidable villain parents, it might explain why he seems to put this bonus emphasis on Stephs parentage. (Maybe he sees Stephs fathers criminal ways as more ‘mundane’ and therefore easier for her to slip into?)

I don’t think I’m totally sold on that idea, but it’s definitely interesting.

His statement feels just so out of nowhere (and again applies to half the people he works with) that I find it hard to believe this is a consistent concern of his.

Batman’s opinion on low level thugs varies (obviously by era and writer), but the versions of him I find most compelling are when he is shown to be sympathetic and willing to help people in shitty situations get out of them (even if they were doing crime beforehand). However it’s entirely possible (and probably equally substantiable) that he has unconscious and class based biases which might affect how he acts and treats certain characters.

I’m not nearly as intensely familiar with Jason’s character as I am Stephanie, so I’m low grade blanking on any good examples of how Bruce interacted w Jason’s background (besides his generally all consuming belief that Jason was on track to worse and worse crime and eventual death before Batman took him in).

Sorry this is pretty rambly, but I thought you brought up a Rly interesting point and i had some thoughts I wanted to add on

How Batman uses the idea of those "born for" vigilantism to justify working with Teen Vigilantes before and after the death of Jason Todd, and what it has to do with Stephanie Brown.

(DISCLAIMER: I'm not trying to condemn the concept of child/teen vigilantes in superhero comics, its a staple of the genre and dumb to condemn it like you would in the real world. I'm analyzing the times in which Bruce Wayne the character has questioned the concept himself, and the rationalizations he comes to about it)

By examining Bruce Waynes mindset immediately before, during, and after Jason Todd's deadly time as Robin, we can see how Batman rationalizes and justifies teenaged vigilantism.

When Dick Grayson as Robin is shot by the Joker, Batman essentially fires him from being Robin. Bruce entirely dismisses the concept of working with a "child" to fight crime. Batman seems to believe working with Dick as Robin is simply too dangerous.

Batman #408 (1940)

His Mindset at this point: Teenaged Vigilantism = Dangerous and Bad

But this, obviously, doesn't stick. It barely takes any time at all after this forBruce Wayne to take in Jason Todd and subsequently make him the second Robin.

Crime fighting with a 19 year old is too dangerous, but crime fighting with the 12 year old? Yeah, sure, why not!

There is an obvious contradiction, and a clear change in mindset.

In order to rationalize his choice to take in Jason Todd as Robin after firing Dick, Bruce Wayne must internally reendorse the concept of Teenaged Vigilantism. And he does so in a specific way:

Batman #410 (1940)

Mindset: If Jason Todd was not Robin, he would become a criminal and die

The dying part is specific as well. When confronted at first by Alfred, its more of an afterthought, something which would occur down the criminal "road" Jason was bound to end up on. But when he is later confronted by Dick, the idea that being Robin "saved" Jasons life takes center stage.

Batman #416 (1940)

It's no longer some distant crime related death Jason was on course for, it was an imminent death which Bruce was able to save him from.

Mindset: If Jason Todd was not Robin, his "self destructive energies" and lack of "self esteem" would have killed him.

This phrasing is SUPER interesting to me, because its not true in a very specific way.

1. Jason Todd wasn't really shown to have "Self destructive energies" before he became Robin. He was stealing to make a living, to stay alive. He never showcases a desire for "self destruction", unless you count his hitting Batman with a tire iron, and his interference in Ma Gunn’s heist. Which I don't.

2. It seems to imply Jason Todd might have died because of specifically "self destructive tendancies", which seems ascribes a small amount of passive potential suicidal ideation, which is also vastly unsubstantiated by anything we see from Jason before he becomes Robin. But you know who is a character who is deeply rooted in concepts of suicidal ideation? Batman. (I'm not going prove this point here, but this concept gets more firmly rooted in the upcoming years after this comic, Knightfall being a great example) Being Batman, Knightfall will establish, is pretty much all that keeps Bruce Wayne living. You could say that being Batman saved his life.

3. Bruce admits he took Jason on because he was lonely in this very same confrontation when Dick pushes him on this idea. This makes it abundantly clear why he needs this rationalization in the first place, his real reason for making Jason Robin appears to be somewhat selfish.

But what does this all mean? For one, it proves that Batman's primary explanation for why he took on Jason Todd is lowgrade BS. It also shows how Batman's rationalization has begun to veer into projection. He states that Jason was saved from his self destructiveness by becoming Robin, something that is certainly true for himself, but not really Jason.

We see this projection fully take root when Leslie Thompkins confronts Bruce. Not only is Jason Todd saved by becoming Robin, now he wasn't even chosen by Batman. It was, much like Bruce Wayne becoming Batman, inevitable. Something he was "born" to do.

Detective #574

Mindset: I didn't chose Jason, he was chosen, he is just like me, we were born for this

This is essential. This mindset will show up again and again as a core part of Bruce's ability to rationalize working with child vigilantes once Jason has died.

Lets look at how his mindset has been evolving from before he meets Jason to his time as Robin progressing. Batman has gone from:

Teenage/Child vigilante Bad --> Child Vigilante Good because Jason would have become a crimial --> Child Vigilante Good because Jason would have died, I saved his life --> Child Vigilante is Good because I saved his life and Jason was meant to be Robin just like I was meant to be Batman, this is what we were was born to do

This is insane rationalization. But it works. For a while.

Then, Jason begins acting out, and putting himself in danger. Whoops. uh oh! How can Jason be saved by becoming Robin, if he is endangered by it? The balm for Bruce's semi-suicidal ideation was crime fighting, so if Jason is self destructive as Robin, does that mean Jason isn't like Bruce after all? Does that mean he wasn't born to be Robin? Was Bruce right in the begining? Is Teen Vigilantism Bad? Well, lucklily, the rationalization Bruce has built doesnt need to change too much in order to accommodate these new facts.

Batman #426 (1940)

See, this issue has not reverted back to being child vigilantism, it's the fact that Jason isn't ready yet.

Batman #426 (1940) / Batman #427

Batman latches onto this idea, he identifies it as "the problem". Is he wrong? No, not really. It does seem like Jason needs come to terms with his parents deaths. But this is important because it is still a rationalization for mindset he started with, still part of the reason he can be in favor of Teenage Vigilantism.

Then Jason Todd dies, as Robin. That truly breaks the underlying concept for this rationalization, that being Robin saved Jason Todd. The entire justification has fully shattered, and Bruce Wayne has lost a son. And, so because of this, in the wake of Jason Todds death, we see a full 180 revert back to the idea Bruce held onto at the end of Dick Graysons time as Robin: Teenage Vigilante = Bad.

Batman #428/ The New Teen Titans #55 (1984) / Batman #439

He has fully rejected the very concept of working with anyone, including the now adult Nightwing. He is literally right back where we started, with even deeper convictions against working with someone else (especially a kid) ever again.

But we all know this doesn't stick. He takes on 13 year old Tim Drake as Robin not long at all afterwards. As the 90's progress Bruces goes on to work with a huge variety of other vigilantes and partners, both teenaged and adult.

So how does he possibly justify this?

I believe he retrofits his rationalization for taking on Jason as Robin.

He adheres to a primary idea. The idea that some people are, like him, simply built for Vigilantism. That they, much like he once believed Jason was, "born" for it.

Mindset: Child Vigilantle is not always Good, but it can be Good. When its the right kind of teenager. Some Teenaged Vigilantes are meant to be Vigilantes just like I was meant to be Batman.

In this way, Jason Todds tragic murder is not a failure of concept, it a category error. Batmans mistake was not working with a teenager, his mistake was working with the wrong kind of teenager. Jason Todd was not built for vigilantism. But others are. This means he's still totally in the clear to work with teenagers, Tim Drake as Robin, then Cassandra Cain as Batgirl, and then eventually Stephanie Brown as Spoiler. So long as Bruce is able to believe they are "born" for it, that they are like Batman himself, meant to do this, and incapable of living a normal life, there is no contradiction, his rationalization holds.

But where’s the proof?

This mindset can be clearly seen and prominently seen when Stephanie Brown is fired as Spoiler.

When Steph is fired as Spoiler because she has moved in Bruce's mind from the "acceptable Teen Vigilante" category into the "unacceptable Teen Vigilante category". And the reasons he gives for this decision are exactly in line with the rationalization I've lain out. She is consistently contrasted to other teen vigilante characters who are fit for duty because he does not see her as "like him/them".

Detective #790

Notice how he jumps right from "Jason and Stephanie were/are not fit to fight crime" to "they could/can have a normal life" right to "unlike me and you, Cassandra Cain, who are stuck fighting crime forever". Much like how he originally justified his decision to work with Jason Todd as Robin through the idea that Jason and Bruce were both destined for this life, he applies the exact same idea, but this time, about himself and Cassandra Cain as Batgirl. And in contrast to them, and in directly comparison to Jason Todd, Stephanie is not meant for crime fighting.

Batgirl #38 (2000)

And Stephanie Brown is contrasted with Cass again, when Bruce first explains why he fired Steph to Cass. This is a consistent pattern. She is not like Cass. This is why she shouldn’t be a vigilante.

When he explains that he is going to fire Steph as Spoiler to Tim, he says something very interesting which invokes the same idea. In the list of three reasons he throw out that Steph shouldn't be Spoiler, he mentions that she is going to "throw her life away". When taken in combination with the other panels discussed, its clear to me that he means this is the common way the saying is used. That she is wasting her life by being a vigilante, that she should, as he mentions earlier, be living a normal life. But why is he saying this to Tim? If one of the reasons Steph shouldn't be Spoiler is her ability to lead a normal life, why the fuck is Tim exempt? I think it comes from a genuine belief that Tim is "like him". Unable to live a normal, non-vigilante life, "born" for crime fighting. Much like Cass, who we already saw him directly compare himself to in this exact same way. Thats why he can directly reference to Tim Steph's ability to have a normal life as a reason she shouldn't be a vigilante, he doesn't believe Tim fits the same category at all!

Robin #106 (1993)

So why the fuck does Stephanie move categories? She was acceptable earlier? What changed?

I've already done an in-depth explanation for what the subconscious underlying reason Bruce fires Stephanie: she simply is no longer useful to as a balm for his loneliness. I highly recommend checking out the post here if you are interested in the breakdown of why and how.

But in addition to that, it’s clear to me that it also has a weird amount to do with Jason Todd.

Stephanie simply and clearly reminds Bruce of Jason Todd. He points out their similarities in personality, and it’s worth mentioning the similarities in their circumstances as well (mothers who struggle(d) with drug addiction, and fathers who were criminals).

As we saw in Detective #790, their personality similarities led to Batman associating Steph with Jason. This makes sense, this association would only grow as he got to know her over the time she is sanctioned as Spoiler.

I believe this association leads to him eventually placing her in the same category as Jason, as not "born" for vigilantism at all, and as capable of having a normal life.

But it also serves as a clear way to rectify his mistakes with Jason. It’s his way of “making up for” his role in Jason's death. It’s his second chance. Never mind that this second chance leads to his assessment of Stephanie having very little to do with Steph herself, and a whole fucking lot to do about Bruce’s guilt over Jason’s death.

This is especially brutal because it seems to come from a place of genuine care (and a selfish desire to assuage his guilt too), but Stephanie doesn't get the tender moment of explanation and grief and regret that Cassandra hears. She doesn't get to know this.

What she gets, is to be told point blank that she is fired because she just isn't good enough. She gets to hear that she lacks the "skills and talent" from the same man who originally came to her to train her because he finally saw and recognized her potential. She gets told she will never be good enough by the guy who told her that she could learn and improve under his instruction. She gets two sentences. She has to fight for any more.

I cannot emphasize enough the fact that she had to track Bruce down to get an explanation for why he was suddenly ghosting her. He didn't even have the decency to tell her himself. Stephanie had to track Bruce down just so she could find out that he gave up on her.

Stephanie gets a blunt lie about why she is fired. And Bruce Wayne gets to feel good about "correcting" a mistake that had nothing to do with Stephanie. Stephanie gets cut off from her friends. Bruce Wayne gets to reconcile with his team. Stephanie gets to feel worthless. Bruce Wayne gets to feel justified.

[evansbuck-ley]

so this fic idea came to me late last night and I’m obsessed with it already. it’s the not so smooth adventures of the 118 babysitting lil henry. here’s a sneak peak of uncle eddie’s chapter.

also please let me know if you wanna be tagged when this or any future fics are posted, need to start making a tagged listed

“Henry?” Eddie said, his voice slightly raised but not too loud to alarm anyone. He looked around the touchpool for a few minutes but he was nowhere to be seen. He then turned and walked towards the soft play area that was beside where he had been previously sat and scanned for Henry’s blonde curls but still nothing.

The feeling of panic started to fill Eddie's chest. Being a first responder all he could think about was the worst case scenario, oh my god someone has taken him. How am I going to explain this to his dads? They are going to kill me. Though those thoughts were cut short by the sound of sobbing coming from behind him. Eddie spun around and there he was, in the corner just out of sight. He was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, his blue eyes were wide with fear and he was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh thank god,” in an instant Eddie was beside him, throwing himself to his knees and sat on his heels as he reached out for him.

“I’m sorry Uncle Eddie! I-I moved to the other side to see more starfish and when I looked up I couldn’t see you. I got so scared!” Henry rambled, tears were streaming down his face and his bottom lip was trembling as he pouted slightly. God, he really was Buck’s double.

[waughymommy]

MOTHER OR CHILD 🚸

I've struggled with this one. I managed to finish chapter 2, but I am still uncertain as to where I will go with this. 

Chapter 2

            After getting her changed, Jocelyn took her back to the living room to watch tv. Heather plopped on the couch. She still felt really embarrassed, but her heart raced with excitement. As soon as her padded butt hit the cushion, her mother yelled out her name, “Heather Renee Dawson, you better get your butt off the couch and on the floor right now,” Jocelyn said, resurrecting her stern, maternal voice from when her children were kids.

            Heather immediately recoiled with fear, but it quickly turned to indignation. She had never been spoken to like that since she was a child. “Mom, I am not a little kid and this is my house. I can sit wherever I want,” Heather responded sharply. As the words left her lips, she knew she had made a mistake. She saw the flash of anger in her mother’s eyes and instantly, she was a scared little girl.

            “Oh, so you think you are a big girl now. Remind me, who just soaked their diaper? It certainly wasn’t me, so who was it?” Jocelyn said, proud of that fact that she could still keep her children in line.  

            “Me…,” Heather said barely above a whisper.

            “What was that? Mommy couldn’t hear you,” Jocelyn retorted.

            “Me,” Heather said a bit louder as tears started to roll down her cheek.

            “That’s right it was you. And if you soaked your diapers, that means you are just a little baby. You aren’t a big girl. And that’s ok. I don’t expect little babies to know how to use the potty. So lets try this again. You are going to get down on the floor like a good little baby. And I want you to start sounding like the baby you are. This will be your first and only warning. The next time, you disobey, you will be sorry. You agreed to my offer and so now you will submit to my rules while I am here. Now be a good girl and watch your cartoons and if you feel the need to go potty, that’s why you have your diaper on,” Jocelyn said with a softer tone. Heather climbed down from the couch and plopped down onto the carpet. Jocelyn placed her binky in her mouth and walked out of the room.

            Tears still rolled down her face. She wished that she could go back and decline her mother’s offer. She liked to regress to relieve some stress for a few hours, but she could always decide when it was time to grow up again. She tried to focus on the cartoon, but her adult thoughts continued to race. How long was she going to be a baby for? Was her husband going to continue this treatment? She had no control over the situation and she knew for the time being that it was a bad idea to disobey her mother.

            While Heather fretted, Jocelyn went down into their basement to rummage around for anything from when her granddaughter was young. She was just about to abandon the search, when she noticed something in the far corner of the basement. She walked over and found a playpen folded up and leaning against the wall. There were a few boxes next to it as well, which she quickly opened. All of Amy’s old baby toys were here. Happy with her discovery, she started hauling her finds upstairs.

            “Alright baby girl, look what mommy found?” Jocelyn said. Heather’s eyes widened and she started sucking her binky more intensely. Jocelyn set up the playpen walls and scattered the toys with the confines of Heather’s new play space. “Ok sweetheart, lets get you set up in here. You play in here while mommy goes and makes your lunch,” Jocelyn said while grabbing her daughter’s hand to help her into the playpen. “And remember, if you try to leave this playpen, baby will get a spanking.”

            Heather plopped down and examined all of the toys. She quickly realized that this was all of Amy’s old things. There were rattles and teething toys. There were the electronic interactives that played music while others made animal sounds. Brightly colored blocks and stuffed animals completed the infant ensemble of toys. At first she wasn’t sure if it was right to play with her daughter’s things, but then her curiosity got the better of her. Getting on her hands and knees, she crawled over to one of the electronic interactives. She pressed a button and was immediately rewarded with the sound of a duck. Heather giggled and mimicked the sound behind her binky. She pressed another and this time it was a pig. “Oink oink,” she laughed. As she started playing with all of the toys, she began to truly relax. She laughed and babbled like a baby. She had no idea how much time had elapsed. When she felt a twinge in her bladder, she paused and wondered if she should call for her mother. But then she thought better of it and her diaper grew warm.

            “Is my baby girl, having fun?” Jocelyn asked as she entered the room. “Stand up for me and lets check that diaper.” Heather did as she was told, but still blushed behind her pacifier. “Wet, but I think it can still take some more. Let’s go eat some lunch,” Jocelyn took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen table. Heather sat down and her mother grabbed a large dish towel to fashion into a makeshift bib. Jocelyn set her plate before her. A grilled cheese had been cut into little bite size pieces alongside a fruit cup. Her bottle had been refilled with milk. “I didn’t have time to pick up jars of baby food before I came over this morning, but don’t you worry, mommy will make sure to get some,” Jocelyn pinched Heather’s cheeks as she spoke.

            Heather timidly started nibbling on the sandwich pieces. She went to grab a utensil to take bite of the fruit and noticed she didn’t have one. “Mommy, I don’t have a spoon to eat my fruit.”

            “Babies eat with their hands, you don’t need a spoon to eat your fruit. And don’t worry about making a mess. Mommy will clean you up when you are done.” Jocelyn replied.

            “But, but…” before she could finish her sentence, her mother cut her off. “Can you please remind me what you are wearing?”

            “I’m sorry mommy, I’m just a baby,” Heather said in a defeated tone. Jocelyn just smiled and watched her overgrown baby stick her hands into the fruit cup. Her hands were covered in juice as she brought the fruit to her mouth, and it dripped down her chin. After finishing her food, Jocelyn wiped her face and hands. She picked up her bottle and led her daughter to her bedroom. She took off Heather’s onesie, leaving her naked except for her damp diaper. Heather started to cover her exposed breasts, but Jocelyn smacked her hands away. “Babies have no modesty. Now lay down. You have had quite the day. Babies need their rest.” Jocelyn caressed her daughters face and kissed her on her forehead, “I love you my sweet girl. You can always be mommy’s baby.” With that, she tucked her in and handed Heather her bottle. She closed the blinds to darken the room. She left the room and quietly closed the door.

            Heather slowly nursed the bottle. She ruminated on the day’s events. This was exactly what she wanted. But why did she feel guilty? Why did she feel she was doing something wrong? As she nursed her bottle, she wet her diaper a bit more. Although she felt so conflicted about her treatment, she couldn’t deny the euphoria she felt every time she wet her diaper. It truly made her feel like an infant. This was the opportunity she always wanted; it would be a shame to waste it. Feeling an infantile glow, her eyes grew heavy as she nursed. She wondered what else was in store for her as she drifted off to sleep.

[plethomacademia]

Ok, I'm explaining my cryptic shit after the jump. CW fertility stuff and also it's long, sorry.

Up front, please read through before commenting as I have a request for how people engage with this.

I was supposed to start birth control as the first step of the IVF egg retrieval process two weeks ago today, because that's when my period was supposed to start. My periods have a habit of disappearing in the fall/winter, a weird pattern that no one has been able to explain but one that started back in 2022.

When my period didn't show up, I was pretty upset, because it doesn't come a week late when this happens, it comes a month late at best, sometimes even two or three months. My IVF clinic knows this, so I was not happy that they made me wait a full week to come in to have tests run to see why it was not showing up. Last Friday, I finally got to go in for some bloodwork and an ultrasound. They called me that day at noon to let me know that my period was late because I was pregnant.

We were told we could keep trying while we were getting our tests ran for IVF and it worked. I had tested myself, but the home tests I used came back negative and I didn't test more than once because honestly, I was over peeing on sticks. I have peed on a lot of sticks this year.

This week, we had a lot of blood draws to confirm my hormones were increasing appropriately. They are low, but the slope looks good. Today, we had an ultrasound and saw the gestational sac in the uterus with good placement.

Anyway, that's my whirlwind! I am only mentioning this because I can't really talk about it openly outside of a few close friends and I am really scared! I have no reason to think I will be any luckier with this baby than I was with the last one, since we are rolling the dice with my older eggs again. I need a place to vent that anxiety and fear, so I am going to do that here.

My request: I am ok with congratulations, but please just layer them with caution. In the loss communities I am in, we talk a lot about hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I really appreciate when people say "cautious congrats" or "hoping for the best" or things like that. When people tell me not to worry or that it's going to be fine, I do not respond well because, respectfully, you don't fucking know. I don't fucking know. All I can do is take this one scan at a time.

If you don't want to hear about this, please block the tag, that's why I am using it.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Okay. breathe. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

FUCKING HOLY FUCKING SHIT I AM NOT JOKING WHEN I SAY THAT I LOVED IT. Like. I ADORED it. Period. And now, Jae, let me tell you what I loved—I’m probably gonna quote your lines and if this turns into an essay, I’m really sorry 🙏😂

Okay. First off. The tone. Immaculate!!!! I love all the time you took to set the stage for MC standing in the rain, pouring, and how it made her feel and how fucking cold it was.

And it was at this point that I felt my heart racing, picking up speed because then it turned a very very soft thriller vibe—the car? Who is it, and why did they turn around? Like that writing was just perfect. Her fears, and then, as soon as she saw who it was 🥰

These three sentences—like, I know they are simple, right? But they are SO IMPACTFUL ✨

Were you happy? No. Relieved? Not even close. Scared? Absolutely.

And then the whole situation in the car! HELLO? “Yes mr. Park” FUCK. That was just so hot, even though she said it kinda timid, and THEN, and THEN the banter—like out of nowhere MC just shows her teeth and I was like YEAH TELL HIM GIRL 🤭

Okay, I have to highlight this section, because when MC screamed at him to shut up waving her hands in the air—that was so fucking hilarious to me I straight up laughed. I was choking on my laughter 🤣

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low but dripping with frustration. Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in mock disbelief. “Did you just—” “Yes, yes, yes! I just told you to shut uuuupppp!” you yelled, throwing your hands in the air.

And then when he could see her bra. I mean, he was behaving like a gentleman and giving her his jacket. CUTE 🥰 Even though throughout he was behaving a bit like a dick—and when it turned out that he has feelings for her towards the end. EPIC and I were sold right then and there.

Honestly—their whole banter was just amazing! Love their characters!!! 

And when he was taking her home to his place 😂 I was like, is he kidnapping her??? 😂

And more hilarious banter (it was so fucking good!!!!)

And the creme de la creme for me was this epic moment:

His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he opened his mouth to respond— And then you sneezed. Hard. Right into his face.

I was laughing so hard I was wheezing 🤣 And every freaking time she sneezed on him, omfg. I know sneezing isn’t really sexy or anything, and I might be totally weird for finding it somewhat sexual, lol.

Anyway. I just love Jimin—like he sounds kinda cold and rough, but he’s just hiding his love for her. Probably doesn’t want to do too much because they are boss/employee? And you put him in sweatpants??? 😭 Are you trying to kill us? He looks so good and it’s so easy to imagine with your perfect writing!!!

And when he said they were going to bed—my mind was going feral, like please sleep in the same bed, tuck her in, ANYTHING. And I did not expect her to faint, and for him to worry so much, awwww 🥹

And then when he said this:

His gaze softened, and he smiled—a small, almost shy smile, but one that made your chest ache. "Sleep tight, love. We have something important to talk about tomorrow." And with that, he closed the door softly behind him.

LOVE? SLEEP TIGHT LOVE!

What you did to my heart right there. That is peak FLUFF. Mastery. I loved it and I was swooning. My heart was soaring and then he slept on the couch like a truly gentleman 😭

I mean—it was just so freaking fluffy and funny with banter. What’s not to love? And truly, I fucking loved it. It’s a new favorite of mine. You made me laugh, you made me smile and giggle and you warmed my heart with your words and these characters, so thank you so much 🥰

A true masterpiece, and a story that proves you don’t need to have smut to have an amazing story that can move you ✨

I’m sorry for my very long review. I like rambling and talking (if you couldn’t tell that already lol).

⛈️🤒❤️‍🩹😚 + Jimin pretty please

TITLE: Almost Romantic

PAIRING: jimin x reader

GENRE: rom-com, slice of life(?), Slow burn, Drama

WORD COUNT: 6k

TRIGGER WARNING: none (this is the first time i'm writing something with no trigger warning! hehe)

SUMMARY: After an awkward car ride in the rain, you end up at Park Jimin's fancy place, sneezing and fighting off both a cold and your long-time crush on him.

a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

a/n: Hey Anon! First off, let me apologize for taking forever to get back to you. I mean, wow, it took me so long you'd think I was trying to cure world hunger or something. Honestly, I have no idea what I ended up doing, and after all this time, I can only hope it's halfway decent. If you like it, please tell me so I can stop questioning all my life choices. And thank you for sending a Jimin request because OMG, I am dangerously obsessed with this man. Seriously. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Luv ya!

The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, drumming against the tin roof of the bus stop above you. The cold air howled through the deserted street, wrapping itself around you like an unwelcome guest. The flickering streetlight cast a pale, ghostly glow, its harsh light accentuating the emptiness around you. You hugged yourself tightly, your arms gripping your sides as if you could hold yourself together.

You shivered, your breath coming out in quick, visible puffs. The dampness seeped through your clothes, clinging to your skin and chilling you to the bone. Drops of water slid down your face, some from the rain, others threatening to spill from your eyes. You blinked them away furiously, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down. Mina had warned you about staying late at the office, but as always, you thought you knew better. Now you stood here, stranded and freezing, your phone a useless piece of metal in your bag.

A gust of wind tore through the street, whipping your hair into your face and dragging the rain sideways. You turned your head away, teeth chattering. The cold felt like it was pressing in, squeezing the air from your lungs. You couldn’t even hear your own shaky breathing over the roar of the storm.

The faint glow of headlights pierced through the rain, growing brighter as the car approached. Your heart surged with a flicker of hope, and you stumbled forward, arm jerking up to wave frantically. “Please,” you whispered, though your voice was swallowed by the storm. “Please stop.”

The car’s tires splashed through a puddle, sending icy water spraying onto your shoes. Its headlights illuminated you for a split second before sweeping past, leaving you in the dark once more. You stood frozen, your arm still raised as you stared after the fading taillights.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, trying to choke back the lump rising in your throat. Your hand dropped slowly to your side, trembling as you clenched it into a fist. The ache in your chest grew heavier, a suffocating weight that pressed against your ribs. A tear slipped free, quickly hidden by the rain streaking down your face. You swiped at your cheeks angrily.

The wind howled again, and you crumpled onto the cold bench behind you, wrapping your arms around you, tightly. Your nails dug into your damp sleeves as your shoulders began to shake. You couldn’t cry—what good would it do? No one was coming. No one ever did. The darkness pressed in closer, whispering that you were alone, as you rocked yourself gently.

Your heart jolted as you caught sight of the same car stopped just a few feet away. Its brake lights glowed faintly in the rain before it suddenly began reversing. The tires splashed through puddles, the sound sharp against the muffled roar of the storm. Before you could process what was happening, the car screeched to a halt right in front of you.

Were you happy? No.

Relieved? Not even close.

Scared? Absolutely.

Your legs locked in place as you stared at the car, your mind racing. Why would someone stop now after ignoring you the first time? The question sent a shiver down your spine. The pounding rain felt distant compared to the thunderous beating of your heart. Every nerve screamed at you to run, but your feet refused to move. You tried to steady your breathing, silently chanting, Stay calm, stay calm, but your chest tightened like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

The car door opposite you creaked open, the noise slicing through the storm like a warning bell. Your body tensed, muscles coiling as if preparing to bolt. But just as quickly, the door slammed shut again. What? Your brows furrowed, and for a fleeting moment, confusion overpowered fear. Is this person okay? Or are they just messing with me?

The passenger window began to lower, gliding down with a soft whoosh. Your breath hitched as a familiar face emerged, half-shrouded in the shadows of the car's interior. Park Jimin. Your boss. Your obnoxiously attractive, arrogant, self-absorbed boss. Relief washed over you like a bucket of icy water, though it was short-lived.

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and clipped as he motioned impatiently with his hand. You hesitated, frozen under his sharp gaze, but another gust of wind pushed you forward, your feet dragging against the puddled pavement. The rain soaked you even more as you opened the car door and slid in, trembling from the cold. The interior smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne, but any sense of comfort was destroyed by his sharp voice cutting through the space.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? And why were you walking so damn slow?”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing despite the exhaustion clawing at you. Of course, his first instinct wasn’t to ask if you were okay but to criticize. You forced a tight-lipped smile, your fingers curling into the damp fabric of your skirt.

“Yes, Mr. Park. I’m perfectly fine,” you bit out, the words dripping with sarcasm you tried to mask behind a strained politeness. Your fake smile wavered as you glanced at him, silently debating whether strangling him would be worth losing your ride home.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head slightly, as though reading your thoughts. His eyes trailed over your face, lingering for a moment before they dropped lower. You noticed the shift in his expression too late. His gaze flicked to your collarbone, then downward. His eyes widened briefly before he snapped his head forward, clearing his throat with a harsh sound.

Confused, you frowned and followed his gaze. Your stomach sank as your eyes landed on the problem. Your white blouse, drenched from the rain, clung to your body like a second skin, and the bright red lace of your bra was clearly visible underneath.

A gasp escaped your lips as your arms flew up instinctively to cover your chest. “Oh my god,” you muttered, turning your body away from him, your face heating despite the cold. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, clutching your arms tightly around yourself.

Jimin rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze entirely. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose as he shrugged off his blazer. Without a word, he leaned over and held it out to you. You snatched it from his hand, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“You could’ve stopped the car near me,” you muttered under your breath, slipping the warm fabric over your shoulders. The faint scent of his cologne clung to it. So... manly.

His head snapped toward you, brows furrowed. “So, it’s my fault now?”

“Duh!” you shot back, pulling the blazer tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from his attitude.

“And what about the fact that you were walking so maddeningly slow? Like you were planning to camp out there all night?”

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low but dripping with frustration.

Jimin’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parting in mock disbelief. “Did you just—”

“Yes, yes, yes! I just told you to shut uuuupppp!” you yelled, throwing your hands in the air. Your voice echoed sharply inside the car, silencing him completely. The weight of your outburst hit you like a tidal wave, embarrassment creeping up your neck. You turned your face away, heat flooding your cheeks. Great. Now I look like a lunatic.

He stared at you, stunned, his lips slightly parted as though he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. His wide eyes and slack jaw only made you angrier. You could practically feel his judgment radiating off him, and it made you want to crawl under a rock—or strangle him slowly and thoroughly.

“Stop staring and start the damn car,” you snapped, your voice cracking slightly.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he blinked, shaking his head. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he hurriedly looked away, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Fine,” he muttered, starting the engine with a low rumble.

The car began to move, the rain now a blurred sheet outside the windows. Silence settled between you, heavy and awkward, broken only by the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. You sank back into the seat, pressing your hand to your forehead as a dull ache throbbed at your temples. A cold shiver raced down your spine, and you took a shaky breath, hoping it would settle your nerves.

“How long, Mr. Park?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the fight in you momentarily drained.

“Not far,” he replied, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “My house is just a few blocks away. We’ll be there soon.”

Your heart stopped. You sat up straighter, your hands clutching the blazer tightly. “What the hell do you mean, your house?”

He spared you another glance, his brows knitting together in mild confusion. “I’m taking you home,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Whose home?” you nearly screeched, pulling the blazer tighter around you as though it could somehow protect you from this insanity.

“Mine,” he said simply, his eyes darting back to the road.

"Home. Your home," you repeated, your tone sharp as you gestured toward him. "I wanted to go to my home."

Jimin’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking in irritation. “I didn’t know the address,” he said flatly, avoiding your gaze.

“You could’ve just asked!”

“I wanted to, but you yelled at me to shut up.”

“And so your brilliant solution was to bring me here?” you retorted, throwing your hands up in disbelief.

His eyes snapped to yours, narrowing as he pulled the car to a jerky stop. “Excuse me? I live here. What the hell do you mean by here?” he asked, his voice low and offended, his brows drawing together.

You glared at him, your lips curling into a bitter scowl. “Then why have you stopped in the middle of nowhere?”

Jimin’s lips parted, a humourless laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “I think you’ve been out in the rain too long. Maybe some water leaked into your brain because it’s clearly not working. We are not in the middle of nowhere, you deranged woman.”

Before you could retort, he pushed his door open with a sharp motion and stepped out, slamming it shut behind him. You stared after him in disbelief, his broad back retreating into the rain. Grumbling under your breath, you wrestled with your seatbelt, finally kicking the door open and following him.

The rain hit you like icy needles, soaking through your clothes as you stumbled out of the car. The moment you stepped onto the pavement, you froze, your jaw slack. In front of you stood a towering, modern building, its glass facade gleaming despite the downpour. “Wow,” you muttered under your breath, momentarily forgetting your anger. But then you caught sight of Jimin’s retreating figure, and you cursed under your breath, hiking up your heels to chase after him.

“Of course, you’d leave me behind,” you muttered as your heels clicked against the wet pavement.

Jimin turned his head slightly, flashing you a grin that made you want to slap it off his face. “Oh, you’re here! I thought you’d decided to spend the night in the car,” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You narrowed your eyes at him, shivering as you wrapped his blazer tighter around yourself. “Do you have a knife at home?” you asked, your tone casual as you both inside the elevator.

He paused mid-step, his shoulders stiffening slightly. “Yeah… why?”

“Just so I know where to find one,” you replied, tilting your head innocently. “For when you start talking too much rubbish.”

Jimin turned to face you fully, his brows lifting as his mouth parted in shock. For a brief moment, he looked genuinely alarmed. Then, as you burst into laughter at his expression, he sighed in relief, shaking his head.

“You think you’re funny?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You smirked, lifting your chin. “I think I’m adorable.”

His lips twitched into a smirk of his own as he leaned in, his face now dangerously close to yours. You wanted to step back, but the cold glass of the elevator doors pressed against your back, trapping you. His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he opened his mouth to respond—

And then you sneezed.

Hard.

Right into his face.

The moment froze, your eyes widening in horror as he flinched, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “What the actual hell?!” he yelled, his voice a mixture of disbelief and rage. He stepped back, his face scrunching up in disgust as he muttered a string of curses, switching languages with every expletive. English, Japanese, Chinese, and then a barrage of rapid Korean filled the small elevator.

You stared down at your feet, heat crawling up your neck. “Sorry…” you mumbled, barely audible, too mortified to meet his eyes.

He glared at you, his nostrils flaring. “Sorry? Sorry?!” He stepped forward, looking like he had a whole speech prepared—

But the elevator dinged, its doors sliding open.

For the first time that night, you silently thanked every god you could think of as Jimin stomped out, muttering under his breath. You hurried after him, sneezing again as the cold air hit you.

“Sit,” he barked, pointing to the plush couch in his spacious living room. His voice was sharp, but his eyes softened for a moment as they flicked to your shivering form.

You sat without a word, clutching his blazer tightly around you. Jimin disappeared into hallway, still muttering under his breath. As you sneezed again, you couldn’t help but laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all, even if he was plotting your demise in the next room.

He came back, dressed in a plain sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his hair sticking up in messy tufts, like he’d been running his hands through it. Barefoot and casual, he should’ve looked harmless, but instead, he looked annoyingly good. His sharp gaze locked on you as he walked closer, his lips pressed into a tight line, like he had something serious to say. Your throat dried up when he stopped right in front of you, the scent of his and something uniquely him filling the air between you. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and just as his lips parted to speak—

You sneezed.

Right on his face.

“Women, seriously?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he wiped the back of his hand against his face.

You scowled, tugging his oversized blazer tighter around yourself. “What? I can’t help it!”

“You can’t help anything. The only thing you can help at is being mean and senseless.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped, leaning toward him, ready to unleash your fury—but another sneeze erupted before you could get the words out.

“Eww!” he exclaimed, jerking back like you’d just sprayed him with acid.

He pointed toward the hallway, his expression torn between disgust and resignation. “You, come with me. Before you drown my house with your sneezes.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging after him as he led you through the sleek, modern interior of his house.

“I didn’t ask you to bring me here,” you grumbled, your damp hair sticking to your neck. “You could’ve just dropped me off at my place.”

He turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing in exasperation. “Did you see how hard it was raining? You wanted me to take you home and then drive back through that storm? I could’ve gotten stuck—or worse. You should be grateful!”

You glared at his back, muttering under your breath, “Grateful, my ass.”

Jimin stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, revealing a spacious, minimalist bedroom. He disappeared into the walk-in closet without a word, emerging moments later with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

“Here,” he said, shoving the clothes into your arms. “Change into this.” His voice softened, just for a second, before he added, “Bathroom’s on the right. Don’t take forever.”

You raised a brow as he turned and left without waiting for a response. Rude.

But as you glanced around his room—simple yet elegant with muted tones and clean lines—you couldn’t deny the faint flutter in your chest. It was surreal, standing here, surrounded by the essence of him. Once upon a time, when you’d first started working at the company, you’d harboured the most ridiculous crush on him. Obsessive, even. But you’d gotten over it. Or at least you thought you had.

Quickly peeling off your wet clothes, you slipped into the hoodie and sweatpants. They were far too big, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but they were warm and soft. And they smelled… like him. Clean, woodsy, with the faintest hint of something sharp and intoxicating. You hated how comforting it felt.

Or maybe you didn’t.

When you returned to the living room, he was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. His eyes flicked to you, scanning you briefly before he gestured toward the coffee table. “Soup,” he said simply.

Your gaze shifted to the large bowl sitting on the table, steam rising from the golden liquid. Your heart softened a fraction as you sat beside him, the warmth of the soup drawing you in. Without a second thought, you grabbed the bowl and scooped up a spoonful.

The second it touched your tongue, the heat seared your mouth, and you yelped, dropping the spoon back into the bowl. Jimin’s eyes widened, as he shot forward. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed, snatching the bowl out of your hands and placing it back on the table.

Before you could respond, he was in front of you, crouching slightly, his face a mixture of panic and concern. leaning closer. He started fanning your mouth with his hand, his brows furrowed as he muttered under his breath. Then, without warning, he leaned in further and blew.

The cool air hit your lips, and your breath hitched. His face was inches from yours now, his dark eyes focused intently on your mouth. You froze, acutely aware of the way his hand hovered just beneath your chin, steadying you. The moment stretched, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. His gaze flicked to yours, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His lips parted slightly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Are you blind? C-Can’t you see it’s hot?” he scolded, his voice breaking slightly as he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on the couch. His eyes darted away from yours, and for a fleeting moment, you caught the faintest hint of colour creeping up his neck.

You nodded, the sting of embarrassment silencing any snarky retort. Any other day, you’d have torn into him for bossing you around, but now? You couldn’t even muster a glare. Instead, you pressed your palms to your cheeks, only to realize they were burning.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Your mind raced as you sat frozen in place. You’re over him. You’re over him, you chanted silently, willing the blush to disappear. But deep down, you knew the truth—your heart was still as stupid as ever.

And then, just as you thought you could gather yourself, you sneezed again.

His head whipped toward you, eyes narrowing slightly. You braced for the scolding that was surely coming, shoulders tensing as you sucked in a breath.

But instead, he shifted closer.

Your breath hitched.

His gaze softened, his brows knitting together with concern as he leaned in. “Are you really sick?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, almost gentle.

Before you could answer, his hand moved toward your face. You froze as his fingertips brushed your forehead, testing your temperature. His touch was warm—too warm—and your heart thudded violently in your chest.

He frowned, his hand lingering for a moment longer before sliding down to the side of your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw.

That was it. You were doomed.

Your pulse quickened beneath his touch, and you swore he could feel it. His brows furrowed deeper, his expression shifting from mild concern to genuine worry. “You’re turning red,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb moved slightly, tracing an invisible line along your skin. “Do… Do I need to call a doctor?”

The tenderness in his tone almost shattered you. Why did he have to be like this? Why now?

You shook your head quickly, snapping out of your daze and leaning back, desperate to put some distance between you. “No,” you managed to croak, your voice embarrassingly hoarse.

He blinked, his hand falling back to his side as he sat upright. “Oh,” he said, his tone clipped. His shoulders stiffened as if he suddenly realized how close he’d been.

You caught his slight grimace as he scooted away, the small gap between you growing wider.

Your chest tightened, and before you knew it, you were pouting.

His gaze flicked to you, one brow arching in confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

You shook your head quickly, too flustered to explain.

“Seriously, what’s wrong now?” he pressed, his brows drawing together again.

But you just shook your head once more, biting your lip to keep from saying something stupid—like how much you’d missed this, how much you wished he’d never pulled away.

And yet, even as he leaned back into his corner of the couch, his gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. And that tiny, almost imperceptible pause was enough to make your heart ache with hope.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice low and casual as he glanced over at you.

“No,” you said quickly, your tone sharper than intended.

His lips quirked up, clearly not believing you. “You sure? I can cook,” he offered, his brows lifting in that way that made his face unbearably soft, like he was trying to coax the truth out of you.

You shook your head firmly. “I’m sure,” you mumbled, shifting your gaze back to the soup in your hands. You’d already eaten, and you knew he had too.

A comfortable silence fell between you. He leaned back on the couch, his head resting against the cushions, eyes fluttering closed. His chest rose and fell evenly, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked utterly at peace.

And absolutely stunning.

You tried not to stare, but your eyes betrayed you, taking in every detail. The way his jawline looked sharper under the dim light, the soft curve of his lashes resting against his cheeks, and his lips—God, his lips—full and slightly parted, as if he was moments away from whispering something that would undo you.

Your gaze trailed down to his clothes, his sweatshirt slightly rumpled but hugging his shoulders perfectly. His loose, comfy sweatpants sat just right on his hips, and even in such an unassuming outfit, he looked... ethereal.

It wasn’t fair. How could someone look like that just sitting there?

You pulled your eyes away, forcing yourself to look out the glass wall instead. The rain pounded relentlessly against it, streaks of water catching the faint glow of the city lights outside. The storm showed no signs of stopping, and you couldn’t help but regret staying late at the office.

I could’ve finished it all tomorrow, you thought bitterly, tightening your grip on the warm bowl in your hands. Your eyes drifted back to him, unable to help yourself. The question burned at the back of your mind: why had he stayed late? You knew he often worked late, but on busy nights like this, he typically stayed at the office rather than going home. Tonight, though, he’d changed that.

You frowned slightly. What was different this time?

You didn’t know—and couldn’t have known—that the difference was you.

He had seen the storm warning on the news and had sent everyone home early, but you had stayed behind, stubbornly working. He had been about to leave, but seeing you there, so focused, so unaware of the weather worsening, had stopped him in his tracks. Jimin was nothing if not professional, but he had always harboured an unspoken interest in you—a quiet, persistent fondness he never let show.

And now, here you both were.

The silence stretched on, the sound of the rain filling the space between you. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but when you finally opened your mouth to speak, the words were out before you could stop them. And you almost regretted it. Almost.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" The question slipped out before you could stop yourself, your eyes widening in surprise at your own words.

Jimin’s eyes flicked open, locking with yours instantly. There was a quiet amusement in his gaze, and his lips tugged up into that soft, teasing smile that made your heart do something you tried to ignore. He didn’t speak right away, just studied you as if he could read everything you weren’t saying.

“No,” he replied, his voice quiet and surprisingly soft. “Why do you ask?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling silly, and looked everywhere but at him—out the window, at your hands, the bowl of soup on the table. Anywhere but him.

He leaned back into the couch, clearly amused, a playful edge to his tone. “Why are you behaving like this?” His smile was still there, small but knowing.

“Like what?” you blurted out, but even as the words left your mouth, you knew it was a bit of a dumb question.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He raised an eyebrow, watching you like you were a puzzle he was determined to figure out.

You stared at him, blinking a few times like he’d just sprouted another head, making his laughter bubble up, soft but genuine.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he teased.

“Because you’re talking weird,” you said, voice a bit sharper than you intended, but your words faltered under his gaze.

He chuckled again, the sound warm and disarming, sending a flutter through your chest. “You’re behaving weird,” he countered.

You let out a frustrated huff and turned away from him, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, hoping the action would somehow shield you from whatever was happening between the two of you.

He chuckled again, and it was like a spark igniting inside you, frustrating and electrifying all at once. You glared at him, but even that seemed pointless when he was looking at you like that—like he could read the thoughts swirling in your head.

The silence that fell was oddly peaceful, but it didn’t sit well with you. You always needed something more. Chaos, noise, anything but stillness. Fidgeting in your seat, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You broke the silence, your voice sounding louder than you intended.

“Mr. Park—”

He cut you off with a soft smile, sitting up slightly. “You can call me Jimin,” he said, the words coming out like an invitation, a subtle challenge in his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow, hesitant. You glanced away quickly, feeling the heat creep up your neck as you crossed your arms defensively. “Are you sure?”

His gaze didn’t waver, locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel suddenly exposed, vulnerable in a way you couldn’t explain. “Why do you look so unsure?” he asked, his voice gentle but with a teasing edge.

You stiffened, trying to find something—anything—to say. “You were perfectly okay threatening me and cursing at me. What happened now?”

His face twisted into a playful look of disbelief. “When did I—”

You were about to cut him off, but the teasing glint in his eyes silenced you.

“Huh?” His head tilted, and his smile grew, mischievous and daring.

“Okay! But I don’t mean any of it,” you blurted out, the words tumbling over each other as you sat up straighter, hoping it would make you look less flustered.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, his laugh escaping just beneath his words. The playful glint in his eyes only deepened as he relaxed back into the couch, arms spread wide like he was claiming the space between you. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and you couldn’t help but feel that same pull in your chest, though you tried to ignore it.

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest, trying to regain some control over yourself. “You really think you’re so charming, don’t you?”

He leaned in slightly, his smile widening, and your stomach fluttered despite your best attempts to stay unaffected.

“I don’t just think... I know.” His voice was full of that confidence that made your heart race, that impossible assurance that had you questioning everything.

You rolled your eyes, but even you knew it was more for show than anything. Your lips wanted to curl up, but you kept them pressed tight, the heat in your cheeks betraying the hard facade you tried to maintain.

“Yeah, right. Your just full of yourself,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected, but the playful tone that slipped into your voice gave you away.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening. “But I’ve got goods to back it up. Just look at how you're blushing.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you immediately shifted in your seat, trying to hide the heat spreading across your face. Your heart was racing now, and you could barely keep your breath steady.

“Am not!” you protested, but it came out weak, a poor defence against the blush that was clearly visible.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, before standing up. “Sure, let’s go.”

Confused, you followed him, your feet moving almost mechanically. You barely registered his words at first, still caught in the strange feeling his teasing had left in your chest. “It’s getting late. We should go to bed.”

Something about the way he said "we" made your stomach twist, or was it flutter? You weren’t sure. All you could hear now was the odd ringing in your ears, a soft buzz that drowned out everything else.

“We?” The word slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, confusion knitting your brows together as you watched him.

He gave you a small, almost reassuring smile as he stepped into his bedroom, holding the door open for you. His eyes never left you as he waited, his gaze warm, not at all like you had imagined it would be.

You stepped in hesitantly, your heart pounding with every step you took closer to him. Your mind was swirling, but you couldn’t place what was happening. You trusted him, you did, but something about this moment felt different—felt new.

“What happened?” he asked softly, his hands reaching out to gently pull you toward him, his touch grounding you in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

You blinked, confused. “Huh?”

His eyes searched your face with concern, his brows furrowing as his fingers grazed your cheek. “You’re so... pale.”

“Am I?” you whispered, suddenly aware of how unsteady you felt.

He didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. His touch moved from your face to your forehead, gently pressing as though checking for something. His fingers trailed down to your neck, the soft touch sending shivers down your spine.

You felt lightheaded, almost as if his hand was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your knees wobbled, your breath catching in your throat as your vision blurred.

“What happened to you?” His voice was barely a whisper now, a trace of worry creeping in that made your heart thud painfully in your chest.

The softness in his tone made your legs feel even weaker, like they could give out at any moment. Your body trembled slightly under his touch, your mind too foggy to make sense of anything.

Before you could even respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, his strength surprising you. He laid you down gently on the bed, the sudden movement making everything feel even more surreal.

You felt lighter than you ever had, almost weightless, like you could just float away. But your head—your head felt impossibly heavy, as if you couldn’t hold it up anymore. The dizziness washed over you in waves, your senses fading. You barely registered the way his face hovered above you, worry etched deep in his expression as he watched you. His hand was still on your forehead, his touch warm against your cool skin.

You barely registered the way his face hovered above you, worry etched deep in his expression as he watched you. His hand was still on your forehead, his touch warm against your cool skin.

“God, what... hap-happened?” he murmured again, but you couldn’t find the strength to answer. Your vision blurred even further, the world around you spinning uncontrollably. You felt yourself slip away, your body growing heavier.

And then, without warning, everything went black.

You blinked your eyes open, still disoriented, only to find Jimin staring down at you. His face was inches away, concern etched across his features. His hand was gently placed on your arm, and his eyes were wide, scanning your face for any sign of distress. The dim light in the room made the worried expression on his face all the more intense.

"You okay?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he helped you sit up, his hand guiding you gently. He reached for the glass of water from the bedside table, offering it to you with a quiet determination. Without thinking, you drank it in one go, the cool liquid helping to clear the fog in your mind. You nodded weakly, still feeling lightheaded, but trying to reassure him.

"You fainted," he said, his voice unsteady as he watched you closely, his brows furrowed in disbelief. You nodded again, still not fully processing what had just happened.

He looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise, lips parted in a mixture of concern and confusion. His expression was so pure, so real, it made something twist in your chest. You couldn’t help but chuckle, though it was soft, a little breathless.

"I’m fine, Jimin," you reassured him, the words coming out far less convincing than you hoped.

"No, you're not," he said firmly, his voice almost pleading, his tone so filled with worry it made your heart clench. "You fainted. Let’s go to doctor."

"I’m fine," you repeated, though the words felt weak. His eyes never left yours, searching for any sign that you were telling the truth. His hand reached up, rubbing his face in frustration, his worry only growing.

"And I’m worried," he said, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. His gaze softened, and you could see it in his eyes—the deep concern, the care that he couldn’t hide.

You felt a strange warmth spread through your chest, something raw and unspoken. But you also didn’t want him to act like this, not with you. Not now, not after everything.

“Why?” Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, and you couldn’t look him in the eyes. It was the question you’d been asking yourself for so long, and now it slipped out before you could stop it. Your heart raced, your chest tightening as you waited for him to answer.

For a moment, he was silent. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, his gaze softening, and you could feel the tension between you grow thicker, thicker still. Then, as if to break the tension, he slowly reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. His hand lingered, resting on your skin, as if he wasn’t ready to pull away.

“Sleep,” he murmured, the word leaving his lips like a tender command. But the last thing you wanted to do was sleep. The night was still young, the rain pouring outside, the sound of it filling the room. The cold breeze from the open window brushed against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing to do. You stared at him, confused, unsure why he was saying that. You hadn’t asked him to, hadn’t even thought of it.

“Why?” you asked, your voice cracking just slightly.

“Because you’re sleeping on my bed,” he said, his voice firm but kind, as if it was obvious. He made you lie back down, covering you with the duvet, the soft fabric comforting against your skin. As he stepped back, you couldn’t stop the aching feeling in your chest, that unbearable pull that made your heart beat faster.

He moved toward the door, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to leave but had to. Every step he took felt like an eternity, and you wanted to call out to him, tell him to stop. But you couldn’t. You didn’t have the words.

When he reached the door, he paused and turned around to face you. His gaze softened, and he smiled—a small, almost shy smile, but one that made your chest ache. "Sleep tight, love. We have something important to talk about tomorrow." And with that, he closed the door softly behind him.

You lay there in the quiet room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning. You stared at the door, your thoughts scattered, your breath shaky. Did he just…? Did he just call you love?

The word echoed in your head, a faint warmth spreading through your veins. It was too much, and yet, you couldn’t stop the flutter in your chest. The night had shifted, everything had shifted, but you didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope.

And as the rain continued to pour outside, the sound somehow soothing your frayed nerves, you let your eyes flutter shut, your heart still thumping, your thoughts tangled in him.

I don’t know if you liked it or not, but please, leave some feedback. Like, tell me how much you loved it or absolutely hated it. I’m all ears... honestly, I’m mostly just here for the drama either way.

[thishazeleyeddemon]

I only need two more responses to my survey!

I think I will close the survey sooner than I stated before - I need time to write my paper. I only need two more responses - if you have a moment and are Deaf or HoH, I'd appreciate filling it out!